"
Miss Stapylton said, that _virtue_ itself spoke when _I_ spoke; and
she was resolved to recollect as much of this conversation as she
could, and write it down in her common-place book, where it would make
a better figure than any thing she had there.
"I suppose, Miss," said Mrs. Towers, "your chief collections are
flowers of rhetoric, picked up from the French and English poets, and
novel-writers. I would give something for the pleasure of having it
two hours in my possession."
"Fie, Madam," replied she, a little abashed, "how can you expose your
kinswoman thus, before the dean and Mrs. B.?"
"Mrs. Towers," said I, "only says this to provoke you to shew your
collections. I wish I had the pleasure of seeing them. I doubt not but
your common-place book is a store-house of wisdom."
"There is nothing bad in it, I hope," replied she; "but I would
not, that Mrs. B. should see it for the world. But, Madam" (to Mrs.
Towers), "there are many beautiful things, and good instructions,
to be collected from novels and plays, and romances; and from the
poetical writers particularly, light as you are pleased to make of
them. Pray, Madam" (to me), "have you ever been at all conversant in
such writers?"
"Not a great deal in the former: there were very few novels and
romances that my lady would permit me to read; and those I did,
gave me no great pleasure; for either they dealt so much in the
_marvellous_ and _improbable_, or were so unnaturally _inflaming_ to
the _passions_, and so full of _love_ and _intrigue_, that most of
them seemed calculated to _fire_ the _imagination_, rather than to
_inform_ the _judgment.
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