I have left a letter for her; and I expect to see K 2 her upon it. Her new father, as worthy and ais; brave a man as yourself, Sir, longs to see her

Her new father! madam. You expect to see her! madam What was your behaviour to her, unnatural woman! the last time you saw her? But if you do see her, it must be in my presence, and without ’ your man, if he form pretensions, on your account^ that may give either her or me disturbance.

You are only. Sir, to take care of her fortune; so I am advised: I, as her mother, have the natural right over her person. The Chancery will give it to me.

Then seek your remedy in Chancery: let me never hear of you again, but by the officers of that court.

I opened the door leading into the room where the two men were.

They are not officers, I dare say: common men of the town, I doubt not, new-dressed for the occa-sion. O’Hara, as she calls him, is, probably, one of her temporary husbands only.

Pray walk in, gentlemen, said I, This lad}’ inti-mates to me, that she will apply to Chancery against me. The Chancery, if she has any grievance, will be a proper recourse. She can have no business with me, after such a declaration Much less can either of you.

And opening the drawing-room door that led to the hall, Frederick, said I, attend the lady and the gentlemen to their coach.

I turned from them, to go into my study. The major, as he was called, asked me, with a fierce air, his hand on his sword, If this were treatment due to Gentlemen?

This house, in which, however, you are an intruder. Sir, is your protection; or that motion, and that air, if you mean any thing by either, would cost you dear.

StR CHARLES GRANDISON. lOl

I am, Sir, the protector of my wife: you have insulted her, Sir.

Have I insulted your wife. Sir? And I stepped up to him; but just in time recovered myself, re-membering where I was Take care, Sir But you are safe here Frederick, wait upon the gentlemen to the door

Frederick was not in hearing; the well-meaning man, apprehending consequences, went, it seems,- into the offices, to get together’ some of his fellow-servants.

Salmonet putting himself into violent motion, swore, that he would stand by his friend, his brother, to the last drop of his blood; and, in a posture of offence, drew his sword half-way.

I wish, friend, said I (but could hardly contain myself) that I were in your house, instead of your being in mine But if you would have your sword broken over your head, draw it quite.

He did, with a vapour. D n him, he said, if he bore that! My own house, on sucli an insult as this, should not be my protection; and, retreating, he put himself into a posture of defence.

A^otc, major! A^ow, major! said the wicked wo-man.

Her major also drew, making wretched grimaces.

I was dressed. I knew not but the men were assassins. I drew, put by Salmonet’s sword, closed with him, disarmed him, and, by the same effort, laid him on the floor.

O’Hara skipping about, as if he watched for an opportunity to make a push with safety to himself, lost his sword, by the usual trick whereby a man, any-thing skilled in his weapons, knows how some-times to disarm a less skilful adversary.

The woman screamed, and ran into the hall.

I turned the two men, first one, then the other, out K 3 of the room, with a contempt that they deserved; and Frederick, Richard, and Jerry, who by that time, were got together in the hall, a little too roughly perhaps, turned them into the square.

They limped into the coach they came in: the woman, in terror, was already in it. They cursed, swore, and threatened.

The pretended captain, putting his body half-way eut of the coach, bid my servants tell me, That I was That 1 was And avoiding a worse name, as it seemed No gentleman; and that he would find an opportunity to make me repent the treatment I had given to men of honour, and to a lady.

The major, in eagerness to say something, by way of resentment and menace likewise (beginning with damning his blood) had his intended threatening cut short, by meeting the captain’s head with his, as the other, in a rage, withdrew it, after his speech to the servant: and each cursing the other, one rubbing his forehead, the other putting his hand to his head, away drove the coach.

They forgot to ask for their swords; and one of them left his hat behind him.

You cannot imagine, my dear Dr. Bartlett, how much this idle affair has disturbed me: I cannot for-give myself To be provoked by two such men, to violate the sanction of my own house. Yet they came, no doubt, to bully and provoke me; or to lay a foundation for a demand, that they knew, if personally made, must do it.

My only excuse to myself is, that there were two of them; and that though 1 drew, yet I had the command of myself so far as only to defend myself, when I might have done any thing with them. I have generally found, that those that are the readiest to give offence, are the unfittest, when brought to the test, to support their own insolence.

But my Emily! my poor Emily! How must she be terrified! I will be with you very soon. Let not her know any thing of this idle affair; nor any body but Lord L.

Tuesday morning.

I have just parted with one Blagrave, an attorney, who already had been ordered to proceed against me: but, out of regard to my character, and having, as he owned, no great opinion of his clients, he thought fit to come to me in person, to acquaint me of it, and to inform himself, from me, of the whole affair.

The gentleman’s civility intitled him to expect an account of it: I gave it him.

He told me. That if I pleased to restore theswords, and the hat, by him, and would promise not to stop the future quarterly payments of the 2001. a year, about which they were very apprehensive; he dared to say, that, after such an exertion of spirit, as he called a choleric excess, I should not hear any more of them for one while; since he believed, they had only been trying an experiment: which had been carried farther, he dared to say, than they had designed it should.

He hinted his opinion, that the men were common men of the town; and that they had never been honoured with commissions in any service.

The woman (I know not by what name to call her, since it is very probable, that she has not a real title to that of O’Hara) was taken out of the coach in violent hysterics, as O’Hara told him; who, in consulting Mr. Blagrave, may be supposed to ag-gravate matters, in order to lay a foundation for ao action of damages.

She accused the men of cowardice, before Mr Blagrave; and that in very opprobrious terms.

They excused themselves, as being loth to hurt me; which, they said, they easily could have done; especially before I drew.

They both pretended to Mr. Blagrave, personal damages; but I hope their hurts are magnified.

I am (however that be) most hurt; for I am not at all pleased with myself. They, possibly, though they have no cause to be satisfied with their parts in the fray, have been more accustomed to such scuf-fles, than I; and are above, or rather beneath, all punctilio.

Mr. Blagrave took the swords and the hat with him in the coach that waited for him.

If I thought it would not have looked like a compromise, and encouraged their insolence, I could freely have sent them more than what belonged to them. I am really greatly hurt by the part 1 acted to such men.

As to the annuity; I bid Mr. Blagrave tell the woman, that the payment of that depended upon her future good behaviour; and yet, that I was not sure, that she was intitled to it, but as the voidovo of my friend.

However, I told this gentleman, that no provo-cation should hinder me from doing strict justice, though I were sure that they would go to law with the money I should cause to be paid to them quar-terly. You will, therefore, know. Sir, added I, that the fund which they have to depend upon, to sup-port a law-suit, should they commence one, and think fit to employ in it so honest a man as you seem to be, is 1001. a year. It would be madness, if not injustice, to pay the other lOOl. for such a purpose, when it w as left to my discretion to pay it, or not, with a view to discourage that litigious spirit, which is one, of an hundred, of this poor woman’s bad qualities.

And thus, for the present, stands this affair. I look upon my trouble from this woman as over, till some new scheme arises, either among these people, or from others whom she may consult or employ. You and I, when I have the happiness to attend you and my other friends, will not renew the subject.

I am, &c.

Letter XIV.

Miss Byron to Miss Selby.

Colnebrook, Wednesday, March 22. Sir Charles arrived this morning, just as we had as-sembled to breakfast; for Lady L. is not an early — riser. The moment he entered, sunshine broke out in the countenance of every one.

He apologized to all, but me, for his long absence, especially when theybadsuch a guest, were his words, bowing to me; and I thought he sighed, and looked with tender regard upon me; but I dared not sisk Miss Grandison whether she saw any thing particu-lar in his devoirs to me.

It was owing to his politeness, I presume, that he did not include me in his apologies; because that would have been to suppose, that 1 had expect,‘d him. Indeed I was not displeased, in the main, that he did not compliment me, as a third sister. See, Lucy, what little circumstances a doubtful mind will some-times dwell upon.

I was not pleased that he had been so long absent, and had my thoughts to myself upon it; inclining once to have gone back to London; and perhaps should, could I have fancied myself of importaiice enough to make him uneasy by it [The sex! the sex J

Lucy, will my uncle say; but I pretend not to be above its little foibles]: but the moment I saw him, all my disgusts were over. After the Anderson, the Danby, the Lord W. affairs, he appeared to me in a much more shining light than an hero would have done, returning in a triumphal car covered with lau-rels, and dragging captive princes at his wheels. How much more glorious a character is that of The friend of mankind, than that of The conqueror of nations!

He told me, that he paid his compliments yester-day to Mr. and Mrs. Reeves. He mentioned Mr. Deane’s visit to him; and said very kind, but just things in his praise. I read not any thing in big eyes, or manner, that gave me uneasiness on the visit that other good man made him.

My dear Emily sat generously uneasy, I saw, for the trouble she had been the cause of giving to her best friend, though she knew not of a visit, that her mother, and O’Hara, and Salmonet, made her guar-dian on Monday, as the doctor had hinted to us, without giving us particulars.

Sir Charles thanked me for my goodness, as he called it, in getting the good girl so happily out of her mother’s way, as his Emily would have been too much terrified to see her: and he thanked Lord L. for his tenderness to his ward on that occasion.

My lord gave him the letter which Mrs. Jervois had left for her daughter. Sir Charles presented it to the young lady, without looking into it: she instantly returned it to him, in a very graceful man — ner. We will read it together by-and-by, my Emily, said he. Dr. Bartlett tells me, there is tenderness in it.

The doctor made apologies to him, for having communicated to us some of his letters Whatever Dr. Bartlett does, said Sir Charles, must be right.

SJR CHARLES GRANDISON. 107

But what say my sisters to my proposal of corre-spondence with them?

We should be glad, replied Lady L. to see all you write to Dr. Bartlett; but could not undertake to write you letter for letter. Why so?

Miss Byron, said Miss Grandison, has put us quite out of heart, as to the talent of narrative letter-writing.

I should be greatly honoured with a sight of such letters of Miss Byron as you, my lord, have seen. Will Miss Byron, applying to me, favour one brother, and exclude another?

Brother! Lucy; I thought he was not, at that time, quite so handsome a man as when he first entered the room.

I was silent, and blushed. I knew not what an-swer to make; yet thought I should say something. May we. Sir Charles, said Miss Grandison, hope for a perusal of your letters to Dr. Bartlett for the same number of weeks past, letter for letter, if we could prevail on Miss Byron to consent to the proposal?

Would Miss Byron consent upon that condition?

What say you, Miss Byron? said my lord.

I answered, that I could not presume to think, that the little chit-chat, which I wrote to please my partial friends in the country, could appear tolerable in the eye of Sir Charles Grandison.

They all answered with high encomiums on my pen; and Sir Charles, in the most respectful manner, insisting upon not being denied to see what Lord L. had perused; and Miss Grandison having said, that I had, to oblige them, been favoured with the return of my letters from the country; I thought it would look like a too meaning particularity, if I refused to oblige him, in the light (though not a very agreeable one, I own, to you, Lucy) of awo^A^r brother: I told him, that I would shew him very willingly, and without condition, all the letters 1 had written, of the narrative kind, from my first coming to London, to the dreadful masquerade affair, and even Sir Har-grave’s barbarous treatment of me, down to the de liverance he had so generously given me.

How did he extol me, for what he called my noble frankness of heart! In that grace, he said, I excelled all the women he had ever conversed with. He as-sured me, that he would not wish to see a line that I was not willing he should see; and that, if he came to a word or passage that he could suppose would be of that nature, it should have no place in his me-mory.

Miss Grandison called out But the conditiouy Sir Charles

Is only this, replied I (I am sure of your candor, Sir); that you will correct me, where I am wrong, in any of my notions or sentiments. I have been very pert and forward in some of my letters; parti-cularly in a dispute that was carried on in relation to learning and languages. If I could not, for improvement-sake, more heartily bespeak your correc — tion than your approbation, I should be afraid of your eye there.

Excellent Miss Byron! Beauty shall not bribe me on your side, if I think you wrong in any point that you submit to my judgment: and if I am beauty-proof, I am sure nothing on earth can bias me.

Miss Grandison said, she would number the let-ters according to their dates, and then would give them to me, that I might make such conditions with her brother, on the loan, as every one might be the better for.

Breakfast being over. Miss Grandison renewed sin CHARLES GRANDISON. 109 the talk of the visit made here by Mrs. O’Hara oa Sunday last. Miss Jervois very prettily expressed her grief for the trouble given her guardian by her unhappy mother. He drew her to him, as he sat, with looks of tenderness; called her his dear Emily; and told her, she was the child of his compassion. Yoa are called upon, my dear, said he, young as you are, to a glorious trial; and hitherto you have shone in it: I wish the poor woman would be but half as much the mother, as you would be the child! But let us read her letter.

His goodness overwhelmed her. He took her mo-ther’s letter out of his pocket: she stood before him, drying her eyes, and endeavouring to suppress her emotion: and when he had unfolded the letter, he put his arm round her waist. Surely, Lucy, he is the tenderest, as well as bravest of men! What would I give for a picture drawn but with half the life and love which shone out in his looks, as he cast his eyes, now on the letter, and now up to his Emily! Poor woman! said he, two or three times, as he read; and, when he had done, You must read it, my dear, said he; there is the mother in it; we will acknowledge the mother, wherever we can find her.

Why did not the dear girl throw her arms about his neck, just then? She was ready to do so. O my best of guardians! said she; and, it was plain, was but just restrained, by virgin modesty, from doing so; her hands caught back, as it were, and rest — ing for a moment on his shoulder: and she looked as much abashed, as if she had not checked herself.

I took more notice of this her grateful motion, than any body else. I was affected with the beau-tiful check, and admired her for it.

And must I, Sir, would you have me, read it? I will retire to my chamber with it.

He rose, took her hand, and, coming with her to me, put it into mine: Be so good, madam, to for-tifV this worthy child’s heart, by your prudence and judgment, while she reads the mother^ in the only instance that I have ever known it visible in this unhappy woman.

Emily and I withdrew into the next room; and there the good girl read the letter; but it was long in reading; her tears often interrupted her: and more than once, as wanting a refuge, she threw her arms about my neck, in silent grief.

I called her twenty tender names; but I could not say much: what could I? The letter in some places affected me. It was the letter of a mother who seemed extremely sensible of hardships. Her guar-dian had promised observations upon it: I knew not then all the unhappy woman’s wickedness: I knew not but the husband might be in some fault. What could I say? I could not think of giving comfort to a daughter at the expence of even a bad mother.

Miss Grandison came to us: she kissed the sob-bing girl, and with tenderness, calling us her two loves, led us into the next room.

Sir Charles, it seems, had owned, in our absence, that Mr. and Mrs. O’Hara, and Captain Salmonet, had made him a visit in town, on their return from Colnebrook, and expressed himself to be vexed at his own behaviour to them.

Miss Jervois gave the letter to her guardian, and went behind his chair, on the back of which she leaned, while he looked into the letter, and made observations upon what he read, as nearly in the following words as I can remember.

An unhappy mother, ivhose faults have been bar-barously aggravated My Emily’s father was an in dulgent husband! He forgave this unhappy woman crimes, which very few men would have forgiven: she was. the wife of his choice: he doted on her* his first forgiveness of an atrocious crime hardened her.

When he could not live with her, he removed from place to place, to avoid her: at last, afraid of her private machinations, which were of the blackest nature, he went abroad, in order to pursue that traffic in person, which he managed to great advan-tage by his agents and factors; having first, however, made an handsome provision for his wife.

Thither, after some time passed in riot and extra-vagance, she followed him.

I became acquainted with him at Florence. I found him to be a sensible and honest man; and every one whom he could serve, or assist, expe-rienced his benevolence. Not a single soul who knew him, but loved him, this wife excepted.

She at that time insisted upon his giving up to her management, his beloved Emily; and solemnly promised reformation, on his compliance. She knew that the child would be a great fortune.

I was with Mr. Jervois, on her first visit to him at Leghorn; and, though I had heard her character to be very bad, was inclined to befriend her. She was specious. I hoped that a mother, whatever wife she made, could not but be a mother; and poor Mr. Jervois had not been forward to say the worst of her. But she did not long save appearances. The whole English factory at Leghorn were witnesses of her flagrant enormities. She was addicted to an excess that left her no guard, and made her a stranger to that grace which is the glory of a woman.

I am told, that she is less frequently intoxicated than heretofore. I should be glad of the least sha-dow of reformation in her. That odious vice led her into every other, and hardened her to a sense of shame. Other vices, perhaps, at first — wanted thai to introduce them; but the most flagitious have been long habitual to her.

Nothing but the justice due to the character of my departed friend, could have induced me to say what I have said of this unhappy woman. Forgive me, my Emily: but shall I not defend your father? I have not said the worst I could say of his wife.

Yet she writes, That her faults have been barbarously aggravated, in order to justify the ill usage of a husband, whom, she says, was not faultless. Ill usage of a husband! Wretched woman! She knew I must see this letter: how could she write thus? She knows that I have authentic proofs in my custody, of his unexceptionable goodness to her; and confessions, under her own hand, of her guilt, and ingratitude to him.

But, my Emily and he arose, and took her hand, her face overwhelmed with tears. You may rejoice in your father’s character: he was a good man, m every sense of the word. With regard to her, he had but one fault; and that was, his indulgence Shall I say, that after repeated elopements, after other men had cast her oflF, he took her back? When she had for-feited his love, hi?, pity operated in her favour; and she was hardened enough to despise the man who could much more easily forgive than punish her. I am grieved to be obliged to say this; but repeat, that the memory of my friend must not be unjustly loaded. Would to heaven that I could suggest the shadow of a plea that would extenuate any part of her vileness, either respecting him or herself; let whose-soever character suffer by it, I would suggest it. How often has this worthy husband wept to me, for those faults of his wife, for which she could not be sorry. i discourage not these tears, my Emily, on what you have heard me say; but let me now dry them up.

He took her own handkerchief, and tenderly wiped her cheeks: it is unnecessary, proceeded he, to say any thing further, at this time, in defence of your father’s character; we come now to other parts of the letter, that will not, I hope, be so affecting to the heart of a good child.

She insists upon your making her a visit, or re-ceiving one from her; she longs, she says, to see you; to lay yoa in her bosom. She congratulates you, on your improvements: she very pathetically calls upon you not to despise her

My dear girl! You shall receive her visit: she shall name her place for it, provided I am present. I shall think it a sign of her amendment, if she is really capable of rejoicing in your improvements. I have always told you, that you must distinguish between the crime and the mother: the one is intitled to your pity; the other calls for your abhorrence Do you choose, my dear, to see your mother? I hope you do. Let not even the faulty have cause to complain of unkindness from us. There are faults that must be left to heaven to punish; and against the consequences of which it behoves us only to guard, for our own sakes. I hope you are in a safe protection, and have nothing to fear from her: you are guarded, therefore. Can my Emily forget the terrors of the last interview, and calmly, in my presence, kneel to her mother?

Whatever you command me to do, I will do.

I would have you answer this letter. Invite her to the house of your guardian I think you should not go to her lodgings: yet, if you incline to see her there, and she insists upon it, I will attend you.

But, Sir, must I own her husband for my father?

Leave that to me, my dear: little things, puncti-lios, are not to be stood upon: pride shall have no concern with u&. But I must first be satisfied, that L 3 the man and she are actually married. Who knows, if they are, but his dependence on her annuity, and the protection she may hope for from him, may make it convenient to both, to live in a more creditable manner than hitherto she has aimed to do? If she save but appearances, for the future, it will be a point gained.

I will in every thing, Sir, do as you would have me.

One thing, my dear, I think I will advise: if they are really married; if there be any prospect of their living tolerably together; you shall, if you please, (your fortune is very large) make them a handsome present; and give hope, that it will be an annual one, if the man behave with civility to your mother. She complains, that she is made poor and dependent. Poor if she be, it is her own fault: she brought not 20{)1. to your father. Ungrateful woman! he mar-ried her, as 1 hinted, for love. With 2001. a year, well paid, she ought not to be poor; but dependent she must be. Your father would have given her a larger annuity, had he not known, by experience, that it was but strengthening her hands to do mis-chief; and to enable her to be more riotous. 1 found a declaration of this kind among his papers, after his death. This his intention, if there could have been any hope of a good use to be made of it, jus-tifies my advice to you, to enlarge her stipend: I will put it in such a way, that you, my dear, shall have the credit of it; and J will take upon myself the ad-vice of restraining it to good behaviour, for their own sakes, and for yours.

O Sir! how good you are! You now give me courage to wish to see my poor mother, in hopes that it will be in my power to do her good: continue to your Emily the blessing of your direction, and 1 shall be a happy girl indeed. O that my mother may be married! that so she may be intitledto the best you shall advise me to do for her.

I doubt her man is a man of the town, added he; but he may have lived long enough to see his follies. She may be tired of the life she has led. I have made several efforts to do her service; but have no hope to reclaim her. I wish she may now be a wife in earnest. But this, I think, shall be my last effort Write, my dear; but nothing of your intention. If she is not married, things must remain as they are.

She hastened up stairs, and very soon returned, with the following lines:

MADAM,

I beseech you to believe, that I am not wanting in duty to my mother. You rejoice my heart, when you tell me, that you love me. My guardian was so good, before 1 could have time to ask him, as to bid me write to you, and to let you know, that he will himself present me to you, whenever you please to favour nie with an opportunity to pay my duty to you, at his house in St. James’s Square.

Let me hope, my dear mamma, that you will not be so angry with your ])oor girl, as you was last time I saw you at Mrs. Lane’s; and then I will see you with all the duty that a child owes to her mother. For I am, and ever will be,

Your dutiful daughter,

EMILIA JERVOIS.

Sir Charles generously scrupled thelast paragraph. We will not, 1 think, Emily, said he, remind a mother, who has written such a letter as that before us, of a behaviour that she should be glad to forget.

Miss Grandison desired it might stand. Who knows, said she, but it may make her ashamed of her outrageous behaviour at that time?

She deserves not generous usage, said Lady L.; she cannot feel it.

Perhaps not, replied Sir Charles; but we should do proper things^or our own sokes, whether the per-sons are capable of feeling them as they ought, or not. What say i/ou, Miss Byron, to this last paragraph?

I was entirely in his way of thinking, and for the reason he gave; but the two ladies having given their opinion in a pretty earnest manner, and my lord saying, he thought it might pass, I was afraid it would look like bespeaking his favour at their expence, if I adopted his sentiments: I therefore declined giving my opinion. But being willing to keep Emily in countenance, who sat suspended in her judgment, as one who feared she had done a wrong thing; I said. It was a very natural paragraph, I thought, from Miss Jervois’s pen, as it was written, I dared to say, rather in apprehension of hard treatment, from what she remembered of the last, than in a spirit of re-crimination or resentment.

The good girl declared it was. Both ladies, and my lord, said, I had distinguished well: but Sir Charles, though he said no more upon the subject, looked upon each sister with meaning; which I won-dered they did not observe. Dr. Bartlett was with — drawn, or I believe he would have had the honesty to speak out, which I had not: but the point was a point of delicacy and generosity; and I thought I should not seem to imagine, that I understood it better than they: nor did I think, that Sir Charles would have acquiesced with their opinion.

Miss Jervois retired, to transcribe her letter. We all separated, to dress; and I, having soon made an alteration in mine, dropt in upon Dr. Bartlett in his closet.

I am stealing from this good man a little improvement in my geography: 1 am delighted with my tutor, and he professes to be pleased with his scholar; but sometimes more interesting articles slide in: but now he had just begun to talk of Miss Jervois, as if he would have led, 1 thought, to the proposal hinted at by Miss Grandison, from the letter she had so clandestinely seen,, of my taking her under my care, when Sir Charles entered the doctor’s apartment. He would have withdrawn, when he saw me; but the doctor, rising from his chair, besought him to oblige us with his company.

I was silly: I did not expect to be caught there. But why was I silly on being found with Dr. Bart-lett? But let me tell you, that I thought Sir Charles himself, at first addressing me, seemed a little unprepared. You invited me in, doctor: here I am. But if you were upon a subject that you do not pur-sue, 1 shall look upon myself as an intruder, and will withdraw. o

We had concluded one subject. Sir, and were beginning another 1 had just mentioned Miss Jer — vois.

Is not Emily a good child, Miss Byron? said Sir Charles.

Indeed, Sir, she is.

We then had some general talk of the unhappy situation she is in from such a mother; and I thought some hints would have been given of his desire that she should accompany me down to Northampton-shire; and my heart throbbed, to think how it would be brought in, and how I should behave upon it: and the more, as I was not to be supposed to have so much as heard of such a designed proposal. What would it have done, had I been prevailed upon to read the letter? but not one word passed, leading to that subject.

I now begin to^^ar, that he has changed his mind, if that was his mind. Methinks I am more fond of having the good girl with us, than I imagined it was possible I ever could have been. What a different appearance have things to us, when they are out of our power, to what they had when we beHcved they were in it?

But I see not, that there is the least Hkelihood that any thing, on which you had all set your hearts, can happen I can’t help it.

Emily, flattering girl! told me, she saw great signs of attachment to me in his eyes and behaviour; but I see no grounds for such a surmise: his affections are certainly engaged. God bless him, whatever his engagements are! When he was absent, encourag-ed by his sisters and Lord L. I thought pretty well of myself; but, now he is present, I see so many excellencies shining out in his mind, in his air and address, that my humility gets the better of my ambition.

Ambition! did I say? Yes, ambition, Lucy. Is it not the nature of the passion we are so foolishly apt to call nobUy to exalt the object, and to lower, if not to debase, one’s self? [You see how Lord W. depreciates me on the score of fortune. I was loth to take notice of that before, because I knew, that were slenderness of fortune the only difficulty, the par-tiality of all my friends for their Harriet would put them upon making efforts that I would sooner die than suffer to be made. This, Lucy, observe, is between hooks.]

I forget the manner in which Lord W.‘s objection was permitted to go off but I remember. Sir Charles made no attempt to answer it: and yet he tells my lord, that fortune is not a principal article with him; and that he has an ample estate of his own. No question but a man’s duties will rise with his oppor-tunities. A man, therefore, may be as good with a less estate, as with a larger; and is not goodness the essential part of happiness? Be our station what it will, have we any concern but humbly to acquiesce in it, and fulfil the duties belonging to that station?

But who, for selfish considerations, can wish to circumscribe the power of this good man? The greater opportunities he has of doing good, the higher must be his enjoyment. No, Lucy, do not let us flatter ourselves.

Sir Charles rejoices, on Sir Hargrave’s having just now, by letter, suspended the appointment till next week, of his dining with him at his house on the forest.

Letter XV.

Miss Byron. In Continuation.

I LEFT Sir Charles with Dr. Bartlett. They would have both engaged me to stay longer; but I thought the ladies would miss me, and think it particular to find me with him in the doctor’s closet.

My lord and the two sisters were together in the drawing-room adjoining to the library: on my entrance. Well, Harriet, said Miss Grandison, we will now endeavour to find out my brother: you must be present to yourself, and put in a word now-and-then. We shall see if Dr. Bartlett is right, when he says, that my brother is the most unreserved of men.

Just then came in Dr. Bartlett I think, doctor, said Lady L. we will take your advice, and ask my brother all the questions in relation to his engage-ments abroad, that come into our heads.

She had not done speaking, when Sir Charles entered, and drew his chair next me; and just then 1 thought myself he looked upon me with equal benignity and respect.

Miss Grandison began with taking notice of the letter, from which Dr. Bartlett, she said, had read some passages, of the happiness he had procured to Lord W. in ridding him of his woman. She wished, she told him, that she knew who was the lady he had in his thoughts to commend to my lord for a wife.

I will have a little talk with her before I name her, even to you, my lord, and my sisters. I am sure my sisters will approve of their aunt, if she accept of my lord for ahusband: I shall pay my compliments to her, in my return from Grandison-hall.” Do you, Charlotte, choose to accompany me thither? I must, I think, be present at the opening of the church. I don’t ask you, my lord, nor you, Lady L. so short as my stay will be there I purpose to go down on Friday next, and return the Tuesday following.

Miss Gr. I think, brother, I should wish to be excused. If, indeed, you would stay there a week or fortnight, I could like to attend you; and so, I dare say, would Lord and Lady L.

Sir Ch. I must be in town on Wednesday next week; but you may stay the time you mention: you cannot pass it disagreeably in the neighbourhood of the hall; and there you will find your cousin Grandison: he will gallant you from one neighbour to another: and, if 1 judge by your freedoms with him, you have a greater regard for him, than perhaps you know you have.

Miss Gr. Your servant, Sir, bowing But I will take my revenge Pray, Sir Charles, may 1 ask (we are all brothers and sisters)

Sir Ch. Stop, Charlotte {pleasantly): if you are going to ask any questions by way of revenge, I answer them not.

Miss Gr. Revenge! Not revenge, neither But when my Lord W. as by the passages Dr. Bartlett was so good as to read to us, proposed to you this lady for a wife, and that lady; your answers gave us apprehension that you are not inclined to marry

Ladi/ L. You are very unceremonious, Charlotte.

Indeed, Lucy, she made me tremble. .Sure he can have no notion that I have seen the iv/iole let-ter seen myself named in it.

Miss Gr. What signifies ceremony among relations?

Sir Ch. Let Charlotte have her way.

Miss Gr. Why then, Sir, I would ask Don’t you intend one day to marry?

Sir Ch. I do, Charlotte. I shall not think myself happy till I can obtain the hand of a worthy woman.

I was, I am afraid, Lucy, visibly affected: I knew not how to stay; yet it would have looked worse to go.

Miss Gr. Very well, Sir And pray, Have you not, either abroad or at home, seen the woman you could wish to call yours? Don’t think me imper-tinent, brother.

Sir Ch. You cannot be impertinent, Charlotte. If you want to know any thing of me, it pleases me best, when you come directly to the point.

Miss Gr. Well, then, if I cannot be impertinent: if you are best pleased when you are most freely treated; and if you are inclined to marry; pray why did you decline the proposals mentioned by Lord VV. in behalf of Lady Frances N. of Lady Anne S. and I cannot tell how many more?

Sir Ch. The friends of the first-named lady proceeded not generously with my father, in that affair. The whole family builds too much on the interest and quality of her father. I wanted not to depend upon any public man; I chose, as much as possible,

M to fix my happiness within my own little circle. I have strong passions: I am not without ambition. Had I loosened the reins to the latter, young man as I am, my tranquillity would have been pinned to the feather in another man’s cap. Does this sa-tisfy you, Charlotte, as to Lady Frances?

Miss Gr. Why, yes; and the easier, because there is a lady whom I could have preferred to Lady Frances.

I should not, thought I, have been present at this conversation. Lord L. looked at me. Lord L. should not have looked at me: the ladies did not.

SirCh. Who is she?

Miss Gr. Lady Anne S. you know,. Sir Pray, may I ask. Why that cotild not be?

Sir Ch. Lady Anne is, I believe, a deserving woman; but her fortune must have been my prin-cipal inducement, had I made my addresses to her. I never yet went so low as that alone, for an inducement to see a lady three times.

Miss Gr. Then, Sir, you have made your ad-dresses to ladies abroad, I suppose?

Sir Ch. I thought, Charlotte, your curiosity extended only to the ladies in England.

Miss Gr. Yes, Sir, it extends to ladies in Eng-land, and out of England, if any there be that have kept my brother a single man, when such offers have been made him as we think ivould have been unexceptionable. But you hint then, Sir, that there are ladies abroad

Sir Ch. Take care, Charlotte, that you make as free a respondent, when it comes to your turn, as you are a questioner.

Miss Gr. By your answers to my questions. Sir, teach me how I am to answer yours, if you have any to ask.

Sir Ch, Very well, Charlotte. Have I not an-swered satisfactorily your questions about the ladies you named?

Miss Gr. Pretty well. But, Sir, have you not seen ladies abroad whom you like better than either of those I have named? Answer me to that.

Sir Ch. I have, Charlotte, and at home too.

Miss Gr. I don’t know what to say to you But,

{)ray, Sir, have you not seen ladies abroad whom you lave liked better than any you ever saw at home?

Sir Ch. No. But tell me, Charlotte, to what does all this tend?

Miss Gr. Only, brother, that we long to have you happily married; and we are afraid, that your declining this proposal and that, is owing to some pre vious attachment and now all is out.

Lord L. And now, my dear brother, all is out.

Lady L. If our brother will gratify our curiosity Had I ever before, Lucy, so great a call upon me as now, for presence ox mind?

Sir Charles sighed: he paused: and at last said You are very generous, very kind, in your wishes to see me married. I have seen the lady, with whom, of all the women in the world, I think, I could be happy.

A fine blush overspread his face, and he looked down. Why, Sir Charles, did you blush? Why did you look down? The happy, thrice happy woman, was not present, was she? Ah, No! no! no!

SirCh. And now, Charlotte, what other questions have you to ask, before it comes to your turn to answer some that I have to put to you?

Miss Gr. Only one Is the lady a foreign lady?

How every body but I looked at him, expecting his answer! ^He really hesitated. At last, I think, Charlotte, you will excuse me, if I say, that this question gives me some pain Because it leads to another, thatj/made, I cannot at present myself ansvoer M 2

[But why SO, Sir? thought I]: and if not made, it cannot be of any signification to speak to this.

LordL. We would not give you pain, ISir Charles: and yet

Sir Ch. What yet, my dear Lord L.?

LnrdL. When I was at Florence, there was much talk

Sir Ch. Of a lady of that city Olivia, my lord! There was. She has fine qualities, but unhappily blended with others less approveable. But 1 have nothing to wish for from Olivia. She has done me too much honour. I should not so readily have named her now, had she herself beeij more solicitous to conceal the distinction she honoured me with. But your lordship, I dare hope, never heard even ill-Kvill open its mouth to her disreputation, only that she descended too much in her regard for one object.

Lord L. Your character, Sir Charles, was as much to the reputation of her favour, as

Sir Ch. {interrupting) O my lord, how brotherly partial! But this lady out of the question, my peace has been bi’oken by a tender fault in my constitution And yet I would not be without it.

The sweet Emily arose, and, in tearSjVent to the window. A sob, endeavoured to be suppressed, called our attention to her.

Sir Charles went, and took her hand: Wliy weeps my Emily?

Because you, who so well deserve to be happy, seem not to be so.

Tender examples, Lucy, are catching: I had much ado to restrain my tears.

He kindly consoled her. My unhappiness, my dear, said he, arises chiefly from that of other people. I should but for that be happy in myself, because I endeavour to accommodate my mind to bear inevita-ble evils, and to make, if possible, a virtue of neces — sity: but, Charlotte, see how grave you have made us all! and yet I must enter with you upon a sub-ject that possibly may be thought as serious by you, as that which, at present, I wish to quit. “ Wish to quit!” “ The question gave him some

Eain, because it led to another, which he cannot imself at present answer!” What, Lucy, let me ask you before 1 follow him to his next subject, can you gather from what passed in that, already recited? If he is himself at an uncertainty, he may deserve to be pitied, and not blamed: but dont you think he might have answered, whether the lady IS a foreigner or not? How could he hioxu what the next question would have been?

I had the assurance to ask Miss Grandison after-wards, aside, Whether any thing could be made out, or guessed at, by his eyes, when he spoke of having seen the woman he could prefer to all others? For he sat next me; she over against him,

I know not what to make of him, said she: but be the lady native or foreigner, it is my humble opinion, that my brother is in love. He has all the symptoms of it that I can guess by.

I am of Charlotte’s opinion, Lucy. Such tender sentiments: such sweetness of manners: such gen-tleness of voice! Love has certainly done all this for him: and the lady, to be sure, is a foreigner. It would be strange if such a man should not have engaged his heart in the seven or eight years past; and those from eighteen to twenty-six or seven, the most susceptible of a man’s life.

But what means he, by saying, “ His’peace has been broken by a tender mult in his constitution?” Compassion, I suppose, for some unhappy object. I will soon return to town, and there prepare to throw myself into the arms of my dearest relations in North-amptonshire: I shall otherwise, perhaps, add to the m3 number of those who have broken his peace. But it is strange, methinks, that he could not have answer-ed, Whether the lady is a foreigner or not.

Dr. Bartlett, you are mistaken; ijir Charles Grandison is not so very wn-reserved a man, as you said he was.

But Oh! my dear little flattering Emily, how could you tell me, that you watched his eyes, and saw them always kindly bent on me? Yes, per-haps, when you thought so, he was drawing com parisons to the advantage of his fair foreigner, from my less agreeable features!

But this Olivia! Lucy. I want to know some-thing more of //er. “ Nothing,” he says, “ to wish for from Olivia.” Poor lady! Methinks I am very much inclined to pity her, f — Well, but I will proceed now to his next subject. I wish I could find some faults in him. It is a cruel thing to be under a kind of necessity to be angry with a man whom we cannot blame; and yet, in the next conversation, you will see him angry. Don’t you long, Lucy, to see how Sir Charles Grandison will behave when he is angry?

Letter XVI.

Miss Byron. In Continuation.

Now, Charlotte, said he, (as if he had fully answer-ed the questions put to him O these men!) let me ask you a question or two I had a visit made me yesterday, by Lord G. What, my dear, do you intend to do with regard to him? But, perhaps, you would choose to withdraw with me, on this question. Miss Gr. 1 wish 1 had made to you the same overture of withdrawing Sir Charles, on the questions I put to you: If 1 had, I should have received more satisfaction, I fancy, than I can now boast of.

Sir Ch. I will withdraw with you, if you please, and hear any other questions you have to put to me.

Miss Gr. You can put no questions to me. Sir, that I shall have any objection to answer before this company.

Sir Ch. You know my question, Charlotte. ’

Miss Gr. What would i/ou advise me to do in that affair, brother?

Sir Ch. 1 have only one piece of advice to give you: it is, that you will either encourage or discourage his address if you know your own mind.

Miss Gr. I believe, brother, you want to get rid of me.

Sir Ch. Then you intend to encourage Lord G.?

Mm Gr. Does that follow, Sir?

Sir Ch. Or you could not have supposed, that I w;anted to part with you. But come, Charlotte, let us retire. It is very difficult to get a direct answer to such questions as these, from ladies, before company, though the company be ever so nearly re — lated to them.

Miss Gr. I can answer, before this company, any questions that relate to Lord G.

Sir Ch. Then you don^t intend to encourage him?

Miss Gr. 1 don’t see how that follows, neither, from what I said.

Sir Ch. It does, very clearly. I am not an abso-lute stranger to the language of women, Charlotte. Miss Gr. 1 thought my brother too polite to re-flect upon the sex.

Sir Ch. Is it to reflect upon the sex to say, that I am not an absolute stranger to their language?

Miss Gr. I protest, I think so, in the way you spoke it

Sir Ch. Well then, try if you cannot find a lan-guage to speak in, that may not be capable of such an interpretation.

Miss Gr. I am afraid you are displeased with me, brother. I will answer more directly.

Sir Ch. Do, my Charlotte: I have promised Lord G. to procure him an answer.

Miss Gr. Is the question he puts, Sir, a brief one On or offl

Sir Ch. Trust me, Charlotte! you may, even with your punctilio.

Miss Gr. Will you not advise me, Sir?

Sir Ch. I will To pursue your inclination.

Miss Gr. Suppose, if I knew yours, that that would turn the scale?

Sir Ch. Is the balance even?

Miss Gr. I can’t say that, neither.

Sir Ch. Then dismiss my Lord G.

Miss Gr. Indeed, brother, you are angry with me.

Sir Ch. {addressing himself to me) I am sure, Miss Byron, that I shall find, in such points as this, a very different sister in you, when I come to be favoured with the perusal of your letters. Your cousin Reeves once said. That when you knew your own mind, you nearer kept any one in suspense.

Miss Gr. But I, brother, can’t say that I know my mind absolutely.

Sir Ch. That is another thing; I am silent. Only when you do, I shall take it for a favour, if you will communicate it to me, for your service.

Miss Gr. I am among my best friends Lord L. what is your advice? Sir Charles does not incline to give me his?

Sir Ch. It is owing to my regard to your own inclinations, and not to displeasure or petulance, that I do not.

Lord L. I have a very good opinion of Lord G. What is yours, my dear? to Lady L. ’

— Ladif L. I really think very well of my Lord G. What is yours, Miss Byron?

Harriet. I believe Miss Grandison must be the sole determiner, on this occasion. If she has no objection, I presume to think, that no one else can have any.

Miss Gr. Explain, explain, Harriet

Sir Ch. Miss Byron answers as she always does x-penetration and prudence, with her, never quit com pany. \i I have the honour to explain her sentiments in giving mine, take both as follow: My Lord G. is a good-natured, mild man: he will make a woman happy, who has some share of prudence, though slie has a still greater share of will. Charlotte is very lively: she loves her jest almost as well as she loves her friend

Miss Gr. How, brother }

Sir Ch . And Lord G. will not stand in competition with her, in that respect: there should not be a rivalry in particular qualities, in marriage. I have known a poet commence a hatred to his wife, on her being complimented with making better verses than he. Let Charlotte agree upon those qualities in which she will allow her husband to excel; and he allow, in her, those she has a desire to monopolize: and all may do well.

Miss Gr. Then Lord G. must not be disputed with, I presume, were I to be his wife, on the sub-ject of moths and ‘butterflies.

Sir Ch. Yet Lord G. may give them up, when he has a more considerable trifle to amuse himself with. Pardon me, Charlotte Are you not, as far as we have gone in this conversation, a pretty trifler.^

Miss Gr. {bovoi.ig) Thank you, brother. Tlie epithets pretti/, and young, and little, are great qua-lifiers of harsh words.

Sir Ch. But do you like Sir Walter Watkyns better than Lord G.?

Mist Gr. I think not. He is not, I believe, so good natured a man as the other.

Sir Ch. I am glad you make that distinction, Charlotte.

Miss Gr. You think it a necessary one in my case, I suppose, Sir?

<S7V Ch. I have a letter of his to answer. He is very urgent with me for my interest with you. I am to answer it. Will you tell me, my sister, (giving her the letter) what I shall say?

Miss Gr. {after perusing it) Why, ay, poor man! he is very much in love: but I should have some trouble to teach him to spell: and yet, they say, he has both French and Italian at his fingers ends.

She then began to pull in pieces the letter.

Sir Ch. I will not permit that, Charlotte. Pray return me the letter. A woman is least of all intitled to ridicule a lover whom she does not intend to encourage. If she has a good opinion of herself, she will pity him. Whether she has or not, if she wounds, she should heal. Sir Walter may address himself to a hundred women, who for the sake of his gay appearance and good estate, will forgive him his indiflferent spelling.

Miss Gr. The fluttering season is approaching. One wants now-and-then a dangling fellow or two after one in public: perhaps I have not seen enough oi either of these to determine which to choose. Will you not allow one, since neither of them have very striking merits, to behold them in different lights, in order to enable one’s self to judge which is the most tolerable of the two? Or, whether a still wore tolerable wretch may not oflFer.

She spoke this in her very archest manner, serious as the subject was; aiid seriously as her brother wished to know her inclinations.

Sir Charles turned to Lord L. and gravely said, I wonder how — our cousin Everard is amusing himself at this instant, at the hall.

She was sensible of the intended rebuke, and asked him to forgive her.

Wit, niy lord, continued he, inattentive to the pardon she asked, is a dangerous weapon: but that species of it which cannot shine without a foil, is not a wit to be proud of. The lady before me (what is her name?) and I, have been both under a mistake: I took her for my sister Charlotte: she took me for our cousin Everard.

Every one felt the severity. It seemed to pierce me, as if directed to me. So unusually severe from Sir Charles Grandison; and delivered with such serious unconcern in the manner; I would not, at that moment, have been Miss Grandison for the world.

She did not know which way to look. Lady L. (amiable woman!) felt it for her sister: tears were in the eyes of both.

At last Miss Grandison arose. I will take away the impostor. Sir; and when I can rectify my mis-take, and bring you back your sister, I hope you will receive her with your usual goodness.

My Charlotte! my sister! (taking her hand) you must not be very angry with me. I love to feel the ^ner edge of your wit: but when I was bespeaking your attention upon a very serious subject; a sub-ject that concerned the happiness of your future life, and if yours, mine; and you could be able to say something that became only the mouth of an unprincipled woman to say; now could I forbear to wish that some other woman, and not my sister, had said it? Times and occasions, my dear Char-lotte!

No more, I beseech you, Sir: I am sensible of my folly. Let me retire.

I, Charlotte, will retire; don’t i/ou; but take the comfort your friends are disposed to give you. Emily, one word with you, my dear. She flew to him, and they went out together.

There, said Miss Grandison, has he taken the girl with hira, to warn her against falling into my^ folly.

Dr. Bartlett retired in silence.

Lady L. expressed her concern for her sister; but said, Indeed, Chai’lotte, I was afraid you would carry the matter too far.

Lord L. blamed her. Indeed, sister, he bore with you a great while; and the affair was a serious one. He had engaged very seriously, and even from principle, in it. O Miss Byron! he will be delighted with you, when he comes to read your pa — pers, and sees your treatment of the humble ser — vants you resolved not to encourage.

Yes, yes, Harriet will shine, at my expence: but may she 1 Since I have lost my brother’s favour, I pray to heaven, that she may gain it. But he shall never again have reason to say I take him for my cousin Everard. But was I very wicked, Harriet? Deal fairly with me. Was I very wicked?

I thought you wrong all the way: I was afraid for you. But, for what you last said, about encouraging men to dangle after you, and seeming to aim at making new conquests, I could have chidden you, had you not had your brother to hear it. Will you forgive me? (whispering her) They were the words of, a very coquet; and the air was so arch! Indeed, my Charlotte, you were very much out of the way.

So! Everybody against me! I must have been wrong indeed

The/iTwe, the occasion, was wrong, sister Charlotte, said Lord L. Had the subject been of less weight, your brother would have passed it off as pleasantly as he has always before done your vivacities.

Very happy, replied she, to have such a character, that every-body must be in fault who differs from him or offends him.

In the midst of his displeasure, Charlotte, said Lady L. he forgot not the brother. The subject, he told you, concerned the happiness of your future life; and, if yowrs, his.

One remark, resumed Lord L’. I must make, to Sir Charles’s honour (take it not amiss, sister Char-lotte): not the least hint did he give of your error relating to a certain affair; and yet he must think of it, so lately as he has extricated you from it. His aim, evidently, is, to amend, not to wound.

I think, my lord, retorted Miss Grandison, with a glow in her cheeks, you might have spared your remark. If the one brother did not recriminate, the other needed not to remind. My lord, you have not my thanks for your remark.

This affected good Lady L. Pray, sister, blame not my lord: you will lose my p/^^, if you do. Are not we Jour united in one cause? Surely, Charlotte, we are to speak our whole hearts to each other!

So! I have brought man and wife upon me now. Please the Lord I will be married, in hopes to have somebody on my side. But, Harriet, say, am I wrong again?

I hope, my dear Miss Grandison, replied I, that what you said to my lord, was in pleasantry: and if so, the fault was, that you spoke it with too grave an air.

Well, well, let me take hold of your hand, my dear, to help me out of this new difficulty. I am dreadfully out of luck today, I am sorry I spoke not my pleasantry with a pleasant air Yet were not you likewise guilty of the same fault. Lady L.? Did not you correct me with too grave an air?

I am very willing, returned Lady L. it should pass so: but, my dear, you must not, by your petulance, rob yourself of the sincerity of one of the best hearts in the world; looking with complacency at her lord.

He bowed to her with an affectionate air. Happy couple!

As I hope to live, said Miss Grandison, I thought you all pitied me, when Sir Charles laid so heavy a hand upon me: and so he seemed to think, by what he said at going out. How did you deceive me, all of you, by your eyes!

I do assure you, said my lord, I did pity you; but had I not thought my sister in fault, I should not.

Your servant, my lord. You are a nice distin-guisher.

And B,just one, Charlotte, rejoined Lady L.

No doubt of it, LadyL. and that was your motive too. I beseech you, let me not be deprived of your pity. I have yours also, Harriet, upon the same kind consideration.

Why now this archness becomes you, Charlotte, said I [I was wilHng it should pass so, Lucy]: this is pretty pleasantry.

It is a pretty specimen of Charlotte’s penitence, said Lady L.

I was glad Lady L. spoke this with an air of good humour; but Miss Grandison withdrew upon it, not well pleased.

We heard her at her harpsicord, and we all joined her. Emily also was drawn to us, by the music. Tell me, my dear, said Miss Grandison to her (stopping) Have you not had all my faults laid before you, for your caution?

Indeed, madam, my guardian said but one word about you; and this was it: I love my sister: she has amiable qualities: we are none of us right at all times. You see, Emily, that I, in chiding her, spoke with a little too much petulance.

God for ever bless my brother! said Miss Grandison, in a kind of rapture: but now his goodness makes my flippancy odious to myself Sit down, my child, and play your Italian air.

This brought in Sir Charles. He entered with a look of serenity, as if nothing had passed to disturb him.

When Emily had done playing and singing, Miss Grandison began to make apologies: but he said, Let us forget each other’s failings, Charlotte.

Notice being given of dinner, Sir Charles cora-plaisantly led his sister Charlotte to her seat at the table.

A most intolerable superiority! I wish he would do something wrong; something cruel: if he would but bear malice, would but stiffen his air by resentment, it would be something. As a man, cannot he be lordly, and assuming, and where he is so much regarded, I may say feared, nod his imperial signifi-cance to his vassals about him? Cannot he be im perious to servants, to shew his displeasure with principals? No! it is natural to him to be good and just. His whole aim, as my lord observed, is “ to convince and amend; and not to wound or hnrt.”

After dinner, Miss Grandison put into my hands the parcel of my letters which I had consentd Sir Charles should see. Miss Byron, Sir, said she, will oblige you with the perusal of some of her letters. You will in them see another sort of woman than your Charlotte. May I amend, and be but half as good! When you have read them, you will say, Amen; and, if your prayer take place, will be satisfied with your sister.

He received them from me, standing up, bowing; n2 and’ kissed the papers, with an air of gallantry that I thought greatly became him [O the vanity of the girl! methinks my uncle says, at this place.] He put them in his pocket.

Without conditions, Harriet? said Miss Grandi-son. Except those of candor, yet correction, an — swered I. Again he bowed to me.

I don’t know what to say to it, Lucy; but I think Sir Charles looks highly pleased to hear me praised; and the ladies and my lord miss no opportunity to say kind things of me. But could he not have an-swered Miss Grandison’s question, whether his fa — vourite was a. foreigner, or not? Had any other question arisen afterwards, that he had not cared to answer, he could but have declined answering it, as he did that.

What a great deal of writing does the reciting of half an hour or an hour’s conversation make, when there are three or four speakers in company; and one attempts to write what each says in the Jirst person! I am amazed at the quantity, on looking back. But it iioill be so in narrative letter — writing. Did not you, Lucy, write as long letters, when you went with your brother to Paris? I forget. Only this I remember, that I always was sorry when I came to the end of them. 1 am afraid it is quite otherwise with mine.

By the way, I am concerned that Lady D. is angry with me: yet, methinks, she shews, by her anger, that she had a value for me. As to what you tell me of Lord D’s setting his heart on the proposed alliance, I am not so much concerned at that, because he never saw me: and had the affair been in his own power, ’tis likely he would not have been very solicitous about his success. Many a one, Lucy, I believe, has found an ardour, when repuls — ed, which they would never have known, had they succeeded.

Lady Betty, and Miss Clements, were so good as to make me a visit, this afternoon, in their way to Windsor, where they are to pass two or three days. They lamented my long absence from town; and Lady Betty kindly regretted for me, the many fine entertainments I had lost, both public and private, by my country excursion at this unpropitious season of the year, as she called it; shrugging her shoulders, as if in compassion for my rustic taste.

Good lady! she knew not that I am in company that want not entertainments out of themselves. They have no time to kill, or to delude: on the contrary, our constant complaint is, that time flies too fast: and I am sure,’ for my part, I am forced to be a manager of it; since, between conversation and writing, I have not a moment to spare: and I never in my life devoted so few hours to rest.

Sir Charles spoke very handsomely of Miss Cle-ments, on occasion of Miss Grandison’s saying, she was a plain, but good young woman. She is not a beauty, said he; but she has qualities that are more to be admired than mere beauty.

Would she not, asked Lady L. make a good wife for Lord W.? There is, said Sir Charles, too great a disparity in years. She has, and must have, too many hopes. My Lord W.‘s wife will, probably, be confined six months, out of twelve, to a gouty man’s chamber. She must therefore be one who has outlived half her hopes: she must have been ac-quainted with aflSiction, and known disappointment. She must consider her marriage with him, though as an act of condescension, yet partly as a preferment. Her tenderness will, by this means, be engaged; yet her dignity supported: and if she is not too much in years to bring my lord an heir, he will then be the most grateful of men to her.

My dear brother, said Miss Grandison, forgive N 3 me all my faults: your actions, your sentiments, sliall be the rule of mine! But who can come up to you? The Danbys Lord W.

Any-body may, Charlotte, interrupted Sir Charles, who will be guided by the well-known rule of Doinir to ot/icrs, ns you vcould they should do unto you Were you in the situation of the Danbys, of Lord W. would you not wish to be done by, as I have done, and intend to do, by them? What must be those who, with hungry eyes, wait and wish for the death of a relation? May they not be compared to savages on the sea-shore, who look out impa-tiently for a wreck, in order to plunder and prey upon the spoils of the miserable \ Lord W. has been long an unhappy man, from want of princi-ples: I shall rejoice, if 1 can be a means of con vincing him, by his own experience, that he was in a wrong course, and of making his latter days happy. Would I not, in my decline, wish for a nephew that had the same notions? And can I expect such a one, if 1 set not the example?

Pretty soon after supper, Sir Charles left us; an4 .Miss Grandison seeing me in a reverie, said, I will lay my life, Harriet, you fancy my brother is gone up to read your letters. Nay, you are in the right; for he whispered as much to me, before he with-drew. But do not be apprehensive, Harriet (for she saw me concerned); you have nothing to fear, I am sure.

Lady L. said, that her brother’s notions and mine were exactly alike, on every subject: but yet, Lucy, when one knows one’s cause to be under actual examination, one cannot but have some heart-akes. Yet why? If his favourite woman is di fareignevy what signifies his opinion of my letters? And yet it does: one would be willing to be well thought of by the worthy.

Letter XVII.

Miss Byron. In Continuation.

Thursday, March 23. We sat down early to breakfast this morning: Miss Grandison dismissed the attendants, as soon as Sir Charles entered the room

He addressed himself to me, the moment he saw me: Admirable Miss Byron, said he, what an enter-tainment have your letters given me, down to a certain period! How, at and after that, have they distressed me, for your sufferings from a savage! It is well for him, and perhaps for me, that I saw not sooner this latter part of your affecting story: I have read through the whole parcel.

He took it from his bosom, and, with a respectful air, presented it to me Ten thousand thanks for the favour I dare not hope for further indulgence Yet not to say, how desirous 1 am But forgive me Think me not too great an encroacher I took them.

Surely, brother, said Miss Grandison, you cannot already have read the whole!

I have I could not leave them I sat up late-^ And so, thought 1, did your sinter Harriet, Sir. Well, brother, said Miss Grandison, and what are thejaults?

Faults! Charlotte. Such a noble heart! such an amiable frankness! No prudery! No coquetry! Yet so much, and so justly, admired by as many as have had the happiness to approach her! Then, turning to me, 1 honour you, madam, for the goodness, the greatness of your heart.

How 1 blushed! how I trembled! How, though so greatly flattered, was I dehghted 1

Is Miss Byron, in those letters, all perfect, all faultless, all excellence, Sir Charles? asked Miss Grandison: is there no But I am sensible (though you have raised my envy, I assure you) that Mis& Byron’s is another sort of heart than your poor Charlotte’s.

But I hope, Sir, said I, that you will correct

You called upon me yesterday, interrupted he, to attend to the debate between you and Mr. Walden: I think I have something to observe upon that sub-ject. I told you, that beauty should not bribe me. I have very few observations to make upon it.

Lady L. Will you give us, brother, your opinion, in writing, of what you have read*?

Sir Ch. That would fill a volume: and it would be almost all panegyric.

How flattering! But this foreign lady, Lucy?

Lady L. began another subject.

Pray, brother, said she, let me revive one of the topics of yesterday Concerning Lord G. and Sir Walter Watkyns And I hope you, Charlotte, will excuse me.

Miss Gr. If it can be revived, withoilt reviving the memory of my flippant folly Not else will I excuse you. Lady L. And casting her eye bash-fully round her. Dr. Bartlett withdrew; but as if he had business to do.

Lady L. Then let me manage this article for my sister. You said, brother, that you have engaged to give Lord G. either hope, or otherwise

Sir Ch. Lord G. was very earnest with me for my interest with my sister. I, supposing that she is now absolutely disengaged, did undertake to let him know what room he had for hope, or if any; but told him, that I would not, by any means, endea-vour to influence her.

Lady L. Charlotte is afraid, that you would not, * This subject is spoken to l>y Sir Charles, vol. xiv. of yourself, from displeasure, have revived the sub-ject Not that she values

There she stopt.

Sir Ch. I might, at the time, be a little petulant: but I should have revived the subject, because I had engaged to procure an answer for an absent person, to a question that was of the highest importance to him: but, perliaps, I should have entered into the (Bubject with Charlotte when we were alone.

Lad^ L. She can have no objection, 1 believe, to let all of us, who are present, know her mind, on this occasion.

Miss Gr. To be sure I have not.

Ladi/ L. What signifies mincing the matter? I undertook, at her desire, to recal the subject, because you had seemed to interest yourself in it.

Sir Ch. I think I know as much of Charlotte’s mind already, from what you have hinted, Lady L. as I ought to be inquisitive about.

Lady L. How so, brother! What have I said?

Sir Ch. What meant the words you stopt at Not that she values? Now, though I will not endeavour to lead her choice in behalf of a prince; yet would I be earnest to oppose her marriage with a man for whom she declaredly has no value.

Lady L. You are a little sudden upon me. Sir Charles.

Sir Ch. You must not think the words you stopt at, LadyL slight words: principle, and Charlotte’s future happiness, and that of a worthy man, are concerned here. But perhaps vou mean no more, than to give a little specimen of lady-like pride in those words. It is a very hard matter for women, on such occa.sions as these, to be absolutely right. Dear Mis^ Byron, bowing to me, excuse me. There is one lady in the world that ought not, from what I kaye had the honour to see, on her own account, to take amiss my freedom with her gex, though she perhaps will on that of those she loves. But have I not some reason for what I say, when even Lady L. speaking for her sister on this concerning sub-ject, cannot help throwing in a salvo for the pride of her sex?

Harriet. I doubt not, Sir, but Lady L. and Miss Grandison will explain themselves to your satisfaction.

Lady L. then called upon her sister.

Miss Gr. Why, as to value and all that To be sure Lord G. is not a man, that (and she look-ed round her on each person) that a woman — Hem! that a woman But, brother, I think you are a little too ready to to A word and a blow, as the saying is, are two things. Not that And there she stopt.

Sir Ch. {smiling) O my dear Lord L! What shall we say to these Not that’s? Were I my cousin Everard, I am not sure but I should suppose, when ladies were suspending unnecessarily, or with af-fectation, the happiness of the man they resolve to marry, that they were reflecting on themselves by an indirect acknowledgment of self-denial-Miss Gr. Good God! brother.

I was angry at him, in my mind. How came this good man, thought I, by such thoughts as these, of our sex? What, Lucy, could a woman do with such a man, were he to apply to her in courtship, whe-ther she denied or accepted of him?

Sir Ch. You will consider, Lady L. that you and Charlotte have brought this upon yourselves. That I call female pride, which distinguishes not either time, company, or occasion. You will remember, that Lord G. is not here; we are all brothers and sisters: and why, Charlotte, do you approve of entering upon the subject in this company; yet come with your exceptions, as if Lord G. had his father present, or pleading for him? These Not that she values, and so-forth, are so Uke the deaUngs between petty chap — men and common buyers and sellers, that I love properly (observe that I say properly) to discourage them among persons of sense and honour. But come, Charlotte, enter into your own cause: you are an excellent pleader, on occasion. You know, or at least you ought to know, your own mind. I never am for encouraging agency (Lady L. excuse roe Will you give up yours?) where principals can be present?

Lady L. With all my heart. I stumbled at the very threshold. E’en, Charlotte, be your own ad-vocate. The cause is on.

Miss Gr. Why, I don’t know what to say. My brother will be so peremptory, perhaps

Sir Ch. A good sign for somebody Don’t you think so, madam? to me. But the snail will draw in its horns, if the finger hastily touch it Come, no good sign, perhaps, Charlotte. I will not be pe-remptory. You shall be indulged, if you have not already been indulged enough, in all the pretty aV-cumambages customary on these occasions.

Miss Gr. This is charming! But pray, Sir, what is your advice, on this subject?

Sir Ch. In our former conversation upon it, I told you what I thought of my lord’s good humour: whatofyour vivacity Can you, Charlotte, were you the wife of Lord G. content yourself now-and-then to makehim start, by the lancet-Hke delicacy of your wit, without going deeper than the skin? Without exposing him (and yourself for doing so) to the ridicule of others? Can you bear with his foibles, if he can bear with yours? And if the forbearance is greater on his side, than on yours, can you value Kim for it, and for his good humour?

Miss Gr. Finely run off, upon my word!

Sir Ch. I am afraid only, that you will be able, Charlotte, to do what you will with him. I am sorry to have cause to say, that I have seen very good wo-men who have not known how to bear indulgence! Waller was not absolutely wrong, as to stick, when he said, “ that women were born to be controuled.” If controul is likely to be necessary, it will be with women of such charming spirits as you know whose, Charlotte, who will not confine to time and place their otherwise agreeable vivacities.

Miss Gr. Well, but. Sir, if it should chance to be so, and I were Lord G. ‘supper servant; for controul implies dominion; what a fine advantage would he have in a brother, who could direct him so well (though he might still, perhaps, be a batchelor) how to manage a wife so flippant!

Sir Ch. Batchelors, Charlotte, are close observers. It is not every married couple,if they were solicitous to have a batchelor marry, that should admit him into a very close intimacy with themselves.

Miss Gr. [archly) Pray, Lord L. did we not once hear our cousin Everard make an observation of this nature?

Sir Ch. Fairly retorted, Charlotte! But how came your cousin Everard to make this observation? I once heard you say, that he was but a common ob-server. Every married pair is not Lord and Lady L.

Miss Gr. Well, well, I believe married people must do as well as they can. But may I ask you, brother. Is it owing to such observations as those you have been making, that you are now a single man?

Sir Ch. A fair question from you, Charlotte. I answer, It is not.

Miss Gr. 1 should be glad, with all my heart, to know what is.

Sir Ch. When the subject comes fairly on the srR CHARLES GRAKCISOy. 145 carpet, your curiosity may perhaps be gratified. But tell me, Do you intend that the subject you had engaged Lady L. to introduce, in relation to Lord G. and Sir Walter Watkyns, should be dismissed, at present? 1 mean not to be peremptory, Charlotte: be not afraid to answer.

Miss Gr. Why that’s kind. No, I can’t say, that I do: and yet 1 frankly confess, that 1 had much rather ask, than answer questions. You knoto, Sir, that I have a wicked curiosity.

Sir Ch. Well, Charlotte, you will find me, wicked as you call it, very ready, at a proper time, to gratify it. To some things that you may want to know, in relation to my situation, you needed not now to have been a stranger, had 1 had the pleasure of being more with you, and had you yourself been as explicit as I would have wished you to be. But the crisis is at hand. When I am certain myself, you shall not be in doubt. I would not suppose that my happiness is a matter of indifference to my sisters; and if it be not, I should be ungrateful not to let them know every-thing I know, that is likely to affect it.

See! Lucy. What can be gathered from all this? But yet this speech has a noble sound with it: don t you think it has? It is, I think, worthy of Sir Charles Grandison. But by what clouds does this sun seem to be obscured? He says, howevef, that the crisis is at hand Solemn words, as they strike me. Ah, Lucy! But this is my prayer May the crisis produce happiness to him, let who will be unhappy.

Miss Gr. You are always good, noble, uniform Curiosity, get thee behind me, and lie still! And yet, brother, like a favoured squirrel repulsed, I am afraid it will be soon upon my shoulder, if the crisis be suspended.

*’ Crisis is at hand,” Lucy! I cannot get over these words; and yet they make my heart ake.

Sir Ch. But now, Charlotte, as to your two ad-mirers

Miss Gr. Why, Sir, methinks I would not be a petty-chapwoman, if I could help it: and yet, what can I say? I don’t think highly of either of the men: but, pray now, ivhat Lady L, (affecting an audible whisper) Will you ask a question for nie!

Ladi/ L. What is it, Charlotte?

Miss Gr. ( Whispering, but still loud enough for every one to hear.) What sort of a man is Beau-champ?

Lad]/ L. Mad girl! You heard the question^ brother.

Miss Gr. No 1 You did 7iot hear it. Sir, if it will displease you. The whispers in conversation are no more to be heard, than the asides in a play.

Sir Ch. Both the one and the other are wTong, C arlotte. Whisperings in conversation are cen-surable, to a proverb: the asides, as you call them, and the soliloquies, in a play, however frequent, are very poor (because unnatiiral) shifts of bungling authors to make their performances intelligible to the audience. But am I to have heard your whisper^ Charlotte, or not?

Miss Gr. I think the man my brother so much esteems, must be worth a hundred of such as those we have just now heard named.

Sir Ch. Well,then,Iam supposed to beanswered, I presume, as to the two gentlemen. I will shew you the letter, when written, that I shall send to Sir Walter Watkyns. I shall see Lord G. I suppose, the moment he knows I am in town.

Miss Gr. The Lord bless me, brother! Did you flot say, you would not he iieremptory?

Lord L. Very right. Pray, Sir Charles, don’t let my sister part with the ttw^ without being sure of a third.

Miss Gr. Pray, Lord L. do you be quiet: your sister is in no hurry, I do assure you.

Sir Ch. The female drawback again, Lady L. Not that she values.

Harriet. Well, but, Sir Charles, may I, without ofFence, repeat Miss Grandison’s question in relation to Mr. Beauchamp ?

Miss Gr. That’s my dear creature 1

Sir Ch. It is impossible that Miss Byron can give offence. Mr. Beauchamp is an excellent young man; about five-and-twenty, not more: he is brave, learned, sincere, cheerful: gentle in his manners, agreeable in his person. Has my good Miss Byron any further questions to ask? Your frankness of heart, madam, intitles you to equal frankness. Not a question you can ask, but the answer shall be ready upon my lips.

Is the lady, Sir, whom you could prefer to all others, a foreign or an English Lady? Ah, Lucy! And do you think I asked him this question O no! but I had a mind to startle you. I coidd have asked it, I can tell you: and, if it had been proper, it would have been the first of questions with me: yet had not the answer been such as I had liked, perhaps I should not have been able to stay in company.

I only bowed, and I believe blushed with complacency, at the kind manner, in which he spoke to me: every one, by their eyes, took notice of it with pleasure.

Lady L. Well, brother, and what think you of the purport of Charlotte’s question? Charlotte says, That she does not think highly of either of tb.e other men.

Sir Ch. That, at present, is all that concerns me o2 to know. I will write to Sir Walter: I will let Lord G. know, that there is a man in the clouds that Charlotte waits for: that ladies must not be easily won. Milton justifies you, in his account of the behaviour of your common grandmother, on the first interview between her and the man for whom she was created. Charming copiers! You, Miss Byron, are an exception. You know nothing of affectation. You

Miss Gr. {unseasonably interrupting him) Pray, Sir, be pleased, since we are such fine copiers of the old lady you mentioned, to repeat the lines: I have no remembrance of them.

Sir Ch. She heard me thus; and, though divinely brought, Her virtue, and the conscience of her worth. That wou’d be woo’d, and not unsought be won, Wrought in her so, that, seeing me, she turn’d. I foilow’d her. She wiiat was honour knew, And with obsequious majesty approved My pleaded reason

I have looked for the passage, since, Lucy. He missed several lines.

Now, Charlotte, said Sir Charles, though these lines are a palpable accommodation to the future practice of the daughters of the old lady, as you call her, and perhaps intended for an instruction to thenty since it could not be a natural behaviour in Eve, who was divinely brought to be the wife of Adam, and it beii’g in the state of innocence, could not be conscious of dishonour in receiving his address; yet, if you know what is meant by obsequious majesty, you nad as good try for it: and as you are Jbltoiued, and should not follow, approve of the pleaded reason of one or other of your admirers.

Miss Gr. After hearing the pleaded reason of both, should you not say? I have the choice of two; that bad not Eve. But, hold’ I had like to have beea

Arawn m to be flippant, again: and then you would have enquired after my cousin Everard, and-so-Jorthf and been angry.

&ir Ch, Not noivi, Charlotte: we are now at play together. I see there is constitution in j^our foult. The subjects we are upon, courtship and inarriage, cannot, I find, be talked seriously of by a lady, before company. Shall I retire with you to solitude? Make a lover’s camera obscura for you? Or, could I place you upon the mossy bank of a purling stream, gliding through an enamelled mead; in such a scene, a now despised Lord G. or a Sir Walter, might find his account, sighing at your feet. No witnesses but the grazing herd, lowing love around you: the fea-thered songsters from an adjacent grove, contribut — ing to harmonize and fan the lambent flame

Miss Gr. (interrupting) Upon my word, brother, I knew you had travelled through Greece, but dreamt not that you had dwelt long in the fields o^Ar-ca-dy! But one question let me ask you, concerning your friend Beauchamp We women don’t love to be slighted Whether do you think him too good, or not good enough, for your sister?

Sir Ch, The friendship, Charlotte, that has for some years subsisted, and I hope will for ever sub-sist, between Mr. Beauchamp and me, wants not the tie of relation to strengthen it.

Lord L. Happy Beauchamp!

Sir Ch. Lord L. himself is not dearer to me, brO’ ther as I have the honour to call him, than my Beau-champ. It is one of my pleasures, my Lord, that 1 am assured you will love him, and he you.

Lord L. bowed, delighted; and if he did, his good lady, you may be sure, partook of her lord’s delight. They are a happy pair! They want not sense; they have both fine understandings! But, O! my Lucy, they are not the striking, dazzling qualities in men and women, that make happy. Good sense, and solid judgment, a natural complacency of temper, a desire of obliging, and an easiness to be obliged, procure the silent, the serene happiness, to which the fluttering, tumultuous, impetuous, fervors of passion can never contribute. Nothing violent can be lasting.

Miss Gr. Not that I value There, brother You see, I am a borrower of Lady L.

Ladi/ L. Upon my honour, Charlotte, I believe you led me into those words; so don’t say you bor-rowed them.

Sir Ch. Far be it from me to endeavour to cure women of affectation on such subjects as that which lately was before us I don’t know what is become of it (looking humorously round, as if he had lost something which he wanted to recover); but that, permit me, ladies, to say, may be an affectation in one company,. that is but a necessary reserve in an-other. Charlotte has genius enough, I am sure, to vary her humour to the occasion; and, if she would give herself time for reflection, to know when to be grave, when to be airy.

Miss Gr. I don’t know thaty brother: but let me say for Charlotte, that I believe you sometimes think better of her (as in the present case) sometimes worse, than she deserves. Charlotte has not much reflection; she is apt to speak as the humour comes upon her, without considering much about the fit, or the unfit. It is constitution, you know, brother; and she cannot easily cure it: but she will try. Only, 8ir, be so good as to let me have an answer to my last question. Whether you think your friend too good, or not good enough? Because the answer will let me know what my brother thinks of me; and that, let me tell you, is of very high importance with me.

S/r Ch. You have no reason, Charlotte, to endea-Tour to come at this your end, by indirect or com parative means. Your brother loves you

Miss Gr. With all my faults, Sir?

Sir Ch. With all your faults, my dear; and I had Inmost said, ^;r some of them. I love you for the pretty playfulness, on serious subjects, with which you puzzle yourself, and bewilder me: you see E follow your lead. As to the other part of your question (for I would always answer directly when I can); my friend Beauchamp deserves the best of women. You are excellent in my eyes; but I have known two very worthy persons, who, taken sepa-rately, have been admired by every one who knew them, and who admired each other before marriage, yet not happy in it.

Miss Gr. Is it possible? To what could their unhappiness be owing? Both, I suppose, continuing good?

Sir Ch. To a hundred almost nameless reasons Too little consideration on one side; too much on the other: diversions different: too much abroad the man too much at home will sometimes have the same effect: acquaintance approved by the one-disapproved by the other: one liking the town; the other the country: or either preferring town or country in different humours, or at different times of the year. Human nature, Charlotte

Miss Gr. No more, no more, I beseech you, bro-ther Why this human nature, 1 believe, is a very vile thing; I think, Lady L. I won’t marry at all.

Sir Ch. Some such trifles, as these I have enume-rated, will be likely to make you, Charlotte, with all your excellencies, not so happy as I wish you to be. If you cannot have a man of whose understanding you have a higher opinion than you bttre of jour own, you should think of one who is likely to allow to yours a superiority. If

Miss Grandison interrupted him again: I wished she would not so often interrupt him: I wanted to find out his notions of our sex. I am afraid, with all his politeness, he thinks us poor creatures. But why should not the character of a good, a prudent woman, be as great as that of a good, a prudent man?

Miss Gr. Well, but, ISir; I suppose the gentleman abroad has more understanding than I have.

Sir Ch. A good deal will depend upon what t/omVZ think of that: not what I, or the world, will judge.

Miss Gr. But the judgment of us women gene-, rally goes with the world.

Sir Ch. Not generally, in matrimonial instances. A wife, in general, may allow of a husband’s superior judgment; but in particular cases, and as they fall out one by one, the man may find it difficult, to have it allowed in any one instance.

Miss Gr. I think you said, Sir, that bachelors were close observers.

Sir Ch. We may in the sister, sometimes, see the laife. I admire you, myself, for your vivacity; but I am not sure that a husband would not think himself hurt by it, especially if it be true, as you say, “ that Charlotte has not much reflection, and is apt to speak as the humour comes upon her, without trou-bling herself about the fit or the unfit.”

Miss Gr. O, Sir, what a memory you have! I hope that the man who is to call me his (that’s the dialect, isn’t it?) will not have half your memory.

Sir Ch. For his sake, or your own, do you hope this, Charlotte?

Miss Gr. Let me see Why for both our sakes, I believe. air CJi. You’ll tell the man, in courtship, I hope that all this liveliness is “ constitution;” and “ that you know not how to cure it.”

Miss Gr. No, by no means, Sir: let him in the mistress, as somebody else in the sistevy guess at the “voife, and take warning.

Sir Ch. Very well answered, Charlotte, in the play we are at; but I am willing to think highly of my sister’s prudence; and that she will be happy, and make the man so, to whom she may think fit to give her hand at the altar. And now the question recurs, What shall I say to Lord G.? What to Sir Walter?

Miss Gr. Why I think you must make my compliments to Sir Walter, if you will be so good; and, after the example of qay sister Harriet to the men she sends a grazing, very civilly tell him, he may break his heart as soon as he pleases; for that 1 cannot be his.

Sir Ch. Strange girl! But I wish not to lower this lively spirit You will put your determination into English.

Miss Gr. In plain English, then, I can by no means think of encouraging the address of Sir Walter Watkyns.

Sir Ch. Well, and what shall I say to Lord G.?

Miss Gr. Why that’s the thing I was afraid it would come to this Why, Sir, you must tell him, I think I profess I can’t tell what But, Sir, will you let me know what you would have me tell him?

Sir Ch, I will follow your lead as far as I can Can you, do you think, love Lord G.?

Miss Gr. Love him! love Lord G.? what a question is that! Why no! I verUy believe, I can’t say that.

Sir Ch. Can you esteem him?

Miss Gr. Esteem! Why that’s a quaint word, though z.Jemale one. I believe, if 1 were to marry the honest man, I could be civil to hira, if he would be very complaisant, very observant, and all that Pray, brother, don’t, however, be angry with me. .

Sir Ch. I will not, Charlotte, smiling. It is constitution, you say. But \i you cannot be more than civil; and if he is to be very observant; you’ll make it your agreement with him, before you meet him at the altar, that he shall subscribe to the woman’s part of the vow; and that you shall answer to the man’s.

Miss Gr. A good thought^I believe! I’ll consider of it. If I find, in courtship, the man will bear it, I may make the proposaL Yet I don’t know, but it will be as well to suppose the vow changed, without conditioning for it, as other good women do; and act accordmgl}’. One would not begin with a sin-gularity, for fear of putting the parson out. I heard an excellent lady once advise a good wife, who, however, very little wanted it, to give the man a hearing, and never do any thing that he would wish to be done, except she chose to do it. If the man loves quiet, he’ll be glad to compound.

Harriet. Nay now, Miss Grandison, you are much more severe upon your sex, and upon matrimony, than Sir Charles.

Sir Ch. Have I been severe upon either, my dear Miss Byron?

Harriet. Indeed I think so.

Sir Ch. I am sorry for it; I only intended to be just. See, Charlotte, what a censure, from goodness itself, you draw upon me! But I am to give encouragement {am I?) to Lord G.?

Miss Gr. Do as you please. Sir.

Sir Ch. That is saying nothing. Is there a man in the world you prefer to Lord G.?

Miss Gr. In the world, Sir! A very wide place, I profess.

Sir Ch. You \axQW what I mean by it.

Miss Gr. Why No Yes No What can I say to such a question?

Sir Ch. Help me, Lady L. You know, better than I, Charlotte’s language: help me to understand it.

Ladj/ L. I believe, brother, you may let Lord G, know, that he will not be denied an audience, if he come

Sir Ch. “ Will not be denied an audience, if he come!” And this to Charlotte’s brother! Women! Women! Women! You, Miss Byron, I repeat with pleasure, are an exception In your letters and behaviour we see what a woman is, and what she ought to be Yet, I know, you have too much greatness of mind to accept (as you once told Sir Rowland Me-redith) of a compliment made you at the expence of your sex But my heart does you justice.

Lord L. See, however, brother Grandison, this excellence in the two sisters! You say, indeed, but just things in praise of Miss Byron; but they are more than women: for they enjotj that praise, and the acknowledged superiority of the only woman in Britain to whom they can be inferior.

Do you think I did not thank them both for compliments so high? I did.

You DID, Harriet?

Ah, Lucy! I had a mind to surprise you again. I did thank them; but it was in downcast silence, and by a glow in my cheeks, that was even painful to me to feel.

The sisters have since observed to me (flattering ladies!) that their brother’s eyes But is it not strange, Lucy, that they did not ask him, in this long conversation. Whether his favourite of our sex is ajoreigner, or not? If she be, what signifies the eye of pleasure cast upon your Harriet?

But what do you think was Miss Grandison’s ad-dress to me, on this agreeable occasion? You, my grandmamma, will love her again, I am sure, though she so lately incurred your displeasure.

Sweet and ever amiable Harriet! said she: Sister! friend! enjoy the just praises of two of the best of men! You can enjoy them with equal modesty and dignity; and we can (What say you. Lady L.?) find our praise in the honour you do our sex, and in being allowed to be seconds to you.

And what do you think was the answer of Lady L. (generous woman!) to this call of her sister?

I can cheerfully, said she, subscribe to the visible superiority of my Harriet, as shewn in all her letters, as well as in her whole conduct: but then you, my lord, and you, my brother, who in my eye are the first of men, must not let me have cause to dread, that your Caroline is sunk in yours.

I had hardly power to sit, yet had less to retire; as I had, for a moment, a thought to do. I am glad I did not attempt it: my return to company must have been awkward, and made me look particular. But, Lucy, what is in my letters, do deserve all these fine speeches? But my lord and his sisters are my true friends, and zealous well-wishers. No fear that I shall be too proud, on this occasion; it is humbling enough to reflect, that the worthy three thought it all no more than necessary to establisti me with somebody; and yet, after all, if there be di foreign lady, what signify all these fine, things?

But how (you will ask) did the brother acknow-ledge these generops speeches of his sisters and Lord L.? H ow? W ny as he ought to do. He gave them for their generous goodness to their Harriet, in preference to themselves, such due praises, as more than restored them, in my eye, to the supe-riority they had so nobly given up.

Sir Charles afi,erwards addressed himself to me jointly with hi:> ssters; I see, with great pleasure, said he, the happy understanding that there is between you three ladies: it is a demonstration, to me, of surpassing goodness in you all. To express myself in the words of an ingenious man, to whose works your sex, and i^ yours, ours, are more obliged, than to those of any single man in the British world,

Great souls by instinct to each other turn, Demand alliance, and in friendship burn.*

The two sisters and your Harriet bowed as they sat.

Encouraged by this happy understanding among you, let me hope, proceeded he, that you, Miss Byron, will be so good as to inform yourself, and let me know, what I may certainly depend upon to be our Charlotte’s inclinations with respect to the two gentlemen who court her favour; and whether there is any man that she can or does prefer to the most favoured of either of them. From you I shall not meet with the “ Not that she values” The depre* ciating indifferences, the affected slights, thejiemale circumambages, if I may be allowed the words; the coldly-expressed consent to visits not deserving to be discouraged, and perhaps not intended to be so; that I have had to encounter with in the past conver-sation. I have been exceedingly diverted with my sister’s vivacity: but as the affair is of a very serious nature; as I would be extremely tender in my interposition, having really no choice but hers; and wanting only to know on whom that choice will fall, or whether on any man, at present; on your noble frankness I can rely; and Charlotte will open her mind to you: if not, she has very little profited by the example you have set her in the letters you have permitted her to read.

He arose, bowed, and withdrew: Miss Grandison * Aooisun’s Campaign, called after him, Brother, brother, brother One word Don’t leave us But he only kissed his hand to us at the door; and bowing, with a smiling air left us looking at each other in a silence that held a few moments.

Letter XVIII.

Miss Byron. In Continuation.

Lord L. broke the silence. You are a delightful girl, Charlotte; but your brother has had a great deal of patience with you.

O my lord, said she, if we women play our cards right, we shall be able to manage the best and wisest of you all, as we please. It is but persevering, and you men, if not owt-argued, may be o\ii-teazed. But, Harriet upon my word The game seems to be all in your own hands.

We want but my brother to be among us, said Lady L, Beauty would soon find its power: and such a mind And then they complimented me, that their brother and I were born for each other.

Miss Grandison told us all three her thoughts, in relation to the alliance with Lord G. She said, she was glad that her brother had proposed to know her mind from me. Something, Harriet, said she, may rise in the tete-a-tete conversation, that may let us into a little of his own.

But shall I trust myself with him alone, Lucy? Indeed I am afraid of him, o^ my — self, rather. My own concerns so much in my head, I wish I don’t confound them with Miss Grandison’s. A fine piece of work shall I make of it, if I do. If I get it so happily over, as not to be dissatisfied with myscli’. fcr my part in it, I shall think I have had a deliver-ance.

But, Lucy, if all these distinctions paid me in this conversation, and all this confidence placed in me, produce nothing If Why, what if? In one word, Sliould this //be more than //^ Why then it will go the harder, diat’s all, with your Harriet, than if she had not been so much distinguished.

At afternoon-tea, the Danbys being mentioned. Lord L. asked Sir Charles, What was the danger from which he relieved their uncle? And we all joining in requesting particulars, he gave the following, which I will endeavour to repeat, as near as pos — sible, in his own words. My heart interested itself in thje relation.

* Mr. Danby, said he, was a merchant erf” equal eminence and integrity: he was settled at Cambray: he hiid great dealings in the manufactures of cam-brics and lace. His brother Jolm, a very profligate man, liad demanded of him, and took it ill that he denied him, a thousand guineas; for no better rea-son, but because he had generously given that sura to each of the wicked man’s children. Surely, he pleaded, he was as nearly related to his brother as were those his children. No plea is too weak for folly and self-interest to insist upon. Yet my Mr. Danby had often given this brother large sums, wliich he squandered away almost as soon as he received them.

‘ My father used to make remittances to Mr. Danby for my use; for his dealings in other branches of commerce extended to the south of France and Italy: this brought me acquainted with him.

‘ He took a great liking to me. I saw him first at Lyons; and he engaged me to visit him at Cambray, vhenever I should go to Paris or Flanders. p 2

* A ccompanying a friend, soon after, to Paris, I performed my promise.

‘ He had a vdla in the Cambresis, at a small distance from the city, which he sometimes called his cottage, at others his dormitory. It was a little lone house: he valued it for its elegance. Thither, after I had passed two days with him at his house in the city, he carried me.

‘ His brother, enraged at being refused the sum he had so unreasonably demanded, formed a plot to get possession of his whole fortune. My Mr. Danby was a bachelor, and it was known, had, to that time, an aversion to the thought of making his will.

‘ The wretch, in short, hired three ruffians to murder him. The attempt was to be made in this little house, that the fact might have the appearance of being committed by robbers; and the cabintts in the bed-chamber, if there were time for it, after the horrid fact was perpetrated, were to be broke open and rifled, in order to give credit to that appear-ance. The villains were each to be rewarded with a thousand crowns, payable on the wicked man’s getting possession of his brother’s fortune; and they had fifty crowns a piece paid them in hand.

‘ Their unnatural employer waited the event at Calais, though he told them he should be at Dunkirk.

* 1 had one servant with me, who lay with a ser-vant of Mr. Danby in a little room over the stable, about an hundred yards from the house There were only conveniences in the house for Mr Danby and a friend, besides two women-servants in the upper part of it.

About midnight I was alarmed by a noise, as of violence used at the window of Mr. Danby ‘s room. Mine communicated with his. The fastening of the door was a spring-lock, the key of which was on my side.

* I slipt on my clothes in an instant, and, drawing my sword, rushed into the next room, just as one villain, with a large knife in his hand, had seized the throat of Mr. Danby, who, till then, was in a sound sleep. The skin of his neck, and one hand lifted up to defend himself, were slightly wounded before 1 ran the ruffian into the shoulder, as 1 did with my sword, and in the same moment disarmed him, and threw him, witfi violence from the bed, against the door. He roared out, that he was a dead man.

‘ A second fellow had got up to the window, and was half in: he called out, to a third below, to has-ten up after him on a ladder, which was generally left in an outhouse near the little garden,

* I hastened to this second fellow, who then fired a pistol, but happily missed me; and who, feeling my sword’s point in his arm, threw himself, with a little of ray help, out of the window, upon the third fel-low, who was mounting the ladder, and knocked him off: and then both made their escape by the way they came.

* The fellow within had fainted, and lay weltering in his blood.

* By this time the two women-servants had let in our men, who had been alarmed by the report of the pistol, and by the screams of the women from their window; for they ventured not out of their chamber till they were called upon for entrance, by their fellow-servant from below.

* The two footmen, by my direction, bound up the ruffian’s shoulder: they dragged him down into the hall: he soon came to himself, and offered to make an ample confession.

‘ Poor Mr. Danby had crept into my room, and in a corner of it had fainted away. We recovered him with difficulty. p3

‘ The fellow confessed, before a magistrate, the whole villainy, and who set him at work: the other two, being disabled by their bruises from flying far, were apprehended next day. The vile brother was sent after to Dunkirk, according to the intelligence given of him by the fellows; but he having informed himself of what had happened, got over from Calais to Dover.

* The wounded man, having lost much blood, re-covered not. They were all three ordered to be executed; but, being interceded for, the surviving villains were sent to the galleys.

‘ It seems they knew nothing of Mr. Dan by ‘s having a guest with him: if they had, they owned they would have made their attempt another night.’

We were about to deliver our sentiments on this extraordinary event, when Sir Charles, turning to Lady L. Let me ask you, said he (the servant being withdrawn) Has Charlotte found out her own mind?

Yes, yes, Sir; I believe she has opened all her heart to Miss Byron.

Then I shall know more of it in ten minutes, than Charlotte would let me know in as many hours.

Stand by, every — body, said the humorous lady Let me get up, and make my brother one of my best courtesies.

Sir Charles was just then called out to a messen-ger, who brought him letters from town. He re — turned to us, his complexion heightened, and a little discomposed.

I intended, madam, said he, to me, to have re-quested the honour of your company for half an hour in my lord’s library, on the subject we were talking of: but these letters require my immediate attention. The messenger must return with my answers to two of them, early in the morning. You will have the goodness, looking round him, to dispense with my attendance on you at supper. But, perhaps, madam, tme, you will be so good, as, in one word, to say, N, or Yes, for C’harlotte.

Miss Gr. What, Sir, to heghen up without a preface! I beg your pardon. Less than ten xvords shall not da, I assure you, though from my sister Harriet.

SirCh. Who given up, Charlotte? yourself? If so, I have my answer.

Miss Gr. Or Lord G. I have not said which. Would you have my poor lord rejected by a slighting monosyllable only?

Ladj/ L. Mad girl!

Miss Gr. Why, Lady L. don’t you see that Sir Charles wants to take me by implication? But my Lord G. is neither so soon lost, nor Charlotte so easily won. Harriet, if i/oic would give up yourself at a first question, then I will excuse you if you give (q) me as easily: but not else.

Harriet. If Sir Charles thinks a conference upon the subject unnecessary pray don’t let us give him the trouble of holding one. His time, you see, is very precious.

Can you guess, Lucy, at the humour I was in when 1 said this? If you think it was a very good one, you are mistaken; yet I was sorry for it after-wards Foolish self-betrayer! W^hy should I seem to wish for a conference with him? But that was not all To be petulant with such a one, when his heart was distressed; for so it proved: but he was too polite, too great, shall I say? to take notice of my petulance. How little does it make me in my own eyes!

Had I, said he, ever so easily obtained a knowledge of my sister’s mind, I should not have known how to depend upon it, were it not strengthened, madam, from your lips. The conference, therefore, which you gave me hopes you would favour me with, would have been absolutely necessary. I hope Miss Byron will allow me to invite her to it tomorrow morning. The intended subject of it is a very serious one with me. My sister’s happiness, and that of a man not unworthy, are concerned in it, lightly as Charlotte has hitherto treated it. He bowed, and was going.

Miss Gr. Nay, pray, brother You must not leave me in anger.

Sir Ch, I do not, Charlotte. I had rather bear with you, than you should with me. I see you can-not help it. A lively heart is a great blessing. In — dulge it. Now is your time.

Dear doctor, said Miss Grandison, when Sir Charles was gone out, What can be the meaning of my brother’s gravity? It alarms me.

Dr. B. If goodness, madam, would make a heart lively. Sir Charles’s would be as lively as your own; but you might have perceived by his air, when he entered, that the letters brought him affected him too much to permit him to laugh off a light answer to a serious question.

Miss Gr. Dear doctor! But I do now. recollect, that he entered with some little discomposure on his countenance. How could I be so inattentive?

Harriet. And I, too, I doubt, was a little captious.

Dr. D. A very little. Pardon me, madam.

Just then came in the excellent man.

Dr. Bartlett, I would wish to ask you one question, said he.

Miss Gr. You are angry with me, brother.

Sir Ch. No, my dear! But I am afraid I with-drew with too grave an air. I have been a thousand, times pleased with you, Charlotte, to one time displeased; and when 1 have been the latter, you have ^ivays known it; I had something in my hand Uiat rniffecl me a little. But how could patience be pa-tience, if it were not tried? 1 wanted to say a few — words to my good Dr. Bartlett; and, to say truth, being conscious that I had departed a little abruptly, I could not be easy till I apologized in person for it: therefore came to ask the favour of the doctor’^s advice, rather than request it by message.

The doctor and he withdrew together.

In these small instances, said my lord, are the characters of the heart displayed, far more than in greater. What excellence shines out in full lustre, on this unaffected and seemingly little occasion! Fear of offending; of giving uneasiness; solicitude to remove doubts; patience recommended in one short sentence, more forcibly than some would have done it in a long discourse, as well as by example; censuring himself, not from a consciousness of being wrong, but of being taken wrong. Ah t my dear sister Charlotte, we should all edify by such an example But I say no more.

Miss Or. And baveyow nothing to say, Harriet?

Harriet. Very httle, since I have been much to blame myself: yet let me remind my Charlotte, that her brotfter was displeased with her yesterday, for treating too lightly a subject he had engaged in seriously; and that he has been forced to refer to iier friend, rather than to herself, to help him to the knowledge ol’ her mind. O Charlotte! regret you not the occasion given for the expedient? And do you not [ves, 1 see you do] blush for giving it? Yet to see him come voluntarily back, when he had left us in a grave humour, for fear the babies should think him angry with them; O how great is he! and Low little are we!

Miss Gr. \\,ur servantjSisterHarriet! You have made a daiuty speech, 1 think: but, great and good as my brother is, we know how it comes to pass that your pretty imagination is always at work to aggrandize the man, and to lower the babies !

Harriet. I will not say another word on the sub-ject. You are not generous, Charlotte.

She took my hand: Forgive me, my dear I touched too tender a string. Then turning to Miss Jervois, and with the other hand taking hers, Why twinkles thus my girl? I charge you, Emily, tell me all you think.

I am thinking, said she, that my guardian is not happy. To see him bear with every-body; to have him keep all his troubles to himself, because he would not afflict any-body, and yet studj’^ to lighten and remove the troubles of every-body else Did he not say, that he should be happy, but for the unhappiness of other people?

Excellent young creature! said Miss Grandison: I love you every day better and better. For the future, my dear, do not retire, whatever subjects we talk of. I see that we may confide in your discretion. But, well as you love your guardian, say nothing to him of what women talk to women. My Lord L. is aa exception, in this case: he is one of us.

Harriet. O Miss Grandison! what a mixt cha-racter is yours! how good you can be, when you please! and how naughty!

Miss Gr. Well, and you like me, just now? . That’s the beauty of it; to offend and make up, at pleasure. Old Terence was a shrewd man: The falling out of lovers, says he (as Lord L. once quoted him) is the renewal of love. Are we not now bet-ter friends, than if we had never differed? And do you think that I will not, if I marry, exercise my husband’s patience now-and-then for this very pur-pose? Let me alone, Harriet: now a quarrel; now ia reconciliation; I warrant I shall be happier than any of the yawning see-saws in the kingdom. Ever* pasting summers would be a grievance.

Harriet. You may be right, if you are exceeding discreet in your perversenesses, Charlotte; and yet if you are, you will not lay out for a quarrel, I fancy. The world, or you will have better luck than your brother seems to have had, will find you opportu-nities enow, for exercising the tempers of both, without your needing to study for occasions.

Miss Gr. Study for them Harriet! I shan’t study for them, neither: they will come of course.

Harriet. I was about to ask a question But ’tis better left alone.

Miss Gr. I voill have it. What was your question? Don’t you see what a good-natured fool I am? You may say any-thing to me: I won’t be angry.

Harriet. I was going to ask you, if you were ever concerned two hours together, for any fault you ever committed in your life?

Miss Gr. Yes, yes, yes; and for two-and — twenty hours: for sometimes the inconveniencies that fol-lowed my errors, were not presently over, as in a certain case, which I’ll be hanged if you have not in your head, with that sly leer that shews the rogue m your heart; but when I got rid of consequences, no bird in spring was ever more blithe. I carolled away every care at my harpsichord. But Emily will think me mad Remember, child, that Miss Byron is the woman by whose mind you are to form yours: never regard me, when she is in company. But now (and she whimsically arose, and opened the door, and saying Begone, shut it, and coming to her place) 1 have turned my folly out of door.

Friday morning, seven o’clock, I have written for these two days past at every opportunity; and, for the two nights (hardly knowing what sleepiness was) two hours, each night, have contented me. I wonder whether I shall be sum-tnoned by-and-by to the proposed conference: but I am equally sorry and apprehensive, on occasion of the letters which have given Sir Charles Grandisoa so much anxiety: foreign letters, 1 doubt not! I wish this ugly wordjbreign were blotted out of my vocabulary; out of my memory, rather. 1 never, till of late, was so narrow-hearted But that I have said before, twenty times.

I have written How many sheets of paper A monstrous letter Pacquet rather. I will begin a new one, with what shall offer this day. Adieu, till by-and-by, my Lucy J

Letter XIX.

Miss Byron. In Continuation.

Friday, March 24. The conference, the impatientlj’^ expected confer-ence, my Lucy, is over; and what is the result? Take the account of it as it was brought on, proceeded with, and concluded. Miss Grandison and her lovers were not our only subjects. I will soon be with you, my dear: but I’ll try to be as minute as I used to be, notwithstanding.

Notwithstanding what?

You shall hear, Lucy.

Sir Charles gave us his company at breakfast. He entered with a kind of benign solemnity in his countenance; but the benignity increased, and the solemnity went off, after a little while.

My lord said, he was very sorry that he had met with any-thing to disturb him, in the letters that were brought him yesterday. Emily joined by her eyes, though not in speech, her concern with his lordship’s: Miss Grandison was sedately serious: Lady L. had expectation in her fine face; and Dr. Bartlett sat like a man that was determined to be silent. I had apprehension, and hope, I suppose, struggling in mine, as I knew not whether to wish for the expected conference, or not.

Let us think of nothing, my lord, in this company, said he, but what is agreeable.

He enquired kindly of my health, and last night’s rest, because of a slight cold that had affected my voice: of Emily, Why she was so sad? Of Lady L. and my lord, When they went to town? Of Miss Grandison, Why she looked so meditatingly? that was his word. Don’t you see, Miss Byron, said he, that Charlotte looks as if she had not quite settled the humour she intends to be in for the next half-hour?

Charlotte looks, I believe. Sir, replied^she, as if she were determined to take her humour for the next half-hour from yours, whether grave or airy.

Then returned he, I will not be grave, because I will not have you so. May I hope, madam, by-and-by, addressing himself to me, for the honour of your hand, to my lord’s library?

Sir, I will I will attend you hesitated the simpleton; but she can’t tell how she looked.

Thus, Lucy, was the matter brought on:

He conducted me to my lord’s library. How did I struggle with myself for presence of mind! What a mixture was there of tenderness and respect in his countenance and air!

He seated me; then took his place over-against me. I believe I looked down, and conscious, and silly; but there was such a respectful modesty in his looks, that one could not be uneasy at being now-and-then, with an air of languor, as I thought, con templated by him: especially as, whenever I reared Q my eye-lids to cast a momentary look at him as he spoke, I was always sure to see his eye withdrawn: this gave more freedom to mine, than it possibly otherwise could have had. What a bold creature, Lucy, ought she to be who prefers a bold man! If she be not bold, how silly must she look under his staring confident eye! How must her want of cour-age add to his self-consequence!

Thus he began the subject we were to talk of.

I will make no apology for requesting the favour of this conference with one of the most frank and open-hearted young ladies in the world: I shall have the honour, perhaps, of detaining your ear on more than one subject [how my heart throbbed]: but that which I shall begin with, relates to my Lord G. and our sister Charlotte. I observe from hints thrown out by herself, as well as from what Lady L. said, that she intends to encourage his addresses; but it is easy to see, that she thinks but slightly of him. I am indeed apprehensive, that she is rather induced to favour my lord, from an opinion that he has my interest and good wishes, than from her own inclination. I have told her, more than once, that hers are, and shall be, mine: but such is her vivacity, that it is very difficult for me to know her real mind. 1 take it for granted, that she prefers my lord to Sir Walter,

I believe, Sir But why should I say believe, when Miss Grandison has commissioned me to own, that Lord G, is a man whom she greatly prefers to Sir Walter Watkyns?

Does she, can she, do you think, madam, prefer Lord G, not only to Sir Walter, but to all the men whom she at present knows? In other words, Is there anij man that you think she would prefer to LordG.? I am extremely solicitous for my sister’s happiness; and the more, because of her vivacity, which, I am afraid, will be thought less to become the wife* than the single woman.

I dare say, Sir, that if Miss Grandison thought of any other man in preference to Lord G. she would not encourage his addresses, upon any account.

I don’t expect, madam, that a woman of Char-f iotte’s spirit and vivacity, who has been disappointed by a failure of supposed merit in her first love (if we may so call it) should be deeply in love with a man that has not very striking qualities. She can play with a flame now, and not burn her fingers. Lord G. is a worthy, though not a very brilliant man. Ladies have eyes; and the eye expects to be gratir fied. Hence men of appearance succeed often, where men of intrinsic merit fail. Were Charlotte to consult her happiness, possibly she would have no objection to Lord G. She cannot, in the same man, have every thing. But if Lord G. consulted hisy I don’t know whether he would wish for Charlotte. Excuse me, madam; you have heard, as well as she, my opinion of both men. Sir Walter, you say, has no part in the question; Lord G. wants not underr standing: he is a man of probity; he is a virtuous man, a quality not to be despised in a young noble-man: he is also a mild man; he will bear a great deal. But contempt, or such a behaviour as should look like contempt, in a wife, what husband can bear? I should much more dread, for her sake, the exasperated spirit of a meek man, than the sudden gusts of anger of a passionate one.

Miss Grandison, Sir, has authorized me to say, that if you approve of Lord G.‘s addresses, and will be so good as to take upon yourself the direction of every thing relating to settlements, she will be enr tirely governed by you. Miss Grandison, Sir, has known Lord G. sometime: his good character is well known; and I dare answer, that she will acquit q2 herself with honour and prudence, in everij engagement, but more especially in that which is the highest of all worldly ones.

Pray, madam, may I ask, if you know what she could mean by the questions she put in relation to Mr. Beauchamp? I think she has never seen him. Does she suppose, from his character, that she could perfer him to Lord G.?

I believe, Sir, what she said in relation to that gentleman was purely the effect of her vivacity, and which she never thought of before, and, proba-bly, never will again. Had she meant any-thing by it, I dare say, she would not have put the questions about him in the manner she did.

I believe so; Hove my sister, and Hove my friend. Mr. Beauchamp has delicacy. I could not bear, for her sake, that were she to behold him in the light hinted at, he should imagine he had reason to think slightly of my sister, for the correspondence she car-ried on, in so private a manner, with a man absolutely unworthy of her. But I hope she meant nothing, but to give way to that vein of raillery, which, when opened, she knows not always how to stop.

My spirits were not high: I was forced to take out my handkerchief O my dear Miss Grandison I said I, I was afraid she had forfeited, partly, at least, what she holds most dear, that good opinion of her brother!

Forgive me, madam, ’tis a generous pain that I have made you suffer: I admire you for it. But I think I can reveal all the secrets of my heart to you. Your noble frankness calls for equal frankness; you would inspire it, where it is not. My sister, as I told her more than once in your hearing, has not lost any of my love. I love her, with all her faults; but must not be blind to them. Shall not praise and dispraise be justly given? I have faults, great faults, myself; wliat should I think of the man who called them virtues? How dangerous would it be to me, in that case, were my opinion of his judgment, joined to self-partiality, to leave me to believe him, and ac-’ quit myself?

This, Sir, is a manner of thinking worthy of Sir Charles Grandison.

It is worthy of every man, my good Miss Byron.

But, Sir, it would be very hard, that an indiscre-^ tion (I viust own it to be such) should fasten re-proach upon awomanwho recovered herself so soon, and whose virtue was never sullied, or in danger.

Indeed it would: and therefore it was in tenderness to her that I intimated, that I never could think of promoting an alliance with a man of Mr. Beau’^ champ’s nice notions, were both to incline to it.

I hope. Sir, that my dear Miss Grandison will run no risque of being slighted, by any other man, from a step which has cost her so dear in her peace of mind I hesitated, and looked down.

I know, madam, what you mean. Although I love my friend Beauchamp above all men, yet would 1 do Lord G. or any other man, as much justice, as I would do him. I was so apprehensive of my sister’s indifference to Lord G. and of the difference in their tempers, though both good, that I did my utmost to dissuade him from thinking of her; and when I found that his love was fixed beyond the power of dissuai-sion, I told him of the affair between her and Cap — tain Anderson; and how lately I had put an end to it. He flattered himself, that the indifference, with which she had hitherto received his addresses, was principally owing to the difficulty of her situation; which being now so happily removed, he had hopes pf meeting with encouragement: and doubted not, if he did, of making a merit with her, by his affection and gratitude. And now, madam, give ra q3 your opinion Do you think Charlotte can be won (I hope she can) by indulgence, by love? Let me caution her by you, madam, that it is fit she should still be more careful to restrain her vivacity if she marry a man to whom she thinks she has superior talents, than she need to be if the difference were in his favour.

Permit me to add, that if she should shew herself capable of returning slight for tenderness; of taking such liberties with a man who loves her, after she had given him her vows, as should depreciate him, and, of consequence, herself, in the eye of the world; I should be apt to forget that 1 had more than one sister: for, in cases of right and wrong, we ought not to know either relation or friend.

Does not this man, Lucy, shew us that goodness and greatness are synonymous words!

I think. Sir, replied I, that if Lord G. prove the good-natured man he seems to be; if he dislike not that brilliancy of temper in his lady, which he seems not to value himself xv^on, though he may have qua-lities, at least, equally valuable; I have no doubt but Miss Grandison will make him very happy: for has she not great and good qualities? Is she not ge-nerous, and perfectly good-natured? You know, Sir, that she is. And can it be supposed, that her charming vivacity will ever carry her so far beyond the bounds of prudence and discretion, as to make her forget what the nature of the obligation she will have entered into requires of her?

Well, madam, then I may rejoice the heart of Lord G. by telling him, that he is at liberty to visit my sister, at her coming to town; or, if she come not soon (for he will be impatient to wait on her) at Colnebrook?

I dare say you may. Sir.

As to articles and settlements, I will undertake for all those things; but be pleased to tell her, that she is absolutely at her own liberty, for me. If she shall think, when she sees further of Lord G.‘s tem-per and behaviour, that she cannot esteem him as a wife ought to esteem her husband; I shall not be concerned, if she dismiss him; provided that she keeps him not on in suspense, after she knows her own mind; but behaves to him according to the example set her by the best of women.

I could not but know to whom he designed this compliment; and had like to have bowed; but was glad I did not.

Well, madam, and now I think this subject is concluded. I have already written a letter to Sir Wal — ter, as at the request of my sister, to put an end, in the civilest terms, to his hopes. My Lord G. will be impatient for ray return to town. 1 shall go with the more pleasure, because of the joy I shall be able to give him.

You must be very happy. Sir: since, besides the pleasure you take in doing good for its own sake, you are intitled to partake, in a very high manner, of the pleasures of every one you know.

He was so nobly modest, Lucy, that I could talk to him with more confidence than I believed, at my entrance into my lord’s study, would fall to my share: and I had, besides, been led into a presence of mind, by being made a person of some conse-quence in the love-case of another: but I was soon to have my whole attention engaged in a subject still nearer to my heart; as you shall hear.

Indeed, madam, said he, 1 am not very happy in myself. Is it not right, then, to endeavour, by promoting the happiness of others, to entitle myself to a share of theirs?

If ^ou are not happy, Sir and I stopt. 1 believe

I sighed; I looked down: I took out my handker* chief, for fear I should want it.

There seems, said he, to be a mixture of generous poncern, and kind curiosity, in one of the loveliest and most intelligent faces in the world. My sisters have, in your presence, expressed a great deal of the latter, Had I not been myself in a manner uncertain as to the event that must, in some measure, govern my future destiny, I would have gratified it; espcr pially, as my Lord L. has, of late, joined in it. The crisis, I told them, however, as perhaps you rememr ber, was at hand.

I do remember you said so, Sir, And indeed, l.ucy, it >vas more than perhaps. I had not thought of any words lialf so often, since he spoke them.

The crisis, madam, is at hand: and I had not m-^ended to open my lips upon the subject till it was over, ejfcept to Dr, Bartlett, who knows the whole affair, and indeed every affair of my life: but, as I hinted before, my heart is opened by the frankness pf yours. If you will be so good as to indulge me, I will briefly lay before you a few of the difficulties of my situation; and leave it to you to communicate pr pot, at your pleasure, what I shall relate, to my pKo sisters and Lord L, You four seem to be anir piated by one soul.

I am extremely concerned, Sir I am very much concerned repeated the trembling simpleton [one cheek feeling to myself very cold, the other glowr Jngly wafm, by turns; and now pale, now crimson, perhaps to the eye] that any-thing should make you unhappy. But, Sir, I shall think myself favoured \>y your confidence,

I am interrupted in my recital of his affecting parration. Don’t be impatient, Lucy: I almost \(\^\i I liad not heard it myself.

Letter XX.

Miss Byron. In Continuation.

I DO not intend, madam, to trouble you with a hisi tory of all that part of my life which I was obliged to pass abroad from about the seventeenth to near the twenty-fifth year of my age; though perhaps it has been as busy a period as could well be, in the life of a man so young, and who never sought to tread in oblique or crooked paths. After this entrance into it, Dr. Bartlett shall be at liberty to sa — tify your curiosity in a more particular manner; for he and I have corresponded for years with an inti-macy that has few examples between a youth and a man in advanced life. And here let me own the advantages I have received from his condescension; for I found the following questions often occur to me, and to be of the highest service in the conduct of my life ‘ What account shall I give of this to Dr. Bartlett?’ ‘How, were I to give way to this temptation, shall 1 report it to Dr. Bartlett?’ Or, * Shall I be a hypocrite, and only inform him of the best, and meanly conceal from him the worst?*

Thus, madam, was Dr. Bartlett in the place of a second conscience to me: and many a good thing did I do, many a bad one avoid, for having set up such a monitor over my conduct. And it was the more necessary that I should, as I am naturally pas-sionate, proud, ambitious; and as I had the honour of being early distinguished (pardon, madam, the seeming vanity) by a sex, of which no man was ever a greater admirer; and, possibly, the wore distin-guished, as, for my safety-sake, 1 was as studious to decline intimacy with the gay ones of it, however dignified by rank, or celebrated for beauty, as most young men are to cultivate their favour.

Nor is it so much to be wondered at, that I had advantages which every one who travels, has not. Jlesiding for some time at the principal courts, and often visiting the same places, in the length of time I was abroad, I was considered, in a manner, as a native, at the same time, that I was treated with the respect that is generally paid to travellers of figure, as well in France, as Italy. I was very genteelly supported: I stood in high credit with my country-men, to whom I had many ways of being service — able. They made known to every-body my father’s affection for me; his magnificent spirit; the antient families, on both sides, from which I was descended. I kept the best company; avoided intrigues; made not myself obnoxious to serious or pious people, though I scrupled not to avow, M’hen called upon, my own principles. From all these advantages, I was respected beyond my degree.

I should not, madam, have been thus lavish in my own praise, but to account to you for the favour I stood in with several families of the first rank; and to suggest an excuse for more than one of them, which thought it no disgrace to wish me to be allied with them.

Lord L. mentioned to you, madam, and my sis-ters, a Florentine lady, by the name of Olivia. She is, indeed, a woman of high qualities, nobly born, generous, amiable in her features, genteer in her person, and mistress of a great fortune in possession, which is entirely at her own disposal; having not father, mother, brother, or other near relations. 1’he first time I saw her was at the opera. An opportunity offered in her sight, where a lady, insulted by a lover made despjerate by her just refusal of him, claimed and received my protection. What I did, on the occasion, was generally applauded; Olivia, in particular, spoke highly ot’ it. Twice, afterwards, I saw her in company where I was a vi-siter: I had not the presumption to look up t(j her with hope; but my countryman Mr. Jervois gave me to understand, that I might be master of my own fortune with Lady Olivia. I pleaded difference of religion: he believed, he said, that matter might be made easy But could I be pleased with the change, would she have made it, when passion, not conviction, was likely to be the motive? There could be no objection to her person: no bpdy questioned her virtue; but she was violent and imperious in her temper. I had never left mind out of my notions of love: I could not have been happy with her, had she been queen of the globe. I had the mortification of being obliged to declare myself to the lady’s face: it tvas a mortification to me, as much for her sake as my own. I was obliged to leave Florence upon it, for some time; having been apprised, that the spirit of revenge had taken place of a gentler passion, and that 1 was in danger from it.

How often did I lament the want of that refuge in a father’s arms, and in my native country, which subjected me to evils that were more than a match for my tender years, and to all the inconveniencies that can attend a banished man! Indeed I often considered myself in this light; and, as the incon-veniencies happened, was ready to repine; and the more ready, as 1 could not afflict myself with the thought of having forfeited my father’s love: on the contrary, as the constant instances which I received of his paternal goodness, made me still more earnest to acknowledge it at his feet.

Ought I to have forborn, Lucy, shewing a sensi-bility at my eyes on this affecting iiistaace of filial gratitude? If I ought, I wish I had more command of myself: but consider, my dear, the affect — ing subject we were upon. I was going to apologize for the trickling tear, and to have said, as I truly might. Your filial goodness, Sir, affects me: but, with the consciousness that must have accompanied the words, would not that, to so nice a discerner, have been to own, that I thought the tender emotion wanted an apology? These little tricks of ours, Lucy, may satisfy our own punctilio, and serve to keep us in countenance with ourselves (and that, indeed, is doing something); but, to a penetrating eye, they tend only to shew, that we imagined a cover, a veil, wanting; and what is that veil, but a veil of gauze?

What makes me so much afraid of this man’s discernment? Am I not an honest girl, Lucy?

He proceeded.

From this violent lady I had great trouble; and to this day But this part of my story I leave to Dr. Bartlett to acquaint you with. I mention it as a mat-ter that yet gives me concern, for her sake, and as what I find has given some amusement to my sister Charlotte’s curiosity.

But I hasten to the affair which, of all others, has most embarrassed me; and which, engaging my compassion, though my honour is free, gives torture to my very soul.

I found myself not well I thought I should have fainted. The apprehension of his taking it as I wished him not to take it (for indeed, Lucy, I don’t think it was that) made me worse. Had I been by myself, this faintishness might have come over my heart. I am sure it was not that: but it seized me at a very unlucky moment, you’ll say.

With a countenance full of tender concern, he caught my hand, and rang. In ran his Emily. My dear Miss Jervois, said I, leaning upon her Excuse me, Sir And I withdrew to the door; and, when there, finding my faintishncss going off, I turned to him, who attended me thither: 1 am better, Sir, already; I will return instantly. I must beg of you to proceed with your interesting story.

I was well the moment I was out of the study. It was kept too warm, I believe; and I sat too near the fire: that was it, to be sure; and I said so, on my return; which was the moment 1 had drank a glass of cold water.

How tender was his regard for me! He did not abash me by causelesly laying my disorder on his story, and by offering to discontinue or postpone it. Indeed, Lucy, it was not owing to that! I should easily have distinguished it, if it had: on the contrary, as I am not generally so much affected at the moment when any thing unhappy befals me, as I am upon reflection, when I extend, compare, and weigh consequences, I was quite brave in my heart. Any-thing, thought I, is better than suspense. Now will my fortitude have a call to exert itself; and I warrant I bear, as well as he, an evil that is inevita-ble. At this instant, this trying instant, however, I found myself thus brave: so, my dear, it was no-thing but the too great warmth of the room which overcame me.

I endeavoured to assume all my courage; and desired him to proceed; but held by the arm of my chair to steady me, lest my little tremblings should increase. The faintness had left some Uttle trem-blings upon me, Lucy: and one would not care, you know, to be thought affected by any thing in his story. He proceeded.

At Bologna, and in the neighbourhood of Urbino, are seated two branches of a noble family, marquises and counts of Porretta, which boasts its pedigree from Roman princes, and has given to the church two cardinals; one in the latter age, the other in the beginning of this.

The Marchesse della Porretta, who resides in Bologna, is a nobleman of great merit: his lady is illustrious by descent, and still more so for her goodness of heart, sweetness of temper, and prudence. They have three sons, and a daughter

[Ah, that daughter! thought!.]

The eldest of the sons is a general officer, in the service of the King of the two Sicilies; a man of equal honour and bravery, but passionate and haugh-ty, valuing himself on his descent. The second is devoted to the church, and is already a bishop. The interest of his family, and his own merits, it is not doubted, will one day, if he lives, give him a place in the Sacred College. The third, Signor Jeronymo (or as he is sometimes called, the Barone) della Porretta, has a regiment in the service of the King of Sardinia. The sister is the favourite of them all. She is lovely in her person, gentle in her manners, and has high, but just, notions of the nobili^Kofher descent, of the honour of her sex, and of what is due to her own character. She is pious, charitable, beneficent. Her three brothers preferred her inter-ests to their own. Her father used to call her, The pride of his life; her mother, Her other self; her own Clementina!

[Clementina! Ah! Lucy, what a pretty name is Clementina!]

I became intimate with Signor Jeronymo at Rome, near two years before I had the honour to be known to the rest of his family, except by his report, which he made run very high in my favour. He was master of many fine qualities; but had contracted friendship with a set of dissolute young men of rank, with whom he was very earnest to make me acquainted. I allow-ed myself to be often in their company; but, as they were totally abandoned in their morals, it was in hopes, by degrees, to draw him from them: but a love of pleasure hadgotfastholdof him; andhisother companions prevailed over his good-nature. H e had courage, but not enough to resist their libertine at-tacks upon his morals.

Such a friendship could not hold, while each stood his ground; and neither would advance to meet the other. In short, we parted, nor held a correspond-ence in absence: but afterwards meeting, by acci — dent, at Padua, and Jeronymo having, in the interim, been led into inconveniences, he avowed a change of principles, and the friendship was renewed.

It however held not many months: a lady, less celebrated for virtue than beauty, obtained an influ-ence over him, against warning, against promise.

On being expostulated with, and his promise claimed, he resented the friendly freedom. He was passionate; and, on this occasion, less polite than it was natural for him to be: he even defied his friend. My dear Jeronymo! how generously has he acknow-ledged since, the part his friend at that time acted! But the result was, they parted, resolving never more to see each other.

Jeronymo pursued the adventure which had oc-casioned the difference; and one of the lady’s ad — mirers, envying him his supposed 3ucce^s, hired Brescian bravoes to assassinate him.

The attempt was made in the Cremonese. They had got him into their toils in a little thicket at some distance from the road. I, attended by two servants, happened to be passing, when a frig;:ted horse ran cross the way, his bridle broken, and his saddle bloody: this making me apprehend some mischief to the rider, I drove down the opening he came from, and soon beheld a man struggling on the ground with two ruffians; one of whom was just stopping his mouth, the other stabbing him. I leapt out of the post-chaise, and drew my sword, running towards them as fast as I could; and calling to my servants to follow me, indeed calling as if I had a number with me, in order to alarm them. On this, they fled; and I heard them say. Let us make off: we have done his business. Incensed at the villainy, I piwrsued and came up with one of them, who turned upon me. I beat down his trombone^ a kind of blunderbuss, just as he presented it at me, and had wounded and thrown him on the ground; but seeing the other ruffian turning back to help his fellow, and on a sud-den, two othersappearing with their horses, I thought it best to retreat, though I fain would have secured one of them. My servants then seeing my danger, hastened, shouting towards me. The bravoes (per-haps apprehending there were more than two) seemed as glad to get off with their rescued compa-nion as I was to retire. I hastened then to the unhappy man: but how much was I surprised, when I found him to be the Barone della Porretta, who, in disguise, had been actually pursuing his amour! He gave signs of life. I instantly dispatched one of my servants to Cremona, for a surgeon: I bound up, mean time, as well as I could, two of his wounds, one in his shoulder, the other in his breast. He had one in his hip-joint, which disabled him from helping himself, and which I found beyond my skill to do any thing with; only endeavouring, with my handker-chief, to stop its bleeding. 1 helped him into my chaise, stept in with him, and held him up in it, till one of my men told me, they had, in another part of the thicket, found his servant bound and wounded, his horse lying dead by his side. I then alighted, and put the poor fellow into the chaise, he being stiff with his hurts, and unable to stand.

I walked by the side of it; and in this manner moved towards Cremona, in order to shorten the way of the expected surgeon.

My servant soon returned with one. Jeronymo had fainted away. The surgeon dressed him, and proceeded with him to Cremona. Then it was, that, opening his eyes, he beheld, and knew me: and being told by the surgeon, that he owed his preser-vation to me, O Grandison! said he, that I had fol — lowed your advice! that 1 had kept my promise with you! How did I insult you! Can my deliverer forgive me? You shall be the director of my future; life, if it please God to restore me.

His wounds proved not mortal; but he never will be the man he was: partly from his having been unskilfully treated by this his first surgeon; and partly from his own impatience, and the difficulty of curing the wound in his hip-joint. Excuse this particularity, madam. The subject requires it; and Signor Jero-nymo now deserves it, and all your pity.

I attended him at Cremona, till he was able to re-move. He was visited there by his whole family from Bologna. Therenever was a family more affectionate to one another: the suffering of one, is the suffering of every one. The barone was exceedingly beloved by his father, mother, sister, for the sweetness of his manners, his affectionate heart, and a wit so delightfully gay and lively, that his company was sought by every-body.

You will easily believe, madam, from what I have said, how acceptable to the whole family the service was which I had been so happy as to render their Jeronymo. They all joined to bless me; and the more when they came to know that I was the per R 3 son whom their Jeronymo, in the clays of our inti-macy, had higlily extolled in his letters to his sister, and to both brothers; and who now related to them, by word of mouth, the occasion of the coldness that had passed between us, with circumstances as ho-nourable for me, as the contrary for himself: such were his penitential confessions in the desperate condition to which he found himself reduced.

He now, as I attended by his bed or his couch-side, frequently called for a repetition of those arguments which he had, till noiv, derided. He besought me to forgive him for treating them before with levity, and me with disrespect, next, as he said, to insult: and he begged his family to consider me not only as the preserver of his life, but as the restorer of his morals. This gave the whole family the highest opinion of mine; and still more to strengthen it, the generous youth produced to them, though, as I may say, at his own expence (for his reformation was sincere,) a letter which I wrote to lie by him, in hopes to enforce his temporary convictions; for he had a noble nature, and a lively sense of what was due to his character, and to the love and piety of his parents, the bishop, and his sister; though he was loth to think he could be wrong in those pur-suits in which he was willing to indulge himself.

Never was there a more grateful family. The no-YAeJhther was uneasy, because he knew not how to acknowledge, according to the largeness of his heart, to a man in genteel circumstances, the obligation laid upon them all. The mother, with a freedom more amiably great than the Italian ladies are accus-tomed to express, bid her Clementina regard as her fourth brother, the preserver of the third. The ba^ rone declared, that he should never rest, nor recovery till he had got me rewarded in such manner as all the world should think I had honour done me m it

When the barone was removed to Bologna, the whole family were studious to make occasions to get me among them. The general made me promise, when,rw5/ relations, as he was pleased to express him-self, at Bologna, could part with me, to give him my company at Naples. The bishop, who passed all the time he had to spare from his diocese, at Bolog-na, and who is a learned man, in compliment to his Jburth brother, would have me initiate him into the knowledge of the English tongue.

Our Milton has deservedly a name among them. The friendship that subsisted between him and a learned nobleman of their country, endeared his me-mory to them. Milton, therefore, was a principal author with us. Our lectures were usually held in the chamber of the wounded brother, in order to di-vert him: he also became my scholar. The father and mother were often present; and at such times their Clementina was seldom absent. She also called me her tutor; and though she was not half so often present at the lectures as her brothers were, made a greater proficiency than either of them.

[Do you doubt it, Lucy?]

The father, as well as the bishop, is learned; the mother well read. She had had the benefit of a French education; being brought up by her uncle, who resided many years at Paris in a public charac-ter: and her daughter had, under her own eye, advantages in her education which are hardly ever allowed or sought after by the Italian ladies. In such company, you may believe, madam, that I, who was kept abroad against my wishes, passed my time very agreeably. I was particularly honoured with the confidence of the marchioness, who opened her heart to me, and consulted me on every material occurrence. Her lord, who is one of the politest of men, was never better pleased than when he found US together; and not seldom, though we were not engaged in lectures, the fair Clementina claimed a right to be where her mother was.

About this time, the young Count of Belvedere returned to Parma, in order to settle in his native country. His father was a favourite in the court of the Princess of Parma, and attended that lady to Madrid, on her marriage with the late King of Spain, where he held a very considerable post, and lately died there immensely rich. On a visit to this noble family, the young lord saw, and loved Clementina.

The Count of Belvedere is a handsome, a gallant, a sensible man; his fortune is very great: such an alliance was not to be slighted. The marquis gave his countenance to it: the marchioness favoured me with several conversations upon the subject. She was of opinion, perhaps, that it was necessary to know my thoughts, on this occasion; for the younger bro-ther, unknown to me, declared, that he thought there was no way of rewarding my merits to the fa-mily, but by giving me a relation to it. Dr. Bartlett, madam, can shew you, from my letters to him, some conversations, which will convince you, that in Italy, as well as in other countries, there are per-sons of honour, of goodness, of generosity; and who are above reserve, vindictiveness, jealousy, and those other bad passions by which some mark indiscriminately a whole nation.

For my own part, it was impossible (distinguished as I was by every individual of this noble family, and lovely as is this daughter of it, mistress of a thousand good qualities, and myself absolutely disengaged in my affections) that my vanit)— should not sometimes be awakened, and a wish arise, that there might be a possibility of obtaining such a prize: but 1 checked the vanity, the moment I could find it begin to play about and warm my heart. To h?.ve attempted to recommend myselfto the young lady’s favour, though but by looks, by assiduities, I should have thought an infamous breach of the trust and confidence they all reposed in me.

The pride of a family so illustrious in its descent; their fortunes unusually high for the country which, by the goodness of their hearts, they adorned; the relation they bore to the church; my foreign extraction and interest; the lady’s exalted merits, which made her of consequence to the hearts of several il-lustrious youths, before the Count of Belvedere made known his passion for her; none of which the fond family thought worthy of their Clementina, nor any of whom could engage her heart; but, above all, the difference in religion; the young lady so remark-ably stedfaft in hers, that it was with the utmost difficulty they could restrain her from assuming the veil; and who once declared, in anger, on hearing me, when called upon, avow my principles, that she grudged to a heretic the glorj-^ of having saved the Barone della Porretta; all these considerations out-weighed any hopes that might otherwise have arisen in a bosom so sensible of the favours they were continually heaping upon me.

About the same time, the troubles, now so happily appeased, broke out in Scotland: hardly any-thing else was talked of, in Italy, but the progress, and supposed certainty of success, of the young invader. I was often obliged to stand the triumphs and exultations of persons of rank and figure; being known to be warm in the interest of my country. I had a good deal of this kind of spirit to contend with, even in this more moderate Italian family; and this frequently brought on debates which I would gladly have avoided holding: but it was impossible. Every new advice from England revived the disagreeable subject; for the success of the rebels, it was not doubted, would be attended with the restoration of what they called the Catholic rcligion: and Clemen-tina particularly pleased herself, that then her heretic tutor would take refuge in the bosom of his holy mother, the church: and she delighted to say things of this nature in the language I was teaching her, and which, by this time, she spoke very intelligibly.

I took a resolution, hereupon, to leave Italy for a while, and to retire to Vienna, or to some one of the German courts that was less interested than they were in Italy, in the success of the chevalier’s undertaking; and I was the more desirous to do so, as the displeasure of Olivia against me began to grow serious, and to be talked of, even by herself, with less discretion than was consistent with her high spirit, her noble birth, and ample fortune.

I communicated my intention to the marchioness first: the noble lady e — pressed her concern at the thoughts of my quitting Italy, and engaged me to put off my departure for some weeks; but, at the same time, hinted to me, with an explicitness that is pe-culiar to her, her apprehensions, and her lord’s, that I was in love with her Cleuientina. I convinced her of my honour, in this particular; and she so well sa-tisfied the marquis, in this respect, that, on their daughter’s absolute refusal of the Count of Bel-vedere, they confided in me to talk to her in favour of that nobleman. The young lady and I had a conference upon the subject; Dr. Bartlett can give you the particulars. The father and mother, unknown to us both, had placed themselves in a closet adjoining to the room we were in, and which communicated to another, as well as to that: they had no reason to be dissatisfied with what they heard me say to their daughter.

The time of my departure from Italy drawing near, and the young lady repeatedly refusing the Count of

Belvedere, the younger brother (still unknown to me, for he doubted not but I should rejoice at the honour he hoped to prevail upon them to do me) declared in my favour. They objected the more obvious difficulties in relation to religion, and my country: he desired to be commissioned to talk to me on those subjects, and to his sister on her mo-tives for refusing the Count of Belvedere; but they would not hear of his speaking to me on this subject; the marchioness giving generous reasons, on my behalf, for her joining in the refusal; and undertaking herself to talk to her daughter, and to demand of her her reasons for rejecting every proposal that had been made her.

She accordingly closetted her Clementina. She could get nothing from her, but tears: a silence, without the least appearance of sullenness, had for some days before shewn, that a deep melancholy had begun to lay hold of her heart: she was, however, offended when love was attributed to her; yet her mother told me, that she could not but suspect, that she was under the dominion of that passion without knowing it; and the rather, as she was never cheer-ful but when she was taking lessons for learning a tongue, which never, as the marchioness said, was likely to be of use to her.

[’ As the marchioness said’ Ah my Lucy!] The melancholy increased. Her tutor, as he was called, was desired to talk to her. He did. It was a task put upon him, that had its difficulties. It was observed, that she generally assumed a cheer-ful air while she was with him, but said little; yet seemed pleased with every thing he said to her; and the little she did answer, though he spoke in Italian or French, was in her newly-acquired lan-guage: but the moment he was gone, her counte — nance fell, and she was studious to find opportunities to get from company.

[What think you of my fortitude, Lucy? Was I not a good girl? But my curiosity kept up my spi-rits. When I come to reflect, thought I, I shall have it all upon my pillow.]

Her parents were in the deepest affliction. They consulted physicians, who all pronounced her malady to be love. She was taxed with it; and all the indulgence promised her that her heart could wish, as to the object, but still she could not, with patience, bear the imputation. Once she asked her woman, who told her that she was certainly in love, Would you have me hate myself? Her mother talked to her of the passion in favourable terms, and as laudable: she heard her with attention, but made no answer.

The evening before the day I was to set out for Germany, the family made a sumptuous entertainment, in honour of a guest on whom they had con ferred so many favours. They had brought them — selves to approve of his departure the more readily, as they were willing to see, whether his absence would affect their Clementina; and, if it did, in what manner.

They left it to her choice, whether she would appear at table, or not. She chose to be there. They ail rejoiced at her recovered spirits. She was exceeding cheerful: she supported her part of the con versation during the whole evening, with her usual vivacity and good sense, insomuch that I wished to myself, I had departed sooner. Yet it is surprising, thought I, that this young lady, who seemed always to be pleased, and even since these reveries have had power over her, to be most cheerful in my company, should rejoice in my departure; should seem to owe her recovery to it; a departure which every one else kindly regrets; and yet there was nothing in her behaviour or looks that appeared in the least affected. When acknowledgments were made to me of the pleasure I had given to the whole family, she joined in them: when my health and happiness were wished, she added her wishes by cheerful bows, as she sat: when they wished to see me again, before I went to England, she did the same. So that my heart was dilated: I was overjoyed to see such a happy alteration. When I took leave of them, she stood forward to receive my compliments, with a polite French freedom. I offered to press her hand with my lips: My brother’s deliverer, said she, must not affect this distance, and, in a manner, offered her cheek; adding, God preserve my tutor wherever he sets his foot (and in English, God convert you too, cheva-lier! ) May you never want such an agreeable friend as you have been to us!

Signor Jeronymo was not able to be with us. I went up to take leave of him: O my Grandison! said he, and flung his arms about my neck; and will you go? Blessings attend you! But what will become of a brother and sister, when they have lost you?

You will rejoice me, replied I, if you will favour me with a few lines, by a servant whom I shall leave behind me for three or four days, and who will find me at Inspruck, to let me know how you all do; and whether your sister’s health continues.

She must, she shall be yours, said he, if I can manage it. Why, why, will you leave us?

I was surprised to hear him say this: he had never before been so particular.

That cannot, cannot be, said I. There are a thousand obstacles ‘ All of which, rejoined he, that depend upon us, I doubt not to overcome. Your heart is not with Olivia?

They all knew, from that lady’s indiscretion, of the proposals that had been made me, relating to her; and of my declining them. I assured him that my heart was free.

We agreed upon a correspondence, and I took leave of one of the most grateful of men.

But how much was I afflicted when I received at Inspruck the expected letter, which acquainted me, that this sunshine lasted no longer than the next day! The young lady’s malady returned, with redoubled force. Shall I, madam, briefly relate to you the manner in which, as her brother wrote, it operated upon her?

She shut herself up in her chamber, not seeming to regard or know that her woman was in it; nor did she answer to two or three questions that her woman asked her; but, setting her chair with its back to-wards her, over-against a closet in the room, after a profound silence, she bent forwards, and, in a low voice, seemed to be communing with a person in the closet. ‘ And you say he is actually gone? Gone for ever? No, not for ever! ’

Who gone, madam? said her woman. To whom do you direct your discourse?

* We were all obliged to him, no doubt. So bravely to rescue my brother, and to pursue the bravoes; and as my brother says, to put him in his own chaise, and walk on foot by the side of it Why, as you say, assassins might have murdered him: the horses might have trampled him under their feet.’ Still looking as if she were speaking to somebody in the closet.

Her woman stept to the closet, and opened the door, and left it open, to take off her attention to the place, and to turn the course of her ideas; but

Still she bent forward* towards it, and talked calmly, as if to somebody in it: then breaking into a faint laugh, ‘ In love! that is such a silly notion: ai.d yet I love every — body better than 1 love myself.’

Her mother came into the room just then. The young lady arose in haste, and shut the closet door, as if she had somebody hid there, and, throwing her-self at her mother’s feet, My dear, my ever-honoured mamma, said she, forgive me for all the trouble I have caused you But I will, I must, you can’t deny me; I will be God’s child, as well as yours. 1 will go into a nunnery.

It came out afterwards, that her confessor, taking advantage of confessions extorted from her of re-gard for her tutor, though only such as a sister might bear to a brother, but which he had suspected might ‘come to be of consequence, had filled her tender mind with terrors, that had thus affected her head. She is, as 1 have told you, madam, a young lady of exemplary piety.

I will not dwell on a scene so melancholy. How I afflict your tender heart, my good Miss Byron!

[Do you think, Lucy, 1 did not weep? Indeed I didPoor young lady! But my mind was Jitted for the indulging of scenes so melancholy,] Pray, Sir, proceed, said I: what a heart must that be, which bleeds not for such a distress! Pray, Sir, proceed. Be it Dr. Bartlett’s task to give you further proticulars. I will be briefer I will not indulge my own grief.

All that medicine could do, was tried: but her confessor, who, however, is an honest, a worthy man, kept up her fears and terrors. He saw the favour her tutor was in with the whole family: he knew that the younger brother had declared for re-warding him in a very high manner: he had more than once put this favoured man upon an avowal of s2 his principles; and, betwixt her piety and her gra-titude, had raised such a conflict in her mind, as her tender nature could not bear.

At Florence lives a family of high rank and ho-nour, the ladies of which have with them a friend noted for the excellency of her heart, and her genius: and who, having been robbed of her fortune early in life, by an uncle, to whose care she was commit-ted by her dying father, was received both as a com panion and a blessing, by the ladies of the family she has now for many years lived with. She is an En-glish woman and a Protestant; but so very discreet, that her being so, though at first they hoped to proselyte her, gives them not a less value for her; and yet they are all zealous Roman–Catholics. These two ladies, and this their companion, were visiting one day at the Marchese della Poretta’s; and there the distressed mother told them the mournful tale: the ladies, who think nothing that is within the compass of human prudence impossible to their Mrs. Beaumont, wished that the young lady might be entrusted for a week to her care, at their own house at Florence.

It was consented to, as soon as proposed; and Signora Clementina was as willing to go; there having always been an intimacy between the fami-lies; and she (as every-body else) having a high opinion of Mrs. Beaumont. They took her with them on the day they set out for Florence.

Here, again, for shortening my story, I will refer to Dr. Bartlett. Mrs. Beaumont went to the bot-tom of the malady: she gave her advice to the fa — mily upon it. They were resolved (Signer Jeronymo supporting her advice) to be governed by it. The young lady was told, that she should be indulged in all her wishes. She then acknowledged what those were; and was the easier for the acknowledgment, and for the advice of such a prudent friend; and re-turned to Bologna much more composed than when she left it. The tutor was sent for, by common consent; for there had been a convention of the whole family; the Urbino branch, as well as the general, being present. In that, the terms to be proposed to the supposed happy man, were settled; but they were not to be mentioned to him, till after he had seen the lady: a wrong policy, surely.

He was then at Vienna. Signer Jeronymo, in his letter, congratulated him in high terms; as a man, whom he had it now, at last, in his power to re-ward: and he hinted, in general, that the conditions would be such, as it was impossible but he must find liis very great advantage in them: as to fortune, to be sure, he meant.

The friend so highly valued could not but be af-fected with the news: yet, knowing the lady, and the family, he was afraid that the articles of resi-dence and religion would not be easily compromised between them. He therefore summoned up all his prudence to keep his fears alive, and his hope hi suspense.

He arrived at Bologna. He was permitted to pay his compliments to Lady Clementina in her mother s presence. How agreeable, how nobly frank, was the reception from both mother and daughter! How Jiigh ran the congratulations of Jeronymo! He called the supposed happy man brother. The marquis was ready to recognize the Jotirfh son in him. A great fortune additional to an estate bequeathed her by her two grandfathers, was proposed. My father was to be invited over, to grace the nuptials by his presence.

But let me cut short the rest. The terms could not be complied with. For I was to make a formal renunciation of my religion, and to settle in Italy; s3 only once, in two or three years, was allowed, if I pleased, for two or three months, to go to England; and, as a visit of curiosity, once in her life, if their daughter desired it, to carry her thither, for a time to be limited by them.

What must be my grief, to be obliged to disappoint such expectations as were raised by persons who had so sincere a value for me! You cannot, madam, ima-gine my distress: so little as could be expected to be allowed by them to the principles of a man whom they supposed to be in an error that would inevitably cast him into perdition! But when the friendly bro-ther implored my compliance; when the excellent mother, in effect, besought me to have pity on her heart, and on her child’s head; and when the tender, the amiable Clementina, putting herself out of the question, urged me, for my soul’s sake, to embrace the doctrines of her holy mother, the church What, madam But how I grieve you!

[He stopt His handkerchief was of use to him, as mine was to me ^What a distress was here!]

And what, and what?, Sir, sobbing, was the re-sult? Could you, could you resist?

Satisfied in my own faith; entirely satisfied! Having insuperable objections to that I was wished to embrace! A lover of my native country too Were not my God and my country to be the sacrifice, if I complied! but I laboured, I studied, for a compro-mise. I must have been unjust to Clementina’s merit, and to my own character, had she not been dear to me. And indeed I beheld graces in her then, that I had before resolved to shut my eyes against; her rank next to princely; her fortune high as her rank; obstacles from religion, country, that had ap-peared to me insuperable, removed by themselves; and no apprehension left of a breach of the laws of hospitality, which had, till now, made me struggle to behold one of the most amiable and noble-minded of women with indifference. I offered to live one year in Italy, one in England, by turns, if their dear Clementina would live with me there; if not, I would content myself with passing only three months, in every year, in my native country. I proposed to leave her entirely at her liberty, in the article of religion; and, in case of children by the marriage, the daughters to be educated by her, the sons by me; a condition to which his holiness him-self, it was presumed, would not refuse his sanction, as there were precedents for it. This, madam, was a great sacrifice to compassion, to love What could I more!

And would not, Sir, would not Clementina consent to this compromise?

Ah the unhappy lady! It is this reflection that strengthens my grief. She xvould have consented; she was earnest to procure the consent of her friends upon these terms. This her earnestness in my fa-vour, devoted as she was to her religion, excites my compassion, and calls for my gratitude.

What scenes, what distressful scenes, followed! The noble father forgot his promised indulgence; the mother indeed seemed, in a manner, neutral; the youngest brother was still, however, firm in my cause, but the marquis, the general, the bishop, and the whole Urbino branch of the family, were not to be moved; and the less, because they considered the alliance as derogatory to their own honour in the same proportion as they thought it honourable to me; a private, an obscure man, as now they began to call me. In short, I w as allowed, I was desired, to depart from Bologna; and not suffered to take leave of the unhappy Clementina, though on her knees she beg-ged to be allowed a parting interview And wliat was the consequence? Dr. Bartlett must tell the rest. — Unhappy Clementina! Now they wish me to make them one more visit at Bologna! Un-happy Clementina! To what purpose?

I saw his noble heart was too much affected, to answer questions, had I had voice to ask any.

But, O my friends! you see how it is! Can I be so unhappy as he is? As his Clementina is? Well might Dr. Bartlett say, that this excellent man is not happy. Well might he himself say, that he has suffered greatly, even from good women. Well might he complain of sleepless nights. Unhappy Clementina! let me repeat after him, and not happy Sir Charles Grandison! And who, my dear, is happy? Not, I am sure, your

HARRIET BYRON.

Letter XXI.