Speaking of the force put upon a daughter’s inclinations, in wedlock; Tyranny and ingratitude, said Sir Charles, from a man beloved, will be more sup-portable to a woman of strong passions, than even kindness from a man she loves not: shall not pa-rents then, who hope to see their children happy, avoid compelling them to give their hands to a man who has no share in their hearts?

But would you allow young ladies to be their own choosers, Sir Charles I said Mrs. Reeves.

Daughters, replied he, who are earnest to choose for themselves, should be doubly careful that pru-dence justifies their choice. Every widow who marries imprudently (and very many there are who do) furnishes a strong argument in favour of a pa-rent’s authority over a maiden daughter. A de signing man looks out for a woman who has an independent fortune, and has no questions to ask. He seems assured at finding indiscretion and rashness in such a one, to befriend him. But ought not she to think herself affronted, and resolve to disap-point him?

But how, said Lady G. shall a young creature be able to judge?

By his application to her, rather than to her na-tural friends and relations; by his endeavouring to alienate her affections from them; by wishing her to favour private and clandestine meetings (conscious that his pretensions will not stand discussion); by the inequality of his fortune to hers: and has not our excellent Miss Byron, in the letters to her Lucy (bowing to me) which she has had the goodness to allow us to read, helped us to a criterion! ‘ Men in their addresses to young women, she very happily observes, forget not to set forward the advantages by which they are distinguished, whether hereditary or acquired; while Love, love, is all the cry of him who has no other to boast of.’

And by that means, said Lady Gertrude, setting the silly creature at variance with all her friends, he makes her fight his battles for him; and become herself the cat’s paw to help him to the ready-roasted chesnuts.

But, dear brother, said Lady G. do you think love is such a staid deliberate passion, as to allow a young creature to take time to ponder and weigh all the merits of the cause?

Love at first sight, answered Sir Charles, must indicate a mind prepared for impression, and a sud-den gust of passion, and that of the least noble kind; since there could be no opportunity of knowing the merit of the object. What woman would have her-self supposed capable of such a tindery fit? In a man, it is an indelicate paroxysm: but in a woman, who expects protection and instruction from a man, much more so. Love, at first may be only fancy. Such a young love may be easily given up, and ought, to a parent’s judgment. Nor is the conquest so difficult as some young creatures think it. One thing, my good Emily, let me say to you, as a rule of some consequence in the world you are just entering into Young persons, on arduous occasions, especially in love-cases, should not presume to ad-vise young persons; because they seldom can divest themselves of passion, partiality, or prejudice; that is, indeed, of youth; and forbear to mix their own concerns and biasses with the question referred to them. It should not be put from young friend to young friend. What would you do in such a case? but what ought to be done?

How the dear girl blushed, and how pleased she looked, to be particularly addressed by her guardian!

Lady Gertrude spoke of a certain father, who for interested views obliged his daughter to marry at fif-teen, when she was not only indifferent to the man, but had formed no right notions of the state.

And are they not unhappy? asked Sir Charles.

Thoy are, replied she.

I knew such an instance, returned he. The lady was handsome, and had her full share of vanity. She believed every man who said civil things to her, was in love with her; and had she been single, that he wouldhave made his addresses to her. Shesupposed, that she might have had this great man, or that, had she not been precipitated; and this brought her to slight the man who had, as she concluded, deprived her of better offers. They were unhappy to the end of their lives. Had the lady lived single long enough to find out the difference between compliment and sincerity, and that the man who flattered her vanity, meant no more than to take advantage of her folly, she would have thought herself not unhappy with the very man with whom she was so dissatisfied.

Lady L. speaking afterwards of a certain noble-man, who is continually railing against matrimony, and who makes a very indifferent husband to an obliging wife; I have known more men than one, said Sir Charles, inveigh against matrimony, when the invective would have proceeded with a much bet-ter grace from their wives lips than from theirs. But let us enquire, would this complainer have been, or deserved to be, happier in any state, than he now is?

A state of suffering, said Lady L. had probably humbled the spirit of the poor wife into perfect meekness and patience.

You observe rightly, replied Sir Charles: and surely a most kind disposition of Providence it is, that adversity, so painful in itself, should conduce so peculiarly as it does to the improvement of the human mind. It teaches modesty, humility, and compassion.

You speak feelingly, brother, said Lady L. with a sigh. Do you think, Lucy, nobody sighed but she? I do, said he. I speak with a sense of gratitude: I am naturally of an imperious spirit: but I have reaped advantages, from the early stroke of a mo-ther’s death. Being for years, against my wishes, obliged to submit to a kind of exile from my native country, which I considered as a heavy evil, though I thought it my duty to acquiesce, I was determined, as much as my capacity would allow, to make my advantage of the compulsion, by qualifying myself to do credit, rather than discredit, to my father, my friends, and my country. And, let me add, that if I have in any tolerable manner succeeded, I owe much to the example and precepts of my dear Dr. Harriett.

The doctor blushed and bowed, and was going to disclaim the merit which his patron had ascribed to him; but Sir Charles confirmed it in still stronger terms: You, my dear Dr. Bartlett, said he, as I have told Miss Byron, was a second conscience to me in my earlier youth; your precepts, your excellent life, your pure manners, your sweetness of temper, could not but open and enlarge my mind. The soil, I hope I may say, was not barren; but you, my dear paternal friend, was the cultivator: I shall ever ac-knowledge it And he bowed to the good man; who was covered with modest confusion, and could not look up.

And think you, Lucy, that this acknowledgment lessened the excellent man with any one present? No! It raised him in every eye: and I was the more pleased with it, as it helped me to account for that deep observation, which otherwise one should have been at a loss to account for, in so young a man. And yet I am convinced, that there is hardly a greater difference in intellect between angel and man, than there is between man and man.

Letter XIX.

Lady G. to Miss Byron.

Thursday, April 13. For Heaven’s sake, my dearest Harriet, dine with us today; for two reasons: one relates to myself; the other you shall hear by-and-by: to myself, first, as is most fit Tins silly creature has offended me, and presumed to be sullen upon my resentment.

Married but two days, and shew his airs! Were I in fault, my dear (which, upon my honour, I am not) fof the man to lose his patience with me, to forget his obligations to me, in two days! What an ungrateful wretch is he! What a poor powerless creature your Charlotte!

Nobody knows of the matter, except he has complained to my brother // he has! But what if he has? Alas! my dear, I am married; and cannot help myself.

We seem, however, to be drawing up our forces on both sides One struggle for my dying liberty, my dear! The success of one pitched battle will determine which is to be the general, which the sub-altern, for the rest of the campaign. To dare to be sullen already! As I hope to live, my dear, I was in high good humour within myself; and when he was foolish, only intended a little play with him; and he takes it in earnest. He worships you: so I shall railly him before you: but I charge you, as the man by his sullenness has taken upon him to fight his own battle, either to be on my side, or be si-lent. I shall take it very ill of my Harriet, if she strengthen his hands.

Well, but enough of this husband Husband! What a word! Who do you think is arrived from abroad? You cannot guess for your life Lady Olivia! True as you are alive! accompanied, it seems, by an aunt of hers; a widow, whose years and character are to keep the niece in countenance in this excursion. The pretence is, making the tour of Europe: and England was not to be left out of the scheme. My brother is excessively disturbed at her arrival. She came to town but last night. He had notice of it but this morning. He took Emily with him to visit her: Emily was known to her at Florence. She and her aunt are to be here at dinner. As 6he is come, Sir Charles says, he must bring her acquainted with his sisters, and their lords, in order to be at liberty to pursue the measures he has unalterably rosolved upon: and this, Harriet, is my second reason for urging you to dine with us.

Now do I wish we had known her history at large. Dr. Bartlett shall tell it us. Unwelcome as she is to my brother, I long to see her. I hope I shall not hear something in her story, that will make me pity her.

Will you come?

I wonder whether she speaks English, or not. I don’t think I can converse in Italian.

I won’t forgive you, if you refuse to come.

Lady L. and her good man will be here. We shall therefore, if you come, be our whole family together.

My brother has presented this house to me, till his return. He calls himself Lord G.‘s guest and mine: so you can have no punctilio about it. Be-sides, Lord W. will set out tomorrow morning for Windsor. He dotes upon you: and perhaps it is in your power to make a new-married man penitent and polite.

So you must come.

Hang me, if I sign by any other name, while this man is in his fits, than that of

CHARLOTTE GRANDISON.

Letter XX.

Miss Byron to Miss Selby.

Thursday, April 13. I send you inclosed a letter I received this morning from Lady G. I will suppose you have read it. Emily says, that the meeting between Sir Charles and the lady mentioned in it, was very polite on both sides: but more cold on his, than on hers. She made some difficulty, however, of dining at his house; and her aunt, Lady MafFei, more. But on Sir Charles’s telling them, that he would bring his eldest sister to attend them thither, they complied.

When I went to St. James’s Square, Sir Charles and Lady L. were gone in his coach to bring the two ladies.

Lady G. met me on the stairs-head, leading into her dressing-room. Not a word, said she, of the man’s sullens: he repents: a fine figure, as I told him, of a bridegroom, would he make in the eyes of foreign ladies, at dinner, were he to retain his gloomy airs. He has begged my pardon; as good as promised amendment; and I have forgiven him. Poor Lord G. said I.

Hush hush! He is within: he will hear you: and then perhaps repent of his repentance.

She led me in: my lord had a glow in his cheeks, and looked as if he had been nettled; and was but just recovering a smile, to help to carry off the pe-tulance. O how saucily did her eyes look! Well, my lord, said she, I hope But you say, 1 misun* derstood

No more, madam, no more, I beseech you Well, Sir, not a word more, since you are Pray, madam

Well, well, give me your hand You must leave Harriet and me together.

She humorously courtesied to him as he bowed to me, taking the compliment as to herself. She nodded her head to him, as he turned back his when he was at the door; and when he was gone, If I can but make this man orderly, said she, 1 shall not quarrel with my brother for hurrying me, as he has done.

You are wrong, excessively wrong, Charlotte: you call my lord a silly man, but can have no proof that he is so, but by his bearing this treatment from you.

None of your grave airs, my dear. The man is a good sort of man, and will be so, if you and Lady L. don’t spoil him. I have a vast deal of roguery, but no ill-nature, in my heart. There is luxury in jesting with a solemn man, who wants to assume airs of privilege, and thinks he has a right to be impertinent. I’ll tell you how I will manage I believe I shall often try his patience, and when I am conseious that I have gone too far, I will be patient if he is angry with me; so we shall be quits. Then I’ll begin again: he will resent: and if I find his as-pect very solemn Come, come, no glouting, friend, I will say, and perhaps smile in his face: I’ll play you a tune, or sing you a song Which, which! Speak in a moment, or the humour will be off.

If he was ready to cry before, he will laugh then, though against his will: and as he admires my fin-ger, and my voice, shall we not be instantly friends? It signified nothing to rave at her: she will have her way. Poor Lord (}.! At my first knowledge of her, I thought her very lively; but imagined not that she was indiscreetly so.

Lord (i.‘s fondness for his sancy bride was, as I have reason to believe, his fault. 1 dared not to ask p2 for particulars of their quarrel: and if I had, and found it so, could not, with such a raillying creature have entered into his defence, or censured her.

I went down a few moments before her. Lord G. whispered me, that he should be the happiest man in the world, if I, who had such an influence over her, would stand his friend.

I hope, my lord, said I, that you will not want any influence but your own. She has a thousand good qualities. She has charming spirits. You will have nothing to bear with but from them. They will not last always. Think only, that she can mean nothing by the exertion of them, but innocent gaiety; and she will every day love your lordship the better for bearing with her. You know she is generous and noble.

I see, madam, said he, she has let you into

She has not acquainted me with the particulars of the little misunderstanding; only has said, that there had been a slight one, which was quitemade up.

I am ashamed, replied he, to have it thought by Miss Byron, that there could have been a misun-derstanding between us, especially so early. She knows her power over me. I am afraid she despises me.

Impossible, my lord: Have you not observed, that she spares nobody when she is in a lively hu-mour?

True But here she comes! Not a word, ma-dam! I bowed assenting silence. Lord G. said she, approaching him, in a low voice, I shall be jealous of your conversations with Miss Byron.

Would to heaven, my dearest life, snatching at her withdrawn hand, that

I were half as good as Miss Byron: I understand you: But time and patience, Sir; nodding to him, and passing him.

Admirable creature! said be, how I adore her.

I hinted to her afterwards, his fear of her despising him. Harriet, answered she, with a serious air, I will do my duty by him I will abhor my own heart, if I ever find in it the shadow of a regard for any man in the world, inconsistent with that which he has a right to expect from me.

I was pleased with her. And found an opportunity to communicate what she said, in confidence, to my lord; and had his blessings for it.

But now for some account of Lady Olivia. With which I will begin a new letter.

Letter XXL

Miss Byron*. In Continuation.

Sir Charles returned with the ladies. He presented to Lady Olivia and her aunt, Lady G. Lord L. and Lord W. I was in another apartment talking with Or. liartlett.

Lady Olivia asked for the doctor. He left me to pay his respects to her.

Sir Charles being informed, that I was in the house, told Lady Olivia, that he hoped he should have the honour of presenting to her one of our English beauties; desiring Lady G. to request my company.

Lady G. came to me A lovely woman, I assure you, Harriet; let me lead you to her.

Sir Charles met me at the entrance of the drawing room: Excuse me, madam, said he, taking my hand, with profound respect, and allow me to introduce you to a very amiable Italian lady Miss Byron, madam, addressing himself to her, salutes p3 you. The advantages of person are her least per-fection.

Her face glowed. Miss Byron! A relation, Sir? In Italian.

He bowed; but answered not her question.

I would sooner forgive you here, whispered Lady Olivia to Sir Charles, in Italian, looking at me, than at Bologna.

I heard her; and by my confusion shewed that I understood her. She was in confusion too.

Mademoiselle, said she, in French, understands Italian. I am ashamed, Monsieur.

Miss Byron does, answered Sir Charles; and French too.

I must have the honour, said she in French, to be better known to you, Mademoiselle.

I answered her as politely as I could in the same language.

Lady Olivia is really a lovely woman. Her complexion is fine. Her face oval. Every feature of it is delicate. Her hair is black; and, I think, I never saw brighter black eyes in my life: if possible, they are brighter, and shine with a more piercing lustre, than even Sir Charles Grandison’s: but yet I give his the .preference; for we see in them a benignity, that hers, though a woman’s, has not; and a thoughtfulness, as if something lay upon his mind, which nothing but patience could overcome; yet mingled with an air that shews him to be equal to any-thing, that can be undertaken by man. While Olivia’s eyes shew more fire and impetuosity than sweetness. Had I not been told it, I should have been sure that she has a violent spirit: but on the whole she is a very fine figure of a woman.

She talked of taking a house, and staying in England a year at least; and was determined, she said, to perfect herself in the language, and to be come an Englishwoman: but when Sir Charles, in the way of discourse, mentioned his obligation to leave England, as on next Saturday morning, how did she and her aunt look upon each other! And how was the sunshine that gilded her fine counte-nance, shut in! Surely, Sir, said her aunt, you are not in earnest!

After dinner, the two ladies retired with Sir Charles, at his motion. Dr. Bartlett, at Lady G.‘s request, then gave us this short sketch of her history: He said, she had a vast fortune: she had had indiscretions; but none that had affected her character as to virtue: but her spirits could not bear controul. She had shewn herself to be vindictive, even to a criminal degree. Lord bless me, my dear, the doctor has mentioned to me in confidence, that she always carries a poinard about her; and that once she used it. Had the person died, she would have been called to public account for it. The man, it seems, was of rank, and offered some slight affront to her. She now comes over, the doctor said, as he had reason to believe, with a resolution to sa-crifice even her religion, if it were insisted upon, to the passion she had so long in vain endeavoured to conquer.

She has, he says, an utter hatred to Lady Cle-mentina; and will not be able to govern her passion, he is sure, when Sir Charles shall acquaint her, that he is going to attend that lady, and her family: for he has only mentioned his obligation to go abroad; but not said whither.

Lord W. praised the person of the lady, and her majestic air. Lord L. and Lord G. wished to be within hearing of the conference between her and Sir Charles: so did Lady G.: and while they were thus wishing, in came Sir Charles, his face all in a glow; Lady L. said he, be so good as to attend Lady Olivia.

She went to her. Sir Charles staid not with us: yet went not to the lady; but into his study. Dr. Bartlett attended him there: the doctor returned soon after to us. His noble heart is vexed, said he: Lady Olivia has greatly disturbed him: he chooses to be alone.

Lady L. afterwards told us, that she found the lady in violent anguish of spirit; her aunt endeavouring to calm her: she, however, politely addressed her-self to Lady L. and begging her aunt to withdraw for a few moments, she owned to her, in French, her passion for her brother: She was not, she said, ashamed to own it to his sister, who must know that his merit would dignify the passion of the noblest woman. She had endeavoured to conquer hers: she had been willing to give way to the prior attach-ments that he had pleaded for a lady of her own country, Signora Clementina della Porretta, whom she allowed to have had great merit; but who, having irrecoverably been put out of her right mind, was shut up at Naples by a brother, who vowed eternal enmity to Sir Charles; and from whom his life would be in the utmost hazard, if he went over. She owned, that her chief motive for coming to England was, to cast her fortune at her brother’s feet; and as she knew him to be a man of honour, to comply with any terms he should propose to her. He had offered to the family della Porretta to allow their daughter her religion, and her confessor, and to live with her every other year in Italy. She herself, not inferior in birth, in person, in mind, as she said, she presumed, and superior in fortune, the riches of three branches of her family, all rich, having centered in her, insisted not now upon such’ conditions. Her aunt, she said, knew not that she proposed, on conviction, a change of her religion; but she was resolved not to conceal any-thing from Lady L. She left her to judge how much she must be affected, when he declared his obligation to leave England; and especially when he owned, that it was to go to Bologna, and that so suddenly, as if, as she apprehended at first, it was to avoid her. She had been in tears, and even would have kneeled to him, to induce him to suspend his journey for one month, and then to have taken her over with him, and seen her safe in her own palace, if he would go upon so hated, and so fruitless, as well as so hazardous an errand: but he had denied her this poor favour.

This refusal, she owned, had put her out of all patience. She was unhappily passionate; but was the most placable of her sex. What, madam, said she, can affect a woman, if slight, indignity, and repulse, from a favoured person, is not able to do it? a woman of my condition to come over to England, to solicit how can I support the thought and to be refused the protection of the man she prefers to all men; and her request to see her safe back again, though but as the fool she came over You may blame me, madam but you must pity me, even were you to have a heart the sister-heart of your inflexible brother.

In vain did Lady L. plead to her Lady Clemen-tina’s deplorable situation; the reluctance of his own relations to part with him; and the magna-nimity of his self-denial in an hundred instances, on the bare possibility of being an instrument to restore her: she could not bear to hear her speak highly of the unhappy lady. She charged Clementina with the pride of her family, to which she attributed their deserved calamity [Deserved! Cruel lady! How could her pitiless heart allow her lips to utter such a word!]; and imputed meanness to the noblest of human minds, for yielding to the intreaties of a fa-mily, some of the principals of which, she said, had treated him with an arrogance that a man of his spirit ought not to bear.

Lady Maffei came in. She seems dependent upon her niece. She is her aunt by marriage only: and Lady L. speaks very favourably of her from the ad-vice she gave, and her remonstrances to her niece. Lady Maffei besought her to compose herself, and return to the company.

She could not bear, she said, to return to the company, the slighted, the contemned object, she must appear to be to every one in it. I am an intruder, said she, haughtily; a beggar, with a fortune that would purchase a sovereignty in some countries. Make my excuses to your sister, to the rest of the company and to that fine young lady whose eyes, by their officious withdrawing from his, and by the consciousness that glowed in her face whenever he addressed her, betrayed, at least to a jealous eye, more than she would wish to have seen But tell her, that all lovely and blooming as she is, she must have no hope, while Clementina lives.

I hope, Lucy, it is only to a jealous eye that my heart is so discoverable! I thank her for her caution. But I can say what she cannot; that from my heart, cost me what it may, I do subscribe to a preference in favour of a lady who has acted, in the most arduous trials, in a greater manner than I fear either Olivia or I could have acted, in the same circumstances. We see that her reason, but not her piety, deserted her in the noble struggle between her love and her religion. In the most af — fecting absences of her reason, the soul of the man she loved was the object of her passion. However hard it is to prefer another to one’s self, in such a case as this; yet if my judgment is convinced, my acknowledgment shall follow it. Heaven will enable me to be reconciled to the event, because I pursue the dictates of that judgment, against the biasses of my more partial heart Let that Heaven, which only can, restore Clementina, and dispose as it pleases of Olivia and Harriet. We cannot either of us, I humbly hope, be so unhappy as the lady has been whom I rank among the first of women; and whose whole family deserves almost equal compassion.

Lady Olivia asked Lady L. If her brother had not a very tender regard for me? He had, Lady L. answered; and told her, that he had rescued me from a very great distress; and that mine was the most grateful of human hearts.

She called me sweet young creature (supposing me, I doubt not, younger than I am); but said, that the graces of my person and mind alarmed her not, as they would have done, had not his attachment to Clementina been what now she saw, but never could have believed it was; having supposed, that compassion only was the tie that bound him to her.

But compassion, Lucy, from such a heart as his, the merit so great in the lady, must be love; a love of the nobler kind And if it were not, it would be unworthy of Clementina’s.

Lady Maffei called upon her dignity, her birth, to carry her above a passion that met not with a grate-ful return. She advised her to dispose herself to stay in England some months, now she was here. And as her friends in Italy would suppose what her view was in coming to England, their censures would be obviated by her continuing here for some time, while Sir Charles was abroad,, and in Italy: and that she should divert herself with visiting the court, the public places, and in seeing the principal cu-riosities of this kingdom, as she had done those of others; in order to give credit to an excursion that might otherwise be freely spoken of, in her own country.

She seemed to listen to this advice. She bespoke, and was promised, the friendship of the two sisters; and included in her request, through their interests, mine; and Lady G. was called in, by her sister, to join in the promise.

She desired that Sir Charles might be requested to walk in; but would not suffer the sisters to with-draw, as they would have done, when he returned. He could not but be polite; but, it seems, looked still disturbed. I beg you to excuse, Sir, said she, my behaviour to you: it was passionate; it was unbecoming. But, in compliment to your own consequence, you ought to excuse it. I have only to request one favour of you: that you will suspend for one week, in regard to me, your proposed jour-ney; but for one week; and I will, now I am in England, stay some months; perhaps till your re-turn.

Excuse me, madam.

I will not excuse you But one week, Sir. Give me so much importance with myself, as for one week’s suspension. You will. You must.

Indeed 1 cannot. My soul, I own to you, is in the distresses of the family of Porretta. Why should I repeat what I said to you before?

I have bespoken, Sir, the civilities of your sisters, of your family: you forbid them not?

You expect not an answer, madam, to that question. My sisters will be glad, and so will their lords, to attend you wherever you please, with a hope to make England agreeable to you.

How long do you propose to stay in Italy, Sir?

It is not possible for me to determine.

Are you not apprehensive of danger to your per-son?

I am not.

You ought to be.

No danger shall deter me from doing what I think to be right. If my motives justify me, I cannot fear.

Do you wish me, Sir, to stay in England till your return?

A question so home put, disturbed him. Was it a prudent one in the lady? It must either subject her to a repulse; or him, by a polite answer, to give her hope, that her stay in England might not be fruitless as to the view she had in coming. He reddened. It is fit; answered he, that your own pleasure should determine you. It did, pardon me, madam, in your journey hither.

She reddened to her very ears. Your brother, ladies, has the reputation of being a polite man: bear witness to this instance of it. I am ashamed of myself!

If I am unpolite, madam, my sincerity will be my excuse; at least to my own heart.

O that inflexible heart! But, ladies, if the inhos-pitable Englishman refuse his protection in his own country, to a foreign woman, of no mean quality; do not you, his sisters, despise her.

They, madam, and their lords, will render you every cheerful service. Let me request you, my sisters, to make England as agreeable as possible to this lady. She is of the first consideration in her own country: she will be of such wherever she goes. My Lady Maffei deserves likewise your utmost re-spect. Then addressing himself to them; Ladies, Q said he, encourage my sisters: they will think them-selves honoured by your commands.

The two sisters confirmed, in an obliging manner, what their brother had said; and both ladies ac-knowledged themselves indebted to them for their offered friendship: but Lady Olivia seemed not at all satisfied with their brother: and it was with some difficulty he prevailed on her to return to the company, and drink coffee.

I could not help reflecting, on occasion of this lady’s conduct, that fathers and mothers are great blessings, to daughters, in particular, even when wo-men grown. It is not every woman that will shine in a state of independency. Great fortunes are snares. If independent women escape the machi-nations of men, which they have often a difficulty to do, they will frequently be hurried by their own imaginations, which are said to be livelier than those of men, though their judgments are supposed less, into inconveniencies. Had Lady Olivia’s parents or uncles lived, she hardly would have been per-mitted to make the tour of Europe: and not having so great a fortune to support vagaries, would have shone, as she is well qualified to do, in a dependent state in Italy, and made some worthy man and her-self happy.

Had she a mind great enough to induce her to pity Clementina, I should have been apt to pity her; for I saw her soul was disturbed. I saw that the man she loved was not able to return her love: a pitiable case! I saw a starting tear now-and-then with difficulty dispersed. Once she rubbed her eye, and, being conscious of observation, said something had got into it: so it had. The something was a tear. Yet she looked with haughtiness, and her bo-som swelled with indignation ill concealed.

Sir Charles repeated his recommendation of her to Lord L. and Lord G. They offered their best services: Lord W. invited her and all of us to Windsor. Different parties of pleasure were talked of: but still the enlivener of every party was not to be in any one of them. She tried to look pleased; but did not always succeed in the trial: an eye of love and anger mingled was often cast upon the man whom every-body loved. Her bosom heaved, as it seemed sometimes, with indignation against herself: that was the construction which I made of some of her looks.

Lady Maffei, however, seemed pleased with the parties of pleasure talked of: she often directed herself to me in Italian. I answered her in it as well as I could. I do not talk it well: but as I am not an Italian, and little more than book-learned in it (for it is a long time ago since I lost my grandfather, who used to converse with me in it, and in French) I was not scrupulous to answer in it. To have for-born, because I did not excel in what I had no opportunity to excel in, would have been false modesty, nearly bordering upon pride. Were any lady to laugh at me for not speaking well her native tongue, I would not return the smile, were she to be less perfect in mine, than I am in hers. But Lady Olivia made me a compliment on my faulty accent, when I acknowledged it to be so. Signora, said she, you shew us that a pretty mouth can give beauty to a defect. A master teaching you, added she, would perhaps find some fault; but n, friend conversing with you, must be in love with you for the very imperfection.

Sir Charles was generously pleased with the compliment, and made her a fine one on her obser-vation.

He attended the two ladies to their lodgings in his Q’2 coach. He owned to Dr. Bartlett, that Lady Olivia was in tears all the way, lamenting her disgrace in coming to England, just as he was quitting it; and wishing she had staid at Florence. She would have engaged him to correspond with her: he excused himself. It was a very afflicting thing to him, he told the doctor, to deny any request that was made to him, especially by a lady: but he thought he ought in conscience and honour to forbear giving the shadow of an expectation that might be improved into hope, where none was intended to be given. Heaven, he said, had, for laudable ends, implanted such a regard in the sexes towards each other, that both man and woman who hoped to be innocent, could not be too circumspect in relation to the friendships they were so ready to contract with each other. He thought he had gone a great way, in recommending an intimacy between her and his sisters, considering her views, her spirit, her per-severance, and the free avowal of her regard for him, and her menaces on his supposed neglect of her. And yet, as she had come over, and he was obliged to leave England so soon after her arrival; he thought he could not do less: and he hoped his sisters, from whose example she might be benefited, would, while she behaved prudently, cultivate her acquaintance.

The doctor tells me, that now Lady Olivia is so unexpectedly come hither in person, he thinks it best to decline giving me, as he had once intended, her history at large; but will leave so much of it as may satisfy my curiosity, to be gathered from my own observation; and not only from the violence and haughtiness of her temper, but from the free-dom of her declarations. He is sure, he said, that his patron will be best pleased, that a veil should be thrown over the weaker part of her conduct; which, were it known, would indeed be glorious to Sir Charles, but not so to the lady; who, however, never was suspected, even by her enemies, of giving any other man reason to tax her with a thought that was not strictly virtuous: and she had engaged his pity and esteem, for the sake of her other fine qualities, though she could not his love. Before she saw him (which, it seems, was at the opera at Florence for the first time, when he had an oppor-tunity to pay her some slight civilities) she set all men at defiance.

To-morrow morning Sir Charles is to breakfast with me. My cousins and I are to dine at Lord L.‘s. The earl and Lady Gertrude are also to be there. Lord W. has been prevailed upon to stay, and be there also, as it is his nephew’s last day in England. ‘ Last day in England!’ O my Lucy! What words are those! Lady L. has invited Lady Olivia and her aunt, at her own motion, Sir Charles (his time being so short) not disapproving.

I thank my grandmamma and aunt for their kind summons. 1 will soon set my day: I will, my dear, soon set my day.

Letter XXII.

Miss Byron. In Continuation.

Friday noon, April 14. Not five hours in bed; not one hour’s rest for many uneasy nights before; I was stupid till Sir Charles came: I then was better. He enquired, with tender looks and voice, after my health; as if he thought I did not look well.

We had some talk about Lord and Lady G. He was anxious for their happiness. He complimented me with hopes from my advice to her. Lord G. he said, was a good-natured worthy man. If he thought his sister would make him unhappy, he should him-self be so.

I told him, that I dared to answer for her heart. My lord must bear with some innocent foibles, and all would be well.

We then talked of Lady Olivia. He began the subject, by asking me my opinion of her. I said she was a very fine woman in her person; and that she had an air of grandeur in her mien.

And she has good qualities, said he; but she is violent in her passions. I am frequently grieved for her. She is a fine creature in danger of being lost, by being made too soon her own mistress.

He said not one word of his departure tomorrow morning: I could not begin it; my heart would not let me; my spirits were not high: and I am afraid, if that key had been touched, I should have been too visibly affected. My cousins forbore, upon the same apprehension.

He was excessively tender and soothing to me, in his air, his voice, his manner. I thought of what Emily said; that his voice, when he spoke of me, was the voice of love. Dear flattering girl! But vohy did she flatter me?

We talked of her next. He spoke of her with the tenderness of a father. He besought me to love her. He praised her heart.

Emily, said I, venerates her guardian. She never will do any-thing contrary to his advice. She is very young, replied he. She will be happy, madam, in yours. She both loves and reverences you.

I greatly love the dear Emily, Sir. She and I shall be always sisters,

How happy am I in your goodness to her! Per-mit me, madam, to enumerate to you my own fe — licities in those of my dearest friends.

Mr. Beauchamp is now in the agreeable situation I have long wished him to be in. His prudence and obliging behaviour to his mother-inlaw, have won her. His father grants him every — thing through her; and she, by this means, finds that power enlarged which she was afraid would be lessened, if the son were allowed to come over. How just is this re-ward of his filial duty!

Thus, Lucy, did he give up the merit to his Beauchamp, which was solely due to himself.

Lord W. he hoped, would be soon one of the happiest men in England: and the whole Mansfield family had now fair prospects opening before them.

Emily [not he, you see] had made it the interest of her mother to be quiet.

Lord and Lady L. gave him pleasure whenever he saw them, or thought of them.

Dr. Bartlett was in heaven, while on earth. He would retire to his beloved Grandison-hall, and employ himself in distributing, as objects offered, at least a thousand pounds of the three thousand bequeathed to charitable uses by his late friend Mr. Danby. His sister’s fortune was paid. His estates in both kingdoms were improving See, madam, said he, how like the friend of my soul I claim your attention to affairs that are of consequence to my-self; and in some of which your generosity of heart has interested you.

I bowed. Had I spoken, I had burst into tears. I had something arose in my throat, I know not what. Still, thought I, excellent man, you are not yourself happy! O pity! pity! Yet, Lucy, he plain-ly had been enumerating all these things, to take oft’ from my mind that impression which I am afraid he too well knows it is affected with, from his difficult situation.

And now, madam, resumed he, how are all my dear and good friends, whom you more particularly call yours? I hope to have the honour of a personal knowledge of them. When heard you from our good Mr. Deane? He is well, I hope.

Very well, Sir.

Your grandmamma Shirley that ornament of ad-vanced years?

I bowed: I dared not to trust to my voice.

Your excellent aunt Selby?

I bowed again.

Your uncle, your Lucy, your Nancy: Happy fa-mily! All harmony! all love! How do they?

I wiped my eyes.

Is there any service in my power to do them, or any of them? Command me, good Miss Byron, if there be: my Lord W. and I are one. Our influ-ence is not small Make me still more happy, in the power of serving any one favoured by you.

You oppress me, Sir, by your goodness! I can-not speak my grateful sensibilities.

Will you, my dear Mr. Reeves, Will you, madam, (to my cousin) employ me in any way that I can be of use to you, either abroad or at home? Your ac-quaintance has given me great pleasure. To what a family of worthies has this excellent young lady introduced me!

O Sir! said Mrs. Reeves, tears running down her cheeks, that you were not to leave people whom you have made so happy in the knowledge of the best of men!

Indispensable calls must be obeyed, my dear Mrs. Reeves. If we cannot be as happy as we wish, we will rejoice in the happiness we can have. We must not be our own carvers.’ But I make you all serious. I was enumerating, as I told you, my present feliei-ties: I was rejoicing in your friendships. I have joy; and, I presume to say, I ivillh&ve joy. There is a bright side in every event; I will not lose sight of it: and there is a dark one; but I will endeavour to see it only with the eye of prudence, that I may not be involved by it at unawares. Who that is not re-proached by his own heart, and is blessed with health, can grieve for inevitable evils; evils that can be only evils as we make them so? Forgive my seriousness: my dear friends, you make me grave. Favour me, I beseech you, my good Miss Byron, with one lesson: we shall be too much engaged, perhaps, by-and-by.

He led me (1 thought it was with a cheerful air; but my cousins both say, his eyes were full) to the harpsichord: he sung unasked, but with alow voice: and my mind was calmed. O Lucy! Hew can I part with such a man? How can I take my leave of him? But perhaps he has taken his leave of me already, as to the solemnity of it, in the manner I have recited.

Letter XXIII.

Miss Byron. In Continuation.

Saturday morning, April 15. O Lucy, Sir Charles Grandison is gone! Gone indeed! He set out at three this morning; on purpose, no doubt, to spare his sisters, and friends, as well as himself, concern.

We broke not up till after two. Were I in the writing humour which I have never known to fail me till now, I could dwell upon an hundred things, some of which I can now only briefly mention.

Dinner-time yesterday passed with tolerablecheer-fulness: every one tried to be cheerful. O what pain attends loving too well, and being too well beloved! He must have pain, as well as we.

Lady Olivia was the most thoughtful, at dinner-time; yet poor Emily! Ah the poor Emily! she went out four or five times to weep; though only I per-ceived it.

Nobody was cheerful after dinner but Sir Charles. He seemed to exert himself to be so. He prevailed on me to give them a lesson on the harpsichord. Lady L. played: Lady G. played: we tried to play, I should rather say. He himself took the violin, and afterwards sat down to the harpsichord, for one short lesson. He was not known to be such a master: but he was long in Italy. Lady Olivia indeed knew him to be so. She was induced to play upon the harp-sichord: she surpassed every-body. Italy is the land of harmony.

About seven at night he singled me out, and sur-prised me greatly by what he said. He told me, that Lady D. had made him a visit. I was before low: I was then ready to sink. She has asked me questions, madam.

Sir, Sir! was all I could say. Hehimselftrembledashe spoke Alas! my dear, he surely loves me! Hear how solemnly he spoke God Almighty be your director, my dear Miss Byron! I wish not more happiness to my own soul, than I do to you. In discharge of a promise made, I mention this visit to you: I might otherwise have spared you, and myself

He stopt there Then resumed; for I was silent, T could not speak Your friends will be entreated for a man that loves you; a very worthy young no-bleman. I give you emotion, madam. Forgive me. I have performed my promise. He turned from me with a seeming cheerful air. How could he ap-pear to be cheerful!

We made parties at cards. I knew not what I played. Emily sighed, and tears stole down her cheeks, as she played. O how she loves her guar-dian! Emily, I say I don’t know what I write!

At supper we were all very melancholy. Mr. Beauchamp was urgent to go abroad with him. He changed the subject, and gave him an indirect denial, as I may call it, by recommending the two Italian ladies to his best services.

Sir Charles, kind, good, excellent! wished to Lord L. to have seen Mr. Grandison! unworthy as that man has made himself of his attention.

He was a few moments in private with Lady Olivia. She returned to company with red eyes.

Poor Emily watched an opportunity to be spoken toby him alone So diligently! He led her to the window About one o’clock it was He held both her hands. He called her, she says, his Emily. He charged her to write to him.

She could not speak; she could only sob; yet thought she had a thousand things to say to him.

I le contradicted not the hope his sisters and their lords had of his breakfasting with them. They invited me; they invited the Italian ladies: Lady L. Lord L. did go, in expectation: but Lady G. when she found him gone, sent me and the Italian ladies word, that he was. It would have been cruel, if she had not. How could he steal away so! I find, that he intended that his morning visit to me (as indeed I half-suspected) should be a taking leave of my cousins, and your Harriet. How many things did he say then How many questions ask In ten-derwoe He wanted to do us all service He seem — ed not to know what to say Surely he hates not your poor Harriet What struggles in his noble bosom! But a man cannot complain: a man cannot ask for compassion, as a woman can. But surely his is the gentlest of manly minds!

When we broke up, he handed my cousin Reeves into her coach. He handed me. Mr. Reeves said, We see you again, Sir Charles, in the morning? He bowed. At handing me in he sighed He pressed my hand I think he did That was all. He sa-luted nobody He will not meet his Clementina as he parted with us.

But, I doubt not, Dr. Bartlett was in the secret. * *

He was. He has just been here. He found my eyes swelled. I had had no rest; yet knew not, till seven o’clock, that he was gone.

It was very good of the doctor to come: his visit soothed me: yet he took no notice of my red eyes. Nay, Mrs. Reeves’s eyes were swelled, as well as mine. Angel of a man! How is he beloved!

The doctor says, that his sisters, their lords, Lord W. are in as much grief as if he were departed for ever And who knows But I will not torment my-self with supposing the worst: I will endeavour to bear in mind what he said yesterday morning to us, no doubt for an instruction, that he would have joy.

And did he then think that I should be so much grieved as to want such an instruction? And there-fore did he vouchsafe to give it? But, vanity, be quiet Lie down, hope Hopelessness, take place! Clementina shall be his. He shall be hers.

Yet his emotion, Lucy, at mentioning Lady D.‘s visit O! but that was only owing to his humanity. He saw my emotion; and acknowledgedthetenderest friendship for me! Ought I not to be satisfied with that? I am. I will be satisfied. Does he not love me with the love of mind? The poor Olivia has not this to comfort herself with. The poor Olivia! If I see her sad and afflicted, how I shall pity her! All her expectations frustrated; the expectations that engaged her to combat difficulties, to travel, to cross many waters, and to come to England to come just time enough to take leave of him; he hastening on the wings of love and compassion to a dearer, a deservedly dearer object, in the country she had quit — ted, on purpose to visit him in his Is not hers a more grievous situation than mine? It is. Why, then, do I lament?

But here, Lucy, let me in confidence hint, what I have gathered from several intimations from Dr. Bartlett, though as tenderly made by him as possible, that had Sir Charles Grandison been a man capable of taking advantage of the violence of a lady’s pas-sion for him, the unhappy Olivia would not have scrupled, great, haughty, and noble, as she is, by birth and fortune, to have been his, without conditions, if she could not have been so with: the Italian world is of this opinion, at least. Had Sir Charles been a llinaldo, Olivia had been an Armida.

O that I could hope, for the honour of the sex, and of the lady who is so fine a woman, that the Italian world is mistaken! I will presume that it is.

My good Dr. Bartlett, will you allow me to accuse you of a virtue too rigorous? That is sometimes the fault of very good people. You own that Sir Charles has not, even to you, revealed a secret so disgraceful to her. You own that he has only blamed her for having too little regard for her reputation, and for the violence of her temper: yet how patiently, for one of such a temper, has she taken his departure, almost on the day of her arrival! He could not have given her an opportunity to indicate to him a concession so criminal: she could not, if he had, have made the overture. Wicked, wicked world! I will not believe you i And the less credit shall yon have with me, Italian world, as I have seen the lady. The innocent heart will be a charitable one. Lady Olivia is only too intrepid. Prosperity, as Sir Charles observed, has been a snare to her, and set her above a properregard to her reputation. Merciless world! I do not love you. Dear Dr. Bartlett, you are not yet absolutely perfect! These hints of yours against Olivia, gathered from the malevolence of the envious, are proofs (the first indeed that I have met with) of your imperfection!

Excuse me, Lucy: How have I run on! Disap-pointment has mortified me, and made me good — natured. I will welcome adversity, if it enlarge my charity.

The doctor tells me that Emily, with her half-broken heart, will be here presently. If I can be of comfort to her But I want it myself, from the same cause. We shall only weep over each other.

As I told you, the doctor, and the doctor only, knew of his setting out so early. He took leave of him. Happy Dr. Bartlett! Yet I see by his eyes, that this parting cost him some paternal tears.

Never father better loved a son than this good man loves Sir Charles Grandison.

Sir Charles, it seems, had settled all his affairs three days before. His servants were appointed.

I he doctor tells me, that he had last week pre* se ted the elder Mr. Oldham with a pair of colours, which he had purchased for him. Nobody had heard of this.

Lord W. he says, is preparing for Windsor; Mr. Beauchamp for Hampshire, for a few days; and then he returns to attend the commands of the noble Italians.

Lady Olivia will soon have her equipage ready.

She will make a great appearance: But Sir Chaulks GiiANnisoN will not be with her. What is grandeur to a disturbed heart?

The Earl of G. and Lady Gertrude are setting out for Hertfordshire. Lord and Lady L. talk of retiring for a few weeks, to Colnebrook: the doctor is preparing for Grandison-hall; your poor Harriet for Northamptonshire Bless me, my dear, what a dispersion! But Lord VV.‘s nuptials will collect some of them together at Windsor. * *

Emily, the dear weeping girl! is just come. She is with my cousins. She expects my permission for coming up to me. Imagine us weeping over each other; praying for, blessing the guardian of us both. Your imagination cannot form a scene too tender. Adieu, my Lucy.

Letter XXIV.

Miss Byron. In Continuation.

Sunday, April 16. O what a blank, my dear! But I need not say what I was going to say. Poor Emily! But to mention her grief, is to paint my own.

Lord W. went to Windsor yesterday.

A very odd behaviour of Lady Olivia. Mr. Beau-champ went yesterday, and offered to attend her to any of the public places, at her pleasure; in pur-suance of Sir Charles’s reference to him, to do all in his power to make England agreeable to her; and she thought fit to tell him before her aunt, that she thanked him for his civility; but she should not trouble him during her stay in England. She had gentlemen in her train; and one of them had been in England before

He left her in disgust. ii 2

Lady L. making her a visit in the evening, she told her of Mr. Beauchamp’s offer, and of her answer. The gentleman, said she, is a polite and very agreeable man; and this made me treat his kind offer with abruptness: for I can hardly doubt your brother’s view in it. I scorn his view: and if I were sure of it, perhaps I should find a way to make him repent of the indignity. Lady L. was sure, she said, that neither her brother, nor Mr. Beauchamp, had any other views than to make England as agreeable to her as possible.

Be this as it may, madam, said she, I have no ser-vice for Mr. Beauchamp: but if your ladyship, your sister, and your two lords, will allow me to cultivate your friendship, you will do me honour. Dr. Bart-lett’s company will be very agreeable to me likewise, as often as he will give it me. To Miss Jervois I lay some little claim. I would have had her for my companion in Italy; but your cruel brother No more, however, of him. Your English beauty too, I admire her: but, poor young creature, I admire her the more, because I can pity her. I should think myself very happy to be better acquainted with her.

Lady L. made her a very polite answer for herself and her sister, and their lords. But told her, that I was very soon to set out for my own abode in Northamptonshire; and that Dr. Bartlett had some commissions, which would oblige him, in a day or two, to go to Sir Charles’s seat in the country. She herself offered to attend her to Windsor, and to every other place, at her command. * #

Lady L. took notice of her wrist being bound round with a broad black ribband, and asked, if it were hurt? A kind of sprain, said she. But you little imagine how it came; and must not ask.

This made Lady L. curious. And Olivia re-questing that Emily might be allowed to breakfast with her as this morning; she has bid the dear girl endeavour to know how it came, if it fell in her way; for Olivia reddened, and looked up, with a kind of consciousness to Lady L. when she told her that she must not ask questions about it.

Lady G. is very earnest with me to give into the town-diversions for a month to come: but I have now no desire in my heart so strong, as to return to all my dear Northamptonshire friends.

I am only afraid of my uncle. He will railly his Harriet; yet only, I know, in hopes to divert her, and us all: but my jesting days are over: my situation will not bear it. Yet if it will divert him, let him railly.

I shall be so much importuned to stay longer than I ought, or xviU stay, that I may as well fix a per-emptory day at once. Will you, my ever indulgent friends, allow me to set out for Selby-house on Friday next? Not on a Sunday, as Lady Betty Wil-liams advises, for fear of the odious rvagfrons. But I have been in a different school. Sir Charles Grandison, 1 find, makes it a tacit rule with him, never to begin a journey on a Sunday; nor, except when in pursuit of works of mercy or necessity, to travel in time of divine service. And this rule he observed last Sunday, though he reached us here in the evening. my grandmamma! How much is he, what you all are, and ever have been! But he is now pursuing a work of mercy. God succeed to him the cud of his pursuit!

By why tacit? you will ask. Is Sir Charles Grandison ashamed to make an open appearance in behalf of his Christian duties? He is not. For instance; I have never seen him sit down at his own table, in the absence of Dr. Bartlett, or some other clergyman, but he himself says grace; and that with k 3 such an easy dignity, as commands every one’s re-verence; and which is succeeded by a cheerfulness that looks as if he were the better pleased for having shewn a thankful heart.

Dr. Bartlett has also told me, that he begins and ends every day, either in his chamber, or in his study, in a manner worthy of one who is in earnest in his Christian profession. But he never frights gay company with grave maxims. I remember, one day, Mr. Grandison asked him, in his absurd way, Why he did not preach to his company now-and-then? Faith, Sir Charles, said he, if you did, you would reform many a poor ignorant sinner of us; since you could do it with more weight, and more certainty of attention than any parson in Christendom .

It would be an affront, said Sir Charles, to the understanding, as well as education, of a man who took rank above a peasant, in such a country as this, to seem to question whether he knew his ge-neral duties, or not, and the necessity of practising what he knew of them. If he should be at a loss, he may once a week be reminded, and his heart kept warm. Let you and me, cousin Everard, shew our conviction by our practice; and not invade the clergyman’s province.

I remember, that Mr. Grandison shewed his conviction by his blushes; and by repeating the three little words, You and me! Sir Charles.

Sunday evening. O my dear friends! I have a strange, a shocking piece of intelligence to give you! Emily has just been with me in tears: she begged to speak with me in private. When we were alone, she threw her aims about my neck; Ah, madam! said she, I am come to tell you, that there is a person in the world that I hate, and must and will hate, as long as I live.

It is Lady Olivia. Take me down with you into Northamptonshire, and never let me see her more. I was surprised. madam! I have found out, that she would, on Thursday last, have killed my guardian.

I was astonished, Lucy.

They retired together, you know, madam! He came from her, his face in a glow; and he sent in his sister to her, and went not in himself till after-wards. She would have had him put off his journey. She was enraged because he would not; and they were high together; and at last she pulled out of her stays, in fury, a poinard, and vowed to plunge it into his heart. He should never, she said, see his Clementina more. He went to her. Her heart failed her. Well it might, you know, madam. He seized her hand. He took it from her. She strug-gled, and in struggling her wrist was hurt; that’s the meaning of the broad black ribband! Wicked creature! to have such a thought in her heart! He only said, when he had got it from her, Unhappy, violent woman! I return not this instrument of mischief! You will have no use for it in England And would not let her have it again.

I shuddered. O my dear, said I, he has been a sufferer, we are told, by good women; but this is not a good woman. But can it be true? Who informed you of it?

Lady Maffei herself. She thought that Sir Charles must have spoken of it: and when she found he had not, she was sorry she had, and begged I would not tell any-body: but I could not keep it from you. And she says, that Lady Olivia is grieved on the remembrance of it; and arraigns herself and her wicked passion; and the more, for his noble for-giveness of her on the spot, and recommending her afterwards to the civilities of his sisters, and their lords. But I hate her, for all that.

Faulty but unhappy Olivia! said I. But what, my Emily, are we women, who should be the meekest and tenderest of the whole animal creation, when we give way to passion! But if she is so penitent, let not the shocking attempt be known to his sisters, or their lords. I may take the liberty of mentioning it, in strict confidence [Observe that, LucyJ to those from whom I keep not any secret: but let it not be divulged to any of the relations of Sir Charles. Their detestation of her, which must follow, would not be concealed; and the unhappy creature, made desperate, might Who knows what she might do?

The dear girl ran on upon what might have been the consequence, and what a loss the world would have had, if the horrid fact bad been perpetrated. Lady Maffei told her, however, that had not her heart relented, she might have done him mischief; for he was too rash in approaching her. She fell down on her knees to him, as soon as he had wrest-ed the poinard from her. I forgive, and pity you, madam, said he, with an air that had, as Olivia and her aunt have recollected since, both majesty and compassion in it: but against her entreaty, he would withdraw. Yet, aV her request, sent in Lady L. to her; and, going into his study, told not even Dr. Bartlett of it, though he went to him there imme-diately.

From the consciousness of this violence, perhaps, the lady was more temperate afterwards, even to the very time of his departure. * #

Lord bless me, What shall I do? Lady D. has sent a card to let me know, that she will wait upon Mrs. Reeves and me tomorrow to breakfast. She comes, no doubt, to tell me, that Sir Charles having no thoughts of Harriet Byron, Lord D. may have hopes of succeeding with her: and perhaps her lady-ship will plead Sir Charles’s recommendation and interest in Lord D.‘s favour. But should this plea be made, good Heaven give me patience! I am afraid I shall be uncivil to this excellent woman.

Letter XXV.

Miss Byron. In Continuation.

Monday, April 17. The countess is just gone.

Mr. Reeves was engaged before to breakfast with Lady Betty Williams; and we were only Mrs. Reeves, Lady L). and I.

My heart ached at her entrance; and every moment still more, as we were at breakfast. Her looks, I thought, had such a particular kindness and meaning in them, as seemed to express, ‘ You have no hopes, Miss Byron, any-where else; and I will have you to be mine.’

But my suspense was over the moment the tea-table was removed. I see your confusion, my dear, said the countess [Mrs. Reeves, you must not leave us]; and I have sat in pain for you, as I saw it increase. By this I know that Sir Charles Grandison has been as good as his word. Indeed, I doubted not but he would. I don’t wonder, my dear, that you love him. He is the finest man in his manners, as well as person, that I ever saw. A woman of virtue and honour cannot but love him. But I need not praise him to you; nor to you, neither, Mrs. Reeves: I see that.

Now you must know, proceeded she, that there is an alliance proposed for my son, of which I think very well; but still should have thought better, had I never seen you, my dear. I have talked to my lord about it: you know I am very desirous to have him married. His answer was; I never can think of any proposal of this nature, while I have any hope that I can make myself acceptable to Miss Byron.

What think you, my lord, said I, if I should di-rectly apply to Sir Charles Grandison, to know his intentions; and whether he has any hopes of ob-taining her favour? He is said to be the most un reserved of men. He knows our characters to be as unexceptionable as his own; and that our alli-ance cannot be thought a discredit to the first family in the kingdom. It is a free question, I own, as I am unacquainted with him by person: but he is such a man that methinks I can take pleasure in addressing myself to him on any subject.

My lord smiled at the freedom of my motion; but not disapproving it, I directly went to Sir Charles, and, after due compliments, told him my business.

The countess stopt. She is very penetrating. She looked at us both.

Well, madam, said my cousin, with an air of cu-riosity Pray, your ladyship

I could not speak for very impatience

I never heard in my life, said the countess, such a fine character of any mortal, as he gave you. He told me of his engagements to go abroad as the very next day. He highly extolled the lady for .whose sake, principal]}’, he was obliged to go abroad; and he spoke as higlily of a brother of hers, whom he loved as if he were his own brother; and mentioned very affectionately the young lady’s whole family.

‘ God only knows, (said he,) what may be my destiny! As generosity, as justice, oi* rather as Pro — vidence leads, I will follow.’

After he had generously opened his heart, proceeded the countess, I asked him, if he had any hope, should the foreign lady recover her health, of her being his?

‘ I can promise myself nothing, (said he.) I go over without one selfish hope. If the lady recover her health, and her brother can be amended in his, by the assistance I shall carry over with me, I shall have joy inexpressible. To Providence I leave the rest. The result cannot be in my own power.’

Then, Sir, proceeded the countess, you cannot in honour be under any engagements to Miss Byron?

I arose from my seat. Whither, my dear? I have done, if I oppress you. I moved my chair behind hers, but so close to hers, that I leaned on the back of it, my face hid, and my eyes running over. She stood up. Sit down again, madam, said I, and proceed Pray proceed. You have excited my curiosity. Only let me sit here unheeded, behind you.

Pray, madam, said Mrs. Reeves (burning also with curiosity, as she has since owned) go on; and indulge my cousin in her present seat. What an-swer did Sir Charles return?

Let me first, said the countess (sitting down, as I had requested) be answered one question. I would not do mischief.

You cannot do mischief, madam, replied I. What is your ladyship’s question?

Has Sir Charles Cirandison ever directly made his addresses to you, my dear?

Never, madam.

It is not for want of love, I dare aver, that he has not. But thus he answered my question: ‘ I should have thought myself the unworthiest of men, knowing the difficulties of my own situation, how great soever were the temptation from Miss Byron’s merit, if I had sought to engage her affections.’

[O, Lucy, how nobly is his whole conduct to-wards me justified!]

‘ She has, madam, (proceeded the countess in his words) ‘ a prudence that I never knew equalled in a woman so young. With a frankness of mind, to which hardly ever young lady before her had pretensions, she has such a command of her affections, that no man, I dare say, will ever have a share in them, till he has courted her favour by assiduities which shall convince her that he has no heart but for her.’

O my Lucy! What an honour to me would these sentiments be, if I deserved them! And can Sir Charles Grandison think I do? I hope so. But if he does, how much am I indebted to his favourable, his generous opinion! Who knows but I have reason to rejoice at, rather than to regret, as I used to do, his frequent absences from Colnebrook? The countess proceeded.

Then, Sir, you will not take it amiss, if my son, by his assiduities, can prevail upon Miss Byron to think that he has merit, and that his heart is wholly devoted to her.

‘ Amiss, madam! No! In justice, in honour, I cannot. May Miss Byron be, as she deserves to be, one of the happiest women on earth in her nup-tials. I have heard a great character of Lord D. He has a very large estate. He may boast of his mother. God forbid, that I, a man divided in my-self, not knowing what I can do, hardly sometimes what I ought to do, should I seek to involve in my own uncertainties the friend I revere; the woman I so greatly admire: her beauty so attracting; so proper therefore for her to engage a generous protector in the marriage state!’

Generous man! thought I. O how my tears ran down my cheeks, as 1 hid my face behind the countess’s chair?

But will you allow me, Sir, proceeded the coun-tess, to ask you, Were you freed from all your un certainties

‘ Permit me, madam, interrupted he, to spare you the question you were going to put. As I know not what will be the result of my journey abroad, I should think myself a very selfish man, and a very dishonourable one to two ladies of equal delicacy and worthiness, if I sought to involve, as I hinted before, in my own uncertainties, a young lady whose prudence and great qualities must make her-self and any man happy, whom she shall favour with her hand.

‘ To be still more explicit, (proceeded he,) With what face could I look up to a woman of honour and delicacy, such a one as the lady before whom I now stand, if I could own a wish, that, while my honour has laid me under obligation to one lady, if she shall be permitted to accept of me, I should presume to hope, that another, no less worthy, would hold her favour for me suspended, till she saw what would be the issue of the first obligation? No, madam; I could sooner die, than offer such indig-nity to both! I am fettered, added he: but Miss Byron is free: and so is the lady abroad. My at-tendance on her at this time, is indispensable; but I make not any conditions for myself My reward will be in the consciousness of having discharged the obligations that I think myself under, as a man of honour.’

The countess’s voice changed in repeating this speech of his: and she stopt to praise him; and then went on.

You are THE man, indeed, Sir! But then give me leave to ask you, as I think it very likeiy that you will be married before your return to England, Whether now that you have been so good as to speak favourably of my son, and that you call Miss Byron sister, you will oblige him with a recommen-dation to that sister?

‘ The Countess of D. shews, by this request, her value for a young lady who deserves it; and the more, for its being, I think (excuse me, madam) a pretty extraordinary one. But what a presumption would it be in me to suppose that I had such an interest with Miss Byron, when she has relations as worthy of her, as she is of them? ’

You may guess, my dear, said the countess, that I should not have put this question, but as a trial of his heart. However, I asked his pardon; and told him, that I would not believe he gave it me, except he would promise to mention to Miss Byron, that I had made him a visit on this subject [Methinks, Lucy, I should have been glad that he had not let me know that he was so forgiving!]

And now, my dear, said the lady, let me turn about. She did; and put one arm round my neck, and with my own handkerchief wiped my eyes, and kissed my cheek; and when she saw me a little re-covered, she addressed me as follows:

Now, my good young creature, [O that you would let me call you daughter in my own way! for 1 think I must always call you so, whether you do, or not] let me ask you, as if I were your real mother, ‘ Have you any expectation that Sir Charles Grandison will be yours? ’

Dear madam, Is not this as hard a question to be put to me, as that which you put to him?

Yes, my dear full as hard. And I am as ready to ask your pardon, as I was his, if you are really displeased with me for putting it. Are you, Miss

Byron? Excuse me, Mrs. Reeves, for thus urging your lovely cousin; I am at least entitled to the excuse Sir Charles Grandison made for me, that it is a demonstration of my value for her.

I have declared, madam, returned I, and it is from my heart, that I think he ought to be the husband of the lady abroad: and though I prefer him to all the men I ever saw, yet I have resolved, if possible, to conquer the particular regard I have for him. He has in a very noble manner offered me his friend-ship, so long as it may be accepted without inter — fering with any other attachments on my part: and I will be satisfied with that.

A friendship so pure, replied the countess, as that of such a man, is consistent with any other attach-ments. My Lord D. will, with his whole soul, con tribute all in his power to strengthen it: he admires Sir Charles Grandison: he would think it a double honour to be acquainted with him through you. Dearest Miss Byron, take another worthy young man into your friendship, but with a tenderer name: I shall then claim a fourth place in it for myself. O my dear! What a quadruple knot will you tie!

Your ladyship does me too much honour, was all I could just then reply.

I must have an answer, my dear: 1 will not take up with a compliment.

This, then, madam, is my answer I hope I am an honest creature: I have not a heart to give.

Then you have expectations, my dear. Well, I will call you mine, if I can. Never did I think that I could have made the proposal, that I am going to make you: but in my eyes, as well as in my lord’s, you are an incomparable young woman. This is it We will not think of the alliance proposed to us (it is yet but a proposal, and to which we have not returned any answer) till we see what turn the affair s2

Sir Charles is gone upon, takes. You once said, you could prefer my son to any of the men that had hitherto applied to you for your favour. Your affections to Sir Charles were engaged before you knew us. Will you allow my son this preference, which will be the first preference, if Sir Charles engages himself abroad?

Your ladyship surprises me: Shall I not improve by the example you have just now set before me? Who was it that said (and a man too) ‘ With what face could I look up to a woman of honour and delicacy, such a one as the lady before whom I now stand, if I could own a wish, that, while’ my heart leaned to one person, I should think of keeping an-other in suspense till I saw whether I could or could not be the other’s? ‘ No, madam, I would sooner die,’ as Sir Charles said, ‘ than offer such an indignity to both.’ But I know, madam, that you only made this proposal, as you did another to Sir Charles Grandison, as a trial of my heart.

Upon my word, my dear, I should, I think, be glad to be entitled to such an excuse: but I was really in earnest: and now take a little shame to myself.

What charming ingenuousness in this lady!

I have but one plea, to make for myself, added she; I could not have fallen into such an error (the example so recently given to the contrary) had I not wished you to be, before any woman in the world, Countess of D. Noble creature! No title can give you dignity. May your own wishes be granted!

The countess asked, When I returned to North-amptonshire? I told her my intention. She charged me to see her first. But I can tell you, said she, my lord shall not be present when you come: not once more will I trust him in your company; and if he

Sill CHARLES GRANDISON. 197 should steal a visit, unknown to me, let not your cousin see him, Mrs. Reeves. He does indeed ad-mire you, love.

I acknowledged, with a grateful heart, her goodness to me. She engaged me to correspond with her when I got home. Her commands were an honour done me, that I could not refuse myself. Her son, she smilingly told me, should no more see my letters, than my person.

At her going away I will tell you one thing, said she: I never before, in a — business which my heart was set upon, was so effectually silenced by a precedent produced by myself in the same conversation. I came with an assurance of success. When our hearts are engaged in a hope, we are apt to think every step we take for the promoting it, reasonable: our passions, my dear, will evermore run away with our judgment. But now 1 think of it, I must, when I say our, make two exceptions; one for you, and one for Sir Charles Grandison.

But, Lucy, tell me May I, do you think, explain the meaning of the word selfish used by Sir Charles in the conclusion of the library-conference at Colnebrook (and which puzzled me then to make out) by his disclaiming of selfishness in the conver-sation with the countess above recited? If I may, what an opening of his heart does that word give in my favour, were he at liberty? Does it not look, my dear, as if his honour checked him, when his love would have prompted him to wish me to preserve my heart disengaged till his return from abroad? Nor let it be said, that it was dishonourable in him to have such a thought, as it was checked and overcome; and as it was succeeded by such an emotion that he w r as obliged to depart abruptly from me. Let me repeat the words You may not have mv letter at hand which relates that affecting address to S3 me; and it is impossible for me, while I have memory, to forget them. He had just concluded his brief history of Clementina ‘ And now, madam, what can I say? Honour forbids me! Yet honour bids me But I cannot be unjust, ungenerous, selfish!’ If I may flatter myself, Lucy, that he did love me when he said this, and that he had a conflict in his noble heart between the love on one side so hopeless (for I could not forgive him, if he did not love, as well as pity, Clementina), and on the other not so hopeless, were there to have been no bar between Shall we not pity him for the arduous struggle? Shall we not see that honour carried it, even in fa-vour of the hopeless against the hopeful, and applaud him the more for being able to overcome? How shall we call virtue by its name, if it be not tried; and if it hath no contest with inclination?

If I am a vain self-flatterer, tell me, chide me, Lucy; but allow me, however, at the same time, this praise, if I can make good my claim to it, that my conquest of my passion is at least as glorious for me, as his is for him, were he to love me ever so well; since I can most sincerely, however painfully, subscribe to the preference which honour, love, compassion, unitedly, give to Clementina.

Letter XXVI.

Miss Byron. In Continuation.

Monday night.

My cousins and I, by invitation, supped with Lady G. this evening. Lord and Lady L. were there; Lady Olivia also, and Lady Maffei.

I have set them all into a consternation, as they expressed themselves, by my declaration of leaving London on my return home early on Friday morning next. I knew, that were I to pass the whole summer here, I must be peremptory at last. The two sisters vow, that I shall not go so soon. They say, that 1 have seen so few of the town-diversions Town-diversions, Lucy! I have had diversions enough, of one sort! But in your armsj my dear friends, I shall have consolation And I want it.

I have great regrets, and shall have hourly more, as the day approaches, on the leaving of such dear and obliging friends: but I am determined.

My cousin’s coach will convey me to Dunstable; and there, I know, I shall meet with my indulgent uncle, or your brother. I would not have it publicly known, because of the officious gentlemen in the neighbourhood.

Dr. Bartlett intended to set out for Grandison-hall tomorrow: but from the natural kindness of his heart he has suspended his journey to Thursday next. No consideration, therefore, shall detain me, if I am well.

My cousins are grieved: they did not expect that I would be a word and a blow, as they phrase it.

Lady Olivia expressed herself concerned, that she, in particular, was to lose me. She had proposed great pleasure, she said, in the parties she should make in my company. But, after what Emily told me, she appears to me as a Medusa; and were I to be thought by her a formidable rival, I might have as much reason to be afraid of the potion, as the man she loves of the poniard. Emily has kept the secret from every-body but me. And I rely on the inviolable secrecy of all you, my friends.

Lord and Lady L. had designed to go to Colne-brook tomorrow, or at my day, having hopes of getting me with them: but now, they say, they will stay in town till they can see whether I am to be prevailed upon, or will be obdurate.

Lady Olivia enquired after the distance of North-amptonshire. She will make the tour of England, she says, and visit me there. I was obliged to say I should take her visit as an honour.

Wicked politeness! Of how many falsehoods dost thou make the people, who are called polite, guilty!

But there is one man in the world, who is remarkable for his truth, yet is unquestionably polite. He censures not others for complying with fashions es-tablished by custom; but he gives not in to them. He never perverts the meaning of words. He never, for instance, suffers his servants to deny him, when he is at home. If he is busy, he just finds time to say he is, to unexpected visitors; and if they will stay, he turns them over to his sisters, to Dr. Bartlett, to Emily, till he can attend them. But then he has always done so. Every one knows that he lives to his own heart, and they expect it of him; and when they can have his company, they have double joy in the ease and cheerfulness that attend his leisure: they then have him wholly. And he can be the more polite, as the company then is all his business.

Sir Charles might the better do so, as he came over so few months ago, after so long an absence; and his reputation for politeness was so well esta-blished, that people rather looked for rules from him, than a conformity to theirs.

His denials of complimenting Lady Olivia (though she was but just arrived in his native country, where she never was before) with the suspending of his departure for one week, or but for one day Who but he could have given them? But he was convinced, that it was right to hasten away, for the sake of Clementina and his Jeronymo; and that it would have been wrong to shew Olivia, even for her oton sake, that in such a competition she had conse-quence with him; and all her entreaties, all her menaces, the detested poniard in her hand, could not shake his steady soul, and make him delay his well-settled purpose.

Letter XXVII.

Miss Byron. In Continuation.

Tuesday morning, April 18. Th is naughty Lady G. She is excessively to blame. Lord L. is out of patience with her. So is Lady L. Emily says, she loves her dearly; but she does not love her ways. Lord G. as Emily tells me, talks of coming to me; the cause of quarrel sup-posed to be not great: but trifles, insisted upon, make frequently the widest breaches. Whatever it be, it is between themselves; and neither cares to tell: but Lord and Lady L. are angry with her, for the ludicrous manner in which she treats him.

The misunderstanding happened after my cousin and I left them last night. 1 was not in spirits, and declined staying to cards. Lady Olivia and her aunt went away at the same time. Whist was the game. Lord and Lady L. Dr. Bartlett and Emily, were cast in. In the midst of their play, Lady G. came hurrying down stairs to them, warbling an air: Lord G. followed her, much disturbed. Ma-dam, I must tell you, said he Why must, my lord? I don’t bid you.

Sit still, child, said she to Emily; and took her seat behind her Who wins? Who loses?

Lord G. walked about the room Lord and Ladv

L. were unwilling to take notice, hoping it would go off; for there had been a few livelinesses on her side at dinner-time, though all was serene at supper.

Dr. Bartlett offered her his cards. She refused them No, doctor, said she, I will play my own cards: I shall have enough to do to play them well.

As you manage it, so you will, madam, said Lord G.

Don’t expose yourself, my lord: we are before company. Lady L. you have nothing but trumps in your hand.

Let me say a word or two to you, madam, said Lord G. to her.

I am all obedience, my lord.

She arose. He would have taken her hand: she put it behind her.

Not your hand, madam?

I can’t spare it.

He flung from her, and went out of the room.

Lord bless me, said she, returning to the card-table with a gay unconcern, What strange passion — ate creatures are these men!

Charlotte, said Lady L. I wonder at you.

Then I give you joy

What do you mean, sister?

We women love wonder, and the wonder-ful!

Surely, Lady G. said Lord L. you are wrong.

I give your lordship joy, too.

On what?

That my sister is always right.

Indeed, madam, were I Lord G. I should have no patience.

A good hint for you, Lady L. I hope you will take this for a warning, and continue good.

When I behave as you do, Charlotte

I understand you, Lady L. you need not speak out Every one in their way.

You would not behave thus, were my brother

Perhaps not.

Dear Charlotte, you are excessively wrong

So I think, returned she.

Why then do you not

Mend Lady L.? All in good time.

Her woman came in with a message, expressing her lord’s desire to see her. The deuce is in these men: they will neither be satisfied with us, nor without us. But I am all obedience: no voxv will I break And out she went.

Lord G. not returning presently, and Lord and Lady L.‘s chariot being come, they both took this opportunity, in order to shew their displeasure, to go away without taking leave of their sister. Dr. Bartlett retired to his apartment. And when Lady G. came down, she was surprised, and a little vexed, to find only Emily there. Lord G. came in at an-other door Upon my word, my lord, this is strange behaviour in you: you fright away, with your hus-band-like airs, all one’s company.

Good God! I am astonished at you, madam.

Whatsignifies your astonishment? when you have scared every-body out of the house.

I, madam!

You, Sir! Yes, You! Did you not lord it over me in my dressing-room? To be easy and quiet, did I not fly to our company in the drawing-room? Did you not follow me there with looks Very pretty looks for a new-married man, I assure you! Then did you not want to take me aside Would not any-body have supposed it was to express your sorrow for your odd behaviour? Was I not all obe-dience? Did you not, with very mannish airs, slight me for my compliance, and fly out of the room? All the company could witness the calmness with which I returned to them, that they might not be grieved for me; nor think our misunderstanding a deep one. Well, then, when your stomach came down, as I supposed, you sent for me out: no doubt, thought I, to express his concern now. I was all obedience again.

And did I not beseech you, madam

Beseech me, my lord! Yes But with such looks! I married, Sir, let me tell you, a man with another face See, see, Emily He is gone again

My lord flew out of the room in a rage O these men, my dear! said she to Emily.

I know, said Emily, what I could have answered, if I dared: but it is ill meddling, as I have heard say, between man and wife.

Emily says, the quarrel was not made up; but was carried higher still in the morning.

She had but just finished her tale, when the fol-lowing billet was brought me, from Lady G.

Harriet, Tuesday morning.

If you love me, if you pity me, come hither this instant: I have great need of your counsel. lam resolved to be unmarried; and therefore subscribe myself by the beloved name of

CHARLOTTE GRANDISON.

I instantly dispatched the following:

I know no such person as Charlotte Grandison. I love Lady G. but can pity only her lord. I will not come near you. I have no counsel to give you: but that you will not jest away your own happiness.

HARRIET BYRON.

Soon after, came a servant from Lady G with the following letter:

So, then, I have made a blessed hand of wedlock. My brother gone; my man excessive unruly; Lord and Lady L. on his side, without enquiring into merits, or demerits: lectured by Dr. Bartlett’s grave face: Emily standing aloof; her linger in her eye: and now my Harriet renouncing me: and all in one week!

What can I do? War seems to be declared: and will you not turn mediatrix? You won’t, you say. Let it alone. Nevertheless, I will lay the whole matter before you.

It was last night, the week from the wedding-day not completed, that Lord G. thought fit to break into my retirement without my leave By the way, he was a little impertinent at dinner-time; but that I passed over.

What boldness is this, said I? Pray, Sir, begone! W 7 hy do you leave your company below? I come, my dearest life, to make a request to you.

The man began with civility enough, had he had a little less of his odious rapture: for he flung his arms obout me, Jenny in presence. A husband’s fondness is enough to ruin these girls. Don’t you think, Harriet, that there is an immorality in it, before them?

I refuse your request, be it what it will. How dare you invade me in my retirement? You may believe that 1 intended not to stay long above, my sister below. Does the ceremony, so lately past, authorize want of breeding?

Want of breeding, madam! And he did so stare!

Leave me, this instant I looked good-natured, I suppose, in my anger; for he declared he would not; and again throwing his arms about me as I sat, joined

T his sharp face to mine, and presumed to kiss me; Jenny still in the room.

Now, Harriet, you never will desert me in a point of delicacy, I am sure. You cannot defend these odious freedoms in a matrimony so young, unless you would be willing to be served so yourself.

You may suppose, that then I let loose my indig-nation upon him. And he stole out, daring to mut — ter, and be displeased. The word devil was in his mouth.

Did he call me devil, Jenny?

No, indeed, madam, said the wench And, Har-riet, see the ill example of such a free behaviour before her: she presumed to prate in favour of the man’s fit of fondness; yet, at other times, is a prude of a girl.

Before my anger was gone down, in again [It is truth, Harriet] came the bold wretch. I will not, said he, as you are not particularly employed, leave you Upon my soul, madam, you don’t use me well. But if you will oblige me with your company tomorrow morning

No-where, Sir

Only to breakfast with Miss Byron, my dear As a mark of your obligingness, I request it.

His dear! Now I hate a hypocrite of all things. I knew that he had a design to make a shew of his bride, as his property, at another place; and seeing me angry, thought he would name a visit agreeable to me, and which at the same time would give him a merit with you, and preserve to himself the consequence of being obliged by his obedient wife, at the word of authority.

From this foolish beginning arose our mighty quarrel. What vexed me was, the art of the man, and the evident design he had to get you of his side. He, in the course of it, threatened me with appealing to you To intend to ruin me in the love of my dearest friend! Who, that valued that friend, could forgive it? You may believe, that if he had not proposed it, and after such accumulated offen-ces, it was the very visit that I should have been delighted with.

Indeed, Sir Upon my word, my lord, I do assure you, Sir, with a moderate degree of haughtiness was what the quarrel arose to, on my side And, at last to a declaration of rebellion 1 toon’t.

On his side, Upon my soul, madam Let me pe-rish, if and then hesitating You use me ill, ma — dam. I have not deserved And give me leave to say I insist upon being obliged, madam.

There was no bearing of this, Harriet. It was a cool evening; but I took up my fan Hey-day! said I, What language is this? You insist upon it, my lord! I think I am married; Am I not? And I took my watch, Half an hour after ten on Monday night the What day of the month isthis: Please the lord, I will note down this beginning moment of your authoritative demeanour.

My dear Lady G. [The wretch called me by his own name, perhaps further to insult me] if I could bear this treatment, it would be impossible for me to love you as I do.

So it is in love to me, that you are to put on already all the husband 1 Jenny! [Do you see, my lord, affecting a whisper, how you dash the poor wench! I ‘ ow like a fool she looks at our folly!] re-member Jenny, that tomorrow morning you carry my wedding suits to Mrs. Arnold; and tell her, she has forgot the hanging-sleeves to the gowns. Let her put them on directly.

I was proceeding But he rudely, gravely, and even with an air of scorn [There was iio bearing t2 that, you know] admonished me; A little less wit, madam, and a little more discretion, would perhaps better become you.

This was too true to be forgiven. You’ll say it, Harriet, if I don’t. And to come from a man that was not overburdened with either But I had too great a command of myself to say so. My depend-ence, my lord [this I did say] is upon your judg — ment: that will always be a balance to my mt; and, with the assistance of your reproving love, will in time teach me discretion.

Now, my dear, was not this a high compliment to him? Ought he not to have taken it as such? Espe-cially as 1 looked grave, and dropt him a very fine courtesy. But either his conscience or ill-nature (perhaps you’ll say both) made him take it as a reflection [True as you are alive, Harriet]. He bit his lip. Jenny, begone, said he Jenny, don’t go, said I. Jenny knew not which to obey. Upon my word, Harriet, 1 began to think the man would have cuff’d me And while he was in his airs of mock-majesty, I stept to the door, and whipt down to my company.

As married people are not to expose themselves to their friends (who I once heard you sagely re-mark, would remember disagreeable things, when the honest pair had forgot them) I was deter-mined to be prudent. You would have been charmed with me, my dear, for my discretion. I will cheat by-standers, thought I; 1 will make my Lord and Lady L. Dr. Bartlett, and Emily, whom I had before set in at cards, think we are egregiously happy And down I sat, intending, with a lamblike peaceableness, to make observations on the play. But soon after, in whipt my indiscreet lord, his colour heightened, his features working: and though I cautioned him not to expose himself, yet he as-sumed airs that were the occasion, as you shall hear, of frighting away my company. He withdrew, in consequence of those airs; and, after a little while (repenting, as I hoped) he sent for me out. Some wives would have played the queen Vashti on their tyrant, and refused to go; but I, all obedience (my vow, so recently made, in my head) obeyed, at the very first word; yet you must think that I (meek as I am naturally) could not help recriminating. He was too lordly to be expostulated with. There was, ‘ I tell you, madam,’ and I won’t be told, Sir;’ and when I broke from the passionate creature, and hoped to find my company, behold! they were all gone! None but Emily left. And thus was poor Lady L. sent home, weeping, perhaps, for such an early marriage-tyranny, exerted on her meek sister.

Well, and don’t you think we looked like a cou-ple of fools at each other, when we saw ourselves left alone, as I may say, to fight it out? I did expostulate with him as mildly as I could: he would have made it up with me afterwards: but, no! there was no doing that, as a girl of your nice notions may believe, after he had, by his violent airs, exposed us both before so many witnesses. In decency, therefore, I was obliged to keep it up: and now our misunderstanding blazes, and is at such a comfortable height, that if we meet by accident, we run away from each other by design. We have already made two breakfast-tables: yet lam meek; he is sullen: I make courtesies; he returns not bows. Sullen creature, and a rustic! I go to my harpsichord: melody enrages him. He is worse than Saul; for Saul could be gloomily pleased with the music even of the man he hated.

I would have got you to come to us: that I thought was tending to a compliance; for it would have been condescending too much, as he is so very perverse, if I had accompanied him to you. He has a great mind to appeal to you; but I have half-raillied him out of his purpose I sent to you. What an answer did you return me! Cruel Harriet! to deny your requested mediation in a difference that has arisen between man and wife. But let the fire glow. If it spares the house, and only blazes in the chimney, I can bear it.

Cross creature, adieu! If you know not such a woman as Grandison, Heaven grant that I may; and that my wishes may be answered as to the person; and then I will not know a Byron.

See, Lucy, how high this dear flighty creature bribes! But I will not be influenced by her bribery, to take her part.

Letter XXVIII.

Miss Byron. In Continuation.

Tuesday night. I am just returned from St. James’s Square.

But, first, I should tell you, that I had a visit from Lady Olivia and Lady Maffei. Our conversation was in Italian and French. Lady Olivia and I had a quarter of an hour’s discourse in private: you may guess at our subject. She is not without that ten-derness of heart which is the indispensable charac — teristic of a woman. She lamented the violence of her temper, in a manner so affecting, that I cannot help pitying her, though at the instant I had in my head a certain attempt that makes me shudder whenever I think of it. She regrets my going to

SIK CHARLES GRANDISON. 211

Northamptonshire so soon. 1 have .promised to return her visit tomorrow in the afternoon.

She sets out on Friday next for Oxford. She wished I could accompany her. She resolves to see all that is worth seeing in the western circuit, as I may call it. She observes, she says, that Sir Charles Grandison’s sisters, and their lords, are very particularly engaged at present; and are in expectation of a call to Windsor, to attend Lord W.‘s nuptials: she will therefore, having attendants enough, and two men of consideration in her train, one of whom is not unacquainted with England, take cursory tours over the kingdom; having a taste for travelling, and finding it a great relief to her spirits: and when Lady L. and Lady G. are more disengaged, will review the seats and places which she shall think worthy of a second visit, in their company.

She professed to like the people here, and the face of the country; and talked favourably of the religion of it: but poor woman! she likes all those the better, I doubt not, for the sake of one Englishman. Love, Lucy, gilds every object which bears a relation to the person beloved.

Lady Maffei was very free in blaming her niece for this excursion. She took her chiding patiently; but yet, like a person that thought it too much in her power, to gratify the person blaming her, to pay much regard to what she said.

I took a chair to Lady G.‘s. Emily ran to mee’ me in the hall. She threw her arms about me. 1 rejoice you are come, said she. Did you not meet the house in the square? What means my Emily? Why, it has been flung out of the windows, as the saying is. Ah, madam! we are all to pieces. One so careless, the other so passionate! Hut, hush! Here comes Lady G.

Take, Lucy, in the dialogue — way, particulars.

Lady G. Then your are come, at last, Harriet. You wrote, that you would not come near me.

Harriet. I did; but I could not stay away. Ah, Lady G. you will destroy your own happiness!

Lady G. So you wrote. Not one word, on the subject you hint at, that you have ever said or writ-ten before. I hate repititions, child.

Harriet. Then I must be silent upon it.

Lady G. Not of necessity. You can say new things upon old subjects. But hush! Here comes the man She ran to her harpsichord Is this it, Harriet? and touched the keys repeating

Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, Soon she sooth’d

ENTER LORD G.

Lord G. Miss Byron, I am your most obedient servant. The sight of you rejoices my soul. Madam (to his lady) you have not been long enough toge-ther to begin a tune. I know what this is for

Lady G. Harmony! harmony! is a charming thing! But I, poor I! know not any but what this simple instrument affords me.

Lord G. lifting up his hands. Harmony, madam! God is my witness But I will lay every-thing before Miss Byron.

Lady G. You need not, my lord: she knows as much as she can know, already; except the fine colourings be added to the woeful tale, that your unbridled spirit can give it. Have you my long letter about you, Harriet?

Lord G. And could you, madam, have the heart to write

Lady G. Why, my lord, do you mince the matter? For heart, say courage. You may speak as plain in

Miss Byron’s presence, as you did before she came: I know what you mean.

Lord G. Let it be courage, then.

Harriet. Fie, fie, Lord G. Fie, fie, Lady G. What lengths do you run! If I understand the matter right, you have both, like children, been at play, till you have fallen out.

Lord G. If, Miss Byron, you know the truth, and can blame me

Harriet. I blame you only, my lord, for being in a passion. You see, my lady is serene: she keeps her temper: she looks as if she wanted to b J friends with you.

Lord G. O that cursed serenity! When my souj is torn by a whirlwind

Lady G. A good tragedy rant! But, Harriet, you are mistaken: my Lord G. is a very passionate man. So humble, so what shall I call it? before marriage Did not the man see what a creature I was? To bear with me, when he had no obligation to me; and not now, when he has the highest A miserable sinking! O Harriet, Harriet! Never never marry!

Harriet. Dear Lady G. you know in your own heart you are wrong Indeed you are wrong

Lord G. God for ever reward you, madam! I will tell you how it began

Lady G. ‘ Began! ‘ She knows that already, I tell you, my lord. But what has passed within these jour hours, she knows not: you may entertain her with that, if you please. It was just about the time this day is a week, that we were all together, mighty comfortably, at St. George’s, Hanover-square

Lord G. Every tittle of what you promised there, madam

Lady G. And I, my lord could be your echo in this, were I not resolved to keep my temper; as you cannot but say I have done, all along.

Lord G. You could not, madam, if you did not despise me.

Lady G. You are wrong, my lord, to think so: but you don’t believe yourself: if you did, the pride of your heart ought not to permit you to own it.

Lord G. Miss Byron, give me leave

Lady G. Lord bless me! that people are so fond of exposing themselves! Had you taken my advice, when you pursued me out of my dressing-room into company My lord, said I, as mildly as 1 now speak, dont expose yourself. But he was not at all the wiser for my advice.

Lord G. Miss Byron, you see But I had not come down but to make my compliments to you. He bowed, and was about to withdraw.

I took him by the sleeve My lord, you must not go. Lady G. if your own heart justifies you for your part in this misunderstanding, say so; I chal-lenge you to say so She was silent.

Harriet. If otherwise, own your fault, promise amendment. Ask pardon.

Lady G. Hey-day!

Harriet. And my lord will ask yours, for mistaking you. For being too easily provoked

Lord G. Too easily, madam

Harriet. “What generous man would not smile at the foibles of a woman whose heart is only gay with prosperity and lively youth; but has not the least malice in it? Has not she made choice of your lord-ship in preference of any other man? She raillies every one; she can’t help it: she is to blame. Indeed, Lady G. you are. Your brother felt your edge; he once smarted by it, and was angry with you. But afterwards, observing that it was her way, my lord; that it was a kind of constitutional gaiety of heart, and exercised on those she loved best; he forgave, raillied her again, and turned her own weapons upon her; and every one in company was delighted with the spirit oboth. You love her, my lord

Lord G. Never man more loved a woman. I am not an ill-natured man

Lady G. But a captious, a passionate one, Lord G. Who’d have thought it!

Lord G. Never was there, my dear Miss Byron, such a strangely-aggravating creature! She could not be so, if she did not despise me.

Lady G. Fiddle-faddle, silly man! And so you said before. If you thought so, you take the way (don’t you?) to mend the matter, by dancing and capering about, and putting yourself into all manner of disagreeable attitudes; and even sometimes being ready to foam at the mouth? I told him, Miss Byron, There he stands, let him deny it, if he can; that I married a man with another face. Would not any other man have taken this for a compliment to his natural undistorted face, and instantly have pulled oft’ the ugly mask of passion, and shewn his own?

Lord G. You see, you see, the air, .Miss Byron! How ludicrously does she now, even now

Lady G. See, Miss Byron! How captious! Lord G. ought to have a turmagant wife: one who could return rage for rage. Meekness is my crime. I cannot be put out of temper. Meekness was never before attributed to woman as a fault.

Lord G . (rood God! Meekness! Good God!

Lady G. But, Harriet, do you judge on which side the grievance lies. Lord G. presents me with a face for his, that I never saw him wear before mar-riage: he has cheated me, therefore. I shew him the same face that I ever wore, and treat him pretty much in the same manner (or I am mistaken) that I ever did: and what reason can he give, that will not demonstrate him to be the most ungrateful of men, for the airs he gives himself? airs that he would not have presumed to put on eight days ago. “Who then, Harriet, has reason to complain of grievance; my lord, or I?

Lord G. You see, Miss Byron Can there be any arguing with a woman who knows herself to be in jest, in all she says?

Harriet. Why then, my lord, make a jest of it. What will not bear an argument, will not be worth one’s anger.

Lord G. I leave it to Miss Byron, Lady G. to decide between us, as she pleases.

Lady G. You’d better leave it to me, Sir.

Harriet. Do, my lord.

Lord G. Well, madam! And what is your decree?

Lady G. You, Miss Byron, had best be lady chancellor, after all. I should not bear to have my decree disputed, after it is pronounced.

Harriet. If I must, my decree is this: You, Lady G. shall own yourself in fault; and promise amendment. My lord shall forgive you; and promise, that he will, for the future, endeavour to dis tinguish between your good and your ill-nature: that he will sit down to jest with your jest, and never be disturbed at what you say, when he sees it accompanied with that archness of eye and lip which you put on to your brother, and to every one whom you best love, when you are disposed to be teazingly facetious.

Lady G. Why, Harriet, you have given Lord G a clue to find me out, and spoil all my sport.

Harriet. What say you, my lord?

Lord G. Will Lady G. own herself in fault, as you propose?

Lady G. Odious recrimination! I leave you to-gether. I never was in fault in my life. Am I not a woman? If my lord will ask pardon for his frop-pishness, as we say of children — She stopt, and pretended to be going — Harriet. That my lord shall not do, Charlotte. You have carried the jest too far already. My lord shall preserve his dignity for his wife’s sake. My lord, you will not permit Lady G. to leave us, however?

He took her hand, and pressed it with his lips: For God’s sake, madam, let us be happy: it is in your power to make us both so: *it ever shall be in your power. If 1 have been in fault, impute it to my love. I cannot bear your contempt: and I ne-ver will deserve it.

Lady G. Why could not this have been said some hours ago? Why, slighting my early caution, would you expose yourself?

I took her aside. Be generous, Lady G. Let not your husband be the only person to whom you are not so.

Lady G. (whispering) Our quarrel has not run half its length. If we make up here, we shall make up clumsily. One of the silliest things in the world is, a quarrel that ends not, as a coachman after a journey comes in, with a spirit. We shall certainly renew it.

Harriet. Take the caution you gave to my lord: Don’t expose yourself And another; That you can-not more effectually do so, than by exposing your husband. I am more than half ashamed of you. You are not the Charlotte I once thought you were. Let me see, if you have any regard to my good vol. xn. u opinion of you, that you can own an error with some grace.

Lady G. I am a meek, humble, docible creature. She turned to me, and made me a rustic courtesy, her hands before her: I’ll try for it; tell me, if I am right. Then stepping towards my lord, who was with his back to us looking out at the window and he turning about to her bowing My lord, said she, Miss Byron has been telling me more than I knew before of my duty. She proposes herself one day to make a won-der-ful obedient wife. It would have been well for you, perhaps, had I had her example to walk by. She seems to say, that, now I am mar-ried, I must be grave, sage, and passive: that smiles will hardly become me: that I must be prim and formal, and reverence my husband. If you think this behaviour will become a married woman, and expect it from me, pray, my lord, put me right by your frotvns, whenever I shall be wrong. For the future, if I ever find myself disposed to be very light-hearted, I will ask your leave before I give way to it. And now, what is next to be done? humorously courtesying, her hands before her.

He clasped her in his arms; Dear provoking creature! This, this is next to be done I ask you but to love me half as much as I love you, and I shall be the happiest man on earth.

My lord, said I, you ruin all by this condescension on a speech and air so ungracious. If this is all you get by it, never, never, my lord, fall out again. O Charlotte! If you are not generous, you come off much, much too easily.

Well, now, my lord, said she, holding out her hand, as if threatening me, let you and me, man and wife like, join against the interposer in our quarrels. Harriet, I will not forgive you, for this last part of your lecture.

And thus was this idle quarrel made up. All that vexes me on the occasion is, that it was not made up with dignity on my lord’s part. His ho-nest heart so overflowed with joy at his lips, that the naughty creature, by her arch leers, every now-and-then, shewed, that she was sensible of her con sequence to his happiness. But, Lucy, don’t let her sink too low in your esteem: she has many fine qualities.

They prevailed on me to stay supper. Emily re-joiced in the reconciliation: her heart was, as I may say, visible in her joy. Can I love her better than I do? It’ I could, she would, every time I see her, give me reason for it.

Letter XXIX.

Miss Byron. In Continuation.

Wednesday noon, April 19. It would puzzle you to guess at a visiter I had this morning. Honest Mr. Fowler. I was very glad to see him. He brought me a letter from his worthy uncle. Good Sir Rowland! I had a joy that I thought I should not have had while I stayed in London, on its being put into my hand, though the contents gave me sensible pain. I inclose it. It is dated from Caennarthen. Be pleased to read it here.

Caerniarlhen, April 1). How shall I, in fit manner, inscribe my letter to the loveliest of women! I don’t mean because of your loveliness; but whether as daughter or not, as you did me the honour to call yourself. Really, and truly, I must say, that I had rather call you by another name, though a little more remote as to consanguinity. Lord have mercy upon me, how I talked of you? How many of our fine Caermarthen girls have I filled with envy of your peerless per-fections!

Here am I settled to my heart’s content, could I but obtain You know whom I mean. A town of gentry: a fine country round us A fine estate of our own. Esteemed, nay, for that matter, beloved by all our neighbours and tenants. Who so happy as Rowland Meredith, if his poor boy could be happy! Ah, madam! And can’t it be so? I am afraid of asking. Yet I understand, that, notwith-standing all the jack-a-dandies that have been flut — tering about you, you are what you were when I left town. Some whispers have gone out of a fine gentleman indeed, who had a great kindness for you; but yet that something was in the way between you. The Lord bless and prosper my dear daughter, as I must then call you and not niece, if you have any kindness for him. And if as how you have, it would be wonderfully gracious if you would but give half a hint of it to my nephew, or if so be you will not to him, to me, your father you know, under your own precious hand. The Lord be good unto me! But I shall never see the she that will strike my fancy, as you have done. But what a dreadful thing would it be, if you, who are so much courted and admired by many fine gallants, should at last be taken with a man who could not be yours! God forbid that such a disastrous thing should happen! I profess to you, madam, that a tear or two have strayed down my cheeks at the thoughts of it. For why? Because you played no tricks — with any man: You never were a coquet, as they call ’em You dealt plainly, sincerely, and tenderly too, to all men; of which my nephew and I can bear witness*

Well, but what now is the end of my writing? Lord love you, cannot, cannot you at last give comfort to two honest hearts? Honester you never knew! And yet, if you could, I dare say you would. Well, then, and if you can’t, we must sit down as contented as we can; that’s all we have for it. But, poor young man! look at him, if you read this before him. Strangely altered! Poor young man! And if as how you cannot, why then, God bless my daughter; that’s all. And I do assure you, that you have our prayers every Lord’s day, from the bottom of our hearts.

And now, if you will keep a secret, I will tell it you; and yet, when I began, I did not intend it: the poor youth must not know I do. It is done in the singleness of our hearts; and if you think we mean to gain your love for us by it, I do assure you that you wrong us. My nephew declares, that he never will marry, if it be not somebody: and he has made his will, and so have I his uncle; and, let me tell you, that if as how I cannot have a niece, my daughter shall be the better for having known, and treated as kindly as power was lent her,

Her true friend, loving father, and obedient servant,

ROWLAND MEREDITH.

Love and service to Mr. and Mrs. Reeves, and all friends who enquire after me. Farewell. God bless you! Amen.

Have you, could you, Lucy, read this letter with dry eyes? Generous, worthy, honest men! I read but half way before Mr. Fowler Glad I was, that v 3

I read no further. I should not have been able to have kept his uncle’s secret, if I had; had it been but to disclaim the acceptance of the generous pur-pose. The carrying it into effect would exceedingly distress me, besides the pain the demise of the honest man would give me; and the more, as I bespoke the fatherly relation from him myself. If such a thing were to be, Sir Charles Grandison’s behaviour to the Danbys should be my example.

Do you know, Mr. Fowler, said I, the contents of the letter you have put into my hand?

No further than that my uncle told me, it contained professions of fatherly love; and with wishes only But without so much as expressing his hopes.

Sir Rowland is a good man, said I: I have not read above half his letter. There seems to be too much of the father in it; for me to read further, before my brother. God bless my brother Fowler, and reward the fatherly love of Sir Rowland to his daughter Byron! I must write to him.

Mr Fowler, poor man! profoundly sighed; bowed; with such a look of respectful acquiescence Bless me, my dear, how am I to be distressed on all sides! by good men too; as Sir Charles could say he was by good women.

Is there nothing less than giving myself to either, that I can do to shew Mr. Orme and Mr. Fowler my true value for them?

Poor Mr. Fowler! Indeed he looks to be, as Sir Rowland hints, not well. Such a modest, such an humble, such a silent lover! He cost me tears at parting: I could not hide them. He heaped praises and good wishes upon me, and hurried away at last, to hide his emotion, with a sentence unfinished God preserve you, dear and worthy Sir! was all I could try to say. The last words stuck in my throat, till he was out of hearing; and then I prayed for blessings upon him and his uncle: and repeated them, with fresh tears, on reading the rest of the affecting letter.

Mr. Fowler told Mr. Reeves, before I saw him, that he is to go to Caermarthen for the benefit of his native air, in a week. He let him know where he lodged in town, lie had been riding for his health and diversion about the country, ever since his uncle went; and has not been yet at Caermar-then.

I wish Mr. Fowler had once, if but once, called me sister: it would have been such a kind acqui-escence, as would have given me some little pleasure on recollection. Methinks I don’t know how to have done writing of Sir Rowland and Mr. Fowler.

I sat down, however, while the uncle and nephew filled my thoughts, and wrote to the former. I have enclosed the copy of my letter. Adieu my Lucy.

Letter XXX.

Miss Byron to Sir Rowland Meredith.

Wednesday, April 19. It was with great pleasure that I received, this day, the kindest letter that ever was written by a real father to his dearest child. I was resolved that I would not go to rest till I had acknowledged the favour.

How sweet is the name of father to a young per-son who, out of near one-and-twenty years of life, has for more than half the time been bereaved of hers; and who was also one of the best of men.

You gave me an additional pleasure in causing this remembrance of your promised paternal goodness to be given me by Mr. Fowler in person. Till I knew you and him, I had no father, no brother.

How good you are in your apprehensions that there may be a man on whom your daughter has cast her eye, and who cannot look upon her with the same distinction O that I had been near you when you wrote that sweetly-compassionating, that indulgent passage! I would have wiped the tears from your eyes myself, and reverenced you as my true father.

You demand of me, as my father, a hint, or half a hint, as you call it, to be given to my brother Fowler; or if not to him, to you. To him, whom I call father, I mean all the duty of a child I call him not father nominally only: I will, irksome as the subject is, own without reserve, the truth to you (In tenderness to my brother, how could I to him?) There is a man whom, and whom only, I could love as a good wife ought to love her husband. He is the best of men. O my good Sir Rowland Meredith! if you knew him, you would love him yourself, and own him for your son. I will not conceal his name from my father: Sir Charles Grandison is the man. Enquire about him. His character will rise upon you from every mouth. He engaged first all your daughter’s gratitude, by rescuing her from a great danger and oppression; for he is as brave as he is good: and how could she help suffering a tenderness to spring up from her gratitude, of which she was never before sensible to any man in the world? There is something in the way, my good Sir; but not that proceeds from his slights or contempts. Your daughter could not live, if it were so. A glo-rious creature is in the way! who has suffered for him, who does suffer for him: he ought to be hers, and only hers: and if she can be recovered from a fearful malady that has seized her mind, he probably will. My daily prayers are, that God will restore her!

But yet, my dear Sir, my friend, my father! my esteem for this noblest of men is of such a nature, that 1 cannot give my hand to any other; my father Meredith would not wish me to give a hand without a heart.

This, Sir, is the case. Let it, I beseech you, rest within your own breast, and my brother Fow-ler’s. How few minds are there delicate and candid enough to see circumstances of this kind in the light they ought to appear in! And pray for me, my good Sir Rowland; not that the way may be smoothed to what once would have crowned my wishes as to this life; but that Sir Charles Grandison may be happy with the lady that is, and ought to be, dearest to his heart; and that your daughter may be enabled to rejoice in their felicity. What, my good Sir, is this span of life, that a passenger through it should seek to overturn the interests of others to establish her own? And can the single life be a grievance? Can it be destitute of the noblest tendernesses? No, Sir. You that have lived to an advanced age, in a fair fame, surrounded with comforts, and as tender to a worthy nephew, as the most indulgent father could be to the worthiest of sons, can testify for me, that it is not.

But now, Sir, one word I disclaim, but yet in all thankfulness, the acceptance of the favour signified to be intended me in the latter part of the paternal letter before me. Our acquaintance began with a hope, on your side, that I could not encourage. As I could not, shall I accept of the benefit from you, to which I could only have been entitled (and that as 1 had behaved) had I been able to oblige you? No, Sir! I will not, in this case, be benefited when 1 cannot benefit. Put me not, therefore, I beseech you, Sir, if such an event (deplored by me, as it would be!) should happen, upon the necessity of enquiring after your other relations and friends. Sir Rowland Meredith my father, and Mr. Fowler my brother, are all to me of the family they distin-guish by their relation, that I know at present. Let me not be made known to the rest by a distinction that would be unjust to them, and to yourself, as it must deprive you of the grace of obliging those who have more than a stranger’s claim; and must, in the event, lay them under the appearance of an obligation to that stranger for doing them common justice. I use the word stranger with reference to those of your family and friends to whom I must really appear in that light. But, laying these considerations aside, in which I am determined not to interfere with them, I am, with the tenderest regard, dear and good Sir, Your ever-dutiful and affectionate daughter,

HARRIET BYRON.

Letter XXXI.

Miss Byron to Miss Selby.

Wedncsdaj, April 19. I shall dispatch this by your Gibson early in the morning. It was kind in you to bid him call, in his way down; for now I shall be almost sure of meeting (if not my uncle) your brother, and who knows, but my Lucy herself, at Dunstable? Where, barring accidents, I shall be on Friday night.

You will see some of the worthiest people in the world, my dear, if you come, all prepared to love you; but let not any-body be put to inconvenience to meet me at Dunstable. My noble friends here will proceed with me to Stratford, or even to North-ampton, they say; but they will see me safe in the ftrotection of somebody I love, and whom they must ove for my sake.

I don’t wonder that Sir Charles Grandison loves Mr. Bcauchamp: he is a very worthy and sensible man. He, as every-body else, idolizes Sir Charles. It is some pleasure to me, Lucy, that I stand high in his esteem. To be respected by the worthy, is one of the greatest felicities in this life; since it is to be ranked as one of them. Sir Harry and his lady are come to town. All, it seems, is harmony in that family. They cannot bear Mr. Beauchamp’s absence from them for three days together. All the neighbouring gentlemen are in love with him. His manners are so gentle; his temper so even: so desirous to oblige; so genteel in his person; so pleasing in his address; he must undoubtedly make a good woman very happy.

But Emily, poor girl! sees only Sir Charles Grandison with eyes of love. Mr.Beauchamp is, however, greatly pleased with Emily. He told Lady G. that he thought her a fine young creature; and that her mind was still more amiable than her person. But his behaviour to her is extremely prudent. He says finer things of her, than to her: yet surely I am mistaken if he meditates not in her, his future wife.

Mr. Beauchamp will be one of my escorte.

Emily has made it her request, to go to Colne-brook with Lady L. after I am gone.