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Title: The History of Sir Charles Grandison, Volume 4 (of 7)

Author: Samuel Richardson

Release date: October 27, 2004 [eBook #13884]
                Most recently updated: December 18, 2020

Language: English

Credits: E-text prepared by Julie C. Sparks


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HISTORY OF SIR CHARLES GRANDISON, VOLUME 4 (OF 7) ***


E-text prepared by Julie C. Sparks



THE HISTORY OF SIR CHARLES GRANDISON, VOLUME IV

by

SAMUEL RICHARDSON







CONTENTS OF VOLUME IV


LETTER I. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
A tenth letter from Dr. Bartlett: Description of a formal visit Sir
Charles Grandison paid to the whole of the Porretta family assembled:
their different characters clearly displayed on this occasion; and the
affectionate parting of Sir Charles and his friend Jeronymo.

LETTER II. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
An eleventh letter from Dr. Bartlett: Signor Jeronymo writes to Sir
Charles Grandison an account of what farther passed in conversation
between the family after his departure.

LETTER III. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Dr. Bartlett's twelfth letter: Sir Charles Grandison takes leave of his
friends at Bologna, and is setting out for Florence; when he receives
a friendly letter from Signor Jeronymo, by which he learns that
Clementina had earnestly entreated her father to permit her to see him
once again before his departure; but that she had met with an absolute
refusal: Jeronymo also describes the ill-treatment of his sister by her
aunt, and her resignation under her trials. Sir Charles arrives at
Naples, and there visits Clementina's brother, the general: account of
his reception, and of the conversation that passed between them.

LETTER IV. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Dr. Bartlett's thirteenth letter; containing an account of Sir Charles
Grandison's final departure from Italy; and various matters relative to
the Porretta family; the persecutions Clementina endured from her
relations; and a letter Sir Charles Grandison received from Mrs.
Beaumont.--Dr. Bartlett concludes with an apostrophe on the brevity of
all human affairs.

LETTER V. Miss Harriet Byron to Miss Lucy Selby.--
Explanation of the causes of Sir Charles Grandison's uneasiness,
occasioned by intelligence lately brought him from abroad. Miss Byron
wishes that Sir Charles was proud and vain, that she might with the more
ease cast of her acknowledged shackles. She enumerates the engagements
that engross the time of Sir Charles; and mentions her tender regard
toward the two sons of Mrs. Oldham, the penitent mistress of his father
Sir Thomas. A visit from the Earl of G----, and his sister Lady
Gertrude.

LETTER VI. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Sir Charles Grandison dines with Sir Hargrave Pollexfen and his gay
friends; his reflections on the riots and excesses frequently committed
at the jovial meetings of gay and thoughtless young men. Sir Charles
negociates a treaty of marriage for Lord W----; and resolves to attempt
the restoring of the oppressed Mansfield-family to their rights.

LETTER VII. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Farther traits in the character of Sir Charles Grandison.

LETTER VIII. Sir Charles Grandison to Dr. Bartlett.--
Sir Charles describes the interview he had with Sir Harry Beauchamp and
his lady; and how he appeased the anger of the imperious lady. His
farther proceedings in favour of the Mansfields.

LETTER IX. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
A visit from the Countess of D----, and the earl her son. Account of the
young earl's person and deportment. Miss Byron confesses to the
countess, that her heart is already a wedded heart, and that she cannot
enter into a second engagement. Reflections on young men being sent by
their parents to travel to foreign countries.

LETTER X. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Various self-debatings and recriminations that passed through the young
lady's mind on the expectation of breakfasting with Sir Charles
Grandison.

LETTER XI. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Sir Charles Grandison communicates to Miss Byron the farther distressing
intelligence he had received from Bologna:--His friend Signor Jeronymo
dangerously ill, his sister Clementina declining in health, and their
father and mother absorbed in melancholy. The communication comes from
the bishop of Nocera, Clementina's second brother; who entreats Sir
Charles to make one more visit to Bologna. Farther affecting information
from Mrs. Beaumont respecting Lady Clementina's cruel treatment at the
palace of Milan, and her removal from thence to Naples. Sir Charles
resolves on going to Bologna. Miss Byron's dignified and generous
conduct on the occasion.

LETTER XII. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Informs her of the generosity and kind condescension of Sir Charles to
Mrs. Oldham and her family, as related by Miss Grandison: their
difference of opinion on that subject.

LETTER XIII. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
An early visit from Miss Jervois, who communicates with much pleasure
the particulars of a late interview she had with her mother: relates a
conversation that passed between her guardian, Mrs. O'Hara, and Captain
Salmonet: describes the affectionate behaviour of Sir Charles to her, on
introducing her to her mother; and his kind instructions concerning her
deportment on the occasion.

LETTER XIV. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Sir Charles solicits his sister to fix the day for her marriage before he
leaves England. Visit from Lord G----, the Earl, and Lady Gertrude.
Miss Grandison unusually thoughtful all the time of dinner. The Earl of
G---- and Lady Gertrude request a conference with Sir Charles after
dinner. Purport of it. Miss Grandison's reluctance to so early a day as
her brother names, but at length accedes to his powerful entreaties;
though wholly unprepared, she says.

LETTER XV. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Serious conversation between Miss Byron and Miss Grandison concerning the
approaching marriage. The latter expresses her indifference for Lord
G----; compares his character with that of her brother; entreats Miss
Byron to breakfast with her the next day, and to remain with her till the
event takes place.

LETTER XVI. Miss Grandison to Miss Byron.--
Ludicrous description of three marriages given by Miss Grandison, with
the anticipation of her own.

LETTER XVII. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Great preparations for Miss Grandison's marriage: her generous offer to
Miss Byron of her share of her mother's jewels, who refuses to accept of
them, and gives her opinion as to their disposal. Miss Grandison is
pleased with the hint, and acts accordingly. Account of Dr. Bartlett's
interesting conversation with Miss Byron on the subject of Sir Charles
going to Italy, and his attachment to Miss Byron. The young lady's
emotions: her alternate hopes and fears: she resolves on relinquishing
Sir Charles in favour of Lady Clementina.

LETTER XVIII. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Debate concerning the place where the marriage ceremony is to be
performed. Conversation between Miss Byron and Miss Grandison
interrupted by Lady Gertrude. Miss Byron expresses much concern for Lord
G----, from Miss Grandison's present conduct to him; but is inclined to
hope that an alteration may be effected.

LETTER XIX. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Account of Sir Charles's return from Windsor: his joy on restoring the
worthy family of the Mansfields from oppression: his interview with his
friend Beauchamp, at Sir Harry's; and cheerful behaviour at his sister's
wedding, though his own heart is torn with uncertainty. Farther proofs
of his esteem for Miss Byron.

LETTER XX. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Sir Charles briefly lays before his sister the duties of a married life:
some remarks on her behaviour. Lord W----'s generosity to his nieces o
Lady G----'s marriage. Painful reflections on the departure of Sir
Charles. Opinions of the proper age for the marrying of women.

LETTER XXI. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Conversation with Dr. Bartlett. Artless remarks of Miss Jervois, and her
censures on the conduct of Lady G---- to her lord. Mr. Galliard proposes
an alliance for Sir Charles. Contrast between Lady G---- and Lady L----
in disposing of their uncle's present. Miss Byron's perturbed state of
mind: the cause of it. Her noble resolution in favour of Lady
Clementina.

LETTER XXII. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Conference between Lord W---- and Sir Charles on the management of
servants: their conduct frequently influenced by example. Remarks on
the helpless state of single women. Plan proposed for erecting
Protestant Nunneries in England, and places of refuge for penitent
females.

LETTER XXIII. Lady G---- to Miss Byron.--
Invitation to dinner. Account of a matrimonial altercation, and of the
arrival of Lady Olivia.

LETTER XXIV. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Encloses Lady G----'s letter, and describes her concern for Lord G----.

LETTER XXV. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Lady Olivia is introduced to Miss Byron. Some traits in that lady's
character related by Dr. Bartlett. She declares her passion for Sir
Charles to Lady L----. She endeavours to prevail on him to defer his
voyage, and is indignant at meeting with a refusal. Miss Byron's exalted
behaviour.

LETTER XXVI. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Conversation with Sir Charles regarding Lord and Lady G----. His anxiety
for their happiness; but hopes much from Miss Byron's influence over her
sister.

LETTER XXVII. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Sir Charles departs unexpectedly, from the kindest motives. The concern
and solicitude of his friends. Miss Byron's mind much agitated. The
eldest of Mrs. Oldham's sons presented with a pair of colours by Sir
Charles.

LETTER XXVIII. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Account of Lady Olivia's behaviour. Her horrid attempt to stab Sir
Charles. Miss Byron describes the state of her own mind, and resolves
to return to Northamptonshire.

LETTER XXIX. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Particulars of a very interesting conversation with Mrs. Reeves and Lady
D----. Miss Byron's ingenuous reply to Lady D----'s interrogation. Her
explanation of some of Sir Charles's expressions in the library.
Conference which had formerly embarrassed her.

LETTER XXX. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Preparations for her journey into Northamptonshire. Regrets at parting
with friends. Lady Olivia is desirous of visiting Miss Byron. Remarks
on politeness. Unpleasant consequences sometimes resulting from it.
Remarks on the conduct of Sir Charles.

LETTER XXXI. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Lady G---- quarrels with her lord, who entreat Miss Byron's assistance in
effecting a reconciliation. That lady's kind advice and opinion. Lady
G---- resumes her good humour; but will not acknowledge herself to have
been in the wrong.

LETTER XXXII. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Relates what passed on a visit of Lady Olivia. Miss Byron pities the
impetuosity of her temper, and admires her many amiable qualities. Pays
another visit to Lady G----; and gives an account of the reconciliation
between her and her husband.

LETTER XXXIII. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Mr. Fowler brings a letter from Sir Rowland Meredith, most affectionately
soliciting the hand of Miss Byron in favour of his nephew.

LETTER XXXIV. Miss Byron to Sir Rowland Meredith.--
She regards Sir Rowland as her father; avows her affection for Sir
Charles, notwithstanding his engagements with another lady, and disclaims
the generous intentions of Sir Rowland in her favour, in his will.

LETTER XXXV. Miss Byron to Miss Selby.--
Arrangements for her journey. Thoughts on public amusements.
Retrospect. Tender parting with Dr. Bartlett.

LETTER XXXVI. Miss Byron to Lady G----.--
Description of her journey: account of those friends, who accompanied her
to Dunstable; and of those who met her there, from Northamptonshire; of
Mr. Grenville and Mr. Fenwick's collation for her at Stratford; of Mr.
Orme again saluting her by the highway-side, as the coach passed his
park-wall; and of her kind reception at Selby-house.

LETTER XXXVII. Lady G---- to Miss Byron.--
The opinions of the Dunstable party respecting Miss Byron. Charms of the
mind superior to those of person. Lady G----'s opinion of Miss Byron's
aunt Selby, and of her cousins Lucy and Nancy; thinks her uncle's wit too
much studied; defends her own character, and the attack made by herself
and sister on Miss Byron at Colnebrooke. Lord G---- proposes parting
with his collection of moths and shells: gives the latter to Miss
Jervois, at his lady's request, and presents Lady G---- with a set of old
Japan china.

LETTER XXXVIII. Miss Jervois to Miss Byron.--
Her regret at parting with Miss Byron at Stratford: encomiums on her
guardian and Mr. Beauchamp: censures the conduct of Lady G---- to her
lord. Instance of her dutiful behaviour to her mother, on accidentally
meeting with her.

LETTER XXXIX. Miss Byron to Lady G----.--
Reproves Lady G---- for her levity. Does not find the society of her
country friends relieve the anxiety of her mind: laments the absence of
those she has just left: is visited by Mr. Fenwick, Mr. Grenville, and
Mr. Orme. Mr. Grenville's rudeness, and her own magnanimity. Hears of
Sir Hargrave Pollexfen's return.

LETTER XL. Lady G---- to Miss Byron.--
Ideas of female delicacy. Report of Sir Hargrave's return confirmed.
Sir Charles meets with an adventure on the road to Paris. Delivers Sir
Hargrave and Mr. Merceda from the chastisement of an enraged husband.
Sir Charles's firmness and temper on the occasion.

LETTER XLI. Lady G---- to Miss Byron.--
Reflections on the amusements of London. Her love of contradiction. She
pins her apron to Lord G----'s coat, and blames him for it. He wishes
her to be presented at court. Quarrel on the occasion.

LETTER XLII. Lady G---- to Miss Byron.--
Favourable issue expected of the law-suit between the Mansfields and the
Keelings. Mr. Everard Grandison ruined by gamesters, and threatened with
a prosecution for a breach of promise of marriage. The arrival of her
aunt Eleanor. Sir Hargrave and Mr. Merceda in a dangerous state. Mr.
Bagenhall obliged to marry the manufacturer's daughter of Abbeville, whom
he had seduced. Miss Clements comes into a fortune by the death of her
mother and aunt.

LETTER XLIII. Mr. Lowther to John Arnold, Esq.--
Quits Paris with Sir Charles, and arrives at St. Jean Maurienne.
Description of the country. Mr. Lowther is detained by indisposition.
Sir Charles and he proceed on their journey. Account of the manner of
crossing the mountains. They arrive at Parma. Their reception by the
bishop of Nocera and Father Marescotti.

LETTER XLIV. Sir Charles Grandison to Dr. Bartlett.--
The bishop of Nocera's melancholy account of the health of his brother
and sister. The Count of Belvedere acquaints Sir Charles with his
unabated passion for Lady Clementina. Affecting interview between Sir
Charles and Signor Jeronymo. He is kindly received by the marquis and
marchioness. The sufferings of Jeronymo under the hands of an unskilful
surgeon, with a brief history of his case. Sir Charles tells the
marchioness that he considers himself bound by his former offers, should
Clementina recover. The interested motives of Lady Sforza and Laurana
for treating Clementina with cruelty. Remarks on Lady Olivia's conduct,
and on female delicacy. Sir Charles recommends Miss Byron as a pattern
for his ward, and laments the depravity of Sir Hargrave and his friends.





LETTER I

MISS BYRON, TO MISS SELBY


Miss Byron, To Miss Selby.

O my Lucy! What think you!--But it is easy to guess what you must think.
I will, without saying one word more, enclose


DR. BARTLETT'S TENTH LETTER

The next day (proceeds my patron) I went to make my visit to the family.
I had nothing to reproach myself with; and therefore had no other concern
upon me but what arose from the unhappiness of the noble Clementina: that
indeed was enough. I thought I should have some difficulty to manage my
own spirit, if I were to find myself insulted, especially by the general.
Soldiers are so apt to value themselves on their knowledge of what, after
all, one may call but their trade, that a private gentleman is often
thought too slightly of by them. Insolence in a great man, a rich man,
or a soldier, is a call upon a man of spirit to exert himself. But I
hope, thought I, I shall not have this call from any one of a family I so
greatly respect.

I was received by the bishop; who politely, after I had paid my
compliments to the marquis and his lady, presented me to those of the
Urbino family to whom I was a stranger. Every one of those named by
Signor Jeronymo, in his last letter, was present.

The marquis, after he had returned my compliment, looked another way, to
hide his emotion: the marchioness put her handkerchief to her eyes, and
looked upon me with tenderness; and I read in them her concern for her
Clementina.

I paid my respects to the general with an air of freedom, yet of regard;
to my Jeronymo, with the tenderness due to our friendship, and
congratulated him on seeing him out of his chamber. His kind eyes
glistened with pleasure; yet it was easy to read a mixture of pain in
them; which grew stronger as the first emotions at seeing me enter, gave
way to reflection.

The Conte della Porretta seemed to measure me with his eye.

I addressed myself to Father Marescotti, and made my particular
acknowledgments to him for the favour of his visit, and what had passed
in it. He looked upon me with pleasure; probably with the more, as this
was a farewell visit.

The two ladies whispered, and looked upon me, and seemed to bespeak each
other's attention to what passed.

Signor Sebastiano placed himself next to Jeronymo, and often whispered
him, and as often cast his eye upon me. He was partial to me, I believe,
because my generous friend seemed pleased with what he said.

His brother, Signor Juliano, sat on the other hand of me. They are
agreeable and polite young gentlemen.

A profound silence succeeded the general compliments.

I addressed myself to the marquis: Your lordship, and you, madam, turning
to the marchioness, I hope will excuse me for having requested of you the
honour of being once more admitted to your presence, and to that of three
brothers, for whom I shall ever retain the most respectful affection. I
could not think of leaving a city, where one of the first families in it
has done me the highest honour, without taking such a leave as might shew
my gratitude.--Accept, my lords, bowing to each; accept, madam, more
profoundly bowing to the marchioness, my respectful thanks for all your
goodness to me. I shall, to the end of my life, number most of the days
that I have passed at Bologna among its happiest, even were the remainder
to be as happy as man ever knew.

The marquis said, We wish you, chevalier, very happy; happier than--He
sighed, and was silent.

His lady only bowed. Her face spoke distress. Her voice was lost in
sighs, though she struggled to suppress them.

Chevalier, said the bishop, with an air of solemnity, you have given us
many happy hours: for them we thank you. Jeronymo, for himself, will say
more: he is the most grateful of men. We thank you also for what you
have done for him.

I cannot, said Jeronymo, express suitably my gratitude: my prayers, my
vows, shall follow you whithersoever you go, best of friends, and best of
men!

The general, with an air and a smile that might have been dispensed with,
oddly said, High pleasure and high pain are very near neighbours: they
are often guilty of excesses, and then are apt to mistake each other's
house. I am one of those who think our whole house obliged to the
chevalier for the seasonable assistance he gave to our Jeronymo. But--

Dear general, said Lady Juliana, bear with an interruption: the intent of
this meeting is amicable. The chevalier is a man of honour. Things may
have fallen out unhappily; yet nobody to blame.

As to blame, or otherwise, said the Conte della Porretta, that is not now
to be talked of; else, I know where it lies: in short, among ourselves.
The chevalier acted greatly by Signor Jeronymo: we were all obliged to
him: but to let such a man as this have free admission to our daughter--
She ought to have had no eyes.

Pray, my lord, pray, brother, said the marquis, are we not enough
sufferers?

The chevalier, said the general, cannot but be gratified by so high a
compliment; and smiled indignantly.

My lord, replied I to the general, you know very little of the man before
you, if you don't believe him to be the most afflicted man present.

Impossible! said the marquis, with a sigh.

The marchioness arose from her seat, motioning to go; and turning round
to the two ladies, and the count, I have resigned my will to the will of
you all, my dearest friends, and shall be permitted to withdraw. This
testimony, however, before I go, I cannot but bear: Wherever the fault
lay, it lay not with the chevalier. He has, from the first to the last,
acted with the nicest honour. He is entitled to our respect. The
unhappiness lies nowhere but in the difference of religion.

Well, and that now is absolutely out of the question, said the general:
it is indeed, chevalier.

I hope, my lord, from a descendant of a family so illustrious, to find an
equal exemption from wounding words, and wounding looks; and that, sir,
as well from your generosity, as from your justice.

My looks give you offence, chevalier!--Do they?

I attended to the marchioness. She came towards me. I arose, and
respectfully took her hand.--Chevalier, said she, I could not withdraw
without bearing the testimony I have borne to your merits. I wish you
happy.--God protect you, whithersoever you go. Adieu.

She wept. I bowed on her hand with profound respect. She retired with
precipitation. It was with difficulty that I suppressed the rising tear.
I took my seat.

I made no answer to the general's last question, though it was spoken in
such a way (I saw by their eyes) as took every other person's notice.

Lady Sforza, when her sister was retired, hinted, that the last interview
between the young lady and me was an unadvised permission, though
intended for the best.

I then took upon me to defend that step. Lady Clementina, said I, had
declared, that if she were allowed to speak her whole mind to me, she
should be easy. I had for some time given myself up to absolute despair.
The marchioness intended not favour to me in allowing of the interview:
it was the most affecting one to me I had ever known. But let me say,
that, far from having bad effects on the young lady's mind, it had good
ones. I hardly knew how to talk upon a subject so very interesting to
every one present, but not more so to any one than to myself. I thought
of avoiding it; and have been led into it, but did not lead. And since
it is before us, let me recommend, as the most effectual way to restore
every one to peace and happiness, gentle treatment. The most generous of
human minds, the most meek, the most dutiful, requires not harsh
methods.

How do you know, sir, said the general, and looked at Jeronymo, the
methods now taken--

And are they then harsh, my lord? said I.

He was offended.

I had heard, proceeded I, that a change of measures was resolved on. I
knew that the treatment before had been all gentle, condescending,
indulgent. I received but yesterday letters from my father, signifying
his intention of speedily recalling me to my native country. I shall set
out very soon for Paris, where I hope to meet with his more direct
commands for this long-desired end. What may be my destiny, I know not;
but I shall carry with me a heart burdened with the woes of this family,
and distressed for the beloved daughter of it. But let me bespeak you
all, for your own sakes, (mine is out of the question: I presume not upon
any hope on my own account,) that you will treat this angelic-minded lady
with tenderness. I pretend to say, that I know that harsh or severe
methods will not do.

The general arose from his seat, and, with a countenance of fervor, next
to fierceness--Let me tell you, Grandison, said he--

I arose from mine, and going to Lady Sforza, who sat next him, he stopt,
supposing me going to him, and seemed surprised, and attentive to my
motions: but, disregarding him, I addressed myself to that lady. You,
madam, are the aunt of Lady Clementina: the tender, the indulgent mother
is absent, and has declared, that she resigns her will to the will of her
friends present--Allow me to supplicate, that former measures may not be
changed with her. Great dawnings of returning reason did I discover in
our last interview. Her delicacy (never was there a more delicate mind)
wanted but to be satisfied. It was satisfied, and she began to be easy.
Were her mind but once composed, the sense she has of her duty, and what
she owes to her religion, would restore her to your wishes: but if she
should be treated harshly, (though I am sure, if she should, it would be
with the best intention,) Clementina will be lost.

The general sat down. They all looked upon one another. The two ladies
dried their eyes. The starting tear would accompany my fervor. And then
stepping to Jeronymo, who was extremely affected; My dear Jeronymo, said
I, my friend, my beloved friend, cherish in your noble heart the memory
of your Grandison: would to God I could attend you to England! We have
baths there of sovereign efficacy. The balm of a friendly and grateful
heart would promote the cure. I have urged it before. Consider of it.

My Grandison, my dear Grandison, my friend, my preserver! You are not
going!--

I am, my Jeronymo, and embraced him. Love me in absence, as I shall you.

Chevalier, said the bishop, you don't go? We hope for your company at a
small collation.--We must not part with you yet.

I cannot, my lord, accept the favour. Although I had given myself up to
despair of obtaining the happiness to which I once aspired; yet I was not
willing to quit a city that this family had made dear to me, with the
precipitation of a man conscious of misbehaviour. I thank you for the
permission I had to attend you all in full assembly. May God prosper
you, my lord; and may you be invested with the first honours of that
church which must be adorned by so worthy a heart! It will be my glory,
when I am in my native place, or wherever I am, to remember that I was
once thought not unworthy of a rank in a family so respectable. Let me,
my lord, be entitled to your kind remembrance.

He pulled out his handkerchief. My lord, said he, to his father; my
Lord, to the general; Grandison must not go!--and sat down with emotion.

Lady Sforza wept: Laurana seemed moved: the two young lords, Sebastiano
and Juliano, were greatly affected.

I then addressed myself to the marquis, who sat undetermined, as to
speech: My venerable lord, forgive me, that my address was not first paid
here. My heart overflows with gratitude for your goodness in permitting
me to throw myself at your feet, before I took a last farewell of a city
favoured with your residence. Best of fathers, of friends, of men, let
me entreat the continuance of your paternal indulgence to the child
nearest, and deserving to be nearest, to your heart. She is all you and
her mother. Restore her to yourself, and to her, by your indulgence:
that alone, and a blessing on your prayers, can restore her. Adieu, my
good lord: repeated thanks for all your hospitable goodness to a man that
will ever retain a grateful sense of your favour.

You will not yet go, was all he said--he seemed in agitation. He could
not say more.

I then, turning to the count his brother, who sat next him, said, I have
not the honour to be fully known to your lordship: some prejudices from
differences in opinion may have been conceived: but if you ever hear
anything of the man before you unworthy of his name, and of the favour
once designed him; then, my lord, blame, as well as wonder at, the
condescension of your noble brother and sister in my favour.

Who, I! Who, I! said that lord, in some hurry.--I think very well of
you. I never saw a man, in my life, that I liked so well!

Your lordship does me honour. I say this the rather, as I may, on this
solemn occasion, taking leave of such honourable friends, charge my
future life with resolutions to behave worthy of the favour I have met
with in this family.

I passed from him to the general--Forgive, my lord, said I, the seeming
formality of my behaviour in this parting scene: it is a very solemn one
to me. You have expressed yourself of me, and to me, my lord, with more
passion, (forgive me, I mean not to offend you,) than perhaps you will
approve in yourself when I am far removed from Italy. For have you not a
noble mind? And are you not a son of the Marquis della Porretta? Permit
me to observe, that passion will make a man exalt himself, and degrade
another; and the just medium will be then forgot. I am afraid I have
been thought more lightly of, than I ought to be, either in justice, or
for the honour of a person who is dear to every one present. My country
was once mentioned with disdain: think not my vanity so much concerned in
what I am going to say, as my honour: I am proud to be thought an
Englishman: yet I think as highly of every worthy man of every nation
under the sun, as I do of the worthy men of my own. I am not of a
contemptible race in my own country. My father lives in it with the
magnificence of a prince. He loves his son; yet I presume to add, that
that son deems his good name his riches; his integrity his grandeur.
Princes, though they are entitled by their rank to respect, are princes
to him only as they act.

A few words more, my lord.

I have been of the hearing, not of the speaking side of the question, in
the two last conferences I had the honour to hold with your lordship.
Once you unkindly mentioned the word triumph. The word at the time went
to my heart. When I can subdue the natural warmth of my temper, then,
and then only, I have a triumph. I should not have remembered this, had
I not now, my lord, on this solemn occasion, been received by you with an
indignant eye. I respect your lordship too much not to take notice of
this angry reception. My silence upon it, perhaps, would look like
subscribing before this illustrious company to the justice of your
contempt: yet I mean no other notice than this; and this to demonstrate
that I was not, in my own opinion at least, absolutely unworthy of the
favour I met with from the father, the mother, the brothers, you so
justly honour, and which I wished to stand in with you.

And now, my lord, allow me the honour of your hand; and, as I have given
you no cause for displeasure, say, that you will remember me with
kindness, as I shall honour you and your whole family to the last day of
my life.

The general heard me out; but it was with great emotion. He accepted not
my hand; he returned not any answer: the bishop arose, and, taking him
aside, endeavoured to calm him.

I addressed myself to the two young lords, and said, that if ever their
curiosity led them to visit England, where I hoped to be in a few months,
I should be extremely glad of cultivating their esteem and favour, by the
best offices I could do them.

They received my civility with politeness.

I addressed myself next to Lady Laurana--May you, madam, the friend, the
intimate, the chosen companion of Lady Clementina, never know the
hundredth part of the woe that fills the breast of the man before you,
for the calamity that has befallen your admirable cousin, and, because of
that, a whole excellent family. Let me recommend to you, that tender and
soothing treatment to her, which her tender heart would shew to you, in
any calamity that should befall you. I am not a bad man, madam, though
of a different communion from yours. Think but half so charitably of me,
as I do of every one of your religion who lives up to his professions,
and I shall be happy in your favourable thoughts when you hear me spoken
of.

It is easy to imagine, Dr. Bartlett, that I addressed myself in this
manner to this lady whom I had never before seen, that she might not
think the harder of her cousin's prepossessions in favour of a
Protestant.

I recommended myself to the favour of Father Marescotti. He assured me
of his esteem, in very warm terms.

And just as I was again applying to my Jeronymo, the general came to me:
You cannot think, sir, said he, nor did you design it, I suppose, that I
should be pleased with your address to me. I have only this question to
ask, When do you quit Bologna?

Let me ask your lordship, said I, when do you return to Naples?

Why that question, sir? haughtily.

I will answer you frankly. Your lordship, at the first of my
acquaintance with you, invited me to Naples. I promised to pay my
respects to you there. If you think of being there in a week, I will
attend you at your own palace in that city; and there, my lord, I hope,
no cause to the contrary having arisen from me, to be received by you
with the same kindness and favour that you shewed when you gave me the
invitation. I think to leave Bologna to-morrow.

O brother! said the bishop, are you not now overcome?

And are you in earnest? said the general.

I am, my lord. I have many valuable friends, at different courts and
cities in Italy, to take leave of. I never intend to see it again. I
would look upon your lordship as one of those friends; but you seem still
displeased with me. You accepted not my offered hand before; once more I
tender it. A man of spirit cannot be offended at a man of spirit,
without lessening himself. I call upon your dignity, my lord.

He held out his hand, just as I was withdrawing mine. I have pride, you
know, Dr. Bartlett; and I was conscious of a superiority in this
instance: I took his hand, however, at his offer; yet pitied him, that
his motion was made at all, as it wanted that grace which generally
accompanies all he does and says.

The bishop embraced me.--Your moderation, thus exerted, said he, must
ever make you triumph. O Grandison! you are a prince of the Almighty's
creation.

The noble Jeronymo dried his eyes, and held out his arms to embrace me.

The general said, I shall certainly be at Naples in a week. I am too
much affected by the woes of my family, to behave as perhaps I ought on
this occasion. Indeed, Grandison, it is difficult for sufferers to act
with spirit and temper at the same time.

It is, my lord; I have found it so. My hopes raised, as once they were,
now sunk, and absolute despair having taken place of them--Would to God I
had never returned to Italy!--But I reproach not any body.

Yet, said Jeronymo, you have some reason--To be sent for as you were--

He was going on--Pray, brother, said the general--And turning to me, I
may expect you, sir, at Naples?

You may, my lord. But one favour I have to beg of you mean time. It is,
that you will not treat harshly your dear Clementina. Would to Heaven I
might have had the honour to say, my Clementina! And permit me to make
one other request on my own account: and that is, that you will tell her,
that I took my leave of your whole family, by their kind permission; and
that, at my departure, I wished her, from my soul, all the happiness that
the best and tenderest of her friends can wish her! I make this request
to you, my lord, rather than to Signor Jeronymo, because the tenderness
which he has for me might induce him to mention me to her in a manner
which might, at this time, affect her too sensibly for her peace.

Be pleased, my dear Signor Jeronymo, to make my devotion known to the
marchioness. Would to Heaven--But adieu! and once more adieu, my
Jeronymo. I shall hear from you when I get to Naples, if not before.--
God restore your sister, and heal you!

I bowed to the marquis, to the ladies, to the general, to the bishop,
particularly; to the rest in general; and was obliged, in order to
conceal my emotion, to hurry out at the door. The servants had planted
themselves in a row; not for selfish motives, as in England: they bowed
to the ground, and blessed me, as I went through them. I had ready a
purse of ducats. One hand and another declined it: I dropt it in their
sight. God be with you, my honest friends! said I; and departed--O, Dr.
Bartlett, with a heart how much distressed!


And now, my good Miss Byron, Have I not reason, from the deep concern
which you take in the woes of Lady Clementina, to regret the task you
have put me upon? And do you, my good Lord and Lady L----, and Miss
Grandison, now wonder that your brother has not been forward to give you
the particulars of this melancholy tale? Yet you all say, I must
proceed.


See, Lucy, the greatness of this man's behaviour! What a presumption was
it in your Harriet, ever to aspire to call such a one hers!



LETTER II

MISS BYRON, TO MISS SELBY


This Lady Olivia, Lucy, what can she pretend to--But I will not puzzle
myself about her--Yet she pretend to give disturbance to such a man! You
will find her mentioned in Dr. Bartlett's next letter; or she would not
have been named by me.


***


DR. BARTLETT'S ELEVENTH LETTER

Mr. Grandison, on his return to his lodgings, found there, in disguise,
Lady Olivia. He wanted not any new disturbance. But I will not mix the
stories.

The next morning he received a letter from Signor Jeronymo. The
following is a translation of it:


***


My dearest Grandison!

How do you?--Ever amiable friend! What triumphs did your behaviour of
last night obtain for you! Not a soul here but admires you!

Even Laurana declared, that, were you a Catholic, it would be a merit to
love you. Yet she reluctantly praised you, and once said, What, but
splendid sins, are the virtues of a heretic?

Our two cousins, with the good-nature of youth, lamented that you could
not be ours in the way you wish. My father wept like a child, when you
were gone; and seemed to enjoy the praises given you by every one. The
count said, he never saw a nobler behaviour in man. Your free, your
manly, your polite air and address, and your calmness and intrepidity,
were applauded by every one.

What joy did this give to your Jeronymo! I thought I wanted neither
crutches, helps, nor wheeled chair; and several times forgot that I ailed
any thing.

I begin to love Father Marescotti. He was with the foremost in praising
you.

The general owned, that he was resolved once to quarrel with you. But
will he, do you think, Jeronymo, said he, make me a visit at Naples?

You may depend upon it, he will, answered I----

I will be there to receive him, replied he.

They admired you particularly for your address to my sister, by the
general, rather than by me. And Lady Sforza said, it was a thousand
pities that you and Clementina could not be one. They applauded, all of
them, what they had not, any of them, the power to imitate, that
largeness of heart which makes you think so well, and speak so tenderly,
of those of communions different from your own. So much steadiness in
your own religion, yet so much prudence, in a man so young, they said,
was astonishing! No wonder that your character ran so high, in every
court you had visited.

My mother came in soon after you had left us. She was equally surprised
and grieved to find you gone. She thought she was sure of your staying
supper; and, not satisfied with the slight leave she had taken, she had
been strengthening her mind to pass an hour in your company, in order to
take a more solemn one.

My father asked her after her daughter.

Poor soul! said she, she has heard that the chevalier was to be here, to
take leave of us.

By whom? by whom? said my father.

I cannot tell: but the poor creature is half-raving to be admitted among
us. She has dressed herself in one of her best suits; and I found her
sitting in a kind of form, expecting to be called down. Indeed, Lady
Sforza, the method we are in, does not do. So the chevalier said,
replied that lady. Well, let us change it, with all my heart. It is no
pleasure to treat the dear girl harshly--O sister! this is a most
extraordinary man!

That moment in bolted Camilla--Lady Clementina is just at the door. I
could not prevail upon her--

We all looked upon one another.

Three soft taps at the door, and a hem, let us know she was there.

Let her come in, dear girl, let her come in, said the count: the
chevalier is not here.

Laurana arose, and ran to the door, and led her in by the hand.

Dear creature, how wild she looked!--Tears ran down my cheeks: I had not
seen her for two days before. O how earnestly did she look round her!
withdrawing her hand from her cousin, who would have led her to a chair,
and standing quite still.

Come and sit by me, my sweet love, said her weeping mother.--She stept
towards her.

Sit down, my dear girl.

No: you beat me, remember.

Who beat you, my dear?--Sure nobody would beat my child!--Who beat you,
Clementina?

I don't know--Still looking round her, as wanting somebody.

Again her mother courted her to sit down.

No, madam, you don't love me.

Indeed, my dear, I do.

So you say.

Her father held out his open arms to her. Tears ran down his cheeks. He
could not speak.--Ah, my father! said she, stepping towards him.

He caught her in his arms--Don't, don't, sir, faintly struggling, with
averted face--You love me not--You refused to see your child, when she
wanted to claim your protection!--I was used cruelly.

By whom, my dear? by whom?

By every body. I complained to one, and to another; but all were in a
tone: and so I thought I would be contented. My mamma, too!--But it is
no matter. I saw it was to be so; and I did not care.

By my soul, said I, this is not the way with her, Lady Sforza. The
chevalier is in the right. You see how sensible she is of harsh
treatment.

Well, well, said the general, let us change our measures.

Still the dear girl looked out earnestly, as for somebody.

She loosed herself from the arms of her sorrowing father.

Let us in silence, said the count, observe her motions.

She went to him on tip-toe, and looking in his face over his shoulder, as
he sat with his back towards her, passed him; then to the general; then
to Signor Sebastiano; and to every one round, till she came to me;
looking at each over his shoulder in the same manner: then folding her
fingers, her hands open, and her arms hanging down to their full extent,
she held up her face meditating, with such a significant woe, that I
thought my heart would have burst.--Not a soul in the company had a dry
eye.

Lady Sforza arose, took her two hands, the fingers still clasped, and
would have spoken to her, but could not; and hastily retired to her seat.

Tears, at last, began to trickle down her cheeks, as she stood fixedly
looking up. She started, looked about her, and hastening to her mother,
threw her arms about her neck; and, hiding her face in her bosom, broke
out into a flood of tears, mingled with sobs that penetrated every heart.

The first words she said, were, Love me, my mamma! Love your child! your
poor child! your Clementina! Then raising her head, and again laying it
in her mother's bosom--If ever you loved me, love me now, my mamma!--I
have need of your love!

My father was forced to withdraw. He was led out by his two sons.

Your poor Jeronymo was unable to help himself. He wanted as much comfort
as his father. What were the wounds of his body, at that time, to those
of his mind?

My two brothers returned. This dear girl, said the bishop, will break
all our hearts.

Her tears had seemed to relieve her. She held up her head. My mother's
bosom seemed wet with her child's tears and her own. Still she looked
round her.

Suppose, said I, somebody were to name the man she seems to look for? It
may divert this wildness.

Did she come down, said Laurana to Camilla, with the expectation of
seeing him?

She did.

Let me, said the bishop, speak to her. He arose, and, taking her hand,
walked with her about the room. You look pretty, my Clementina! Your
ornaments are charmingly fancied. What made you dress yourself so
prettily?

She looked earnestly at him, in silence. He repeated his question--I
speak, said she, all my heart; and then I suffer for it. Every body is
against me.

You shall not suffer for it: every body is for you.

I confessed to Mrs. Beaumont; I confessed to you, brother: but what did I
get by it?--Let go my hand. I don't love you, I believe.

I am sorry for it. I love you, Clementina, as I love my own soul!

Yet you never chide your own soul!

He turned his face from her to us. She must not be treated harshly, said
he. He soothed her in a truly brotherly manner.

Tell me, added he to his soothings, Did you expect any body here, that
you find not?

Did I? Yes, I did.--Camilla, come hither.--Let go my hand, brother.

He did. She took Camilla under the arm--Don't you know, Camilla, said
she, what you heard said of somebody's threatening somebody?--Don't let
anybody hear us; drawing her to one end of the room.--I want to take a
walk with you into the garden, Camilla.

It is dark night, madam.

No matter. If you are afraid, I will go by myself.

Seem to humour her in talk, Camilla, said the count; but don't go out of
the room with her.

Be pleased to tell me, madam, what we are to walk in the garden for?

Why, Camilla, I had a horrid dream last night; and I cannot be easy till
I go into the garden.

What, madam, was your dream?

In the orange grove, I thought I stumbled over the body of a dead man!

And who was it, madam?

Don't you know who was threatened? And was not somebody here to night?
And was not somebody to sup here? And is he here?

The general then went to her. My dearest Clementina; my beloved sister;
set your heart at rest. Somebody is safe: shall be safe.

She took first one of his hands, then the other; and looking in the palms
of them, They are not bloody, said she.--What have you done with him,
then? Where is he?

Where is who?

You know whom I ask after; but you want something against me.

Then stepping quick up to me: My Jeronymo!--Did I see you before? and
stroked my cheek.--Now tell me, Jeronymo--Don't come near me, Camilla.
Pray, sir, to the general, do you sit down. She leaned her arm upon my
shoulder: I don't hurt you, Jeronymo: do I?

No, my dearest Clementina!

That's my best brother.--Cruel assassins!--But the brave man came just in
time to save you.--But do you know what is become of him?

He is safe, my dear. He could not stay.

Did any body affront him?

No, my love.

Are you sure nobody did?--Very sure? Father Marescotti, said she, turning
to him, (who wept from the time she entered,) you don't love him: but you
are a good man, and will tell me truth. Where is he? Did nobody affront
him?

No, madam.

Because, said she, he never did any thing but good to any one.

Father Marescotti, said I, admires him as much as any body.

Admire him! Father Marescotti admire him!--But he does not love him.
And I never heard him say one word against Father Marescotti in my life.
--Well, but, Jeronymo, what made him go away, then? Was he not to stay
supper?

He was desired to stay; but would not.

Jeronymo, let me whisper you--Did he tell you that I wrote him a letter?

I guessed you did, whispered I.

You are a strange guesser: but you can't guess how I sent it to him--But
hush, Jeronymo--Well, but, Jeronymo, Did he say nothing of me, when he
went away?

He left his compliments for you with the general.

With the general! The general won't tell me!

Yes, he will.--Brother, pray tell my sister what the chevalier said to
you, at parting.

He repeated, exactly, what you had desired him to say to her.

Why would they not let me see him? said she. Am I never to see him more?

I hope you will, replied the bishop.

If, resumed she, we could have done any thing that might have looked like
a return to his goodness to us (and to you, my Jeronymo, in particular) I
believe I should have been easy.--And so you say he is gone?--And gone
for ever! lifting up her hand from her wrist, as it lay over my shoulder:
Poor chevalier!--But hush, hush, pray hush, Jeronymo.

She went from me to her aunt, and cousin Laurana. Love me again, madam,
said she, to the former. You loved me once.

I never loved you better than now, my dear.

Did you, Laurana, see the Chevalier Grandison?

I did.

And did he go away safe, and unhurt?

Indeed he did.

A man who had preserved the life of our dear Jeronymo, said she, to have
been hurt by us, would have been dreadful, you know. I wanted to say a
few words to him. I was astonished to find him not here: and then my
dream came into my head. It was a sad dream, indeed! But, cousin, be
good to me: pray do. You did not use to be cruel. You used to say, you
loved me. I am in calamity, my dear. I know I am miserable. At times I
know I am; and then I am grieved at my heart, and think how happy every
one is, but me: but then, again, I ail nothing, and am well. But do love
me, Laurana: I am in calamity, my dear. I would love you, if you were in
calamity: indeed I would.--Ah, Laurana! What is become of all your fine
promises? But then every body loved me, and I was happy!--Yet you tell
me, it is all for my good. Naughty Laurana, to wound my heart by your
crossness, and then say, it is for my good!--Do you think I should have
served you so?

Laurana blushed, and wept. Her aunt promised her, that every body would
love her, and comfort her, and not be angry with her, if she would make
her heart easy.

I am very particular, my dear Grandison. I know you love I should be so.
From this minuteness, you will judge of the workings of her mind. They
are resolved to take your advice, (it was very seasonable,) and treat her
with indulgence. The count is earnest to have it so.


***


Camilla has just left me. She says, that her young lady had a tolerable
night. She thinks it owing, in a great measure, to her being indulged in
asking the servants, who saw you depart, how you looked; and being
satisfied that you went away unhurt, and unaffronted.

Adieu, my dearest, my best friend. Let me hear from you, as often as you
can.


***


I just now understand from Camilla, that the dear girl has made an
earnest request to my father, mother, and aunt; and been refused. She
came back from them deeply afflicted; and, as Camilla fears, is going
into one of her gloomy fits again. I hope to write again, if you depart
not from Bologna before to-morrow: but I must, for my own sake, write
shorter letters. Yet how can I? Since, however melancholy the subject,
when I am writing to you, I am conversing with you. My dear Grandison,
once more adieu.


O Lucy, my dear! Whence come all the tears this melancholy story has
cost me? I cannot dwell upon the scenes!--Begone, all those wishes that
would interfere with the interest of that sweet distressed saint at
Bologna!

How impolitic, Lucy, was it in them, not to gratify her impatience to see
him! She would, most probably, have been quieted in her mind, if she had
been obliged by one other interview.

What a delicacy, my dear, what a generosity, is there in her love!

Sir Charles, in Lord L----'s study, said to me, that his compassion was
engaged, but his honour was free: and so it seems to be: but a generosity
in return for her generosity, must bind such a mind as his.



LETTER III

MISS BYRON, TO MISS SELBY


In the doctor's next letter, enclosed, you will find mention made of Sir
Charles's Literary Journal. I fancy, my dear, it must be a charming
thing. I wish we could have before us every line he wrote while he was
in Italy. Once the presumptuous Harriet had hopes, that she might have
been entitled--But no more of these hopes--It can't be helped, Lucy.


***


DR. BARTLETT'S TWELFTH LETTER

Mr. Grandison proceeds thus:

The next morning I employed myself in visiting and taking leave of
several worthy members of the university, with whom I had passed many
very agreeable and improving hours, during my residence in this noble
city. In my Literary Journal you have an account of those worthy
persons, and of some of our conversations. I paid my duty to the
cardinal legate, and the gonfaloniere, and to three of his counsellors,
by whom, you know, I had been likewise greatly honoured. My mind was not
free enough to enjoy their conversation: such a weight upon my heart, how
could it? But the debt of gratitude and civility was not to be left
unpaid.

On my return to my lodgings, which was not till the evening, I found, the
general had been there to inquire after me.

I sent one of my servants to the palace of Porretta, with my compliments
to the general, to the bishop, and Jeronymo; and with particular
inquiries after the health of the ladies, and the marquis; but had only a
general answer, that they were much as I left them.

The two young lords, Sebastiano and Juliano, made me a visit of ceremony.
They talked of visiting England in a year or two. I assured them of my
best services, and urged them to go thither. I asked them after the
healths of the marquis, the marchioness, and their beloved cousin
Clementina. Signor Sebastiano shook his head: very, very indifferent,
were his words. We parted with great civilities.

I will now turn my thoughts to Florence, and to the affairs there that
have lain upon me, from the death of my good friend Mr. Jervois, and from
my wardship. I told you in their course, the steps I took in those
affairs; and how happy I had been in some parts of management. There I
hope soon to see you, my dear Dr. Bartlett, from the Levant, to whose
care I can so safely consign my precious trust, while I go to Paris, and
attend the wished-for call of my father to my native country, from which
I have been for so many years an exile.

There also, I hope to have some opportunities of conversing with my good
Mrs. Beaumont; resolving to make another effort to get so valuable a
person to restore herself to my beloved England.

Thus, my dear Dr. Bartlett, do I endeavour to console myself, in order to
lighten that load of grief which I labour under on the distresses of the
dear Clementina. If I can leave her happy, I shall be sooner so, than I
could have been in the same circumstances, had I, from the first of my
acquaintance with the family, (to the breach of all the laws of
hospitality,) indulged a passion for her.

Yet is the unhappy Olivia a damp upon my endeavours after consolation.
When she made her unseasonable visit to me at Bologna, she refused to
return to Florence without me, till I assured her, that as my affairs
would soon call me thither, I would visit her at her own palace, as often
as those affairs would permit. Her pretence for coming to Bologna was,
to induce me to place Emily with her, till I had settled every thing for
my carrying the child to England; but I was obliged to be peremptory in
my denial, though she had wrought so with Emily, as to induce her to be
an earnest petitioner to me, to permit her to live with Lady Olivia,
whose equipages, and the glare in which she lives, had dazzled the eyes
of the young lady.


***


I was impatient to hear again from Jeronymo; and just as I was setting
out for Florence, in despair of that favour, it being the second day
after my farewell visit, I had the following letter from him:


I have not been well, my dear Grandison. I am afraid the wound in my
shoulder must be laid open again. God give me patience! But my life is
a burden to me.

We are driving here at a strange rate. They promised to keep measures
with the dear creature; but she has heard that you are leaving Bologna,
and raves to see you.

Poor soul! She endeavoured to prevail upon her father, mother, aunt, to
permit her to see you, but for five minutes: that was the petition which
was denied her, as I mentioned in my last.

Camilla was afraid that she would go into a gloomy fit upon it, as I told
you--She did; but it lasted not long: for she made an effort, soon after,
to go out of the house by way of the garden. The gardener refused his
key, and brought Camilla to her, whom she had, by an innocent piece of
art, but just before, sent to bring her something from her toilette.

The general went with Camilla to her. They found her just setting a
ladder against the wall. She heard them, and screamed, and, leaving the
ladder, ran, to avoid them, till she came in sight of the great cascade;
into which, had she not by a cross alley been intercepted by the general,
it is feared she would have thrown herself.

This has terrified us all: she begs but for one interview; one parting
interview; and she promises to make herself easy: but it is not thought
advisable. Yet Father Marescotti himself thought it best to indulge her.
Had my mother been earnest, I believe it had been granted: but she is so
much concerned at the blame she met with on permitting the last
interview, that she will not contend, though she has let them know, that
she did not oppose the request.

The unhappy girl ran into my chamber this morning --Jeronymo; he will be
gone! said she: I know he will. All I want, is but to see him! To wish
him happy! And to know, if he will remember me when he is gone, as I
shall him!--Have you no interest, Jeronymo? Cannot I once see him? Not
once?

The bishop, before I could answer, came in quest of her, followed by
Laurana, from whom she had forcibly disengaged herself, to come to me.

Let me have but one parting interview, my lord, said she, looking to him,
and clinging about my neck. He will be gone: gone for ever. Is there so
much in being allowed to say, Farewell, and be happy, Grandison! and
excuse all the trouble I have given you?--What has my brother's preserver
done, what have I done, that I must not see him, nor he me, for one
quarter of an hour only?

Indeed, my lord, said I, she should be complied with. Indeed she should.

My father thinks otherwise, said the bishop: the count thinks otherwise:
I think otherwise. Were the chevalier a common man, she might. But she
dwells upon what passed in the last interview, and his behaviour to her.
That, it is plain, did her harm.

The next may drive the thoughts of that out of her head, returned I.

Dear Jeronymo, replied he, a little peevishly, you will always think
differently from every body else! Mrs. Beaumont comes to-morrow.

What do I care for Mrs. Beaumont? said she.--I don't love her: she tells
every thing I say.

Come, my dear love, said Laurana, you afflict your brother Jeronymo. Let
us go up to your own chamber.

I afflict every body, and every body afflicts me; and you are all cruel.
Why, he will be gone, I tell you! That makes me so impatient: and I have
something to say to him. My father won't see me: my mother renounces me.
I have been looking for her, and she hides herself from me!--And I am a
prisoner, and watched, and used ill!

Here comes my mother! said Laurana. You now must go up to your chamber,
cousin Clementina.

So she does, said she; now I must go, indeed!--Ah, Jeronymo! Now there
is no saying nay.--But it is hard! very hard!--And she burst into tears.
I won't speak though, said she, to my aunt. Remember, I will be silent,
madam!--Then whispering me, My aunt, brother, is not the aunt she used to
be to me!--But hush, I don't complain, you know!

By this I saw that Lady Sforza was severe with her.

She addressed herself to her aunt: You are not my mamma, are you, madam?

No, child.

No, child, indeed! I know that too well. But my brother Giacomo is as
cruel to me as any body. But hush, Jeronymo!--Don't you betray me!--Now
my aunt is come, I must go!--I wish I could run away from you all!

She was yesterday detected writing a letter to you. My mother was shewn
what she had written, and wept over it. My aunt took it out of my
sister's bosom, where she had thrust it, on her coming in. This she
resented highly.

When she was led into her own chamber, she refused to speak; but in great
hurry went to her closet, and, taking down her bible, turned over one
leaf and another very quick. Lady Sforza had a book in her hand, and sat
over-against the closet-door to observe her motions. She came to a
place--Pretty! said she.

The bishop had formerly given her a smattering of Latin--She took pen and
ink, and wrote. You'll see, chevalier, the very great purity of her
thoughts, by what she omitted, and what she chose, from the Canticles.
Velut unguentum diffunditur nomen tuum &c.

[In the English translation, thus: Thy name is as ointment poured forth;
therefore do the virgins love thee. Draw me; we will run after thee: the
upright love thee.

Look not upon me because I am black, because the sun hath looked upon me.
My mother's children were angry with me: they made me the keeper of the
vineyards, but mine own vineyard have I not kept.

Tell me, O thou whom my soul loveth! where thou feedest, where thou
makest thy flock to rest at noon: for why should I be as one that turneth
aside by the flocks of thy companions?]

She laid down her pen, and was thoughtful; her elbow resting on the
escritoire she wrote upon, her hand supporting her head.

May I look over you, my dear? said her aunt, stepping to her; and, taking
up the paper, read it, and took it out of the closet with her, unopposed;
her gentle bosom only heaving sighs.

I will write no more, so minutely, on this affecting subject, my
Grandison.

They are all of opinion that she will be easy, when she knows that you
have actually left Bologna; and they strengthen their opinion by these
words of hers, above-recited; 'Why he will be gone, I tell you; and this
makes me so impatient.'--At least, they are resolved to try the
experiment. And so, my dear Grandison, you must be permitted to leave
us!

God be your director and comforter, as well as ours! prays

Your ever affectionate
JERONYMO.


***


Mr. Grandison, having no hopes of being allowed to see the unhappy lady,
set out with a heavy heart for Florence. He gave orders there, and at
Leghorn, that the clerks and agents of his late friend Mr. Jervois should
prepare every thing for his inspection against his return from Naples;
and then he set out for that city, to attend the general.

He had other friends to whom he had endeared himself at Sienna, Ancona,
and particularly at Rome, as he had also some at Naples; of whom he
intended to take leave, before he set out for Paris: and therefore went
to attend the general with the greater pleasure.

Within the appointed time he arrived at Naples.

The general received me, said Mr. Grandison, with greater tokens of
politeness than affection. You are the happiest man in the world,
chevalier, said he, after the first compliments, in escaping dangers by
braving them. I do assure you, that I had great difficulties to deny
myself the favour of paying you a visit in my own way at Bologna. I had
indeed resolved to do it, till you proposed this visit to me here.

I should have been very sorry, replied I, to have seen a brother of Lady
Clementina in any way that should not have made me consider him as her
brother. But, before I say another word, let me ask after her health.
How does the most excellent of women?

You have not heard, then?

I have not, my lord: but it is not for want of solicitude: I have sent
three several messengers: but can hear nothing to my satisfaction.

Nor can you hear any thing from me that will give you any.

I am grieved at my soul, that I cannot. How, my lord, do the marquis and
marchioness?

Don't ask. They are extremely unhappy.

I hear that my dear friend, Signor Jeronymo, has undergone--

A dreadful operation, interrupted the general.--He has. Poor Jeronymo!
He could not write to you. God preserve my brother! But, chevalier, you
did not save half a life, though we thank you for that, when you restored
him to our arms.

I had no reason to boast, my lord, of the accident. I never made a merit
of it. It was a mere accident, and cost me nothing. The service was
greatly over-rated.

Would to God, chevalier, it had been rendered by any other man in the
world!

As it has proved, I am sure, my lord, I have reason to join in the wish.

He shewed me his pictures, statues, and cabinet of curiosities, while
dinner was preparing; but rather for the ostentation of his magnificence
and taste, than to do me pleasure. I even observed an increasing
coldness in his behaviour; and his eye was too often cast upon me with a
fierceness that shewed resentment; and not with the hospitable frankness
that became him to a visitor and guest, who had undertaken a journey of
above two hundred miles, principally to attend him, and to shew him the
confidence he had in his honour. This, as it was more to his dishonour
than mine, I pitied him for. But what most of all disturbed me, was,
that I could not obtain from him any particular intelligence relating to
the health of one person, whose distresses lay heavy upon my heart.

There were several persons of distinction at dinner; the discourse could
therefore be only general. He paid me great respect at his table, but it
was a solemn one. I was the more uneasy at it, as I apprehended, that
the situation of the Bologna family was more unhappy than when I left
that city.

He retired with me into his garden. You stay with me at least the week
out, chevalier?

No, my lord: I have affairs of a deceased friend at Florence and at
Leghorn to settle. To-morrow, as early as I can, I shall set out for
Rome, in my way to Tuscany.

I am surprised, chevalier. You take something amiss in my behaviour.

I cannot say that your lordship's countenance (I am a very free speaker)
has that benignity in it, that complacency, which I have had the pleasure
to see in it.

By G--! chevalier, I could have loved you better than any man in the
world, next to the men of my own family; but I own I see you not here
with so much love as admiration.

The word admiration, my lord, may require explanation. You may admire at
my confidence: but I thank you for the manly freedom of your
acknowledgment in general.

By admiration I mean, all that may do you honour. Your bravery in coming
hither, particularly; and your greatness of mind on your taking leave of
us all. But did you not then mean to insult me?

I meant to observe to you then, as I now do in your own palace, that you
had not treated me as my heart told me I deserved to be treated: but when
I thought your warmth was rising to the uneasiness of your assembled
friends, instead of answering your question about my stay at Bologna, as
you seemed to mean it, I invited myself to an attendance upon you here,
at Naples, in such a manner as surely could not be construed as insult.

I own, Grandison, you disconcerted me. I had intended to save you that
journey.

Was that your lordship's meaning, when, in my absence, you called at my
lodgings, the day after the farewell-visit?

Not absolutely: I was uneasy with myself. I intended to talk to you.
What that talk might have produced, I know not: but had I invited you
out, if I had found you at home, would you have answered my demands?

According as you had put them.

Will you answer them now, if I attend you as far as Rome, on your return
to Florence?

If they are demands fit to be answered.

Do you expect I will make any that are not fit to be answered?

My lord, I will explain myself. You had conceived causeless prejudices
against me: you seemed inclined to impute to me a misfortune that was
not, could not be, greater to you than it was to me. I knew my own
innocence: I knew that I was rather an injured man, in having hopes given
me, in which I was disappointed, not by my own fault: whom shall an
innocent and an injured man fear?--Had I feared, my fear might have been
my destruction. For was I not in the midst of your friends? A
foreigner? If I would have avoided you, could I, had you been determined
to seek me?--I would choose to meet even an enemy as a man of honour,
rather than to avoid him as a malefactor. In my country, the law
supposes flight a confession of guilt. Had you made demands upon me that
I had not chosen to answer, I would have expostulated with you. I could
perhaps have done so as calmly as I now speak. If you would not have
been expostulated with, I would have stood upon my defence: but for the
world I would not have hurt a brother of Clementina and Jeronymo, a son
of the marquis and marchioness of Porretta, could I have avoided it. Had
your passion given me any advantage over you, and I had obtained your
sword, (a pistol, had the choice been left to me, I had refused for both
our sakes,) I would have presented both swords to you, and bared my
breast: It was before penetrated by the distresses of the dear
Clementina, and of all your family--Perhaps I should only have said, 'If
your lordship thinks I have injured you, take your revenge.'

And now, that I am at Naples, let me say, that if you are determined,
contrary to all my hopes, to accompany me to Rome, or elsewhere, on my
return, with an unfriendly purpose; such, and no other, shall be my
behaviour to you, if the power be given me to shew it. I will rely on my
own innocence, and hope by generosity to overcome a generous man. Let
the guilty secure themselves by violence and murder.

Superlative pride! angrily said he, and stood still, measuring me with
his eye: And could you hope for such an advantage?

While I, my lord, was calm, and determined only upon self-defence; while
you were passionate, and perhaps rash, as aggressors generally are; I did
not doubt it: but could I have avoided drawing, and preserved your good
opinion, I would not have drawn. Your lordship cannot but know my
principles.

Grandison, I do know them; and also the general report in your favour for
skill and courage. Do you think I would have heard with patience of the
once proposed alliance, had not your character--And then he was pleased
to say many things in my favour, from the report of persons who had
weight with him; some of whom he named.

But still, Grandison, said he, this poor girl!--She could not have been
so deeply affected, had not some lover-like arts--

Let me, my lord, interrupt you--I cannot bear an imputation of this kind.
Had such arts been used, the lady could not have been so much affected.
Cannot you think of your noble sister, as a daughter of the two houses
from which you sprang? Cannot you see her, as by Mrs. Beaumont's means
we now so lately have been able to see her, struggling nobly with her own
heart, [Why am I put upon this tender subject?] because of her duty and
her religion; and resolved to die rather than encourage a wish that was
not warranted by both?--I cannot, my lord, urge this subject: but there
never was a passion so nobly contended with. There never was a man more
disinterested, and so circumstanced. Remember only, my voluntary
departure from Bologna, against persuasion; and the great behaviour of
your sister on that occasion; great, as it came out to be, when Mrs.
Beaumont brought her to acknowledge what would have been my glory to have
known, could it have been encouraged; but is now made my heaviest
concern.

Indeed, Grandison, she ever was a noble girl! We are too apt perhaps to
govern ourselves by events, without looking into causes: but the access
you had to her; such a man! and who became known to us from circumstances
so much in his favour, both as a man of principle and bravery--

This, my lord, interrupted I, is still judging from events. You have
seen Mrs. Beaumont's letter. Surely you cannot have a nobler monument of
magnanimity in woman! And to that I refer, for a proof of my own
integrity.

I have that letter: Jeronymo gave it me, at my taking leave of him; and
with these words: 'Grandison will certainly visit you at Naples. I am
afraid of your warmth. His spirit is well known. All my dependance is
upon his principles. He will not draw but in his own defence. Cherish
the noble visitor. Surely, brother, I may depend upon your hospitable
temper. Read over again this letter, before you see him.'--I have not
yet read it, proceeded the general; but I will, and that, if you will
allow me, now.

He took it out of his pocket, walked from me, and read it; and then came
to me, and took my hand--I am half ashamed of myself, my dear Grandison:
I own I wanted magnanimity. All the distresses of our family, on this
unhappy girl's account, were before my eyes, and I received you, I
behaved to you, as the author of them. I was contriving to be
dissatisfied with you: Forgive me, and command my best services. I will
let our Jeronymo know how greatly you subdued me before I had recourse to
the letter; but that I have since read that part of it which accounts for
my sister's passion, and wish I had read it with equal attention before.
I acquit you: I am proud of my sister. Yet I observe from this very
letter, that Jeronymo's gratitude has contributed to the evil we deplore.
But--Let us not say one word more of the unhappy girl: It is painful to
me to talk of her.

Not ask a question, my lord?--

Don't, Grandison, don't!--Jeronymo and Clementina are my soul's woe--But
they are not worse than might be apprehended. You go to court with me
to-morrow: I will present you to the king.

I have had that honour formerly. I must depart to-morrow morning early.
I have already taken leave of several of my friends here: I have some to
make my compliments to at Rome, which I reserved for my return.

You stay with me to-night?--I intend it, my lord.

Well, we will return to company. I must make my excuses to my friends.
Your departure to-morrow must be one. They all admire you. They are
acquainted with your character. They will join with me to engage you, if
possible, to stay longer.--We returned to the company.



LETTER IV

MISS BYRON, TO MISS SELBY


Receive now, my dear, the doctor's thirteenth letter, and the last he
intends to favour us with, till he entertains us with the histories of
Mrs. Beaumont, and Lady Olivia.


***


DR. BARTLETT'S THIRTEENTH LETTER

Mr. Grandison set out next morning. The general's behaviour to him at
his departure, was much more open and free than it was at receiving him.

Mr. Grandison, on his return to Florence, entered into the affairs of his
late friend Mr. Jervois, with the spirit, and yet with the temper, for
which he is noted, when he engages in any business. He put every thing
in a happy train in fewer days than it would have cost some other persons
months; for he was present himself on every occasion, and in every
business, where his presence would accelerate it; yet he had
embarrassments from Olivia.

He found, before he set out for Naples, that Mrs. Beaumont, at the
earnest request of the marchioness, was gone to Bologna. At his return,
not hearing any thing from Signor Jeronymo, he wrote to Mrs. Beaumont,
requesting her to inform him of the state of things in that family, as
far as she thought proper; and, particularly, of the health of that dear
friend, on whose silence to three letters he had written, he had the most
melancholy apprehensions. He let that lady know, that he should set out
in a very few days for Paris, if he had no probability of being of
service to the family she favoured with her company.

To this letter Mrs. Beaumont returned the following answer:


SIR,

I have the favour of yours. We are very miserable here. The servants
are forbidden to answer any inquiries, but generally; and that not truly.

Your friend, Signor Jeronymo, has gone through a severe operation. He
has been given over; but hopes are now entertained, not of his absolute
recovery, but that he will be no worse than he was before the necessity
for the operation arose. Poor man! He forgot not, however, his sister
and you, when he was out of the power of the opiates that were
administered to him.

On my coming hither, I found Lady Clementina in a deplorable way:
Sometimes raving, sometimes gloomy; and in bonds--Twice had she given
them apprehensions of fatal attempts: they, therefore, confined her
hands.

They have been excessively wrong in their management of her: now
soothing, now severe; observing no method.

She was extremely earnest to see you before you left Bologna. On her
knees repeatedly she besought this favour, and promised to be easy if
they would comply; but they imagined that their compliance would
aggravate the symptoms.

I very freely blamed them for not complying, at the time when she was so
desirous of seeing you. I told them, that soothing her would probably
then have done good.

When they knew you were actually gone from Bologna, they told her so.
Camilla shocked me with the description of her rage and despair, on the
communication. This was followed by fits of silence, and the deepest
melancholy.

They had hopes, on my arrival, that my company would have been of service
to her: but for two days together she regarded me not, nor any thing I
could say to her. On the third of my arrival, finding her confinement
extremely uneasy to her, I prevailed, but with great difficulty, to have
her restored to the use of her hands; and to be allowed to walk with me
in the garden. They had hinted to me their apprehensions about a piece
of water.

Her woman being near us, if there had been occasion for assistance, I
insensibly led that way. She sat down on a seat over-against the great
cascade; but she made no motion that gave me apprehensions. From this
time she has been fonder of me than before. The day I obtained this
liberty for her, she often clasped her arms about me, and laid her face
in my bosom; and I could plainly see, it was in gratitude for restoring
to her the use of her arms: but she cared not to speak.

Indeed she generally affects deep silence: yet, at times, I see her very
soul is fretted. She moves to one place, is tired of that, shifts to
another, and another, all round the room.

I am grieved at my heart for her: I never knew a more excellent young
creature.

She is very attentive at her devotions, and as constant in them as she
used to be: Every good habit she preserves; yet, at other times, rambles
much.

She is often for writing letters to you; but when what she writes is
privately taken from her, she makes no inquiry about it, but takes a new
sheet, and begins again.

Sometimes she draws; but her subjects are generally angels and saints.
She often meditates in a map of the British dominions, and now and then
wishes she were in England.

Lady Juliana de Sforza is earnest to have her with her at Urbino, or at
Milan, where she has also a noble palace; but I hope it will not be
granted. That lady professes to love her; but she cannot be persuaded
out of her notion of harsh methods, which will never do with Clementina.

I shall not be able to stay long with her. The discomposure of so
excellent a young creature affects me deeply. Could I do her either good
or pleasure, I should be willing to deny myself the society of my dear
friends at Florence: but I am persuaded, and have hinted as much, that
one interview with you would do more to settle her mind, than all the
methods they have taken.

I hope, sir, to see you before you leave Italy. It must be at Florence,
not at Bologna, I believe. It is generous of you to propose the latter.

I have now been here a week, without hope. The doctors they have
consulted are all for severe methods, and low diet. The first, I think,
is in compliment to some of the family. She is so loath to take
nourishment, and when she does, is so very abstemious, that the regimen
is hardly necessary. She never, or but very seldom, used to drink any
thing but water.

She took it into her poor head several times this day, and perhaps it
will hold, to sit in particular places, to put on attentive looks, as if
she were listening to somebody. She sometimes smiled, and seemed
pleased; looked up, as if to somebody, and spoke English. I have no
doubt, though I was not present when she assumed these airs, and talked
English, but her disordered imagination brought before her her tutor
instructing her in that tongue.

You desired me, sir, to be very particular. I have been so; but at the
expense of my eyes: and I shall not wonder if your humane heart should be
affected by my sad tale.

God preserve you, and prosper you in whatsoever you undertake!

HORTENSIA BEAUMONT


Mrs. Beaumont staid at Bologna twelve days, and then left the unhappy
young lady.

At taking leave, she asked her, what commands she had for her?--Love me,
said she, and pity me; that is one. Another is, (whispering her,) you
will see the chevalier, perhaps, though I must not.--Tell him, that his
poor friend Clementina is sometimes very unhappy!--Tell him, that she
shall rejoice to sit next him in heaven!--Tell him, that I say he cannot
go thither, good man as he is, while he shuts his eyes to the truth.--
Tell him, that I shall take it very kindly of him, if he will not think
of marrying till he acquaints me with it; and can give me assurance, that
the lady will love him as well as somebody else would have done.--O Mrs.
Beaumont! should the Chevalier Grandison marry a woman unworthy of him,
what a disgrace would that be to me!

Mr. Grandison by this time had prepared everything for his journey to
Paris. The friend he honoured with his love, was arrived from the
Levant, and the Archipelago. Thither, at his patron's request, he had
accompanied Mr. Beauchamp, the amiable friend of both; and at parting,
engaged to continue by letter what had been the subject of their daily
conversations, and transmit to him as many particulars as he could obtain
of Mr. Grandison's sentiments and behaviour, on every occasion; Mr.
Beauchamp proposing him as a pattern to himself, that he might be worthy
of the credential letters he had furnished him with to every one whom he
had thought deserving of his own acquaintance, when he was in the parts
which Mr. Beauchamp intended to visit.

To the care of the person so much honoured by his confidence, Mr.
Grandison left his agreeable ward, Miss Jervois; requesting the
assistance of Mrs. Beaumont, who kindly promised her inspection; and with
the goodness for which she is so eminently noted, performed her promise
in his absence.

He then made an offer to the bishop to visit Bologna once more; but that
not being accepted, he set out for Paris.

It was not long before his Father's death called him to England; and when
he had been there a few weeks, he sent for his ward and his friend.

But, my good Miss Byron, you will say, That I have not yet fully answered
your last inquiry, relating to the present situation of the unhappy
Clementina.

I will briefly inform you of it.

When it was known, for certain, that Mr. Grandison had actually left
Italy, the family at Bologna began to wish that they had permitted the
interview so much desired by the poor lady: and when they afterwards
understood that he was sent for to England, to take possession of his
paternal estate, that farther distance, (the notion likewise of the seas
between them appearing formidable,) added to their regrets.

The poor lady was kept in travelling motion to quiet her mind: for still
an interview with Mr. Grandison having never been granted, it was her
first wish.

They carried her to Urbino, to Rome, to Naples; then back to Florence,
then to Milan, to Turin.

Whether they made her hope that it was to meet with Mr. Grandison, I know
not; but it is certain, she herself expected to see him at the end of
every journey; and, while she was moving, was easier, and more composed;
perhaps in that hope.

The marchioness was sometimes of the party. The air and exercise were
thought proper for her health, as well as for that of her daughter. Her
cousin Laurana was always with her in these excursions, and sometimes
Lady Sforza; and their escort was, generally, Signors Sebastiano and
Juliano.

But, within these four months past, these journeyings have been
discontinued. The young lady accuses them of deluding her with vain
hopes. She is impatient, and has made two attempts to escape from them.

She is, for this reason, closely confined and watched.

They put her once into a nunnery, at the motion of Lady Sforza, as for a
trial only. She was not uneasy in it: but this being done unknown to the
general, when he was apprised of it, he, for reasons I cannot comprehend,
was displeased, and had her taken out directly.

Her head runs more than ever upon seeing her tutor, her friend, her
chevalier, once more. They have certainly been to blame, if they have
let her travel with such hopes; because they have thereby kept up her
ardour for an interview. Could she but once more see him, she says, and
let him know the cruelty she has been treated with, she should be
satisfied. He would pity her, she is sure, though nobody else will.

The bishop has written to beg, that Sir Charles would pay them one more
visit at Bologna.

I will refer to my patron himself the communicating to you, ladies, his
resolution on this subject. I had but a moment's sight of the letters
which so greatly affected him.

It is but within these few days past that this new request has been made
to him, in a direct manner. The question was before put, If such a
request should be made, would he comply? And once Camilla wrote, as
having heard Sir Charles's presence wished for.

Mean time the poor lady is hastening, they are afraid, into a consumptive
malady. The Count of Belvedere, however, still adores her. The disorder
in her mind being imputed chiefly to religious melancholy, and some of
her particular flights not being generally known, he, who is a pious man
himself, pities her; and declares, that he would run all risks of her
recovery, would the family give her to him: and yet he knows, that she
would choose to be the wife of the Chevalier Grandison, rather than that
of any other man, were the article of religion to be got over; and
generously applauds her for preferring her faith to her love.

Signor Jeronymo is in a very bad way. Sir Charles often writes to him,
and with an affection worthy of the merits of that dear friend. He was
to undergo another severe operation on the next day after the letters
came from Bologna; the success of which was very doubtful.

How nobly does Sir Charles appear to support himself under such heavy
distresses! For those of his friends were ever his. But his heart
bleeds in secret for them. A feeling heart is a blessing that no one,
who has it, would be without; and it is a moral security of innocence;
since the heart that is able to partake of the distress of another,
cannot wilfully give it.

I think, my good Miss Byron, that I have now, as far as I am at present
able, obeyed all your commands that concern the unhappy Clementina, and
her family. I will defer, if you please, those which relate to Olivia
and Mrs. Beaumont, ladies of very different characters from each other,
having several letters to write.

Permit me, my good ladies, and my lord, after contributing so much to
afflict your worthy hearts, to refer you, for relief under all the
distresses of life, whether they affect ourselves or others, to those
motives that can alone give true support to a rational mind. This mortal
scene, however perplexing, is a very short one; and the hour is hastening
when all the intricacies of human affairs shall be cleared up; and all
the sorrows that have had their foundation in virtue be changed into the
highest joy: when all worthy minds shall be united in the same interests,
the same happiness.

Allow me to be, my good Miss Byron, and you, my Lord and Lady L----, and
Miss Grandison,

Your most faithful and obedient servant,
AMBROSE BARTLETT.


Excellent Dr. Bartlett!--How worthy of himself is this advice! But think
you not, my Lucy, that the doctor has in it a particular view to your
poor Harriet? A generous one, meaning consolation and instruction to
her? I will endeavour to profit by it. Let me have your prayers, my
dear friends, that I may be enabled to succeed in my humble endeavours.

It will be no wonder to us now, that Sir Charles was not solicitous to
make known a situation so embarrassing to himself, and so much involved
in clouds and uncertainty: but whatever may be the event of this affair,
you, Lucy, and all my friends, will hardly ever know me by any other name
than that of

HARRIET BYRON.



LETTER V

MISS HARRIET BYRON, TO MISS LUCY SELBY
FRIDAY, MARCH 31.



You now, my dear friends, have before you this affecting story, as far as
Dr. Bartlett can give it. My cousins express a good deal of concern for
your Harriet: so does Miss Grandison: so doth my Lord and Lady L----: and
the more, as I seem to carry off the matter with assumed bravery. This
their kind concern for me looks, however, as if they thought me a
hypocrite; and I suppose, therefore, that I act my part very awkwardly.

But, my dear, as this case is one of those few in which a woman can shew
a bravery of spirit, I think an endeavour after it is laudable; and the
rather, as in my conduct I aim at giving a tacit example to Miss Jervois.

The doctor has whisper'd to me, that Lady Olivia is actually on her way
to England; and that the intelligence Sir Charles received of her
intention, was one of the things that disturbed him, as the news of his
beloved Signor Jeronymo's dangerous condition was another.

Lady Anne S----, it seems, has not yet given up her hopes of Sir Charles.
The two sisters, who once favoured her above all the women they knew,
have not been able to bring themselves to acquaint a lady of her rank,
merit, and fortune, that there can be no hopes; and they are still more
loath to say, that their brother thinks himself under some obligation to
a foreign lady. Yet you know that this was always what we were afraid
of: but, who, now, will say afraid, that knows the merit of Clementina?

I wish, methinks, that this man were proud, vain, arrogant, and a
boaster. How easily then might one throw off one's shackles!

Lord G---- is very diligent in his court to Miss Grandison. His father
and aunt are to visit her this afternoon. She behaves whimsically to my
lord: yet I cannot think that she greatly dislikes him.

The Earl of D---- and the Countess Dowager are both in town. The
Countess made a visit to my cousin Reeves last Tuesday: she spoke of me
very kindly: she says that my lord has heard so much of me, that he is
very desirous of seeing me: but she was pleased to say, that, since my
heart was not disengaged, she should be afraid of the consequences of his
visit to himself.

My grandmamma, though she was so kindly fond of me, would not suffer me
to live with her; because she thought, that her contemplative temper
might influence mine, and make me grave, at a time of life, when she is
always saying, that cheerfulness is most becoming: she would therefore
turn over her girl to the best of aunts. But now I fancy, she will allow
me to be more than two days in a week her attendant. My uncle Selby will
be glad to spare me. I shall not be able to bear a jest: and then, what
shall I be good for?

I have made a fine hand of coming to town, he says: and so I have: but if
my heart is not quite so easy as it was, it is, I hope, a better, at
least not a worse heart than I brought up with me. Could I only have
admired this man, my excursion would not have been unhappy. But this
gratitude, this entangling, with all its painful consequence--But let me
say, with my grandmamma, the man is Sir Charles Grandison! The very man
by whose virtues a Clementina was attracted. Upon my word, my dear,
unhappy as she is, I rank her with the first of women.

I have not had a great deal of Sir Charles Grandison's company; but yet
more, I am afraid, than I shall ever have again. Very true--O heart! the
most wayward of hearts, sigh if thou wilt!

You have seen how little he was with us, when we were absolutely in his
reach, and when he, as we thought, was in ours. But such a man cannot,
ought not to be engrossed by one family. Bless me, Lucy, when he comes
into public life, (for has not his country a superior claim to him beyond
every private one?) what moment can he have at liberty? Let me enumerate
some of his present engagements that we know of.

The Danby family must have some farther portion of his time.

The executorship in the disposal of the 3000£. in charity, in France as
well as in England, will take up a good deal more.

My Lord W---- may be said to be under his tutelage, as to the future
happiness of his life.

Miss Jervois's affairs, and the care he has for her person, engage much
of his attention.

He is his own steward.

He is making alterations at Grandison-hall; and has a large genteel
neighbourhood there, who long to have him reside among them; and he
himself is fond of that seat.

His estate in Ireland is in a prosperous way, from the works he set on
foot there, when he was on the spot; and he talks, as Dr. Bartlett has
hinted to us, of making another visit to it.

His sister's match with Lord G---- is one of his cares.

He has services to perform for his friend Beauchamp, with his father and
mother-in-law, for the facilitating his coming over.

The apprehended visit of Olivia gives him disturbance.

And the Bologna family in its various branches, and more especially
Signor Jeronymo's dangerous state of health, and Signora Clementina's
disordered mind--O, Lucy!--What leisure has this man to be in love?--Yet
how can I say so, when he is in love already? And with Clementina.--And
don't you think, that when he goes to France on the executorship account,
he will make a visit to Bologna?--Ah, my dear, to be sure he will.

After he has left England, therefore, which I suppose he will quickly do,
and when I am in Northamptonshire, what opportunities will your Harriet
have to see him, except she can obtain, as a favour, the power of
obliging his Emily, in her request to be with her? Then, Lucy, he may,
on his return to England, once a year or so, on his visiting his ward,
see, and thank for her care and love of his Emily, his half-estranged
Harriet!--Perhaps Lady Clementina Grandison will be with him! God
restore her! Surely I shall be capable, if she be Lady Grandison, of
rejoicing in her recovery!----

Fie upon it!--Why this involuntary tear? You would see it by the large
blot it has made, if I did not mention it.

Excellent man!--Dr. Bartlett has just been telling me of a morning visit
he received, before he went out of town, from the two sons of Mrs.
Oldham.

One of them is about seven years old; the other about five; very fine
children. He embraced them, the doctor says, with as much tenderness, as
if they were children of his own mother. He enquired into their
inclinations, behaviour, diversions; and engaged equally their love and
reverence.

He told them, that, if they were good, he would love them; and said, he
had a dear friend, whom he reverenced as his father, a man with white
curling locks, he told the children, that they might know him at first
sight, who would now-and-then, as he happened to be in town, make
enquiries after their good behaviour, and reward them, as they gave him
cause. Accordingly he had desired Dr. Bartlett to give them occasionally
his countenance; as also to let their mother know, that he should be glad
of a visit from her, and her three children, on his return to town.

The doctor had been to see her when he came to me. He found all three
with her. The two younger, impressed by the venerable description Sir
Charles had given of him, voluntarily, the younger, by the elder's
example, fell down on their knees before him, and begged his blessing.

Mr. Oldham is about eighteen years of age; a well-inclined, well-educated
youth. He was full of acknowledgments of the favour done him in this
invitation.

The grateful mother could not contain herself. Blessings without number,
she invoked on her benefactor, for his goodness in taking such kind
notice of her two sons, as he had done; and said, he had been, ever since
his gracious behaviour to her in Essex, the first and last in her prayers
to Heaven. But the invitation to herself, she declared, was too great an
honour for her to accept of: she should not be able to stand in his
presence. Alas! sir, said she, can the severest, truest penitence recall
the guilty past?

The doctor said, that Sir Charles Grandison ever made it a rule with him,
to raise the dejected and humbled spirit. Your birth and education,
madam, entitle you to a place in the first company: and where there are
two lights in which the behaviour of any person may be set, though there
has been unhappiness, he always remembers the most favourable, and
forgets the other. I would advise you, madam, (as he has invited you,)
by all means to come. He speaks with pleasure of your humility and good
sense.

The doctor told me, that Sir Charles had made inquiries after the
marriage of Major O'Hara with Mrs. Jervois, and had satisfied himself
that they were actually man and wife. Methinks I am glad for Miss
Jervois's sake, that her mother has changed her name. They lived not
happily together since their last enterprise: for the man, who had long
been a sufferer from poverty, was in fear of losing one half at least of
his wife's annuity, by what passed on that occasion; and accused her of
putting him upon the misbehaviour he was guilty of; which had brought
upon him, he said, the resentments of a man admired by all the world.

The attorney, who visited Sir Charles from these people, at their
request, waited on him again, in their names, with hopes that they should
not suffer in their annuity, and expressing their concern for having
offended him.

Mrs. O'Hara also requested it as a favour to see her daughter.

Sir Charles commissioned the attorney, who is a man of repute, to tell
them, that if Mrs. O'Hara would come to St. James's-square next Wednesday
about five o'clock, Miss Jervois should be introduced to her; and she
should be welcome to bring with her her husband, and Captain Salmonet,
that they might be convinced he bore no ill-will to either of them.

Adieu, till by and by. Miss Grandison is come, in one of her usual
hurries, to oblige me to be present at the visit to be made her this
afternoon, by the Earl of G---- and Lady Gertrude, his sister, a maiden
lady advanced in years, who is exceedingly fond of her nephew, and
intends to make him heir of her large fortune.


***


FRIDAY NIGHT.

The earl is an agreeable man: Lady Gertrude is a very agreeable woman.
They saw Miss Grandison with the young lord's eyes; and were better
pleased with her, as I told her afterwards, than I should have been, or
than they would, had they known her as well as I do. She doubted not,
she answered me, but I should find fault with her; and yet she was as
good as for her life she could be.

Such an archness in every motion! Such a turn of the eye to me on my
Lord G----'s assiduities! Such a fear in him of her correcting glance!
Such a half-timid, half-free parade when he had done any thing that he
intended to be obliging, and now and then an aiming at raillery, as if he
was not very much afraid of her, and dared to speak his mind even to her!
On her part, on those occasions, such an air, as if she had a learner
before her; and was ready to rap his knuckles, had nobody been present to
mediate for him; that though I could not but love her for her very
archness, yet in my mind, I could, for their sakes, but more for her own,
have severely chidden her.

She is a charming woman; and every thing she says and does becomes her.
But I am so much afraid of what may be the case, when the lover is
changed into the husband, that I wish to myself now and then, when I see
her so lively, that she would remember that there was once such a man as
Captain Anderson. But she makes it a rule, she says, to remember nothing
that will vex her.

Is not my memory (said she once) given me for my benefit, and shall I
make it my torment? No, Harriet, I will leave that to be done by you
wise ones, and see what you will get by it.

Why this, Charlotte, replied I, the wise ones may have a chance to get by
it--They will, very probably, by remembering past mistakes, avoid many
inconveniencies into which forgetfulness will run you lively ones.

Well, well, returned she, we are not all of us born to equal honour.
Some of us are to be set up for warnings, some for examples: and the
first are generally of greater use to the world than the other.

Now, Charlotte, said I, do you destroy the force of your own argument.
Can the person who is singled out for the warning, be near so happy, as
she that is set up for the example?

You are right as far as I know, Harriet: but I obey the present impulse,
and try to find an excuse afterwards for what that puts me upon: and all
the difference is this, as to the reward, I have a joy: you a comfort:
but comfort is a poor word; and I can't bear it.

So Biddy, in 'The Tender Husband,' would have said, Charlotte. But poor
as the word is with you and her, give me comfort rather than joy, if they
must be separated. But I see not but that a woman of my Charlotte's
happy turn may have both.

She tapped my cheek--Take that, Harriet, for making a Biddy of me. I
believe, if you have not joy, you have comfort, in your severity.

My heart as well as my cheek glowed at the praises the earl and the lady
both joined in (with a fervor that was creditable to their own hearts) of
Sir Charles Grandison, while they told us what this man, and that woman
of quality or consideration said of him. Who would not be good? What is
life without reputation? Do we not wish to be remembered with honour
after death? And what a share of it has this excellent man in his life!
--May nothing, for the honour-sake of human nature, to which he is so
great an ornament, ever happen to tarnish it!

They made me a hundred fine compliments. I could not but be pleased at
standing well in their opinion: but, believe me, my dear, I did not enjoy
their praises of me, as I did those they gave him. Indeed, I had the
presumption, from the approbation given to what they said of him by my
own heart, to imagine myself a sharer in them, though not in his merits.
Oh, Lucy! ought there not to have been a relation between us, since what
I have said, from what I found in myself on hearing him praised, is a
demonstration of a regard for him superior to the love of self?

Adieu, my Lucy. I know I have all your prayers.

Adieu, my dear!



LETTER VI

MISS BYRON.--IN CONTINUATION
SATURDAY, APRIL 1.


Dr. Bartlett is one of the kindest as well as best of men. I believe he
loves me as if I were his own child: but good men must be affectionate
men. He received but this morning a letter from Sir Charles, and
hastened to communicate some of its contents to me, though I could
pretend to no other motive but curiosity for wishing to be acquainted
with the proceedings of his patron.

Sir Charles dined, as he had intended, with Sir Hargrave and his friends.
He complains in his letter of a riotous day: yet I think, adds he, it has
led me into some useful reflections. It is not indeed agreeable to be
the spectator of riot; but how easy to shun being a partaker in it! Ho
easy to avoid the too freely circling glass, if a man is known to have
established a rule to himself, from which he will not depart; and if it
be not refused sullenly; but mirth and good humour the more studiously
kept up, by the person; who would else indeed be looked upon as a spy on
unguarded folly! I heartily pitied a young man, who, I dare say, has a
good heart, but from false shame durst not assert the freedom that every
Englishman would claim a right to, in almost every other instance! He
had once put by the glass, and excused himself on account of his health;
but on being laughed at for a sober dog, as they phrased it, and asked,
if his spouse had not lectured him before he came out, he gave way to the
wretched raillery: nor could I interfere at such a noisy moment with
effect: they had laughed him out of his caution before I could be heard;
and I left him there at nine o'clock trying with Bagenhall which should
drink the deepest.

I wish, my good Dr. Bartlett, you would throw together some serious
considerations on this subject. You could touch it delicately, and such
a discourse would not be unuseful to some few of our neighbours even at
Grandison-hall. What is it, that, in this single article, men sacrifice
to false shame and false glory! Reason, health, fortune, personal
elegance, the peace and order of their families; and all the comfort and
honour of their after-years. How peevish, how wretched, is the decline
of a man worn out with intemperance! In a cool hour, resolutions might
be formed, that should stand the attack of a boisterous jest.

I obtained leave from Dr. Bartlett, to transcribe this part of the
letter. I thought my uncle would be pleased with it.


It was near ten at night, before Sir Charles got to Lord W----'s, though
but three miles from Sir Hargrave's. My lord rejoiced to see him; and,
after first compliments, asked him, if he had thought of what he had
undertaken for him. Sir Charles told him, that he was the more desirous
of seeing him in his way to the Hall, because he wanted to know if his
lordship held his mind as to marriage. He assured him he did, and would
sign and seal to whatever he should stipulate for him.

I wished for a copy of this part of Sir Charles's letter, for the sake of
my aunt, whose delicacy would, I thought, be charmed with it. He has
been so good as to say, he would transcribe it for me. I will enclose
it, Lucy; and you will read it here:


I cannot, my lord, said Sir Charles, engage, that the lady will comply
with the proposal I shall take the liberty to make to her mother and her.
She is not more than three or four and thirty: she is handsome: she has a
fine understanding: she is brought up an economist: she is a woman of
good family: she has not, however, though born to happier prospects, a
fortune worthy of your lordship's acceptance. Whatever that is, you
will, perhaps, choose to give it to her family.

With all my heart and soul, nephew: but do you say, she is handsome? Do
you say, she is of family? And has she so many good qualities?--Ah,
nephew! She won't have me, I doubt.--And is she not too young, Sir
Charles, to think of such a poor decrepit soul as I am?

All I can say to this, my lord, is, that the proposals on your part must
be the more generous--

I will leave all those matters to you, kinsman--

This, my lord, I will take upon me to answer for, that she is a woman of
principle: she will not give your lordship her hand, if she thinks she
cannot make you a wife worthy of your utmost kindness: and now, my lord,
I will tell you who she is, that you may make what other inquiries you
think proper.

And then I named her to him, and gave him pretty near the account of the
family, and the circumstances and affairs of it, that I shall by and by
give you; though you are not quite a stranger to the unhappy case.

My lord was in raptures: he knew something, he said, of the lady's
father, and enough of the family, by hearsay, to confirm all I had said
of them; and besought me to do my utmost to bring the affair to a speedy
conclusion.

Sir Thomas Mansfield was a very good man; and much respected in his
neighbourhood. He was once possessed of a large estate; but his father
left him involved in a law-suit to support his title to more than one
half of it.

After it had been depending several years, it was at last, to the deep
regret of all who knew him, by the chicanery of the lawyers of the
opposite side, and the remissness of his own, carried against him; and
his expenses having been very great in supporting for years his
possession, he found himself reduced from an estate of near three
thousand pounds a year, to little more than five hundred. He had six
children: four sons, and two daughters. His eldest son died of grief in
two months after the loss of the cause. The second, now the eldest, is a
melancholy man. The third is a cornet of horse. The fourth is
unprovided for; but all three are men of worthy minds, and deserve better
fortune.

The daughters are remarkable for their piety, patience, good economy, and
prudence. They are the most dutiful of children, and most affectionate
of sisters. They were for three years the support of their father's
spirits, and have always been the consolation of their mother. They lost
their father about four years ago: and it is even edifying to observe,
how elegantly they support the family reputation in their fine old
mansion-house by the prudent management of their little income; for the
mother leaves every household care to them; and they make it a rule to
conclude the year with discharging every demand that can be made upon
them, and to commence the new year absolutely clear of the world, and
with some cash in hand; yet were brought up in affluence, and to the
expectation of handsome fortunes; for, besides that they could have no
thought of losing their cause, they had very great and reasonable
prospects from Mr. Calvert, an uncle by their mother's side; who was rich
in money, and had besides an estate in land of 1500£. a year. He always
declared, that, for the sake of his sister's children, he would continue
a single man; and kept his word till he was upwards of seventy; when,
being very infirm in health, and defective even to dotage in his
understanding, Bolton, his steward, who had always stood in the way of
his inclination to have his eldest niece for his companion and manager,
at last contrived to get him married to a young creature under twenty,
one of the servants in the house; who brought him a child in seven
months; and was with child again at the old man's death, which happened
in eighteen months after his marriage: and then a will was provided, in
which he gave all he had to his wife and her children born, and to be
born, within a year after his demise. This steward and woman now live
together as man and wife.

A worthy clergyman, who hoped it might be in my power to procure them
redress, either in the one case or in the other, gave me the above
particulars; and upon inquiry, finding every thing to be as represented,
I made myself acquainted with the widow lady and her sons: and it was
impossible to see them at their own house, and not respect the daughters
for their amiable qualities.

I desired them, when I was last down, to put into my hands their titles,
deeds, and papers; which they have done; and they have been laid before
counsel, who give a very hopeful account of them.

Being fully authorized by my lord, I took leave of him over-night, and
set out early in the morning, directly for Mansfield-house. I arrived
there soon after their breakfast was over, and was received by Lady
Mansfield, her sons, (who happened to be all at home,) and her two
daughters, with politeness.

After some general conversation, I took Lady Mansfield aside; and making
an apology for my freedom, asked her, If Miss Mansfield were, to her
knowledge, engaged in her affections?

She answered, she was sure she was not: Ah, sir, said she, a man of your
observation must know, that the daughters of a decayed family of some
note in the world, do not easily get husbands. Men of great fortunes
look higher: men of small must look out for wives to enlarge them; and
men of genteel businesses are afraid of young women better born than
portioned. Every body knows not that my girls can bend to their
condition; and they must be contented to live single all their lives; and
so they will choose to do, rather than not marry creditably, and with
some prospect.

I then opened my mind fully to her. She was agreeably surprised: but
who, sir, said she, would expect such a proposal from the next heir to
Lord W----?

I made known to her how much in earnest I was in this proposal, as well
for my lord's sake, as for the young lady's. I will take care, madam,
said I, that Miss Mansfield, if she will consent to make Lord W----
happy, shall have very handsome settlements, and such an allowance for
pin-money, as shall enable her to gratify every moderate, every
reasonable, wish of her heart.

Was it possible, she asked, for such an affair to be brought about?
Would my lord--There she stopt.

I said, I would be answerable for him: and desired her to break the
matter to her daughter directly.

I left Lady Mansfield, and joined the brothers, who were with their two
sisters; and soon after Miss Mansfield was sent for by her mother.

After they had been a little while together, my Lady Mansfield sent to
speak with me. They were both silent when I came in. The mother was at
a loss what to say: the daughter was in still greater confusion.

I addressed myself to the mother. You have, I perceive, madam,
acquainted Miss Mansfield with the proposal I made to you. I am fully
authorized to make it. Propitious be your silence! There never was,
proceeded I, a treaty of marriage set on foot, that had not its
conveniencies and inconveniencies. My lord is greatly afflicted with the
gout: there is too great a disparity in years. These are the
inconveniencies which are to be considered of for the lady.

On the other hand, if Miss Mansfield can give into the proposal, she will
be received by my lord as a blessing; as one whose acceptance of him will
lay him under an obligation to her. If this proposal could not have been
made with dignity and honour to the lady, it had not come from me.

The conveniencies to yourselves will more properly fall under the
consideration of yourselves and family. One thing only I will suggest,
that an alliance with so rich a man as Lord W----, will make, perhaps,
some people tremble, who now think themselves secure.

But, madam, to the still silent daughter, let not a regard for me bias
you: your family may be sure of my best services, whether my proposal be
received or rejected.

My lord (I must deal sincerely with you) has lived a life of error. He
thinks so himself. I am earnest to have him see the difference, and to
have an opportunity to rejoice with him upon it.

I stopt: but both being still silent, the mother looking on the daughter,
the daughter glancing now and then her conscious eye on the mother, If,
madam, said I, you can give your hand to Lord W----, I will take care,
that settlements shall exceed your expectation. What I have observed as
well as heard of Miss Mansfield's temper and goodness, is the principal
motive of my application to her, in preference to all the women I know.

But permit me to say, that were your affections engaged to the lowest
honest man on earth, I would not wish for your favour to my Lord W----.
And, further, if, madam, you think you should have but the shadow of a
hope, to induce your compliance, that my Lord's death would be more
agreeable to you than his life, then would I not, for your morality's
sake, wish you to engage. In a word, I address myself to you, Miss
Mansfield, as to a woman of honour and conscience: if your conscience
bids you doubt, reject the proposal; and this not only for my lord's
sake, but for your own.

Consider, if, without too great a force upon your inclinations, you can
behave with that condescension and indulgence to a man who has hastened
advanced age upon himself, which I have thought from your temper I might
hope.

I have said a great deal, because you, ladies, were silent; and because
explicitness in every case becomes the proposer. Give me leave to
withdraw for a few moments.

I withdrew, accordingly, to the brothers and sister. I did not think I
ought to mention to them the proposal I had made: it might perhaps have
engaged them all in its favour, as it was of such evident advantage to
the whole family; and that might have imposed a difficulty on the lady,
that neither for her own sake, nor my lord's, it would have been just to
lay upon her.

Lady Mansfield came out to me, and said, I presume, sir, as we are a
family which misfortune as well as love, has closely bound together, you
will allow it to be mentioned--

To the whole family, madam!--By all means. I wanted only first to know,
whether Miss Mansfield's affections were disengaged: and now you shall
give me leave to attend Miss Mansfield. I am a party for my Lord W----:
Miss Mansfield is a party: your debates will be the more free in our
absence. If I find her averse, believe me, madam, I will not endeavour
to persuade her. On the contrary, if she declare against accepting the
proposal, I will be her advocate, though every one else should vote in
its favour.

The brothers and sister looked upon one another: I left the mother to
propose it to them; and stept into the inner parlour to Miss Mansfield.

She was sitting with her back to the door, in a meditating posture. She
started at my entrance.

I talked of indifferent subjects, in order to divert her from the
important one, that had taken up her whole attention.

It would have been a degree of oppression to her to have entered with her
upon a subject of so much consequence to her while we were alone; and
when her not having given a negative, was to be taken as a modest
affirmative.

Lady Mansfield soon joined us--My dear daughter, said she, we are all
unanimous. We have agreed to leave every thing to Sir Charles Grandison:
and we hope you will.

She was silent. I will only ask you, madam, said I, to her, if you have
any wish to take time to consider of the matter? Do you think you shall
be easier in your mind, if you take time?--She was silent.

I will not at this time, my good Miss Mansfield, urge you further. I
will make my report to Lord W----, and you shall be sure of his joyful
approbation of the steps I have taken, before your final consent shall be
asked for. But that I may not be employed in a doubtful cause, let me be
commissioned to tell my lord, that you are disengaged; and that you
wholly resign yourself to your mother's advice.

She bowed her head.

And that you, madam, to Lady Mansfield, are not averse to enter into
treaty upon this important subject.

Averse, sir! said the mother, bowing, and gratefully smiling.

I will write the particulars of our conversation to Lord W----, and my
opinion of settlements, and advise him (if I am not forbid) to make a
visit at Mansfield House. [I stopt: they were both silent.] If
possible, I will attend my lord in his first visit. I hope, madam, to
Miss Mansfield, you will not dislike him; I am sure he will be charmed
with you: he is far from being disagreeable in his person: his temper is
not bad. Your goodness will make him good. I dare say that he will
engage your gratitude; and I defy a good mind to separate love from
gratitude.

We returned to company. I had all their blessings pronounced at once, as
from one mouth. The melancholy brother was enlivened: who knows but the
consequence of this alliance may illuminate his mind? I could see by the
pleasure they all had, in beholding him capable of joy on the occasion,
that they hoped it would. The unhappy situation of the family affairs,
as it broke the heart of the eldest brother, fixed a gloom on the temper
of this gentleman.

I was prevailed upon to dine with them. In the conversation we had at
and after dinner, their minds opened, and their characters rose upon me.
Lord W---- will be charmed with Miss Mansfield. I am delighted to think,
that my mother's brother will be happy, in the latter part of his life,
with a wife of so much prudence and goodness, as I am sure this lady will
make him. On one instance of her very obliging behaviour to me, I
whispered her sister, Pray, Miss Fanny, tell Miss Mansfield, but not till
I am gone, that she knows not the inconveniencies she is bringing upon
herself: I may, perhaps, hereafter, have the boldness, to look for the
same favour from my aunt, that I meet with from Miss Mansfield.

If my sister, returned she, should ever misbehave to her benefactor, I
will deny my relation to her.


You will soon have another letter from me, with an account of the success
of my visit to Sir Harry Beauchamp and his lady. We must have our
Beauchamp among us, my dear friend: I should rather say, you must among
you; for I shall not be long in England. He will supply to you, my dear
Dr. Bartlett, the absence (it will not, I hope, be a long one) of your

CHARLES GRANDISON.


Sir Charles, I remember, as the doctor read, mentions getting leave for
his Beauchamp to come over, who, he says, will supply his absence to him
--But, ah, Lucy! Who, let me have the boldness to ask, shall supply it
to your Harriet? Time, my dear, will do nothing for me, except I could
hear something very much amiss of this man.

I have a great suspicion, that the first part of the letter enclosed was
about me. The doctor looked so earnestly at me, when he skipt two sides
of it; and, as I thought, with so much compassion!--To be sure, it was
about me.

What would I give to know as much of his mind as Dr. Bartlett knows! If
I thought he pitied the poor Harriet--I should scorn myself. I am, I
will be, above his pity, Lucy. In this believe your

HARRIET BYRON.



LETTER VII

MISS BYRON.--IN CONTINUATION
SUNDAY NIGHT, APRIL 2.


Dr. Bartlett has received from Sir Charles an account of what passed last
Friday between him and Sir Harry and Lady Beauchamp. By the doctor's
allowance, I enclose it to you.

In this letter, Lucy, you will see him in a new light; and as a man whom
there is no resisting, when he resolves to carry a point. But it
absolutely convinces me, of what indeed I before suspected, that he has
not an high opinion of our sex in general: and this I will put down as a
blot in his character. He treats us, in Lady Beauchamp, as perverse
humoursome babies, loving power, yet not knowing how to use it. See him
so delicate in his behaviour and address to Miss Mansfield, and carry in
your thoughts his gaiety and adroit management to Lady Beauchamp, as in
this letter, and you will hardly think him the same man. Could he be
any thing to me, I should be more than half afraid of him: yet this may
be said in his behalf;--He but accommodates himself to the persons he has
to deal with:--He can be a man of gay wit, when he pleases to descend, as
indeed his sister Charlotte has as often found, as she has given occasion
for the exercise of that talent in him:--Yet, that virtue, for its own
sake, is his choice; since, had he been a free liver, he would have been
a dangerous man.

But I will not anticipate too much: read it here, if you please.



LETTER VIII

SIR CHARLES GRANDISON, TO DR. BARTLETT
[ENCLOSED IN THE PRECEDING.]
GRANDISON HALL, FRIDAY NIGHT, MARCH 31.


I arrived at Sir Harry Beauchamp's about twelve this day. He and his
lady expected me, from the letter which I wrote and shewed you before I
left the town; in which, you know, I acquainted Sir Harry with his son's
earnest desire to throw himself at his feet, and to pay his duty to his
mother, in England; and engaged to call myself, either this day or
to-morrow, for an answer.

Sir Harry received me with great civility, and even affection. Lady
Beauchamp, said he, will be with us in a moment. I am afraid you will
not meet with all the civility from her on the errand you are come upon,
that a man of Sir Charles Grandison's character deserves to meet with
from all the world. We have been unhappy together, ever since we had
your letter. I long to see my son: your friendship for him establishes
him in my heart. But--And then he cursed the apron-string tenure, by
which, he said, he held his peace.

You will allow me, Sir Harry, said I, to address myself in my own way to
my lady. You give me pleasure, in letting me know, that the difficulty
is not with you. You have indeed, sir, one of the most prudent young men
in the world for your son. His heart is in your hand: you may form it as
you please.

She is coming! She is coming! interrupted he. We are all in pieces: we
were in the midst of a feud, when you arrived. If she is not civil to
you--

In swam the lady; her complexion raised; displeasure in her looks to me,
and indignation in her air to Sir Harry; as if they had not had their
contention out, and she was ready to renew it.

With as obliging an air as I could assume, I paid my compliments to her.
She received them with great stiffness; swelling at Sir Harry: who sidled
to the door, in a moody and sullen manner, and then slipt out.

You are Sir Charles Grandison, I suppose, sir, said she; I never saw you
before: I have heard much talk of you.--But, pray, sir, are good men
always officious men? Cannot they perform the obligations of friendship,
without discomposing families?

You see me now, madam, in an evil moment, if you are displeased with me:
but I am not used to the displeasure of ladies: I do my utmost not to
deserve it; and, let me tell you, madam, that I will not suffer you to be
displeased with me.

I took her half-reluctant hand, and led her to a chair, and seated myself
in another near her.

I see, sir, you have your arts.

She took the fire-screen, that hung by the side of the chimney, and held
it before her face, now glancing at me, now turning away her eye, as if
resolved to be displeased.

You come upon a hateful errand, sir: I have been unhappy ever since your
officious letter came.

I am sorry for it, madam. While you are warm with the remembrance of a
past misunderstanding, I will not offer to reason with you: but let me,
madam, see less discomposure in your looks. I want to take my
impressions of you from more placid features: I am a painter, madam: I
love to draw lady's pictures. Will you have this pass for a first
sitting?

She knew not what to do with her anger: she was loath to part with it.

You are impertinent, Sir Charles--Excuse me--You are impertinent.

I do excuse you, Lady Beauchamp: and the rather, as I am sure you do not
think me so. Your freedom is a mark of your favour; and I thank you for
it.

You treat me as a child, sir--

I treat all angry people as children: I love to humour them. Indeed,
Lady Beauchamp, you must not be angry with me. Can I be mistaken? Don't
I see in your aspect the woman of sense and reason?--I never blame a lady
for her humoursomeness, so much as, in my mind, I blame her mother.

Sir! said she. I smiled. She bit her lip, to avoid returning a smile.

Her character, my dear friend, is not, you know, that of an ill-tempered
woman, though haughty, and a lover of power.

I have heard much of you, Sir Charles Grandison: but I am quite mistaken
in you: I expected to see a grave formal young man, his prim mouth set in
plaits: But you are a joker; and a free man; a very free man, I do assure
you.

I would be thought decently free, madam; but not impertinent. I see with
pleasure a returning smile. O that ladies knew how much smiles become
their features!--Very few causes can justify a woman's anger--Your sex,
madam, was given to delight, not to torment us.

Torment you, sir!--Pray, has Sir Harry--

Sir Harry cannot look pleased, when his lady is dis-pleased: I saw that
you were, madam, the moment I beheld you. I hope I am not an unwelcome
visitor to Sir Harry for one hour, (I intend to stay no longer,) that he
received me with so disturbed a countenance, and has now withdrawn
himself, as if to avoid me.

To tell you the truth, Sir Harry and I have had a dispute: but he always
speaks of Sir Charles Grandison with pleasure.

Is he not offended with me, madam, for the contents of the letter--

No, sir, and I suppose you hardly think he is--But I am--

Dear madam, let me beg your interest in favour of the contents of it.

She took fire--rose up--

I besought her patience--Why should you wish to keep abroad a young man,
who is a credit to his family, and who ought to be, if he is not, the joy
of his father? Let him owe to your generosity, madam, that recall, which
he solicits: it will become your character: he cannot be always kept
abroad: be it your own generous work--

What, sir--Pray, sir--With an angry brow---

You must not be angry with me, madam--(I took her hand)--You can't be
angry in earnest--

Sir Charles Grandison--You are--She withdrew her hand; You are, repeated
she--and seemed ready to call names--

I am the Grandison you call me; and I honour the maternal character. You
must permit me to honour you, madam.

I wonder, sir--

I will not be denied. The world reports misunderstandings between you
and Mr. Beauchamp. That busy world that will be meddling, knows your
power, and his dependence. You must not let it charge you with an ill
use of that power: if you do, you will have its blame, when you might
have its praise: he will have its pity.

What, sir, do you think your fine letters, and smooth words, will avail
in favour of a young fellow who has treated me with disrespect?

You are misinformed, madam.--I am willing to have a greater dependence
upon your justice, upon your good-nature, than upon any thing I can urge
either by letter or speech. Don't let it be said, that you are not to be
prevailed on--A woman not to be prevailed on to join in an act of
justice, of kindness; for the honour of the sex, let it not be said.

Honour of the sex, sir!--Fine talking!--Don't I know, that were I to
consent to his coming over, the first thing would be to have his annuity
augmented out of my fortune? He and his father would be in a party
against me. Am I not already a sufferer through him in his father's
love?--You don't know, sir, what has passed between Sir Harry and me
within this half-hour--But don't talk to me: I won't hear of it: the
young man hates me: I hate him; and ever will.

She made a motion to go.

With a respectful air, I told her, she must not leave me. My motive
deserved not, I said, that both she and Sir Harry should leave me in
displeasure.

You know but too well, resumed she, how acceptable your officiousness (I
must call it so) is to Sir Harry.

And does Sir Harry, madam, favour his son's suit? You rejoice me: let
not Mr. Beauchamp know that he does: and do you, my dear Lady Beauchamp,
take the whole merit of it to yourself. How will he revere you for your
goodness to him! And what an obligation, if, as you say, Sir Harry is
inclined to favour him, will you, by your generous first motion, lay upon
Sir Harry!

Obligation upon Sir Harry! Yes, Sir Charles Grandison, I have laid too
many obligations already upon him, for his gratitude.

Lay this one more. You own you have had a misunderstanding this morning:
Sir Harry is withdrawn, I suppose, with his heart full: let me, I beseech
you, make up the misunderstanding. I have been happy in this way--Thus
we will order it--We will desire him to walk in. I will beg your
interest with him in favour of the contents of the letter I sent. His
compliance will follow as an act of obligingness to you. The grace of
the action will be yours. I will be answerable for Mr. Beauchamp's
gratitude.--Dear madam, hesitate not. The young gentleman must come over
one day: let the favour of its being an early one, be owing entirely to
you.

You are a strange man, sir: I don't like you at all: you would persuade
me out of my reason.

Let us, madam, as Mr. Beauchamp and I are already the dearest of friends,
begin a family understanding. Let St. James's-square, and
Berkley-square, when you come to town, be a next-door neighbourhood.
Give me the consideration of being the bondsman for the duty of Mr.
Beauchamp to you, as well as to his father.

She was silent: but looked vexed and irresolute.

My sisters, madam, are amiable women. You will be pleased with them.
Lord L---- is a man worthy of Sir Harry's acquaintance. We shall want
nothing, if you would think so, but Mr. Beauchamp's presence among us.

What! I suppose you design your maiden sister for the young fellow--But
if you do, sir, you must ask me for--There she stopt.

Indeed I do not. He is not at present disposed to marry. He never will
without his father's approbation, and let me say--yours. My sister is
addressed to by Lord G----, and I hope will soon be married to him.

And do you say so, Sir Charles Grandison?--Why then you are a more
disinterested man, than I thought you in this application to Sir Harry.
I had no doubt but the young fellow was to be brought over to marry Miss
Grandison; and that he was to be made worthy of her at my expense.

She enjoyed, as it seemed, by her manner of pronouncing the words young
fellow, that designed contempt, which was a tacit confession of the
consequence he once was of to her.

I do assure you, madam, that I know not his heart, if he has at present
any thoughts of marriage.

She seemed pleased at this assurance.

I repeated my wishes, that she would take to herself the merit of
allowing Mr. Beauchamp to return to his native country: and that she
would let me see her hand in Sir Harry's, before I left them.

And pray, sir, as to his place of residence, were he to come: do you
think he should live under the same roof with me?

You shall govern that point, madam, as you approve or disapprove of his
behaviour to you.

His behaviour to me, sir!--One house cannot, shall not, hold him and me.

I think, madam, that you should direct in this article. I hope, after a
little while, so to order my affairs, as constantly to reside in England.
I should think myself very happy if I could prevail upon Mr. Beauchamp to
live with me.

But I must see him, I suppose?

Not, madam, unless you shall think it right, for the sake of the world's
opinion, that you should.

I can't consent--

You can, madam! You do!--I cannot allow Lady Beauchamp to be one of
those women, who having insisted upon a wrong point, can be convinced,
yet not know how to recede with a grace.--Be so kind to yourself, as to
let Sir Harry know, that you think it right for Mr. Beauchamp to return;
but that it must be upon your own conditions: then, madam, make those
conditions generous ones; and how will Sir Harry adore you! How will Mr.
Beauchamp revere you! How shall I esteem you!

What a strange impertinent have I before me!

I love to be called names by a lady. If undeservedly, she lays herself
by them under obligation to me, which she cannot be generous if she
resolves not to repay. Shall I endeavour to find out Sir Harry? Or will
you, madam?

Was you ever, Sir Charles Grandison, denied by any woman to whom you sued
for favour?

I think, madam, I hardly ever was: but it was because I never sued for a
favour, that it was not for a lady's honour to grant. This is the case
now; and this makes me determine, that I will not be denied the grant of
my present request. Come, come, madam! How can a woman of your
ladyship's good sense (taking her hand, and leading her to the door) seem
to want to be persuaded to do a thing she knows in her heart to be right!
Let us find Sir Harry.

Strange man!--Unhand me--He has used me unkindly--

Overcome him then by your generosity. But, dear Lady Beauchamp, taking
both her hands, and smiling confidently in her face, [I could, my dear
Dr. Bartlett, do so to Lady Beauchamp,] will you make me believe, that a
woman of your spirit (you have a charming spirit, Lady Beauchamp) did not
give Sir Harry as much reason to complain, as he gave you?--I am sure by
his disturbed countenance--

Now, Sir Charles Grandison, you are downright affronting. Unhand me!

This misunderstanding is owing to my officious letter. I should have
waited on you in person. I should from the first have put it in your
power, to do a graceful and obliging thing. I ask your pardon. I am not
used to make differences between man and wife.

I touched first one hand, then the other, of the perverse baby with my
lips--Now am I forgiven: now is my friend Beauchamp permitted to return
to his native country: now are Sir Harry and his Lady reconciled--Come,
come, madam, it must be so--What foolish things are the quarrels of
married people!--They must come to an agreement again; and the sooner the
better; before hard blows are struck, that will leave marks--Let us, dear
madam, find out Sir Harry--

And then, with an air of vivacity, that women, whether in courtship or
out of it, dislike not, I was leading her once more to the door, and, as
I intended, to Sir Harry, wherever he could be found.

Hold, hold, sir! resisting; but with features far more placid than she
had suffered to be before visible--If I must be compelled--You are a
strange man, Sir Charles Grandison--If I must be compelled to see Sir
Harry--But you are a strange man--And she rang the bell.

Lady Beauchamp, Dr. Bartlett, is one of those who would be more ready to
forgive an innocent freedom, than to be gratified by a profound respect;
otherwise I had not treated her with so little ceremony. Such women are
formidable only to those who are afraid of their anger, or who make it a
serious thing.

But when the servant appeared, she not knowing how to condescend, I said,
Go to your master, sir, and tell him that your lady requests the
favour--

Requests the favour! repeated she; but in a low voice: which was no bad
sign.

The servant went with a message worded with more civility than perhaps he
was used to carry to his master from his lady.

Now, dear Lady Beauchamp, for your own sake; for Sir Harry's sake; make
happy; and be happy. Are there not, dear madam, unhappinesses enow in
life, that we must wilfully add to them?

Sir Harry came in sight. He stalked towards us with a parade like that
of a young officer wanting to look martial at the head of his company.

Could I have seen him before he entered, my work would have been easier.
But his hostile air disposed my lady to renew hostilities.

She turned her face aside, then her person; and the cloudy indignation
with which she entered at first, again overspread her features. Ought
wrath, Dr. Bartlett, to be so ready to attend a female will?--Surely,
thought I, my lady's present airs, after what has passed between her and
me, can be only owing to the fear of making a precedent, and being
thought too easily persuaded.

Sir Harry, said I, addressing myself to him, I have obtained Lady
Beauchamp's pardon for the officious letter--

Pardon, Sir Charles Grandison! You are a good man, and it was kindly
intended--

He was going on: anger from his eyes flashed upon his cheek-bones, and
made them shine. My lady's eyes struck fire at Sir Harry, and shewed
that she was not afraid of him.

Better intended, than done, interrupted I, since my lady tells me, that
it was the occasion of a misunderstanding--But, sir, all will be right:
my lady assures me, that you are not disinclined to comply with the
contents; and she has the goodness--

Pray, Sir Charles, interrupted the lady--

To give me hopes that she--

Pray, Sir Charles--

Will use her interest to confirm you in your favourable sentiments--

Sir Harry cleared up at once--May I hope, madam--And offered to take her
hand.

She withdrew it with an air. O Dr. Bartlett, I must have been thought an
unpolite husband, had she been my wife!

I took her hand. Excuse this freedom, Sir Harry--For Heaven's sake,
madam, (whispering,) do what I know you will do, with a grace--Shall
there be a misunderstanding, and the husband court a refused hand?--I
then forced her half-unwilling hand into his, with an air that I intended
should have both freedom and respect in it.

What a man have we got here, Sir Harry? This cannot be the modest man,
that you have praised to me--I thought a good man must of necessity be
bashful, if not sheepish: and here your visitor is the boldest man in
England.

The righteous, Lady Beauchamp, said Sir Harry, with an aspect but
half-conceding, is bold as a lion.

And must I be compelled thus, and by such a man, to forgive you, Sir
Harry?--Indeed you were very unkind.

And you, Lady Beauchamp, were very cruel.

I did not think, sir, when I laid my fortune at your feet--

O, Lady Beauchamp! You said cutting things! Very cutting things.

And did not you, Sir Harry, say, it should be so?--So very peremptorily!

Not, madam, till you, as peremptorily--

A little recrimination, thought I, there must be, to keep each in
countenance on their past folly.

Ah, Sir Charles!--You may rejoice that you are not married, said Sir
Harry.

Dear Sir Harry, said I, we must bear with ladies. They are meek good
creatures--They--

Meek! Sir Charles, repeated Sir Harry, with a half-angry smile, and
shrugging, as if his shoulder had been hurt with his wife's meekness--
say, meek!

Now, Sir Charles Grandison, said my lady, with an air of threatening--

I was desirous either of turning the lady's displeasure into a jest, or
of diverting it from the first object, in order to make her play with it,
till she had lost it.

Women are of gentle natures, pursued I; and, being accustomed to be
humoured, opposition sits not easy upon them. Are they not kind to us,
Sir Harry, when they allow of our superiority, by expecting us to bear
with their pretty perversenesses?

O, Sir Charles Grandison! said my lady; both her hands lifted up.

Let us be contented, proceeded I, with such their kind acknowledgments,
and in pity to them, and in compliment to ourselves, bear with their
foibles.--See, madam, I ever was an advocate for the ladies.

Sir Charles, I have no patience with you--

What can a poor woman do, continued I, when opposed? She can only be a
little violent in words, and, when she has said as much as she chooses to
say, be perhaps a little sullen. For my part, were I so happy as to call
a woman mine, and she happened to be in the wrong, I would endeavour to
be in the right, and trust to her good sense to recover her temper:
arguments only beget arguments.--Those reconciliations are the most
durable, in which the lady makes the advances.

What doctrine is this, Sir Charles! You are not the man I took you for.
--I believe, in my conscience, that you are not near so good a man, as
the world reports you.

What, madam, because I pretend to know a little of the sex? Surely, Lady
Beauchamp, a man of common penetration may see to the bottom of a woman's
heart. A cunning woman cannot hide it. A good woman will not. You are
not, madam, such mysteries, as some of us think you. Whenever you know
your own minds, we need not be long doubtful: that is all the difficulty:
and I will vindicate you, as to that--

As how, pray, sir?

Women, madam, were designed to be dependent, as well as gentle,
creatures; and, of consequence when left to their own wills, they know
not what to resolve upon.

I was hoping, Sir Charles, just now, that you would stay to dinner: but
if you talk at this rate, I believe I shall be ready to wish you out of
the house.

Sir Harry looked as if he were half-willing to be diverted at what passed
between his lady and me. It was better for me to say what he could not
but subscribe to by his feeling, than for him to say it. Though reproof
seldom amends a determined spirit, such a one as this lady's; yet a man
who suffers by it cannot but have some joy when he hears his sentiments
spoken by a bystander. This freedom of mine seemed to save the married
pair a good deal of recrimination.

You remind me, madam, that I must be gone, rising and looking at my
watch.

You must not leave us, Sir Charles, said Sir Harry.

I beg excuse, Sir Harry--Yours, also, madam, smiling--Lady Beauchamp must
not twice wish me out of the house.

I will not excuse you, sir, replied she--If you have a desire to see the
matter completed--She stopt--You must stay to dinner, be that as it will.

'Be that as it will,' madam!--You shall not recede.

Recede! I have not yet complied--

O these women! They are so used to courtship, that they know not how to
do right things without it--And, pardon me, madam, not always with it.

Bold man--Have I consented--

Have you not, madam, given a lady's consent? That we men expect not to
be very explicit, very gracious.--It is from such non-negative consents,
that we men make silence answer all we wish.

I leave Sir Charles Grandison to manage this point, said Sir Harry. In
my conscience, I think the common observation just: a stander-by sees
more of the game, than he that plays.

It ever will be so, Sir Harry--But I will tell you, my lady and I have as
good as agreed the matter--

I have agreed to nothing, Sir Harry--

Hush, madam--I am doing you credit.--Lady Beauchamp speaks aside
sometimes, Sir Harry: you are not to hear any thing she says, that you
don't like.

Then I am afraid I must stop my ears for eight hours out of twelve.

That was aside, Lady Beauchamp--You are not to hear that.

To sit, like a fool, and hear myself abused--A pretty figure I make! Sir
Charles Grandison, let me tell you, that you are the first man that ever
treated me like a fool.

Excuse, madam, a little innocent raillery--I met you both, with a
discomposure on your countenances. I was the occasion of it, by the
letter I sent to Sir Harry. I will not leave you discomposed. I think
you a woman of sense; and my request is of such a nature, that the
granting of it will confirm to me, that you are so--But you have granted
it--

I have not.

That's charmingly said--My lady will not undervalue the compliment she is
inclined to make you, Sir Harry. The moment you ask for her compliance,
she will not refuse to your affection, what she makes a difficulty to
grant to the entreaty of an almost stranger.

Let it, let it be so! Lady Beauchamp, said Sir Harry: and he clasped his
arms about her as she sat--

There never was such a man as this Sir Charles Grandison in the world!--
It is a contrivance between you, Sir Harry--

Dear Lady Beauchamp, resumed I, depreciate not your compliment to Sir
Harry. There wanted not contrivance, I dare to hope, (if there did, it
had it not,) to induce Lady Beauchamp to do a right, a kind, an obliging
thing.

Let me, my dearest Lady Beauchamp, said Sir Harry--Let me request--

At your request, Sir Harry--But not at Sir Charles's.

This is noble, said I. I thank you, madam, for the absent youth. Both
husband and son will think themselves favoured by you; and the more, as I
am sure, that you will by the cheerful welcome, which you will give the
young man, shew, that it is a sincere compliment that you have made to
Sir Harry.

This man has a strange way of flattering one into acts of--of--what shall
I call them?--But, Sir Harry, Mr. Beauchamp must not, I believe, live
with us--

Sir Harry hesitated.

I was afraid of opening the wound. I have a request to make to you both,
said I. It is this; that Mr. Beauchamp may be permitted to live with me;
and attend you, madam, and his father, as a visitor, at your own command.
My sister, I believe, will be very soon married to Lord G----.

That is to be certainly so, interrupted the lady?

It is, madam.

But what shall we say, my dear, resumed Sir Harry--Don't fly out again--
As to the provision for my son?--Two hundred a year--What is two hundred
a year----

Why then let it be three, answered she.

I have a handsome and improvable estate, said I. I have no demands but
those of reason upon me. I would not offer a plea for his coming to
England, (and I am sure he would not have come, if I had,) without his
father's consent: in which, madam, he hoped for yours. You shall not,
sir, allow him either the two or three hundred a year. See him with
love, with indulgence (he will deserve both;) and think not of any thing
else for my Beauchamp.

There is no bearing this, my dear, said Sir Harry; leaning upon his
lady's shoulder, as he sat, tears in his eyes--My son is already, as I
have heard, greatly obliged to this his true friend--Do you, do you,
madam, answer for me, and for yourself.

She was overcome: yet pride had its share with generosity. You are, said
she, the Grandison I have heard of: but I will not be under obligations
to you--not pecuniary ones, however. No, Sir Harry! Recall your son: I
will trust to your love: do for him what you please: let him be
independent on this insolent man; [She said this with a smile, that made
it obliging;] and if we are to be visitors, friends, neighbours, let it
be on an equal foot, and let him have nothing to reproach us with.

I was agreeably surprised at this emanation (shall I call it?) of
goodness: she is really not a bad woman, but a perverse one; in short,
one of those whose passions, when rightly touched, are liable to sudden
and surprising turns.

Generous, charming Lady Beauchamp! said I: now are you the woman, whom I
have so often heard praised for many good qualities: now will the
portrait be a just one!

Sir Harry was in raptures; but had like to have spoiled all, by making me
a compliment on the force of example.

Be this, said I, the result--Mr. Beauchamp comes over. He will be
pleased with whatever you do: at your feet, madam, he shall acknowledge
your favour: My home shall be his, if you permit it: On me, he shall
confer obligations; from you, he shall receive them. If any
considerations of family prudence (there are such, and very just ones)
restrain you from allowing him, at present, what your generosity would
wish to do--

Lady Beauchamp's colour was heightened: She interrupted me--We are not,
Sir Charles, so scanty in our fortune--

Well, my dear Lady Beauchamp, be all that as you will: not one retrospect
of the past--

Yes, Sir Charles, but there shall: his allowance has been lessened for
some years; not from considerations of family prudence--But--Well, 'tis
all at an end, proceeded she--When the young man returns, you, Sir Harry,
for my sake, and for the sake of this strange unaccountable creature,
shall pay him the whole arrear.

Now, my dear Lady Beauchamp, said I, listing her hand to my lips, permit
me to give you joy. All doubts and misgivings so triumphantly got over,
so solid a foundation laid for family harmony--What was the moment of
your nuptials to this? Sir Harry, I congratulate you: you may, and I
believe you have been, as happy as most men; but now, you will be still
happier.

Indeed, Sir Harry, said she, you provoked me in the morning: I should not
else--

Sir Harry owned himself to blame; and thus the lady's pride was set down
softly.

She desired Sir Harry to write, before the day concluded, the invitation
of return, to Mr. Beauchamp; and to do her all the credit in it that she
might claim from the last part of the conversation; but not to mention
any thing of the first.

She afterwards abated a little of this right spirit, by saying, I think,
Sir Harry, you need not mention any thing of the arrears, as I may call
them--But only the future 600£. a year. One would surprise him a little,
you know, and be twice thanked--

Surprises of such a nature as this, my dear Dr. Bartlett; pecuniary
surprises!--I don't love them--They are double taxes upon the gratitude
of a worthy heart. Is it not enough for a generous mind to labour under
a sense of obligation?--Pride, vain-glory, must be the motive of such
narrow-minded benefactors: a truly beneficent spirit cannot take delight
in beholding the quivering lip indicating the palpitating heart; in
seeing the downcast countenance, the up-lifted hands, and working
muscles, of a fellow-creature, who, but for unfortunate accidents, would
perhaps himself have had the will, with the power, of shewing a more
graceful benevolence!

I was so much afraid of hearing farther abatements of Lady Beauchamp's
goodness; so willing to depart with favourable impressions of her for her
own sake; and at the same time so desirous to reach the Hall that night;
that I got myself excused, though with difficulty, staying to dine; and
accepting of a dish of chocolate, I parted with Sir Harry and my lady,
both in equal good humour with themselves and me.

Could you have thought, my dear friend, that I should have succeeded so
very happily, as I have done, in this affair, and at one meeting?

I think that the father and stepmother should have the full merit with
our Beauchamp of a turn so unexpected. Let him not therefore ever see
this letter, that he may take his impression of the favour done him, from
that which Sir Harry will write to him.

My cousin Grandison, whom I hoped to find here, left the Hall on Tuesday
last, though he knew of my intention to be down. I am sorry for it.
Poor Everard! He has been a great while pretty good. I am afraid he
will get among his old acquaintance; and then we shall not hear of him
for some months perhaps. If you see him in town, try to engage him, till
I return. I should be glad of his company to Paris, if his going with
me, will keep him out of harm's way, as it is called.


***


SATURDAY, APRIL 1.

I have had compliments sent me by many of my neighbours, who had hoped I
was come to reside among them. They professed themselves disappointed on
my acquainting them, that I must go up early on Monday morning. I have
invited myself to their Saturday assembly at the Bowling-green-house.

Our reverend friend Mr. Dobson has been so good as to leave with me the
sermon he is to preach to-morrow on the opening of the church: it is a
very good discourse: I have only exceptions to three or four compliments
he makes to the patron in as many different places of it: I doubt not but
he will have the goodness to omit them.

I have already looked into all that has been done in the church; and all
that is doing in the house and gardens. When both have had the direction
and inspection of my dear Dr. Bartlett, need I say, that nothing could
have been better?


***


Halden is just arrived from my lord, with a letter, which has enabled me
to write to Lady Mansfield his lordship's high approbation of all our
proceedings; and that he intends some one early day in next week to pay
to her, and Miss Mansfield, his personal compliments.

He has left to me the article of settlements; declaring, that his regard
for my future interest is all that he wishes may be attended to.

I have therefore written, as from himself, that he proposes a jointure of
1200£. a year, penny-rents, and 300 guineas a year for her private purse;
and that his lordship desires, that Miss Mansfield will make a present to
her sister of whatever she may be entitled to in her own right.
Something was mentioned to me at Mansfield-house of a thousand pounds
left to her by a godmother.

Halden being very desirous to see his future lady, I shall, at his
request, send the letter I have written to Lady Mansfield by him early in
the morning; with a line recommending him to the notice of that lady as
Lord W----'s principal steward.

Adieu, my dear Dr. Bartlett: I have joy in the joy of all these good
people. If Providence graciously makes me instrumental to it, I look
upon myself but as its instrument. I hope ostentation has no share in
what draws on me more thanks and praises than I love to hear.

Lord W---- has a right to be made happy by his next relation, if his next
relation can make him so. Is he not my mother's brother? Would not her
enlarged soul have rejoiced on the occasion, and blessed her son for an
instance of duty to her, paid by his disinterested regard for her
brother? Who, my dear Dr. Bartlett, is so happy, yet who, in some cases,
so unhappy, as your

CHARLES GRANDISON.



LETTER IX

MISS BYRON, TO MISS SELBY
MONDAY, APRIL 3.


The Countess of D----, and the earl, her son, have but just left us. The
countess sent last night, to let my cousin Reeves know of their intended
morning visit, and they came together. As the visit was made to my
cousin, I did not think myself obliged to be in waiting for them below. I
was therefore in my closet, comforting myself with my own agreeable
reflections. They were there a quarter of an hour before I was sent to.

Their talk was of me. I am used to recite my own praises, you know; and
what signifies making a parade of apologies for continuing the use? I
don't value myself so much as I once did on peoples favourable opinions.
If I had a heart in my own keeping, I should be glad it was thought a
good one; that's all. Yet though it has littlenesses in it that I knew
nothing of formerly, I hope it is not a bad one.

My Lord D----, by the whole turn of the partial conversation, was led to
expect a very extraordinary young woman. The lady declared, that she
would have her talk out, and hear all my two cousins were inclined to say
of me, before I was sent up to, as I was not below when they came.

I was therefore to be seen only as a subject of curiosity. My lord had
declared, it seems, that he would not be denied an introduction to me by
his mother. But there were no thoughts of making any application to a
girl whose heart was acknowledged not to be her own. My lord's honour
would not allow of such an intention. Nor ought it.

His impatience, however, hastened the message to me. The countess met me
half-way, and embraced me. My lovely girl, how do you?--My lord, said
she, turning to the earl, I need not say--This is Miss Byron.

He bowed low, and made me a very high compliment; but it had sense in it,
though high, and above my merits. Girls, writing of themselves on these
occasions, must be disclaimers, you know: But, my dear uncle, what care I
now for compliments? The man, from whose mouth only they could be
acceptable, is not at liberty to make me any.

The countess engaged me in an easy general conversation; part of which
turned upon Lord and Lady L----, Miss Grandison, and Miss Jervois, and
how I had passed my time at Colnebrook, in this wintry season, when there
were so many diversions in town. But, said she, you had a man with you,
who is the admiration of every man and woman, wherever he goes.

Is there no making an acquaintance, said my lord, with Sir Charles
Grandison? What I hear said of him, every time he is mentioned in
company, is enough to fire a young man with emulation. I should be happy
did I deserve to be thought of as a second or third man to Sir Charles
Grandison.

I dare say, returned I, your lordship's acquaintance would be highly
acceptable to him. He is easy of access. Men of rank, if men of merit,
must be of kindred, and recognize one another the moment they meet. But
Sir Charles will soon leave England.

The fool sighed: it was, you may believe, involuntarily. I felt myself
blush, and was the more silly for that.

The countess took my hand--One word with you, my dear--and led me out
into the next room, and sitting down, made me sit on the same settee with
her.

O that I could call you daughter! began she at once; and turning half
round to me, put one arm about me, with her other hand taking one of
mine, and earnestly looking in my downcast face.

I was silent. Ah, Lucy! had Lady D---- been the mother of Sir Charles
Grandison, with what pleasure could I have listened to her!

You said, my dear, that Sir Charles Grandison will soon leave England:
--and then you sighed--Will you be quite open-hearted?--May I ask you a
question in hope that you will?

I was silent: yet the word Yes was on my lips.

You have caused it to be told me, that your affections are engaged. This
has been a cruel blow upon us. My lord, nevertheless, has heard so much
of you, [he is really a good young man, my dear,] that (against my
advice, I own,) he would have me introduce him into your company. I see
by his looks, that he could admire you above all women. He never was in
love: I should be sorry if he were disappointed in his first love. I
hope his promised prudence will be his guard, if there be no prospect of
his succeeding with you--She paused--I was still silent--

It will be a mark of your frankness of heart, my dear, if, when you take
my full meaning, you prevent me speaking more than I need.--I would not
oppress you, my sweet love--Such a delicacy, and such a frankness
mingled, have I never seen in young woman--But tell me, my dear, has Sir
Charles Grandison made his addresses to you?

It was a grievous question for me to answer--But why was it so, my Lucy,
when all the hopes I ever had, proceeded from my own presumption,
confirmed (that's true, of late!) by his sisters partiality in my favour;
and when his unhappy Clementina has such a preferable claim?

What says Miss Byron?

She says, madam, that she reveres Lady D----, and will answer any
questions that she puts to her, however affecting--Sir Charles Grandison
has not.

Once I thought, proceeded she, that I never would make a second motion,
were the woman a princess, who had confessed a prior love, or even
liking: but the man is Sir Charles Grandison, whom all women must esteem;
and the woman is Miss Byron, whom all men must love. Let me ask you, my
dear--Have you any expectation, that the first of men (I will call him
so) and the loveliest and most amiable-minded of women, can come
together?--You sighed, you know, when you mentioned, that Sir Charles was
soon to leave England; and you own that he has not made addresses to you
--Don't be uneasy, my love!--We women, in these tender cases, see into
each other's hearts from small openings--Look upon me as your mother--
What say you, love?

Your ladyship compliments me with delicacy and frankness--It is too hard
a question, if I have any of the first, to answer without blushes. A
young woman to be supposed to have an esteem for a man, who has made no
declarations, and whose behaviour to her is such only as shews a
politeness to which he is accustomed, and only the same kind of
tenderness as he shews to his sisters;--and whom sometimes he calls
sister--as if--Ah, madam, how can one answer?

You have answered, my dear, and with that delicacy and frankness too,
which make a principal part of your character. If my son (and he shall
not be encouraged in his hopes, if he sees you not, mind as well as
person, with his mother's eyes) should not be able to check himself by
the apprehensions he has had reason for, of being but a second man in the
favour of the object of his wishes [We, my dear, have our delicacies];
could you not allow him a second place in your favour, that might, in
time, as he should merit, and as you should subdue your prepossessions,
give him a first?--Hush--my dear, for one moment--Your honour, your
piety, are my just dependence; and will be his.--And now speak: it is to
me, my dear: speak your whole heart: let not any apprehended difficulty--
I am a woman as well as you. And prepared to indulge--

Your goodness, madam, and nothing else, interrupted I, gives me
difficulty.--My Lord D---- seems to me to be a man of merit, and not a
disagreeable man in his person and manners. What he said of Sir Charles
Grandison, and of his emulation being fired by his example, gave him
additional merit with me. He must have a good mind. I wish him
acquainted with Sir Charles, for his own sake, and for the sake of the
world, which might be benefited by his large power, so happily directed!
--But as to myself, I should forfeit the character of frankness of heart,
which your ladyship's goodness ascribes to me, if I did not declare, that
although I cannot, and, I think ought not to entertain a hope with regard
to Sir Charles Grandison, since there is a lady who deserved him by
severe sufferings before I knew him; yet is my heart so wholly attached,
that I cannot think it just to give the least encouragement to any other
proposal.

You are an excellent young woman: but, my dear, if Sir Charles Grandison
is engaged--your mind will, it must change. Few women marry their first
loves. Your heart--

O, madam! it is already a wedded heart: it is wedded to his merits; his
merits will be always the object of my esteem: I can never think of any
other, as I ought to think of the man to whom I give my hand.

Like merits, my dear, as person is not the principal motive, may produce
like attachments. My Lord D---- will be, in your hands, another Sir
Charles Grandison.

How good you are, my dear Lady D----! But allow me to repeat, as the
strongest expression I can use, because I mean it to carry in it all the
force that can be given it, that my heart is already a wedded heart.

You have spoken with great force: God bless you, my dear, as I love you!
The matter shall take its course. If my lord should happen to be a
single man some time hence (and, I can tell you, that your excellencies
will make our choice difficult): and if your mind, from any accident, or
from persuasion of friends, should then have received alteration; you may
still be happy in each other. I will therefore only thank you for that
openness of heart, which must set free the heart of my son--Had you had
the least lurking inclination to coquetry, and could have taken pride in
conquests, he might have been an undone man.--We will return to the
company--But spare him, my dear: you must not talk much. He will love
you, if you do, too fervently for his own peace. Try to be a little
awkward--I am afraid for him: indeed I am. O that you had never seen Sir
Charles Grandison!

I could not answer one word. She took my hand; and led me into the
company.

Had I been silent, when my lord directed his discourse to me, or answered
only No, or Yes, the Countess would have thought me very vain; and that
I ascribed to myself the consequence she so generously gave me, with
respect to my lord. I therefore behaved and answered unaffectedly; but
avoided such a promptness of speech, as would have looked like making
pretensions to knowledge and opinion, though some of my lord's questions
were apparently designed to engage me into freedom of discourse. The
countess observed me narrowly. She whispered to me, that she did; and
made me a very high compliment on my behaviour. How much, Lucy, do I
love and reverence her!

My lord was spoken too slightly of, by Miss Grandison, in a former
conversation. He is really a fine gentleman. Any woman who is not
engaged in her affections, may think herself very happy with him. His
conversation was easy and polite, and he said nothing that was low or
trifling. Indeed, Lucy, I think Mr. Greville and Mr. Fenwick are as
greatly inferior to Lord D----, as Lord D---- is to Sir Charles
Grandison.

At parting, he requested of me, to be allowed to repeat his visits.

My lord, said the countess, before I could answer, you must not expect a
mere stiff maiden answer from Miss Byron: she is above all vulgar forms.
She and her cousins have too much politeness, and, I will venture to say,
discernment, not to be glad of your acquaintance, as an acquaintance--
But, for the rest, you must look to your heart.

I shall be afraid, said he, turning to the countess, to ask your ladyship
for an explanation. Miss Byron, I hope, sir, addressing himself to Mr.
Reeves, will not refuse me her company, when I pay you my compliments.
Then turning to me, I hope, madam, I shall not be punished for admiring
you.

My Lord D----, replied I, will be entitled to every civility. I had said
more, had he not snatched my hand a little too eagerly, and kissed it.

And thus much for the visit of the Countess of D---- and the earl.


***


Did I tell you in my former letter, that Emily is with me half her time?
She is a most engaging young creature. Her manners are so pure! Her
heart is so sincere and open!--O, Lucy! you would dearly love her. I
wish I may be asked to carry her down with me. Yet she adores her
guardian: but her reverence for him will not allow of the innocent
familiarity in thinking of him, that--I don't know what I would say. But
to love with an ardor, that would be dangerous to one's peace, one must
have more tenderness than reverence for the object: Don't you think so,
Lucy?

Miss Grandison made me one of her flying visits, as she calls them, soon
after the countess and my lord went away.

Mr. and Mrs. Reeves told her all that had been said before them by the
earl and countess, as well before I went down to them, as after. They
could not tell her what passed between that lady and me, when she took me
aside. I had not had time to tell them. They referred to me for that:
but besides that I was not in spirits, and cared not to say much, I was
not willing to be thought by my refusal of so great an offer, to seem to
fasten myself upon her brother.

She pitied (who but must?) Lady Clementina. She pitied her brother also:
and, seeing me dejected, she clasped her arms about me, and wet my cheek
with a sisterly tear.

Is it not very strange, Lucy, that his father should keep him so long
abroad? These free-living men! of what absurdities are they not guilty!
What misfortunes to others do they not occasion? One might, with the
excellent Clementina, ask, What had Mr. Grandison to do in Italy! Or
why, if he must go abroad, did he stay so long?

Travelling! Young men travelling! I cannot, my dear, but think it a
very nonsensical thing! What can they see, but the ruins of the gay,
once busy world, of which they have read?

To see a parcel of giddy boys under the direction of tutors or governors
hunting after--What?--Nothing: or, at best, but ruins of ruins; for the
imagination, aided by reflection, must be left, after all, to make out
the greater glories, which the grave-digger Time has buried too deep for
discovery.

And when this grand tour is completed, the travelled youth returns: And,
what is his boast? Why to be able to tell, perhaps his better taught
friend, who has never been out of his native country, that he has seen in
ruins, what the other has a juster idea of from reading; and of which, it
is more than probable, he can give a much better account than the
traveller.

And are these, petulant Harriet, (methinks, Lucy, you demand,) all the
benefits that you will suppose Sir Charles Grandison has reaped from his
travelling?

Why, no. But then, in turn, I ask, Is every traveller a Sir Charles
Grandison?--And does not even he confess to Dr. Bartlett, that he wished
he had never seen Italy? And may not the poor Clementina, and all her
family, for her sake, wish he never had?

If an opportunity offers, I don't know, but I may ask Sir Charles,
whether, in his conscience, he thinks, that, taking in every
consideration, relating to time, expense, risques of life, health,
morals, this part of the fashionable education of youth of condition is
such an indispensable one, as some seem to suppose it? If Sir Charles
Grandison give it not in favour of travelling, I believe it will be
concluded, that six parts out of eight of the little masters who are sent
abroad for improvement, might as well be kept at home; if, especially,
they would be orderly, and let their fathers and mothers know what to do
with them.

O, my uncle! I am afraid of you: but spare the poor girl: she
acknowledges her petulance, her presumption. The occasion you know, and
will pity her for it! However, neither petulance nor presumption shall
make her declare as her sentiments what really are not so, in her
unprejudiced hours; and she hopes to have her heart always open to
conviction.

For the present, Adieu, my Lucy.


P.S. Dr. Bartlett tells me, that Mr. Beauchamp is at Calais, waiting the
pleasure of his father; and that Sir Harry has sent express for him, as
at his lady's motion.



LETTER X

MISS BYRON.--IN CONTINUATION
TUESDAY, APRIL 4.


Sir Charles Grandison came to town last night. He was so polite as to
send to inquire after my health; and to let Mr. Reeves know, that he
would do himself the honour, as he called it, of breakfasting with him
this morning. Very ceremonious either for his own sake or for mine--
Perhaps for both.

So I am in expectation of seeing within this half-hour, the noble
Clementina's future--Ah Lucy!

The compliment, you see, is to Mr. Reeves--Shall I stay above, and see if
he will ask for me? He owes me something for the emotion he gave me in
Lord L----'s library. Very little of him since have I seen.

'Honour forbids me,' said he, then: 'Yet honour bids me.--But I cannot be
ungenerous, selfish.'--These words are still in my ear.--What could he
mean by them?--Honour forbids me--What! to explain himself? He had been
telling me a tender tale: he had ended it. What did honour forbid him to
do?--Yet honour bids me! Why then did he not follow the dictates of
honour?

But I cannot be unjust:--To Clementina he means. Who wished him to be
so?--Unjust! I hope not. It is a diminution to your glory, Sir Charles
Grandison, to have the word unjust, in this way of speaking, in your
thoughts! As if a good man had lain under a temptation to be unjust; and
had but just recollected himself.

'I cannot be ungenerous.' To the noble lady, I suppose? He must take
compassion on her. And did he think himself under an obligation to my
forwardness to make this declaration to me, as to one who wished him to
be ungenerous to such a lady for my sake!--I cannot bear the thought of
this. Is it not as if he had said, 'Fond Harriet, I see what you expect
from me--But I must have compassion for, I cannot be ungenerous to,
Clementina!'--But, what a poor word is compassion! Noble Clementina! I
grieve for you, though the man be indeed a generous man!--O defend me, my
better genius, from wanting the compassion even of a Sir Charles
Grandison!

But what means he by the word selfish! He cannot be selfish!--I
comprehend not the meaning of this word--Clementina has a very high
fortune--Harriet but a very middling one. He cannot be unjust,
ungenerous to Clementina--Nor yet selfish--This word confounds me, from a
man that says nothing at random!

Well, but breakfast-time is come, while I am busy in self-debatings. I
will go down, that I may not seem to affect parade. I will endeavour to
see with indifference, him that we have all been admiring and studying
for this last fortnight, in such a variety of lights. The christian: the
hero: the friend:--Ah, Lucy! the lover of Clementina: the generous
kinsman of Lord W----: the modest and delicate benefactor of the
Mansfields: the free, gay, raillier of Lady Beauchamp; and, in her, of
all our sex's foibles!

But he is come! While I am prating to you with my pen, he is come--Why,
Lucy, would you detain me?--Now must the fool go down in a kind of hurry:
Yet stay till she is sent for.--And that is now.



LETTER XI

MISS BYRON.--IN CONTINUATION


O Lucy, I have such a conversation to relate to you!--But let me lead to
it.

Sir Charles met me at the opening of the door. He was all himself. Such
an unaffected modesty and politeness; yet such an ease and freedom!

I thought, by his address, that he would have taken my hand; and both
hands were so emulatively passive--How does he manage it to be so free in
a first address, yet so respectful, that a princess could not blame him!

After breakfast, my cousins being sent for out to attend Sir John
Allestree and his Niece, Sir Charles and I were left alone: and then,
with an air equally solemn and free, he addressed himself to me.

The last time I had the honour of being alone with my good Miss Byron, I
told her a very tender tale. I was sure it would raise in such a heart
as hers generous compassion for the noblest lady on the continent; and I
presumed, as my difficulties were not owing either to rashness or
indiscretion, that she would also pity the relater.

The story did indeed affect you; yet, for my own sake, as well as yours,
I referred you to Dr. Bartlett, for the particulars of some parts of it,
upon which I could not expatiate.

The doctor, madam, has let me know the particulars which he communicated
to you. I remember with pain the pain I gave to your generous heart in
Lord L----'s study. I am sure you must have suffered still more from the
same compassionate goodness on the communications he made you. May I,
madam, however, add a few particulars to the same subject, which he then
could not give you? Now you have been let into so considerable a part of
my story, I am desirous to acquaint you, and that rather than any woman
in the world, with all that I know myself of this arduous affair.

He ceased speaking. I was in tremors. Sir, sir--The story, I must own,
is a most affecting one. How much is the unhappy lady to be pitied! You
will do me honour in acquainting me with further particulars of it.

Dr. Bartlett has told you, madam, that the Bishop of Nocera, second
brother to Lady Clementina, has very lately written to me, requesting
that I will make one more visit to Bologna--I have the letter. You read
Italian, madam. Shall I--Or will you--He held it to me.

I took it. These, Lucy, are the contents.

'The bishop acquaints him with the very melancholy way they are in. The
father and mother declining in their healths. Signor Jeronymo worse than
when Sir Charles left them. His sister also declining in her health: yet
earnest still to see him.

'He says, that she is at present at Urbino; but is soon to go to Naples
to the general's. He urges him to make them one visit more; yet owns,
that his family are not unanimous in the request: but that he and Father
Marescotti, and the marchioness, are extremely earnest that this
indulgence should be granted to the wishes of his dear sister.

'He offers to meet him, at his own appointment, and conduct him to
Bologna; where, he tells him, his presence will rejoice every heart, and
procure an unanimous consent to the interview so much desired: and says,
that if this measure, which he is sorry he has so long withstood, answers
not his hopes, he will advise the shutting up of their Clementina in a
nunnery, or to consign her to private hands, where she shall be treated
kindly, but as persons in her unhappy circumstances are accustomed to be
treated.'

Sir Charles then shewed me a letter from Signor Jeronymo; in which he
acquaints him with the dangerous way he is in. He tells him, 'That his
life is a burden to him. He wishes it was brought to its period. He
does not think himself in skilful hands. He complains most of the wound
which is in his hip-joint; and which has hitherto baffled the art both of
the Italian and French surgeons who have been consulted. He wishes, that
himself and Sir Charles had been of one country, he says, since the
greatest felicity he now has to wish for, is to yield up his life to the
Giver of it, in the arms of his Grandison.'

He mentions not one word in this melancholy letter of his unhappy sister:
which Sir Charles accounted for, by supposing, that she not being at
Bologna, they kept from him, in his deplorable way, everything relating
to her, that was likely to disturb him. He then read part of a letter
written in English, by the admired Mrs. Beaumont; some of the contents
of which were, as you shall hear, extremely affecting.

'Mrs. Beaumont gives him in it an account of the situation of the unhappy
young lady; and excuses herself for not having done it before, in answer
to his request, by reason of an indisposition under which she had for
some time laboured, which had hindered her from making the necessary
inquiries.

'She mentions, that the lady had received no benefit from her journeyings
from place to place; and from her voyage from Leghorn to Naples, and back
again; and blames her attendants, who, to quiet her, unknown to their
principals, for some time, kept her in expectation of seeing her
Chevalier, at the end of each; for her more prudent Camilla, she says,
had been hindered by illness from attending her, in several of the
excursions.

'They had a second time, at her own request, put her into a nunnery. She
at first was so sedate in it as gave them hopes: but the novelty going
off, and one of the sisters, to try her, having officiously asked her to
go with her into the parlour, where she said, she would be allowed to
converse through the grate with a certain English gentleman, her
impatience, on her disappointment, made her more ungovernable than they
had ever known her; for she had been for two hours before meditating what
she would say to him.

'For a week together, she was vehemently intent upon being allowed to
visit England; and had engaged her cousins, Sebastiano and Juliano, to
promise to escort her thither, if she could obtain leave.

'Her mother brought her off this when nobody else could, only by
entreating her, for her sake, never to think of it more.

'The marchioness then, encouraged by this instance of her obedience, took
her under her own care: but the young lady going on from flight to
slight; and the way she was in visibly affecting the health of her
indulgent mother; a doctor was found, who was absolutely of opinion, that
nothing but harsh methods would avail: and in this advice Lady Sforza,
and her daughter Laurana, and the general, concurring, she was told, that
she must prepare to go to Milan. She was so earnest to be excused from
going thither, and to be permitted to go to Florence to Mrs. Beaumont,
that they gave way to her entreaties; and the marquis himself,
accompanying her to Florence, prevailed on Mrs. Beaumont to take her
under her care.

'With her she staid three weeks: she was tolerably sedate in that space
of time; but most so, when she was talking of England, and of the
Chevalier Grandison, and his sisters, with whom she wished to be
acquainted. She delighted to speak English, and to talk of the
tenderness and goodness of her tutor; and of what he said to her, upon
such and such a subject.

'At the three weeks end, the general made her a visit, in company of Lady
Sforza; and her talk being all on this subject, they were both highly
displeased; and hinted, that she was too much indulged in it; and,
unhappily, she repeating some tender passages that passed in the
interview her mother had permitted her to hold with the Chevalier, the
general would have it, that Mr. Grandison had designedly, from the first,
sought to give himself consequence with her; and expressed himself, on
the occasion, with great violence against him.

'He carried his displeasure to extremity, and obliged her to go away with
his aunt and him that very day, to her great regret; and as much to the
regret of Mrs. Beaumont, and of the ladies her friends; who tenderly
loved the innocent visionary, as sometimes they called her. And Mrs.
Beaumont is sure, that the gentle treatment she met with from them, would
in time, though perhaps slowly, have greatly helped her.'

Mrs. Beaumont then gives an account of the harsh treatment the poor young
lady met with.

Sir Charles Grandison would have stopt reading here. He said, he could
not read it to me, without such a change of voice, as would add to my
pain, as well as to his own.

Tears often stole down my cheeks, when I read the letters of the bishop
and Signor Jeronymo, and as Sir Charles read a part of Mrs. Beaumont's
letter: and I doubted not but what was to follow would make them flow.
Yet, I said, Be pleased, sir, to let me read on. I am not a stranger to
distress. I can pity others, or I should not deserve pity myself.

He pointed to the place; and withdrew to the window.

Mrs. Beaumont says, 'That the poor mother was prevailed upon to resign
her child wholly to the management of Lady Sforza, and her daughter
Laurana, who took her with them to their palace in Milan.

'The tender parent, however, besought them to spare all unnecessary
severity; which they promised: but Laurana objected to Camilla's
attendance. She was thought too indulgent; and her servant Laura, as a
more manageable person, was taken in her place.' And O how cruelly, as
you shall hear, did they treat her!

Father Marescotti, being obliged to visit a dying relation at Milan, was
desired by the marchioness to inform himself of the way her beloved
daughter was in, and of the methods taken with her, Lady Laurana having,
in her letters, boasted of both. The good Father acquainted Mrs.
Beaumont with the following particulars:

'He was surprised to find a difficulty made of his seeing the lady: but,
insisting on it, he found her to be wholly spiritless, and in terror;
afraid to speak, afraid to look, before her cousin Laurana; yet seeming
to want to complain to him. He took notice of this to Laurana--O Father,
said she, we are in the right way, I assure you: when we had her first,
her chevalier, and an interview with him, were ever in her mouth; but now
she is in such order, that she never speaks a word of him. But what,
asked the compassionate Father, must she have suffered, to be brought to
this?--Don't you, Father, trouble yourself about that, replied the cruel
Laurana: the doctors have given their opinion, that some severity was
necessary. It is all for her good.

'The poor lady expressed herself to him, with earnestness, after the
veil; a subject on which, it seems, they indulged her; urging, that the
only way to secure her health of mind, if it could be restored, was to
yield to her wishes. Lady Sforza said, that it was not a point that she
herself would press; but it was her opinion, that her family sinned in
opposing a divine dedication; and, perhaps, their daughter's malady might
be a judgment upon them for it.'

The father, in his letter to Mrs. Beaumont, ascribes to Lady Sforza
self-interested motives for her conduct; to Laurana, envy, on account of
Lady Clementina's superior qualities: but nobody, he says, till now,
doubted Laurana's love of her.'

Father Marescotti then gives a shocking instance of the barbarous
Laurana's treatment of the noble sufferer--All for her good--Wretch! how
my heart rises against her! Her servant Laura, under pretence of
confessing to her Bologna father, in tears, acquainted him with it. It
was perpetrated but the day before.

'When any severity was to be exercised upon the unhappy lady, Laura was
always shut out of her apartment. Her lady had said something that she
was to be chidden for. Lady Sforza, who was not altogether so severe as
her daughter, was not at home. Laura listened in tears: she heard
Laurana in great wrath with Lady Clementina, and threaten her--and her
young lady break out to this effect--What have I done to you, Laurana, to
be so used?--You are not the cousin Laurana you used to be! You know I
am not able to help myself: why do you call me crazy, and frantic,
Laurana? [Vile upbraider, Lucy!] If the Almighty has laid his hand upon
me, should I not be pitied?--

'It is all for your good! It is all for your good, Clementina! You
could not always have spoken so sensibly, cousin.

'Cruel Laurana! You loved me once! I have no mother, as you have. My
mother was a good mother: but she is gone! Or I am gone, I know not
which!

'She threatened her then with the strait waistcoat, a punishment which
the unhappy lady was always greatly terrified at. Laura heard her beg
and pray; but, Laurana coming out, she was forced to retire.

'The poor young lady apprehending her cruel cousin's return with the
threatened waistcoat, and with the woman that used to be brought in when
they were disposed to terrify her, went down and hid herself under a
stair-case, where she was soon discovered by her clothes, which she had
not been careful to draw in after her.'

O, Lucy! how I wept! How insupportable to me, said Sir Charles, would
have been my reflections, had my conscience told me, that I had been the
wilful cause of the noble Clementina's calamity!

After I had a little recovered, I read to myself the next paragraph,
which related, 'that the cruel Laurana dragged the sweet sufferer by her
gown, from her hiding-place, inveighing against her, threatening her:
she, all patient, resigned, her hands crossed on her bosom, praying for
ercy, not by speech, but by her eyes, which, however, wept not: and
causing her to be carried up to her chamber, there punished her with the
strait waistcoat, as she had threatened.

'Father Marescotti was greatly affected with Laura's relation, as well as
with what he had himself observed: but on his return to Bologna, dreading
to acquaint her mother, for her own sake, with the treatment her
Clementina met with, he only said, he did not quite approve of it, and
advised her not to oppose the young lady's being brought home, if the
bishop and the general came into it: but he laid the whole matter before
the bishop, who wrote to the general to join with him out of hand, to
release their sister from her present bondage: and the general meeting
the bishop on a set day at Milan, for that purpose, the lady was
accordingly released.

'A breach ensued upon it, with Lady Sforza and her daughter; who would
have it, that Clementina was much better for their management. They had
by terror broke her spirit, and her passiveness was reckoned upon as an
indication of amendment.

'The marchioness being much indisposed, the young lady, attended by her
Camilla, was carried to Naples; where it is supposed she now is. Poor
young lady, how has she been hurried about!--But who can think of her
cousin Laurana without extreme indignation?

'Mrs. Beaumont writes, that the bishop would fain have prevailed upon his
brother, the general, to join with him in an invitation to Sir Charles
Grandison to come over, as a last expedient, before they locked her up
either in a nunnery, or in some private house: but the general would by
no means come into it.

'He asked, What was proposed to be the end of Sir Charles's visit, were
all that was wished from it to follow, in his sister's restored mind?--He
never, he said, would give his consent that she should be the wife of an
English Protestant.

'The bishop declared, that he was far from wishing her to be so: but he
was for leaving that to after-consideration. Could they but restore his
sister to her reason, that reason, co-operating with her principles,
might answer all their hopes.

'He might try his expedient, the general said, with all his heart: but he
looked upon the Chevalier Grandison to be a man of art; and he was sure
he must have entangled his sister by methods imperceptible to her, and to
them; but yet more efficacious to his ends, than an open declaration.
Had he not, he asked, found means to fascinate Olivia, and as many women
as he came into company with?--For his part, he loved not the Chevalier.
He had forced him by his intrepidity to be civil to him: but forced
civility was but a temporary one. It was his way to judge of causes by
the effects: and this he knew, that he had lost a sister, who would have
been a jewel in the crown of a prince; and would not be answerable for
consequences, if he and Sir Charles Grandison were once more to meet, be
it where it would.

'Father Marescotti, however, joining, as the bishop writes, with him, and
the marchioness, in a desire to try this expedient; and being sure that
the marquis and Signor Jeronymo would not be averse to it, he took a
resolution to write over to him, as has been related.'

This, Lucy, is the state of the unhappy case, as briefly and as clearly
as my memory will serve to give it. And what a rememberer, if I may make
a word, is the heart!--Not a circumstance escapes it.

And now it remained for me to know of Sir Charles what answer he had
returned.

Was not my situation critical, my dear? Had Sir Charles asked my
opinion, before he had taken his resolutions, I should have given it with
my whole heart, that he should fly to the comfort of the poor lady. But
then he would have shewn a suspense unworthy of Clementina; and a
compliment to me; which a good man, so circumstanced, ought not to make.

My regard for him (yet what a poor affected word is regard!) was,
nevertheless, as strong as ever. Generosity, or rather justice, to
Clementina, and that so often avowed regard to him, pulled my heart two
ways.--I wanted to consider with myself for a few moments: I was desirous
to clear the conduct that I was to shew on this trying occasion, as well
of precipitance as of affectation; and my cousin Reeves just then coming
in for something she wanted, I took the opportunity to walk to the other
end of the room; and while a short complimental discourse passed between
them, 'Harriet Byron,' said I to myself, 'be not mean. Hast thou not the
example of a Clementina before thee? Her religion and her love,
combating together, have overturned the noble creature's reason. Tho
canst not be called to such a trial: but canst thou not shew, that if
thou wert, thou couldst have acted greatly, if not so greatly?--Sir
Charles Grandison is just: he ought to prefer to thee the excellent
Clementina. Priority of claim, compassion for the noble sufferer, merits
so superior!--I love him for his merits: shall I not love merits, nearly
as great, in one of my own sex? The struggle will cost thee something:
but go down, and try to be above thyself. Banished to thy retirement, to
thy pillow, thought I, be all the girl. Often have I contended for the
dignity of my sex; let me now be an example to myself, and not unworthy
in my own eyes (when I come to reflect) of an union, could it have been
effected, with a man whom a Clementina looked up to with hope.'

My cousin being withdrawn, and Sir Charles approaching me, I attempted to
assume a dignity of aspect, without pride; and I spoke, while spirit was
high in me, and to keep myself up to it--My heart bleeds, sir, for the
distresses of your Clementina: [Yes, Lucy, I said your Clementina:]
beyond expression I admire the greatness of her behaviour; and most
sincerely lament her distresses. What, that is in the power of man,
cannot Sir Charles Grandison do? You have honoured me, sir, with the
title of sister. In the tenderness of that relation, permit me to say,
that I dread the effects of the general's petulance: I feel next for you
the pain that it must give to your humane heart to be once more
personally present to the woes of the inimitable Clementina: but I am
sure you did not hesitate a moment about leaving all your friends here in
England, and resolving to hasten over to try, at least, what can be done
for the noble sufferer.

Had he praised me highly for this my address to him, it would have
looked, such was the situation on both sides, as if he had thought this
disinterested behaviour in me, an extraordinary piece of magnanimity and
self-denial; and, of consequence, as if he had supposed I had views upon
him, which he wondered I could give up. His is the most delicate of
human minds.

He led me to my seat, and taking his by me, still holding my passive
hand--Ever since I have had the honour of Miss Byron's acquaintance, I
have considered her as one of the most excellent of women. My heart
demands alliance with hers, and hopes to be allowed its claim; though
such are the delicacies of situation, that I scarcely dare to trust
myself to speak upon the subject. From the first, I called Miss Byron my
sister; but she is more to me than the dearest sister; and there is a
more tender friendship that I aspire to hold with her, whatever may be
the accidents, on either side, to bar a further wish: and this I must
hope, that she will not deny me, so long as it shall be consistent with
her other attachments.

He paused. I made an effort to speak: but speech was denied me. My
face, as I felt, glowed like the fire before me.

My heart, resumed he, is ever on my lips. It is tortured when I cannot
speak all that is in it. Professions I am not accustomed to make. As I
am not conscious of being unworthy of your friendship, I will suppose it;
and further talk to you of my affairs and engagements, as that tender
friendship may warrant.

Sir, you do me honour, was all I could say.

I had a letter from the faithful Camilla. I hold not a correspondence
with her: but the treatment that her young lady met with, of which she
had got some general intimations, and some words that the bishop said to
her, which expressed his wishes, that I would make them one more visit at
Bologna, urged her to write, begging of me, for Heaven's sake, to go
over. But unless one of the family had written to me, and by consent of
others of it, what hope had I of a welcome, after I had been as often
refused, as I had requested while I was in Italy, to be admitted to the
presence of the lady, who was so desirous of one interview more?--
Especially, as Mrs. Beaumont gave me no encouragement to go, but the
contrary, from what she observed of the inclinations of the family.

Mrs. Beaumont is still of opinion, as in the conclusion of the letter
before you, that I should not go, unless the general and the marquis join
their requests to those of the marchioness, the bishop, and Father
Marescotti. But I had no sooner perused the bishop's letter, than I
wrote, that I would most cheerfully comply with his wishes: but that I
should be glad that I might not be under any obligation to go further
than Bologna; where I might have the happiness to attend my Jeronymo, as
well as his sister.

I had a little twitch at my heart, Lucy. I was sorry for it: but my
judgment was entirely with him.

And now, madam, you will wonder, that you see not any preparations for my
departure. All is prepared: I only wait for the company of one
gentleman, who is settling his affairs with all expedition to go with me.
He is an able, a skilful surgeon, who has had great practice abroad, and
in the armies: and having acquired an easy fortune, is come to settle in
his native country. My Jeronymo expresses himself dissatisfied with his
surgeons. If Mr. LOWTHER can be of service to him, how happy shall I
think myself! And if my presence can be a means to restore the noble
Clementina--But how dare I hope it?--And yet I am persuaded, that in her
case, and with such a temper of mind, (unused to hardship and opposition
as she had been,) the only way to recover her, would have been by
complying with her in every thing that her heart or head was earnestly
set upon: for what controul was necessary to a young lady, who never,
even in the height of her malady, uttered a wish or thought that was
contrary to her duty either to God, or her parents; nor yet to the honour
of her name; and, allow me, madam, to say, to the pride of her sex?

I am under an obligation to go to Paris, proceeded he, from the will of
my late friend Mr. Danby. I shall stop there for a day or two only, in
order to put things in a way for my last hand, on my return from Italy.

When I am in Italy, I shall, perhaps, be enabled to adjust two or three
accounts that stand out, in relation to the affairs of my ward.

This day, at dinner, I shall see Mrs. Oldham, and her sons; and in the
afternoon, at tea, Mrs. O'Hara, and her husband, and Captain Salmonet.

To-morrow, I hope for the honour of your company, madam, and Mr. and Mrs.
Reeves's at dinner; and be so good as to engage them for the rest of the
day. You must not deny me; because I shall want your influence upon
Charlotte, to make her fix Lord G----'s happy day, that I may be able to
see their hands united before I set out; as my return will be
uncertain--

Ah, Lucy! more twitches just then!--

Thursday next is the day fixed for the triple marriage of the Danby's. I
have promised to give Miss Danby to Mr. Galliard, and to dine with them
and their friends at Enfield.

If I can see my Lord W---- and Charlotte happy before I go, I shall be
highly gratified.

It is another of my wishes, to see my friend Beauchamp in England first,
and to leave him in possession of his father's love, and of his
mother-in-law's civility. Dr. Bartlett and he will be happy in each
other. I shall correspond with the doctor. He greatly admires you,
madam, and will communicate to you all you shall think worthy of your
notice, relating to the proceedings of a man who will always think
himself honoured by your inquiries after him.

Ah, Lucy! Sir Charles Grandison then sighed. He seemed to look more
than he spoke. I will not promise for my heart, if he treats me with
more than the tenderness of friendship: if he gives me room to think that
he wishes--But what can he wish? He ought to be, he must be,
Clementina's: and I will endeavour to make myself happy, if I can
maintain the second place in his friendship: and when he offers me this,
shall I, Lucy, be so little as to be displeased with the man, who cannot
be to me all that I had once hoped he could be?--No!--He shall be the
same glorious creature in my eyes; I will admire his goodness of heart,
and greatness of mind; and I will think him entitled to my utmost
gratitude for the protection he gave me from a man of violence, and for
the kindness he has already shewn me. Is not friendship the basis of my
love? And does he not tender me that?

Nevertheless, at the time, do what I could, I found a tear ready to
start. My heart was very untoward, Lucy; and I was guilty of a little
female turn. When I found the twinkling of my eyes would not disperse
the too ready drop, and felt it stealing down my cheek, I wiped it off--
The poor Emily, said I--She will be grieved at parting with you. Emily
loves her guardian.

And I love my ward. I once had a thought, madam, of begging your
protection of Emily: but as I have two sisters, I think she will be happy
under their wings, and in the protection of my good Lord L---- and the
rather, as I have no doubt of overcoming her unhappy mother, by making
her husband's interest a guaranty for her tolerable, if not good,
behaviour to her child.

I was glad to carry my thoughts out of myself, as I may say, and from my
own concerns. We all, sir, said I, look upon Mr. Beauchamp as a
future--

Husband for Emily, madam, interrupted he?--It must not be at my motion.
My friend shall be entitled to share with me my whole estate; but I will
never seek to lead the choice of my WARD. Let Emily, some time hence,
find out the husband she can be happy with; Beauchamp the wife he can
love: Emily, if I can help it, shall not be the wife of any man's
convenience. Beauchamp is nice, and I will be as nice for my WARD. And
the more so, as I hope she herself wants not delicacy. There is a
cruelty in persuasion, where the heart rejects the person proposed,
whether the urger be parent or guardian.

Lord bless me, thought I, what a man is this!

Do you expect Mr. Beauchamp soon, sir?

Every day, madam.

And is it possible, sir, that you can bring all these things to bear
before you leave England, and go so soon?

I fear nothing but Charlotte's whimsies. Have you, madam, any reason to
apprehend that she is averse to an alliance with Lord G----? His father
and aunt are very importunate for an early celebration.

None at all, sir.

Then I shall depend much upon yours, and Lord and Lady L----'s influence
over her.

He besought my excuse for detaining my attention so long. Upon his
motion to go, my two cousins came in. He took even a solemn leave of me,
and a very respectful one of them.

I had kept up my spirits to their utmost stretch: I besought my cousins
to excuse me for a few minutes. His departure from me was too solemn;
and I hurried up to my closet; and after a few involuntary sobs, a flood
of tears relieved me. I besought, on my knees, peace to the disturbed
mind of the excellent Clementina, calmness and resignation to my own, and
safety to Sir Charles. And then, drying my eyes at the glass, I went
down stairs to my cousins; and on their inquiries (with looks of deep
concern) after the occasion of my red eyes, I said, All is over! All is
over! my dear cousins. I cannot blame him: he is all that is noble and
good--I can say no more just now. The particulars you shall have from my
pen.

I went up stairs to write: and except for one half hour at dinner, and
another at tea, I stopt not till I had done.

And here, quite tired, uneasy, vexed with myself, yet hardly knowing why,
I lay down my pen.--Take what I have written, cousin Reeves: if you can
read it, do: and then dispatch it to my Lucy.

But, on second thoughts, I will shew it to the two ladies, and Lord
L----, before it is sent away. They will be curious to know what passed
in a conversation, where the critical circumstances both of us were in,
required a delicacy which I am not sure was so well observed on my side,
as on his.

I shall, I know, have their pity: but let nobody who pities not the noble
Clementina shew any for

HARRIET BYRON.



LETTER XII

MISS BYRON.--IN CONTINUATION
TUESDAY NIGHT, APRIL 4.



Miss Grandison came to me just as we had supped. She longed, she said,
to see me; but was prevented coming before, and desired to know what had
passed between her brother and me this morning. I gave her the letter,
which I had but a little while before concluded. He had owned, she said,
that he had breakfasted with me, and spoke of me to her, and Lord and
Lady L---- with an ardor, that gave them pleasure. She put my letter
into her bosom. I may, I hope, Harriet--If you please, madam, said I.

If you please, madam, repeated she; and with that do-lo-rous accent too,
my Harriet!--My sister and I have been in tears this morning: Lord L----
had much ado to forbear. Sir Charles will soon leave us.

It can't be helped, Charlotte. Did you dine to-day in St.
James's-square?

No, indeed!--My brother had a certain tribe with him; and the woman also.
It is very difficult, I believe, Harriet, for good people to forbear
doing sometimes more than goodness requires of them.

Could you not, Charlotte, have sat at table with them for one hour or
two?

My brother did not ask me. He did not expect it. He gives every body
their choice, you know. He told me last night who were to dine with him
to-day, and supposed I would choose to dine with Lady L----, or with you,
he was so free as to say.

He did us an honour, which you thought too great a one. But if he had
asked you, Charlotte--

Then I should have bridled. Indeed, I asked him, if he did not over-do
it?

What was his answer?

Perhaps he might--But I, said he, may never see Mrs. Oldham again. I
want to inform myself of her future intentions, with a view (over-do it
again, Charlotte!) to make her easy and happy for life. Her children are
in the world. I want to give her a credit that will make her remembered
by them, as they grow up, with duty. I hope I am superior to forms. She
is conscious. I can pity her. She is a gentlewoman; and entitled to a
place at any man's table to whom she never was a servant. She never was
mine.

And what, Miss Grandison, could you say in answer? asked I.

What!--Why I put up my lip.

Ungracious girl!

I can't help it. That may become a man to do in such cases as this, that
would not a woman.

Sir Charles wants not delicacy, my dear, said I.

He must suppose, that I should have sat swelling, and been reserved: he
was right not to ask me--So be quiet, Harriet--And yet, perhaps, you
would be as tame to a husband's mistress, as you seem favourable to a
father's.

She then put on one of her arch looks--

The cases differ, Charlotte--But do you know what passed between the
generous man, and the mortified woman and her children; mortified as they
must be by his goodness?

Yes, yes; I had curiosity enough to ask Dr. Bartlett about it all.

Pray, Charlotte--

Dr. Bartlett is favourable to every body, sinners as well as saints--He
began with praising the modesty of her dress, the humility of her
behaviour: he said, that she trembled and looked down, till she was
reassured by Sir Charles. Such creatures have all their tricks, Harriet.

You, Charlotte, are not favourable to sinners, and hardly to saints. But
pray proceed.

Why, he re-assured the woman, as I told you. And then proceeded to ask
many questions of the elder Oldham--I pitied that young fellow--to have a
mother in his eye, whose very tenderness to the young ones kept alive the
sense of her guilt. And yet what would she have been, had she not been
doubly tender to the innocents, who were born to shame from her fault?
The young man acknowledged a military genius; and Sir Charles told him,
that he would, on his return from a journey he was going to take,
consider whether he could not do him service in the way he chose. He
gave him, it seems, a brief lecture on what he should aim to be, and what
avoid, to qualify himself for a man of true honour; and spoke very
handsomely of such gentlemen of the army as are real gentlemen. The
young fellow, continued Miss Grandison, may look upon himself to be as
good as provided for, since my brother never gives the most distant hope
that is not followed by absolute certainty, the first opportunity, not
that offers, but which he can make.

He took great notice of the little boys. He dilated their hearts, and
set them a prating; and was pleased with their prate. The doctor, who
had never seen him before in the company of children, applauded him for
his vivacity, and condescending talk to them. The tenderest father in
the world, he said, could not have behaved more tenderly, or shewed
himself more delighted with his own children, than he did with those
brats of Mrs. Oldham.

Ah, Charlotte! And is it out of doubt, that you are the daughter of Lady
Grandison, and sister of Sir Charles Grandison?--Well, but I believe you
are--Some children take after the father, some after the mother!--Forgive
me, my dear.

But I won't. I have a great mind to quarrel with you, Harriet.

Pray don't; because I could neither help, nor can be sorry for, what I
said. But pray proceed.

Why, he made presents to the children. I don't know what they were; nor
could the doctor tell me. I suppose very handsome ones; for he has the
spirit of a prince. He inquired very particularly after the circumstances
of the mother; and was more kind to her than many people would be to
their own mothers.--He can account for this, I suppose--though I cannot.
The woman, it is true, is of a good family, and so forth: but that
enhances her crime. Natural children abound in the present age. Keeping
is fashionable. Good men should not countenance such wretches.--But my
brother and you are charitable creatures!--With all my heart, child.
Virtue, however, has at least as much to say on one side of the question
as on the other.

When the poor children are in the world, as your brother said--When the
poor women are penitents, true penitents--Your brother's treatment of
Mrs. Giffard was different. He is in both instances an imitator of the
Almighty; a humbler of the impenitent, and an encourager of those who
repent.

Well, well; he is undoubtedly a good sort of young man; and, Harriet, you
are a good sort of young woman. Where much is given, much is required:
but I have not given me such a large quantity of charity, as either of
you may boast: and how can I help it?--But, however, the woman went away
blessing and praising him; and that, the doctor says, more with her eyes
than she was able to do in words. The elder youth departed in rapturous
reverence: the children hung about his knees, on theirs. The doctor will
have it, that it was without bidding--Perhaps so--He raised them by turns
to his arms, and kissed them.--Why, Harriet! your eyes glisten, child.
They would have run over, I suppose, had you been there! Is it, that
your heart is weakened with your present situation? I hope not. No, you
are a good creature! And I see that the mention of a behaviour greatly
generous, however slightly made, will have its force upon a heart so
truly benevolent as yours. You must be Lady Grandison, my dear: indeed
you must.--Well, but I must be gone. You dine with us to-morrow, my
brother says?

He did ask me; and desired me to engage my cousins. But he repeated not
the invitation when he went away.

He depends upon your coming: and so do we. He is to talk to me before
you, it seems: I can't tell about what: but by his hurrying on every
thing, it is plain he is preparing to leave us.

He is, madam.

'He is, madam!' And with that dejected air, and mendicant voice--Speak
up like a woman!--The sooner he sets out, if he must go, the sooner he
will return. Come, come, Harriet, you shall be Lady Grandison still--Ah!
and that sigh too! These love-sick folks have a language that nobody
else can talk to them in: and then she affectedly sighed--Is that right,
Harriet?--She sighed again--No, it is not: I never knew what a sigh was,
but when my father vexed my sister; and that was more for fear he should
one day be as cruel to me, than for her sake. We can be very generous
for others, Harriet, when we apprehend that one day we may want the same
pity ourselves. Our best passions, my dear, have their mixtures of
self-love.

You have drawn a picture of human nature, Charlotte, that I don't like.

It is a likeness for all that.

She arose, snatched my hand, hurried to the door--Be with us, Harriet,
and cousin Reeves, and cousin Reeves, as soon as you can to-morrow. I
want to talk to you, my dear (to me) of an hundred thousand things before
dinner. Remember we dine early.

Away she fluttered--Happy Miss Grandison! What charming spirits she has!



LETTER XIII

MISS BYRON.--IN CONTINUATION
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 5.


Miss Jervois came to me this morning by six; impatient, as she said, to
communicate good news to me. I was in my closet writing. I could not
sleep.

I have seen my mother, said she; and we are good friends. Was she ever
unkind to me, madam?

Dear creature! said I, and clasped her to my bosom, you are a sweet girl!
Oblige me with the particulars.

Let me, Lucy, give you, as near as I can recollect, the amiable young
creature's words and actions on this occasion.

Sit down, my love, said I.--What! When I am talking of a reconciled
mother! And to dear Miss Byron!--No, indeed.

She often held out one open hand, while the forefinger of the other, in
full action, patted it; as at other times both were spread, with pretty
wonder and delight: and thus she began:--

Why, you must know, it was about six o'clock yesterday afternoon, that my
mother and her husband, and Captain Salmonet, came. I was told of their
visit but two hours before: and when the coach stopped, and I at the
window saw them alight, I thought I should have fainted away. I would
have given half I was worth in the world to have been an hundred miles
off.

Dr. Bartlett was there, and received them. My guardian was unexpectedly
engaged in answering a letter sent him by Lord W----, for which a
gentleman waited: but they had not been there a quarter of an hour, when
he entered, and made apologies to them in his usual gracious manner.
Never, the doctor says, did any body look so respectful as the major and
the captain; and they would have made apologies to my guardian, for their
last behaviour to him; but he would not let them. And my mother, the
doctor says, from the very first, behaved prettily.

The moment she asked for me, my guardian himself condescended to come up
to me, and took my hand--Was not that very good of him?--My dear, said
he, as he led me down stairs, (and spoke so kindly,) don't tremble so: am
I not with you?--Your mother is very calm and composed: you must ask her
blessing. I shall ease your tender heart of every pang. I shall hint to
you what to do, and how to behave to the gentlemen, as occasions arise.

He had no sooner said the words, but the drawing-room door gave way to
his hand, and I was in the room with him.

Down on my knees dropt I--as I now do to you: but I could not speak.
Thus I did. [And she kissed my hand, and bowed her face upon it.] And
my mother raised me--You must raise me, madam--Yes, just so--And she
kissed me too, and wept on my neck; and called me pretty names; and
encouraged me, and said she loved me, as she loved her own soul--And I
was encouraged.

My guardian then, with the air and manner of a gracious prince, took my
hand, and presented it first to the major, then to the captain; and they
each kissed my hand, and spoke in my praise, I can't tell how many fine
things.

Major, said my guardian, when he presented me to him, you must excuse the
dear child's weakness of spirits: she wishes you all happiness on your
nuptials: she has let me know, that she is very desirous to do you
service for her mother's sake.

The major swore by his soul, I was an angel!--Captain Salmonet said,
that, by his salvation, I was a charming young lady!

My mother wept--O, Sir! said she to my guardian: and dropping down in a
chair by the window, not a word more could she speak.

I ran to her, and clasped my arms about her. She wept the more: I wiped
her eyes with her own handkerchief: I told her, it went to my heart to
see her cry: I begged she would spare me this grief.

She clasped her arms then about me, and kissed my cheek, and my forehead.
O, thought I, it is very good of you, my dear mother.

Then came my guardian to us, and he kindly took my mother's hand, and
conducted her to the fire-side; and he led me, and placed me by her, at
the tea-table; and he made the major and the captain sit down by him: so
much graciousness in his countenance. O, madam! I shall be an idolater,
I am afraid. And he said, Emily, my dear, you will make tea for us. My
sister dined abroad, madam, to my mother.--Yes, sir, I will, said I: and
I was as lively as a bird.

But before the servants came in, Let me tell you, madam, said he, what
Miss Jervois has proposed to me.--They were in silent expectation.

She has desired that you, major, will accept from her, for your mutual
use, of an additional 100£. a year; which I shall order to be paid you
quarterly, during Mrs. O'Hara's life, not doubting but you will make her
as happy as it is in your power to make her.

My mother bowed, coloured with gratitude, and looked obliged.

And she begs of you, madam, turning to my mother, that you will accept,
as from the Major, another 100£. a year, for pin-money, which he, or
which you, madam, will draw upon me for; also quarterly, if you choose
not to trouble him to do it: for this 100£. a year must be appropriated
to your sole and separate use, madam; and not be subject to your
controul, Major O'Hara.

Good God! sir! said the Major!--What a wretch was I, the last time I was
here!--There is no bearing of this!

He got up, and went to the window: and the captain said, Blessed Jesu!
and something else, which I could not mind; for I was weeping like a
baby.

What, sir! said my mother, 400£. a year! Do you mean so?--I do, madam--
And, sir, to be so generously paid me my 100£. of it, as if I received it
not from my child, but from my husband!--Good God! How you overpower me,
sir! What shame, what remorse, do you strike into my heart!

And my poor mother's tears ran down as fast as mine.

O madam, said the dear girl to me, clasping her arms about me, how your
tender heart is touched!--It is well you were not there!

Dr. Bartlett came in to tea. My guardian would not permit Antony, who
offered himself, to wait. Antony had been my own papa's servant, when my
mother was not so good.

Nothing but blessings, nothing but looks and words of admiration and
gratitude, passed all the tea-time. How their hearts rejoiced, I
warrant!--Is it not a charming thing, madam, to make people's hearts
glad?--To be sure it is! How many hearts has my guardian rejoiced! You
must bid him be cross to me, or I shall not know what to do with myself!
--But then, if he was, I should only get by myself, and cry, and be angry
with myself, and think he could not be to blame.

O my love, my Emily! said I, take care of your gratitude: that drew in
your true friend.

Well, but how can it be helped, madam? Can a right heart be ungrateful?
--Dr. Bartlett says, There is no such thing as true happiness in this
life: and is it not better to be unhappy from good men and women, than
from bad?--Dear madam, why you have often made me unhappy, because of
your goodness to me; and because I knew, that I neither could deserve nor
return it.

The dear prater went on--My guardian called me aside, when tea was over.
My Emily, said he, [I do love he should call me his Emily!--But all the
world is his Emily, I think,] Let me see what you will do with these two
notes; giving me two bank-notes of 25£. each.--Present pin-money and cash
may be wanted. We will suppose that your mother has been married a
quarter of a year. Her pin-money and the additional annuity may commence
from the 25th of December last. Let me, Emily, when they go away, see
the graceful manner in which you will dispose of the notes: and from Mr.
O'Hara's behaviour upon it, we shall observe whether he is a man with
whom your mother, if it be not her own fault, (now you have made it their
interest to be kind to each other,) may live well: but the motion be all
your own.

How good this was! I could have kissed the hand that gave me the notes,
if I thought it would not have looked too free.

I understand you, sir, said I.

And when they went away, pouring out their very hearts in grateful joy, I
addressed myself to Mr. O'Hara. Sir, said I, it is proper that the
payment of the additional annuity should have a commencement. Let it be
from Christmas last. Accept of the first payment from my own hands--And
I gave him one 25£. note: and looking at my mother, with a look of duty,
for fear be should mistake, and discredit himself in the eyes of the
deepest discerner in the world, gave him the other.

He looked upon first one, then upon the other note with surprise--And
then bowing to the ground to me, and to my guardian, he stept to my
mother, and presented them both to her. You, madam, said he, must speak:
I cannot as I ought: God send me with a whole heart out of this house!
He hurried out, and when he was in the hall, wiped his eyes, and sobbed
like a child, as one of the servants told my Anne.

My mother looked upon one note as her husband had done, and upon the
other; and, lifting up her eyes, embraced me--And would have said
something to my guardian, but he prevented her, by saying--Emily will be
always dutiful to you, madam, and respectful to Mr. O'Hara: may you be
happy together!

And he led her out--Was ever such a condescension! He led her out to her
husband, who, being a little recovered, was just about to give some money
to the servant, who was retiring from the offer.--Nobody, said my
guardian, graciously smiling, pays my servants but myself, Mr. O'Hara.
They are good people, and merit my favour.

And he went to the very door with my mother. I could not. I ran back,
crying for joy, into the drawing-room, when they went out of it. I could
not bear myself. How could I, you know, madam?--Captain Salmonet all the
time wiped his eyes, shrugged his shoulders, lifted up his hands, and
cried out upon Jesu; and once or twice he crossed himself: but all the
time my guardian looked and acted, as if those actions and praises were
nothing to be proud of.

When he came in to me, I arose, and threw myself at his feet; but could
only say, Thank you, sir, for your goodness to my mother. He raised me.
He sat down by me: See, child, (said he, and he took my hand: my heart
was sensible of the favour, and throbbed with joy,) what it is in the
power of people of fortune to do. You have a great one. Now your mother
is married, I have hopes of her. They will at least keep up appearances
to each other, and to the world. They neither of them want sense. You
have done an act of duty and benevolence both in one. The man who would
grudge them this additional 200£. a year out of your fortune, to make
your parent happy, shall not have my Emily--Shall he?

Your Emily, your happy Emily, sir, has not, cannot have a heart that is
worth notice, if it be not implicitly guided by you.--This I said, madam:
and it is true.

And did he not, said I, clasp his Emily to his generous bosom, when you
said so?

No, madam; that would have been too great an honour: but he called me,
good child! and said, you shall never be put to pay me an implicit
regard: your own reason (and he called me child again) shall always be
the judge of my conduct to you, and direct your observances of my advice.
Something like this he said; but in a better manner than I can say it.

He calls me oftener child, madam, than any thing else when we are alone
together; and is not quite so free, I think, at such times, in his
behaviour to me, (yet is vastly gracious, I don't know how,) as when we
are in company--Why is that? I am sure, I equally respect him, at one
time as at another--Do you think, madam, there is any thing in the
observation? Is there any reason for it?--I do love to study him, and to
find out the meaning of his very looks as well as words. Sir Charles
Grandison's heart is the book of heaven--May I not study it?

Study it, my love! while you have an opportunity. But he will soon leave
us: he will soon leave England.

So I fear: and I will love and pity the poor Clementina, whose heart is
so much wounded and oppressed. But my guardian shall be nobody's but
yours. I have prayed night and day, the first thing and the last thing,
ever since I have heard of Lady Clementina, that you, and nobody but you,
may be Lady Grandison: and I will continue my prayers.--But will you
forgive me: I always conclude them with praying, that you will both
consent to let the poor Emily live with you.

Sweet girl! The poor Emily, said she?--I embraced her, and we mingled
tears, both our hearts full, each for the other; and each perhaps for
herself.

She hurried away. I resumed my pen.--Run off what had passed, almost as
swift as thought. I quit it to prepare to attend my cousins to St.
James's-square.



LETTER XIV

MISS BYRON.--IN CONTINUATION
WEDNESDAY NIGHT, APRIL 5.


Miss Grandison, as I told you, took with her my letter of yesterday. As
soon as my cousin Reeves and I entered Sir Charles's house, the two
sisters conducted us into the drawing-room adjoining to the
dining-parlour, and congratulated me on the high compliment their brother
had made me, though in preference to themselves, and his
communicativeness and tender behaviour to me. Lord L---- joined us, and
he, having read the letter, congratulated me also--On what, Lucy?--Why on
the possibility, that if the unhappy Clementina should die; or if she
should be buried for life in a nunnery; or if she should be otherwise
disposed of; why then, that your Harriet may have room given her to hope
for a civil husband in Sir Charles Grandison, and half a heart: Is not
this the sum of these humbling congratulations?

Sir Charles, when we came, was in his study with Mr. Lowther, the surgeon
whom he had engaged to go abroad with him: but he just came out to
welcome us; and then returned.--He had also with him two physicians,
eminent for their knowledge in disorders of the head, to whom he had
before communicated the case of the unhappy Clementina; and who brought
to him in writing their opinions of the manner in which she ought to be
treated, according to the various symptoms of her disorder.

When he joined us, he told us this; and said very high things at the same
time in praise of the English surgeons; and particularly of this
gentleman: and added, that as nervous disorders were more frequent in
England, than in any country in the world, he was willing to hope, that
the English physicians were more skilful than those of any other country
in the management of persons afflicted with such maladies: and as he was
now invited over, he was determined to furnish himself with all the means
he could think of, that were likely to be useful in restoring and healing
friends so dear to him.

Miss Grandison told him, that we were all in some apprehensions, on his
going to ltaly, of that fierce and wrong-headed man the general. Miss
Byron, said she, has told us, that Mrs. Beaumont advises not your going
over.

The young Marquis della Porretta, said he, is hasty; but he is a gallant
man, and loves his sister. His grief on the unhappy situation they are
in demands allowance. It is natural in a heavy calamity to look out of
ourselves for the occasion. I have not any apprehensions from him, or
from any body else. The call upon me is a proper one. The issue must be
left where it ought to be left. If my visit will give comfort to any one
of the family, I shall be rewarded: If to more than one, happy--And,
whatever be the event, shall be easier in myself, than I could be, were I
not to comply with the request of the bishop, were he only to have made
it.

Lord L---- asked Sir Charles, whether he had fixed the day of his setting
out?

I have, said he, within this half hour. Mr. Lowther has told me, that he
shall be ready by the beginning of next week; and on Saturday sennight I
hope to be at Dover, on my way.

We looked upon one another. Miss Grandison told me afterwards, that my
colour went and came several times, and that she was afraid for me. My
heart was indeed a little affected. I believe I must not think of taking
leave of him when he sets out. Ah, Lucy! Nine days hence!--Yet, in less
than nine days after that, I shall be embraced by the tenderest relations
that ever creature had to boast of.

Sir Charles taking his sister aside, I want, said he, to say a few words
to you, Charlotte. They were about half an hour together; and then
returning, I am encouraged to think, said he, that Charlotte will give
her hand to Lord G----. She is a woman of honour, and her heart must
therefore go with it.--I have a request to make to her, before all you
our common friends--The Earl of G----, Lady Gertrude, Lord G----, all
join in one suit: it is, that I may be allowed to give my sister to Lord
G---- before I leave England.

I have told you, brother, that it is impossible, if you go away in nine
or ten days time.

Sir Charles particularly requested my influence. I could have no doubt,
I said, but Miss Grandison would oblige her brother.

She vehemently opposed so early a day.

In a most affectionate manner, yet with an air of seriousness, he urged
his request. He said, that it was very proper for him to make some
dispositions of his affairs before he went abroad. He should leave
England with much more pleasure, if he saw his Charlotte the wife of a
man so worthy as Lord G----: Lord G----, said he, adores you: You
intended to be his: Resolve to oblige your brother, who, though he cannot
be happy himself, wishes to see you so.

O, Sir Charles! said she, you ruin me by your solemnity, and by your
goodness.

The subject is not a light one. I am greatly in earnest, Charlotte. I
have many affairs on my hands. My heart is in this company; yet my
engagements will permit me but few opportunities to enjoy it between this
and Tuesday next. If you deny me now, I must acquiesce: If you have more
than punctilio to plead, say you have; and I will not urge you farther.

And so this is the last time of asking, sir? A little archly--

Not the last time of my Lord G----'s, but of mine--But I will not allow
you now to answer me lightly. If you can name a day before Tuesday, you
will greatly oblige me. I will leave you to consider of it. And he
withdrew.

Every one then urged her to oblige her brother. Lady L---- very
particularly. She told her, that he was entitled to her compliance; and
that he had spoken to her on this subject in a still more earnest manner.
She should hardly be able to excuse her, she said, if the serious hint he
had given about settling his affairs before he went abroad, had not
weight with her. You know, Charlotte, continued she, that he can have no
motive but your good; and you have told me, that you intend to have Lord
G----; and that you esteem his father, his aunt, and every one of his
family, whom you have seen; and they are all highly pleased with you.
Settlements are already drawn: that my brother told you last night.
Nothing is wanting but your day.

I wish he was in half the hurry to be married himself.

So he would be, I dare say, if marriage were as much in his power, as it
is in yours.

What a deuse, to be married to a man in a week's time, with whom I have
quarrelled every day for a fortnight past!--Pride and petulance must go
down by degrees, sister. A month, at least, is necessary, to bring my
features to such a placidness with him, as to allow him to smile in my
face.

Your brother has hinted, Charlotte, said I, that he loves you for your
vivacity; and should still more, if you consulted time and occasion.

He has withdrawn, sister, said Lord L----, with a resolution, if you deny
him, to urge you no further.

I hate his peremptoriness.

Has he not told you, Charlotte, said I, and that in a manner so serious,
as to affect every body, that there is a kind of necessity for it?

I don't love this Clementina, Harriet: all this is owing to her.

Just then a rapping at the door signified visitors; and Emily ran in--
Lord G----, the Earl, and Lady Gertrude, believe me!

Miss Grandison changed colour. A contrivance of my brother's!--Ah, Lord!
Now shall I be beset!--I will be sullen, that I may not be saucy.

Sullen you can't be, Charlotte, said Lady L----: but saucy you can.
Remember, however, my brother's earnestness, and spare Lord G---- before
his father and aunt, or you will give me, and every body, pain.

How can I? Our last quarrel is not made up: but advise him not to be
either impertinent or secure.

Immediately enter'd Sir Charles, introducing the Earl and Lady Gertrude.
After the first compliments, Pray, Sir Charles, said Miss Grandison,
drawing him aside, towards me, and whispering, tell me truly: Did you not
know of this visit?

I invited them, Charlotte, whispered he. I meant not however to surprise
you. If you comply, you will give me great pleasure: if you do not, I
will not be dis-pleased with my sister.

What can I do? Either be less good to me, sir, or less hurrying.

You have sacrificed enough to female punctilio, Charlotte. Lord G----
has been a zealous courtier. You have no doubt of the ardor of his
passion, nor of your own power. Leave the day to me. Let it be Tuesday
next.

Good heaven! I can't bear you, after such a--and she gasped, as if for
breath; and he turning from her to me, she went to Lady Gertrude, who,
rising, took her hand, and withdrew with her into the next room.

They staid out till they were told dinner was served: and when they
returned, I thought I never saw Miss Grandison look so lovely. A
charming flush had overspread her cheeks: a sweet consciousness in her
eyes gave a female grace to her whole aspect, and softened, as I may say,
the natural majesty of her fine features.

Lord G---- looked delighted, as if his heart were filled with happy
presages. The earl seemed no less pleased.

Miss Grandison was unusually thoughtful all dinnertime: she gave me great
joy to see her so, in the hope, that when the lover becomes the husband,
the over-lively mistress will be sunk in the obliging wife.--And yet,
now and then, as the joy in my lord's heart overflowed at his lips, I
could observe that archness rising to her eye, that makes one both love
and fear her.

After dinner, the Earl of G---- and Lady Gertrude desired a conference
with Sir Charles and Lady L----. They were not long absent, when Sir
Charles came in, and carried out Miss Grandison to them. Lord G----'s
complexion varied often.

Sir Charles left them together, and joined us. We were standing; and he
singled me out--I hope, madam, said he, that Charlotte may be prevailed
upon for Tuesday next: but I will not urge it further.

I thought that he was framing himself to say something particular to me,
when Lady L---- came in, and desired him and me to step to her sister,
who had retired from the Earl and Lady Gertrude, by consent.

Ah, my Harriet! said she, pity me, my dear!--Debasement is the child of
pride!--Then turning to Sir Charles, I acknowledge myself overcome, said
she, by your earnestness, as you are so soon to leave us; and by the
importunities of the Earl of G----, Lady Gertrude, and my sister--
Unprepared in mind, in clothes, I am resolved to oblige the best of
brothers. Do you, sir, dispose of me as you think fit.

My sister consents, sir, said Lady L----, for next Tuesday.

Cheerfully, I hope. If Charlotte balances whether, if she took more
time, she should have Lord G---- at all, let her take it. Lord L----, in
my absence, will be to her all that I wish to be, when she shall
determine.

I balance not, sir: but I thought to have had a month's time, at least,
to look about me, and having treated Lord G---- too flippantly, to give
him by degrees some fairer prospects of happiness with me, than hitherto
he has had.

Sir Charles embraced her. She was all his sister, he said. Let the
alteration now begin. Lord G---- would rejoice in it, and consider all
that had passed, as trials only of his love for her. The obliging wife
would banish from his remembrance the petulant mistress. And now, allow
me, my dear sister, to present you to the Earl and Lady Gertrude.

He led her in to them. Lady L---- took my hand, and led me in also.--
Charlotte, my lord, yields to yours and Lady Gertrude's importunities.
Next Tuesday will give the two families a near and tender relation to
each other.

The earl saluted her in a very affectionate manner: so did Lady Gertrude;
who afterwards ran out for her nephew: and, leading him in, presented him
to Miss Grandison.

She had just time to whisper me, as he approached her; Ah, Harriet! now
comes the worst part of the show.--He kneeled on one knee, kissed her
hand: but was too much overjoyed to speak; for Lady Gertrude had told
him, as she led him in, that Tuesday was to be his happy day.

It is impossible, Lucy, but Sir Charles Grandison must carry every point
he sets his heart upon. When he shall appear before the family of
Porretta in Italy, who will be able to withstand him?--Is not his
consequence doubled, more than doubled, since he was with them? The man
whose absence they requested, they now invite to come among them. They
have tried every experiment to restore their Clementina: he has a noble
estate now in possession. The fame of his goodness is gone out to
distant countries. O my dear! All opposition must fly before him. And
if it be the will of Heaven to restore Clementina, all her friends must
concur in giving her to him upon the terms he has proposed; and from
which, having himself proposed them, Sir Charles Grandison cannot recede.

His heart, it is evident, is at Bologna. Well, and so it ought to be.
And yet I could not forbear being sensibly touched by the following
words, which I overheard him say to Lord L----, in answer to something my
lord said to him:

'I am impatient to be abroad. Had I not waited for Mr. Lowther, the last
letters I received from Italy should have been answered in person.'

But as honour, compassion, love, friendship (still nobler than love!)
have demands upon him, let him obey the call. He has set me high in his
esteem. Let me be worthy of his friendship. Pangs I shall occasionally
feel; but who that values one person above the rest of the world, does
not?

Sir Charles, as we sat at tea, mentioned his cousin Grandison to Lord
L----: It is strange, my lord, said he, that we hear nothing of our
cousin Everard, since he was seen at White's. But whenever he emerges,
Charlotte, if I am absent, receive him without reproaches: yet I should
be glad that he could have rejoiced with us. Must I leave England, and
not see him?

It has been, it seems, the way of this unhappy man, to shut himself up
with some woman in private lodgings, for fear his cousin should find him
out; and in two or three months, when he has been tired of his wicked
companion, emerge, as Sir Charles called it, to notice, and then seek for
his cousin's favour and company, and live for as many more months in a
state of contrition. And Sir Charles, in his great charity, believes,
that till some new temptation arises, he is in earnest in his penitence;
and hopes, that in time he will see his errors.

Oh, Lucy! What a poor creeping, mean wretch is a libertine, when one
looks down upon him, and up to such a glorious creature as Sir Charles
Grandison!

Sir Charles was led to talk of his engagement for to-morrow, on the
triple marriage in the Danby family. We all gave him joy of the happy
success that had rewarded his beneficent spirit, with regard to that
family. He gave us the characters of the three couples greatly to their
advantage, and praised the families on both sides, which were to be so
closely united on the morrow; not forgetting to mention kindly honest Mr.
Sylvester the attorney.

He told us, that he should set out on Friday early for Windsor, in order
to attend Lord W---- in his first visit to Mansfield-house. You, Lady
L----, will have the trouble given you, said he, of procuring to be
new-set the jewels of the late Lady W---- for a present to the future
bride. My lord shewed them to me (among a great number of other valuable
trinkets of his late wife's) in my last return from the Hall. They are
rich, and will do credit to his quality. You, my Lord L----, you, my
sisters, will be charmed with your new aunt, and her whole family. I
have joy on the happiness in prospect that will gild the latter days of
my mother's brother; and at the same time be a means of freeing from
oppression an ancient and worthy family.

Tears were in every eye. There now, thought I, sits this princely man,
rejoicing every one who sees him, and hears him speak: But where will he
be nine days hence? And whose this day twelvemonth?

He talked with particular pleasure of the expected arrival of his
Beauchamp. He pleased himself, that he should leave behind him a man who
would delight every body, and supply to his friends his absence.--What a
character did he give, and Dr. Bartlett confirm, of that amiable friend
of his!

How did the Earl and Lady Gertrude dwell upon all he said! They prided
themselves on the relation they were likely so soon to stand in to so
valuable a man.

In your last letter, you tell me, Lucy, that Mr. Greville has the
confidence to throw out menaces against this excellent man--Sorry wretch!
--How my heart rises against him!--He--But no more of such an earth-born
creature.



LETTER XV

MISS BYRON.--IN CONTINUATION
THURSDAY MORNING, APRIL 6.


Miss Grandison, accompanied by Miss Jervois, has just left us. Lady
L---- has undertaken, she says, to set all hands at work, to have things
in tolerable order, early as the day is, for Tuesday next. Miss
Grandison (would you believe it?) owns, that she wants spirits to order
anything. What must be the solemnity of that circumstance, when near,
that shall make Charlotte Grandison want spirits?

She withdrew with me to my apartment. She threw herself into a chair:
'Tis a folly to deny it, Harriet, but I am very low, and very silly: I
don't like next Tuesday by any means.

Is your objection only to the day, my dear?

I do not like the man.

Is there any man whom you like better?

I can't say that neither. But this brother of mine makes me think
contemptibly of all other men. I would compound for a man but half so
good--Tender, kind, humane, polite, and even cheerful in affliction!--O,
Harriet! where is there such another man?

No where.--But you don't by marriage lose, on the contrary, you further
engage and secure, the affection of this brother. You will have a
good-natured worthy man for your husband; a man who loves you, and you
will have your brother besides.

Do you think I can be happy with Lord G----?

I am sure you may, if it be not your own fault.

That's the thing: I may, perhaps, bear with the man; but I cannot honour
him.

Then don't vow to honour him. Don't meet him at the altar.

Yet I must. But I believe I think too much: and consideration is no
friend to wedlock.--Would to Heaven that the same hour that my hand and
Lord G----'s were joined, yours and my brother's were also united!

Ah, Miss Grandison! If you love me, try to wean me; and not to encourage
hopes of what never, never can be.

Dear creature! You will be greater than Clementina, and that is greater
than the greatest, if you can conquer a passion, that overturned her
reason.

Do not, my Charlotte, make comparisons in which the conscience of your
Harriet tells her she must be a sufferer. There is no occasion for me to
despise myself, in order to hold myself inferior to Clementina.

Well, you are a noble creature!--But, the approaching Tuesday--I cannot
bear to think of it.

Dear Charlotte!

And dear Harriet too!--But the officiousness, the assiduities, of this
trifling man are disgustful to me.

You don't hate him?--

Hate him--True--I don't hate him--But I have been so much accustomed to
treat him like a fool, that I can't help thinking him one. He should not
have been so tame to such a spirit as mine. He should have been angry
when I played upon him. I have got a knack of it, and shall never leave
it off, that's certain.

Then I hope he will be angry with you. I hope that he will resent your
ill-treatment of him.

Too late, too late to begin, Harriet. I won't take it of him now. He
has never let me see that his face can become two sorts of features. The
poor man can look sorrowful; that I know full well: but I shall always
laugh when he attempts to look angry.

You know better, Charlotte. You may give him so much cause for anger,
that you may make it habitual to him, and then would be glad to see him
pleased. Men have an hundred ways that women have not to divert
themselves abroad, when they cannot be happy at home. This I have heard
observed by--

By your grandmother, Harriet? Good old lady! In her reign it might be
so; but you will find, that women now have as many ways to divert
themselves abroad as the men. Have you not observed this yourself in one
of your letters to Lucy? Ah! my dear! we can every hour of the
twenty-four be up with our monarchs, if they are undutiful.

But Charlotte Grandison will not, cannot--

Why that's true, my dear--But I shall not then be a Grandison. Yet the
man will have some security from my brother's goodness. He is not only
good himself, but he makes every one related to him, either from fear or
shame, good likewise. But I think that when one week or fortnight is
happily over, and my spirits are got up again from the depression into
which this abominable hurry puts them, I could fall upon some inventions
that would make every-one laugh, except the person who might take it into
his head that he may be a sufferer by them: and who can laugh, and be
angry, in the same moment?

You should not marry, Charlotte, till this wicked vein of humour and
raillery is stopt.

I hope it will hold me till fifty.

Don't say so, Charlotte--Say rather that you hope it will hold you so
long only as it may be thought innocent or inoffensive, by the man whom
it will be your duty to oblige, and so long as it will bring no discredit
to yourself.

Your servant, Goody Gravity!--But what must be, must. The man is bound
to see it. It will be all his own seeking. He will sin with his eyes
open. I think he has seen enough of me to take warning. All that I am
concerned about is for the next week or fortnight. He will be king all
that time--Yet, perhaps not quite all neither. And I shall be his
sovereign ever after, or I am mistaken. What a deuse, shall a woman
marry a man of talents not superior to her own, and forget to reward
herself for her condescension?--But, high-ho!--There's a sigh, Harriet.
Were I at home, I would either sing you a song, or play you a tune, in
order to raise my own heart.

She besought me then, with great earnestness, to give her my company till
the day arrived, and on the day. You see, said she, that my brother has
engagements till Monday. Dear creature! support, comfort me--Don't you
see my heart beat through my stays?--If you love me, come to me to-morrow
to breakfast; and leave me not for the whole time--Are you not my sister,
and the friend of my heart? I will give you a month for it, upon demand.
Come, let us go down; I will ask the consent of both your cousins.

She did: and they, with their usual goodness to me, cheerfully complied.

Sir Charles set out this morning to attend the triple marriages; dressed
charmingly, his sister says. I have made Miss Grandison promise to give
me an account of such particulars, as, by the help of Saunders, and Sir
Charles's own relation, she can pick up. All we single girls, I believe,
are pretty attentive to such subjects as these; as what one day may be
our own concern.



LETTER XVI

MISS GRANDISON, TO MISS BYRON
THURSDAY NIGHT.


Unreasonable, wicked, cruel Byron! To expect a poor creature, so near
her execution, to write an account of other people's behaviour in the
same tremendous circumstances! The matrimonial noose has hung over my
head for some time past; and now it is actually fitted to my devoted
neck.--Almost choaked, my dear!--This moment done hearing read, the
firsts, seconds, thirds, fourths, to near a dozen of them--Lord be
merciful to us!--And the villanous lawyer rearing up to me his spectacled
nose, as if to see how I bore it! Lord G---- insulting me, as I thought,
by his odious leers: Lady Gertrude simpering; little Emily ready to bless
herself--How will the dear Harriet bear these abominable recitatives?--
But I am now up stairs from them all, in order to recover my breath, and
obey my Byron.

Well, but what am I now to say about the Danbys? Richard has made his
report; Sir Charles has told us some things: yet I will only give you
heads: make out the rest.

In the first place, my brother went to Mrs. Harrington's (Miss Danby's
aunt:) she did every thing but worship him. She had with her two young
ladies, relations of her late husband, dainty damsels of the city, who
had procured themselves to be invited, that they might see the man, whom
they called, a wonder of generosity and goodness. Richard heard one of
them say to the other, Ah, sister, this is a king of a man! What pity
there are not many such! But, Harriet, if there were a hundred of them,
we would not let one of them go into the city for a wife; would we, my
dear?

Sir Charles praised Miss Danby. She was full of gratitude; and of
humility, I suppose. Meek, modest, and humble, are qualities of which
men are mighty fond in women. But matrimony, and a sense of obligation,
are equally great humblers even of spirits prouder than that of Miss
Danby; as your poor Charlotte can testify.

The young gentlemen, with the rest, were to meet Sir Charles, the bride,
and these ladies, at St. Helen's, I think the church is called.

As if wedlock were an honour, the Danby girl, in respect to Sir Charles,
was to be first yoked. He gave her away to the son Galliard. The father
Galliard gave his daughter to Edward Danby: but first Mr. Hervey gave his
niece to the elder.

One of the brides, I forget which, fainted away; another half-fainted--
Saved by timely salts: the third, poor soul, wept heartily--as I suppose
I shall do on Tuesday.

Never surely was there such a matrimony promoter, as my brother. God
give me soon my revenge upon him in the same way!

The procession afterwards was triumphant--Six coaches, four silly souls
in each; and to Mr. Poussin's, at Enfield, they all drove. There they
found another large company.

My brother was all cheerfulness; and both men and women seemed to contend
for his notice: but they were much disappointed at finding he meant to
leave them early in the evening.

One married lady, the wife of Sir ---- somebody, (I am very bad at
remembering the names of city knights,) was resolved, she said, since
they could not have Sir Charles to open the ball, to have one dance
before dinner with the handsomest man in England. The music was
accordingly called in; and he made no scruple to oblige the company on a
day so happy.

Do you know, Harriet, that Sir Charles is supposed to be one of the
finest dancers in England? Remember, my dear, that on Tuesday--[Lord
help me! I shall be then stupid, and remember nothing]--you take him out
yourself: and then you will judge for yourself of his excellence in this
science--May we not call dancing a science? If we judge by the few who
perform gracefully in it, I am sure we may; and a difficult one too.

O!--And remember, Harriet, that you get somebody to call upon him to
sing--You shall play--I believe I shall forget, in that only agreeable
moment of the day, (for you have a sweet finger, my love,) that I am the
principal fool in the play of the evening.

O, Harriet,--how can I, in the circumstances I am in, write any more
about these soft souls, and silly? Come to me by day-dawn, and leave me
not till--I don't know when. Come, and take my part, my dear: I shall
hate this man: he does nothing but hop, skip, and dance about me, grin
and make mouths; and every body upholds him in it.

Must this (I hope not!) be the last time that I write myself to you

CHARLOTTE GRANDISON?



LETTER XVII

MISS BYRON, TO MISS SELBY
ST. JAMES'S-SQUARE, FRIDAY MORNING, APRIL 7.


Sir Charles Grandison set out early this morning for Lord W----'s, in his
way to Lady Mansfield's. I am here with this whimsical Charlotte.

Lady L----, Miss Jervois, myself, and every female of the family, or who
do business for both sisters out of it, are busy in some way or other,
preparatory to the approaching Tuesday.

Miss Grandison is the only idle person. I tell her, she is affectedly
so.

The earl has presented her, in his son's name, with some very rich
trinkets. Very valuable jewels are also bespoke by Lord G----, who takes
Lady L----'s advice in every thing; as one well read in the fashions.
New equipages are bespoke; and gay ones they will be.

Miss Grandison confounded me this morning by an instance of her
generosity. She was extremely urgent with me to accept, as her third
sister, of her share of her mother's jewels. You may believe, that I
absolutely refused such a present. I was angry with her; and told her,
she had but one way of making it up with me; and that was, that since she
would be so completely set out from her lord, she would unite the two
halves, by presenting hers to Lady L----, who had refused jewels from her
lord on her marriage; and who then would make an appearance,
occasionally, as brilliant as her own.

She was pleased with the hint; and has actually given them (unknown to
any body but me) to her jeweller; who is to dispose them in such figures,
as shall answer those she herself is to have, which Lady L---- has not.
And by this contrivance, which will make them in a manner useless to
herself, she thinks she shall oblige her sister, however reluctant, to
accept of them.

Lady Gertrude is also preparing some fine presents for her niece elect:
but neither the delighted approbation of the family she is entering into,
nor the satisfaction expressed by her own friends, give the perverse
Charlotte any visible joy, nor procure for Lord G---- the distinction
which she ought to think of beginning to pay him. But, for his part,
never was man so happy. He would, however, perhaps, fare better from
her, if he could be more moderate in the outward expression of his joy;
which she has taken it into her head to call an insult upon her.

She does not, however, give the scope she did before the day was fixed,
to her playful captiousness. She is not quite so arch as she was.
Thoughtfulness, and a seeming carelessness of what we are employed in,
appear in her countenance. She saunters about, and affects to be
diverted by her harpsichord only. What a whimsical thing is Charlotte
Grandison! But still she keeps Lord G---- at distance. I told her an
hour ago, that she knows not how to condescend to him with that grace
which is so natural to her in her whole behaviour to every body else.

I have been talking to Dr. Bartlett, about Sir Charles's journey to
Italy. Nobody knows, he says, what a bleeding heart is covered by a
countenance so benign and cheerful. Sir Charles Grandison, said he, has
a prudence beyond that of most young men; but he has great sensibilities.

I take it for granted, sir, that he will for the future be more an
Italian than Englishman.

Impossible, madam! A prudent youth, by travelling, reaps this advantage
--From what he sees of other countries, he learns to prefer his own. An
imprudent one the contrary. Sir Charles's country is endeared to him by
his long absence from it. Italy in particular is called the garden of
Europe; but it is rather to be valued for what it was, and might be, than
what it is. I need not tell a lady who has read and conversed as you
have done, to what that incomparable difference is owing. Sir Charles
Grandison is greatly sensible of it. He loves his country, with the
judgment of a wise man; and wants not the partiality of a patriot.

But, doctor, he has offered, you know, to reside--There I stopt.

True, madam--And he will not recede from his offers, if they are claimed.
But this uncertainty it is that disturbs him.

I pity my patron, proceeded he. I have often told you he is not happy.
What has indiscretion to expect, when discretion has so much to suffer?
His only consolation is, that he has nothing to reproach himself with.
Inevitable evils he bears as a man should. He makes no ostentation of
his piety: but, madam, Sir Charles Grandison is a CHRISTIAN.

You need not, sir, say more to me to exalt him: and, let me add, that I
have no small pleasure in knowing that Clementina is a lady of strict
piety, though a Roman Catholic.

And let me assure you, madam, that Sir Charles's regard for Miss Byron
(his more than regard for her, why should I not say? since every body
sees it) is founded upon her piety, and upon the amiable qualities of her
mind. Beauty, madam, is an accidental and transient good. No man better
knows how to distinguish between admiration and love, than my patron.
His virtue is virtue upon full proof, and against sensibilities, that it
is heroic to overcome. Lady Olivia knows this: and here I must
acknowledge myself a debtor to you for three articles out of your ten. I
hope soon to discharge the obligation.

Your own time, doctor: but I must say, that whenever you give me Lady
Olivia's story, I shall be pained, if I find that a Clementina is
considered by a beauty of an unhappier turn, as her rival in the love of
Sir Charles Grandison.

Lady Olivia, madam, admires him for his virtue; but she cannot, as he has
made it his study to do, divide admiration from love. What offers has
she not refused?--But she declares, that she had rather be the friend of
Sir Charles Grandison, than the wife of the greatest prince on earth.

This struck me: Have not I said something like it? But surely with
innocence of heart. But here the doctor suggests, that Olivia has put
his virtue to the proof: Yet I hope not.

The FRIEND, Dr. Bartlett!--I hope that no woman who is not quite given up
to dishonour, will pollute the sacred word, by affixing ideas to it, that
cannot be connected with it. A friend is one of the highest characters
that one human creature can shine in to another. There may be love, that
though it has no view but to honour, yet even in wedlock, ripens not into
friendship. How poor are all such attachments! How much beneath the
exalted notion I have of that noblest, that most delicate union of souls!
You wonder at me, Dr. Bartlett. Let me repeat to you, sir, (I have it by
heart,) Sir Charles Grandison's tender of friendship to the poor Harriet
Byron, which has given me such exalted ideas of this disinterested
passion; but you must not take notice that I have. I repeated those
words, beginning, 'My heart demands alliance with hers'--and ending with
these--'So long as it shall be consistent with her other attachments.'*


* See page 110 of this Volume.


The doctor was silent for a few moments. At last, What a delicacy is
there in the mind of this excellent man! Yet how consistent with the
exactest truth! The friendship he offers you, madam, is indeed
friendship. What you have repeated can want no explanation: yet it is
expressive of his uncertain situation. It is--

He stopt of a sudden.

Pray, doctor, proceed: I love to hear you talk.

My good young lady!--I may say too much. Sir Charles in these nice
points must be left to himself. It is impossible for any body to express
his thoughts as he can express them. But let me say, that he justly, as
well as greatly, admires Miss Byron.

My heart rose against myself. Bold Harriet, thought I, how darest thou
thus urge a good man to say more than he has a mind to say of the secrets
of a friend, which are committed to his keeping? Content thyself with
the hopes, that the worthiest man in the world would wish to call thee
his, were it not for an invincible obstacle. And noble, thrice noble
Clementina, be thine the preference even in the heart of Harriet Byron,
because justice gives it to thee; for, Harriet, hast thou not been taught
to prefer right and justice to every other consideration? And, wouldst
thou abhor the thought of a common theft, yet steal an heart that is the
property, and that by the dearest purchase, of another?



LETTER XVIII

MISS BYRON.--IN CONTINUATION
FRIDAY EVENING.


We have had a great debate about the place in which the nuptial ceremony
is to be performed.

Charlotte, the perverse Charlotte, insisted upon not going to church.

Lord G---- dared not to give his opinion; though his father and Lady
Gertrude, as well as every other person, were against her.

Lord L---- said, that if fine ladies thought so slightly of the office,
as that it might be performed anywhere, it would be no wonder, if fine
gentlemen thought still more slightly of the obligation it laid them
under.

Being appealed to, I said, that I thought of marriage as one of the most
solemn acts of a woman's life.

And if of a woman's, of a man's, surely, interrupted Lady L----. If your
whimsey, Charlotte, added she, arises from modesty, you reflect upon your
sister; and, what is worse, upon your mother.

Charlotte put up her pretty lip, and was unconvinced.

Lady Gertrude laid a heavy hand upon the affectation; yet admires her
niece-elect. She distinguished between chamber-vows and church-vows.
She mentioned the word decency. She spoke plainer, on Charlotte's
unfeeling perverseness. If a bride meant a compliment by it to the
bridegroom, that was another thing; but then let her declare as much; and
that she was in an hurry to oblige him.

Charlotte attempted to kill her by a look--She gave a worse to Lord
G----. And why, whispered she to him, as he sat next her, must thou shew
all thy teeth, man?--As Lady Gertrude meant to shame her, I thought I
could as soon forgive that lady, as her who was the occasion of the
freedom of speech.

But still she was perverse: she would not be married at all, she said, if
she were not complied with.

I whispered her, as I sat on the other side of her, I wish, Charlotte,
the knot were tied: till then, you will not do even right things, but in
a wrong manner.

Dr. Bartlett was not present: he was making a kind visit to my cousins
Reeves. When he came in, the debate was referred to him. He entered
into it with her, with so much modesty, good sense, propriety, and
steadiness, that at last the perverse creature gave way: but hardly would
neither, had he not assured her, that her brother would be entirely
against her; and that he himself must be excused performing the sacred
office, but in a sacred place. She has set her heart on the doctor's
marrying her.

The Earl of G---- and Lady Gertrude, as also Lord and Lady L----, went
away, not dissatisfied with Charlotte's compliance: she is the most
ungraciously graceful young woman I ever knew in her compliances. But
Lord G---- was to pay for all: she and I had got together in the study:
in bolted Lord G----, perhaps with too little ceremony. She coloured--
Hey-day, sir! Who expected you? His countenance immediately fell. He
withdrew precipitately. Fie, Charlotte! said I, recollect yourself--and
rising, stept to the door, My lord--calling after him.

He came back; but in a little ferment--I hoped, I hoped, madam, as you
were not in your own apartment, that I might, that I might have been--

Wherever ladies are by themselves, it is a lady's apartment, my lord,
said she, with a haughtiness that sat better on her features, than they
would upon almost any other woman's.

He looked, as if he knew not whether he should stay or go. Sit down, my
lord, said I; we are not particularly engaged. He came nearer, his hat
under his arm, bowing to her, who sat as stately as a princess on her
throne: but yet looked disobliged. You give yourself pretty airs, my
lord--don't you?

Pretty airs, madam!--Pretty airs!--By my soul, I think, madam--And with
such a glow in your face, madam--Taking his laced hat from under his arm,
and, with an earnest motion, swinging it backwards and forwards, as
unknowing what he did--

What, sir, am I to be buffetted, sir?--

He put his hat under his arm again--Buffetted, madam!--Would to
Heaven--

What has Heaven to do with your odd ways, Lord G----?

I beg pardon for intruding, madam--But I thought--

That you had a privilege, sir--But marriage itself, sir, shall not give
you a privilege to break into my retirements. You thought, sir--You
could not think--So much the worse if you did--

If I have really offended--I will be more circumspect for the future--I
beg pardon, madam--Miss Byron, I hope, will forgive me too.

He was going, in great discomposure, and with an air of angry humility.

Charlotte, whispered I, don't be silly--

Come, come, now you have broke in upon us, you may stay--But another
time, when you know me to be retired with a friend so dear to me, let it
enter into your head, that no third person, unsent for, can be welcome.

Poor man!--How he loves her!--His countenance changed at once to the
humble placid: he looked as if he had rather be in fault than she.

Oh! how little did she make him look!

But he has often, as well as in this instance, let her see her power over
him. I am afraid she will use it. I now see it is and will be his
misfortune that she can vex him without being vexed herself: and what may
he expect, who can be treated with feigned displeasure, which, while it
seems to be in earnest to him, will be a jest to his wife?

I was very angry with her, when we were alone; and told her, that she
would be an enemy, I was afraid, of her own happiness. But she only
laughed at me: Happiness, my dear! said she: that only is happiness which
we think so. If I can be as happy in my way, as you can be in yours,
shall I not pursue it? Your happiness, child, is in the still life. I
love not a dead calm: now a tempest, now a refreshing breeze, I shall
know how to enjoy the difference--My brother will not be here to turn
jest into earnest; as might perhaps be the effect of his mediation--But,
heigh-ho, Harriet! that the first week were over, and I had got into my
throne!

She ended with an Italian air, contrasted with another heigh-ho; and left
me for a few moments.

Poor Lord G----! said I, looking after her.

She returned soon. Poor Lord G----! repeated she: those were the piteous
words you threw after me--But if I should provoke him, do you think he
would not give me a cuff, or so?--You know he can't return joke for joke;
and he must revenge himself some way--If that should be the case, Poor
Charlotte, I hope you would say--

Not if you deserved it.

Deserve a cuff, Harriet!--Well, but I am afraid I shall.

Remember next Tuesday, Charlotte!--You must vow obedience--Will you break
your vow?--This is not a jesting matter.

True, Harriet. And that it is not, was perhaps one of the reasons that
made me disinclined to go to so solemn a place as the church with Lord
G----. Don't you think it one with those who insist upon being married
in their own chamber?

I believe great people, said I, think they must not do right things in
the common way: that seems to me to be one of their fantastic reasons:
but the vow is the vow, Charlotte: God is every where.

Now you are so serious, Harriet, it is time to have done with the
subject.


I have no sleep in my eyes; and must go on. What keeps me more wakeful
is, my real concern for this naughty Miss Grandison, and my pity for Lord
G----; for the instance I have given you of her petulance is nothing to
what I have seen: but I thought, so near the day, she would have changed
her behaviour to him. Surely, the situation her brother is in, without
any fault of his own, might convince her, that she need not go out of her
path to pick up subjects for unhappiness.

Such a kittenish disposition in her, I called it; for it is not so much
the love of power that predominates in her mind, as the love of
playfulness: and when the fit is upon her, she regards not whether it is
a china cup, or a cork, that she pats and tosses about. But her sport
will certainly be the death of Lord G----'s happiness. Pity that Sir
Charles, who only has power over her, is obliged to go abroad so soon!
But she has principles: Lady Grandison's daughter, Sir Charles
Grandison's sister, must have principles. The solemnity of the occasion;
the office; the church; the altar;--must strike her: The vow--Will she
not regard the vow she makes in circumstances so awful? Could but my
Lord G---- assume dignity, and mingle raillery with it, and be able to
laugh with her, and sometimes at her, she would not make him her sport:
she would find somebody else: A butt she must have to shoot at: but I am
afraid he will be too sensible of her smartness: and she will have her
jest, let who will suffer by it.

Some of the contents of your last are very agreeable to me, Lucy. I will
begin in earnest to think of leaving London. Don't let me look silly in
your eyes, my dear, when I come. It was not so very presumptuous in me
(was it?) to hope--When all his relations--When he himself--Yet what room
for hope did he, could he, give me? He was honest; and I cheated myself:
but then all you, my dearest friends, encouraged the cheat: nay, pointed
my wishes, and my hopes, by yours, before I had dared (shall I say, or
condescended?) to own them to myself.

You may let that Greville know, if you please, that there is no room for
his If's, nor, of consequence, any for his menaces. You may own, that I
shall soon be in Northamptonshire. This may prevent his and Fenwick's
threatened journey to town.

But, Lucy, though my heart has been ever dutifully, as I may say, open to
the venerable domestic circle; though it would not have been an honest
heart, could it, circumstanced as I was, have concealed itself from Lady
D----; and must have been an impenetrable one indeed, if it could have
been disguised to the two sisters here--yet, I beseech you, my dear,
almost on my knees I beseech you, let not the audacious, the insulting
Greville, have ground given him to suspect a weakness in your Harriet,
which indelicate minds know not how to judge of delicately. For
sex-sake, for example-sake, Lucy, let it not be known, to any but the
partial, friendly few, that our grand-mamma Shirley's child, and aunt
Selby's niece, has been a volunteer in her affections. How many still
more forward girls would plead Mrs. Shirley's approbation of the hasty
affection, without considering the circumstances, and the object! So the
next girl that run away to a dancing-master, or an ensign, would reckon
herself one of Harriet's school.

Poor Mr. Orme! I am sorry he is not well. It is cruel in you, Lucy, at
this time, to say, (so undoubtingly,) that his illness is owing to his
love of me. You knew that such a suggestion would pain me. Heaven
restore Mr. Orme!

But I am vexed, as it cannot be to purpose, that Sir Charles Grandison
and I have been named together, and talked of, in your neighbourhood!--He
will be gone abroad. I shall return to Northamptonshire: and shall look
so silly! So like a refused girl!

'Every body gives me to him, you say'--So much the worse. I wonder what
business this every body has to trouble itself about me.

One consolation, however, I shall have in my return; and that is, in my
Nancy's recovered health; which was so precarious when I set out for
London.

But I shall have nothing to entertain you with when I am with you: Sir
Charles Grandison, Lord and Lady L----, Lady G----, (as now in three or
four days she will be), my dear Miss Jervois, Dr. Bartlett, will be all
my subject. And have I not exhausted that by pen and ink? O no! The
doctor promises to correspond with me; and he makes no doubt but Sir
Charles will correspond with him, as usual.

What can the unusually tender friendship be called which he professed for
me, and, as I may say, claimed in return from me? I know that he has no
notion of the love called Platonic. Nor have I: I think it, in general,
a dangerous allowance; and, with regard to our sex, a very unequal one;
since, while the man has nothing to fear, the woman has every thing, from
the privileges that may be claimed, in an acknowledged confidence,
especially in presence. Miss Grandison thus interprets what he said, and
strengthens her opinion by some of Dr. Bartlett's late intimations, that
he really loves me; but not being at liberty to avow his love, he knew
not what to say; and so went as near to a declaration as was possible to
do in his circumstances.

But might I not expect, from such a profession of friendship in Sir
Charles, an offer of correspondence in absence? And if he made the
offer, ought I to decline it? Would it not indicate too much on my side,
were I to do so?--And does it not on his, if he make not the offer? He
corresponds with Mrs. Beaumont: nobody thinks that any thing can be meant
by that correspondence on either side; because Mrs. Beaumont must be at
least forty; Sir Charles but six or seven and twenty: but if he makes not
the request to Harriet, who is but little more than twenty; what, after
such professions of a friendship so tender, will be inferred from his
forbearance?

But I shall puzzle myself, and you too, Lucy, if I go on with this sort
of reasoning; because I shall not know how to put all I mean into words.
Have I not already puzzled you? I think my expression is weak and
perplexed--But this offered and accepted friendship between two persons
not indelicate, must be perplexing; since he is the only young man in the
world, from whom a woman has no dishonour to fear.--Ah, Lucy!--It would
be vanity in me, would it not? to suppose that he had more to fear from
Harriet, than she has from him; as the virtue of either, I hope, is not
questionable? But the event of his Italian visit will explain and
reconcile every thing.

I will encourage a drowsy fit that seems to be stealing upon me. If I
have not written with the perspicuity I always aim at, allow, Lucy, for
the time of night; for spirits not high; and for the subject, that having
its delicacies, as well as uncertainties, I am not able to write clearly
upon it.



LETTER XIX

MISS BYRON.--IN CONTINUATION
SATURDAY NIGHT, APRIL 9.


Sir Charles is already returned: he arrived at Windsor on Friday morning;
but found that Lord W---- had set out the afternoon of the day before,
for the house of his friend Sir Joseph Lawrence, which is but fifteen
miles from Mansfield-house.

Upon this intelligence, Sir Charles, wanting to return to town as soon as
he could, followed him to the knight's: and having time enough himself to
reach Mansfield-house that night, he, by his uncle's consent, pursued his
journey thither; to the great joy of the family; who wished for his
personal introduction of my lord to Miss Mansfield.

My lord arrived by breakfast-time, unfatigued, and in high spirits: staid
at Mansfield-house all day; and promised so to manage, as to be in town
to-morrow, in order to be present at his niece's nuptials on Tuesday.

As for Sir Charles, he made the Mansfield family happy in his company the
whole Friday evening; inquiring into their affairs relating to the
oppression they lay under; pointing out measures for redress; encouraging
Miss Mansfield; and informing the brothers, that the lawyers he had
consulted on their deeds, told him, that a new trial might be hoped for;
the result of which, probably, would be a means to do them justice, so
powerfully protected and assisted as they would now be; for new lights
had broke in upon them, and they wanted but to recover a deed, which they
understood was in the hands of two gentlemen, named Hartley, who were but
lately returned from the Indies. Thus prepared, the Mansfields also were
in high spirits, the next morning; and looked, Sir Charles said, on each
other, when they met, as if they wanted to tell each other their
agreeable dreams.

Sir Charles, in his way, had looked in upon Sir Harry Beauchamp, and his
lady. He found Sir Harry in high spirits, expecting the arrival of his
son; who was actually landed from Calais, having met there his father's
letter, allowing him to return to England, and wishing in his own, and in
Lady Beauchamp's name, his speedy arrival.

Sir Charles's impatience to see his friend, permitted him only to
breakfast with my lord and the Mansfields; and to know the opinion each
party formed of the other, on this first interview; and then he set out
to Sir Harry Beauchamp's. What an activity!--Heaven reward him with the
grant of his own wishes, whatever they be, and make him the happiest of
men!

My lord is greatly taken with the lady, and her whole family. Well he
may, Sir Charles says. He blessed him, and called himself blessed in his
sister's son, for his recommendation of each to the other. The lady
thinks better of him, as her mother owned to Sir Charles, than she
thought she should, from report.

I begin to think, Lucy, that those who set out for happiness are most
likely to find it, when they live single till the age of fancy is over.
Those who marry while it lasts, are often disappointed of that which they
propose so largely to themselves: while those who wed for convenience,
and deal with tolerable honesty by each other, are at a greater
certainty. Tolerable, I repeat, since, it seems, we are to expect that
both parties will turn the best side of the old garment outward. Hence
arises consolation to old maidens, and cautions against precipitation--
Expatiate, my dear, on this fruitful subject: I would, were I at leisure.

Sir Charles says that he doubts not, but Lord W---- will be as happy a
man as he wishes to be, in less than a month.

The deuse is in this brother of mine, whispered Miss Grandison, to me,
for huddling up of marriages! He don't consider, that there may be two
chances for one, that his honest folks may in half a year's time, bless
him the contrary way.

Sir Charles told us, that he had desired Lord W---- to give out every
where (that the adversaries of the Mansfield family might know it) his
intended alliance; and that he and his nephew were both determined to
procure a retrospection of all former proceedings.

Sir Charles got to Sir Harry Beauchamp's a little before his friend
arrived. Sir Harry took him aside at his alighting, and told him, that
Lady Beauchamp had had clouds on her brow all the day, and he was afraid,
would not receive his son with the graciousness that once he hoped for
from her: but, that he left him to manage with her. She never, said he,
had so high an opinion either of man or woman as she has of you.

Sir Charles addressed himself to her, as not doubting her goodness upon
the foot of their former conversation; and praised her for the graces
that however appeared but faintly in her countenance, till his
compliments lighted them up, and made them shine full out in it. He told
her, that his sister and Lord G---- were to be married on the following
Tuesday. He himself, he said, should set out for Paris on Friday after:
but hoped to see a family intimacy begun between his sisters and Lady
Beauchamp; and between their lords, and Sir Harry, and Mr. Beauchamp. He
applauded her on the generosity of her intentions, as declared to him in
their former conference; and congratulated her on the power she had, of
which she made so noble an use, of laying, at the same time, an
obligation on the tenderest of husbands, and the most deserving of sons:
whose duty to her he engaged for.

All this set her in high good humour; and she took to herself, and
bridled upon it, to express myself in Charlotte's manner, the praises and
graces this adroit manager gave her, as if they were her unquestionable
due.

This agreeable way they were all in, Sir Harry transported with his
lady's goodness, when Mr. Beauchamp arrived.

The young gentleman bent his knee to his stepmother, as well as to his
father, and thanked her for the high favours his father had signified to
him by letter, that he owed to her goodness. She confirmed them; but,
Sir Charles observed, with an ostentation that shewed she thought very
highly of her own generosity.

They had a very cheerful evening. Not one cloud would hang on Lady
Beauchamp's brow, though once or twice it seemed a little overshadowed,
as Mr. Beauchamp displayed qualities for which his father was too ready
to admire him. Sir Charles thought it necessary to caution Sir Harry on
this subject; putting it in this light, that Lady Beauchamp loved her
husband so well, that she would be too likely to dread a rivalry in his
affections from a son so very accomplished. Sir Harry took the hint
kindly.

Mr. Beauchamp was under a good deal of concern at Sir Charles's
engagements to leave England so soon after his arrival; and asked his
father's leave to attend him. Sir Harry declared, that he could not part
with him. Sir Charles chid his friend, and said, it was not quite so
handsome a return as might have been expected from his Beauchamp, to the
joyful reception he had met with from his father, and Lady Beauchamp.
But she excused the young gentleman, and said, she wondered not, that
any body who was favoured with his friendship, should be unwilling to be
separated from him.

Sir Charles expresses great satisfaction in Mr. Beauchamp's being arrived
before his departure, that he may present to us, himself, a man with whom
he is sure we shall all be delighted, and leave him happy in the beloved
society which he himself is obliged to quit.

A repining temper, Lucy, would consider only the hardship of meeting a
long-absent friend, just to feel the uneasiness of a second parting: but
this man views every thing in a right light. When his own happiness is
not to be attained, he lays it out of his thoughts, and, as I have
heretofore observed, rejoices in that of others. It is a pleasure to see
how Sir Charles seems to enjoy the love which Dr. Bartlett expresses for
this friend of them both.

Sir Charles addressed himself to me, on several occasions, in so polite,
in so tender a manner, that every one told me afterwards, they are sure
he loves me. Dr. Bartlett at the time, as he sat next me, whispered, on
the regret expressed by all on losing him so soon--Ah, madam!--I know,
and pity, my patron's struggles!--Struggles, Lucy! What could the doctor
mean by this whisper to me? But I hope he guesses not at mine! If he
does, would he have whispered his pity of Sir Charles to me?--Come, Lucy,
this is some comfort, however; and I will endeavour to be brave upon it,
that I may not, by my weakness, lessen myself in the doctor's good
opinion.

It was agreed for Charlotte, (whose assent was given in these words--'Do
as you will--or, rather, as my brother will--What signifies opposing
him?') that the nuptials shall be solemnized, as privately as possible,
at St. George's church. The company is to drop in at different doors,
and with as few attendants as may be. Lord W----, the Earl of G----, and
Lady Gertrude, Lord and Lady L----, Miss Jervois, and your Harriet, are
to be present at the ceremony. I was very earnest to be excused, till
Miss Grandison, when we were alone, dropt down on one knee, and held up
her hands, to beg me to accompany her. Mr. Everard Grandison, if he can
be found, is to be also there, at Sir Charles's desire.

Dr. Bartlett, as I before hinted, at her earnest request, is to perform
the ceremony. Sir Charles wished it to be at his own parish-church: but
Miss Grandison thought it too near to be private. He was indifferent, as
to the place, he said--So it was at church; for he had been told of the
difficulty we had to get Charlotte to desist from having it performed in
her chamber; and seemed surprised.--Fie, Charlotte! said he--An office so
solemn!--Vows to receive and pay, as in the Divine Presence--

She was glad, she told me, that she had not left that battle to be fought
with him.


MONDAY, APRIL 10.

Lord W---- is come. Lord and Lady L---- are here. They, and Miss
Grandison, received him with great respect. He embraced his nieces in a
very affectionate manner. Sir Charles was absent. Lord W---- is in
person and behaviour a much more agreeable man than I expected him to be.
Nor is he so decrepit with the gout, as I had supposed. He is very
careful of himself, it seems. This world has been kind to him; and I
fancy he makes a great deal of a little pain, for want of stronger
exercises to his patience; and so is a sufferer by self-indulgence. Had
I not been made acquainted with his free living, and with the insults he
bore from Mrs. Giffard, with a spirit so poor and so low, I should have
believed I saw not only the man of quality, but the man of sense, in his
countenance. I endeavoured, however, as much as I could, to look upon
him as the brother of the late Lady Grandison. Had he been worthy of
that relation, how should I have reverenced him!

But whatever I thought of him, he was highly taken with me. He
particularly praised me for the modesty which he said was visible in my
countenance. Free-livers, Lucy, taken with that grace in a woman, which
they make it their pride to destroy! But all men, good and bad, admire
modesty in a woman: And I am sometimes out of humour with our sex, that
they do not as generally like modesty in men. I am sure that this grace,
in Sir Charles Grandison, is one of his principal glories with me. It
emboldens one's heart, and permits one to behave before him with ease;
and, as I may say, with security, in the consciousness of a right
intention.

But what were Lord W----'s praises of his nephew! He called him, the
glory of his sex, and of human nature. How the cheeks of the dear Emily
glowed at the praises given to her guardian!--She was the taller for
them: when she moved, it was on tiptoe; stealing as it were, across the
floor, lest she should lose any thing that was said on a subject so
delightful to her.

My lord was greatly pleased with her too. He complimented her as the
beloved ward of the best of guardians. He lamented, with us, the
occasion that called his nephew abroad. He was full of his own
engagements with Miss Mansfield, and declared that his nephew should
guide and govern him as he pleased in every material case, respecting
either the conduct of his future life, or the management and disposition
of his estate; declaring, that he had made his will, and, reserving only
his lady's jointure, and a few legacies, had left every thing to him.

How right a thing, even in policy, is it, my dear, to be good and
generous.

I must not forget, that my lord wished with all his soul, that was his
expression, that he might have the honour of giving to his nephew my hand
in marriage.

I could feel myself blush. I half-suppressed a sigh: I would have wholly
suppressed it, if I could. I recovered the little confusion, his too
plainly expressed wish gave me, by repeating to myself the word CLEMENTINA.

This Charlotte is a great coward. But I dare not tell her so, for fear
of a retort. I believe I should be as great a one in her circumstances,
so few hours to one of the greatest events of one's life! But I pretend
not to bravery: yet hope, that in the cause of virtue or honour I should
be found to have a soul.

I write now at my cousin's. I came hither to make an alteration in my
dress. I have promised to be with the sweet Bully early in the morning
of her important day.



LETTER XX

MISS BYRON.--IN CONTINUATION
TUESDAY NIGHT,    | APRIL 11, 12.
WEDNESDAY MORNING,|


Miss Grandison is no longer to be called by that name. She is Lady
G----. May she make Lord G---- as happy as I dare say he will make her,
if it be not her own fault!

I was early with her, according to promise. I found her more affected
than she was even last night with her approaching change of condition.
Her brother had been talking to her, she said; and had laid down the
duties of the state she was about to enter into, in such a serious
manner, and made the performance of them of so much importance to her
happiness both here and hereafter, that she was terrified at the thoughts
of what she was about to undertake. She had never considered matrimony
in that formidable light before. He had told her, that he was afraid of
her vivacity; yet was loath to discourage her cheerfulness, or to say
any thing that should lower her spirits. All he besought of her was, to
regard times, tempers, and occasions; and then it would be impossible but
her lively humour must give delight not only to the man whom she favoured
with her hand, but to every one who had the pleasure of approaching her.
If, Charlotte, said he, you would have the world around you respect your
husband, you must set the example. While the wife gives the least room
to suspect, that she despises her husband, she will find that she
subjects him to double contempt, if he resents it not; and if he does,
can you be happy? Aggressors lay themselves open to severe reprisals.
If you differ, you will be apt to make by-standers judges over you. They
will remember, when you are willing to forget; and your fame will be the
sport of those beneath you, as well in understanding as degree.

She believed, she told me, that Lord G---- had been making some
complaints of her. If he had--

Hush, my dear, said I--Not one word of threatening: are you more
solicitous to conceal your fault, than to amend it?

No--But you know, Harriet, for a man, before he has experienced what sort
of a wife I shall make, to complain against me for foibles in courtship,
when he can help himself if he will, has something so very little--

Your conscience, Charlotte, tells you, that he had reason for complaint;
and therefore you think he has complained. Think the best of Lord G----
for your own reputation's sake, since you thought fit to go thus far with
him. You have borne nothing from him: he has borne a great deal from
you.

I am fretful, Harriet; I won't be chidden: I will be comforted by you:
you shall sooth me: are you not my sister? She threw her arms round me,
and kissed my cheek.

I ventured to rally her, though I was afraid of her retort, and met with
it: but I thought it would divert her. I am glad, my dear, said I, that
you are capable of this tenderness of temper: you blustering girls--But
fear, I believe, will make cowards loving.

Harriet, said she, and flung from me to the window, remember this: may I
soon see you in the same situation! I will then have no mercy upon you.


The subject, which Sir Charles led to at breakfast, was the three
weddings of Thursday last. He spoke honourably of marriage, and made
some just compliments to Lord and Lady L----; concluding them with
wishes, that his sister Charlotte and Lord G---- might be neither more
nor less happy than they were. Then turning to Lord W----, he said, he
questioned not his lordship's happiness with the lady he had so lately
seen; for I cannot doubt, said he, of your lordship's affectionate
gratitude to her, if she behaves, as I am sure she will.

My lord had tears in his eyes. Never man had such a nephew as I have,
said he. All the joy of my present prospects, all the comforts of my
future life, are and will be owing to you.

Here had he stopt, it would have been well: but turning to me, he
unexpectedly said, Would to God, madam, that you could reward him! I
cannot; and nobody else can.

All were alarmed for me; every eye was upon me. A sickishness came over
my heart--I know not how to describe it. My head sunk upon my bosom. I
could hardly sit; yet was less able to rise.

Sir Charles's face was overspread with blushes. He bowed to my lord.
May the man, said he, who shall have the honour to call Miss Byron his,
be, if possible, as deserving as she is! Then will they live together
the life of angels.

He gracefully looked down; not at me; and I got a little courage to look
up: yet Lady L---- was concerned for me: so was Lord L----: Emily's eye
dropt a tear upon her blushing cheek.

Was it not, Lucy, a severe trial?--Indeed it was.

My Lord, to mend the matter, lamented very pathetically, that Sir Charles
was under an obligation to go abroad; and still more, that he could not
stay to be present at the celebration of his nuptials with Miss
Mansfield.

The Earl, Lord G----, Lady Gertrude, and the doctor, were to meet the
bride and us at church. Lord and Lady L----, Sir Charles, and Emily,
went in one coach: Miss Grandison and I in another.

As we went, I don't like this affair at all, Harriet, said she. My
brother has long made all other men indifferent to me. Such an infinite
difference!

Can any body be happier than Lord and Lady L----, Charlotte? Yet Lady
L---- admires her brother as much as you can do.

They happy!--And so they are. But Lady L----, soft soul! fell in love
with Lord L---- before my brother came over. So the foundation was laid:
and it being a first flame with her, she, in compliment to herself, could
not but persevere. But the sorry creature Anderson, proving a sorry
creature, made me despise the sex: and my brother's perfections
contributed to my contempt of all other men.

Indeed, my dear, you are wrong. Lord G---- loves you: but were Sir
Charles not your brother, it is not very certain, that he would have
returned your love.

Why, that's true. I believe he would not, in that case, have chosen me.
I am sure he would not, if he had known you: but for the man one loves,
one can do any thing, be every thing, that he would wish one to be.

Do you think you cannot love Lord G----? For Heaven's sake, Charlotte,
though you are now almost within sight of the church, do not think of
giving your hand, if you cannot resolve to make Lord G---- as happy, as I
have no doubt he will make you, if it be not your own fault.

What will my brother say? What will--

Leave that to me. I will engage Sir Charles and Dr. Bartlett to lend me
their ear in the vestry; and I am sure your brother, if he knows that you
have an antipathy to Lord G----, or that you think you cannot be happy
with him, will undertake your cause, and bring you off.

Antipathy! That's a strong word, Harriet. The man is a good-natured
silly man--

Silly! Charlotte!--Silly then he must be for loving you so well, who,
really, have never yet given him an opportunity to shew his importance
with you.

I do pity him sometimes.

The coach stopt:--Ah, Lord! Harriet! The church! The church!

Say, Charlotte, before you step out--Shall I speak to your brother, and
Dr. Bartlett, in the vestry?

I shall look like a fool either way.

Don't act like one, Charlotte, on this solemn occasion. Say, you will
deserve, that you will try to deserve, Lord G----'s love.

Sir Charles appeared. Lord help me!--My brother!--I'll try, I'll try,
what can be done.

He gave each his hand in turn: in we flew: the people began to gather
about us. Lord G---- all rapture, received her at the entrance. Sir
Charles led me: and the Earl and Lady Gertrude received us with joy in
their countenances. I overheard the naughty one say, as Lord G---- led
her up to the altar, You don't know what you are about, man. I expect to
have all my way: remember that's one of my articles before marriage.

He returned her an answer of fond assent to her condition. I am afraid,
thought I, poor Lord G----, you will be more than once reminded of this
previous article.

When she was led to the altar, and Lord G---- and she stood together, she
trembled. Leave me not, Harriet, said she.--Brother! Lady L----!

I am sure she looked sillier than Lord G---- at that instant.

The good doctor began the office. No dearly beloveds, Harriet! whispered
she, as I had said, on a really terrible occasion. I was offended with
her in my heart: again she whispered something against the office, as the
doctor proceeded to give the reasons for the institution. Her levity did
not forsake her even at that solemn moment.

When the service was over, every one (Sir Charles in a solemn and most
affectionate manner) wished her happy. My Lord G---- kissed her hand
with a bent knee.

She took my hand. Ah! Lord, what have I done?--And am I married?
whispered she--And can it never be undone?--And is that the man, to whom
I am to be obedient?--Is he to be my lord and master?

Ah, Lady G----, said I, it is a solemn office. You have vowed: he has
vowed.--It is a solemn office.

Lord G---- led her to the first coach. Sir Charles led me into the same.
The people, to my great confusion, whispered. That's the bride! What a
charming couple! Sir Charles handed Miss Emily next. Lord G---- came
in: as he was entering, Harkee, friend, said Charlotte, and put out her
hand, you mistake the coach: you are not of our company.

The whole world, replied my lord, shall not now divide us: and took his
seat on the same side with Emily.

The man's a rogue, Harriet, whispered she: See! He gives himself airs
already!

This, said Lord G---- as the coach drove on, taking one hand, and eagerly
kissing it, is the hand that blessed me.

And that, said she, pushing him from her with the other, is the hand that
repulses your forwardness. What came you in here for?--Don't be silly.

He was in raptures all the way.

When we came home, every one embraced and wished joy to the bride. The
Earl and Lady Gertrude were in high spirits. The lady re-saluted her
niece, as her dear niece: the earl recognised his beloved daughter.

But prepare to hear a noble action of Lord W----.

When he came up to compliment her--My dearest niece, said he, I wish you
joy with all my soul. I have not been a kind uncle. There is no
fastening any thing on your brother. Accept of this: [and he put a
little paper into her hand--It was a banknote of 1,000£.:] My sister's
daughter, and your brother's sister, merits more than this.

Was not this handsomely presented, Lucy?

He then, in a manner becoming Lady Grandison's brother, stept to Lady
L----. My niece Charlotte is not my only niece. I wish you, my dear, as
if this was your day of marriage, all happiness; accept these two papers:
[The one, Lucy, was a note for 1,000£. and the other for 100£.:] and he
said, The lesser note is due to you for interest on the greater.

When the ladies opened their notes, and saw what they were, they were at
first at a loss what to say.

It was most gracefully done. But see, Lucy, the example of a good and
generous man can sometimes alter natures; and covetous men, I have heard
it observed, when their hearts are opened, often act nobly.

As soon as Lady G---- (so now I must call her) recovered herself from the
surprise into which my lord's present and address had put her, she went
to him: Allow me, my lord, said she, and bent one knee to him, to crave
your blessing; and at the same time to thank you for your paternal
present to your ever obliged Charlotte.

God bless you, my dear! saluting her--But thank your noble brother: you
delight me with your graceful acceptance.

Lady L---- came up. My Lord, you overcome me by your bounty.--How shall
I--

Your brother's princely spirit, Lady L----, said he, makes this present
look mean. Forgive me only, that it was not done before. And he saluted
her.

Lord L---- came up. Lady L---- shewed him the opened notes--See here, my
lord, said she, what Lord W---- has done: and he calls this the interest
due on that.

Your lordship oppresses me with your goodness to your niece, said Lord
L----. May health, long-life, and happiness, attend you in your own
nuptials!

There, there, said Lord W----, pointing to Sir Charles, (who had
withdrawn, and then entered), make your acknowledgment: his noble spirit
has awakened mine; it was only asleep. My late sister's brother wanted
but the force of such an example. That son is all his mother.

Sir Charles joining them, having heard only the last words--If I am
thought a son not unworthy of the most excellent of mothers, said he, and
by her brother, I am happy.

Then you are happy, replied my lord.

Her memory, resumed Sir Charles, I cherish; and when I have been tempted
to forget myself, that memory has been a means of keeping me steady in my
duty. Her precepts, my lord, were the guide of my early youth. Had I
not kept them in mind, how much more blamable than most young men had I
been!--My Charlotte! Have that mother in your memory, on this great
change of your condition! You will not be called to her trials.--His
eyes glistened. Tender be our remembrance of my father.--Charlotte, be
worthy of your mother.

He withdrew with an air so noble!--But soon returning, with a cheerful
look, he was told what Lord W---- had done--Your lordship was before,
said he, entitled to our duty, by the ties of blood: but what is the
relation of body to that of mind? You have bound me for my sisters, and
that still more by the manner, than by the act, in a bond of gratitude
that never can be broken!

Thank yourself, thank yourself, my noble nephew.

Encourage, my lord, a family intimacy between your lady, and her nieces
and nephews. You will be delighted, my sisters, with Miss Mansfield; but
when she obliges my lord with her hand, you will reverence your aunt. I
shall have a pleasure, when I am far distant, in contemplating the family
union. Your lordship must let me know your Day in time; and I will be
joyful upon it, whatever, of a contrary nature, I may have to struggle
with on my own account.

My lord wept--My lord wept, did I say?--Not one of us had a dry eye!--
This was a solemn scene, you will say, for a wedding day: but how
delightfully do such scenes dilate the heart!

The day, however, was not forgotten as a day of festivity. Sir Charles
himself, by his vivacity and openness of countenance, made every one
joyful: and, except that now and then a sigh, which could not be checked,
stole from some of us, to think that he would so soon be in another
country, (far distant from the friends he now made happy,) and engaged in
difficulties; perhaps in dangers; every heart was present to the occasion
of the day.

O, Charlotte! Dear Lady G----! Hitherto, it is in your power, to make
every future day, worthy of this!--'Have your mother, your noble mother,
in your memory, my dear:' and give credit to the approbation of such a
brother.

I should have told you, that my cousins Reeves came about two, and were
received with the utmost politeness by every body.

Sir Charles was called out just before dinner; and returned introducing a
young gentleman, dressed as if for the day--This is an earlier favour,
than I had hoped for, said Sir Charles; and leading him to Lady G----.
This, sir, is the queen of the day. My dear Lady G----, welcome (the
house is yours--welcome) the man I love: welcome my Beauchamp.

Every one, except Emily and me, crowded about Mr. Beauchamp, as Sir
Charles's avowedly beloved friend, and bid him cordially welcome: Sir
Charles presenting him to each by name.

Then leading him to me--I am half ashamed, Lucy, to repeat--But take it
as he spoke it--Revere, said he, my dear friend, that excellent young
lady: but let not your admiration stop at her face and person: she has a
mind as exalted, my Beauchamp, as your own: Miss Byron, in honour to my
sister, and of us all, has gilded this day by her presence.

Mr. Beauchamp approached me with polite respect. The lady whom Sir
Charles Grandison admires, as he does you, must be the first of women.

I might have said, that he, who was so eminently distinguished as the
friend of Sir Charles Grandison, must be a most valuable man: but my
spirits were not high. I courtesied to his compliment; and was silent.

Sir Charles presented Emily to him.--My Emily, Beauchamp. I hope to live
to see her happily married. The man whose heart is but half so worthy as
hers, must be an excellent man.

Modesty might look up, and be sensible to compliments from the lips of
such a man. Emily looked at me with pleasure, as if she had said, Do you
hear, madam, what a fine thing my guardian has said of me?

Sir Charles asked Mr. Beauchamp, how he stood with my Lady Beauchamp?

Very well, answered he. After such an introduction as you had given me
to her, I must have been to blame, had I not. She is my father's wife: I
must respect her, were she ever so unkind to me: she is not without good
qualities. Were every family so happy as to have Sir Charles Grandison
for a mediator when misunderstandings happened, there would be very few
lasting differences among relations. My father and mother tell me, that
they never sit down to table together, but they bless you: and to me they
have talked of nobody else: but Lady Beauchamp depends upon your promise
of making her acquainted with the ladies of your family.

My sisters, and their lords, will do honour to my promise in my absence.
Lady L----, Lady G----, let me recommend to you Lady Beauchamp as more
than a common visiting acquaintance. Do you, sir, to Mr. Beauchamp, see
it cultivated.

Mr. Beauchamp is an agreeable, and, when Sir Charles Grandison is not in
company, a handsome and genteel man. I think, my dear, that I do but the
same justice that every body would do, in this exception. He is
cheerful, lively, yet modest, and not too full of words. One sees both
love and respect in every look he casts upon his friend; and that he is
delighted when he hears him speak, be the subject what it will.

He once said to Lord W----, who praised his nephew to him, as he does to
everybody near him; The universal voice, my lord, is in his favour
wherever he goes. Every one joins almost in the same words, in different
countries, allowing for the different languages, that for sweetness of
manners, and manly dignity, he hardly ever had his equal.

Sir Charles was then engaged in talk with his Emily; she before him; he
standing in an easy genteel attitude, leaning against the wainscot,
listening, smiling, to her prattle, with looks of indulgent love, as a
father might do to a child he was fond of; while she looked back every
now and then towards me, so proud, poor dear! of being singled out by her
guardian.

She tript to me afterwards, and, leaning over my shoulder, as I sat,
whispered--I have been begging of my guardian to use his interest with
you, madam, to take me down with you to Northamptonshire.

And what is the result?

She paused.

Has he denied your request?

No, madam.

Has he allowed you to go, my dear, if I comply, turning half round to her
with pleasure.

She paused, and seemed at a loss. I repeated my question.

Why, no, he has not consented neither--But he said such charming things,
so obliging, so kind, both of you, and of me, that I forgot my question,
though it was so near my heart: but I will ask him again.

And thus, Lucy, can he decline complying, and yet send away a requester
so much delighted with him, as to forget what her request was.

Miss Grandison--Lady G----, I would say--singled me out soon after--This
Beauchamp is really a very pretty fellow, Harriet.

He is an agreeable man, answered I.

So I think. She said no more of him at that time.

Between dinner and tea, at Lady L----'s motion, they made me play on the
harpsichord; and after one lesson, they besought Sir Charles to sing to
my playing. He would not, he said, deny any request that was made him on
that day.

He sung. He has a mellow manly voice, and great command of it.

This introduced a little concert. Mr. Beauchamp took the violin; Lord
L---- the bass-viol; Lord G---- the German flute; and most of the company
joined in the chorus. The song was from 'Alexander's Feast:' the words;

      Happy, happy, happy pair!
      None but the good deserves the fair:

Sir Charles, though himself equally brave and good, preferring the latter
word to the former.

Lady L---- had always insisted upon dancing at her sister's wedding. We
were not company enough for country dances: but music having been
ordered, and the performers come, it was insisted upon that we should
have a dance, though we were engaged in a conversation that I thought
infinitely more agreeable.

Lord G---- began by dancing a minuet with his bride: she danced
charmingly: but on my telling her so afterwards, she whispered me, that
she should have performed better, had she danced with her brother. Lord
G---- danced extremely well.

Lord L---- and Lady Gertrude, Mr. Beauchamp and Mrs. Reeves, Mr. Reeves
and Lady L---- danced all of them very agreeably.

The earl took me out: but we had hardly done, when, asking pardon for
disgracing me, as he too modestly expressed himself; he, and all but my
cousins and Emily, called out for Sir Charles to dance with me.

I was abashed at the general voice calling upon us both: but it was
obeyed.

He deserved all the praises that Miss Gran--Lady G----, I would say,
gave him in her letter to me.

Lord bless me, my dear, this man is every thing! But his conversation
has ever been among the politest people of different nations.

Lord W---- wished himself able, from his gout, to take out Miss Jervois.

The bridegroom was called upon by Sir Charles: and he took out the good
girl, who danced very prettily. I fancied, that he chose to call out
Lord G---- rather than Mr. Beauchamp. He is the most delicate and
considerate of men.

Sir Charles was afterwards called upon by the bride herself: and she
danced then with a grace indeed! I was pleased that she could perform so
well at her own wedding.

Supper was not ready till twelve. Mr. Reeves's coach came about that
hour; but we got not away till two.

Perhaps the company would not have broke up so soon, had not the bride
been perverse, and refused to retire.

Was she not at home? she asked Lady L----, who was put upon urging her:
and should she leave her company?

She would make me retire with her. She took a very affectionate leave of
me.

Marriage, Lucy, is an awful rite. It is supposed to be a joyful
solemnity: but, on the woman's side, it can be only so when she is given
to the man she loves above all the men in the world; and, even to her,
the anniversary day, when doubt is turned into certainty, must be much
happier than the day itself.

What a victim must that woman look upon herself to be, who is compelled,
or even over-persuaded, to give her hand to a man who has no share in her
heart? Ought not a parent or guardian, in such a circumstance,
especially if the child has a delicate, an honest mind, to be chargable
with all the unhappy consequences that may follow from such a cruel
compulsion?

But this is not the case with Miss Grandison. Early she cast her eye on
an improper object. Her pride convinced her in time of the impropriety.
And this, as she owns, gave her an indifference to all men.

She hates not Lord G----. There is no man whom she prefers to him. And
in this respect, may perhaps, be upon a par with eight women out of
twelve, who marry, and yet make not bad wives.

As she played with her passion till she lost it, she may be happy, if she
will: and since she intended to be, some time or other, Lady G----, her
brother was kind in persuading her to shorten her days of coquetting and
teasing, and allow him to give her to Lord G---- before he went abroad.



LETTER XXI

MISS BYRON.--IN CONTINUATION
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 12.


Dr. Bartlett was so good as to breakfast with my cousins and me this
morning. He talks of setting out for Grandison-hall on Saturday or
Monday next. We have settled a correspondence; and he gives me hope,
that he will make me a visit in Northamptonshire. I know you will all
rejoice to see him.

Emily came in before the doctor went. She brought me the compliments of
the bride, and Lord W----, with their earnest request, that I would dine
with them. Sir Charles was gone, she said, to make a farewell visit to
the Danby set; but would be at home at dinner.

It would be better for me, I think, Lucy, to avoid all opportunities of
seeing him: Don't you think so?--There is no such thing as seeing him
with indifference. But, so earnestly invited, how could I deny;
especially as my cousins were inclinable to go?

Miss Jervois whispered me at parting. I never before, said she, had an
opportunity to observe the behaviour of a new-married couple to each
other: but is it customary, madam, for the bride to be more snappish, as
the bridegroom is more obliging?

Lady G---- is very naughty, my dear, if she so behaves, as to give you
reason to ask this question.

She does: and, upon my word, I see more obedience where it was not
promised, than where it was. Dear madam, is not what is said at church
to be thought of afterwards? But why did not the doctor make her speak
out? What signified bowing, except a woman was so bashful that she could
not speak?

The bowing, my dear, is an assent. It is as efficacious as words. Lord
G---- only bowed, you know. Could you like to be called upon, Emily, to
speak out?

Why, no. But then I would be very civil and good-natured to my husband,
if it were but for fear he should be cross to me: but I should think it
my duty as well

Sweet innocent!

She went away, and left the doctor with me.

When our hearts are set upon a particular subject, how impertinent, how
much beside the purpose, do we think every other! I wanted the doctor to
talk of Sir Charles Grandison: but as he fell not into the subject, and
as I was afraid he would think me to be always leading him into it, if I
began it, I suffered him to go away at his first motion: I never knew him
so shy upon it, however.

Sir Charles returned to dinner. He has told Lady L----, who afterwards
told us, that he had a hint from Mr. Galliard, senior, that if he were
not engaged in his affections, he was commissioned to make him a very
great proposal in behalf of one of the young ladies he had seen the
Thursday before; and that from her father.

Surely, Lucy, we may pronounce without doubt, that we live in an age in
which there is a great dearth of good men, that so many offers fall to
the lot of one. But, I am thinking, 'tis no small advantage to Sir
Charles, that his time is so taken up, that he cannot stay long enough in
any company to suffer them to cast their eyes on other objects, with
distinction. He left the numerous assembly at Enfield, while they were
in the height of their admiration of him. Attention, love, admiration,
cannot be always kept at the stretch. You will observe, Lucy, that on
the return of a long-absent dear friend, the rapture lasts not more than
an hour: gladdened, as the heart is, the friend received, and the friends
receiving, perhaps in less than that time, can sit down quietly together,
to hear and to tell stories, of what has happened to either in the long
regretted absence. It will be so with us, Lucy, when I return to the
arms of my kind friends: and now, does not Sir Charles's proposed journey
to Italy endear his company to us?

The Earl of G----, Lady Gertrude, and two agreeable nieces of that
nobleman's, were here at dinner. Lady G---- behaved pretty well to her
lord before them: but I, who understood the language of her eyes, saw
them talk very saucily to him, on several occasions. My lord is a little
officious in his obligingness; which takes off from that graceful, that
polite frankness, which so charmingly, on all occasions, distinguishes
one happy man, who was then present. Lord G---- will perhaps appear more
to advantage in that person's absence.

Mr. Beauchamp was also present. He is indeed an agreeable, a modest
young man. He appeared to great advantage, as well in his conversation,
as by his behaviour: and not the less for subscribing in both to the
superiority of his friend; who, nevertheless, endeavoured to draw him out
as the first man.

After dinner, Lady L----, Lady G----, and I, found an opportunity to be
by ourselves for one half hour. Lady G---- asked Lady L---- what she
intended to do with the thousand pounds with which Lord W---- had so
generously presented her?--Do with it, my dear!--What do you think I
intend to do with it?--It is already disposed of.

I'll be hanged, said Lady G----, if this good creature has not given it
to her husband.

Indeed, Charlotte, I have. I gave it to him before I slept.

I thought so! She laughed--And Lord L---- took it! Did he?

To be sure he did. I should otherwise have been displeased with him.

Dear, good soul!--And so you gave him a thousand pounds to take part of
it back from him, by four or five paltry guineas at a time, at his
pleasure?

Lord L---- and I, Charlotte, have but one purse. You may not perhaps,
know how we manage it?

Pray, good, meek, dependent creature! how do you manage it?

Thus, Charlotte: My lord knows that his wife and he have but one
interest; and from the first of our happy marriage, he would make me take
one key, as he has another, of the private drawer, where his money and
money-bills lie. There is a little memorandum-book in the drawer, in
which he enters on one page, the money he receives; on the opposite, the
money he takes out: and when I want money, I have recourse to my key. If
I see but little in the drawer, I am the more moderate; or, perhaps, if
my want is not urgent, defer the supplying of it till my lord is richer:
but, little or much, I minute down the sum, as he himself does; and so we
know what we are about; and I never put it out of my lord's power, by my
unseasonable expenses, to preserve that custom of his, for which he is as
much respected, as well served; not to suffer a demand to be twice made
upon him where he is a debtor.

Good soul!--And, pray, don't you minute down, too, the use to which you
put the money you take out?

Indeed I often do: always, indeed, when I take out more than five guineas
at one time: I found my lord did so: and I followed the example of my own
accord.

Happy pair! said I.--O Lady G----, what a charming example is this!--I
hope you'll follow it.

Thank you, Harriet, for your advice. Why, I can't but say, that this is
one pretty way of coaxing each other into frugality: but don't you think,
that where an honest pair are so tender of disobliging, and so studious
of obliging each other, that they seem to confess that the matrimonial
good understanding hangs by very slender threads?

And do not the tenderest friendships, said I, hang by as slender? Can
delicate minds be united to each other but by delicate observances?

Why thou art a good soul, too, Harriet!--And so you would both have me
make a present to Lord G---- of my thousand pounds before we have chosen
our private drawer; before he has got two keys made to it?

Let him know, Charlotte, what Lord L---- and I do, if you think the
example worth following--And then--

Ay, and then give him my thousand pounds for a beginning, Lady L----?
But see you not that this proposal should come from him, not from me?--
And should we not let each other see a little of each other's merits
first?

See, first, the merits of the man you have married, Charlotte!

Yes, Lady L----. But yesterday married, you know. Can there be a
greater difference between any two men in the world, than there often is
between the same man, a lover, and a husband?--And now, my generous
advisers, be pleased to continue silent. You cannot answer me fairly.
And besides, wot ye not the indelicacy of an early present, which you are
not obliged to make?

We were both silent, each expecting the other to answer the strange
creature.

She laughed at us both. Soft souls, and tender! said she, let me tell
you, that there is more indelicacy in delicacy, than you very delicate
people are aware of.

You, Charlotte, said Lady L----, have odder notions than any body else.
Had you been a man, you would have been a sad rake.

A rake, perhaps, I might have been; but not a sad one, Lady L----.

Lady G---- can't help being witty, said I: it is sometimes her
misfortune, sometimes ours, that she cannot: however, I highly approve of
the example set by Lord L----, and followed by Lady L----.

And so do I, Harriet. And when Lord G---- sets the example, I shall--
consider of it. I am not a bad economist. Had I ten thousand pounds in
my hands, I would not be extravagant: had I but one hundred, I would not
be mean. I value not money but as it enables me to lay an obligation,
instead of being under the necessity of receiving one. I am my mother's
daughter, and brother's sister; and yours, Lady L----, in this
particular; and yours too, Harriet: different means may be taken to
arrive at the same end. Lord G---- will have no reason to be
dissatisfied with my prudence in money-matters, although I should not
make him one of my best courtesies, as if--as if--(and she laughed; but
checking herself)--I were conscious--again she laughed--that I had signed
and sealed to my absolute dependence on his bounty.

What a mad creature! said Lady L----: But, my Harriet, don't you think
that she behaved pretty well to Lord G---- at table?

Yes, answered I, as those would think who observe not her arch looks: but
she gave me pain for her several times; and, I believe, her brother was
not without his apprehensions.

He had his eyes upon you, Harriet, replied Lady G----, more earnestly
than he had upon me, or any body else.

That's true, said Lady L----. I looked upon both him and you, my dear,
with pity. My tears were ready to start more than once, to reflect how
happy you two might be in each other, and how greatly you would love each
other, were it not----

Not one word more on this subject, dear Lady L----! I cannot bear it. I
thought my-self, that he often cast an eye of tenderness upon me. I
cannot bear it. I am afraid of myself; of my justice--

His tender looks did not escape me, said Lady G----. Nor yet did my dear
Harriet's. But we will not touch this string: it is too tender a one.
I, for my part, was forced, in order to divert myself, to turn my eyes on
Lord G----. He got nothing by that. The most officious--

Nay, Lady G----, interrupted I, you shall not change the discourse at the
expense of the man you have vowed to honour. I will be pained myself, by
the continuation of the former subject, rather than that shall be.

Charming Harriet! said Lady L----. I hope your generosity will be
rewarded. Yet tell me, my dear, can you wish Lady Clementina may be his?
I have no doubt but you wish her recovery; but can you wish her to be
his?

I have debated the matter, my dear Lady L----, with myself. I am sorry
it has admitted of debate: so excellent a creature! Such an honour to
her sex! So nobly sincere! So pious!--But I will confess the truth: I
have called upon justice to support me in my determination: I have
supposed myself in her situation, her unhappy malady excepted: I have
supposed her in mine: and ought I then to have hesitated to which to give
the preference?--Yet--

What yet, most frank, and most generous of women? said Lady L----,
clasping her arms about me: what yet--

Why, yet-Ah, ladies--Why, yet, I have many a pang, many a twitch, as I
may call it!--Why is your brother so tender-hearted, so modest, so
faultless!--Why did he not insult me with his pity? Why does he on every
occasion shew a tenderness for me, that is more affecting than pity? And
why does he give me a consequence that exalts, while it depresses me?

I turned my head aside to hide my emotion--Lady G---- snatched my
handkerchief from me; and wiped away a starting tear; and called me by
very tender names.

Am I dear, continued I, to the heart of such a man? You think I am.
Allow me to say, that he is indeed dear to mine: yet I have not a wish
but for his happiness, whatever becomes of me.

Emily appeared at the door--May I come in, ladies?--I will come in!--My
dear Miss Byron affected! My dear Miss Byron in tears!

Her pity, without knowing the cause, sprung to her eyes. She took my
hand in both hers, and repeatedly kissed it!--My guardian asks for you.
O with what tenderness of voice--Where is your Miss Byron, love? He
calls every one by gentle names, when he speaks of you--His voice then is
the voice of love--Love, said he to me! Through you, madam, he will love
his ward--And on your love will I build all my merit. But you sigh, dear
Miss Byron! you sigh--Forgive your prating girl!--You must not be
grieved.

I embraced her. Grief, my dear, reaches not my heart at this time. It
is the merit of your guardian that affects me.

God bless you, madam, for your gratitude to my guardian!

A Clementina and a Harriet! said Lady L----, two women so excellent!
What a fate is his! How must his heart be divided!

Divided, say you, Lady L----! resumed Lady G----. The man who loves
virtue, for virtue's sake, loves it wherever he finds it: Such a man may
distinguish more virtuous women than one: and if he be of a gentle and
beneficent nature, there will be tenderness in his distinction to every
one, varying only according to the difference of circumstance and
situation.

Let me embrace you, my Charlotte! resumed Lady L----. for that thought.
Don't let me hear, for a month to come, one word from the same lips, that
may be unworthy of it.

You have Lord G---- in your head, Lady L----: but never mind us. He must
now and then be made to look about him. I'll take care to keep up my
consequence with him, never fear: nor shall he have reason to doubt the
virtue of his wife.

Virtue, my dear! said I: What is virtue only? She who will not be
virtuous for virtue's sake, is not worthy to be called a woman: but she
must be something more than virtuous for her husband's, nay, for her
vow's sake. Complacency, obligingness--

Obedience too, I warrant--Hush, hush, my sweet Harriet! putting her hand
before my mouth, we will behave as well as we can: and that will be very
well, if nobody minds us. And now let us go down together.



LETTER XXII

MISS BYRON.--IN CONTINUATION
THURSDAY, APRIL 13.


We played at cards last night till supper-time. When that was over,
every one sought to engage Sir Charles in discourse. I will give you
some particulars of our conversation, as I did of one before.

Lord W---- began it with a complaint of the insolence and profligateness
of servants. What he said, was only answered by Sir Charles, with the
word Example, example, my good lord, repeated.

You, Sir Charles, replied my lord, may indeed insist upon the force of
example; for I cannot but observe, that all those of yours, whom I have
seen, are entitled to regard. They have the looks of men at ease, and of
men grateful for that ease: they know their duty, and need not a
reminding look. A servant of yours, Sir Charles, looks as if he would
one day make a figure as a master. How do you manage it?

Perhaps I have been peculiarly fortunate in worthy servants. There is
nothing in my management deserving the attention of this company.

I am going to begin the world anew, nephew. Hitherto, servants have been
a continual plague to me. I must know how you treat them.

I treat them, my lord, as necessary parts of my family. I have no
secrets, the keeping or disclosing of which might give them
self-importance. I endeavour to set them no bad example. I am never
angry with them but for wilful faults: if those are not habitual, I shame
them into amendment, by gentle expostulation and forgiveness. If they
are not capable of a generous shame, and the faults grow habitual, I part
with them; but with such kindness, as makes their fellow-servants blame
them, and take warning. I am fond of seeking occasions to praise them:
and even when they mistake, if it be with a good intention, they have my
approbation of the intention, and my endeavours to set them right as to
the act. Sobriety is an indispensable qualification for my service; and
for the rest, if we receive them not quite good, we make them better than
they were before. Generally speaking, a master may make a servant what
he pleases. Servants judge by example, rather than precept, and almost
always by their feelings. One thing more permit me to add; I always
insist upon my servants being kind and compassionate to one another. A
compassionate heart cannot habitually be an unjust one. And thus do I
make their good-nature contribute to my security, as well as quiet.

My lord was greatly pleased with what his nephew said.

Upon some occasion, Lady G---- reflected upon a lady for prudery, and was
going on, when Sir Charles, interrupting her, said, Take care, Lady
G----. You, ladies, take care; for I am afraid, that MODESTY, under this
name, will become ignominious, and be banished the hearts, at least the
behaviour and conversation, of all those whose fortunes or inclinations
carry them often to places of public resort.

Talk of places of public resort! said Lord L----: It is vexatious to
observe at such, how men of real merit are neglected by the fine ladies
of the age, while every distinction is shewn to fops and foplings.

But, who, my lord, said Sir Charles, are those women? Are they not
generally of a class with those men? Flippant women love empty men,
because they cannot reproach them with a superiority of understanding,
but keep their folly in countenance. They are afraid of a wise man: but
I would by no means have such a one turn fool to please them: for they
will despise the wise man's folly more than the silly man's, and with
reason; because being uncharacteristic, it must sit more awkwardly upon
him than the other's can do.

Yet wisdom itself, and the truest wisdom, goodness, said Mrs. Reeves, is
sometimes thought to sit ungracefully, when it is uncharacteristic, not
to the man, but to the times. She then named a person who was branded as
a hypocrite, for performing all his duties publicly.

He will be worse spoken of, if he declines doing so, said Dr. Bartlett.
His enemies will add the charge of cowardice; and not acquit him of the
other.

Lady Gertrude being withdrawn, it was mentioned as a wonder, that so
agreeable a woman, as she must have been in her youth, and still was for
her years, should remain single. Lord G---- said, that she had had many
offers: and once, before she was twenty, had like to have stolen a
wedding: but her fears, he said, since that, had kept her single.

The longer, said Sir Charles, a woman remains unmarried, the more
apprehensive she will be of entering into the state. At seventeen or
eighteen a girl will plunge into it, sometimes without either fear or
wit; at twenty she will begin to think; at twenty-four will weigh and
discriminate; at twenty-eight will be afraid of venturing; at thirty will
turn about, and look down the hill she has ascended; and, as occasions
offer, and instances are given, will sometimes repent, sometimes rejoice,
that she has gained that summit sola.

Indeed, said Mrs. Reeves, I believe in England many a poor girl goes up
the hill with a companion she would little care for, if the state of a
single woman were not here so peculiarly unprovided and helpless: for
girls of slender fortunes, if they have been genteelly brought up, how
can they, when family connexions are dissolved, support themselves? A
man can rise in a profession, and if he acquires wealth in a trade, can
get above it, and be respected. A woman is looked upon as demeaning
herself, if she gains a maintenance by her needle, or by domestic
attendance on a superior; and without them where has she a retreat?

You speak, good Mrs. Reeves, said Sir Charles, as if you would join with
Dr. Bartlett and me in wishing the establishment of a scheme we have
often talked over, though the name of it would make many a lady start.
We want to see established in every county, Protestant Nunneries, in
which single women of small or no fortunes might live with all manner of
freedom, under such regulations as it would be a disgrace for a modest or
good woman not to comply with, were she absolutely on her own hands; and
to be allowed to quit it whenever they pleased.

Well, brother, said Lady G----, and why could you not have got all this
settled a fortnight ago, (you that can carry every point,) and have made
poor me a lady abbess?

You are still better provided for, my sister. But let the doctor and me
proceed with our scheme. The governesses or matrons of the society I
would have to be women of family, of unblamable characters from infancy,
and noted equally for their prudence, good-nature, and gentleness of
manners. The attendants, for the slighter services, should be the
hopeful female children of the honest industrious poor.

Do you not, ladies, imagine, said Dr. Bartlett, that such a society as
this, all women of unblemished reputation, employing themselves as each,
(consulting her own genius,) at her admission, shall undertake to employ
herself, and supported genteelly, some at more, some at less expense to
the foundation, according to their circumstances, might become a national
good; and particularly a seminary for good wives, and the institution a
stand for virtue, in an age given up to luxury, extravagance, and
amusements little less than riotous?

How could it be supported? said Lord W----.

Many of the persons, of which each community would consist, would be, I
imagine, replied Sir Charles, no expense to it at all; as numbers of
young women, joining their small fortunes, might be able, in such a
society, to maintain themselves genteelly on their own income; though
each, singly in the world, would be distressed. Besides, liberty might
be given for wives, in the absence of their husbands, in this maritime
country; and for widows, who, on the deaths of theirs, might wish to
retire from the noise and hurry of the world, for three, six, or twelve
months, more or less; to reside in this well-regulated society. And such
persons, we may suppose, would be glad, according to their respective
abilities, to be benefactresses to it. No doubt but it would have
besides the countenance of the well-disposed of both sexes; since every
family in Britain, in their connexions and relations, near or distant,
might be benefited by so reputable and useful an institution: to say
nothing of the works of the ladies in it, the profits of which perhaps
will be thought proper to be carried towards the support of a foundation
that so genteelly supports them. Yet I would have a number of hours in
each day, for the encouragement of industry, that should be called their
own; and what was produced in them, to be solely appropriated to their
own use.

A truly worthy divine, at the appointment of the bishop of the diocese,
to direct and animate the devotion of such a society, and to guard it
from that superstition and enthusiasm which soars to wild heights in
almost all nunneries, would confirm it a blessing to the kingdom.

I have another scheme, my lord, proceeded Sir Charles--An hospital for
female penitents; for such unhappy women, as having been once drawn in,
and betrayed by the perfidy of men, find themselves, by the cruelty of
the world, and principally by that of their own sex, unable to recover
the path of virtue, when perhaps, (convinced of the wickedness of the men
in whose honour they confided,) they would willingly make their first
departure from it the last.

These, continued he, are the poor creatures who are eminently entitled to
our pity, though they seldom meet with it. Good nature, and credulity,
the child of good nature; are generally, as I have the charity to
believe, rather than viciousness, the foundation of their crime. Those
men who pretend they would not be the first destroyers of a woman's
innocence, look upon these as fair prize. But, what a wretch is he, who
seeing a poor creature exposed on the summit of a dangerous precipice,
and unable, without an assisting hand, to find her way down, would rather
push her into the gulf below, than convey her down in safety?

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 supportable to a woman of strong passions, than even kindness from a
man she loves not: Shall not parents 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?
said Mr. Reeves.

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

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

By his application to her, rather than to her natural 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 sudden 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 herself 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 advise 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 biases 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 fifteen, 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.

They 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 would have
made his addresses to her. She supposed, 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 nobleman, 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
better grace from their wives' lips than from theirs. But let us
inquire, 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 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 mother'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. Bartlett.

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 acknowledge 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 XXIII

LADY G----, TO MISS BYRON
THURSDAY, APRIL 13.


For Heaven's sake, my dearest Harriet! dine with us to-day; for two
reasons: one relates to myself; the other you shall hear by and by: To
myself, first, as is most fit--This 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,)
for 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--If 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 subaltern,
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 rally 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 silent. 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 she 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 resolved upon: and this,
Harriet, is my second reason for urging you to dine with us.

Now I do 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. Besides, Lord W---- will set out to-morrow 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 fits, than
that of

CHARLOTTE GRANDISON.



LETTER XXIV

MISS BYRON, TO MISS SELBY
THURSDAY, APRIL 13.


I send you enclosed 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 elder 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 petulance. O how saucily did her eyes look! Well, my lord, said
she, I hope--But you say, I misunderstood--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, I 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 conscious 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 aspect 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 finger, and my voice, shall we not be
instantly friends?

It signified nothing to rave at her: she will have her way. Poor Lord
G----! At my first knowledge of her, I thought her very lively; but
imagined not that she was indiscreetly so.

Lord G----'s fondness for his saucy bride was, as I have reason to
believe, his fault: I dared not to ask for particulars of their quarrel:
and if I had, and found it so, could not, with such a rallying 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 quite made up.

I am ashamed, replied he, to have it thought by Miss Byron, that there
could have been a misunderstanding 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 humour?

True--But here she comes!--Not a word, madam!--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 he, 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 XXV

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 Dr. Bartlett. 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
to a very amiable Italian lady, one who does so much honour to Britain.--
Miss Byron, madam, addressing himself to her, salutes you. The
advantages of person are her least perfection.

Her face glowed. Miss Byron, said she, in French, is all loveliness. 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
become an Englishwoman: but when Sir Charles, in the way of discourse,
mentioned his obligation to leave England, as on next Friday morning, how
did she and her aunt look upon each other! And how was the sunshine that
gilded her fine countenance, 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 spirit
could not bear control. 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 poniard 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 sacrifice 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 Clementina; 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 herself 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, she said, to conquer hers: she had been willing to give way
to the prior attachments 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 centred 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
anything 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, she said, 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 Clementina's deplorable
situation; the reluctance of his own relations to part with him; and the
magnanimity of his self-denial in a 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 entreaties of a family, 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 advice she gave, and her remonstrances to her kinswoman. 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 affecting 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 biases 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 grateful 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 curiosities 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 withdraw, 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 journey; but for one week; and I will, now I am in England, stay
some months; perhaps till your return.

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 I 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 person?

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 inhospitable 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 respect. Then addressing himself to them; Ladies, said he,
encourage my sisters: they will think themselves honoured by your
commands.

The two sisters confirmed, in an obliging manner, what their brother had
said; and both ladies acknowledged 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 women grown. It is not every woman that will shine in a state
of independency. Great fortunes are snares. If independent women escape
the machinations 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 permitted 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 herself 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 bosom 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 everybody 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 grandpapa, who used to converse with me in it, and in French,)
I was not scrupulous to answer in it. To have forborne, 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 a 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 observation.

He attended the two ladies to their lodgings in his 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 stayed 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
perseverance, 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
freedom 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 opportunity 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. I will soon set
my day: I will, my dear, soon set my day.



LETTER XXVI

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 inquired, 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 honest man. If he thought his sister
would make him unhappy, he should himself 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 to-morrow 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 why 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! Permit me, madam, to enumerate
to you my own felicities in that 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-in-law, 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 reward 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 myself; 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 plainly had been
enumerating all these things, to take off 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 of our good Mr. Deane? He is
well, I hope.

Very well, Sir.

Your grandmamma Shirley, that ornament of advanced years?

I bowed: I dared not to trust my voice.

Your excellent aunt, Selby?

I bowed again.

Your uncle, your Lucy, your Nancy: Happy family! 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 influence
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 cannot 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
acquaintance 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 felicities: I was rejoicing in
your friendships. I have joy; and, I presume to say, I will have 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
reproached 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 (I thought it was with a cheerful air; but my cousins both say,
his eyes glistened) to the harpsichord: He sung unasked, but with a low
voice; and my mind was calmed. O, Lucy! How 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 XXVII

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 a hundred
things, some of which I can now only briefly mention.

Dinner-time yesterday passed with tolerable cheerfulness: 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 dinnertime; yet poor Emily! Ah,
the poor Emily! she went out four or five times to weep; though only I
perceived 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 harpsichord: she surpassed every body.
Italy is the land of harmony.

About seven at night he singled me out, and surprised 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.

He himself trembled as he 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. I could not speak--Your
friends will be entreated for a man that loves you; a very worthy young
nobleman.--I give you emotion, madam.--Forgive me.--I have performed my
promise. He turned from me with a seeming cheerful air. How could he
appear 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
guardian! 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 to by 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.

He 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 tender woe--
He wanted to do us all service--He seemed 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 saluted 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, for that matter, 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 myself 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, therefore, did he vouchsafe to give it?--But, vanity,
be quiet--Lie down, hope--Hopelesness, 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 acknowledged the
tenderest 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 quitted, 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 passion 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 Rinaldo, 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! And
the less credit shall you 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 proper regard 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! Disappointment 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.

The doctor tells me, that he had last week presented 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 Charles Grandison 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 W----'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 XXVIII

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. Beauchamp went yesterday, and
offered to attend her to any of the public places, at her pleasure; in
pursuance 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.

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 service 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. Bartlett'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 requesting 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
throw myself at the feet of my grandmamma and aunt; and to be embraced by
my Lucy and Nancy, and all my Northamptonshire friends.

I am only afraid of my uncle. He will rally 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 himself, let him
rally.

I shall be so much importuned to stay longer than I ought, or will stay,
that I may as well fix a peremptory 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 Williams advises, for fear of the
odious waggons. But I have been in a different school. Sir Charles
Grandison, I 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. O 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 end of his
pursuit!

But 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 such an easy dignity, as commands every one's reverence; 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 general 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 arms 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.

O 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: my guardian came from her, his
face in a glow; and he sent in his sister to her, and went not in himself
till afterwards. 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 poniard, 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 struggled, 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 forgiveness
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.

Poor 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, Lucy,] 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 had 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 wrested the poniard 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, at 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 immediately.

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 to-marrow 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 ladyship 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 XXIX

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 D----, and I.

My heart ached at her entrance; and every moment still more, as we were
at breakfast. Her looks, I thought, had such 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 directly apply to Sir
Charles Grandison, to know his intentions; and whether he has any hopes
of obtaining her favour? He is said to be the most unreserved of men.
He knows our characters to be as unexceptionable as his own; and that our
alliance 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 curiosity--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,
principally, he was obliged to go abroad; and he spoke as highly 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, or rather as Providence, 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
answer did Sir Charles return?

My dear love, said the countess, (sitting down, as I had requested,) let
me first 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 Grandison 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 towards 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, 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
nuptials. 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 myself, not knowing what I can do, hardly sometimes what I
ought to do, should 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 married
state.'

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

But will you allow me, sir, proceeded the countess, to ask you, were you
freed from all your uncertainties--

'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 herself 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
indignity to both! I am fettered, added he; but Miss Byron is free: and
so is the lady abroad. My attendance 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 likely 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 recommendation 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 recovered, she addressed me as
follows:

Now, my good young creature, [O that you would let me call you daughter
in my way! for I 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 friendship, so long as it may be accepted without interfering 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 attachments. My Lord D---- will, with his
whole soul, contribute 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: I 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 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 another 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!

She clasped her arms about me, and kissed my cheek again. I have but one
plea, said she, to make for myself; 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!

My cousin's eyes ran over with pleasure.

The countess asked, When I returned to Northamptonshire? I told her my
intention. She charged me to see her first. But 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 should steal a visit, unknown to me, let
not your cousin see him, Mrs. Reeves. He does indeed admire 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 I
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 conversation 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
was obliged to depart abruptly from me.--Let me repeat the words--You may
not have my letter at hand which relates that affecting address to 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--Yet 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
favour 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 XXX

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 I have seen so few of the town diversions--Town
diversions, Lucy!--I have had diversion enough, of one sort!--But in your
arms, 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 to-morrow: 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 Colnebrook to-morrow, 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 inquired after the distance of Northamptonshire. 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 established 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 visiters; 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
established, 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 own sake, that in such a competition
she had consequence 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 XXXI

MISS BYRON.--IN CONTINUATION
TUESDAY MORNING, APRIL 18.


This 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 supposed 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.
I 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. Madam, 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 Lady 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 passionate 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 wonderful!

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 be 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 vow 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 another door--Upon my word, my Lord, this is strange behaviour
in you: you fright away, with your husband-like airs, all one's company.

Good God!--I am astonished at you, madam.

What signifies 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 anybody have supposed it was to express your sorrow for your
odd behaviour? Was I not all obedience?--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 following billet was brought
me, from Lady G----:


***


TUESDAY MORNING.


Harriet,

If you love me, if you pity me, come hither this instant: I have great
need of your counsel. I am 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.


***


In half an hour 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 inquiring into
merits, or demerits: lectured by Dr. Bartlett's grave face: Emily
standing aloof; her finger 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--Why leave you 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 about 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 I 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 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 indignation upon him. And he
stole out, daring to mutter, and be displeased. The word devil was in
his mouth.

Did he call me devil, Jenny?

No, indeed, madam, said the wench--And, Harriet, 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 offences, 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--I won't.

On his side, Upon my soul, madam--Let me perish, if--and then hesitating
--You use me ill, madam. 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 is this?--
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
farther to insult me,] if I could bear this treatment, it is 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!--
Jenny! [Do you see, my lord, affecting a whisper, how you dash the poor
wench? How like a fool she looks at our folly!] Remember, Jenny, that
to-morrow 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 out of hand.

I was proceeding--But he rudely, gravely, and even with an air of scorn,
[There was no bearing 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 dependence, my lord, [This I
did say,] is upon your judgment: that will always be a balance to my wit;
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? Especially as I looked grave, and dropt him a
very fine courtesy. But either his conscience or his 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, I
began to think the man would have cuffed 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 remark, would remember disagreeable things, when
the honest pair had forgotten them,) I was determined to be prudent.
You would have been charmed with me, my dear, for my discretion. I will
cheat by-standers, thought I; I 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 lamb-like
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 assumed airs
that were the occasion, as you shall hear, of frightening 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 might poor Lady L----
be sent home, weeping, perhaps, for such an early marriage-tyranny
exerted on her meek sister.

Well, and don't you think that we looked like a couple 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 I am
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 rallied 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 XXXII

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 tenderness of heart which is the
indispensable characteristic 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 Northamptonshire
so soon. I have promised to return her visit to-morrow 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 meet me in the hall. She
threw her arms about me: I 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!--But, hush! Here
comes Lady G----.

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

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

HAR.   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 written before. I hate repetitions, child.

HAR.   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
together 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.

HAR.   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--

HAR.   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 be
friends with you.

LORD G.   O that cursed serenity!--When my soul 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!

HAR.   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 four 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 altogether, 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 I now speak, Don't 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
challenge you to say so.--She was silent.

HAR.   If otherwise, own your fault, promise amendment--ask pardon.

LADY G.   Hey-day!

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

LORD G.   Too easily, madam--

HAR.   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 lordship in preference of
any other man? She rallies 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, rallied her
again, and turned her own weapons upon her; and every one in company was
delighted with the spirit of both.--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 off 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
termagant 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.   Good 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 marriage: 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?

HAR.   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.

HAR.   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.

HAR.   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 distinguish 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.

HAR.   What say you, my lord?

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

LADY G.   Odious recrimination!--I leave you together. I never was in
fault in my life. Am I not a woman? If my lord will ask pardon for his
froppishness, as we say of children--

She stopt, and pretended to be going--

HAR.   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 I have been in fault, impute it to my love. I cannot
bear your contempt; and I never 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.

HAR.   Take the caution you gave to my lord: don't expose yourself. And
another; that you cannot 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
opinion of you, that you can own an error with some grace.

LADY G.   I am a meek, humble, docile 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 married, 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 frowns, 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 honest 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 consequence 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 rejoiced in the
reconciliation: her heart was, as I may say, visible in her joy. Can I
love her better than I do? If I could, she would, every time I see her,
give me reason for it.



LETTER XXXIII

MISS BYRON.--IN CONTINUATION
WEDNESDAY NOON, APRIL 19.


It would puzzle you to guess at a visitor 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 enclose it. It is dated from
Caermarthen. Be pleased to read it here.


***


CAERMARTHEN, APRIL 11.

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 have I talked
of you! How many of our fine Caermarthen girls have I filled with envy
of your peerless perfections!

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, notwithstanding all the jack-a-dandies that have been
fluttering about you, you are what you were when I lest 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 coquette, as they call them. 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 it. 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 inquire
      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 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 purpose. 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 generosity 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 farther 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 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 a humble, such a silent lover!--He cost me tears at
parting: I could not hide them. He heaped praises and blessings 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. He had been riding for his health and
diversion about the country, ever since his uncle went; and has not been
yet at Caermarthen.

I wish Mr. Fowler had once, if but once, called me sister: it would have
been such a kind acquiescence, 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 XXXIV

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 person 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. Inquire 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 glorious 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 I 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 Fowler'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 I had behaved) had I been able to oblige you?--No, sir! I will not,
in this case, be benefited, when I 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 inquiring after your other relations
and friends. Sir Rowland Meredith my father, and Mr. Fowler my brother,
are all to me of the family they distinguish 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 XXXV

MISS BYRON, TO MISS SELBY
WEDNESDAY, 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 Northampton, they say; but they
will see me safe in the protection of somebody I love, and whom they must
love for my sake.

I don't wonder that Sir Charles Grandison loves Mr. Beauchamp: 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 escort.

Emily, at her own request, is to go to Colnebrook with Lady L---- after I
am gone.

Mr. Reeves will ride. Lord L---- and Lord G---- will also oblige me with
their company on horseback.

Mrs. Reeves is forbidden to venture; but Lady L---- and Lady G---- will
not be denied coming with me.

I shall take leave of Lady Olivia and Lady Maffei to-morrow morning; when
they will set out for their projected tour. To-morrow we and the whole
Grandison family are to dine together at Lord L----'s, for the last time.
It will be a mournful dining-time, on that account.

Lady Betty Williams, her daughter, and Miss Clements, supped with us this
night, and took leave of me in the tenderest manner. They greatly regret
my going down so soon, as they call it.

As to the public diversions, which they wish me to stay and give into, to
be sure I should have been glad to have been better qualified to have
entertained you with the performances of this or that actor, this or that
musician, and the like: but, frightened by the vile plot upon me at a
masquerade, I was thrown out of that course of diversion, and indeed into
more affecting, more interesting engagements; into the knowledge of a
family that had no need to look out of itself for entertainments: and,
besides, are not all the company we see, as visiters or guests, full of
these things? I have seen the principal performers, in every way, often
enough to give me a notion of their performances, though I have not
troubled you with such common things as revolve every season.

You know I am far from slighting the innocent pleasures in which others
delight--It would have been happier for me, perhaps, had I had more
leisure to attend those amusements, than I have found. Yet I am not
sure, neither: for methinks, with all the pangs that my suspenses have
cost me, I would not but have known Sir Charles Grandison, his sisters,
his Emily, and Dr. Bartlett.

I could only have wished to have been spared Sir Hargrave Pollexfen's
vile attempt: then, if I had come acquainted with this family, it would
have been as I came acquainted with others: my gratitude had not been
engaged so deeply.

Well--But what signify if's?--What has been, has; what must be, must.
Only love me, my dear friends, as you used to love me. If I was a good
girl when I left you, I hope I am not a bad one now, that I am returning
to you. My morals, I bless God, are unhurt: my heart is not corrupted by
the vanities of the great town: I have a little more experience than I
had: and if I have severely paid for it, it is not at the price of my
reputation. And I hope, if nobody has benefited by me, since I have been
in town, that no one has suffered by me. Poor Mr. Fowler!--I could not
help it, you know. Had I, by little snares, follies, coquetries, sought
to draw him on, and entangle him, his future welfare would, with reason,
be more the subject of my solicitude, than it is now necessary it should
be; though, indeed, I cannot help making it a good deal so.


***


THURSDAY MORNING.

Dr. Bartlett has just now taken leave of me, in my own dressing-room.
The parting scene between us was tender.

I have not given you my opinion of Miss Williams. Had I seen her at my
first coming to town, I should have taken as much notice of her, in my
letters to you, as I did of the two Miss Brambers, Miss Darlington, Miss
Cantillon, Miss Allestree, and others of my own sex; and of Mr. Somner,
Mr. Barnet, Mr. Walden, of the other; who took my first notice, as they
fell early in my way, and with whom it is possible, as well as with the
town-diversions, I had been more intimate, had not Sir Hargrave's vile
attempt carried me out of their acquaintance into a much higher; which of
necessity, as well as choice, entirely engrossed my attention. But now
how insipid would any new characters appear to you, if they were but of a
like cast with those I have mentioned, were I to make such the subjects
of my pen, and had I time before me; which I cannot have, to write again,
before I embrace you all, my dear, my ever dear and indulgent friends!

I will only say, that Miss Williams is a genteel girl; but will hardly be
more than one of the better sort of modern women of condition; and that
she is to be classed so high, will be owing more to Miss Clements's
lessons, than, I am afraid, to her mother's example.

Is it, Lucy, that I have more experience and discernment now, or less
charity and good-nature, than when I first came to town? for then I
thought well, in the main, of Lady Betty Williams. But though she is a
good-natured, obliging woman; she is so immersed in the love of public
diversions! so fond of routs, drums, hurricanes,--Bless me, my dear! how
learned should I have been in all the gaieties of the modern life; what a
fine lady, possibly; had I not been carried into more rational (however
to me they have been more painful) scenes; and had I followed the lead of
this lady, as she (kindly, as to her intention) had designed I should!

In the afternoon Mr. Beauchamp is to introduce Sir Harry and Lady
Beauchamp, on their first visit to the two sisters.

I had almost forgot to tell you, that my cousins and I are to attend the
good Countess of D---- for one half hour, after we have taken leave of
Lady Olivia and her aunt.

And now, my Lucy, do I shut up my correspondence with you from London.
My heart beats high with the hope of being as indulgently received by all
you, my dearest friends, as I used to be after a shorter absence: for I
am, and ever will be,

The grateful, dutiful, and affectionate
HARRIET BYRON.



LETTER XXXVI

MISS BYRON, TO LADY G----
SELBY-HOUSE, MONDAY, APRIL 24.


Though the kind friends with whom I parted at Dunstable were pleased, one
and all, to allow that the correspondence which is to pass between my
dear Lady G---- and their Harriet, should answer the just expectations of
each upon her, in the writing way; and though (at your motion, remember,
not at mine) they promised to be contented with hearing read to them such
parts of my letters as you should think proper to communicate; yet cannot
I dispense with my duty to Lady L----, my Emily, my cousin Reeves, and
Dr. Bartlett. Accordingly, I write to them by this post; and I charge
you, my dear, with my sincere and thankful compliments to your lord, and
to Mr. Beauchamp, for their favours.

What an agreeable night, in the main, was Friday night! Had we not been
to separate next morning, it would have been an agreeable one indeed!

Is not my aunt Selby an excellent woman? But you all admired her. She
admires you all. I will tell you, another time, what she said of you, my
dear, in particular.

My cousin Lucy, too--is she not an amiable creature? Indeed you all were
delighted with her. But I take pleasure in recollecting your
approbations of one I so dearly love. She is as prudent as Lady L----
and now our Nancy is so well recovered, as cheerful as Lady G----. You
said you would provide a good husband for her: don't forget. The man,
whoever he be, cannot be too good for my Lucy. Nancy is such another
good girl: but so I told you.

Well, and pray, did you ever meet with so pleasant a man as my uncle
Selby? What should we have done, when we talked of your brother, when we
talked of our parting, had it not been for him? You looked upon me every
now and then, when he returned your smartness upon him, as if you thought
I had let him know some of your perversenesses to Lord G----. And do you
think I did not? Indeed I did. Can you imagine that your frank-hearted
Harriet, who hides not from her friends her own faults, should conceal
yours?--But what a particular character is yours! Every body blames you,
that knows of your over-livelinesses; yet every body loves you--I think,
for your very faults. Had it not been so, do you imagine I could ever
have loved you, after you had led Lady L---- to join with you, on a
certain teasing occasion?--My uncle dotes upon you!

But don't tell Emily that my cousin James Selby is in love with her.
That he may not, on the score of the dear girl's fortune, be thought
presumptuous, let me tell you, that he is almost of age; and, when he is,
comes into possession of a handsome estate. He has many good qualities.
I have, in short, a very great value for him; but not enough, though he
is my relation, to wish him my still more beloved Emily. Dear creature!
Methinks I still feel her parting tears on my cheek!

You charge me to be as minute, in the letters I write to you, as I used
to be to my friends here: and you promise to be as circumstantial in
yours. I will set you the example: do you be sure to follow it.

We baited at Stoney Stratford. I was afraid how it would be: there were
the two bold creatures, Mr. Greville, and Mr. Fenwick, ready to receive
us. A handsome collation, as at our setting out, so now, bespoke by
them, was set on the table. How they came by their intelligence, nobody
knows: we were all concerned to see them. They seemed half-mad for joy.
My cousin James had alighted to hand us out; but Mr. Greville was so
earnest to offer his hand, that though my cousin was equally ready, I
thought I could not deny to his solicitude for the poor favour, such a
mark of civility. Besides, if I had, it would have been distinguishing
him for more than a common neighbour, you know. Mr. Fenwick took the
other hand, when I had stept out of the coach, and then (with so much
pride, as made me ashamed of myself) they hurried me between them,
through the inn yard, and into the room they had engaged for us; blessing
themselves, all the way, for my coming down Harriet Byron.

I looked about, as if for the dear friends I had parted with at
Dunstable. This is not, thought I, so delightful an inn as they made
that--Now they, thought I, are pursuing their road to London, as we are
ours to Northampton. But ah! where, where is Sir Charles Grandison at
this time? And I sighed! But don't read this, and such strokes as this,
to any body but Lord and Lady L----. You won't, you say--Thank you,
Charlotte.--I will call you Charlotte, when I think of it, as you
commanded me. The joy we had at Dunstable, was easy, serene, deep, full,
as I may say; it was the joy of sensible people: but the joy here was
made by the two gentlemen, mad, loud, and even noisy. They hardly were
able to contain themselves; and my uncle, and cousin James, were forced
to be loud, to be heard.

Mr. Orme, good Mr. Orme, when we came near his park, was on the highway
side, perhaps near the very spot where he stood to see me pass to London
so many weeks ago--Poor man!--When I first saw him, (which was before the
coach came near, for I looked out only, as thinking I would mark the
place where I last beheld him,) he looked with so disconsolate an air,
and so fixed, that I compassionately said to myself, Surely the worthy
man has not been there ever since!

I twitched the string just in time: the coach stopt. Mr. Orme, said I,
how do you? Well, I hope?--How does Miss Orme?

I had my hand on the coach-door. He snatched it. It was not an
unwilling hand. He pressed it with his lips. God be praised, said he,
(with a countenance, O how altered for the better!) for permitting me
once more to behold that face--that angelic face, he said.

God bless you, Mr. Orme! said I: I am glad to see you. Adieu.

The coach drove on. Poor Mr. Orme! said my aunt.

Mr. Orme, Lucy, said I, don't look so ill as you wrote he was.

His joy to see you, said she--But Mr. Orme is in a declining way.

Mr. Greville, on the coach stopping, rode back just as it was going on
again--And with a loud laugh--How the d----l came Orme to know of your
coming, madam!--Poor fellow! It was very kind of you to stop your coach
to speak to the statue. And he laughed again.--Nonsensical! At what?

My grandmamma Shirley, dearest of parents! her youth, as she was pleased
to say, renewed by the expectation of so soon seeing her darling child,
came (as my aunt told us, you know) on Thursday night to Selby-house, to
charge her and Lucy with her blessing to me; and resolving to stay there
to receive me. Our beloved Nancy was also to be there; so were two other
cousins, Kitty and Patty Holles, good young creatures; who, in my
absence, had attended my grandmamma at every convenient opportunity, and
whom I also found here.

When we came within sight of this house, Now, Harriet, said Lucy, I see
the same kind of emotions beginning to arise in your face and bosom, as
Lady G---- told us you shewed when you first saw your aunt at Dunstable.
My grandmamma! said I, I am in sight of the dear house that holds her: I
hope she is here. But I will not surprise her with my joy to see her.
Lie still, throbbing impatient heart.

But when the coach set us down at the inner gate, there, in the
outward-hall, sat my blessed grandmamma. The moment I beheld her, my
intended caution forsook me: I sprang by my aunt, and, before the
foot-step could be put down, flew, as it were, out of the coach, and
threw myself at her feet, wrapping my arms about her: Bless, bless, said
I, your Harriet! I could not, at the moment, say another word.

Great God! said the pious parent, her hands and eyes lifted up, Great
God! I thank thee! Then folding her arms about my neck, she kissed my
forehead, my cheek, my lips--God bless my love! Pride of my life! the
most precious of a hundred daughters! How does my child--my Harriet--O
my love!--After such dangers, such trials, such harassings--Once more,
God be praised that I clasp to my fond heart, my Harriet!

Separate them, separate them, said my facetious uncle, (yet he had tears
in his eyes,) before they grow together!--Madam, to my grandmamma, she is
our Harriet, as well as yours: let us welcome the saucy girl, on her
re-entrance into these doors!--Saucy, I suppose, I shall soon find her.

My grandmamma withdrew her fond arms: Take her, take her, said she, each
in turn: but I think I never can part with her again.

My uncle saluted me, and bid me very kindly welcome home--so did every
one.

How can I return the obligations which the love of all my friends lays
upon me? To be good, to be grateful, is not enough; since that one ought
to be for one's own sake. Yet how can I be even grateful to them with
half a heart? Ah, Lady G----, you bid me be free in my confessions. You
promise to look my letters over before you read them to any body; and to
mark passages proper to be kept to yourself--Pray do.

Mr. Greville and Mr. Fenwick were here separately, an hour ago: I thanked
them for their civility on the road, and not ungraciously, as Mr.
Greville told my uncle, as to him. He was not, he said, without hopes,
yet; since I knew not how to be ungrateful. Mr. Greville builds, as he
always did, a merit on his civility; and by that means sinks, in the
narrower lover, the claim he might otherwise make to the title of the
generous neighbour.


***


Miss Orme has just been here. She could not help throwing in a word for
her brother.

You will guess, my dear Lady G----, at the subject of our conversations
here, and what they will be, morning, noon, and night, for a week to
come. My grandmamma is better in health than I have known her for a year
or two past. The health of people in years can mend but slowly; and they
are slow to acknowledge it in their own favour. My grandmamma, however,
allows that she is better within these few days past; but attributes the
amendment to her Harriet's return.

How do they all bless, revere, extol, your noble brother!--How do they
wish--And how do they regret--you know what--Yet how ready are they to
applaud your Harriet, if she can hold her magnanimity, in preferring the
happiness of Clementina to her own!--My grandmamma and aunt are of
opinion, that I should; and they praise me for the generosity of my
effort, whether the superior merits of the man will or will not allow me
to succeed in it. But my uncle, my Lucy, and my Nancy, from their
unbounded love of me, think a little, and but a little, narrower; and,
believing it will go hard with me, say, It is hard. My uncle, in
particular, says, The very pretension is flight and nonsense: but,
however, if the girl, added he, can parade away her passion for an object
so worthy, with all my heart: it will be but just, that the romancing
elevations, which so often drive headstrong girls into difficulties,
should now and then help a more discreet one out of them.

Adieu, my beloved Lady G----! Repeated compliments, love, thanks, to my
Lord and Lady L----, to my Emily, to Dr. Bartlett, to Mr. Beauchamp, and
particularly to my Lord G----. Dear, dear Charlotte, be good! Let me
beseech you be good! If you are not, you will have every one of my
friends who met you at Dunstable, and, from their report, my grandmamma
and Nancy, against you; for they find but one fault in my lord: it is,
that he seems too fond of a lady, who, by her archness of looks, and
half-saucy turns upon him, even before them, evidently shewed--Shall I
say what? But I stand up for you, my dear. Your gratitude, your
generosity, your honour, I say, (and why should I not add your duty?)
will certainly make you one of the most obliging of wives, to the most
affectionate of husbands.

My uncle says he hopes so: but though he adores you for a friend, and the
companion of a lively hour; yet he does not know but his dame Selby is
still the woman whom a man should prefer for a wife: and she, said he, is
full as saucy as a wife need to be; though I think, Harriet, that she has
not been the less dutiful of late for your absence.

Once more, adieu, my dear Lady G----, and continue to love your

HARRIET BYRON.



LETTER XXXVII

LADY G----, TO MISS BYRON
THURSDAY, APRIL 27.


Every one of the Dunstable party say, that you are a grateful and good
girl. Beauchamp can talk of nobody else of our sex: I believe in my
conscience he is in love with you. I think all the unprovided-for young
women, wherever you come, must hate you. Was you never by surprise
carried into the chamber of a friend labouring with the smallpox, in the
infectious stage of it?--O, but I think you once said you had had that
distemper. But your mind, Harriet, were your face to be ruined, would
make you admirers. The fellows who could think of preferring even such a
face to such a heart, may be turned over to the class of insignificants.

Is not your aunt Selby, you ask, an excellent woman?--She is. I admire
her. But I am very angry with you for deferring to another time,
acquainting me with what she said of me. When we are taken with any
body, we love they should be taken with us. Teasing Harriet! You know
what an immoderate quantity of curiosity I have. Never serve me so
again!

I am in love with your cousin Lucy. Were either Fenwick or Greville good
enough--But they are not. I think she shall have Mr. Orme. Nancy, you
say, is such another good girl. I don't doubt it. Is she not your
cousin, and Lucy's sister? But I cannot undertake for every good girl
who wants a husband. I wish I had seen Lucy a fortnight ago: then Nancy
might have had Mr. Orme, and Lucy should have had Lord G----. He admires
her greatly. And do you think that a man who at that time professed for
me so much love and service, and all that, would have scrupled to oblige
me, had I (as I easily should) proved to him, that he would have been a
much happier man than he could hope to be with somebody else?

Your uncle is a pleasant man: but tell him I say, that the man would be
out of his wits, that did not make the preference he does in favour of
his dame Selby, as he calls her. Tell him also, if you please, in return
for his plain dealing, that I say, he studies too much for his
pleasantries: he is continually hunting for occasions to be smart. I
have heard my father say, that this was the fault of some wits of his
acquaintance, whom he ranked among the witlings for it. If you think it
will mortify him more, you may tell him, (for I am very revengeful when I
think myself affronted,) that were I at liberty, which, God help me, I am
not! I would sooner choose for a husband the man I have, (poor soul, as I
now and then think him,) than such a teasing creature as himself, were
both in my power, and both of an age. And I should have this good reason
for my preference: your uncle and I should have been too much alike, and
so been jealous of each other's wit; whereas I can make my honest Lord
G---- look about him, and admire me strangely, whenever I please.

But I am, it seems, a person of a particular character. Every one, you
say, loves me, yet blames me. Odd characters, my dear, are needful to
make even characters shine. You good girls would not be valued as you
are, if there were not bad ones. Have you not heard it said, that all
human excellence is but comparative? Pray allow of the contrast. You, I
am sure, ought. You are an ungrateful creature, if, whenever you think
of my over-livelinesses, as you call 'em, you don't drop a courtesy, and
say, you are obliged to me.

But still the attack made upon you in your dressing-room at Colnebrook,
by my sister and me, sticks in your stomach--And why so? We were willing
to shew you, that we were not the silly people you must have thought us,
had we not been able to distinguish light from darkness. You, who ever
were, I believe, one of the frankest-hearted girls in Britain, and
admired for the ease and dignity given you by that frankness, were
growing awkward, nay dishonest. Your gratitude! your gratitude! was the
dust you wanted to throw into our eyes, that we might not see that you
were governed by a stronger motive. You called us your friends, your
sisters, but treated us not as either; and this man, and that, and
t'other, you could refuse; and why? No reason given for it; and we were
to be popt off with your gratitude, truly!--We were to believe just what
you said, and no more; nay, not so much as you said. But we were not so
implicit. Nor would you, in our case, have been so.

But 'you, perhaps, would not have violently broken in upon a poor thing,
who thought we were blind, because she was not willing we should see.'--
May be not: but then, in that case, we were honester than you would have
been; that's all. Here, said I, Lady L----, is this poor girl awkwardly
struggling to conceal what every body sees; and, seeing, applauds her
for, the man considered: [Yes, Harriet, the man considered; be pleased to
take that in:] let us, in pity, relieve her. She is thought to be frank,
open-hearted, communicative; nay, she passes herself upon us in those
characters: she sees we keep nothing from her. She has been acquainted
with your love before wedlock; with my folly, in relation to Anderson:
she has carried her head above a score or two of men not contemptible.
She sits enthroned among us, while we make but common figures at her
footstool: she calls us sisters, friends, and twenty pretty names. Let
us acquaint her, that we see into her heart; and why Lord D---- and
others are so indifferent with her. If she is ingenuous, let us spare
her; if not, leave me to punish her--Yet we will keep up her punctilio as
to our brother; we will leave him to make his own discoveries. She may
confide in his politeness; and the result will be happier for her;
because she will then be under no restraint to us, and her native freedom
of heart may again take its course.

Agreed, agreed, said Lady L----. And arm-in-arm, we entered your
dressing-room, dismissed the maid, and began the attack--And, O Harriet!
how you hesitated, paraded, fooled on with us, before you came to
confession! Indeed you deserved not the mercy we shewed you--So, child,
you had better to have let this part of your story sleep in peace.

You bid me not tell Emily, that your cousin is in love with her: but I
think I will. Girls begin very early to look out for admirers. It is
better, in order to stay her stomach, to find out one for her, than that
she should find out one for herself; especially when the man is among
ourselves, as I may say, and both are in our own management, and at
distance from each other. Emily is a good girl; but she has
susceptibilities already: and though I would not encourage her, as yet,
to look out of herself for happiness; yet I would give her consequence
with herself, and at the same time let her see, that there could be no
mention made of any thing that related to her, but what she should be
acquainted with. Dear girl! I love her as well as you; and I pity her
too: for she, as well as somebody else, will have difficulties to contend
with, which she will not know easily how to get over; though she can, in
a flame so young, generously prefer the interest of a more excellent
woman to her own.--There, Harriet, is a grave paragraph: you'll like me
for it.

You are a very reflecting girl, in mentioning to me, so particularly,
your behaviour to your Grevilles, Fenwicks, and Ormes. What is that but
saying, See, Charlotte! I am a much more complacent creature to the
men, no one of which I intend to have, than you are to your husband!

What a pious woman, indeed, must be your grandmamma, that she could
suspend her joy, her long-absent darling at her feet, till she had first
thanked God for restoring her to her arms! But, in this instance, we see
the force of habitual piety. Though not so good as I should be myself, I
revere those who are so; and that I hope you will own is no bad sign.

Well, but now for ourselves, and those about us.

Lady Olivia has written a letter from Windsor to Lady L----. It is in
French; extremely polite. She promises to write to me from Oxford.

Lady Anne S---- made me a visit this morning. She was more concerned
than I wished to see her, on my confirming the report she had heard of my
brother's being gone abroad. I rallied her a little too freely, as it
was before Lord G---- and Lord L----. I never was better rebuked than by
her; for she took out her pencil, and on the cover of a letter wrote
these lines from Shakespeare, and slid them into my hand:

      "And will you rend our ancient love asunder,
      To join with men in scorning your poor friend?
      It is not friendly; 'tis not maidenly:
      Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it,
      Though I alone do feel the injury."

I never, my dear, told you how freely this lady and I had talked of love:
but, freely as we had talked, I was not aware that the matter lay so deep
in her heart. I knew not how to tell her that my brother had said, it
could not be. I could have wept over her when I read this paper; and I
owned myself by a whisper justly rebuked. She charged me not to let any
man see this; particularly not either of those present: and do you,
Harriet, keep what I have written of Lady Anne to yourself.

My aunt Eleanor has written a congratulatory letter to me from York. Sir
Charles, it seems, had acquainted her with Lord G----'s day, [Not my day,
Harriet! that is not the phrase, I hope!] as soon as he knew it himself;
and she writes, supposing that I was actually offered on it. Women are
victims on these occasions: I hope you'll allow me that. My brother has
made it a point of duty to acquaint his father's sister with every matter
of consequence to the family; and now, she says, that both her nieces are
so well disposed of, she will come to town very quickly to see her new
relations and us; and desires we will make room for her. And yet she
owns, that my brother has informed her of his being obliged to go abroad;
and she supposes him gone. As he is the beloved of her heart, I wonder
she thinks of making this visit now he is absent: but we shall all be
glad to see my aunt Nell. She is a good creature, though an old maid. I
hope the old lady has not utterly lost either her invention, or memory;
and then, between both, I shall be entertained with a great number of
love-stories of the last age; and perhaps of some dangers and escapes;
which may serve for warnings for Emily. Alas! alas! they will come too
late for your Charlotte!

I have written already the longest letter that I ever wrote in my life:
yet it is prating; and to you, to whom I love to prate. I have not near
done.

You bid me be good; and you threaten me, if I am not, with the ill
opinion of all your friends: but I have such an unaccountable bias for
roguery, or what shall I call it? that I believe it is impossible for me
to take your advice. I have been examining myself. What a deuse is the
matter with me, that I cannot see my honest man in the same advantageous
light in which he appears to everybody else? Yet I do not, in my heart,
dislike him. On the contrary, I know not, were I to look about me, far
and wide, the man I would have wished to have called mine, rather than
him. But he is so important about trifles; so nimble, yet so slow: he is
so sensible of his own intention to please, and has so many antic motions
in his obligingness; that I cannot forbear laughing at the very time that
I ought perhaps to reward him with a gracious approbation.

I must fool on a little while longer, I believe: permit me, Harriet, so
to do, as occasions arise.


***


An instance, an instance in point, Harriet. Let me laugh as I write. I
did at the time.--What do you laugh at, Charlotte?--Why this poor man,
or, as I should rather say, this lord and master of mine, has just left
me. He has been making me both a compliment, and a present. And what do
you think the compliment is? Why, if I please, he will give away to a
virtuoso friend, his collection of moths and butterflies: I once, he
remembered, rallied him upon them. And by what study, thought I, wilt
thou, honest man, supply their place? If thou hast a talent this way,
pursue it; since perhaps thou wilt not shine in any other. And the best
any thing, you know, Harriet, carries with it the appearance of
excellence. Nay, he would also part with his collection of shells, if I
had no objection.

To whom, my lord?--He had not resolved.--Why then, only as Emily is too
little of a child, or you might give them to her. 'Too little of a
child, madam!' and a great deal of bustle and importance took possession
of his features--Let me tell you, madam--I won't let you, my lord; and I
laughed.

Well, madam, I hope here is something coming up that you will not disdain
to accept of yourself.

Up came groaning under the weight, or rather under the care, two servants
with baskets: a fine set of old Japan china with brown edges, believe me.
They sat down their baskets, and withdrew.

Would you not have been delighted, Harriet, to see my lord busying
himself with taking out, and putting in the windows, one at a time, the
cups, plates, jars, and saucers, rejoicing and parading over them, and
shewing his connoisseurship to his motionless admiring wife, in
commending this and the other piece as a beauty? And, when he had done,
taking the liberty, as he phrased it, half fearful, half resolute, to
salute his bride for his reward; and then pacing backwards several steps,
with such a strut and a crow--I see him yet!--Indulge me, Harriet!--I
burst into a hearty laugh; I could not help it: and he, reddening, looked
round himself, and round himself, to see if anything was amiss in his
garb. The man, the man! honest friend, I could have said, (but had too
much reverence for my husband,) is the oddity! Nothing amiss in the
garb. I quickly recollected myself, however, and put him in a good
humour, by proper marks of my gracious acceptance. On reflection, I
could not bear myself for vexing the honest man when he had meant to
oblige me.

How soon I may relapse again, I know not.--O Harriet! Why did you
beseech me to be good? I think in my heart I have the stronger
inclination to be bad for it! You call me perverse: if you think me so,
bid me be saucy, bid me be bad; and I may then, like other good wives,
take the contrary course for the sake of dear contradiction.

Shew not, however, (I in turn beseech you) to your grandmamma and aunt,
such parts of this letter as would make them despise me. You say, you
stand up for me; I have need of your advocateship: never let me want it.
And do I not, after all, do a greater credit to my good man, when I can
so heartily laugh in the wedded state, than if I were to sit down with my
finger in my eye?

I have taken your advice, and presented my sister with my half of the
jewels. I desired her to accept them, as they were my mother's, and for
her sake. This gave them a value with her, more than equal with their
worth: but Lord L---- is uneasy, and declares he will not suffer Lady
L---- long to lie under the obligation. Were every one of family in
South Britain and North Britain to be as generous and disinterested as
Lord L---- and our family, the union of the two parts of the island would
be complete.


***


Lord help this poor obliging man! I wish I don't love him, at last. He
has taken my hint, and has presented his collection of shells (a very
fine one, he says, it is) to Emily; and they two are actually busied (and
will be for an hour or two, I doubt not) in admiring them; the one
strutting over the beauties, in order to enhance the value of the
present; the other courtesying ten times in a minute, to shew her
gratitude. Poor man! When his virtuoso friend has got his butterflies
and moths, I am afraid he must set up a turner's shop, for employment.
If he loved reading, I could, when our visiting hurries are over, set him
to read to me the new things that come out, while I knot or work; and, if
he loved writing, to copy the letters which pass between you and me, and
those for you which I expect with so much impatience from my brother by
means of Dr. Bartlett. I think he spells pretty well, for a lord.

I have no more to say, at present, but compliments, without number or
measure, to all you so deservedly love and honour; as well those I have
not seen, as those I have.

Only one thing: Reveal to me all the secrets of your heart, and how that
heart is from time to time affected; that I may know whether you are
capable of that greatness of mind in a love-case, that you shew in all
others. We will all allow you to love Sir Charles Grandison. Those who
do, give honour to themselves, if their eyes stop not at person, his
having so many advantages. For the same reason, I make no apologies, and
never did, for praising my brother, as any other lover of him might do.

Let me know every thing how and about your fellows, too. Ah! Harriet,
you make not the use of power that I would have done in your situation.
I was half-sorry when my hurrying brother made me dismiss Sir Walter; and
yet, to have but two danglers after one, are poor doings for a fine lady.
Poorer still, to have but one!

Here's a letter as long as my arm. Adieu. I was loath to come to the
name: but defer it ever so long, I must subscribe, at last,

CHARLOTTE G----.



LETTER XXXVIII

MISS JERVOIS, TO MISS BYRON*
MONDAY, MAY 1.

* The letter to which this is an answer, as well as those written by Miss
Byron to her cousin Reeves, Lady L----, &c., and theirs in return, are
omitted.


O my dearest, my honoured Miss Byron, how you have shamed your Emily by
sending a letter to her; such a sweet letter too! before I have paid my
duty to you, in a letter of thanks for all your love to me, and for all
your kind instructions. But I began once, twice, and thrice, and wrote a
great deal each time, but could not please myself: you, madam, are such a
writer, and I am such a poor thing at my pen!--But I know you will accept
the heart. And so my very diffidence shews pride; since it cannot be
expected from me to be a fine writer: and yet this very letter, I
foresee, will be the worse for my diffidence, and not the better: for I
don't like this beginning, neither.--But come, it shall go. Am I not
used to your goodness? And do you not bid me prattle to you, in my
letters, as I used to do in your dressing-room? O what sweet advice have
you, and do you return for my silly prate! And so I will begin.

And was you grieved at parting with your Emily on Saturday morning? I am
sure I was very much concerned at parting with you. I could not help
crying all the way to town; and Lady G---- shed tears as well as I, and
so did Lady L---- several times; and said, You were the loveliest, best
young lady in the world. And we all praised likewise your aunt, your
cousin Lucy, and young Mr. Selby. How good are all your relations! They
must be good! And Lord L----, and Lord G----, for men, were as much
concerned as we, at parting with you. Mr. Reeves was so dull all the
way!--Poor Mr. Reeves, he was very dull. And Mr. Beauchamp, he praised
you to the very skies; and in such a pretty manner too! Next to my
guardian, I think Mr. Beauchamp is a very agreeable man. I fancy these
noble sisters, if the truth were known, don't like him so well as their
brother does: perhaps that may be the reason, out of jealousy, as I may
say, if there be any thing in my observation. But they are vastly civil
to him, nevertheless; yet they never praise him when his back is turned;
as they do others, who can't say half the good things that he says.

Well, but enough of Mr. Beauchamp. My guardian! my gracious, my kind, my
indulgent guardian! who, that thinks of him, can praise any body else?

O, madam! Where is he now? God protect and guide my guardian, wherever
he goes! This is my prayer, first and last, and I can't tell how often
in the day. I look for him in every place I have seen him in; [And pray
tell me, madam, did not you do so when he had left us?] and when I can't
find him, I do so sigh!--What a pleasure, yet what a pain, is there in
sighing, when I think of him! Yet I know I am an innocent girl. And
this I am sure of, that I wish him to be the husband of but one woman in
the whole world; and that is you. But then my next wish is--You know
what--Ah, my Miss Byron! you must let me live with you and my guardian,
if you should ever be Lady Grandison.

But here, madam, are sad doings sometimes, between Lord and Lady G----.
I am very angry at her often in my heart; yet I cannot help laughing,
now and then, at her out-of-the-way sayings. Is not her character a very
new one? Or are there more such young wives? I could not do as she
does, were I to be queen of the globe. Every body blames her. She will
make my lord not love her, at last. Don't you think so? And then what
will she get by her wit?


***


Just this moment she came into my closet--Writing, Emily? said she: To
whom?--I told her.--Don't tell tales out of school, Emily.--I was so
afraid that she would have asked to see what I had written: but she did
not. To be sure she is very polite, and knows what belongs to herself,
and every body else: To be ungenerous, as you once said, to her husband
only, that is a very sad thing to think of.

Well, and I would give any thing to know if you think what I have written
tolerable, before I go any farther: But I will go on in this way, since I
cannot do better. Bad is my best; but you shall have quantity, I
warrant, since you bid me write long letters.

But I have seen my mother: it was but yesterday. She was in a mercer's
shop in Covent Garden. I was in Lord L----'s chariot; only Anne was with
me. Anne saw her first. I alighted, and asked her blessing in the shop:
I am sure I did right. She blessed me, and called me dear love. I
stayed till she had bought what she wanted, and then I slid down the
money, as if it were her own doing; and glad I was I had so much about
me: It came but to four guineas. I begged her, speaking low, to forgive
me for so doing: And finding she was to go home as far as Soho, and had
thoughts of having a hackney coach called; I gave Anne money for a coach
for herself, and waited on my mother to her own lodgings; and it being
Lord L----'s chariot, she was so good as to dispense with my alighting.

She blessed my guardian all the way, and blessed me. She said, she would
not ask me to come to see her, because it might not be thought proper, as
my guardian was abroad: but she hoped, she might be allowed to come and
see me sometimes.--Was she not very good, madam? But my guardian's
goodness makes every body good.--O that my mamma had been always the
same! I should have been but too happy!

God bless my guardian, for putting me on enlarging her power to live
handsomely. Only as a coach brings on other charges, and people must
live accordingly, or be discredited, instead of credited, by it; or I
should hope the additional two hundred a-year might afford them one. Yet
one does not know but Mr. O'Hara may have been in debt before he married
her; and I fancy he has people who hang upon him. But if it pleases God,
I will not, when I am at age, and have a coach of my own, suffer my
mother to walk on foot. What a blessing is it, to have a guardian that
will second every good purpose of one's heart!

Lady Olivia is rambling about; and I suppose she will wait here in
England till Sir Charles's return: but I am sure he never will have her.
A wicked wretch, with her poniards! Yet it is pity! She is a fine
woman. But I hate her for her expectation, as well as for her poniard.
And a woman to leave her own country, to seek for a husband! I could die
before I could do so! though to such a man as my guardian. Yet once I
thought I could have liked to have lived with her at Florence. She has
some good qualities, and is very generous, and in the main well esteemed
in her own country; every body knew she loved my guardian: but I don't
know how it is; nobody blamed her for it, vast as the difference in
fortune then was. But that is the glory of being a virtuous man; to love
him is a credit, instead of a shame. O madam! Who would not be
virtuous? And that not only for their own, but for their friends sakes,
if they loved their friends, and wished them to be well thought of?

Lord W---- is very desirous to hasten his wedding.

Mr. Beauchamp says, that all the Mansfields (He knows them) bless my
guardian every day of their lives; and their enemies tremble. He has
commissions from my guardian to inquire and act in their cause, that no
time may be lost to do them service, against his return.

We have had another visit from Lady Beauchamp, and have returned it. She
is very much pleased with us: You see I say us. Indeed my two dear
ladies are very good to me; but I have no merit: it is all for their
brother's sake.

Mr. Beauchamp tells us, just now, that his mother-in-law has joined with
his father, at her own motion, to settle 1000£. a year upon him. I am
glad of it, with all my heart: Are not you? He is all gratitude upon it.
He says, that he will redouble his endeavours to oblige her; and that his
gratitude to her, as well as his duty to his father, will engage his
utmost regard for her.

Mr. Beauchamp, Sir Harry himself, and my lady, are continually blessing
my guardian: Every body, in short, blesses him.--But, ah! madam, where is
he, at this moment? O that I were a bird! that I might hover over his
head, and sometimes bring tidings to his friends of his motions and good
deeds. I would often flap my wings, dear Miss Byron, at your chamber
window, as a signal of his welfare, and then fly back again, and perch as
near him as I could.

I am very happy, as I said before, in the favour of Lady and Lord L----,
and Lady and Lord G----; but I never shall be so happy, as when I had the
addition of your charming company. I miss you and my guardian: O, how I
miss you both! But, dearest Miss Byron, love me not the less, though now
I have put pen to paper, and you see what a poor creature I am in my
writing. Many a one, I believe, may be thought tolerable in
conversation; but when they are so silly as to put pen to paper, they
expose themselves; as I have done, in this long piece of scribble. But
accept it, nevertheless, for the true love I bear you; and a truer love
never flamed in any bosom, to any one the most dearly beloved, than does
in mine for you.

I am afraid I have written arrant nonsense, because I knew not how to
express half the love that is in the heart of

Your ever-obliged and affectionate
EMILY JERVOIS.


LETTER XXXIX

MISS BYRON, TO LADY G----
TUESDAY, MAY 2.


I have no patience with you, Lady G----. You are ungenerously playful!
Thank Heaven, if this be wit, that I have none of it. But what signifies
expostulating with one who knows herself to be faulty, and will not
amend? How many stripes, Charlotte, do you deserve?--But you never
spared any body, not even your brother, when the humour was upon you. So
make haste; and since you will lay in stores for repentance, fill up your
measure as fast as you can.

'Reveal to you the state of my heart!'--Ah, my dear! it is an
unmanageable one. 'Greatness of mind!'--I don't know what it is!--All
his excellencies, his greatness, his goodness, his modesty, his
cheerfulness under such afflictions as would weigh down every other heart
that had but half the compassion in it with which his overflows--Must not
all other men appear little, and, less than little, nothing, in my eyes?
--It is an instance of patience in me, that I can endure any of them who
pretend to regard me out of my own family.

I thought, that when I got down to my dear friends here, I should be
better enabled, by their prudent counsels, to attain the desirable frame
of mind which I had promised myself: but I find myself mistaken. My
grandmamma and aunt are such admirers of him, take such a share in the
disappointment, that their advice has not the effect I had hoped it would
have. Lucy, Nancy, are perpetually calling upon me to tell them
something of Sir Charles Grandison; and when I begin, I know not how to
leave off. My uncle rallies me, laughs at me, sometimes reminds me of
what he calls my former brags. I did not brag, my dear: I only hoped,
that respecting as I did every man according to his merit, I should never
be greatly taken with any one, before duty added force to the
inclination. Methinks the company of the friends I am with, does not
satisfy me; yet they never were dearer to me than they now are. I want
to have Lord and Lady L----, Lord and Lady G----, Dr. Bartlett, my Emily,
with me. To lose you all at once!--is hard!--There seems to be a strange
void in my heart--And so much, at present, for the state of that heart.

I always had reason to think myself greatly obliged to my friends and
neighbours all around us; but never, till my return, after these few
months absence, knew how much. So many kind visitors; such unaffected
expressions of joy on my return; that had I not a very great
counterbalance on my heart, would be enough to make me proud.

My grandmamma went to Shirley-manor on Saturday; on Monday I was with her
all day: but she would have it that I should be melancholy if I staid
with her. And she is so self-denyingly careful of her Harriet! There
never was a more noble heart in woman. But her solitary moments, as my
uncle calls them, are her moments of joy. And why? Because she then
divests herself of all that is either painful or pleasurable to her in
this life: for she says, that her cares for her Harriet, and especially
now, are at least a balance for the delight she takes in her.

You command me to acquaint you with what passes between me and the
gentlemen in my neighbourhood; in your style, my fellows.

Mr. Fenwick invited himself to breakfast with my aunt Selby yesterday
morning. I would not avoid him.

I will not trouble you with the particulars: you know well enough what
men will say on the subject upon which you will suppose he wanted to talk
to me. He was extremely earnest. I besought him to accept my thanks for
his good opinion of me, as all the return I could make him for it; and
this in so very serious a manner, that my heart was fretted, when he
declared, with warmth, his determined perseverance.

Mr. Greville made us a tea-visit in the afternoon. My uncle and he
joined to rally us poor women, as usual. I left the defence of the sex
to my aunt and Lucy. How poor appears to me every conversation now with
these men!--But hold, saucy Harriet, was not your uncle Selby one of the
raillers?--But he does not believe all he says; and therefore cannot
wish to be so much regarded, on this topic, as he ought to be by me, on
others.

After the run of raillery was over, in which Mr. Greville made exceptions
favourable to the women present, he applied to every one for their
interest with me, and to me to countenance his address. He set forth his
pretensions very pompously, and mentioned a very considerable increase of
his fortune; which before was a very handsome one. He offered our own
terms. He declared his love for me above all women, and made his
happiness in the next world, as well as in this, depend upon my favour to
him.

It was easy to answer all he said; and is equally so for you to guess in
what manner I answered him: And he, finding me determined, began to grow
vehement, and even affrontive. He hinted to me, that he knew what had
made me so very resolute. He threw out threatenings against the man, be
he whom he would, that should stand in the way of his success with me; at
the same time intimating saucily, as I may say, (for his manner had
insult in it,) that it was impossible a certain event could ever take
place.

My uncle was angry with him; so was my aunt: Lucy was still more angry
than they: but I, standing up, said, Pray, my dear friends, take nothing
amiss that Mr. Greville has said.--He once told me, that he would set
spies upon my conduct in town. If, sir, your spies have been just, I
fear nothing they can say. But the hints you have thrown out, shew such
a total want of all delicacy of mind, that you must not wonder if my
heart rejects you. Yet I am not angry: I reproach you not: Every one has
his peculiar way. All that is left me to say or to do, is to thank you
for your favourable opinion of me, as I have thanked Mr. Fenwick; and to
desire that you will allow me to look upon you as my neighbour, and only
as my neighbour.

I courtesied to him, and withdrew.

But my great difficulty had been before with Mr. Orme.

His sister had desired that I would see her brother. He and she were
invited by my aunt to dinner on Tuesday. They came. Poor man! He is
not well! I am sorry for it. Poor Mr. Orme is not well! He made me
such honest compliments, as I may say: his heart was too much in his
civilities to raise them above the civilities that justice and truth
might warrant in favour of a person highly esteemed. Mine was filled
with compassion for him; and that compassion would have shewn itself in
tokens of tenderness, more than once, had I not restrained myself for his
sake. How you, my dear Lady G----, can delight in giving pain to an
honest heart, I cannot imagine. I would make all God Almighty's
creatures happy, if I could; and so would your noble brother. Is he not
crossing dangerous seas, and ascending, through almost perpetual snows,
those dreadful Alps which I have heard described with such terror, for
the generous end of relieving distress?

I made Mr. Orme sit next me. I was assiduous to help him, and to do him
all the little offices which I thought would light up pleasure in his
modest countenance; and he was quite another man. It gave delight to his
sister, and to all my friends, to see him smile, and look happy.

I think, my dear Lady G----, that when Mr. Orme looks pleasant, and at
ease, he resembles a little the good-natured Lord G----. O that you
would take half the pains to oblige him, that I do to relieve Mr. Orme!--
Half the pains, did I say? That you would not take pains to dis-oblige
him; and he would be, of course, obliged. Don't be afraid, my dear,
that, in such a world as this, things will not happen to make you uneasy
without your studying for them.

Excuse my seriousness: I am indeed too serious, at times.

But when Mr. Orme requested a few minutes' audience of me, as he called
it, and I walked with him into the cedar parlour, which you have heard me
mention, and with which I hope you will be one day acquainted; he paid,
poor man! for his too transient pleasure. Why would he urge a denial
that he could not but know I must give?

His sister and I had afterwards a conference. She pleaded too strongly
her brother's health, and even his life; both which, she would have it,
depended on my favour to him. I was greatly affected; and at last
besought her, if she valued my friendship as I did hers, never more to
mention to me a subject which gave me a pain too sensible for my peace.

She requested me to assure her, that neither Mr. Greville, nor Mr.
Fenwick, might be the man. They both took upon them, she said, to
ridicule her brother for the profound respect, even to reverence, that he
bore me; which, if he knew, might be attended with consequences: for that
her brother, mild and gentle as was his passion for me, had courage to
resent any indignities that might be cast upon him by spirits boisterous
as were those of the two gentlemen she had named. She never, therefore,
told her brother of their scoffs. But it would go to her heart, if
either of them should succeed, or have reason but for a distant hope.

I made her heart easy, on that score.

I have just now heard, that Sir Hargrave Pollexfen is come from abroad
already. What can be the meaning of it? He is so low-minded, so
malicious a man, and I have suffered so much from him--What can be the
meaning of his sudden return? I am told, that he is actually in London.
Pray, my dear Lady G----, inform yourself about him; and whether he
thinks of coming into these parts.

Mr. Greville, when he met us at Stoney-Stratford, threw out menaces
against Sir Hargrave, on my account; and said, It was well he was gone
abroad. I told him then, that he had no business, even were Sir Hargrave
present, to engage himself in my quarrels.

Mr. Greville is an impetuous man; a man of rough manners; and makes many
people afraid of him. He has, I believe, indeed, had his spies about me;
for he seems to know every thing that has befallen me in my absence from
Selby House.

He has dared also to threaten somebody else. Insolent wretch! But he
hinted to me yesterday, that he was exceedingly pleased with the news,
that a certain gentleman was gone abroad, in order to prosecute a former
amour, was the light wretch's as light expression. If my indignant eyes
could have killed him, he would have fallen dead at my feet.

Let the constant and true respects of all my friends to you and yours,
and to my beloved Emily, be always, for the future, considered as very
affectionately expressed, whether the variety of other subjects leaves
room for a particular expression of them, or not, by, my dearest Lady
G----,

Your faithful, and ever-obliged
HARRIET BYRON.



LETTER XL

LADY G----, TO MISS BYRON
SATURDAY, MAY 6.


I thank you, Harriet, for yours. What must your fellows think of you?
In this gross age, your delicacy must astonish them. There used to be
more of it formerly. But how should men know any thing of it, when women
have forgot it? Lord be thanked, we females, since we have been admitted
into so constant a share of the public diversions, want not courage. We
can give the men stare for stare wherever we meet them. The next age,
nay, the rising generation, must surely be all heroes and heroines. But
whither has this word delicacy carried me? Me, who, it seems, have
faults to be corrected for of another sort; and who want not the courage
for which I congratulate others?

But to other subjects. I could write a vast deal of stuff about my lord
and self, and Lord and Lady L----, who assume parts which I know not how
to allow them: and sometimes they threaten me with my brother's
resentments, sometimes with my Harriet's; so that I must really have
leading-strings fastened to my shoulders. O, my dear, a fond husband is
a surfeiting thing; and yet I believe most women love to be made monkeys
of.


***


But all other subjects must now give way. We have heard of, though not
from, my brother. A particular friend of Mr. Lowther was here with a
letter from that gentleman, acquainting us, that Sir Charles and he were
arrived at Paris.

Mr. Beauchamp was with us when Mr. Lowther's friend came. He borrowed
the letter on account of the extraordinary adventure mentioned in it.

Make your heart easy, in the first place, about Sir Hargrave. He is
indeed in town; but very ill. He was frightened into England, and
intends not ever again to quit it. In all probability, he owes it to my
brother that he exists.

Mr. Beauchamp went directly to Cavendish-square, and informed himself
there of other particulars relating to the affair, from the very servant
who was present, and acting in it; and from those particulars, and Mr.
Lowther's letter, wrote one for Dr. Bartlett. Mr. Beauchamp obliged me
with the perusal of what he wrote; whence I have extracted the following
account: for his letter is long and circumstantial; and I did not ask his
leave to take a copy, as he seemed desirous to hasten it to the doctor.


On Wednesday, the 19-30 of April, in the evening, as my brother was
pursuing his journey to Paris, and was within two miles of that capital,
a servant-man rode up, in visible terror, to his post-chaise, in which
were Mr. Lowther and himself, and besought them to hear his dreadful
tale. The gentlemen stopt, and he told them, that his master, who was an
Englishman, and his friend of the same nation, had been but a little
while before attacked, and forced out of the road in their post-chaise,
as he doubted not, to be murdered, by no less than seven armed horsemen;
and he pointed to a hill, at distance, called Mont Matre, behind which
they were, at that moment, perpetrating their bloody purpose. He had
just before, he said, addressed himself to two other gentlemen, and their
retinue, who drove on the faster for it.

The servant's great coat was open; and Sir Charles observing his livery,
asked him, If he were not a servant of Sir Hargrave Pollexfen? and was
answered in the affirmative.

There are, it seems, trees planted on each side the road from St. Denis
to Paris, but which, as France is an open and uninclosed country, would
not, but for the hill, have hindered the seeing a great way off, the
scuffling of so many men on horseback. There is also a ditch on either
hand; but places left for owners to come at their grounds, with their
carts, and other carriages. Sir Charles ordered the post boy to drive to
one of those passages; saying, He could not forgive himself, if he did
not endeavour to save Sir Hargrave, and his friend, whose name the man
told him was Merceda.

His own servants were three in number, besides one of Mr. Lowther. My
brother made Mr. Lowther's servant dismount; and, getting himself on his
horse, ordered the others to follow him. He begged Mr. Lowther to
continue in the chaise, bidding the dismounted servant stay, and attend
his master, and galloped away towards the hill. His ears were soon
pierced with the cries of the poor wretches; and presently he saw two men
on horseback holding the horses of four others, who had under them the
two gentlemen, struggling, groaning, and crying out for mercy.

Sir Charles, who was a good way a-head of his servants, calling out to
spare the gentlemen, and bending his course to relieve the prostrate
sufferers, two of the four quitted their prey, and mounting, joined the
other two horsemen, and advanced to meet him, with a shew of supporting
the two men on foot in their violence; who continued laying on the
wretches, with the but-ends of their whips, unmercifully.

As the assailants offered not to fly, and as they had more than time
enough to execute their purpose, had it been robbery and murder; Sir
Charles concluded it was likely that these men were actuated by a private
revenge. He was confirmed in this surmise, when the four men on
horseback, though each had his pistol ready drawn, as Sir Charles also
had his, demanded a conference; warning Sir Charles how he provoked his
fate by his rashness; and declaring, that he was a dead man if he fired.

Forbear, then, said Sir Charles, all further violences to the gentlemen,
and I will hear what you have to say.

He then put his pistol into his holster; and one of his servants being
come up, and the two others at hand, (to whom he called out, not to fire
till they had his orders,) he gave him his horse's reins; bidding him
have an eye on the holsters of both, and leapt down; and, drawing his
sword, made towards the two men who were so cruelly exercising their
whips; and who, on his approach, retired to some little distance, drawing
their hangers.

The four men on horseback joined the two on foot, just as they were
quitting the objects of their fury; and one of them said, Forbear, for
the present, further violence, brother; the gentleman shall be told the
cause of all this.--Murder, sir, said he, is not intended; nor are we
robbers: the men whom you are solicitous to save from our vengeance, are
villains.

Be the cause what it will, answered Sir Charles, you are in a country
noted for doing speedy justice, upon proper application to the
magistrates. In the same instant he raised first one groaning man, then
the other. Their heads were all over bloody, and they were so much
bruised, that they could not extend their arms to reach their wigs and
hats, which lay near them; nor put them on without Sir Charles's help.

The men on foot by this time had mounted their horses, and all six stood
upon their defence; but one of them was so furious, crying out, that his
vengeance should be yet more complete, that two of the others could
hardly restrain him.

Sir Charles asked Sir Hargrave and Mr. Merceda, Whether they had reason
to look upon themselves as injured men, or injurers? One of the
assailants answered, That they both knew themselves to be villains.

Either from consciousness, or terror, perhaps from both, they could not
speak for themselves, but by groans; nor could either of them stand or
sit upright.

Just then came up, in the chaise, Mr. Lowther and his servant, each a
pistol in his hand. He quitted the chaise, when he came near the
suffering men; and Sir Charles desired him instantly to examine whether
the gentlemen were dangerously hurt, or not.

The most enraged of the assailants, having slipt by the two who were
earnest to restrain him, would again have attacked Mr. Merceda; offering
a stroke at him with his hanger: but Sir Charles (his drawn sword still
in his hand) caught hold of his bridle; and, turning his horse's head
aside, diverted a stroke, which, in all probability, would otherwise have
been a finishing one.

They all came about Sir Charles, bidding him, at his peril, use his sword
upon their friend: and Sir Charles's servants were coming up to their
master's support, had there been occasion. At that instant Mr. Lowther,
assisted by his own servant, was examining the wounds and bruises of the
two terrified men, who had yet no reason to think themselves safe from
further violence.

Sir Charles repeatedly commanded his servants not to fire, nor approach
nearer, without his orders. The persons, said he, to the assailants,
whom you have so cruelly used, are Englishmen of condition. I will
protect them. Be the provocation what it will, you must know that your
attempt upon them is a criminal one; and if my friend last come up, who
is a very skilful surgeon, shall pronounce them in danger, you shall find
it so.

Still he held the horse of the furious one; and three of them who seemed
to be principals, were beginning to express some resentment at his
cavalier treatment, when Mr. Lowther gave his opinion, that there was no
apparent danger of death: and then Sir Charles, quitting the man's
bridle, and putting himself between the assailants and sufferers, said,
That as they had not either offered to fly, or to be guilty of violence
to himself, his friend, or servants; he was afraid they had some reason
to think themselves ill used by the gentlemen. But, however, as they
could not suppose they were at liberty, in a civilized country, to take
their revenge on the persons of those who were entitled to the protection
of that country; he should expect, that they would hold themselves to be
personally answerable for their conduct at a proper tribunal.

The villains, one of the men said, knew who they were, and what the
provocation was; which had merited a worse treatment than they had
hitherto met with. You, sir, proceeded he, seem to be a man of honour,
and temper: we are men of honour, as well as you. Our design, as we told
you, was not to kill the miscreants; but to give them reason to remember
their villainy as long as they lived; and to put it out of their power
ever to be guilty of the like. They have made a vile attempt, continued
he, on a lady's honour at Abbeville; and, finding themselves detected,
and in danger, took roundabout ways, and shifted from one vehicle to
another, to escape the vengeance of her friends. The gentleman, whose
horse you held, and who has reason to be in a passion, is the husband of
the lady. [A Spanish husband, surely, Harriet; not a French one,
according to our notions.] That gentleman, and that, are her brothers.
We have been in pursuit of them two days; for they gave out, (in order,
no doubt, to put us on a wrong scent,) that they were to go to Antwerp.

And it seems, my dear, that Sir Hargrave and his colleague had actually
sent some of their servants that way; which was the reason that they were
themselves attended but by one.

The gentleman told Sir Charles that there was a third villain in their
plot. They had hopes, he said, that he would not escape the close
pursuit of a manufacturer at Abbeville, whose daughter, a lovely young
creature, he had seduced, under promises of marriage. Their government,
he observed, were great countenancers of the manufacturers at Abbeville;
and he would have reason, if he were laid hold of, to think himself
happy, if he came off with being obliged to perform his promises.

This third wretch must be Mr. Bagenhall. The Lord grant, say I, that he
may be laid hold of; and obliged to make a ruined girl an honest woman,
as they phrase it in LANCASHIRE. Don't you wish so, my dear? And let me
add, that had the relations of the injured lady completed their intended
vengeance on those two libertines; (a very proper punishment, I ween, for
all libertines;) it might have helped them to pass the rest of their
lives with great tranquillity; and honest girls might, for any
contrivances of theirs, have passed to and from masquerades without
molestation.

Sir Hargrave and his companion intended, it seems, at first, to make some
resistance; four only, of the seven, stopping the chaise: but when the
other three came up, and they saw who they were, and knew their own
guilt, their courage failed them.

The seventh man was set over the post-boy, whom he had led about half a
mile from the spot they had chosen as a convenient one for their purpose.

Sir Hargrave's servant was secured by them at their first attack; but
after they had disarmed him and his masters, he found an opportunity to
slip from them, and made the best of his way to the road, in hopes of
procuring assistance for them.

While Sir Charles was busy in helping the bruised wretches on their feet,
the seventh man came up to the others, followed by Sir Hargrave's chaise.
The assailants had retired to some distance, and, after a consultation
together, they all advanced towards Sir Charles; who, bidding his
servants be on their guard, leapt on his horse, with that agility and
presence of mind, for which, Mr. Beauchamp says, he excels most men; and
leading towards them, Do you advance, gentlemen, said he, as friends, or
otherwise?--Mr. Lowther took a pistol in each hand, and held himself
ready to support him; and the servants disposed themselves to obey their
master's orders.

Our enmity, answered one of them, is only to these two inhospitable
villains: murder, as we told you, was not our design. They know where we
are to be found; and that they are the vilest of men, and have not been
punished equal to their demerits. Let them on their knees ask this
gentleman's pardon; pointing to the husband of the insulted lady. We
insist upon this satisfaction; and upon their promise, that they never
more will come within two leagues of Abbeville; and we will leave them to
your protection. I fancy, Harriet, that these women-frightening heroes
needed not to have been urged to make this promise.

Sir Charles, turning towards them, said, If you have done wrong,
gentlemen, you ought not to scruple asking pardon. If you know
yourselves to be innocent, though I should be loath to risk the lives of
my friend and servants, yet shall not my countrymen make so undue a
submission.

The wretches kneeled; and the seven men, civilly saluting Sir Charles and
Mr. Lowther, rode off; to the joy of the two delinquents, who kneeled
again to their deliverer, and poured forth blessings upon the man whose
life, so lately, one of them sought; and whose preservation he had now so
much reason to rejoice in, for the sake of his own safety.

My brother himself could not but be well pleased that he was not obliged
to come to extremities, which might have ended fatally on both sides.

By this time Sir Hargrave's post-chaise was come up. He and his
colleague were with difficulty lifted into it. My brother and Mr.
Lowther went into theirs; and being but a small distance from Paris, they
proceeded thither in company; the poor wretches blessing them all the
way; and at Paris found their other servants waiting for them.

Sir Charles and Mr. Lowther saw them in bed in the lodgings that had been
taken for them. They were so stiff with the bastinado they had met with,
that they were unable to help themselves. Mr. Merceda had been more
severely (I cannot call it more cruelly) treated than the other; for he,
it seems, was the greatest malefactor in the attempt made upon the lady:
and he had, besides, two or three gashes, which, but for his struggles,
would have been but one.

As you, my dear, always turn pale when the word masquerade is mentioned;
so, I warrant, will ABBEVILLE be a word of terror to these wretches, as
long as they live.

Their enemies, it seems, carried off their arms; perhaps, in the true
spirit of French chivalry, with a view to lay them, as so many trophies,
at the feet of the insulted lady.

Mr. Lowther writes, that my brother and he are lodged in the hotel of a
man of quality, a dear friend of the late Mr. Danby, and one of the three
whom he has remembered in his will; and that Sir Charles is extremely
busy in relation to the executorship; and, having not a moment to spare,
desired Mr. Lowther to engage his friend, to whom he wrote, to let us
know as much; and that he was hastening every thing for his journey
onwards.

Mr. Beauchamp's narrative of this affair is, as I told you, very
circumstantial. I thought to have shortened it more than I have done. I
wish I have not made my abstract confused, in several material places:
but I have not time to clear it up. Adieu, my dear.

CHARLOTTE G----.



LETTER XLI

LADY G----, TO MISS BYRON
SUNDAY, MAY 7.


I believe I shall become as arrant a scribbler as somebody else. I begin
to like writing. A great compliment to you, I assure you. I see one may
bring one's mind to any thing.--I thought I must have had recourse, when
you and my brother left us, and when I was married, to the public
amusements, to fill up my leisure: and as I have seen every thing worth
seeing of those, many times over; (masquerades excepted, and them I
despise;) time, you know, in that case, would have passed a little
heavily, after having shewn myself, and, by seeing who and who were
together, laid in a little store of the right sort of conversation for
the tea-table. For you know, Harriet, that among us modern fine people,
the company, and not the entertainment, is the principal part of the
raree-show. Pretty enough! to make the entertainment, and pay for it
too, to the honest fellows, who have nothing to do, but to project
schemes to get us together.

I don't know what to do with this man. I little thought that I was to be
considered as such a doll, such a toy, as he would make me. I want to
drive him out of the house without me, were it but to purvey for me news
and scandal. What are your fine gentlemen fit for else? You know, that,
with all my faults, I have a domestic and managing turn. A man should
encourage that in a wife, and not be perpetually teasing her for her
company abroad, unless he did it with a view to keep her at home. Our
sex don't love to be prescribed to, even in the things from which they
are not naturally averse: and for this very reason, perhaps, because it
becomes us to submit to prescription. Human nature, Harriet, is a
perverse thing. I believe, if my good man wished me to stay at home, I
should torture my brain, as other good wives do, for inventions to go
abroad.

It was but yesterday, that in order to give him a hint, I pinned my apron
to his coat, without considering who was likely to be a sufferer by it;
and he, getting up, in his usual nimble way, gave it a rent, and then
looked behind him with so much apprehension--Hands folded, eyes goggling,
bag in motion from shoulder to shoulder. I was vexed too much to make
the use of the trick which I had designed, and huffed him. He made
excuses, and looked pitifully; bringing in his soul, to testify that he
knew not how it could be. How it could be! Wretch! When you are always
squatting upon one's clothes, in defiance of hoop, or distance.

He went out directly, and brought me in two aprons, either of which was
worth twenty of that he so carelessly rent. Who could be angry with him?
--I was, indeed, thinking to chide him for this--As if I were not to be
trusted to buy my own clothes; but he looked at me with so good-natured
an eye, that I relented, and accepted, with a bow of graciousness, his
present; only calling him an odd creature--And that he is, you know, my
dear.

We live very whimsically, in the main: not above four quarrels, however,
and as many more chidings, in a day. What does the man stay at home for
then so much, when I am at home?--Married people, by frequent absences,
may have a chance for a little happiness. How many debatings, if not
direct quarrels, are saved by the good man's and his meek wife's seeing
each other but once or twice a week! In what can men and women, who are
much together, employ themselves, but in proving and defending,
quarrelling and making up? Especially if they both chance to marry for
love (which, thank Heaven, is not altogether my case); for then both
honest souls, having promised more happiness to each other than they can
possibly meet with, have nothing to do but reproach each other, at least
tacitly, for their disappointment--A great deal of free-masonry in love,
my dear, believe me! The secret, like that, when found out, is hardly
worth the knowing.

Well, but what silly rattle is this, Charlotte! methinks you say, and put
on one of your wisest looks.

No matter, Harriet! There may be some wisdom in much folly. Every one
speaks not out so plainly as I do. But when the novelty of an
acquisition or change of condition is over, be the change or the
acquisition what it will, the principal pleasure is over, and other
novelties are hunted after, to keep the pool of life from stagnating.

This is a serious truth, my dear, and I expect you to praise me for it.
You are very sparing of your praise to poor me; and yet I had rather have
your good word, than any woman's in the world: or man's either, I was
going to say; but I should then have forgot my brother. As for Lord
G----, were I to accustom him to obligingness, I should destroy my own
consequence: for then it would be no novelty; and he would be hunting
after a new folly.--Very true, Harriet.

Well, but we have had a good serious falling-out; and it still subsists.
It began on Friday night; present, Lord and Lady L----, and Emily. I was
very angry with him for bringing it on before them. The man has no
discretion, my dear; none at all. And what about? Why, we have not made
our appearance at court, forsooth.

A very confident thing, this same appearance, I think! A compliment made
to fine clothes and jewels, at the expense of modesty.

Lord G---- pleads decorum--Decorum against modesty, my dear!--But if by
decorum is meant fashion, I have in a hundred instances found decorum
beat modesty out of the house. And as my brother, who would have been
our principal honour on such an occasion, is gone abroad; and as ours is
an elderly novelty, as I may say, [Our fineries were not ready, you know,
before my brother went,] I was fervent against it.

'I was the only woman of condition, in England, who would be against it.'

I told my lord, that was a reflection on my sex: but Lord and Lady L----,
who had been spoken to, I believe, by Lady Gertrude, were both on his
side--[I shall have this man utterly ruined for a husband among you]--
When there were three to one, it would have looked cowardly to yield, you
know. I was brave. But it being proposed for Sunday, and that being at
a little distance, it was not doubted but I would comply. So the night
passed off, with prayings, hopings, and a little mutteration. [Allow me
that word, or find me a better.] The entreaty was renewed in the
morning; but, no!--'I was ashamed of him,' he said. I asked him if he
really thought so?--'He should think so, if I refused him.' Heaven
forbid, my lord, that I, who contend for the liberty of acting, should
hinder you from the liberty of thinking! Only one piece of advice,
honest friend, said I: don't imagine the worst against yourself: and
another, if you have a mind to carry a point with me, don't bring on the
cause before any body else: for that would be to doubt either my duty, or
your own reasonableness.

As sure as you are alive, Harriet, the man made an exception against
being called honest friend; as if, as I told him, either of the words
were incompatible with quality. So, once, he was as froppish as a child,
on my calling him the man; a higher distinction, I think, than if I had
called him a king, or a prince. THE MAN!--Strange creature! To except to
a distinction that implies, that he is the man of men!--You see what a
captious mortal I have been forced to call my lord. But lord and master
do not always go together; though they do too often, for the happiness of
many a meek soul of our sex.

Well, this debate seemed suspended, by my telling him, that if I were
presented at court, I would not have either the Earl or Lady Gertrude go
with us, the very people who were most desirous to be there--But I might
not think of that, at the time, you know--I would not be thought very
perverse; only a little whimsical, or so. And I wanted not an excellent
reason for excluding them--'Are their consents to our past affair
doubted, my lord, said I, that you think it necessary for them to appear
to justify us?'

He could say nothing to this, you know. And I should never forgive the
husband, as I told him, on another occasion, who would pretend to argue,
when he had nothing to say.

Then (for the baby will be always craving something) he wanted me to go
abroad with him--I forget whither--But to some place that he supposed
(poor man!) I should like to visit. I told him, I dared to say, he
wished to be thought a modern husband, and a fashionable man; and he
would get a bad name, if he could never stir out without his wife.
Neither could he answer that, you know.

Well, we went on, mutter, mutter, grumble, grumble, the thunder rolling
at a distance; a little impatience now and then, however, portending,
that it would come nearer. But, as yet, it was only, Pray, my dear,
oblige me; and, Pray, my lord, excuse me; till this morning, when he had
the assurance to be pretty peremptory; hinting, that the lord in waiting
had been spoken to. A fine time of it would a wife have, if she were not
at liberty to dress herself as she pleases. Were I to choose again, I do
assure you, my dear, it should not be a man, who by his taste for moths
and butterflies, shells, china, and such-like trifles, would give me
warning, that he would presume to dress his baby, and when he had done,
would perhaps admire his own fancy more than her person. I believe, my
Harriet, I shall make you afraid of matrimony: but I will pursue my
subject, for all that--

When the insolent saw that I did not dress, as he would have had me; he
drew out his face, glouting, to half the length of my arm; but was
silent. Soon after Lady L---- sending to know whether her lord and she
were to attend us to the drawing-room, and I returning for answer, that I
should be glad of their company at dinner; he was in violent wrath.
True, as you are alive! and dressing himself in a great hurry, left the
house, without saying, By your leave, With your leave, or whether he
would return to dinner, or not. Very pretty doings, Harriet!

Lord and Lady L---- came to dinner, however. I thought they were very
kind, and, till they opened their lips, was going to thank them: for
then, it was all elder sister, and insolent brother-in-law, I do assure
you. Upon my word, Harriet, they took upon them. Lady L---- told me, I
might be the happiest creature in the world, if--and there was so good as
to stop.

One of the happiest only, Lady L----! Who can be happier than you?

But I, said she, should neither be so, nor deserve to be so, if--Good of
her again, to stop at if.

We cannot be all of one mind, replied I. I shall be wiser, in time.

Where was poor Lord G---- gone?

Poor Lord G---- is gone to seek his fortune, I believe.

What did I mean?

I told them the airs he had given himself; and that he was gone without
leave, or notice of return.

He had served me right, ab-solutely right, Lord L---- said.

I believed so myself. Lord G---- was a very good sort of man, and ought
not to bear with me so much as he had done: but it would be kind in them,
not to tell him what I had owned.

The earl lifted up one hand; the countess both. They had not come to
dine with me, they said, after the answer I had returned, but as they
were afraid something was wrong between us.

Mediators are not to be of one side only, I said: and as they had been so
kindly free in blaming me, I hoped they would be as free with him, when
they saw him.

And then it was, For God's sake, Charlotte; and, Let me entreat you, Lady
G----. And let me, too, beseech you, madam, said Emily, with tears
stealing down her cheeks.

You are both very good: you are a sweet girl, Emily. I have a
too-playful heart. It will give me some pain, and some pleasure; but if
I had not more pleasure than pain from my play, I should not be so silly.

My lord not coming in, and the dinner being ready, I ordered it to be
served.--Won't you wait a little longer for Lord G----? No. I hope he
is safe, and well. He is his own master, as well as mine; (I sighed, I
believe!) and, no doubt, has a paramount pleasure in pursuing his own
choice.

They raved. I begged that they would let us eat our dinner with comfort.
My lord, I hoped, would come in with a keen appetite, and Nelthorpe
should get a supper for him that he liked.

When we had dined, and retired into the adjoining drawing-room, I had
another schooling-bout: Emily was even saucy. But I took it all: yet, in
my heart, was vexed at Lord G----'s perverseness.

At last, in came the honest man. He does not read this, and so cannot
take exceptions, and I hope you will not, at the word honest.

So lordly! so stiff! so solemn!--Upon my word!--Had it not been Sunday, I
would have gone to my harpsichord directly. He bowed to Lord and Lady
L----, and to Emily, very obligingly; to me he nodded.--I nodded again;
but, like a good-natured fool, smiled. He stalked to the chimney; turned
his back towards it, buttoned up his mouth, held up his glowing face, as
if he were disposed to crow; yet had not won the battle.--One hand in his
bosom; the other under the skirt of his waistcoat, and his posture firmer
than his mind.--Yet was my heart so devoid of malice, that I thought his
attitude very genteel; and, had we not been man and wife, agreeable.

We hoped to have found your lordship at home, said Lord L----, or we
should not have dined here.

If Lord G---- is as polite a husband as a man, said I, he will not thank
your lordship for this compliment to his wife.

Lord G---- swelled, and reared himself up. His complexion, which was
before in a glow, was heightened.

Poor man! thought I.--But why should my tender heart pity obstinate
people?--Yet I could not help being dutiful.--Have you dined, my lord?
said I, with a sweet smile, and very courteous.

He stalked to the window, and never a word answered he.

Pray, Lady L----, be so good as to ask my Lord G---- if he has dined?
Was not this very condescending, on such a behaviour?

Lady L---- asked him; and as gently-voiced as if she were asking the same
question of her own lord. Lady L---- is a kind-hearted soul, Harriet.
She is my sister.

I have not, madam, to Lady L----, turning rudely from me, and, not very
civilly, from her. Ah! thought I, these men! The more they are courted
--Wretches! to find their consequence in a woman's meekness--Yet, I could
not forbear shewing mine.--Nature, Harriet! Who can resist constitution?

What stiff airs are these! approaching him.--I do assure you, my lord, I
shall not take this behaviour well; and put my hand on his arm.

I was served right. Would you believe it? The man shook off my
condescending hand, by raising his elbow scornfully. He really did!

Nay, then!--I left him, and retired to my former seat. I was vexed that
it was Sunday: I wanted a little harmony.

Lord and Lady L---- both blamed me, by their looks; and my lady took my
hand, and was leading me towards him. I shewed a little reluctance: and,
would you have thought it? out of the drawing-room whipt my nimble lord,
as if on purpose to avoid being moved by my concession.

I took my place again.

I beg of you, Charlotte, said Lady L----, go to my lord. You have used
him ill.

When I think so, I will follow your advice, Lady L----.

And don't you think so, Lady G----? said Lord L----.

What! for taking my own option how I would be dressed to-day?--What! for
deferring--That moment in came my bluff lord--Have I not, proceeded I,
been forced to dine without him to-day? Did he let me know what account
I could give of his absence? Or when he would return?--And see, now, how
angry he looks!

He traversed the room--I went on--Did he not shake off my hand, when I
laid it, smiling, on his arm? Would he answer me a question, which I
kindly put to him, fearing he had not dined, and might be sick for want
of eating? Was I not forced to apply to Lady L---- for an answer to my
careful question, on his scornfully turning from me in silence?--Might we
not, if he had not gone out so abruptly, nobody knows where, have made
the appearance his heart is so set upon?--But now, indeed, it is too
late.

Oons, madam! said he, and he kimboed his arms, and strutted up to me.
Now for a cuff, thought I. I was half afraid of it: but out of the room
again capered he.

Lord bless me, said I, what a passionate creature is this!

Lord and Lady L---- both turned from me with indignation. But no wonder
if one, that they both did. They are a silly pair; and I believe have
agreed to keep each other in countenance in all they do.

But Emily affected me. She sat before in one corner of the room,
weeping; and just then ran to me, and, wrapping her arms about me, Dear,
dear Lady G----, said she, for Heaven's sake, think of what our Miss
Byron said; 'Don't jest away your own happiness.' I don't say who is in
fault: but, my dear lady, do you condescend. It looks pretty in a woman
to condescend. Forgive me; I will run to my lord, and I will beg of
him----

Away she ran, without waiting for an answer--and, bringing in the
passionate wretch, hanging on his arm--You must not, my lord, indeed you
must not be so passionate. Why, my lord, you frighted me; indeed you
did. Such a word I never heard from your lordship's mouth--

Ay, my lord, said I, you give yourself pretty airs! Don't you? and use
pretty words; that a child shall be terrified at them! But come, come,
ask my pardon, for leaving me to dine without you.

Was not that tender?--Yet out went Lord and Lady L----. To be sure they
did right, if they withdrew in hopes these kind words would have been
received as reconciliatory ones; and not in displeasure with me, as I am
half-afraid they did: for their good-nature (worthy souls!) does
sometimes lead them into misapprehensions. I kindly laid my hand on his
arm again.--He was ungracious.--Nay, my lord, don't once more reject me
with disdain--If you do--I then smiled most courteously. Carry not your
absurdities, my lord, too far: and I took his hand:--[There, Harriet, was
condescension!]--I protest, sir, if you give yourself any more of these
airs, you will not find me so condescending. Come, come, tell me you are
sorry, and I will forgive you.

Sorry! madam; sorry!--I am indeed sorry, for your provoking airs!

Why that's not ill said--But kimboed arms, my lord! are you not sorry for
such an air? And Oons! are you not sorry for such a word? and for such
looks too? and for quarreling with your dinner?--I protest, my lord, you
make one of us look like a child who flings away his bread and butter
because it has not glass windows upon it--

Not for one moment forbear, madam!--

Pr'ythee, pr'ythee--[I profess I had like to have said honest friend]--No
more of these airs; and, I tell you, I will forgive you.

But, madam, I cannot, I will not--

Hush, hush; no more in that strain, and so loud, as if we had lost each
other in a wood--If you will let us be friends, say so--In an instant--If
not, I am gone--gone this moment--casting off from him, as I may say,
intending to mount up stairs.

Angel, or demon, shall I call you? said he.--Yet I receive your hand, as
offered. But, for God's sake, madam, let us be happy! And he kissed my
hand, but not so cordially as it became him to do; and in came Lord and
Lady L---- with countenances a little ungracious.

I took my seat next my own man, with an air of officiousness, hoping to
oblige him by it; and he was obliged: and another day, not yet quite
agreed upon, this parade is to be made.

And thus began, proceeded, and ended, this doughty quarrel. And who
knows, but before the day is absolutely resolved upon, we may have half a
score more? Four, five, six days, as it may happen, is a great space of
time for people to agree, who are so much together; and one of whom is
playful, and the other will not be played with. But these kimbo and oons
airs, Harriet, stick a little in my stomach; and the man seems not to be
quite come to neither. He is sullen and gloomy, and don't prate away as
he used to do, when we have made up before.

But I will sing him a song to-morrow: I will please the honest man, if I
can. But he really should not have had for a wife a woman of so sweet a
temper as your

CHARLOTTE G----.



LETTER XLII

LADY G----, TO MISS BYRON
MONDAY, MAY 8.


My lord and I have had another little--Tiff, shall I call it? It came
not up to a quarrel. Married people would have enough to do, if they
were to trouble their friends every time they misunderstood one another.
And now a word or two of other people: not always scribbling of
ourselves.

We have just heard, that our cousin Everard has added another fool of our
sex to the number of the weak ones who disgrace it: A sorry fellow! He
has been seen with her, by one whom he would not know, at Cuper's
Gardens; dressed like a sea-officer, and skulking like a thief into the
privatest walks of the place. When he is tired of the poor wretch, he
will want to accommodate with us by promises of penitence and
reformation, as once or twice before. Rakes are not only odious, but
they are despicable fellows. You will the more clearly see this, when I
assure you, from those who know, that this silly creature our cousin is
looked upon, among his brother libertines, and smarts, as a man of first
consideration!

He has also been seen, in a gayer habit, at a certain gaming-table, near
Covent Garden; where he did not content himself with being an idle
spectator. Colonel Winwood, our informant, shook his head, but made no
other answer, to some of our inquiries. May he suffer! say I.--A sorry
fellow!

Preparations are going on all so-fast at Windsor. We are all invited.
God grant that Miss Mansfield may be as happy a Lady W----, as we all
conclude she will be! But I never was fond of matches between sober
young women, and battered old rakes. Much good may do the adventurers,
drawn in by gewgaw and title!--Poor things!--But convenience, when that's
the motive, whatever foolish girls think, will hold out its comforts,
while a gratified love quickly evaporates.

Beauchamp, who is acquainted with the Mansfields, is intrusted by my
brother, in his absence, with the management of the law-affairs. He
hopes, he says, to give a good account of them. The base steward of the
uncle Calvert, who lived as a husband with the woman who had been forced
upon his superannuated master in a doting fit, has been brought, by the
death of one of the children born in Mr. Calvert's life-time, and by the
precarious health of the posthumous one, to make overtures of
accommodation. A new hearing of the cause between them and the Keelings,
is granted; and great things are expected from it in their favour, from
some new lights thrown in upon that suit. The Keelings are frightened
out of their wits, it seems; and are applying to Sir John Lambton, a
disinterested neighbour, to offer himself as a mediator between them.
The Mansfields will so soon be related to us, that I make no apology for
interesting you in their affairs.

Be sure you chide me for my whimsical behaviour to Lord G----. I know
you will. But don't blame my heart: my head only is wrong.


***


A little more from fresh informations of this sorry varlet Everard. I
wished him to suffer; but I wished him not to be so very great a sufferer
as it seems he is. Sharpers have bit his head off, quite close to his
shoulders: they have not left it him to carry under his arm, as the
honest patron of France did his. They lend it him, however, now and
then, to repent with, and curse himself. The creature he attended to
Cuper's Gardens, instead of a country innocent, as he expected her to be,
comes out to be a cast mistress, experienced in all the arts of such, and
acting under the secret influences of a man of quality; who, wanting to
get rid of her, supports her in a prosecution commenced against him (poor
devil!) for performance of covenants. He was extremely mortified, on
finding my brother gone abroad: he intends to apply to him for his pity
and help. Sorry fellow! He boasted to us, on our expectation of our
brother's arrival from abroad, that he would enter his cousin Charles
into the ways of the town. Now he wants to avail himself against the
practices of the sons of that town by his cousin's character and
consequence.

A combination of sharpers, it seems, had long set him as a man of
fortune: but, on his taking refuge with my brother, gave over for a
time their designs upon him, till he threw himself again in their way.

The worthless fellow had been often liberal of his promises of marriage
to young creatures of more innocence than this; and thinks it very hard
that he should be prosecuted for a crime which he had so frequently
committed with impunity. Can you pity him? I cannot, I assure you. The
man who can betray and ruin an innocent woman, who loves him, ought to be
abhorred by men. Would he scruple to betray and ruin them, if he were
not afraid of the law?--Yet there are women, who can forgive such
wretches, and herd with them.

My aunt Eleanor is arrived: a good, plump, bonny-faced old virgin. She
has chosen her apartment. At present we are most prodigiously civil to
each other: but already I suspect she likes Lord G---- better than I
would have her. She will perhaps, if a party should be formed against
your poor Charlotte, make one of it.

Will you think it time thrown away, to read a further account of what is
come to hand about the wretches who lately, in the double sense of the
word, were overtaken between St. Denis and Paris?

Sir Hargrave Pollexfen, it seems, still keeps his chamber: he is thought
not to be out of danger from some inward hurt, which often makes him
bring up blood in quantities. He is miserably oppressed by lowness of
spirits; and when he is a little better in that respect, his impatience
makes his friends apprehensive for his head. But has he intellects
strong enough to give apprehensions of that nature? Fool and madman we
often join as terms of reproach; but I believe, fools seldom run really
mad.

Merceda is in a still more dangerous way. Besides his bruises, and a
fractured skull, he has, it seems, a wound in his thigh, which, in the
delirium he was thrown into by the fracture, was not duly attended to;
and which, but for his valiant struggles against the knife which gave the
wound, was designed for a still greater mischief. His recovery is
despaired of; and the poor wretch is continually offering up vows of
penitence and reformation, if his life may be spared.

Bagenhall was the person who had seduced, by promises of marriage, and
fled for it, the manufacturer's daughter of Abbeville. He was overtaken
by his pursuers at Douay. The incensed father, and friends of the young
woman, would not be otherwise pacified than by his performing his
promise; which, with infinite reluctance, he complied with, principally
through the threats of the brother, who is noted for his fierceness and
resolution; and who once made the sorry creature feel an argument which
greatly terrified him. Bagenhall is at present at Abbeville, living as
well as he can with his new wife, cursing his fate, no doubt, in secret.
He is obliged to appear fond of her before her brother and father; the
latter being also a sour man, a Gascon, always boasting of his family,
and valuing himself upon a De, affixed by himself to his name, and
jealous of indignity offered to it. The fierce brother is resolved to
accompany his sister to England, when Bagenhall goes thither, in order,
as he declares, to secure to her good usage, and see her owned and
visited by all Bagenhall's friends and relations. And thus much of these
fine gentlemen.

How different a man is Beauchamp! But it is injuring him, to think of
those wretches and him at the same time. He certainly has an eye to
Emily, but behaves with great prudence towards her: yet every body but
she sees his regard for her: nobody but her guardian runs in her head;
and the more, as she really thinks it is a glory to love him, because of
his goodness. Every body, she says, has the same admiration of him, that
she has.

Mrs. Reeves desires me to acquaint you, that Miss Clements, having, by
the death of her mother and aunt, come into a pretty fortune, is
addressed to by a Yorkshire gentleman of easy circumstances, and is
preparing to leave the town, having other connexions in that county; but
that she intends to write to you before she goes, and to beg you to
favour her with now and then a letter.

I think Miss Clements is a good sort of young woman: but I imagined she
would have been one of those nuns at large, who need not make vows of
living and dying aunt Eleanors, or Lady Gertrudes; all three of them good
honest souls! chaste, pious, and plain. It is a charming situation, when
a woman is arrived at such a height of perfection, as to be above giving
or receiving temptation. Sweet innocents! They have my reverence, if
not my love. How would they be affronted, if I were to say pity!--I
think only of my two good aunts, at the present writing. Miss Clements,
you know, is a youngish woman; and I respect her much. One would not
jest upon the unsightliness of person, or plainness of feature: but think
you she will not be one of those, who twenty years hence may put in a
boast of her quondam beauty?

How I run on! I think I ought to be ashamed of myself.

'Very true, Charlotte.'

And so it is, Harriet. I have done--Adieu!--Lord G---- will be silly
again, I doubt; but I am prepared. I wish he had half my patience.

'Be quiet, Lord G----! What a fool you are!'--The man, my dear, under
pretence of being friends, run his sharp nose in my eye. No bearing his
fondness: It is worse than insolence. How my eye waters!--I can tell
him--But I will tell him, and not you.--Adieu, once more.

CHARLOTTE G----



LETTER XLIII

MR. LOWTHER, TO JOHN ARNOLD, ESQ.
(HIS BROTHER-IN-LAW) IN LONDON.
BOLOGNA, MAY 5-16.


I will now, my dear brother, give you a circumstantial account of our
short, but flying journey. The 20th of April, O.S. early in the morning,
we left Paris, and reached Lyons the 24th, at night.

Resting but a few hours, we set out for Pont Beauvoisin, where we arrived
the following evening: There we bid adieu to France, and found ourselves
in Savoy, equally noted for its poverty and rocky mountains. Indeed it
was a total change of the scene. We had left behind us a blooming
spring, which enlivened with its verdure the trees and hedges on the road
we passed, and the meadows already smiled with flowers. The cheerful
inhabitants were busy in adjusting their limits, lopping their trees,
pruning their vines, tilling their fields: but when we entered Savoy,
nature wore a very different face; and I must own, that my spirits were
great sufferers by the change. Here we began to view on the nearer
mountains, covered with ice and snow, notwithstanding the advanced
season, the rigid winter, in frozen majesty, still preserving its
domains: and arriving at St. Jean Maurienne the night of the 26th, the
snow seemed as if it would dispute with us our passage; and horrible was
the force of the boisterous winds, which sat full in our faces.

Overpowered by the fatigues I had undergone in the expedition we had
made, the unseasonable coldness of the weather, and the fight of one of
the worst countries under heaven, still clothed in snow, and deformed by
continual hurricanes; I was here taken ill. Sir Charles was greatly
concerned for my indisposition, which was increased by a great lowness of
spirits. He attended upon me in person; and never had man a more kind
and indulgent friend. Here we stayed two days; and then, my illness
being principally owing to fatigue, I found myself enabled to proceed.
At two of the clock in the morning of the 28th, we prosecuted our
journey, in palpable darkness, and dismal weather, though the winds were
somewhat laid, and reaching the foot of Mount Cenis by break of day,
arrived at Lanebourg, a poor little village, so environed by high
mountains, that for three months in the twelve, it is hardly visited by
the cheering rays of the sun. Every object which here presents itself is
excessively miserable. The people are generally of an olive complexion,
with wens under their chins; some so monstrous, especially women, as
quite disfigure them.

Here it is usual to unscrew and take in pieces the chaises, in order to
carry them on mules over the mountain: and to put them together on the
other side: For the Savoy side of the mountain is much more difficult to
pass than the other. But Sir Charles chose not to lose time; and
therefore lest the chaise to the care of the inn-keeper; proceeding, with
all expedition, to gain the top of the hill.

The way we were carried, was as follows:--A kind of horse, as it is
called with you, with two poles, like those of chairmen, was the vehicle;
on which is secured a sort of elbow chair, in which the traveller sits.
A man before, another behind, carry this open machine with so much
swiftness, that they are continually running and skipping, like wild
goats, from rock to rock, the four miles of that ascent. If a traveller
were not prepossessed that these mountaineers are the surest-footed
carriers in the universe, he would be in continual apprehensions of being
overturned. I, who never undertook this journey before, must own, that I
could not be so fearless, on this occasion as Sir Charles was, though he
had very exactly described to me how every thing would be. Then, though
the sky was clear when we passed this mountain, yet the cold wind blew
quantities of frozen snow in our faces; insomuch that it seemed to me
just as if people were employed, all the time we were passing, to wound
us with the sharpest needles. They indeed call the wind that brings this
sharp-pointed snow, The Tormenta.

An adventure, which any-where else might have appeared ridiculous, I was
afraid would have proved fatal to one of our chairmen, as I will call
them. I had flapt down my hat to screen my eyes from the fury of that
deluge of sharp-pointed frozen-snow; and it was blown off my head, by a
sudden gust, down the precipices: I gave it for lost, and was about to
bind a handkerchief over the woolen-cap, which those people provide to
tie under the chin; when one of the assistant carriers (for they are
always six in number to every chair, in order to relieve one another)
undertook to recover it. I thought it impossible to be done; the passage
being, as I imagined, only practicable for birds: however, I promised him
a crown reward, if he did. Never could the leaps of the most dexterous
of rope-dancers be compared to those of this daring fellow: I saw him
sometimes jumping from rock to rock, sometimes rolling down a declivity
of snow like a ninepin, sometimes running, sometimes hopping, skipping;
in short, he descended like lightning to the verge of a torrent, where he
found the hat. He came up almost as quick, and appeared as little
fatigued, as if he had never left us.

We arrived at the top in two hours, from Lanebourg; and the sun was
pretty high above the horizon. Out of a hut, half-buried in snow, came
some mountaineers, with two poor sledges, drawn by mules, to carry us
through the Plain of Mount Cenis, as it is called, which is about four
Italian miles in length, to the descent of the Italian side of the
mountain. These sledges are not much different from the chairs, or
sedans, or horse, we then quitted; only the two under poles are flat, and
not so long as the others, and turning up a little at the end, to hinder
them from sticking fast in the snow. To the fore-ends of the poles are
fixed two round sticks, about two feet and a half long, which serve for a
support and help to the man who guides the mule, who, running on the snow
between the mule and the sledge, holds the sticks with each hand.

It was diverting to see the two sledgemen striving to outrun each other.

Encouraged by Sir Charles's generosity, we very soon arrived at the other
end of the plain. The man who walked, or rather ran, between the sledge
and the mule, made a continual noise; hallooing and beating the stubborn
beast with his fists, which otherwise would be very slow in its motion.

At the end of this plain we found such another hut as that on the
Lanebourg side. Here they took off the smoking mules from the sledges,
to give them rest.

And now began the most extraordinary way of travelling that can be
imagined. The descent of the mountain from the top of this side, to a
small village called Novalesa, is four Italian miles. When the snow has
filled up all the inequalities of the mountain, it looks, in many parts,
as smooth and equal as a sugar-loaf. It is on the brink of this rapid
descent that they put the sledge. The man who is to guide it, sits
between the feet of the traveller, who is seated in the elbow-chair, with
his legs at the outside of the sticks fixed at the fore-ends of the flat
poles, and holds the two sticks with his hands; and when the sledge has
gained the declivity, its own weight carries it down with surprising
celerity. But as the immense irregular rocks under the snow make now
and then some edges in the declivity, which, if not avoided, would
overturn the sledge; the guide, who foresees the danger, by putting his
foot strongly and dexterously in the snow next to the precipice, turns
the machine, by help of the above-mentioned sticks, the contrary way,
and by way of zig-zag goes to the bottom. Such was the velocity of this
motion, that we dispatched these four miles in less than five minutes;
and, when we arrived at Novalesa, hearing that the snow was very deep
most of the way to Susa, and being pleased with our way of travelling, we
had some mules put again to the sledges, and ran all the way to the very
gates of that city, which is seven miles distant from Mount Cenis.

In our way we had a cursory view of the impregnable fortress of Brunetta,
the greatest part of which is cut out of the solid rock, and commands
that important pass.

We rested all night at Susa; and, having bought a very commodious
post-chaise, we proceeded to Turin, where we dined; and from thence, the
evening of May 2, O.S. got to Parma by way of Alexandria and Placentia,
having purposely avoided the high road through Milan, as it would have
cost us a few hours more time.

Sir Charles observed to me, when we were on the plain or flat top of
Mount Cenis, that had not the winter been particularly long and severe,
we should have had, instead of this terrible appearance of snow there,
flowers starting up, as it were, under our feet, of various kinds, which
are hardly to be met with anywhere else. One of the greatest dangers, he
told me, in passing this mount in winter, arises from a ball of snow,
which is blown down from the top by the wind, or falls down by some other
accident; which, gathering all the way in its descent, becomes instantly
of such a prodigious bigness, that there is hardly any avoiding being
carried away with it, man and beast, and smothered in it. One of these
balls we saw rolling down; but as it took another course than ours, we
had no apprehension of danger from it.

At Parma we found expecting us, the bishop of Nocera, and a very reverend
father, Marescotti by name; who expressed the utmost joy at the arrival
of Sir Charles Grandison, and received me, at his recommendation, with a
politeness which seems natural to them. I will not repeat what I have
written before of this excellent young gentleman; intrepidity, bravery,
discretion, as well as generosity, are conspicuous parts of his
character. He is studious to avoid danger; but is unappalled in it. For
humanity, benevolence, providence for others, to his very servants, I
never met with his equal.

My reception from the noble family to which he has introduced me; the
patient's case, (a very unhappy one!); and a description of this noble
city, and the fine country about it; shall be the subject of my next.
Assure all my friends of my health, and good wishes for them; and, my
dear Arnold, believe me to be

Ever yours, &c.



LETTER XLIV

SIR CHARLES GRANDISON, TO DR. BARTLETT
BOLOGNA, WEDNESDAY, MAY 10-21.


I told you, my dear and reverend friend, that I should hardly write to
you till I arrived in this city.

The affair of my executorship obliged me to stay a day longer at Paris
than I intended; but I have put every thing relating to that trust in
such a way, as to answer all my wishes.

Mr. Lowther wrote to Mr. Arnold, a friend of his in London, the
particulars of the extraordinary affair we were engaged in between St.
Denis and Paris; with desire that he would inform my friends of our
arrival at that capital.

We were obliged to stop two days at St. Jean de Maurienne. The
expedition we travelled with was too much for Mr. Lowther; and I
expected, and was not disappointed, from the unusual backwardness of the
season, to find the passage over Mount Cenis less agreeable than it
usually is in the beginning of May.

The bishop of Nocera had offered to meet me any where on his side of the
mountains. I wrote to him from Lyons, that I hoped to see him at Parma,
on or about the very day that I was so fortunate as to reach the palace
of the Count of Belvedere in that city; where I found, that he and Father
Marescotti had arrived the evening before. They, as well as the count,
expressed great joy to see me; and when I presented Mr. Lowther to them,
with the praises due to his skill, and let them know the consultations I
had had with eminent physicians of my own country on Lady Clementina's
case, they invoked blessings upon us both, and would not be interrupted
in them by my eager questions after the health and state of mind of the
two dearest persons of their family.--Unhappy! very unhappy! said the
bishop. Let us give you some refreshment, before we come to particulars.

To my repeated inquiries, Jeronymo, poor Jeronymo! said the bishop, is
living, and that is all we can say.--The sight of you will be a cordial
to his heart. Clementina is on her journey to Bologna from Naples. You
desired to find her with us, and not at Naples. She is weak; is obliged
to travel slowly. She will rest at Urbino two or three days. Dear
creature! What has she not suffered from the cruelty of her cousin
Laurana, as well as from her malady! The general has been, and is,
indulgent to her. He is married to a lady of great merit, quality, and
fortune. He has, at length, consented that we shall try this last
experiment, as the hearts of my mother and now lately of my father, as
well as mine, are in it. His lady would not be denied accompanying my
sister; and as my brother could not bear being absent from her, he
travels with them. I wish he had stayed at Naples. I hope, however, he
will be as ready, as you will find us all, to acknowledge the favour of
this visit, and the fatigue and trouble you have given yourself on our
account.

As to my sister's bodily health, proceeded he, it is greatly impaired.
We are almost hopeless, with regard to the state of her mind. She speaks
not; she answers not any questions. Camilla is with her. She seems
regardless of any body else. She has been told, that the general is
married. His lady makes great court to her; but she heeds her not. We
are in hopes, that my mother, on her return to Bologna, will engage her
attention. She never yet was so bad as to forget her duty, either to
God, or her parents. Sometimes Camilla thinks she pays some little
attention to your name; but then she instantly starts, as in terror;
looks round her with fear; puts her finger to her lips, as if she dreaded
her cruel cousin Laurana should be told of her having heard it mentioned.

The bishop and father both regretted that she had been denied the
requested interview. They were now, they said, convinced, that if that
had been granted, and she had been left to Mrs. Beaumont's friendly care,
a happy issue might have been hoped for: But now, said the bishop--Then
sighed, and was silent.

I despatched Saunders, early the next morning, to Bologna, to procure
convenient lodgings for me, and Mr. Lowther.

In the afternoon we set out for that city. The Count of Belvedere found
an opportunity to let me know his unabated passion for Clementina, and
that he had lately made overtures to marry her, notwithstanding her
malady; having been advised, he said, by proper persons, that as it was
not an hereditary, but an accidental disorder, it might be, in time,
curable. He accompanied us about half way in our journey; and, at
parting, Remember, chevalier, whispered he, that Clementina is the soul
of my hope: I cannot forego that hope. No other woman will I ever call
mine.

I heard him in silence: I admired him for his attachment: I pitied him.
He said, he would tell me more of his mind at Bologna.

We reached Bologna on the 15th, N.S. Saunders had engaged for me the
lodgings I had before.

Our conversation on the road turned chiefly on the case of Signor
Jeronymo. The bishop and father were highly pleased with the skill,
founded on practice, which evidently appeared in all that Mr. Lowther
said on the subject: and the bishop once intimated, that, be the event
what it would, his journey to Italy should be made the most beneficial
affair to him he had ever engaged in. Mr. Lowther replied, that as he
was neither a necessitous nor a mean-spirited man, and had reason to be
entirely satisfied with the terms I had already secured to him; he should
take it unkindly, if any other reward were offered him.

Think, my dear Dr. Bartlett, what emotions I must have on entering, once
more, the gates of the Porretta palace, though Clementina was not there.

I hastened up to my Jeronymo, who had been apprized of my arrival. The
moment he saw me, Do I once more, said he, behold my friend, my
Grandison? Let me embrace the dearest of men. Now, now, have I lived
long enough. He bowed his head upon his pillow, and meditated me; his
countenance shining with pleasure in defiance of pain.

The bishop entered: he could not be present at our first interview.

My lord, said Jeronymo, make it your care that my dear friend be treated,
by every soul of our family, with the gratitude and respect which are due
to his goodness. Methinks I am easier and happier, this moment, than I
have been for the tedious space of time since I last saw him. He named
that space of time to the day, and to the very hour of the day.

The marquis and marchioness signifying their pleasure to see me, the
bishop led me to them. My reception from the marquis was kind; from his
lady it was as that of a mother to a long-absent son. I had ever been,
she was pleased to say, a fourth son in her eye; and now, that she had
been informed that I had brought over with me a surgeon of experience,
and the advice in writing of eminent physicians of my country, the
obligations I had laid on their whole family, whatever were the success,
were unreturnable.

I asked leave to introduce Mr. Lowther to them. They received him with
great politeness, and recommended their Jeronymo to his best skill. Mr.
Lowther's honest heart was engaged, by a reception so kind. He never, he
told me afterwards, beheld so much pleasure and pain struggling in the
same countenance, as in that of the lady; so fixed a melancholy, as in
that of the marquis.

Mr. Lowther is a man of spirit, though a modest man. He is, as on every
proper occasion I found, a man of piety; and has a heart tender as manly.
Such a man, heart and hand, is qualified for a profession which is the
most useful and certain in the art of healing. He is a man of sense and
learning out of his profession, and happy in his address.

The two surgeons who now attend Signor Jeronymo, are both of this
country. They were sent for. With the approbation, and at the request,
of the family, I presented Mr. Lowther to them; but first gave them his
character, as a modest man, as a man of skill, and experience; and told
them, that he had quitted business, and wanted not either fame or
fortune.

They acquainted him with the case, and their methods of proceeding. Mr.
Lowther assisted in the dressings that very evening. Jeronymo would have
me to be present. Mr. Lowther suggested an alteration in their method,
but in so easy and gentle a manner, as if he doubted not, but such was
their intention when the state of the wounds would admit of that method
of treatment, that the gentlemen came readily into it. A great deal of
matter had been collected, by means of the wrong methods pursued; and he
proposed, if the patient's strength would bear it, to make an aperture
below the principal wound, in order to discharge the matter downward; and
he suggested the dressing with hollow tents and bandage, and to dismiss
the large tents, with which they had been accustomed to distend the
wound, to the extreme anguish of the patient, on pretence of keeping it
open, to assist the discharge.

Let me now give you, my dear friend, a brief history of my Jeronymo's
case, and of the circumstances which have attended it; by which you will
be able to account for the difficulties of it, and how it has happened,
that, in such a space of time, either the cure was not effected, or that
the patient yielded not to the common destiny.

In lingering cases, patients or their friends are sometimes too apt to
blame their physicians, and to listen to new recommendations. The
surgeons attending this unhappy case, had been more than once changed.
Signor Jeronymo, it seems, was unskilfully treated by the young surgeon
of Cremona, who was first engaged: he neglected the most dangerous wound;
and, when he attended to it, managed it wrong, for want of experience.
He is, therefore, very properly dismissed.

The unhappy man had at first three wounds: one in his breast, which had
been for some time healed; one in his shoulder, which, through his own
impatience, having been too suddenly healed up, was obliged to be laid
open again: the other, which is the most dangerous, in the hip-joint.

A surgeon of this place, and another of Padua, were next employed. The
cure not advancing, a surgeon of eminence, from Paris, was sent for.

Mr. Lowther tells me, that this man's method was by far the most
eligible; but that he undertook too much; since, from the first, there
could not be any hope, from the nature of the wound in the hip-joint,
that the patient could ever walk, without sticks or crutches: and of this
opinion were the other two surgeons: but the French gentleman was so very
pragmatical, that he would neither draw with them, nor give reasons for
what he did; regarding them only as his assistants. They could not long
bear this usage, and gave up to him in disgust.

How cruel is punctilio, among men of this science, in cases of difficulty
and danger!

The present operators, when the two others had given up, were not, but by
leave of the French gentleman, called in. He valuing himself on his
practice in the Royal Hospital of Invalids at Paris, looked upon them as
theorists only; and treated them with as little ceremony as he had shewn
the others: so that at last, from their frequent differences, it became
necessary to part with either him, or them. His pride, when he knew that
this question was a subject of debate, would not allow him to leave the
family an option. He made his demand: it was complied with; and he
returned to Paris.

From what this gentleman threw out at parting, to the disparagement of
the two others, Signor Jeronymo suspected their skill; and from a hint of
this suspicion, as soon as I knew I should be welcome myself, I procured
the favour of Mr. Lowther's attendance.

All Mr. Lowther's fear is, that Signor Jeronymo has been kept too long in
hand by the different managements of the several operators; and that he
will sink under the necessary process, through weakness of habit. But,
however, he is of opinion, that it is requisite to confine him to a
strict diet, and to deny him wine and fermented liquors, in which he has
hitherto been indulged, against the opinion of his own operators, who
have been too complaisant to his appetite.

An operation somewhat severe was performed on his shoulder yesterday
morning. The Italian surgeons complimented Mr. Lowther with the lancet.
They both praised his dexterity; and Signor Jeronymo, who will be
consulted on every thing that he is to suffer, blessed his gentle hand.

At Mr. Lowther's request, a physician was yesterday consulted; who
advised some gentle aperitives, as his strength will bear it; and some
balsamics, to sweeten the blood and juices.

Mr. Lowther told me just now, that the fault of the gentlemen who have
now the care of him, has not been want of skill, but of critical courage,
and a too great solicitude to oblige their patient; which, by their own
account, had made them forego several opportunities which had offered to
assist nature. In short, sir, said he, your friend knows too much of his
own case to be ruled, and too little to qualify him to direct what is to
be done, especially as symptoms must have been frequently changing.

Mr. Lowther doubts not, he says, but he shall soon convince Jeronymo that
he merits his confidence, and then he will exact it from him; and, in so
doing, shall not only give weight to his own endeavours to serve him, but
rid the other two gentlemen of embarrasments which have often given them
diffidences, when resolution was necessary.

In the mean time the family here are delighted with Mr. Lowther. They
will flatter themselves, they say, with hopes of their Jeronymo's
recovery; which, however, Mr. Lowther, for fear of disappointment, does
not encourage. Jeronymo himself owns, that his spirits are much revived;
and we all know the power that the mind has over the body.

Thus have I given you, my reverend friend, a general notion of Jeronymo's
case, as I understand it from Mr. Lowther's as general representation of
it.

He has prevailed upon him to accept of an apartment adjoining to that of
his patient. Jeronymo said, that when he knows he has so skilful a
friend near him, he shall go to rest with confidence; and good rest is of
the highest consequence to him. What a happiness, my dear Dr. Bartlett,
will fall to my share, if I may be an humble instrument, in the hand of
Providence, to heal this brother; and if his recovery shall lead the way
to the restoration of his sister; each so known a lover of the other,
that the world is more ready to attribute her malady to his misfortune
and danger, than to any other cause! But how early days are these, on
which my love and my compassion for persons so meritorious, embolden me
to build such forward hopes!

Lady Clementina is now impatiently expected by every one. She is at
Urbino. The general and his lady are with her. His haughty spirit
cannot bear to think she should see me, or that my attendance on her
should be thought of so much importance to her.

The marchioness, in a conversation that I have just now had with her,
hinted this to me, and besought me to keep my temper, if his high notion
of family and female honour should carry him out of his usual politeness.

I will give you, my dear friend, the particulars of this conversation.

She began with saying, that she did not, for her part, now think, that
her beloved daughter, whom once she believed hardly any private man could
deserve, was worthy of me, even were she to recover her reason.

I could not but guess the meaning of so high a compliment. What answer
could I return that would not, on one hand, be capable of being thought
cool; on the other, of being supposed interested; and as if I were
looking forward to a reward that some of the family still think too high?
But, while I knew my own motives, I could not be displeased with a lady
who was not at liberty to act, in this point, according to her own will.

I only said, (and it was with truth,) That the calamity of the noble lady
had endeared her to me, more than it was possible the most prosperous
fortune could have done.

I, my good chevalier, may say any thing to you. We are undetermined
about every thing. We know not what to propose, what to consent to.
Your journey, on the first motion, though but from some of us, the dear
creature continuing ill; you in possession of a considerable estate,
exercising yourself in doing good in your native country; [You must think
we took all opportunities of inquiring after the man once so likely to be
one of us;] the first fortune in Italy, Olivia, though she is not a
Clementina, pursuing you in hopes of calling herself yours; (for to
England we hear she went, and there you own she is;) What obligations
have you laid upon us!--What can we determine upon? What can we wish?

Providence and you, madam, shall direct my steps. I am in yours and your
lord's power. The same uncertainty, from the same unhappy cause, leaves
me not the thought, because not the power, of determination. The
recovery of Lady Clementina and her brother, without a view to my own
interest, fills up, at present, all the wishes of my heart.

Let me ask, said the lady, (it is for my own private satisfaction,) Were
such a happy event, as to Clementina, to take place, could you, would
you, think yourself bound by your former offers?

When I made those offers, madam, the situation on your side was the same
that it is now: Lady Clementina was unhappy in her mind. My fortune, it
is true, is higher: it is, indeed, as high as I wish it to be. I then
declared, that if you would give me your Clementina, without insisting on
one hard, on one indispensable article, I would renounce her fortune, and
trust to my father's goodness to me for a provision. Shall my accession
to the estate of my ancestors alter me?--No, madam: I never yet made an
offer, that I receded from, the circumstances continuing the same. If,
in the article of residence, the marquis, and you, and Clementina, would
relax; I would acknowledge myself indebted to your goodness; but without
conditioning for it.

I told you, said she, that I put this question only for my own private
satisfaction: and I told you truth. I never will deceive or mislead you.
Whenever I speak to you, it shall be as if, even in your own concerns, I
spoke to a third person; and I shall not doubt but you will have the
generosity to advise, as such, though against yourself.

May I be enabled to act worthy of your good opinion! I, madam, look upon
myself as bound; you and yours are free.

What a pleasure is it, my dear Dr. Bartlett, to the proud heart of your
friend, that I could say this!--Had I sought, in pursuance of my own
inclinations, to engage the affections of the admirable Miss Byron, as I
might with honour have endeavoured to do, had not the woes of this noble
family, and the unhappy state of mind of their Clementina, so deeply
affected me; I might have involved myself, and that loveliest of women,
in difficulties which would have made such a heart as mine still more
unhappy than it is.

Let me know, my dear Dr. Bartlett, that Miss Byron is happy. I rejoice,
whatever be my own destiny, that I have not involved her in my
uncertainties. The Countess of D---- is a worthy woman: the earl, her
son, is a good young man: Miss Byron merits such a mother; the countess
such a daughter. How dear, how important, is her welfare to me!--You
know your Grandison, my good Dr. Bartlett. Her friendship I presumed to
ask: I dared not to wish to correspond with her. I rejoice, for her
sake, that I trusted not my heart with such a proposal. What
difficulties, my dear friend, have I had to encounter with!--God be
praised, that I have nothing, with regard to these two incomparable
women, to reproach myself with. I am persuaded that our prudence, if
rashly we throw not ourselves into difficulties, and if we will exert it,
and make a reliance on the proper assistance, is generally proportioned
to our trials.

I asked the marchioness after Lady Sforza, and her daughter Laurana; and
whether they were at Milan?

You have heard, no doubt, answered she, the cruel treatment that my poor
child met with from her cousin Laurana. Lady Sforza justifies her in it.
We are upon extreme bad terms, on that account. They are both at Milan.
The general has vowed, that he never will see them more, if he can avoid
it. The bishop, only as a Christian, can forgive them. You, chevalier,
know the reason why we cannot allow our Clementina to take the veil.

The particular reasons I have not, madam, been inquisitive about; but
have always understood them to be family ones, grounded on the dying
request of one of her grandfathers.

Our daughter, sir, is entitled to a considerable estate which joins to
our own domains. It was purchased for her by her two grandfathers; who
vied with each other in demonstrating their love of her by solid effects.
One of them (my father) was, in his youth, deeply in love with a young
lady of great merit; and she was thought to love him: but, in a fit of
pious bravery, as he used to call it, when everything between themselves,
and between the friends on both sides, was concluded on, she threw
herself into a convent; and, passing steadily through the probationary
forms, took the veil; but afterwards repented, and took pains to let it
be known that she was unhappy. This gave him a disgust against the
sequestered life, though he was, in other respects, a zealous Catholic.
And Clementina having always a serious turn; in order to deter her from
embracing it, (both grandfathers being desirous of strengthening their
house, as well in the female as male line,) they inserted a clause in
each of their wills, by which they gave the estate designed for her, in
case she took the veil, to Laurana, and her descendants; Laurana to enter
into possession of it on the day that Clementina should be professed.
But if Clementina married, Laurana was then to be entitled only to a
handsome legacy, that she might not be entirely disappointed: for the
reversion, in case Clementina had no children, was to go to our eldest
son; who, however, has been always generously solicitous to have his
sister marry.

Both grandfathers were rich. Our son Giacomo, on my father's death, as
he had willed, entered upon a considerable estate in the kingdom of
Naples, which had for ages been in my family: he is therefore, and will
be, greatly provided for. Our second son has great prospects before him,
in the church: but you know he cannot marry. Poor Jeronymo! We had not,
before his misfortune, any great hopes of strengthening the family by his
means: he, alas! (as you well know, who took such laudable pains to
reclaim him, before we knew you,) with great qualities, imbibed free
notions from bad company, and declared himself a despiser of marriage.
This the two grandfathers knew, and often deplored; for Jeronymo and
Clementina were equally their favourites. To him and the bishop they
bequeathed great legacies.

We suspected not, till very lately, that Laurana was deeply in love with
the Count of Belvedere; and that her mother and she had views to drive
our sweet child into a convent, that Laurana might enjoy the estate;
which they hoped would be an inducement to the count to marry her. Cruel
Laurana! Cruel Lady Sforza! So much love as they both pretended to our
child; and, I believe, had, till the temptation, strengthened by power,
became too strong for them. Unhappy the day that we put her into their
hands.

Besides the estate so bequeathed to Clementina, we can do great things
for her: few Italian families are so rich as ours. Her brothers forget
their own interest, when it comes into competition with hers: she is as
generous as they. Our four children never knew what a contention was,
but who should give up an advantage to the other. This child, this sweet
child, was ever the delight of us all, and likewise of our brother the
Conte della Porretta. What joy would her recovery and nuptials give us!
--Dear creature! we have sometimes thought, that she is the fonder of the
sequestered life, as it is that which we wish her not to embrace.--But
can Clementina be perverse? She cannot. Yet that was the life of her
choice, when she had a choice, her grandfathers' wishes notwithstanding.

Will you now wonder, chevalier, that neither our sons nor we can allow
Clementina to take the veil? Can we so reward Laurana for her cruelty?
Especially now, that we suspect the motives for her barbarity? Could I
have thought that my sister Sforza--But what will not love and avarice
do, their powers united to compass the same end; the one reigning in the
bosom of the mother, the other in that of the daughter? Alas! alas! they
have, between them, broken the spirit of my Clementina. The very name of
Laurana gives her terror--So far is she sensible. But, O sir, her
sensibility appears only when she is harshly treated! To tenderness she
had been too much accustomed, to make her think an indulgent treatment
new, or unusual.

I dread, my dear Dr. Bartlett, yet am impatient, to see the unhappy lady.
I wish the general were not to accompany her. I am afraid I shall want
temper, if he forget his. My own heart, when it tells me, that I have
not deserved ill usage, (from my equals and superiors in rank,
especially,) bids me not bear it. I am ashamed to own to you, my
reverend friend, that pride of spirit, which, knowing it to be my fault,
I ought long ago to have subdued.

Make my compliments to every one I love. Mr. and Mrs. Reeves are of the
number.

Charlotte, I hope, is happy. If she is not, it must be her own fault.
Let her know, that I will not allow, when my love to both sisters is
equal, that she shall give me cause to say that Lady L---- is my best
sister.

Lady Olivia gives me uneasiness. I am ashamed, my dear Dr. Bartlett,
that a woman of a rank so considerable, and who has some great qualities,
should lay herself under obligation to the compassion of a man who can
only pity her. When a woman gets over that delicacy, which is the test
or bulwark, as I may say, of modesty--Modesty itself may soon lie at the
mercy of an enemy.

Tell my Emily, that she is never out of my mind; and that, among the
other excellent examples she has before her, Miss Byron's must never be
out of hers.

Lord L---- and Lord G---- are in full possession of my brotherly love.

I shall not at present write to my Beauchamp. In writing to you, I write
to him.

You know all my heart. If in this, or my future letters, any thing
should fall from my pen, that would possibly in your opinion affect or
give uneasiness to any one I love and honour, were it to be communicated;
I depend upon your known and unquestionable discretion to keep it to
yourself.

I shall be glad you will enable yourself to inform me of the way Sir
Hargrave and his friends are in. They were very ill at Paris; and, it
was thought, too weak, and too much bruised, to be soon carried over to
England. Men! Englishmen! thus to disgrace themselves, and their
country!--I am concerned for them!

I expect large packets by the next mails from my friends. England, which
was always dear to me, never was half so dear as now, to

Your ever-affectionate
GRANDISON.


END OF VOLUME 4





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