LETTER I. Miſs HARRIET BYRON, To Miſs LUCY SELBY.

MR. Fowler ſet out yeſterday for Glou⯑ceſterſhire, where he has an eſtate. He propoſes to go from thence to Caermarthen, to the worthy Sir Rowland. He paid a viſit to Mr. Reeves, and deſir'd him to preſent to me his beſt wiſhes and reſpects. He declar'd, that he could not poſſibly take leave of me, though he doubted not but I would receive him with good⯑neſs, as he called it. But it was that which cut him to the heart: So kind, and ſo cruel, he ſaid, he could not bear it.

I hope, poor Mr. Fowler will be more happy than I could make him. Methinks, I could have been [2] half-glad to have ſeen him before he went: and yet but half-glad; for had he ſhewn much concern, I ſhould have been pained.

Take now, my dear, an account of what paſſed this day at St. James's Square.

There were at Sir Charles Grandiſon's, beſides Lord and Lady L. the young Lord G. one of Miſs Grandiſon's humble Servants; Mr. Everard Gran⯑diſon; Miſs Emily Jervois, a young Lady of about fourteen, a ward of Sir Charles; and Dr. Bartlett, a Divine; of whom more by-and-by.

Sir Charles conducted us into the drawing-room, adjoining to the dining-room; where only were his two ſiſters. They received my couſins and me with looks of Love.

I will tell you, ſaid Sir Charles, your company, be⯑fore I preſent them to you. Lord L. is a good man. I honour him as ſuch; and love him as my ſiſter's Huſband.

Lady L. bowed, and looked round her, as if ſhe took pride in her brother's approbation of her Lord.

Mr. Everard Grandiſon, proceeded he, is a ſpright⯑ly man. He is prepared to admire you, Miſs Byron. You will not believe, perhaps, half the handſome things he will ſay to you; but yet, will be the only perſon who hears them, that will not.

Lord G. is a modeſt young man: He is genteel, well-bred; but is ſo much in Love with a certain young Lady, that he does not appear with that dignity in her eye [Why bluſhes my Charlotte?] that other⯑wiſe perhaps he might.

Are not you, Sir Charles, a modeſt man?

No compariſons, Charlotte. Where there is a double prepoſſeſſion; no compariſons!—But Lord G. Miſs Byron, is a good kind of young man. You'll not diſlike him, though my ſiſter is pleaſed to think—

No compariſons, Sir Charles.

That's fair, Charlotte. I will leave Lord G. to the [3] judgment of Miſs Byron. Ladies can better account for the approbation and diſlikes of Ladies, than we Men can.

Dr. Bartlett you'll alſo ſee. He is learned, prudent, humble. You'll read his heart in his countenance, the moment he ſmiles upon you. Your grandpapa, ma⯑dam, had fine curling ſilver hair, had he not? The moment I heard that you owed obligation to your grandfather's care and delight in you, I figured to myſelf, that he was juſt ſuch a man, habit excepted: Your grandfather was not a Clergyman, I think. When I have friends whom I have a ſtrong deſire to pleaſe, I always endeavour to treat them with Dr. Bartlett's company. He has but one fault; he ſpeaks too little: But were he to ſpeak much, every one elſe would wiſh to be ſilent.

My ward Emily Jervois is an amiable girl. Her father was a good man; but not happy in his nup⯑tials. He bequeathed to my care, on his death-bed, at Florence, this his only child. My ſiſter loves her. I love her for her own ſake, as well as for her fa⯑ther's. She has a great fortune: And I have had the happineſs to recover large ſums, which her father gave over for loſt. He was an Italian merchant; and driven out of England by the unhappy temper of his wife. I have had ſome trouble with her; and, if ſhe be living, expect more.

Unhappy temper of his wife, Sir Charles! You are very mild in your account of one of the moſt aban⯑doned of women.

Well, but, Charlotte, I am only giving brief hints of Emily's ſtory, to procure for her an intereſt in Miſs Byron's favour, and to make their firſt acquaint⯑ance eaſy to each other. Emily wants no prepoſſeſſion in Miſs Byron's favour. She will be very ready her⯑ſelf to tell her whole ſtory to Miſs Byron. Mean⯑time, let us not ſay all that is juſt to ſay of the Mo⯑ther, when we are ſpeaking of the Daughter.

[4] I ſtand corrected, Sir Charles.

Emily, madam (turning to me) is not conſtantly reſident with us in town. She is fond of being eve⯑ry-where with my Charlotte.

And where you are, Sir Charles, ſaid Miſs Gran⯑diſon.

Mr. Reeves whiſpered a queſtion to Sir Charles, which was ſeconded by my eyes; for I gueſſed what it was: Whether he had heard any thing further of Sir Hargrave?

Don't be anxious, ſaid Sir Charles. All muſt be well. People, long uſed to error, don't, without reluctance, ſubmit to new methods of proceeding. All muſt be well.

Sir Charles ſtepping out, brought in with him Miſs Jervois. The Gentlemen ſeem engaged in conver⯑ſation, ſaid he. But I know the impatience of this young Lady to pay her reſpects to Miſs Byron.

He preſented her to us: This dear girl is my Emily. Allow me, madam, whenever Miſs Gran⯑diſon ſhall be abſent, to claim for her the benefit of your inſtruction, and your general countenance, as ſhe ſhall appear worthy of it.

There are not many men, my Lucy, who can make a compliment to one Lady, without robbing, or, at leaſt, depreciating another. How often have you and I obſerved, that a polite brother is a black ſwan.

I ſaluted the young Lady, and told her, I ſhould be fond of embracing every opportunity that ſhould offer, to commend myſelf to her favour.

Miſs Emily Jervois is a lovely girl. She is tall, genteel, and has a fine complexion; and, tho' pitted with the ſmall-pox, is pretty. The ſweetneſs of her manners, as expreſſed in her aſpect, gives her great advantage. I was ſure, the moment I ſaw her, that her greateſt delight is to pleaſe.

She made me two or three pretty compliments; [5] and, had not Sir Charles commended her to me, I ſhould have been highly taken with her.

Mr. Grandiſon entered: Upon my honour, Sir Charles, I can ſtay no longer, ſaid he: To know that the fineſt woman in England is under the ſame [...]oof with me; yet to be ſo long detained from paying my reſpects to her—I can't bear it. And in a very gallant manner, as he ſeemed to intend, he paid his compliments, firſt to me, and then to my two cou⯑ſins:—And whiſpering, yet loud enough to be heard, to Miſs Grandiſon, ſwore by his ſoul, that report fell ſhort of my perfections—and I can't tell what.

Did I not tell you, that you would ſay ſo, Sir? ſaid Miſs Grandiſon.

I did not like the gentleman the better for what I had heard of him: But, perhaps, ſhould have been leſs indifferent to his compliment, had I not before been acquainted with Mr. Greville, Mr. Fenwick, and Sir Hargrave Pollexfen. The men of this caſt, I think, ſeem all alike. Poor creatures! how from my heart—But, indeed, now that I have the honour to know theſe two ſiſters, I deſpiſe myſelf.

Sir Charles addreſſing himſelf to my couſins and me, Now, ſaid he, that my couſin Grandiſon has found an opportunity to introduce himſelf; and that I have preſented my ward to you; we will, if you pleaſe, ſee how Lord L. Lord G. and Dr. Bartlett, are engaged.

He led my couſin Reeves into the dining-room.

Lord L. addreſſed us with great politeneſs.

After Sir Charles had preſented the Doctor to my couſins, he reſpectfully took my hand: Were there fifty Ladies here, my good Dr. Bartlett, whom you had never ſeen before, you would, I am ſure, from the character you have had of Miſs Byron, be under no difficulty of reading that character in this young Lady's Face. Miſs Byron, behold in Dr. Bartlett, another grandfather.

[6] I reverence, ſaid I, good Dr. Bartlett. I borrow Sir Charles's thought: The character he has given you, Sir, is ſtamped in your countenance. I ſhould have venerated you where-ever I had ſeen you.

The gentleman has ſuch a truly venerable aſpect, my Lucy, I could not help ſaying this.

Sir Charles's goodneſs, madam, ſaid he, as it ever did, prevents my wiſhes. I rejoice to ſee, and to congratulate, a new ſiſter, reſtored, as I will call it in the language of Miſs Grandiſon, to the beſt of fa⯑milies.

Juſt then came in a ſervant, and whiſpered to Sir Charles: Shew the gentleman, ſaid Sir Charles, into the drawing-room, next the ſtudy.

Mr. Grandiſon came up to me, and ſaid many ſilly things. I thought them ſo at that time.

Mr. Reeves ſoon after was ſent for out by Sir Charles. I did not like his looks on his return.

Dinner being ready to be ſerved, and Sir Charles, who was ſtill with the gentleman, ſummoned to it, he deſir'd we would walk down, and he would wait upon us by the time we were ſeated.

Some new trouble, thought I, of which I am the cauſe, I doubt.

Preſently came in Sir Charles, unaffectedly ſmiling and ſerene.—God bleſs you, Sir, thought I!—His looks pleaſed me better than my couſin's.

But, my dear, there is ſomething going forward, that I cannot get out of my couſin. I hoped I ſhould, when I got home. The Gentleman to whom Sir Charles was called out, was certainly that Bagenhall. Mr. Reeves cannot deny that. I gueſſed it was, by Sir Charles's ſending in for Mr. Reeves. It muſt be about me.

We had ſeveral charming converſations. Sir Charles was extremely entertaining. So unaſſuming, ſo live⯑ly, ſo modeſt, it was delightful to ſee the attention paid to him by the ſervants as they waited at table. [7] They watched every look of his. I never ſaw love and reverence ſo agreeably mingled in ſervants faces in my life. And his commands were delivered to them with ſo much gentleneſs of voice and aſpect, that one could not but conclude in favour of both, that they were the beſt of Servants to the beſt of Maſters.

Mr. Grandiſon was very gallant in his ſpeeches to me; but very uncivil with his eyes.

Lord L. ſaid but little; but what he did ſay, de⯑ſervedly gained attention.

Every-body reverenced Dr. Bartlett, and was atten⯑tive when he ſpoke; and would, I dare ſay, on his own account, had not the Maſter of the houſe, by the re⯑gard he paid him, engaged every one's veneration for him. Many of the queſtions which Sir Charles put to him, as if to inform himſelf, it was evident he could himſelf have anſwered: Yet he put them with an air of teachableneſs, if I may ſo expreſs myſelf; and re⯑ceived the Doctor's anſwers to them with as much ſa⯑tisfaction, as if he were then newly enlightened by them.—Ah, my Lucy! you imagine, I dare ſay, that this admirable man loſt nothing in my eyes, by this his polite condeſcenſion. Reſerve, and a politeneſs that had dignity in it, ſhewed that the fine Gentle⯑man and the Clergyman were not ſeparated in Dr. Bartlett.—Pity they ſhould be in any of the function.

Sir Charles gave Lord G. an opportunity to ſhine, by leading the diſcourſe into circumſtances and details, which Lord G. could beſt recount. My Lord has been a traveller. He is a connoiſſeur in Antiquities, and in thoſe parts of nice Knowlege, as I, a woman, call it, with which the Royal Society here, and the learned and polite of other nations, entertain them⯑ſelves.

Lord G. appeared to advantage, as Sir Charles ma⯑naged it, under the awful eye of Miſs Grandiſon. Up⯑on my word, Lucy, ſhe makes very free with him. I whiſper'd her, that ſhe did—A very Miſs How, ſaid I.

[8] To a very Mr. Hickman, re-whiſpered ſhe.—But here's the difference: I am not determined to have Lord G. Miſs How yielded to her mother's re⯑commendation, and intended to marry Mr Hick⯑man, even when ſhe uſed him worſt. One time or other (archly continued ſhe the whiſper, holding up her ſpread Hand, and with a countenance of admira⯑tion) my Lord G. is to ſhew us his collection of But⯑terflies, and other gaudy inſects: Will you make one?—

Of the gaudy inſects! whiſpered I.—

Fie, Harriet!—One of the party, you know, I muſt mean. Let me tell you, I never ſaw a collection of theſe various inſects, that I did not the more admire the Maker of them, and of all us inſects, whatever I thought of the collectors of the minute ones.—An⯑other word with you, Harriet—Theſe little playful ſtudies may do well enough with perſons who do not want to be more than indifferent to us: But do you think a Lover ought to take high delight in the painted wings of a Butterfly, when a fine Lady has made her⯑ſelf all over Butterfly to attract him?—Eyes off, Sir Charles!—for he looked, tho' ſmilingly, yet earneſtly, at us, as we whiſper'd behind the Counteſs's chair; who heard what was ſaid, and was pleaſed with it.

LETTER II. Miſs BYRON. In continuation.

I Should have told you, that Miſs Grandiſon did the honours of the table; and I will go round it; for I know you expect I ſhould. But I have not yet done with Lord G.—Poor man! he is exceſſively in Love, I ſee that. Well he may. What man would not with Miſs Grandiſon? Yet is ſhe too ſuperior, I think.

[9] What can a woman do, who is addreſſed by a man of talents inferior to her own? Muſt ſhe throw away her talents? Muſt ſhe hide her light under a buſhel, purely to do credit to the man? She cannot pick and chooſe, as men can. She has only her negative; and, if ſhe is deſirous to oblige her friends, not always that. Yet it is ſaid, Women muſt not encourage Fops and Fools. They muſt encourage Men of Senſe only. And it is well ſaid. But what will they do, if their lot be caſt only among Foplings? If the Men of Senſe do not offer themſelves? And pray, may I not aſk, if the taſte of the age, among the men, is not Dreſs, Equi⯑page, and Foppery? Is the cultivation of the mind any part of their ſtudy? The men, in ſhort, are ſunk, my dear; and the women but barely ſwim.

Lord G. ſeems a little too finical in his dreſs. And yet I am told, that Sir Walter Watkyns outdoes him in Foppery. What can they mean by it, when Sir Charles Grandiſon is before them? He ſcruples not to modernize a little; but then you ſee, that it is in compliance with the faſhion, and to avoid ſingularity; a ſault to which great minds are perhaps too often ſubject, tho' he is ſo much above it.

I want to know, methinks, whether Sir Charles is very much in earneſt in his favour to Lord G. with re⯑gard to Miſs Grandiſon. I doubt not, if he be, but he has good reaſons for it.

Were this vile Sir Hargrave out of my head, I could ſatisfy myſelf about twenty and twenty things, that now-and-then I want to know.

Miſs Jervois behaved very diſcreetly. With what pleaſure did ſhe hang on every word that fell from the lips of her guardian! I thought more than once of Swift's Cadenus and Vaneſſa. Poor girl! how I ſhould pity her, were ſhe inſenſibly to ſuffer her grati⯑tude to lead her to be in Love with her benefactor! In⯑deed, I pity every-body who is hopeleſly in Love.

Now don't you ſhake your head, my uncle! Did I not [10] always pity Mr. Orme, and Mr. Fowler?—You know I did, Lucy.

Miſs Jervois had a ſmile ready for every one; but it was not an implicit, a childiſh ſmile. It had di⯑ſtinction in it; and ſhewed intelligence. Upon the whole, ſhe ſaid little, and heard all that was ſaid with attention: And hence I pronounce her a very diſcreet young Lady.

But I thought to have done with the Men firſt; and here is Mr. Grandiſon, hardly mentioned; who, yet, in his own opinion, was not the laſt of the men at table.

Mr. Grandiſon is a man of middling ſtature; not handſome in my eyes; but ſo near being handſome, that he may be excuſed, when one knows him, for thinking himſelf ſo; becauſe he is liable to make greater miſtakes than that.

He dreſſes very gaily too. He is at the head of the faſhion, as, it ſeems, he thinks; but, however, is one of the firſt in it, be it what it will. He is a great frequenter of the drawing-room; of all manner of publick ſpectacles; a leader of the taſte at a new Play, or Opera. He dances, he ſings, he laughs; and va⯑lues himſelf on all three qualifications: And yet cer⯑tainly has ſenſe; but is not likely to improve it much; ſince he ſeems to be ſo much afraid of ſuffering in the conſequence he thinks himſelf of, that whenever Sir Charles applies himſelf to him, upon any of his levi⯑ties, tho' but by the eye, his conſciouſneſs, however mild the look, makes him ſhew an uneaſineſs at the inſtant. He reddens, ſits in pain; calls for favour by his eyes, and his quivering lips; and has, notwithſtand⯑ing, a ſmile ready to turn into a laugh, in order to leſſen his own ſenſibilty, ſhould he be likely to ſuffer in the opinion of the company: But every motion ſhews his conſciouſneſs of inferiority to the man, of whoſe ſmiles or animadverſions he is ſo very ap⯑prehenſive.

[11] What a captious, what a ſupercilious huſband, to a woman who ſhould happen to have a ſtronger mind than his, would Mr. Grandiſon make! But he values himſelf upon his having preſerved his liberty.

I believe there are more bachelors now in England, by many thouſands, than were a few years ago: And, probably, the numbers of them (and of ſingle women, of courſe) will every year increaſe. The luxury of the age will account a good deal for this; and the turn our Sex take in un-domeſticating themſelves, for a good deal more. But let not theſe worthy young women, who may think themſelves deſtined to a ſingle life, repine over-much at their lot; ſince, poſ⯑ſibly, if they have had no Lovers, or having had one, two, or three, have not found an huſband, they have had rather a miſs than a loſs, as men go. And let me here add, that I think, as matters ſtand in this age, or indeed ever did ſtand, that thoſe women who have joined with the men in their inſolent ridicule of Old Maids ought never to be forgiven: No, tho' Miſs Grandiſon ſhould be one of the ridiculers. An Old Maid may be an odious character, if they will tell us, that the bad qualities of the perſons, not the maiden State, are what they mean to expoſe. But then they muſt allow, that there are Old Maids of Twenty; and even that there are Widows and Wives of all ages and complexions, who, in the abuſive ſenſe of the words, are as much Old Maids, as the moſt par⯑ticular of that claſs of females.

But a word or two more concerning Mr. Gran⯑diſon.

He is about Thirty-two. He has had the glory of ruining two or three women. Sir Charles has re⯑ſtored him to a ſenſe of ſhame [All men, I hope, are born with it] which, a ſew months ago, he had got above. And he does not now entertain ladies with inſtances of the frailty of individuals of their Sex; which many are too apt, encouragingly, to [12] ſmile at; when I am very much miſtaken, if every woman would not find her account, if ſhe wiſhes her⯑ſelf to be thought well of, in diſcouraging every re⯑flection that may have a tendency to debaſe or expoſe the Sex in general. How can a man be ſuffered to boaſt of his vileneſs to one woman, in the preſence of another, without a rebuke, that ſhould put it to the proof, whether the boaſter was, or was not, paſt bluſhing.

Mr. Grandiſon is thought to have hurt his fortune, which was very conſiderable, by his free living, and an itch of gaming; to cure him of which, Sir Charles encourages him to give him his company at all oppor⯑tunities. He certainly has underſtanding enough to know how to value the favour; for he owns to Miſs Grandiſon, that he both loves and fears him; and now-and-then tells her, that he would give the world, if he had it, to be able to be juſt what Sir Charles is! Good God! at other times he has broke out, What an odious creature is a Rake! How I hate myſelf, when I contemplate the excellencies of this divine Brother of yours!

I ſhall ſay nothing of Sir Charles in this place, You, I know, my Lucy, will admire me for my for⯑bearance.

Lady L. and Miſs Grandiſon were the Graces of the Table. So lively, ſo ſenſible, ſo frank, ſo polite, ſo good-humour'd, what honour do they and their Brother reflect back on the memory of their mo⯑ther! Lady Grandiſon, it ſeems, was an excellent woman. Sir Thomas was not, I have heard, quite unexceptionable. How uſeful, if ſo, are the women in the greater, as well as in the leſſer parts of do⯑meſtic duty, where they perform their duty! And what have thoſe, who do not, to anſwer for, to GOD, to their Children, and even to their whole Sex, for the contempts they bring upon it by their uſeleſneſs, and [13] perhaps extravagance; ſince, if the human mind is not actively good, it will generally be actively evil!

Dr. Bartlett I have already ſpoken of. How did he enliven the converſation, whenever he bore a part in it! So happy an elocution, ſo clear, ſo juſt, ſo ſolid his reaſoning. I wiſh I could remember every word he ſaid.

Sir Charles obſerved to us, before we ſaw him, that he was not forward to ſpeak. But, as I hinted, he threw the occaſions in his way, on purpoſe to draw him out: And at ſuch times, what he ſaid was eaſy, free, and unaffected: And whenever a ſubject was concluded, he had done with it. His modeſty, in ſhort, made him always follow rather than lead a ſub⯑ject, as he very well might do, be it what it would.

I was charmed with the Brachman's prayer, which he, occaſionally, gave us on the antient Perſians be⯑ing talked of.

Looking up to the riſing Sun, which it was ſup⯑poſed they worſhipped, theſe were the words of the Brachman:

‘"O THOU (meaning the ALMIGHTY) by whom Thou (meaning the Sun) art enlightened, illu⯑minate my mind, that my actions may be agree⯑able to THY Will."’

And this I will think of, my Lucy, as often as my early hour, for the future, ſhall be irradiated by that glorious orb.

Every-body was pleaſed with Mr. and Mrs. Reeves. Their modeſty, good ſenſe, and amiable tempers, and the kind, yet not oſtentatious regard which they ex⯑preſs to each other (a regard ſo creditable to the mar⯑ried ſtate) cauſe them to be always treated and ſpo⯑ken of with diſtinction.

But I believe, as I am in a ſcribling vein, I muſt give you the particulars of one converſation; in which farther honour was done to Dr. Bartlett.

[14] After dinner, the Counteſs, drawing me on one ſide, by both my hands, ſaid; well, our other ſiſter, our new-found ſiſter, let me know how you like us? I am in pain leſt you ſhould not love us as well as you do our Northamptonſhire relations.

You overcome me, madam, with your goodneſs.

Miſs Grandiſon then coming towards us, Dear Miſs Grandiſon, ſaid I, help me to words—

No, indeed, I'll help you to nothing. I am jealous. Lady L. don't think to rob me of my Harriet's pre⯑ferable Love, as you have of Sir Charles's. I will be beſt ſiſter here. But what was your ſubject?—Yet I will anſwer my own queſtion. Some pretty compli⯑ment, I ſuppoſe; Women to women. Women hunger and thirſt aſter compliments. Rather than be without them, if no men are at hand to flatter us, we love to ſay handſome things to one another; and ſo teach the men to find us out.

You need not be jealous, Charlotte, ſaid the Coun⯑teſs: You may be ſure. This ſaucy girl, Miſs Byron, is ever fruſtrating her own pretenſions. Can flattery, Charlotte, ſay what we will, have place here?—But tell me, Miſs Byron, how you like Dr. Bartlett?

Ay, tell us, Harriet, ſaid Miſs Grandiſon, how you like Dr. Bartlett? Pray, Lady L. don't antici⯑pate me: I propoſe to give our new ſiſter the hiſtory of us all. And is not Dr. Bartlett one of us? She has already given me the hiſtory of all her friends, and of herſelf: And I have communicated to you, like a good ſiſter, all ſhe has told me.

I conſidered Dr. Bartlett, I ſaid, as a Saint; and at the ſame time, as a man of true politeneſs.

He is indeed, ſaid the Counteſs, all that is worthy and amiable in man. Don't you ſee how Sir Charles admires him?

Pray Lady L. keep clear of my province. Here is Sir Charles. He will not let us break into parties.

Sir Charles heard this laſt ſentence—Yet I wonder [15] not, ſaid he, joining us, that three ſuch women get together: Goodneſs to goodneſs is a natural attrac⯑tion. We men, however, will not be excluded.—Dr. Bartlett, if you pleaſe.—

The Doctor approached in a moſt graceful man⯑ner—Let me again, Miſs Byron, preſent Dr. Bartlett to you, as a man that is an honour to his cloth; and that is the ſame thing, as if I ſaid, to human nature [The good man bowed in ſilence]; and Miſs Byron, to you, my good Doctor, taking my hand, as a Lady moſt worthy your diſtinguiſhed re⯑gard.

You do me too much honour, Sir, ſaid I. I ſhall hope, good Doctor Bartlett, by your inſtructions, to be enabled to deſerve ſuch a recommendation.

My dear Harriet, ſaid the Counteſs, ſnatching my other hand, you are a good girl; and that is more to your honour than Beauty.

Be quiet, Lady L. ſaid Miſs Grandiſon.

Mr. Grandiſon came up—What! Is there not an⯑other hand for me?

I was vexed at his interruption. It prevented Dr. Bartlett from ſaying ſomething that his lips were opening to ſpeak with a ſmile of benignity.

How the World, ſaid Sir Charles, ſmiling, will puſh itſelf in! Heart, not Hand, my dear Mr. Gran⯑diſon was the ſubject.

Whenever You, Sir Charles, and the Doctor, and theſe Ladies, are got together, I know I muſt be un⯑ſeaſonable: But if you exclude me ſuch company, how ſhall I ever be what you and the Doctor would have me to be.

Lord L. and Lord G. were coming up to us: See your attraction, Miſs Byron! ſaid the Counteſs.

But, joined in Miſs Grandiſon, we will not leave our little Jervois by herſelf, expecting and longing!—Our Couſins Reeves—only that when they are toge⯑ther, they cannot want company—ſhould not be thus [16] left. Is there more than one heart among us—This Man's excepted, humourouſly puſhing Mr. Grandi⯑ſon, as if from the company—Let us be orderly, and take our ſeats.

How cruel is this! ſaid Mr Grandiſon, appealing to Sir Charles.

Indeed I think it is a little cruel, Charlotte.

Not ſo: Let him be good then.—Till when, may all our Sex ſay, to ſuch men as my couſin has been—‘"Thus let it be done by the man, whom, if he were good, good perſons would delight to honour."’

Shame, if not principle, ſaid Lord L. ſmiling, would effect the cure, if all Ladies were to act thus. Don't you think ſo, couſin Everard?

Well, well, ſaid Mr. Grandiſon, I will be good, as faſt as I can: But, Doctor, what ſay you?—Rome was not built in a day.

I have great hopes of Mr. Grandiſon, ſaid the Doctor. But, Ladies, you muſt not, as Mr. Gran⯑diſon obſerved, exclude from the benefit of your con⯑verſation, the man whom you wiſh to be good.

What! not till he is good? ſaid Miſs Grandiſon. Did I not ſay, We ſhould delight to honour him when he was?

But, what, Sir Charles? (come, I had rather take my cue from you, than any-body:) what are the ſigns which I am to give to be allowed—

Only theſe, my couſin—When you can be ſerious on ſerious ſubjects; yet ſo chearful in your ſeriouſneſs, as if it ſat eaſy upon you; when you can, at times, prefer the company and converſation of Dr. Bartlett, who is not a ſolemn or ſevere man, to any other; and, in general, had rather ſtand well in his opinion, than in that of the gayeſt man or woman in the world.

Provided yours, Sir Charles, may be added to the Doctor's—

Command me, Mr. Grandiſon, whenever you two are together. We will not oppreſs you with our ſub⯑jects. [17] Our converſation ſhall be that of Men, of chear⯑ful Men. You ſhall lead them and change them at pleaſure The firſt moment (and I will watch for it) that I ſhall imagine you to be tired or uneaſy, I will break off the converſation; and you ſhall leave us and purſue your own diverſions, without a queſtion.

You were always indulgent to me, Sir Charles, ſaid Mr. Grandiſon; and I have retired, and bluſhed to myſelf, ſometimes, for wanting your indulgence.

Tea was preparing. Sir Charles took his own ſeat next Lord L. whom he ſet in to talk of Scotland. He enjoyed the account my Lord gave of the pleaſure which the Counteſs, on that her firſt journey into thoſe parts, gave to all his family and friends; as Lady L. on her part, acknowleged ſhe had a grateful ſenſe of their goodneſs to her.

I rejoice, ſaid Sir Charles, that the ſea divides us not from ſuch worthy people, as you, my Lord, have given us a relation to. Next viſit you make (Char⯑lotte, I hope, will accompany me) I intend to make one in your train, as I have told your Lordſhip be⯑fore.

You will add to our pleaſure, Sir Charles. All my relations are prepared to do you honour.

But, my Lord, did not the Ladies think a little hardly of your Lordſhip's engagement? that a man of your merit ſhould go from Scotland for a wife? I do aſſure you, my Lord, that, in all the countries I have been in, I never ſaw finer women than I have ſeen in Scotland; and in very few nations, tho' ſix times as large, greater numbers of them.

I was to be the happieſt of men, Sir Charles, in a Grandiſon—I thank you, bowing.

It is one of my felicities, my Lord, that my ſiſter calls herſelf yours.

Lady L. whiſpering me, as I ſat between her and Miſs Grand ſon, The two worthieſt hearts in the world, Miſs Byron! my Lord L's, and my brother's!

[18] With joy I congratulate your Ladyſhip on both, re-whiſpered I. May God long continue to you two ſuch bleſſings!

I thought of the vile Sir Hargrave at the time.

I can tell you how, ſaid Mr. Grandiſon, to repay that nation—You, Sir Charles, ſhall go down, and bring up with a you Scotiſh Lady.

I was vexed with myſelf for ſtarting. I could not help it.

Don't you think, Lucy, that Sir Charles made a very fine compliment to the Scotiſh Ladies?—I own, that I have heard the women of our Northern coun⯑ties praiſed alſo. But are there not, think you, as pretty women in England?

My Siſter Harriet, applied Sir Charles to me, you need not, I hope, be told that I am a great admirer of fine women.

I had like to have bowed—I ſhould not have been able to recover myſelf, had I ſo ſeemed to apply his compliment.

I the leſs wonder that you are, Sir Charles, be⯑cauſe, in the word fine, you include mind as well as perſon.

That's my good girl! ſaid Miſs Grandiſon, as ſhe poured out the tea: and ſo he does.

My dear Charlotte, whiſper'd I—pray, ſay ſome⯑thing encouraging to Lord G. He is pleaſed with every-body; but no-body ſays any-thing to him; and he, I ſee, both loves and fears you.

Huſh, child! whiſpered ſhe again. The man's beſt when he is ſilent. If it be his day to love, it is his day to fear. What a duce! ſhall a woman's time be Never?

That's good news for my Lord: Shall I hint to him, that his time will come?

Do, if you dare. I want you to provoke me. She ſpoke aloud.

I have done, ſaid I.

[19] My Lord, what do you think Miſs Byron ſays?

For Heaven's ſake, dear Miſs Grandiſon!

Nay, I will ſpeak it,

Pray, madam, let me know, ſaid my Lord.

You will know Miſs Grandiſon in time, ſaid Sir Charles. I truſt her not with any of my ſecrets, Miſs Byron.

The more ungenerous you, Sir Charles; for you get out of me all mine. I complained of you, Sir, to Miſs Byron, for your reſerves at Colnbrooke.

Be ſo good, madam, ſaid my Lord—

Nay, nothing but the Mountain and the Mouſe. Miſs Byron only wanted to ſee your collection of in⯑ſects.

Miſs Byron will do me great honour—

If Charlotte won't attend you, madam, ſaid the Counteſs, to my Lord G's, I will.

Have I not brought you off, Harriet? whiſpered Miſs Grandiſon—Truſt me another time.—She will let you know the day before, my Lord.

Miſs Grandiſon, my Lord, ſaid I, loves to alarm. But I will with pleaſure wait on her, and on the Coun⯑teſs, whenever they pleaſe.

You will ſee many things worth your notice, ma⯑dam, in Lord G's collection, ſaid Sir Charles to me. But Charlotte thinks nothing leſs than men and wo⯑men worthy of her notice; her parrot and ſquirrel, the one for its prattle, the other for its vivacity, ex⯑cepted.

Thank you, Sir Charles—But pray do you be quiet! I fear nobody elſe.

Miſs Byron, ſaid the Counteſs, pray ſpare her not: I ſee you can make Charlotte afraid of two.

Then it muſt be of three, Lady L.—You know my reverence for my elder ſiſter.

No, no, but I don't. I know only, that nobody can better tell, what ſhe ſhould do, than my Charlotte: [20] But I have always taken too much delight in your vi⯑vacity, either to wiſh or expect you to rein it in.

You acted by me like an indolent parent, Lady L. who miſcalls herſelf indulgent. You gave me my head for your own pleaſure; and when I had got it, tho' you found the inconvenience, you choſe rather to bear it, than to take the pains to reſtrain me—But Sir Charles, whatever faults he might have had when he was from us, came over to us finiſhed. He grew not up with us from year to year: His blaze dazled me; and I have tried over and over, but cannot yet get the better of my reverence for him.

If I have not my ſiſter's love, rather than what ſhe pleaſantly calls her reverence, I ſhall have a much worſe opinion of my own outward behaviour, than of her merit.

Your outward behaviour, Sir Charles, cannot be in fault, ſaid Lord L. But I join with my ſiſter Char⯑lotte, in her opinion of what is.

And I too, ſaid the Counteſs—for I am a party—This is it, Sir Charles—Who that lies under obliga⯑tions, which they cannot return, can view the obliger but with the moſt delicate ſenſibilities?

Give me leave, ſaid Miſs Emily, her face crimſoned over with modeſt gratitude, to ſay, that I am one, that ſhall ever have a reverence, ſuperior to my love, for the beſt of guardians.

Bluſhes overſpread my face, and gave a tacit ac⯑knowledgment, on my part, of the ſame ſenſibility, from the ſame motives.

Who is it, joined in Dr. Bartlett, that knows my patron, but muſt acknowlege—

My dear Dr. Bartlett, interrupted Sir Charles, from you, and from my good Lord L. theſe fine things are not to be borne. From my three ſiſters, looking at me for one, and from my dear ward, I cannot be ſo uneaſy, when they will not be reſtrained from acknow⯑ledging, [21] that I have ſucceeded in my endeavours to perform my duty to them.

I long to know, as I ſaid once before, the particu⯑lars of what Sir Charles has done, to oblige every⯑body in ſo high a manner. Don't you, Lucy? Bleſs me! what a deal of time have I waſted ſince I came to town? I feel as if I had wings, and had ſoared to ſo great an height, that every thing and perſon that I before behold without diſſatisfaction, in this great town, looks diminutive and little under my aking eye. Thus, my dear, it muſt be in a better world, if we are permitted to look back upon the higheſt of our ſatisfactions in this.

I was aſked to give them a leſſon on the harpſi⯑chord after tea. Miſs Grandiſon ſaid, Come, come, to prevent all excuſes, I will ſhew you the way.

Let it then be, ſaid Mr. Grandiſon, Shakeſpear's Cuckow. You have made me enter with ſo much comparative ſhame into myſelf, that I muſt have ſome⯑thing lively to raiſe my ſpirits.

Well, ſo it ſhall, replied Miſs Grandiſon. Our poor couſin does not know what to do with himſelf when you are got a little out of his reach.

That is not fair, Charlotte, ſaid Sir Charles. It is not that graceful manner of obliging, in which you generally excel. Compliance and Reflection are not to be coupled.

Well, well, but I will give the good man his Cuc⯑kow, to make him amends.

Accordingly ſhe ſung that ballad from Shakeſpear; and with ſo much ſpirit and humour, as delighted every-body.

Sir Charles being a judge of muſick, I looked a little ſillier than common, when I was again called upon.

Come, my dear, ſaid the kind Counteſs, I will pre⯑pare you a little further. When you ſee your two elder ſiſters go before you, you will have more cou⯑rage.

[22] She ſat down, and play'd one of Scarlatti's leſſons; which, you know, are made to ſhew a fine hand. And ſurely, for the ſwiftneſs of her fingers, and the elegance of her manner, ſhe could not be equalled.

It is referred to you, my third Siſter, ſaid Sir Charles (who had been taken aſide by Mr. Reeves; ſome whiſpering talk having paſſed between them) to favour us with ſome of Handel's muſick: Mrs. Reeves ſays, ſhe has heard you ſing ſeveral ſongs out of the Paſtoral, and out of ſome of his fineſt Oratorios.

Come hither, come hither, my ſweet Harriet—Here's his Alexander's Feaſt: My brother admires that, I know; and ſays it is the nobleſt compoſition that ever was produced by man; and is as finely ſet, as written.

She made me ſit down to the inſtrument.

As you know, ſaid I, that great part of the beauty of this performance ariſes from the proper tranſitions from one different ſtrain to another, any one ſong muſt loſe greatly, by being taken out of its place; and I fear—

Fear nothing, Miſs Byron, ſaid Sir Charles: Your obligingneſs, as well as your obſervation, intitle you to all allowances.

I then turned to that fine piece of accompanied recitative:

Which not being ſet ſo full with accompanying ſymphonies, as moſt of Mr. Handel's are, I performed with the more eaſe to myſelf, tho' I had never but once before play'd it over.

They all, with more compliments than I dare re⯑peat, requeſted me to play and ſing it once more.

Dare repeat! methinks I hear my uncle Selby ſay. The girl that does nothing elſe but repeat her own praiſes, comes with her, If I dare repeat.

[23] Yes, Sir, I anſwer; for compliments that do not elevate, that do not touch me, run glibly off my pen: But ſuch as indeed raiſe one's vanity; how can one avow that vanity by writing them down?—But they were reſolved to be pleaſed before I began.

One compliment, however, from Sir Charles, I cannot, I find, paſs over in ſilence. He whiſpered Miſs Grandiſon, as he leaned upon my chair. How could Sir Hargrave Pollexfen have the heart to endea⯑vour to ſtop ſuch a mouth as that!

AND now, having laſt night, and this morning, written ſo many ſides, it is time to break off. Yet I could give you many more particulars of agreeable converſation that paſſed, were I ſure you would not think me inſufferably tedious; and did not the unkind reſerve of my couſin Reeves, as to the buſineſs of that Bagenhall, ruſh upon my memory with freſh force, and help to tire my fingers. I am the more concerned, as my couſin himſelf ſeems not eaſy; but is in ex⯑pectation of hearing ſomething, that will either give him relief, or add to his pain.

Why, Lucy, ſhould our friends take upon them⯑ſelves to keep us in the dark, as to thoſe matters which it concerns us more to know, than perhaps any-body elſe? There is a tenderneſs ſometimes ſhewn on arduous occaſions in this reſpect, that gives as much pain, as we could receive from the moſt explicit com⯑munication. And then, all the while, there is ſo much ſtrength of mind, and diſcretion, ſuppoſed in the perſon that knows an event, and ſuch weakneſs in her that is to be kept in ignorance, that—But I grow as ſaucy as impatient. Let me conclude, before I ex⯑poſe my ſelf to reproof for a petulance, that I hope is not natural to

LETTER III. Miſs HARRIET BYRON, To Miſs LUCY SELBY.

AND what do you think was the reaſon of Mr. Reeves's reſerves? A moſt alarming one. I am obliged to him, that he kept it from me, tho' the un⯑certainty did not a little affect me. Take the account of it, as it comes out.

I told you in my former, that the perſon to whom Sir Charles was ſent for out, was Mr. Bagenhall; and that Sir Charles had ſent in for Mr. Reeves, who re⯑turned to the company with a countenance that I did not like ſo well as I did Sir Charles's. I now proceed to give you, from Minutes of Mr. Reeves, what paſ⯑ſed on the occaſion.

Sir Charles took Mr. Reeves aſide—This unhappy man (Sir Hargrave, I mean, ſaid he) ſeems to me to want an excuſe to himſelf, for putting up with a treat⯑ment which he thinks diſgraceful. When we have to deal with children, humours muſt be a little allow⯑ed for. But you'll hear what the propoſal is now. Let not the Ladies, however, nor the Gentlemen, within, know any thing of the matter till all is over. This is a day devoted to pleaſure. But you, Mr. Reeves, know ſomething of the matter; and can an⯑ſwer for your fair couſin.

He then led Mr. Reeves in to Mr. Bagenhall.

This, Sir, is Mr. Reeves.—Sir Hargrave, in ſhort, Mr. Reeves, among other demands that I cannot comply with (but which relate only to myſelf, and therefore need not be mentioned) inſiſts upon an in⯑troduction to Miſs Byron. He ſays, ſhe is abſolutely diſengaged—Is ſhe, Sir?

I dare ſay ſhe is, anſwered my couſin.

[25] This gentleman has been naming to me Mr. Gre⯑ville, Mr. Orme, and others.

No one of them has ever met with the ſhadow of encouragement from my couſin. She is above keep⯑ing any man in ſuſpenſe, when ſhe is not in any her⯑ſelf. Nothing has given her more uneaſineſs than the number of her Admirers.

Miſs Byron, ſaid Sir Charles, muſt be admired by every one that beholds her; but ſtill more by thoſe who are admitted to the honour of converſing with her. But Sir Hargrave is willing to build upon her diſengagement ſomething in his own favour. Is there any room for Sir Hargrave, who pleads his ſufferings for her; who vows his honourable intentions even at the time that he was hoping to gain her by ſo unmanly a violence; and appeals to her for the purity, as he calls it, of his behaviour to her, all the time ſhe was in his hands—who makes very large offers of ſettlements—is there any room to hope, that Miſs Byron—

No, none at all, Sir Charles—

What! not to ſave a life, Mr. Reeves?—ſaid Mr. Bagenhall.

If you mean mine, Mr. Bagenhall, replied Sir Charles, I beg that that may not be conſidered. If Sir Hargrave means his own, I will pronounce that ſafe from any premeditated reſentment of mine. Do you think Miſs Byron will bear to ſee Sir Hargrave, Mr Reeves? I preſume he intends to beg pardon of her. Will ſhe conſent to receive a viſit from him?—But is not this wretched triſling, Mr. Bagenhall?

You will remember, Sir Charles, this is a propoſal of mine: what I hoped might be agreed to by Sir Har⯑grave; but that I was willing to conſult you before I mentioned it to him.

I beg your pardon, Mr. Bagenhall: I now remem⯑ber it.

If ever man doated upon a woman, ſaid Mr. Bagen⯑hall, [26] it is Sir Hargrave on Miſs Byron. The very methods he took to obtain her for a wife, ſhew that moſt convincingly.—You will promiſe not to ſtand in his way Sir.

I repeat, Mr. Bagenhall, what I have heretofore told you; That Miſs Byron (You'll excuſe me, Mr. Reeves) is ſtill under my protection. If Sir Hargrave, as he ought, is inclin'd to aſk her pardon; and if he can obtain it, and even upon his own terms; I ſhall think Miſs Byron and he may be happier together than at preſent I can imagine it poſſible. I am not deſirous to be any-way conſidered, but as her protector from violence and inſult; and that I will be, if ſhe claim it, in defiance of an hundred ſuch men as Sir Hargrave. But then, Sir, the occaſion muſt be ſud⯑den. No legal relief muſt be at hand. I will not, either for an adverſary's ſake, or my own, be defied into a cool and premeditated vengeance.

But, Sir Charles, Sir Hargrave has ſome hardſhips in this caſe. You will not give him the ſatisfaction of a Gentleman: And, according to the Laws of Ho⯑nour, a man is not intitled to be treated as a Gentle⯑man, who denies to one—

Of whoſe making, Mr. Bagenhall, are the Laws of Honour you mention? I own no Laws, but the Laws of GOD and my Country. But, to cut this matter ſhort, tell Sir Hargrave, that, little as is the dependence a Man of Honour can have upon that of a man, who has acted by an helpleſs woman, as he has acted by Miſs Byron, I will breakfaſt with him in his own houſe to-morrow morning, if he contradicts it not. I will attribute to the violence of his paſſion for the Lady, the unmanly outrage he was guilty of. I will ſuppoſe him miſtaken enough to imagine, that he ſhould make her amends by marriage, if he could compel her hand; and will truſt my perſon to his ho⯑nour, one ſervant only to walk before his door, not to enter the houſe, to attend my commands, after our [27] converſation is over. My ſword, and my ſword on⯑ly, ſhall be my companion: But this rather, that I would not be thought to owe my ſafety to the want of it, than in expectation, after ſuch confidence placed in him, to have occaſion to draw it in my own de⯑fence. And pray, Mr. Bagenhall, do you, his friend, be preſent; and any other friends, and to what num⯑ber, he pleaſes.

When I came to this place in my couſin's Mi⯑nutes, I was aſtoniſhed; I was out of breath upon it.

Mr. Bagenhall was ſurpriſed; and aſked Sir Charles, if he were in earneſt?

I would not be thought a raſh man, Mr. Bagen⯑hall. Sir Hargrave threatens me: I never avoid a threatener. You ſeem to hint, Sir, that I am not in⯑titled to fair play, if I conſent not to meet him with a murderous intention. With ſuch an intention I never will meet any man; though I have as much reaſon to rely on the ſkill of my arm, as on the juſtice of my cauſe. If foul play is hinted at, I am no more ſafe from an aſſaſſin in my bedchamber, than in Sir Har⯑grave's houſe. Something muſt be done by a man who refuſes a challenge, to let a challenger ſee (ſuch is the world, ſuch is the cuſtom) that he has better motives than fear, for his refuſal. I will put Sir Har⯑grave's Honour to the fulleſt teſt: Tell him, Sir, that I will bear a great deal; but that I will not be inſult⯑ed, were he a Prince.

And you really would have me—

I would, Mr. Bagenhall. Sir Hargrave, I ſee, will not be ſatisfied, unleſs ſomething extraordinary be done: And if I hear not from you, or from him, I will attend him by ten to-morrow morning, in an amicable manner, to breakfaſt at his own houſe in Cavendiſh Square.

I am in terror, Lucy, even in tranſcribing only.

Mr. Reeves, ſaid Sir Charles, you undo me, if one word of this matter eſcape you, even to your wife.

[28] Mr. Reeves begged, that he might attend him to Sir Hargrave's.

By no means, Mr. Reeves.

Then, Sir Charles, you apprehend danger.

I do not. Something, as I ſaid, muſt be done. This is the ſhorteſt and beſt method to make all par⯑ties eaſy. Sir Hargrave thinks himſelf ſlighted. He may infer, if he pleaſes, in his own favour, that I do not deſpiſe a man, in whom I can place ſuch a confi⯑dence. Do you, Mr. Reeves, return to company; and let no one know the occaſion of your abſence, or of mine, from it.

I have told you, my dear, what a difference there was in the countenances of both, when each ſeparately entered the dining-room. And could this great man (ſurely I may call him great) could he, in ſuch cir⯑cumſtances, on his return, give joy, pleaſure, en⯑tertainment, to all the company, without the leaſt cauſe of ſuſpicion of what had paſſed?

Mr. Reeves, as I told you, ſingled out Sir Charles in the evening to know what had paſſed after he left him and Mr. Bagenhall. Sir Charles acquainted him, that Mr. Bagenhall had propoſed to let him know that night, or in the morning, how Sir Hargrave approved of his intended viſit. He has, accordingly, ſignified to me already, ſaid Sir Charles, that Sir Hargrave ex⯑pects me.

And will you go, Sir?

Don't give yourſelf concern about the matter, Mr. Reeves. All muſt end well. My intention is, not to run into miſchief, but to prevent it. My principles are better known abroad, than they are in England. I have been challenged more than once by men, who knew them, and thought to find their ſafety from them. I have been obliged to take ſome extraordi⯑nary ſteps to ſave myſelf from inſult; and thoſe ſteps have anſwered my end, in more licentious countries [29] than this. I hope this ſtep will preſerve me from calls of this nature in my own country.

For God's ſake, Sir Charles—

Be not uneaſy on my account, Mr. Reeves. Does not Sir Hargrave value himſelf upon his fortune? He would be loth to forfeit it. His fortune is my ſecurity. And am I not a man of ſome conſequence myſelf? Is not the affair between us known? will not therefore the cauſe juſtify me, and condemn him? The man is turbulent; he is uneaſy with himſelf; he knows him⯑ſelf to be in the wrong. And ſhall a man, who re⯑ſolves to pay a ſacred regard to laws divine and hu⯑man, fear this Goth? 'Tis time enough to fear, when I can be unjuſt. If you value my friendſhip, as I do yours, my good Mr. Reeves, proceeded he, I ſhall be ſure of your abſolute ſilence. I will attend Sir Hargrave by ten to-morrow morning. You will hear from me, or ſee me at your own houſe, by twelve.

And then it was, as Mr. Reeves tells me, that Sir Charles turned from him, to encourage me to give the company a leſſon from Dryden's Alexander's Feaſt, as ſet by Handel; which I choſe to be in the lines, Softly ſweet, &c.

Mr. Reeves went out in the morning. My couſin ſays, he had been exceſſively uneaſy all night. He now owns, he called at St. James's Square, and there breakfaſted with Lord and Lady L. Miſs Grandiſon, Miſs Emily, and Dr. Bartlett. Sir Charles went out at nine, in a chair, one ſervant only attending him: The family knew not whither. And his two ſiſters were fomenting a rebellion againſt him, as they hu⯑mourouſly called it, for his keeping from them (who kept nothing from him) his motions, when they and my Lord were together, and at his houſe: But my Lord and Miſs Emily pleaſantly refuſed to join in it. Mr. Reeves told us, on his return, that his heart was ſo ſunk, that they took great notice of his dejection.

About three o'clock, juſt as Mr. Reeves was de⯑termined [30] to go to St James's Square again, and, if Sir Charles had not been heard of, to Cavendiſh-Square (tho' irreſolute what to do when there) the following billet was brought him from Sir Charles. After what I have written, does not your heart leap for joy, my Lucy?

Then it was, that, vehemently urged both by my couſin and me, Mr. Reeves gave us briefly the cauſe of his uneaſineſs.

About ſix o' clock, Sir Charles came in a chair. He was charmingly dreſſed. I thought him, the mo⯑ment he enter'd, the handſomeſt man I ever ſaw in my life. What a tranſporting thing muſt it be, my Lucy, to an affectionate wife, without reſtraint, with⯑out check, and performing nothing but her duty, to run with open arms to receive a worthy huſband, re⯑turning to her after a long abſence, or from an eſcaped danger! How cold, how joyleſs!—But no! I was neither cold, nor joyleſs; for my face, as I felt it, was in a glow; and my heart was ready to burſt with congratulatory meaning, at the viſible ſafety, and un⯑hurt perſon, of the man who had laid me before un⯑der ſuch obligations to him, as were too much for my gratitude. O do not, do not tell me, my dear friends, that you love him, that you wiſh me to be his. I ſhall be ready, if you do, to wiſh—I don't know what I would ſay: But your wiſhes were always the leaders of mine.

[31] Mrs. Reeves, having the ſame cauſe for apprehen⯑ſion, could hardly reſtrain herſelf when he entered the room. She met him at the door, her hand held out, and with ſo much emotion, that Sir Charles ſaid, How well, Mr. Reeves, you have kept my ſecret!—Mr. Reeves told him, what an uneaſineſs he had laboured under from the preceding evening; and how ſilent he had been, till his welcome billet came.

Then it was that both my couſins, with equal free⯑dom, congratulated him.

And I'll tell you how the Fool, the maiden Fool, looked and acted. Her feet inſenſibly moved to meet him, while he was receiving the freer compliments of my couſins. I courteſied baſhfully; it was hardly noticeable; and, becauſe unnoticed, I paid my com⯑pliments in a deeper courteſy. And then, finding my hand in his, when I knew not whether I had an hand or not—I am grieved, Sir, ſad I, to be the occaſion, to be the cauſe—And I ſighed for one reaſon (perhaps you can gueſs what that was) and bluſhed for two; becauſe I knew not what to ſay, nor how to look; and becauſe I was under obligations which I could not return.

He kindly ſaved my further confuſion, by making light of what had paſſed: And, leading me to a ſeat, took his place by me.

May I aſk, Sir Charles?—ſaid my couſin Reeves, and ſtopt.

The converſation was too tedious, and too various, to be minutely related, Mr. Reeves. But Sir Har⯑grave had, by Mr. Bagenhall's deſire, got his ſhort⯑hand writer in a cloſet; and that unknown to me, till all was over. I am to have a copy of what paſſed. You ſhall ſee it, if you pleaſe, when it is ſent me. Mean time, what think you of a compromiſe at your expence, Miſs Byron.

I dare abide by every thing that Sir Charles Gran⯑diſon has ſtipulated for me.

[32] It would be cruelty to keep a Lady in ſuſpence, where doubt will give her pain, and cannot end in pleaſure. Sir Hargrave is reſolv'd to wait upon you: Are you willing to ſee him?

If, Sir, you would adviſe me to ſee him.

I adviſe nothing, Madam. Purſue your inclinati⯑ons. Mr. Reeves is at liberty to admit whom he pleaſes into his Houſe: Miſs Byron to ſee in it, or whereſoever ſhe is, whom ſhe pleaſes. I told him my mind very freely. But I left him determined to wait on you. I have reaſon to believe he will behave very well. I ſhould be ſurpriſed, if he does not in the humbleſt manner aſk your pardon; and yours, Mr. Reeves, and your Lady's. But if you have any ap⯑prehenſions, Madam (to me) I will be ready to at⯑tend you at five minutes notice, before he ſhall be admitted to your preſence.

It is very good, Sir, ſaid Mr. Reeves, to be ready to favour Miſs Byron with your countenance on ſuch an occaſion. But I hope we need not give you that trouble in this houſe.

Sir Charles went away ſoon after; and Mr. Reeves has been accuſing himſelf ever ſince, with anſwering him too abruptly, tho' he meant nothing but the tru⯑eſt reſpect. And yet as I have written it, on re-per⯑uſal, I don't above half like Mr. Reeves's anſwer. But where high reſpect is entertained, grateful hearts will always, I believe, be accuſing themſelves of imper⯑fections, which none other ſee, or can charge them with.

As Sir Charles is ſafe, and I have now nothing to apprehend but Sir Hargrave's viſit, I will diſpatch this Letter, with aſſurances that I am, my dear Lucy,

LETTER IV. Miſs HARRIET BYRON, To Miſs LUCY SELBY.

LETTER V. Miſs HARRIET BYRON, To Miſs LUCY SELBY.

I Had not recovered myſelf after Sir Hargrave's viſit, when Lady L. and Miſs Grandiſon called, as they ſaid for a moment; however this agreeable moment laſted two hours. Miſs Grandiſon, the inſtant ſhe ſaw me, challenged me—Hey day! What's the matter with our Harriet, Mrs. Reeves? And, patting my neck, Why theſe flutters, child?—Perturbations delightful, or undelightful, Harriet, whether?

I told her who had been here, and but juſt left me; and, by the help of my couſins, gave them the parti⯑culars of what had paſſed.

They were greatly pleaſed; and the more, they ſaid, as their brother, on ſeeing them uneaſy, had ac⯑quainted them, that all matters between him and Sir Hargrave were accommodated; but had not had op⯑portunity to tell them more.

Let me reckon with you, Harriet, ſaid Miſs Gran⯑diſon (taking my hand with a ſchooling air): I am half-jealous of you: Lady L. has got the ſtart of me in my brother's affections: But ſhe is my elder ſiſter; firſt come, firſt ſerved. I can bear that; but I will not be cut out by a younger ſiſter.

What is now to follow? thought I; and flutter'd like a fool! the more for her arch look, as if ſhe would read my heart in my eyes.

Increaſed palpitation (O the fool!) made it look as [72] if I took her jeſt for earneſt. What a ſituation am I in!

Dear Charlotte, ſaid Lady L. ſmiling, you ſhall not thus perplex our ſweet ſiſter.—My dear, don't mind her. You'll know her better in time.

Be quiet, Lady L. I ſhall have it all out.

All what out? ſaid I. O Miſs Grandiſon, how you love to alarm!

Well, well, I'll examine farther into theſe pertur⯑bations another time. I have beat the buſh before now for one hare, and out have popt two But all I mean is; a paper, a letter (my brother called it a pa⯑per) was brought to him ſealed up. He rewarded the bringer; but ſent it directly away, unopened (that we found out) to you Harriet. Now, child, if I allow of his reſerves, I will not allow of yours. Pray anſwer me fairly and truly; What are the contents of that paper?

They give the particulars of the converſation that paſſed in the alarming interview between Sir Charles—

And Sir Hargrave. That's my good girl. You ſee, Lady L. how this young thief will ſteal away the af⯑fections of our brother from us both. He has ſhewed us nothing of this. But if you would not have me jealous, Harriet, be ſure keep no one ſecret of your heart from me—

That relates merely to myſelf, I think I will not.

Then you'll be a good girl: And I'll give my love for you the reins, without a pull back.

Juſt then a ſervant came in with a card.

‘"Lady D's compliments to Mrs. Reeves and Miſs Byron; and if it would be agreeable, ſhe will wait on them preſently, for one quarter of an hour. She is obliged to go out of town early in the morning."’

What ſhall I do now? ſaid I. I was in a flutter; not being fully recovered from that into which Sir Hargrave's viſit had thrown me.

[73] What now?—What now? ſaid Miſs Grandiſon. Ah! Harriet, we ſhall find you out by degrees.

By the way, Lucy, you are fond of plays; and it is come into my head, that, to avoid all ſays-I's and ſays-ſhe's, I will henceforth, in all Dialogues, write names in the margin: So fanſy, my dear, that you are reading in one of your favourite volumes.

Harriet. Do you know Lady D.?

Miſs Gr. Very well: But I did not know that you did, Harriet.

Lady L. And I know ſhe has a ſon: and I know ſhe wants him to marry.

Harriet. That I may keep no ſecrets from my two ſiſters, my aunt Selby has written to me—

Miſs Gr. Lately?

Harriet. Very lately.

Miſs Gr. O! becauſe you had not told me of that.

Mrs. Reeves. And pray, Ladies, what is Lady D.'s character?

Lady L. She is a very good woman. She is a ſen⯑ſible and prudent woman.

Miſs Gr. I am not very intimate with her: But have ſeen her in two or three of my viſits. I have always thought her ſo.—And pray, Harriet, don't you want to know what character my Lord bears.

Harriet. My Lord is nothing to me. I have an⯑ſwered. I have given my negative.

Miſs Gr. The duce you have!—Why, the man has a good 12,000 l. a year.

Harriet. I don't care.

Miſs Gr. What a duce ails the girl!

Then humourouſly telling on her fingers—ORME, one; FENWICK, two; GREVILLE, three; FOWLER, four—I want another finger; but I'll take in my thumb—SIR HARGRAVE, five—And now (putting the forefinger of one hand on the thumb of the other) [74] LORD D. ſix!—And none of them the man!—De⯑pend upon it, girl, pride will have a fall.

What could ſhe mean by that?—Sir Charles Gran⯑diſon's ſiſters, I hope, will not—But I believe ſhe meant nothing.

Have I pride, Miſs Grandiſon? coldly and gravely, as my couſin obſerved to me afterwards, aſked I.

Miſs Gr. Have you pride?—Yes that you have; or you have worſe.

What could this mad Lady mean by this?—And what could I mean? For I had tears in my eyes. I was very low-ſpirited at that moment.

Lady L. Well, but, Miſs Byron, ſhall we be im⯑pertinent, if we ſtay to ſee the Lady?—I have a great value for her. She has been an admirable executrix and truſtee for her ſon; and was as good a wife. I was juſt going: but will ſtay to pay my compliments to her, as ſhe goes out of town to-morrow. We can withdraw till you have had your talk.

Miſs Gr. Does ſhe come to perſuade you, Harriet, to retract your refuſal?

Harriet. I know not her buſineſs. I wrote my mind to my aunt Selby. But I believe my aunt could not have written, and the counteſs received what ſhe wrote, by this time. But do not go: We can have no private talk.

Miſs Gr. Well, but now I will tell you, without puniſhing your curioſity farther, what Lord D.'s cha⯑racter is. He is as ſober a man as moſt of the young n [...]bility. His fortune is great. In ſenſe he neither abounds, nor is wanting; and that claſs of men, take my [...]ord [...] are the beſt qualified of all others to make good huſbands [...] women of ſuperior talents. They know j [...]ſt enough to induce th [...]m to admire in her, what they have not in th [...]mſe [...]ves. If a wo⯑man has pru [...]nce enough to give [...]onſeque [...]ce to ſuch a one [...]ore [...] and will beha [...] [...] [75] thought him her ſuperior in underſtanding, ſhe will be able to make her own will a law to him; by the way of I will, Shall I?—Or, If you pleaſe, my dear, I will do—what I think fit. But a fool and a wit are the extreme points, and equally unmanageable. And now tell me, Harriet, what can be your motive for refuſing ſuch a man as this?

Harriet. I wiſh, my dear, you would not talk to me of theſe men. I am ſick of them all—Sir Har⯑grave has cured me—

Miſs Gr. You fib, my dear—But did you ever ſee Lord D.?

Harriet. No, indeed!

Miſs Gr. "No, indeed!"—Why then you are a ſimpleton, child. What, refuſe a man, an Earl too! in the bloom of his years, 12,000 good pounds a year! yet never have ſeen him—Your motives, child! Your motives!—I wiſh you are not already—There ſhe ſtopt.

Harriet. And I wiſh, Miſs Grandiſon, with all my heart, if that would tame you, that you were in love over head and ears, and could not help it!

Miſs Gr. And wiſh you me that for ſpite, or to pleaſe me?—I am in love, my dear; and nothing keeps me in countenance, but having company among the grave ones. Dearly do I love to find girls out. Why, I found out Lady L. before ſhe would own a tittle of the matter. So prim!—‘"And how can you think ſo, Charlotte? Who, I, in love! No indeed! No man has a place in my heart!—"’ Then I was reſolv'd to have her ſecret out. I began with my roundabouts, and my ſuppoſe's—A leer—as thus—[I was both vex'd and pleaſed with her archneſs] And then a ſuppoſe—Then came a bluſh—‘"Why, Char⯑lotte, I cannot but ſay, that if I were obliged to have the one man or the other—"’ Then came a ſigh, endeavoured in haſte to be returned to the heart whence it came; and when it could not find its way [76] back, to be cut into three-halves, as the Iriſhman ſaid; that is, into two half-ſighs, and a hem; and a "Get you gone, for an impertinent."—As much as to ſay, "You have it!"—And when I found I had, and ſhe own'd it; why then I put my mad head to her grave one; and we had but one heart betwixt us.

Lady L. (laughing)—Out of breath, Charlotte, I hope.

Miſs Gr. Not yet.—How often have I kept watch and ward for her! ſometimes have I lent her my dreſſing-room for their love-meetings: Yet, for the world, ſhe would not marry without her papa's con⯑ſent: No, but like the reſt of us, ſhe would ſuffer her affections to be engaged, without letting him know a ſyllable of the matter.—Very true, Lady L. what ſignifies looking ſerious?

Lady L. Strange creature!

Miſs Gr. Once or twice did I change dreſſes with her. In ſhort, I was a perfect Abigail to her in the affair: And, let me tell you, two ſiſters, agreed to manage a love-affair, have advantages over even a Lady and her woman.

Lady L. Mad creature!

Miſs Gr. All this I did for her without fee or re⯑ward; only from the dear delight of promoting the good work, and upon the chriſtian principle of Do as you would be done by.—Is not all this true, Lady L.? Deny it if you can.

Lady L. And have you done, Charlotte? Ah! my dear Miſs Byron, you'll never do any thing with this girl, except you hear all ſhe has to ſay. And if you have a ſecret, 'tis better to let her know it at firſt. Charlotte is a generous girl, after all: But ſometimes, as now, a very impertinent one—

What could theſe ladies mean by this, I wonder? If they ſuſpect me to love ſomebody, ſurely this is not the way, that two ſuch Ladies, in generoſity, ſhould take; when they think I have no engagement; and [77] know that the doubt muſt lie on their brother's ſide, whom, with all their roundabouts, as they call them, they cannot fathom.

I would give any-thing, methinks, to know if Sir Charles was ever in love.

Juſt then a rapping at the door made us ſuppoſe it was the Counteſs. It was. After compliments to Mrs. Reeves and me, ſhe embraced Lady L. very af⯑fectionately, and Miſs Grandiſon kindly; aſking the firſt after Lord L.'s health, and the other after her Brother: He is the man of all men, Miſs Grandiſon, ſaid ſhe, that I want to ſee. We ſhall be in town ſoon, for a month or two; and then you muſt make me known to one, whom every body calls the beſt of men: As here, ſaid ſhe, coming up again to me, I have longed to be acquainted with one of the beſt of women.

Lady L. Miſs Byron is, indeed, an excellent young woman. We do ourſelves the honour of calling her ſiſter.

Lady D. What an encouragement is that to be good? Even in this age, bad as it is, true merit will never want admirers. And let me ſay, that where beauty and goodneſs meet, as here, they adorn each other.

Agreeable Lady D.! thought I: My heart will not ſuggeſt a thought in favour of your ſon; but I ſhall eaſily be in love with you. The heart hardly de⯑ſerves praiſe, my Lucy, that is not fond of it from the worthy.

Her Ladyſhip took Lady L. aſide; and ſaid ſome⯑thing to her. Lady L. anſwered with a No, as I ſup⯑poſe: To which Lady D. replied, I am glad of that; adding, I am not afraid of ſaying any-thing to a per⯑ſon of Lady L.'s known prudence.

Ah! my Lucy! She aſked Lady L. I dare ſay, whether the acknowleged ſiſterhood extended to the brother, as a brother, or as—ſomething elſe—And, [78] by her chearful and condeſcending court to me after⯑wards, and to Mrs. Reeves, was ſatisfied by Lady L.'s anſwer, I make no doubt, that there is room for Lord D.'s addreſs, for any thing on Sir Charles's part.

I will not be mean, Lucy! Greatly as I admire ſomebody, theſe excellent ſiſters ſhall not find me en⯑tangled in an hopeleſs paſſion.

Her Ladyſhip took my hand, and led me to the window. I was brought to town, ſaid ſhe, on an ex⯑traordinary occaſion, two days ago; and muſt ſet out on my return in the morning. I thought I would not miſs the opportunity of paying my compliments to a young Lady, of whom I had heard every-body ſpeak with great commendation. I make no doubt but your good aunt Selby has—There ſhe ſtopt.

My aunt has ſent me up two of your Ladyſhip's letters, and copies of her anſwers.

I am pleaſed with your frankneſs, my dear. It was that part of your character that engaged me. Young women, in theſe caſes, are generally either ſo affected, ſo ſtarched (as if they thought there were ſomething ſhameful in a treaty of this kind) or they are ſo auk⯑ward, that I have not patience with them. You have all the modeſty—Indeed, my dear, your goodneſs of heart ſhines out in every feature of your face.

Your Ladyſhip does me high honour.

I am pleaſed even with that acknowlegement. The diſcretion of a perſon is often moſt ſeen in minute⯑neſſes. Another would have made diſqualifying ſpeeches—But compliments made to the heart by one who is not accuſtomed to flatter; ſuch compliments, I mean, as it would be culpable for a perſon not to be able to verify; ſhould not be diſclaimed. To ſay truth, my dear, I did not intend to mention one word of the matter to you, on this firſt viſit. I only wanted to ſee you, and to converſe with you a little, that I might make report accordingly to my ſon; who, however, knows not that I ſhould pay my com⯑pliments [79] to you: But the moment I ſaw you, your aſpect confirmed all that I had heard ſaid in your fa⯑vour; and ſeeing you alſo ſo much careſſed by two ladies of characters ſo eſtabliſh'd; and no leſs pleaſed with what I obſerved of Mr. and Mrs. Reeves [You are a family of good people]; I was reſolved to be as frank as you are, and as your aunt Selby has been—She is a good woman—

Indeed, madam, ſhe is—

Accordingly, I have ſingled you out, in the face of every-body preſent—You will have the diſcretion to caution them on this ſubject, till you have ſeen my ſon (I am ſure there can be no doubt on his ſide)—and till you know whether you ſhall approve of our propoſals, or not: And, without heſitation, I beſpeak your good opinion of me till then. I am ſure, my dear, we ſhall be very happy in each other. If you and my Lord are happy, you and I muſt be ſo—But, when the knot is tied, I will be only your viſitor, and that at your own invitation, I am thought to be a ma⯑naging woman: Managing women are not generally the beſt to live with. You, I underſtand, are an ex⯑cellent oeconomiſt (A glorious character in this age for a young woman!—Perſons of the higheſt quality ought not to think themſelves above it). One perſon's methods may differ from another's; yet both may be equally good, and reach the ſame end. My ſon has found the benefit of my oeconomy: Nevertheleſs, his wife ſhall not have cauſe to think, that, where ſhe means well, I will prefer my methods to hers. If ever I give advice, it ſhall be only when you aſk it: And then, if you do not take it, I will not be angry; but allow, that, having weighed the matter well, you prefer your own judgment, on the beſt convictions. People who are to act for themſelves, ſhould be always left to judge for themſelves; becauſe they only are an⯑ſwerable for their own actions. You bluſh, my dear; [80] I hope I don't oppreſs you. I would not oppreſs a modeſty ſo happily blended with frankneſs.

I was affected with her goodneſs. What an amia⯑ble frankneſs! O that all huſbands mothers were like your Ladyſhip! ſaid I—What numbers of happy daughters-in-law would there then be, that now are not ſo.

Charming creature! ſaid ſhe. Proceed. I am glad I don't oppreſs you with my prate.

Oppreſs me, madam!—You delight me! Talk of a bad world!—I ought, I am ſure, to think it a good one!—In every matronly Lady I have met with a mother: In many young Ladies, as thoſe before us, ſiſters: In their brother, a protector: If your Lady⯑ſhip has not heard on what occaſion, I ſhall be ready to acquaint you with it.

Sweet child! Charming frankneſs! I have ſeen, I have heard enough of you for my preſent purpoſe—We will return to company—Such company as I find you in, is not to be had at all times. I will reſtore you to them.

But, madam, declining her leading hand—

But, what, my dear!

Have you not, madam?—But your Ladyſhip could not have received any letter from my aunt Selby—I wrote—

I have not, my dear. I could not, as you ſay. But I ſhall find a letter from her, perhaps, on my return. You approve, I hope, of the propoſal, if you ſhall have no objection to my ſon?

My aunt, madam, will let you know—

I will not have it otherwiſe than I wiſh it to be—Remember that I value you for the frankneſs you are praiſed for—A little female trifling to my ſon, if you will, in order to be aſſured of his value for you (and men love not all halcyon courtſhips) but none to me, my love. I'll aſſiſt you, and keep your counſel, in the firſt caſe, if it be neceſſary. He ſhall love you [81] above all the women on earth, and convince you that he does, or he ſhall not call you his—But no female trifling to his mother, child! We women ſhould al⯑ways underſtand one another.

Becauſe I would not be thought to be an inſincere creature, a trifler, I think I ought to mention to your Ladyſhip, that it would be a great, a very great part of my happineſs, to be deemed worthy of your friend⯑ſhip—without—

Without what?—You do well perhaps to bluſh! Without what?

Without the relation—if you pleaſe.

I was confounded with her goodneſs, Lucy. Here, my dear, is another ſuperior character—I fancy her maiden-name was Grandiſon.

But I don't pleaſe. So no more of this. Let us join company. And, taking my hand, with the good⯑neſs of a real mother; yet her brow a little over⯑clouded; ſhe made apologies to them for taking me aſide; and ſaid, ſhe could truſt to their prudence, ſhe was ſure, as they muſt needs gueſs at her view; and therefore ſhe offered not to put a limit to their con⯑jectures; ſince denial or evaſion would but, in this caſe, as it generally did, defeat its own end, and ſtrengthen what it aimed to weaken.

Is there no obtaining ſuch a mother, thought I, without marrying Lord D.?—And ſhould I refuſe to ſee him, if an interview is deſired, eſpecially when Lady L. has ſeemed to encourage the counteſs to think, that ſomebody has no thoughts—Indeed I don't deſire that that ſomebody ſhould—If—I don't know what I was going to add to that if: But pray tell my grandmamma, that I hope her Harriet will never give her cauſe to lament her being entangled in an hopeleſs paſſion. No, indeed.

But, my Lucy, one ſilly queſtion to you, who have been a little entangled, and more happily diſentangled—I catch my ſelf of late in ſaying him and he, and [82] writing to you ſomebody, and ſuch-like words, inſtead of ſaying and writing boldly, as I uſed to do, Sir Charles, and Sir Charles Grandiſon; which would ſound more reſpectfully, and yet am ſure I want not reſpect. What is the meaning of this?—Is it a ſign—Ah! my Lucy! you ſaid you would keep a ſharp look-out; and did I not ſay I would upon myſelf? Surely I ſaid truth: Surely you will think ſo, when you ſee ſuch little ſilly things as theſe do not eſcape me. But when you think me too trifling, my dear, don't expoſe me. Don't read it out in the venerable circle. That to ſome may appear very weak and ſilly, which by others will be thought excuſable, be⯑cauſe natural. It would be wrong (as I yet never did it) to write ſeparately to you. And what have I in my heart, were it to be laid open to all the world, that I ſhould be—afraid—I was going to write, that I ſhould be aſhamed of? But I think I am a little a⯑ſhamed, at times, for all that—Ah, Lucy! don't add, and ſo I ought.

Lady D. repeated her deſire of being acquainted with Sir Charles. She has no daughter: So it was purely for the ſake of his great character. She heard, ſhe ſaid, that he was the politeſt of brothers. That was always a good ſign with her. He gives you, Miſs Grandiſon, I am told, a great deal of his com⯑pany.

Miſs Grandiſon ſaid, that their brother, ſhe be⯑lieved, was one of the buſieſt men in the kingdom, who was not engaged in public affairs; and yet the moſt of a family-man. I endeavour, ſaid ſhe, to make home delightful to him. I never break in upon him when he is in his ſtudy, without leave: Indeed I ſeldom aſk it; for when he is inclin'd to give me his company, he ſends his compliments to me, and re⯑queſts, as a favour from me, what I am always ready to conſider as one done to me. And I ſee he loves me: He is not uneaſy in my company: He comes [83] for half an hour, and ſtays an hour—But don't ſet me into talking of him; for my heart always dilates, when I enter into the agreeable ſubject, and I know not where to ſtop.

Lady L. Charlotte is a happy girl.

Miſs Gr. And Lady L. is a happy woman; for he loves her as well as he loves me. Indeed he is ſo good as to ſay (but I know it is to keep us from pull⯑ing caps) that he knows not which he loves beſt: We have different qualities, he ſays; and he admires in each what the other has not.

Lady D. But what are his employments? What can he be ſo much buſied in?

M ſs Gr. A continual round of good offices. He has a ward. She has a large fortune. The attention he pays to her affairs takes up a good deal of his time. He is his own ſteward; and then he has a variety of other engagements, of which we aſk him not one word; yet long to know ſomething about them.—But this we are ſure of, that, if he thinks any-thing will give us pleaſure, we ſhall hear of it: if the contrary, he is as ſecret as the night.

Will nobody ſay one bad or one indifferent thing of this man, Lucy? There is no bearing theſe things! O my dear, what a Nobody is your poor Harriet?

Lady D. He is one of the handſomeſt men in Eng⯑land, they tell me.

Miſs Gr. Siſters are not judges. They may be partial. His benignity of heart makes his face ſhine. Had I a lover but half as handſome as I think my brother, I ſhould make no objection to him on the account of perſon.

Lady L. But he is the genteeleſt of men!—What think you, ſiſter Harriet?

Harriet. Siſters are not judges. They may be partial.

What meant Lady L. to apply to me? But I had been ſome time ſilent. She could not mean any-thing: [84] And both ſiſters complimented me on recognizing the relation.

Lady D. aſked me how long I ſhould ſtay in town?

I ſaid, I believed not long. I had leave for three months. Thoſe would be ſoon elapſed; and as my friends were ſo good as to be pleaſed with my com⯑pany, I ſhould rather chooſe to walk within than ſtep out of my limits.

The Counteſs, with a nod of approbation, ſaid, With good young people it will be always ſo: And this is more praiſe-worthy in Miſs Byron, as ſhe may do what ſhe pleaſes.

Then, taking me a little aſide—I hope, my dear, you meant nothing contrary to my wiſhes, when you referred, in ſo doubtful a manner, to what you had written to your aunt. You don't anſwer me! This is a call upon your frankneſs. Women, when any⯑thing is depending, on which they have ſet their hearts, are impatient—Don't you know that?—They love not ſuſpenſe.

It is painful to me, Madam, to decline a propoſal that would give me a relation to ſo excellent a wo⯑man—But—

But what, my dear?—Let not maidenly affectation ſtep in with its cold water. You are above it. Wo⯑man to woman, daughter to mother—You are above it.

Then, turning to the Ladies, and to my couſins—You don't know, any of you (We are by ourſelves) that Miſs Byron's heart is engaged? Miſs Grandi⯑ſon, let me apply to you: Maiden Ladies open their hearts to one another. Know you whether Miſs By⯑ron has yet ſeen the man to whom ſhe wiſhes to give her hand? Her aunt Selby writes to me, that ſhe has not.

Miſs Gr. We young women, madam, often know leaſt of our own hearts. We are almoſt as unwilling [85] to find out ourſelves in certain caſes, as to be found out by others. Speak, ſiſter Harriet: anſwer for yourſelf.

Was not this grievous, Lucy? And yet what ailed me, that I could not ſpeak without heſitation! But this Lady's condeſcending goodneſs—Yet this wicked Sir Hargrave! His attempt, his cruel treatment of me has made me quite another creature than I was.

My aunt Selby, madam, wrote the truth. To ſay I wiſh not to marry for ſome time to come, may ſound like an affectation, becauſe I have ever honour⯑ed the ſtate—But ſomething has happen'd that has put me out of conceit with myſelf, and with men too.

Lady D. With all men, child?—I will allow for a great many things in a weak mind, that I will not in yours. I have had an hint or two about an inſult, or I know not what, from Sir Hargrave Pollexfen, ſince I came to town; for I have aſk'd after you, my dear: But what is that but a confirmation of your merits? What a diſagreeable woman muſt ſhe be, whom but one man in the world could like?

But excuſe me, Miſs Byron. I have ſaid abundance of impertinent things: I have gone further on this firſt viſit than I intended. You muſt thank for this that in⯑genuous and open countenance, which confirms, at firſt ſight, the character I had heard given by every⯑body who ſpoke of you. I ſhall ſee, perhaps, what your aunt Selby, to whom you refer, writes, when I get down. I ſhall ſoon be in town, as I ſaid, for the reſt of the winter; and then I will make myſelf mi⯑ſtreſs of your whole hiſtory from theſe ladies, and from yourſelf: And there ſhall end all my enquiries, and, I hope, all my ſolicitudes, on an article that is next my heart.—Mean time, adieu, my dear—Adieu.

She then, courteſying to all round, gave her hand to Mr. Reeves, who led her to her chair; leaving us all full of her praiſes.

Miſs. Gr. (looking archly) I ſay nothing as to her [86] particular errand, becauſe I would not be too cu⯑rious; and becauſe you aſk me no queſtions, Har⯑riet.

Lady L. This muſt do, Miſs Byron: Who would not▪ wiſh for ſuch a mother?

Harriet. Is the mother to be the principal induce⯑ment in ſuch an article as this?

Miſs Gr. Why, my dear, do you pretend, in ſuch an age of petits-maitres as this, to live ſingle, till you meet with a man who deſerves you?—But, Harriet, you muſt voluntarily open your heart to me. I have a good deal of curioſity; and, whenever you are diſ⯑poſed to gratify it, will not withdraw my attention.

Harriet. I will read to you this moment, if you pleaſe, Ladies, as to my ſiſters, what Lady D. wrote to my aunt Selby, and what my aunt anſwered on the occaſion.

Miſs Gr. That's my beſt Harriet! I love to hear how and every thing about theſe ſort of matters.

Lady L. Theſe girls, Mrs. Reeves, delight in love⯑ſubjects: There is a kind of enthuſiaſm in theſe mat⯑ters that runs away with them.

Miſs Gr. Say you ſo, Lady L.? And pray had you ever any of this enthuſiaſm? And if you had, did matrimony cure you of it?—See, Harriet! my ſiſter has not been married many months; yet how quietly ſhe now talks of the enthuſiaſm of love to us maidens!—Ah! my dear Lady L.! women, I ſee, have their free-maſonry, as well as men! Don't you think ſo, Mrs. Reeves? A poor ſecret, after all, I believe, on both ſides, whiſper'd the lively Lady, but loud enough for every-one to hear what ſhe ſaid.

Lady L. called her a mad girl. But let us be fa⯑vour'd, ſaid ſhe to me, with your communications.

I pulled out the letters. I read the two firſt para⯑graphs in my aunt's letter to me, entire; for they propoſe the matter, and nothing elſe.

[87] What follows, ſaid I, is full of love and care, and ſo forth: But here is one paragraph more I can read to you.

Miſs Gr. As much reſerve as you pleaſe, ſiſter Harriet. I am learning how to deal with you.

Lady L. Why that, Charlotte? No fear that you will tell us more than you have a mind we ſhould know. Regard not, therefore, this threatening, Miſs Byron.

Harriet. To own the truth, I cannot read every⯑thing my aunt writes: But the Counteſs of D.'s pro⯑poſals, and what relates to that, I will read, if you pleaſe.

Miſs Gr. What you will—Read what you will. I find we are not at preſent ſo well acquainted, as we ſhall be hereafter.

What could Miſs Grandiſon mean by that?

I read the laſt paragraph but one, in which my aunt propoſes my coming down; and that I will either en⯑courage the counteſs's propoſal, or accept of Mr. Orme; ending with the earneſt deſire of my friends to have me married.

I then gave into Miſs Grandiſon's hand the count⯑eſs's firſt Letter; and ſhe read it out.

She gave it me back, and thanked me. Were all women, ſaid ſhe, capable of acting thus frankly, the ſex would leave affectation to the men-monkeys. Re⯑member, Harriet, that your openneſs of heart is one of the graces for which I principally admire you.

Lady L. O the rogue! take care of her, Miſs Byron! She tells you this, to get out of you all your ſecrets.

Miſs Grandiſon may eaſily obtain her end, madam, She need only tell me, what ſhe beſt likes I ſhould be; and I muſt try to be that.

Miſs Gr. Good girl! And take this along with you; that when you convince me, that you will not hide, I will convince you, that I will not ſeek. But what is next?

[88] I then gave into her hand the copy of my aunt Selby's anſwer.

Miſs Gr. May I read it all?

Harriet. If you pleaſe: The fondneſs of my aunt, and the partiality of—

Miſs Gr. Away! away!—No affectation, child?

She read it out. Both ſiſters praiſed the heart of the dear and thrice-indulgent writer! and called her their aunt Selby.

I then gave Miſs Grandiſon the Counteſs's ſecond letter. They were no leſs pleaſed with that than with the firſt.

Miſs Gr. But now your opinion of the propoſal, child? Will you truſt us with that? Have you a copy of what you wrote?

Harriet. I kept a copy only of what immediately reſpected the propoſal; and that, becauſe it was poſ⯑ſible I might want to have recourſe to it, as my aunt might, or might not, write farther about it.

I took it out of my pocket-book, and gave it to her to read.

Thank you, child, ſaid ſhe: I ſhould have no cu⯑rioſity, if I did not love you.

She read it out: It was the paragraph that begins with ‘"You will, upon the ſtrength of what I have ſaid," &c. ending with "Such is my meaning."’—Luckily, I had not tranſcribed the concluding ſentence of that paragraph; having been aſhamed of the odd words, Hope of your hope.

Lady L. But why ſhould that be your meaning, my dear?

Harriet. I added, I remember, that I was pained by the teazings of theſe men, one after another; that I never took delight in their airy adulation, and was now the more pained, becauſe of the vile attempt of Sir Hargrave, which had given me a ſurfeit of the ſex.

Miſs Gr. A temporary ſurfeit! It is over, I hope, by this time. But, my dear—And yet as I owe to [89] your generoſity the communication, I would not take occaſion from it to teaze you—

Harriet. Miſs Grandiſon will oblige me, ſay what ſhe pleaſes.

Miſs Gr. As you intend to marry—As your friends are very deſirous that you ſhould—As Lady D. is an excellent woman—As her ſon is, as men go, a tole⯑rable man—As he is a peer of the realm; which is ſomething in the ſcale, tho' it is not of weight, ſingly conſider'd—As his eſtate is very conſiderable—As you may have your own terms—As you like not any one of your numerous admirers:—All theſe As's conſider⯑ed, why, why, in the name of goodneſs, ſhould you give ſo flat a denial? Yet have not ſeen the gentleman, and therefore can have no diſlikes either to his ſenſe or per⯑ſon? I wiſh, my dear, you would give ſuch a reaſon for your denial, a denial ſo ſtrongly expreſſed, as one would imagine ſuch a woman as the counteſs of D. would be ſatisfied with, from ſuch a one as Miſs Byron.

Lady L. Perhaps, now that Miſs Byron has ſeen what a lady the counteſs of D. is—

Miſs Gr. And now that ſhe has overcome the tem⯑porary ſurfeit.

Lady L. She will change her mind.

Are you not, my dear aunt Selby, are you not, my Lucy, diſtreſſed for me at this place? I was at the time greatly ſo for myſelf.

Harriet. My mind has been greatly diſturbed by Sir Hargrave's violence; and by apprehenſions of fatal miſchiefs that might too probably have followed the generous protection given me. I was teazed before by good men—Mr. Orme, and Sir Rowland Meredith in behalf of his nephew; and by men not ſo good, Mr. Greville, and Mr. Fenwick. And when I had hoped to have a little reſpite, a little leiſure to look about me, and to collect my almoſt diſſipated ſpirits, to have this new propoſal made to my friends, and to me; and by a lady ſo worthy; wonder not, Ladies, if I am unable, on a [90] ſudden, to give ſuch reaſons for having refuſed to liſten to it, as you require; altho', at the ſame time, I find not in my heart the leaſt inclination to encourage it.

Miſs Gr. You have had your difficulties of late, my Harriet, to contend with: And thoſe you muſt look upon as a tax to be paid by a merit ſo conſpi⯑cuous. Even in this ſlighter caſe, as you love to oblige, I can pity you for the ſituation you are likely to be in, betwixt the refuſed ſon and the deſerving mother. But when you conſider, that the plagues of the diſcreet proceed from other people, thoſe of the in⯑diſcreet from themſelves, you will ſit down with a juſt compliment to yourſelf, and be content. You ſee I can be grave now and then, child.

Harriet. May I deſerve to be called prudent and diſcreet! On that condition, I am willing to incur the penalty.

Lady L. Come, come; that is out of the queſtion, my dear: So you are contented of courſe, or in the way to be ſo.

The Ladies took their leave, and ſeemed pleaſed with their viſit.

It is now, my dear friends, ſome-how or other, be⯑come neceſſary, I think, to let you minutely into my ſituation, that you may adviſe, caution, inſtruct me—For, I proteſt, I am in a ſort of wilderneſs.—Pray, my Lucy, tell me—But it cannot be from Love: So I don't care—Yet to lie under ſuch a weight of obliga⯑tion; and to find myſelf ſo much ſurpaſſed by theſe ladies—Yet it is not from Envy, ſurely: That is a very bad paſſion. I hope my boſom has not a place in it for ſuch a mean ſelf-tormentor. Can it be from Pride? Pride is a vice that always produces mortifica⯑tion: And proud you all made me of your favour—Yet I thought it was grateful to be proud of it.

I wiſh I were with you, Lucy, I ſhould aſk you abundance of queſtions; and repoſe my anxious heart on your faithful boſom; and, at the ſame time, from [91] your anſwers, arm it againſt too great a ſenſibility, be⯑fore it was too late. But pray, don't I remember, that you ſaid, you found ſighing a relief to you, on a cer⯑tain occaſion? I am ſerious, my dear. That there was a ſort of you-know-not-what of pleaſure in ſigh⯑ing? Yet that it was involuntary?—Did you not ſay, that you were ready to quarrel with yourſelf, you knew not why?—And, pray, had you not a fretting▪ gnaw⯑ing pain in your ſtomach, that made you I can't tell how to deſcribe it; yet were humble, meek, as if look⯑ing out for pity from every body, and ready to pity every-body?—Were you not attentive to ſtories of people, young women eſpecially, labouring under doubts and difficulties?—Was not your humanity raiſed? your ſelf-conſequence lower'd? But did you not think ſuſpenſe the greateſt of all torments?—I think, my dear, you lived without eating or drink⯑ing; yet look'd not pining, but freſh.—Pure Love is, perhaps, to lovers as the manna of heaven was to the Iſraelites: But yet, Iſraelite-like, we may be uneaſy and murmur at the too-much of it.—Your reſt—I re⯑member it was broken. In your ſleep you ſeemed to be diſturbed. You were continually rolling-down mountains, or tumbling from precipices—or were borne down by tempeſts, carried away with ſudden in⯑undations; or ſinking in deep waters; or flying from fires, thieves, robbers—

How apt are we to recollect, or to try to recollect, when we are apprehenſive, that a caſe may poſſibly be our own, all thoſe circumſtances, of which, while another's (however dear that other might be to us) we had not any clear or adequate ideas!—But I know, that ſuch of theſe as I recollect not from you, muſt be owing to the danger, to the terror, I was in from the violence of Sir Hargrave Pollexfen. Often and of⯑ten do I dream over again what I ſuffered from him. I am now imploring mercy from him; and meet with nothing but upbraidings and menaces. He is [92] now ſtopping my mouth with his handkerchief: His horrible clergyman, if a clergyman he was, is reading the ſervice quite through: And I am contending againſt the legality of the aſſerted marriage. At other times, I have eſcaped; and he is purſuing me: He gains upon my flying feet; and I wake myſelf with endeavouring in vain to cry out for help.

But when fancy is more propitious to me, then comes my reſcuer, my deliverer: And he is ſome⯑times a mighty prince (dreams then make me a per⯑fect romancer) and I am a damſel in diſtreſs. The milk-white palfrey once came in. All the Marvel⯑lous takes place; and lyons and tygers are ſlain, and armies routed, by the puiſſance of his ſingle arm.

Now, do not theſe reſveries convince you, that I owe all my uneaſineſs to what I ſuffered from Sir Har⯑grave's barbarity? I think I muſt take my aunt's ad⯑vice; leave London; and then I ſhall better find out, whether, as all my friends ſuſpect, and as, to be inge⯑nuous, I myſelf now begin ſometimes to fear, a paſ⯑ſion ſtronger than gratitude has not taken hold of my heart. Of this I am ſure: My reaſoning faculties are weaken'd. Miſs Grandiſon ſays, that, in my illneſs at Colnebrooke, I was dilirious; and that the doctor they called in was afraid of my head: And ſhould I ſuffer myſelf to be entangled in an hopeleſs paſſion, there will want no further proof, that my intellects have ſuffer'd.

Adieu, my Lucy! What a letter have I written! The concluſion of it, I doubt, will of itſelf, be a ſuf⯑ficient evidence of the weakneſs I have mentioned, both of head and heart, of

LETTER VI. Miſs HARRIET BYRON, To Miſs LUCY SELBY.

THIS morning Sir Hargrave Pollexfen made Mr. Reeves a viſit. He ſaid it was to him; but I was unluckily below; and forced to hear all he had to ſay, or to appear unpolite.

He propoſed viſiting my grandmamma and aunt Selby, in order to implore their forgiveneſs. But Mr. Reeves diverted him from thinking of that.

He had not ſought me, he ſaid, at Lady Betty Wil⯑liams's, but from his deſire (on the character he had heard of me) to pay his addreſſes to me, in preference to every other woman. He had laid out for ſeveral opportunities to get into my company, before he heard I was to dine there. Particularly, he once had re⯑ſolved to pay a viſit in form to my uncle Selby, in Northamptonſhire, and had got all his equipage in rea⯑dineſs to ſet out; but heard that I was come to town with Mr. and Mrs. Reeves. He actually then ſet out, he ſaid, for Peterborough, with intent to propoſe the affair to my godfather Deane: But found that he was gone to Cambridge: And then, being reſolved to try his fate with me, he came to town; and hardly que⯑ſtioned ſucceeding, when he underſtood that my friends left me to my own choice; and knowing that he could offer ſuch propoſals, as none of the gentlemen who had made pretenſions to be, were able to make. His intentions therefore were not ſudden, and ſuch as aroſe upon what he ſaw of me at Lady Betty Williams's; tho' the part I ſupported in the converſation there, precipitated his declaration.

He was very unhappy, he ſaid, to have ſo mortally diſobliged me; and repeated all his former pleas; his [94] love [Rough love, I am ſure] compaſſion, ſufferings, and I cannot tell what; inſiſting, that he had forgiven much greater injuries, as was but too apparent.

I told him, that I had ſuffer'd more than he could have done, tho' his hurt was more viſible than mine: That nevertheleſs I forgave him; as no bad conſe⯑quences had followed between him and my protector—[Protector! mutter'd he]—But that he knew my mind, before he made that barbarous attempt: And I beſought him never more to think of me; and he muſt excuſe me to ſay, that this muſt be the very laſt time I ever would ſee him.

A great deal was ſaid on both ſides; my couſins re⯑maining attentively ſilent all the time: And at laſt he inſiſted, that I would declare that I never would be the wife either of Mr. Greville or Mr. Fenwick: Aſ⯑ſuring me, that the raſh ſtep he had taken to make me his, was owing principally to his apprehenſion, that Mr. Greville was more likely to ſucceed with me than any other man.

I owed him, I told him, no ſuch declaration. But Mr. Reeves, to get rid of his importunity, gave it as his opinion, that there was no ground for his appre⯑henſions that I would give my hand to either; and I did not contradict him.

Mr. Bagenhall and Mr. Jordan, before I could get away from this importunate man, came to enquire for him. He then owned, that they came in hope of ſeeing me; and beſought me to favour him and them for one quarter of an hour only. I was reſolved to withdraw: But, at Sir Hargrave's command, as imper⯑tinently given as officiouſly obeyed, Mr. Reeves's ſer⯑vant led them (his maſter indeed not contradicting) in⯑to the parlour where we were.

The two ſtrangers behaved with great reſpect. They came with a reſolution to be pleaſed with me, and would not ſuffer themſelves to be diſappointed. But never did men run praiſes higher, than both theſe [95] gentlemen gave to Sir Charles Grandiſon. And in⯑deed the ſubject made me eaſier in their company than I ſhould otherwiſe have been.

It is not poſſible, I believe for the vaineſt mind to hear itſelf proſuſely praiſed, without ſome pain: But it is ſurely one of the ſweeteſt pleaſures in the world, to hear a whole company join in applauding the abſent perſon who ſtands high in our opinion; and eſpecially if he be one to whoſe unexceptionable goodneſs we owe, and are not aſhamed to own, obligation.

What further pleaſed me, was to hear Mr. Bagen⯑hall declare, which he did in a very ſerious manner, that Sir Charles Grandiſon's great behaviour, as he juſtly called it, had made ſuch impreſſions not only upon him, but upon Mr. Merceda, that they were both determined to turn over a new leaf, was his phraſe; and to live very different lives from what they had lived; tho' they were far, they bleſſed God, from being before the worſt of men.

Theſe gentlemen, with Mr. Merceda and Sir Har⯑grave, are to dine with Sir Charles to day. They both mentioned it with great pleaſure: But Sir Hargrave did not ſeem ſo well pleaſed, and doubted of his being able to perſuade himſelf to go. The invitation was given at Mr. Jordan's motion, who took hold of an indirect invitation of Sir Charles's; Mr. Jordan declaring, that he was reſolved not to let ſlip any opportunity of improving an acquaintance with ſo extraordinary a man.

The gentlemen took a very reſpectful leave. Sir Hargrave ſhewed ſo much dejection, and is ſo really mortified with the damage done to a face, that he uſed to take pleaſure to ſee reflected in the glaſs (never once looking into either of th [...]ſe in the parlour he was in, all the time he ſtaid) that I could once or twice have been concerned for him, had I not ſtruggled to with⯑held my pity.

He talk'd of ſoon leaving town, and retiring to one [96] of his country-ſeats; or of going abroad for a year or two, if he muſt have no hopes—Hopes! a wretch!

When I ſeriouſly reflect, I don't know whether his mortification is not the happieſt thing that could have befallen him. It wants only to be attended with patience.—He is not now an ugly man in his perſon. His eſtate will always give him conſequence. He will now think the better of others; and the worſe of him⯑ſelf: He may, much worſe; and not want as much va⯑nity as comes to his ſhare.

But ſay you, my uncle (as I fanſy you do) that I alſo may ſpare ſome of my vanity, and not be the worſe girl?—Ah! no!—I am now very ſenſible of my own defects. I am poor, low, ſilly, weak—Was I ever inſolent? Was I ever ſaucy? Was I ever—O my uncle, hide my faults. I am mortified. Let me not reproach myſelf with having deſerved mor⯑tification. If I did, I knew it not. I intended not to be ſaucy, vain, inſolent—And if I was ſo, lay it to a flow of health, and good ſpirits; to time of life; young, gay, and priding myſelf in every-one's love; yet moſt in the love, in the fond indulgence, of all you my good friends: And then you will have ſome of my faults to lay at your own doors; nor will you, even you, my uncle, be clear of reproach, becauſe your correction was always mingled with ſo much praiſe, that I thought you were but at play with your niece, and that you levelled your blame more at the Sex than at your Harriet.

BUT what have I written againſt myſelf? I believe I am not ſuch a low, ſilly, weak creature, as I had thought myſelf. For juſt as I had laid down my pen with a penſive air, and to look into the ſtate of my own heart, in order either to lighten, or to confirm, the ſelf-blame I had ſo glibly written down, Lady L. in her chair, made us a viſit. She came up directly to me: I am come to dine with your couſins and you, [97] Miſs Byron, ſaid ſhe. Shall I be welcome? But don't anſwer me: I know I ſhall.

Mrs. Reeves enter'd; and acknowledged the fa⯑vour.

Sir Hargrave Pollexfen, and ſome of his brethren, are to dine with my brother, ſaid my Lady; and I, not being obliged to do the honours of the table, with my Lord's conſent, made my eſcape. I cannot en⯑dure the wretch who could make ſuch a vile attempt upon you, and who might have murder'd my bro⯑ther.—Come, will you let me ſee what you are write⯑ing? You can forgive Charlotte's freedom: Will you excuſe her ſiſter's?

I cannot ſhew your Ladyſhip all I have written; but I will read you ſome paſſages of the long letter before me.

I told her my ſubject, and read to her ſuch as I thought I could read. She raved at Sir Hargrave: Wonder'd he had the confidence to approach me, eſpecially with hope. She prais'd me: Yet ſaid to my couſin Reeves, that he ought to have been denied the houſe; and the rather, as I was myſelf very un⯑willing to ſee him.

I own, I thought ſo too. Both my couſins are too good-natur'd.

We had a great deal of talk about the duel that was to happily prevented. Lady L. gave us an account of the unhappy one which her father fought; and to the iſſue of which they owed the loſs of the beſt of mo⯑thers: And at and after dinner ſhe piouſly expatiated on the excellencies of that mother; and demonſtrated, what I have often thought of great conſequence (my grandmamma's and aunt Selby's examples before me affording the nobleſt proofs) that the conduct of wo⯑men in their families is of high importance; and that they need not to look out of them ſo often as they do, to employ themſelves; and that not only in the moſt uſeful, but in the moſt delightful manner.

[98] My Lord L. having broke from the company at Sir Charles's, did us the honour to drink tea with us. Every-thing, he ſaid, paſſed very agreeably among the gentlemen he had left; and it was his opinion, that his brother's noble behaviour, and the converſation that paſſed at table, and in which he left him and them engaged, would make more than one convert among them.

He told Lady L. that Sir Charles was to ſet out on Monday for Canterbury [For Canterbury, Lucy!]; and that he ſhould take it for a favour, if ſhe would give him her company for a few days to Colnebrooke. Their houſe in Brook-ſtreet, he ſaid, would be ready to receive them in a week's time: It wanted nothing but a thorough airing. And if, ſaid he, you could pre⯑vail upon Miſs Grandiſon to be with us till her brother returns, and both ſiſters could induce Miſs Byron to make a fourth, we ſhall be, ſaid he, the happieſt par⯑ty in the world; and perhaps may get Sir Charles among us, on his return, for a day or two. I bowed.

I muſt tell you, my Lord, that Charlotte and I thought to offer our attendance on Miſs Byron to ſome of the public entertainments: But your Lordſhip's pleaſure ſhall determine me; and if we could be ſo happy as to have Miſs Byron for our gueſt, I am ſure of my ſiſter; and it would be my preferable wiſh. Mr. Reeves, Mrs. Reeves, will you ſpare Miſs Byron to me?

I looked, as if for their leave. They gave a ſmil⯑ing aſſent.

My Lord and Lady both expreſſed themſelves over⯑joy'd.

This Canterbury ran in my head. It was brought in naturally enough; and Mrs. Reeves wonder'd, that Sir Charles kept ſecret the motive of his journeying thither backward and forward. The godlike man, ſaid Mr. Reeves, in the words of a great poet, has nothing to conceal. For my part, replied my Lord, I con⯑clude [99] the motive is rather a painful than a pleaſura⯑ble one. Charlotte accuſes her brother of reſerves. I never found him reſerved: But he loves to play with her curioſity, and amuſe her: For ſhe is very cu⯑rious, yet has her ſecret.—Has ſhe not, Lady L.?

Indeed ſhe has, replied my Lady—Perhaps you, my dear, will be intruſted with it, when you are at Colne⯑brooke together.

Pray, madam, ſaid I to Lady L. may I aſk?—Does Sir Charles give Lord G. his intereſt in his addreſſes to Miſs Grandiſon?

Lady L. My brother wiſhes Charlotte married. He is a great friend to the married ſtate; eſpecially with regard to our ſex.

Mr. Reeves could not miſs this opportunity. It is a wonder, ſaid he, that Sir Charles himſelf does not think of marriage?

Lady L. That is a ſtring that we but juſt touch ſometimes, and away. There is a Lady—

There ſhe ſtopt. Had ſhe looked with earneſtneſs at me, I had been undone, I believe.

[☞ Let me aſk you, Lucy: You have paſſed the fiery ordeal—Did you ever find in yourſelf a kind of impatience, next to petulance; and in your heart (only for fear of expoſing yourſelf) that you were ready to quarrel, or to be ſhort with any-body that came upon you of a ſudden; yet have no buſineſs of conſequence to engage either your fingers or your thoughts?—Of late, my dear, I have been very often troubled with this odd ſenſation. But my whole tem⯑per is altering, I believe. I ſhall grow peeviſh, per⯑verſe, and gloomy, I doubt. O this wicked Sir Har⯑grave!☜]

Pray, my dear, attend for the future to thoſe in⯑dexes or hands; and forbear to read out the paſſages incloſed by them, if you can—But if you come upon them before you are aware, why then read on—with all my heart.

[100] But to return to Lady L.'s alarming hint—‘"There is a Lady"’—

Mrs. Reeves. That Sir Charles loves, I ſuppoſe?

Lady L. That loves Sir Charles; and ſhe has—But for the Lady's ſake—Yet if it be allowable for any woman to be in love with any man, upon an un⯑certainty of return, it is for one that is in love with my brother.

Harriet. And cannot Sir Charles make a return?—Poor Lady!

My couſin afterwards told me, that my upper-lip then quiver'd like an aſpen leaf. I did not know that it did. I felt not a trembling at my heart; and when the lip trembles, the heart, I think, ſhould be affected. There uſed to be a cloſe connexion between mine.

Mr. Reeves. Miſs Grandiſon told me, that, if her brother married, half a ſcore women would break their hearts.

Lady L. The words half a ſcore run as glibly off the tongue as half a dozen: But I believe, let the en⯑vious, the cenſorious, malign our ſex, and charge us with the love of rakes and libertines, as they will, if all men were like my brother, there would not be a ſingle woman, and hardly a bad one, in the kingdom. What ſay you, my Lord?

Lord L. My dear life, you know I am all atten⯑tion, whenever you, or my ſiſter Charlotte, make our brother the ſubject of your panegyric. If Miſs By⯑ron, you do not chooſe to hear ſo much ſaid of this beſt of men, you will, I doubt, have an ill time of it in the favour you will do us at Colnebrooke.

Harriet. My Lord, I ſhould be very ungrateful, if I did not hear with pleaſure every-thing that ſhall be ſaid in praiſe of Sir Charles Grandiſon.

Lord L. When I am out of conceit with men, as too often they give me cauſe to be, I think of my bro⯑ther, and forgive them.

I wonder, Lucy, what every-body means by praiſing [101] Sir Charles Grandiſon ſo much in my hearing—Shall I fly from town, to avoid hearing his praiſes?—Yes, ſay you?—But whither? It muſt not be to Selby⯑houſe. Well then, I may as well go to Colnebrooke. I ſhall there be informed of the reaſons for all thoſe general applauſes; for hitherto I know nothing of his hiſtory, to what they tell me I am to know.

Theſe general praiſes carried us away from a ſub⯑ject that I thought we ſhould once have made more of—That one Lady—And I wanted to know, but had no opportunity to inform myſelf, whether that Lady's relations, or herſelf, live at Canterbury. On Monday, it ſeems, Sir Charles ſets out for that Canterbury!

Our noble gueſts would not ſtay ſupper. They had not been gone two hours before I had an humourous letter from Miſs Grandiſon. I incloſe it.

I hope, Lucy, I was not wrong in ſo readily con⯑ſenting to go to Colnebrooke. My own inclination, indeed, was in my compliance; and I begin to miſ⯑truſt myſelf, where-ever that ſtrongly leads. Yet why ſhould I undervalue myſelf? I know my heart to be good. In that I will not yield to any-body. I have no littleneſs in my mind: Naturally I have not. Guard me, O my friends! by your prayers, that no littleneſs, that is not natural to my heart, may depre⯑ciate it, and make me unworthy of the love you have ever ſhewn to

LETTER VII. Miſs HARRIET BYRON, To Miſs LUCY SELBY.

MY couſins will have it, that I am far gone in a certain paſſion [They ſpeak quite out]; and with a man that has given no encouragement—Encou⯑ragement! [103] how meanly ſounds that word! But I hope they are miſtaken. I cannot ſay, but one may pre⯑fer, if one were to have one's choice—one man to another—But that is a different thing from being run away with by ſo vehement a folly as they are ready to aſcribe to me.

Well, but, under this notion, they are ſolicitous that I ſhould not neglect any opportunity [What a poor creature do they think me!] of ingratiating my⯑ſelf with the ſiſters: And therefore I muſt, by all means, accept of Miſs Grandiſon's invitation to tea.

I inſiſted, however, that they ſhould accompany me, as they likewiſe were invited: And they obliged me—I may ſay themſelves too; for they admire the brother and ſiſters as much as I do.

We found together Lord and Lady L. Miſs Gran⯑diſon, Miſs Jervois, Dr. Bartlett, and Mr. Grandiſon. Sir Charles was in his drawing-room, adjoining to the ſtudy; a lady with him, they ſaid. What buſineſs had I to wiſh to know whether it was an elderly or a young lady? But I muſt tell you all my follies. When we alighted, a very genteel chair made way for our coach.

Mr. Grandiſon made up to me; and, as heretofore, ſaid very ſilly things, but with an air, as if he were ac⯑cuſtomed to ſay ſuch, and to have them received as gallant things, by thoſe to whom he addreſſed them. How painful is it to a mind not quite at eaſe, to be obliged to be civil, when the ear is invaded by con⯑temptible ſpeeches, from a man who muſt think as highly of himſelf for uttering them, as meanly of the underſtanding of the perſon he is ſpeaking to!

Miſs Grandiſon ſaw me a little uneaſy, and came up to us. Mr. Grandiſon, ſaid ſhe, I thought you had known Miſs Byron's character by this time. She is ſomething more than a pretty woman. She has a ſoul, Sir: The man who makes a compliment to her on her beauty, depreciates her underſtanding.

[104] She then led me to her ſeat, and ſat down next me.

Mr. Grandiſon was in the midſt of a fine ſpeech, and was not well pleaſed. He ſat down, threw one leg over the knee of the other, hemm'd three or four times, took out his ſnuff-box, tapped it, let the ſnuff drop thro' his ſingers, then broke the lumps, then ſhut it, and twirled it round with the fore-finger of his right-hand, as he held it between the thumb and fore⯑finger of the other; and was quite like a ſullen boy: Yet, after a while, tried to recover himſelf, by forc⯑ing a laugh at a ſlight thing or two ſaid in company, that was not intended to raiſe one.

I think, my dear, I could have allowed a little more for him, had not his name been Grandiſon.

We ſoon adjuſted every-thing for the little journey. Mr. Grandiſon told Miſs Grandiſon, that if ſhe would make him amends for her treatment of him juſt now, ſhe ſhould put Lord L. upon inviting him. Lord and Lady L. joined to do ſo. But Miſs Grandiſon would not admit of his going; and I was glad of it.

But, not to affront you, couſin, ſaid ſhe, Miſs By⯑ron and I want to have a good deal of particular con⯑verſation: So ſhall not be able to ſpare you an hour of our company at Colnebrooke. But one thing, Sir: My brother ſets out for Canterbury to-morrow: Tell him, that we won't be troubled with your company: Aſk him, if he will?

Not in thoſe words neither, couſin Charlotte: But I will offer my attendance; and if he accepts of it, I ſhall be half as happy as if I went to Colnebrooke; and only half, bowing to me.

Why, now, you are a good docible kind of man! I want to hear what will be my brother's anſwer: For we know not one ſyllable, nor can gueſs at his buſi⯑neſs at Canterbury.

The tea-equipage being brought in, we heard Sir Charles's voice, complimenting a lady to her chair; and who pleaded engagement for declining to drink [105] tea with his ſiſter. And then he enter'd the parlour to us. He addreſſed my couſins, who were next him, with his uſual politeneſs. He then came to me: How does my good Miſs Byron? Not diſcompoſed, I hope by your yeſterday's viſitors. They are all of them in love with you. But you muſt have been pained—I was pained for you, when I heard they had viſited you. But extraordinary merit has ſome for⯑feitures to pay.

I am ſure then, thought I, you muſt have a great many. Every-time I ſee him, I think he riſes upon me in the gracefulneſs of his behaviour.

I have one agreeable piece of news to tell you, ma⯑dam. Sir Hargrave will go abroad for a twelvemonth. He ſays, he cannot be in the ſame kingdom with you, and not ſee you. He hopes therefore to leſſen the tor⯑ment, by flying from the temptation. Mr. Bagenhall and Mr. Merceda will go with him.

Then whiſpering me, he ſaid, from an hint in the letter of the penitent Wilſon, that Mr. Bagenhall's cir⯑cumſtances are not happy, and that he is too much in the power of Sir Hargrave; I have prevailed on the latter, in conſideration of the other's accompanying him abroad, to make him eaſy. And, would you be⯑lieve it? and can you forgive me?—I have brought Sir Hargrave to give Wilſon the promiſed 100 l. To induce him to do this, Merceda (influenced by the ar⯑guments I urged, founded on the unhappy fellow's confeſſions in that letter) offer'd 50 l. more for his paſt ſervices to himſelf: And both, as a proof of the ſince⯑rity of their promiſed reformation. Wilſon ſhall not have the money, but upon his marrying the girl to whom he is contracted: And on my return from a little excurſion I am making to Canterbury, I ſhall put all in a train. And now, let me aſk you, once more, can you forgive me for rewarding, as you may think it, a baſe ſervant?

O Sir! how can I anſwer you?—You told me at [106] Colnebrooke, that we were to endeavour to bring good out of the evil from which you had deliver'd me. This indeed is making your words true in a very extenſive ſenſe: To make your enemies your friends; to put wicked men into a way of reformation; and to make it a bad man's intereſt to be good—Forgive you, Sir!—From what I remember of that poor wretch's letter, I was obliged to him myſelf: Tho' vile, he was leſs vile than he might have been. The young woman be⯑haved with tenderneſs to me at Paddington: Let me therefore add 50 l, to Mr. Merceda's 50 l. as an ear⯑neſt that I can follow a noble example.

You charm me, madam, ſaid he. I am not diſ⯑appointed in my opinion of you—The fellow, if he give hope of real penitence, ſhall not want the fourth 50 l.—It would be too good in you, ſo great a ſufferer as you were by his wickedneſs, to give it: But it will become a man to do it, who has not been injured by him, and who was the occaſion of his loſing the fa⯑vour of his employer; and the rather, as he was an adviſer to his fellow-agents to fly, and not to fire at my ſervants, who might have ſuffer'd from a ſturdier villain. He has promiſed repentance and reforma⯑tion: This ſmall ſum will give me a kind of right to enforce the performance.—But no more of this juſt now.

Miſs Jervois juſt then looking as if ſhe would be glad to ſpeak with her guardian, he aroſe, and taking her hand, led her to the window. She was in a ſup⯑plicating attitude, as if aſking a favour. He ſeemed to be all kindneſs and affection to her.—Happy girl!—Miſs Grandiſon, who had heard enough of what he ſaid of Wilſon, to be affected, whiſper'd me, Did I not tell you, Harriet, that my brother was continu⯑ally employed in doing good? He has invention, forecaſt, and contrivance: But you ſee how thoſe qua⯑lities are all employed.

O Miſs Grandiſon! ſaid I, I am ſuch a nothing! [107] —I cannot, as Sir Hargrave ſays, bear my own little⯑neſs.

Be quiet, ſaid ſhe—You are an exceeding good girl! But you have a monſtrous deal of pride. Early I ſaw that. You are not half ſo good as the famous Greek, who loſing an election for which he ſtood, to be one of 300 only, thank'd the gods, that there were in Athens (I think it was) 300 better men than him⯑ſelf. Will you not have honour enough, if it can be ſaid, that next to Sir Charles Grandiſon, you are the beſt creature in the world?

Sir Charles led his ward to a ſeat, and ſat down by us.

Couſin Charlotte, ſaid Mr. Grandiſon, you remem⯑ber your treatment of me, for addreſſing Miſs Byron in an open, and I thought, a very polite manner: Pray where's your impartiality? Sir Charles has been ſhut up in his ſtudy with a Lady who would not be ſeen by any-body elſe—But Sir Charles may do any⯑thing.

I am afraid it is too late, couſin, ſaid Miſs Grandi⯑ſon: Elſe it would be worth your while to try for a reputation.

Has Charlotte, Mr. Grandiſon, ſaid Sir Charles, uſed you ill? Ladies will do as they pleaſe with you gallant men. They look upon you as their own; and you wiſh them to do ſo. You muſt bear the in⯑convenience for the ſake of the convenience.

Well, but, Sir Charles, I am refuſed to be of the Colnebrooke party—Abſolutely refuſed. Will you ac⯑cept of my company? Shall I attend you to Canter⯑bury?

Are you in earneſt, couſin Grandiſon? Will you oblige me with your company?

With all my heart and ſoul, Sir Charles.

With all mine, I accept your kind offer.

This agreeably ſurpriſed his ſiſters as well as me: But why then ſo ſecret, ſo reſerved, to them?

[108] Mr. Grandiſon immediately went out to give or⯑ders to his ſervant for the journey.

A good-natur'd man! ſaid Sir Charles.—Charlotte, you are ſometimes too quick upon him—Are you not?

Too quick upon him!—No, no! I have hopes of him; for he can be aſham'd: That was not always the caſe with him. Between your gentleneſs and my quickneſs, we ſhall make ſomething of him in time.

Mr. Grandiſon immediately return'd; and we loſt ſomething that Sir Charles was going to reply. But, by ſome words he dropt, the purport was to blame his ſiſter for not ſparing Mr. Grandiſon before company.

I imagine, Sir Charles, that if you take Mr. Gran⯑diſon with you, one may venture to aſk a queſtion, Whether you go to any family at Canterbury, that we have heard of?—It is to do good, I am ſure.

Your eyes have aſk'd me that queſtion ſeveral times, Charlotte. I aim not at making ſecrets of any thing I do. I need not on this occaſion. Yet you, Char⯑lotte, have your ſecrets.

He look'd grave.

Have I my ſecrets, Sir Charles?—Pray what do you mean?

She colour'd, and ſeem'd ſenſibly touch'd.

Too much emotion, Charlotte, is a kind of con⯑feſſion. Take care. Then turning it off with a ſmile—See, Mr. Grandiſon, I am revenging your cauſe. Alarming ſpirits love not to be alarmed.

So, Harriet! whiſpering to me, I am ſilenced. Had I told you all my heart, I ſhould half have ſu⯑ſpected you. How he has flutter'd me!—Lady L. this is owing to you, whiſpering her behind my chair.

I know nothing, therefore could tell nothing. Con⯑ſcience, conſcience! Charlotte, re-whiſper'd Lady L.

She ſat ſtill, and was ſilent for a little while; Lord and Lady L. ſmiling, and ſeeming to enjoy her agree⯑able confuſion. At laſt—But, Sir Charles, you always [109] had ſecrets. You got out of me two or three of mine without exchange.—You—

Don't be uneaſy, my Charlotte. I expected a prompt, not a deliberate reply. My life is a various life. Some things I had better not have known myſelf. See, Charlotte, if you are ſerious, you will make me ſo. I have not any motives of action, I hope, that are either capricious or conceited [Surely, Lucy, he cannot have ſeen what I wrote to you about his re⯑ſerves! I thought he look'd at me]—Only this one hint my ſiſter: Whenever you condeſcend to conſult me, let me have every-thing before me, that ſhall be neceſſary to enable me to form a judgment—But why ſo grave, Charlotte? Impute all I have ſaid, as a re⯑venge of Mr. Grandiſon's cauſe, in gratitude for his obliging offer of accompanying me to Canterbury.

Cannot you reward him, Sir Charles but by puniſh⯑ing me?

A good queſtion, Charlotte. But do you take what I have ſaid in that light?

I have done for the preſent, Sir: But I hope, when you return, we ſhall come to an eclairciſſement.

Needs it one?—Will not better and more intereſt⯑ing ſubjects have taken place by that time?—And he look'd at her with an eye of particular meaning.

Now is he beginning to wind about me, whiſper'd ſhe to me, as I told you at Colnebrooke. Were he and I alone, he'd have me before I knew where I was. Had he been a wicked man, he would have been a very wicked one.

She was viſibly uneaſy; but was afraid to ſay any more on the ſubject.

Lady L. whiſper'd—Ah! Charlotte, you are taken in your own toils. You had better let me into your ſecret. I would bring you off, if I could.

Be quiet, Lady L.

We then talk'd of the time in the morning of our ſetting out for Colnebrooke. I thought I read Miſs [110] Emily's mind in her eyes—Shall we not have the pleaſure of Miſs Jervois's company? ſaid I.

She bowed to me, and ſmiled.

The very thing that Emily was petitioning to me for, ſaid Sir Charles: And I wiſh'd, ladies, to have the motion come from one of you.

Emily ſhall go with us, I think, ſaid Miſs Gran⯑diſon.

Thank you, madam, ſaid ſhe: I will take care not to break in upon you impertinently.

What! doſt thou too think we have ſecrets, child?

Conſent with your uſual grace, Charlotte: Are you not too eaſily affected? Sir Charles ſpoke this ſmiling. Every thing you ſay, Sir Charles, affects me.

I ought then to be very careful of what I ſay. If I have given my ſiſter pain, I beg her to forgive me.

I am afraid to go on, whiſper'd ſhe to me. Were he and I only together, my heart would be in his hand in a moment.

I have only this to obſerve, Miſs Grandiſon, whiſ⯑per'd I—When you are too hard upon me, I know to whom to apply for revenge.

Such another word, Harriet, and I'll blow you up!

What could ſhe mean by that?—Blow me up! I have lock'd up my aunts laſt lettets, where ſo much is ſaid about entangling, and Inclination, and ſo-forth. When any-thing occurs, that we care not to own, I ſee by Miſs Grandiſon, that it is eaſy for the ſlighteſt hint to alarm us.

But Sir Charles to ſay ſo ſeriouſly as he did, ‘"That his life was a various life;" and that "he had better not have known ſome things himſelf;"’ affects me not a litte. What can a man of his prudence have had to diſturb him? But my favourite author ſays,

But ſo young a man! ſo prudent! as I ſaid; and ſo generally beloved! But that he is ſo, may be the occaſion.—Some lady, I doubt!—What ſad people are we women at this rate! Yet ſome women may have the worſt of it. What are your thoughts on all theſe appearances, Lucy?

Miſs Grandiſon, as I ſaid, is uneaſy. Theſe are the words that diſturb her: ‘"Only this one hint, my ſiſter: Whenever you condeſcend to conſult me, let me have every-thing before me, that ſhall be neceſſary to enable me to form a judgment."’—And ſo they would me in her caſe.

But it ſeems plain from Sir Charles's hint, that he keeps to himſelf (as Miſs Grandiſon once indeed ſaid in his favour) thoſe intelligences which would diſturb her, and his other friends, to know. The ſecret which he would have made of the wicked challenge; his ſelf-invited breakfaſting with Sir Hargrave; are proofs among others, of this: And if this be his conſiderate motive, what a forward, what a cenſorious creature have I been, on ſo many occaſions, to blame him for his reſerves, and particularly for his Canterbury excur⯑ſions! I think I will be cautious for the future, how I take upon me to cenſure thoſe actions, which in ſuch a man I cannot account for.

Miſs Grandiſon, on her brother's withdrawing with Dr. Bartlett, ſaid, Well, now that my couſin Gran⯑diſon will accompany my brother to Canterbury, we ſhall have that ſecret out in courſe.

Lady L. It ſeems to be your fault, Charlotte, that we have not had it before.

Miſs Gr. Be quiet, Lady L.

[112] Mr. Gr. Perhaps not. You'll find I can keep a ſecret, couſin; eſpecially if I am deſired to do ſo.

Miſs Gr. I ſhall wonder at that.

Mr. Gr. Why ſo?

Miſs Gr. Shall I give it you in plain engliſh?

Mr. Gr. You don't uſe to mince it.

Miſs Gr. It would be ſtrange, couſin, if a man ſhould make a ſecret of an innocent piece of intelli⯑gence, who has told ſtories of himſelf and gloried in them, that he ought, if true, to have been hanged for.—You would have it.

Mr. Gr. I knew I muſt have the plain engliſh, whether I aſk'd for it or not. But give me leave to ſay, couſin Charlotte, that you made not ſo ſuperior a figure juſt now.

Miſs Gr. True, Mr. Grandiſon. There is but one man in the world, of whom I ſtand in awe.

Mr. Gr. I believe it; and hope you never deſign to marry, for that reaſon.

Miſs Gr. What a wretch is my couſin! Muſt a woman ſtand in awe of her huſband? Whether, Sir, is marriage a ſtate of ſervitude or of freedom to a woman?

Mr. Gr. Of freedom, as women generally make it—Of ſervitude, if they know their duty.—Pardon me, Ladies.

Miſs Gr. Don't pardon him. I ſuppoſe, Sir, it is owing to your conſciouſneſs, that you have only the will, and not the ſpirit, to awe a woman of ſenſe, that you are a ſingle man at this day.

Lady L. Pray, my Lord, what have I done, that you treat me with ſo much contempt?

Lord L. Contempt! my beſt life!—How is that?

Lady L. You ſeem not to think it worth your while to over-awe me.

Miſs Gr. Lord, my dear! how you are miſtaken in applying thus to Lord L.! Lord L. is a good man, a virtuous man: None but rakes hold theſe over-awing [113] doctrines. They know what they deſerve; and live in continal fear of meeting with their de⯑ſerts; and ſo, if they marry, having the hearts of ſlaves, they become tyrants. Miſs Byron—

Mr. Gr. The devil's in it if you two Ladies want help. I fly the pit.

Lord L. And I think, Mr. Grandiſon, you have fought a hard battle.

Mr. Gr. By my ſoul, I think ſo too. I have held it out better than I uſed to do.

Miſs Gr. I proteſt I think you have. We ſhall brighten you up among us. I am miſtaken if there were not two or three ſmart things ſaid by my couſin. Pray, did any-body mind them? I ſhould be glad to hear them again. Do you recollect them yourſelf, couſin?

Mr. Gr. You want to draw me on again, couſin Charlotte. But the d—l fetch me, if you do. I'll leave off while I am well.

Miſs Gr. Would you have thought it, Lady L.! My couſin has diſcretion as well as ſmartneſs. I con⯑gratulate you, Sir: A new diſcovery!—But huſh! 'Tis time for both to have done.

Sir Charles enter'd. Mr. Grandiſon a ſufferer a⯑gain? ſaid he.

Mr. Gr. No, no! Pretty well off this bout!—Miſs Byron, I have had the better end of the ſtaff, I believe.

Harriet. I can't ſay that, Sir. But you got off, I believe, in very good time.

Mr. Gr. And that's a victory, to what it uſed to be, I can aſſure you. Nobody ever could awe Miſs Grandiſon.

Miſs Gr. Coward!—You would now begin again, would you?—Sir Charles loves to take me down.

Mr. Gr. Never, madam, but when you are up: And laugh'd heartily.

Miſs Gr. Witty too!—A man of repartee! A [114] verbal wit! And that's half as good as a punſter, at any time.

Sir Ch. Fight it out, couſin Grandiſon. You can laugh on, tho' the laugh of every other perſon ſhould be againſt you.

Mr. Gr. And thou, Brutus?—It is time to have done.

As I think theſe converſations characteriſtic, I hope the recital of them will be excuſed. Yet I am ſen⯑ſible, thoſe things that go off well in converſation, do not always read to equal advantage.

They would fain have engaged us to ſtay to ſupper: But we excuſed ourſelves. I promiſed to breakfaſt with them.

I choſe not to take my maid with me. Jenny is to be made over to me occaſionally, for the time of my ſtay. Dr. Bartlett had deſired to be excuſed. So our party is only the two Siſters, Lord L. Miſs Jervois, and I.

Sir Charles and Mr. Grandiſon are to ſet out for their journey early in the morning.

Adieu, my Lucy. It is late: And ſleepineſs pro⯑miſes to befriend

LETTER VIII. Mrs. SELBY, To Miſs BYRON ^(a).

WE are all extremely affected with your preſent ſitu⯑ation. Such apparent ſtruggles betwixt your na⯑tural openneſs of heart, and the confeſſions of a young, [115] of a new paſſion, and that ſo laudably founded, and ſo viſibly increaſing—O my Love, you muſt not af⯑fect reſerves. They will ſit very aukwardly upon a young woman, who never knew what affectation and concealment were.

You have laid me under a difficulty with reſpect to Lady D. She is to be with me on Saturday next. I I have not written to her, tho' you deſired I would; ſince, in truth, we all think, that her propoſals deſerve conſideration; and becauſe we are afraid, that a greater happineſs will never be yours and ours. It is impoſſible, my dear, to imagine, that ſuch a man as Sir Charles Grandiſon ſhould not have ſeen the wo⯑man whom he could love, before he ſaw you; or whom he had not been engaged to love by his grati⯑tude, as I may call it, for her Love. Has not his ſiſter talk'd of half a ſcore Ladies, who would break their hearts for him, were he to marry?—And may not this be the reaſon why he does not?

You ſee what an amiable openneſs of heart there is in the counteſs of D. You ſee, that your own frank⯑neſs is a particular recommendation of you to her. I had told her, that you were diſengaged in your affec⯑tions: By your own diſclaiming to her the propoſed relation, you have given reaſon to ſo wiſe a Lady to think it otherwiſe; or that you are not ſo much above affectation, as ſhe had hoped you were. And tho' we were grieved to read how much you were puſhed by Miſs Grandiſon ^a, yet Lady D. will undoubtedly make the ſame obſervations and inferences, that Miſs Grandiſon did. And what would you have me do? ſince you cannot give a ſtronger inſtance of your af⯑fections being engaged, than by declining ſuch a pro⯑poſal as Lady D. made, before you have converſed with, or even ſeen Lord D. And it becomes not your character nor mine, either to equivocate, or to ſay the thing that is not.

[116] Lady L. you think (and indeed ſo it appears) hint⯑ed to Lady D. that Sir Charles ſtands not in the way of Lord D.'s application. I ſee not therefore, that there can be any room to hope from that quarter. Nor will your fortune, I doubt, be thought conſider⯑able enough. And as Sir Charles is not engaged by affection, and is generous and munificent, there is hardly room to imagine, but that, in prudence, for⯑tune will have ſome weight with him. At leaſt, on our ſide, that ought to be ſuppoſed, and to make a part of our firſt propoſals, were a treaty to be begun.

Your grandmamma will write to you with her own hand. I refer myſelf wholly to her. Her wiſdom, and her tenderneſs for you, we all know. She and I have talked of every-thing. Your uncle will not railly you, as he has done. We ſtill continue reſolved not to preſcribe to your inclinations. We are afraid there⯑fore of adviſing you as to this new propoſal. But your grandmamma is very much pleaſed that I have not written as you would have had me, a letter of abſo⯑lute refuſal to the counteſs.

Your uncle has been enquiring into the ſtate of Sir Charles Grandiſon's affairs. We have heard ſo many good things of him, that I have deſired Mr. Selby to make no further enquiries, unleſs we could have ſome hopes of calling him ours. But do you, my dear, nevertheleſs, omit nothing that comes to your know⯑ledge, that may let us know in him what a good man is, and ſhould be.

His magnanimity in refuſing to engage in a duel, yet acquitting himſelf ſo honourably, as to leave no doubt about his courage, is an example, of itſelf, of a more than human rectitude of thinking and acting. How would your grandfather have cheriſhed ſuch a young man! We every one of us admire and revere him at the ſame time; and congratulate you, my dear, and his ſiſters, on the happy iſſue of the affair between him and that vile Sir Hargrave.

[117] You will let me know your mind as to the affair of Lord D.; and that by the next poſt: Be not raſh. Be not haſty▪ I am afraid I puſh'd your delicacy too much in my former. Your uncle ſays, that you are at times not ſo frank in directly owning your paſſion, as from your natural openeſs of heart he expected you would be, when a worthy object had attracted you: And he triumphs over us, in the imagination, that he has at laſt detected you of affectation in ſome little degree. We all ſee, and own, your ſtruggle between virgin-modeſty and openeſs of heart, as apparent in many paſſages of your letters; and we lay part of your reſerve to the apprehenſions you muſt have of his raillery: But after you have declared, ‘"That you had rather converſe but one hour in a week with Sir Charles Grandiſon"’ (and his ſiſter you put in: And ſiſters are good convenient people ſometimes to a baſhful or beginning lover, of our ſex) ‘"than be the wife of any man you have ever ſeen or known; and that, mean as the word pity ſounds, you would ra⯑ther have his pity than the love of any other man;"’—Upon my word, my dear, you need not be back⯑ward to ſpeak quite out. Excuſe me, my child.

I have juſt now read the incloſed. Had I known your grandmamma could have written ſo long a letter, I might have ſpared much of mine. Hers is worthy of her. We all ſubſcribe to it; but yet will be de⯑termined by your next, as to the ſteps to be taken in relation to the propoſal of Lady D. But if you love, be not aſhamed to own it to us. The man is Sir Charles Grandiſon.

With all our bleſſings and prayers for you, I bid you, my dear Love, Adieu.

LETTER IX. Mrs. SHIRLEY, To Miſs BYRON.

DON'T be afraid, don't be aſhamed, my deareſt Life, to open your whole heart to your aunt Selby and me. You know how we all dote upon you. It is no diſgrace for a young woman of virtue to be in love with a worthy man. Love is a natural paſ⯑ſion. You have ſhewn, I am ſure, if ever young crea⯑ture did ſhew, that you are no giddy, no indiſcreet perſon. Not Greville, with all his gaiety; not Fenwick, with all his adulation; not the more re⯑ſpectable Orme, with all his obſequiouſneſs; nor yet the imploring Fowler; nor the terrifying, the ſhock⯑ing Sir Hargrave Pollexfen; have ſeen the leaſt ſha⯑dow of vanity or weakneſs in you. How happily have you ſteer'd thro' difficulties, in which the love of being admired often involves meaner minds! And how have you, with mingled dignity and courteouſneſs, en⯑titled yourſelf to the eſteem, and even veneration, of thoſe whom you refuſed! And why refuſed! Not from pride, but principle; and becauſe you could not love any one of them, as you thought you ought to love the man to whom you gave your hand.

And at laſt, when the man appeared to you, who was worthy of your love; who had ſo powerfully pro⯑tected you from the lawleſs attempt of a fierce and cruel pretender; a man who proved to be the beſt of brothers, friends, landlords, maſters, and the braveſt and beſt of men; is it to be wonder'd at, that an heart, which never before was won, ſhould diſcover ſenſibi⯑lity, and acknowledge its fellow-heart?—What reaſon then can you have for ſhame? And why ſeeks my Harriet to draw a curtain between herſelf and her ſym⯑pathizing friends? You ſee, my dear, that we are [119] above ſpeaking ſlightly, becauſe of our uncertainty, of a man that all the world praiſes. Nor are you, child, ſo weak as to be treated with ſuch poor policy.

You were not educated, my dear, in artifice. Diſ⯑guiſes never ſat ſo ill upon any woman, as they do, in moſt of your late letters, upon you. Every child in love-matters would find you out. But be it your glory, whether our wiſhes are, or are not anſwered, that your affection is laudable; that the object of it is not a man mean in underſtanding, profligate in mo⯑rals, nor ſordid in degree; but ſuch an one as all we your friends are as much in love with as you can be. Only, my dear Love, my Harriet, the ſupport of my life, and comfort of my evil days, endeavour, for my ſake, and for the ſake of us all, to reſtrain ſo far your laudable inclination, as that, if it be not your happy lot to give us, as well as yourſelf, ſo deſirable a bleſ⯑ſing, you may not ſuffer in your health (an health ſo precious to me) and put yourſelf on a ſoot with vul⯑gar girls run away with by their headſtrong paſſions. The more deſirable the object, the nobler the con⯑queſt of your paſſion, if it is to be overcome. Never⯑theleſs, ſpeak out, my dear, your whole heart to us, in order to intitle yourſelf to our beſt advice: And as to your uncle Selby, don't let his raillery pain you: He diverts us as well as himſelf by it: He gains no⯑thing over us in the arguments he affects to hold with us: And you muſt know, that his whole honeſt heart is wrapt up in his and our Harriet. Worthy man! He would not, any more than I, be able to ſupport his ſpirits, were any misfortune to befal his niece.

Your aunt Selby has juſt now ſhewn me her letter to you. She repeats in it, as a very ſtrong expreſſion in yours, ‘"That you had rather converſe wiſh this excellent man but one hour in a week, than be the wife of any man you have ever ſeen or known."’ It is a ſtrong expreſſion; but, to me, is an expreſſion greatly to your honour; ſince it ſhews, that the mind, [120] and not the perſon, is the principal object of your love.

I knew that, if ever you did love, it would be a love of the pureſt kind. As therefore it has not ſo much perſon in it, as moſt loves; ſuffer it not to tri⯑umph over your reaſon; nor, becauſe you cannot have the man you could prefer, reſolve againſt having any other. Have I not taught you, that marriage is a duty, whenever it can be enter'd into with prudence? What a mean, what a ſelfiſh mind muſt that perſon have, whether man or woman, who can reſolve againſt entering into the ſtate, becauſe it has its cares, its fa⯑tigues, its inconveniencies! Try Sir Charles Gran⯑diſon, my dear, by this rule. If he forbears to marry on ſuch narrow motives, this muſt be one of his great imperfections. Nor be afraid to try. No man is ab⯑ſolutely perfect.

But Sir Charles may have engagements, from which he cannot free himſelf. My Harriet, I hope, will not give way to a paſſion, which is not likely to be returned, if ſhe find that to be the caſe. You hope, you prettily ſaid in one of your letters, ‘"that you ſhall not be undone by a good man."’ After ſuch an eſcape as you had from Sir Hargrave, I have no fear from a bad one: But, my child, if you are undone by a good one, it muſt be by your own fault, while nei⯑ther he nor his ſiſters give you encouragement.

I know, my dear, how theſe ſuppoſitions will hurt your delicacy: But then you muſt doubly guard your⯑ſelf; for the reality will be worſe wounding to that delicacy, than the ſuppoſition ought to be. If there be but one man in the world that can undo you, will you not guard againſt him?

I long to fold my deareſt Harriet to my fond heart: But yet, this that follows, is the advice I give, as to the ſituation you are now in: Loſe no opportunity of cul⯑tivating the friendſhip of his amiable ſiſters [By the way, if Miſs Grandiſon gueſſes at your mind, ſhe is [121] not ſo generous in her raillery as is conſiſtent with the reſt of her amiable character]. Never deny them your company, when they requeſt it. Miſs Grandi⯑ſon has promiſed you the hiſtory of their family. Exact the performance of that promiſe from her. You will thus come at further lights, by which you may be guided in your future ſteps.—In particular, you will find out, whether the ſiſters eſpouſe the in⯑tereſt of any other woman: tho' Sir Charles's reſerv⯑edneſs, even to them, may not let them know the ſecrets of his heart in this particular. And if they do not eſpouſe any other perſon's intereſt, why may they not be made your friends, my dear?—As to for⯑tune, could we have any hint what would be expect⯑ed, we would do every thing in our power to make that matter eaſy; and muſt be content with moderate ſettlements in your favour.

But as I approve of your aunt's having forborn to write, as you would have had her, to Lady D. What ſhall we do in that affair? It will be aſk'd.

What? Why thus: Lady D. has made it a point, that you are diſengaged in your affections: Your aunt has ſignified to her that your are: You have given that Lady an hint, which, you ſay, overclouded her brow. She will be here on Saturday next. Then will ſhe, no doubt, expect the openeſt dealing.—And ſhe ought to have it. Her own frankneſs demands it; and the cha⯑racter we have hitherto ſupported, and I hope always ſhall ſupport, requires it. I would therefore let Lady D. know the whole of Sir Hargrave Pollexfen's attempt [You, my dear, was ſo laudably frank as to hint it to her] and of the generous protection given you by Sir Charles Grandiſon. Truth never leaves room for ſelf-reproach. Let your aunt Selby then own, that you had written to her; declining, with the moſt re⯑ſpectful gratitude, the honour intended you: Which ſhe could no otherwiſe account for, than by ſuppoſing, and indeed believing, that you would prefer Sir Charles [122] Grandiſon, from motives of gratitude, to any other man: But that you knew nothing of his engagements; nor had reaſon to look upon any part of his behaviour to you, but as the effect of his general politeneſs; nor that his ſiſters meant more by calling you ſiſter, than their brother's ſiſter, as well as theirs.

All this ſhall be mentioned to Lady D. in ſtrict con⯑fidence. Then will Lady D. know the whole truth. She will be enabled, as ſhe ought, to judge for herſelf. You will not appear in her eye as guilty of affectation. We ſhall all act in character. If Lady L. and Miſs Grandiſon did (as you ſuppoſe) acquaint Lady D. that you were not addreſſed by their brother, they will be found to have ſaid the truth; and you know, my dear, that we ſhould be as ready to do juſtice to others vera⯑city, as to our own. She will ſee, that your regard for Sir Charles (if a regard you have, that may be an ob⯑ſtacle to her views) is owing to a laudable gratitude for his protection given to a young woman, whoſe heart was before abſolutely diſengaged.

And what will be the conſequence?—Why, either that her Ladyſhip will think no more of the matter; and then you will be juſt where you were; or, that ſhe will intereſt herſelf in finding out Sir Charles's en⯑gagements: And as you have communicated to Lady L. and Miſs Grandiſon the letters that have paſſed be⯑tween Lady D. and your aunt, together with the con⯑tents of yours, ſo far as relates to the propoſal; and as Lady D. is acquainted with thoſe two ladies; ſhe will probably inform herſelf of their ſentiments in re⯑lation to the one affair and the other; and the matter on every ſide, by this means, will ſooner come to a deciſion, than probably it can any other way.

I don't know whether I expreſs myſelf clearly. I am not what I was: But, bleſſed be God, that I am what I am! I did not think, that, in ſo little a time, I could have written ſo much as I have. But my dear Harriet is my ſubject; and her happineſs is, and has [123] ever been, my only care, ſince I loſt the huſband of my youth, the dear man who divided with me that, and all my cares; who had a love for you equal to my own; and who, I think, would have given juſt ſuch advice. What would Mr. Shirley have thought? How would he, in the like caſe, have acted? are the queſtions I always aſk myſelf, before I give my opinion in any material caſes, eſpecially in thoſe which relate to you.

And here let me commend a ſentiment of yours, that is worthy of your dear grandfather's pupil: ‘"I ſhould deſpiſe myſelf," ſay you, "were I capable of keeping one man in ſuſpenſe, while I was balan⯑cing in favour of another."’

Good young creature, hold faſt your principles, whatever befalls you. Look upon this world as you have been taught to look upon it. I have lived to a great age: Yet to look backward to the time of my youth, when I was not a ſtranger to the hopes and fears that now agitate you, what a ſhort ſpace does it ſeem to be! Nothing with-holds my wiſhes to be re⯑leaſed, but my deſire of ſeeing the darling of my heart, my ſweet orphan-girl, happy in a worthy man's pro⯑tection. O that it could be in—But ſhall we, my dear, preſcribe to Providence? How know we what that has deſigned for Sir Charles Grandiſon? His wel⯑fare is the concern of hundreds, perhaps. He, com⯑pared to us, is as the public to the private. I hope we are good people: Comparatively, I am ſure, we are good. That, however, is not the way by which we ſhall be judged hereafter. But yet, to him, we are but as that private.

Don't think, however, my beſt Love, that I have lived too long to be ſenſible of what moſt affects you. Of your pleaſures, your pains, I can and do partake. Your late haraſſings, ſo tender, ſo lovely a bloſſom, coſt me many a pang; and ſtill my eyes bear witneſs to my ſenſibility, as the cruel ſcenes are at times read to [124] me again, or as I recall them to memory. But all I mean is, to arm you againſt feeling too ſenſibly, when it is known, the event which is now hidden in the bo⯑ſom of Providence, ſhould it, as is but too likely, prove unfavourable.

You have a great deal of writing upon your hands. We cannot diſpenſe with any of that. But if you write to your aunt Selby (as the time till next Satur⯑day is ſhort) that will be writing to us both.

God preſerve, direct, and bleſs, my ſweet orphan⯑child!—This is the hourly prayer of

LETTER X. Miſs HARRIET BYRON, To Mrs. SELBY.

I HAVE the favour of yours, and of my dear grand⯑mamma's, juſt brought me. The contents are ſo affecting, that, tho' in full aſſembly, as I may ſay, in this delightful family, I begged to be permitted to with⯑draw, to write to them. Miſs Grandiſon ſaw my con⯑fuſion, my puzzle, what ſhall I call it? To be charged ſo home, my dear aunt!—Such apparent ſtruggles—And were they, madam, ſo very apparent?—A young, a new paſſion!—And ſo viſibly increaſing!—Pray, ma⯑dam, if it be ſo, it is not at its height—And is it not, while but in its progreſs, conquerable?—But have I been guilty of affectation? of reſerves?—If I have, my uncle has been very merciful to the aukward girl.

And you think it impoſſible, madam, but he has ſeen women whom he could love, before he ſaw me? Very likely! But was it kind to turn the word gratitude upon me in ſuch a manner?

I do ſee what an amiable openneſs of heart there is [125] in Lady D. I admire her for it, and for her other matronly qualities. What can you do, madam? What can I do? That is the queſtion, called upon as I am, by my grandmamma, as well as by you, to ſpeak ſtill plainer, plain as in your opinion I had ſpo⯑ken, and indeed in my own, now I read the free ſen⯑tence, drawn out and ſeparated from the reſt of the letter. My grandmamma forgives, and even praiſes me, for this ſentence. She encourages me to ſpeak ſtill plainer. It is no diſgrace, ſhe ſays, for a woman of virtue to be in Love with a worthy man. Love is a natural paſſion, ſhe tells me: Yet cautions me againſt ſuffering it to triumph over my reaſon; in ſhort, not to love till there ſhall be a certainty of re⯑turn.—And ſo I can love as I will, when I will, nay, whom I will; for if he won't have me, I am deſired not to reſolve againſt marrying ſome other; Lord D. for example, if he will be ſo good as to have me!

Well, but upon a full examination of my heart, how do I find it, now I am called upon by my two moſt venerable friends, to undraw the curtain, and to put off the diſguiſes, through which every child in love⯑matters finds me out? Shall I ſpeak my whole heart?—To ſuch ſympathizing friends ſurely I ought. Well, then, I own to you, my honour'd grandmamma and aunt, that I cannot think of encouraging any other addreſs. Yet have I no hope. I look upon myſelf as preſumptuous: Upon him as too excellent, and too conſiderable; for he has a great eſtate, and ſtill greater expectations: And as to perſonal and intellec⯑tual merit, what woman can deſerve him?—Even in the article of fortune only, you think that, in pru⯑dence, a man ſo munificent ſhould look higher.

Be pleaſed therefore, madam, in conformity to my grandmamma's advice, to tell Lady D. from me, ‘'That I think her laudable openneſs deſerves like openneſs: That your Harriet was diſengaged in her affections, abſolutely diſengaged, when you told her [126] that ſhe was: Tell her what afterwards happened: Tell her how my gratitude engaged me: That, at firſt, it was no more; but that now being called up⯑on, on this occaſion, I have owned my gratitude ex⯑alted'’ (It may not, I hope, be ſaid, debaſed, the ob⯑ject ſo worthy) 'into—Love'—Yes, ſay Love—ſince I act too aukwardly in the diſguiſes I have aſſumed, ‘'That, therefore, I can no more in juſtice, than by inclination, think of any other man: And own to her, that her Ladyſhip has, however, engaged my reſpectful Love, even to reverence, by her goodneſs to me in the viſit ſhe honour'd me with; and that, for her ſake, I could have given ear to this propoſal, preferably to any other that had yet been made me, had I ſeen nothing objectable in Lord D. upon an interview, and further acquaintance.'’ And yet I own to you, my venerable friends, that I always think of Mr. Orme with grateful pity, for his humble, for his modeſt perſeverance. What would I give to ſee Mr. Orme married to ſome very worthy woman, in whom he could be happy!

Finally, beſpeak for me her Ladyſhip's favour and friendſhip; but not to be renewed till my Lord is married—And may his nuptials be as happy as wiſhed to be by a mother ſo worthy! But tell her at the ſame time, that I would not, for twelve times my Lord's 12,000 l. a year, give my hand to him, or to any man, while another had a place in my heart; how⯑ever unlikely it is, that I may be called by the name of the man I prefer.

But tell Lady D. all this in confidence, in the ſtrict⯑eſt confidence; among more general reaſons regard⯑ing the delicacy of our ſex, for fear the family I am with, who now love, ſhould hate, and, what would be ſtill worſe, deſpiſe, your Harriet, for her preſumption!—I think I could not bear that!—Don't mind this great blot—Forgive it—It would fall—My pen found it, before I ſaw it.

[127] As to myſelf; whatever be my lot, I will endea⯑vour to reap conſolation from theſe and other paſſages in the two precious letters before me:

‘"Love is a natural paſſion."’

‘"My Love is a Love of the pureſt kind."’

Noble inſtructions! my deareſt two mamma's! to which I will endeavour to give their full weight.

And now let me take it a little unkindly, that you call me your orphan-girl! You two, and my honoured uncle, have ſupplied all wanting relations to me: My father then, my grandmamma, and my other mamma, continue to pray for, and to bleſs, not your orphan, but your real, daughter in all love and reverence,

LETTER XI. Miſs HARRIET BYRON, To Miſs LUCY SELBY.

HERE I am, my dear Lucy, returned to this happy aſylum: But with what different emotions from the firſt time I enter'd it! How did my heart flutter, when one of Sir Charles's ſervants, who attended us on horſeback, pointed out to us, at the command of the Ladies, the very ſpot where the two chariots met, and the conteſt began. The recollection pained me: Yet [128] do I not owe to that terrifying incident the friendſhip I am admitted into with ſo amiable a family?

Miſs Grandiſon, ever obliging, has indulged me in my choice of having a room to myſelf. I ſhall have the more leiſure for writing to you, my dear friends.

Both ſhe and Lady L. are very urgent with me to ſhew them ſome of the letters in our correſpondence; and Miſs Grandiſon ſays, if that will encourage me to oblige them, they will ſhew me ſome of their brother's.—Who would not be tempted by ſuch an ex⯑change? I am more than half-afraid—But ſurely, in ſuch an heap of ſtuff as I have written, there is ſome⯑thing that I can read to them. Shall I be permitted, do you think, to have my letters returned me for this pur⯑poſe? The remarks of theſe Ladies on what I ſhall think fit to ſhew them, will be of great uſe in helping to ſettle my judgment. I know I have thrown out many things at random; and, being a young creature, and not paſſed the age of fancy, have, in all thoſe ſen⯑timents which are not borrowed, been very ſuperfici⯑al. How can it be otherwiſe?

The converſation in the coach turned upon their own family (for I put in my claim to Miſs Grandi⯑ſon's former promiſe on that head); from which I ga⯑ther'd the following particulars.

Sir Thomas Grandiſon was one of the handſomeſt men of his time: He had a great notion of magnifi⯑cence in living; and went deep into all the faſhionable diverſions, except gaming with cards and dice; tho' he ran into one as expenſive, but which he called a nobler vice; valuing himſelf upon his breed of race-horſes and hunters, and upon his kennel; in both which ar⯑ticles he was extravagant to profuſion.

His father, Sir Charles, was as frugal as Sir Thomas was profuſe. He was a purchaſer all his life; and left his ſon, beſides an eſtate of 6,000 l. a year in England, and near 2,000 l. a year in Ireland, rich in money.

His Lady was of a noble family; ſiſter to Lord W. [129] She was, as you have already been told, the moſt ex⯑cellent of women. I was delighted to ſee her two daughters bear teſtimony to her goodneſs, and to their own worth, by their tears. It was impoſſible, in the character of ſo good a woman, not to think of my own mamma; and I could not help, on the remem⯑brance, joining my tears with theirs.

Miſs Jervois alſo wept, not only from tenderneſs of nature, and ſympathy, but, as ſhe owned, from re⯑gret, that ſhe had not the ſame reaſon to rejoice in a living mother, as we had to remember affectionately the departed.

What I have written, and ſhall farther write, to the diſadvantage of Sir Thomas Grandiſon, I gather'd from what was dropt by one Lady, and by the other, at different times; for it was beautiful to obſerve with what heſitation and reluctancy they mentioned any of his failings, with what pleaſure his good qualities; heightening the one, and extenuating the other. O my Lucy, how would their hearts have overflowed in his praiſes, had they had ſuch a faultleſs father, and excellent man, as was my father! Sweet is the remembrance of good parents to good children!

Lady Grandiſon brought a great fortune to Sir Tho⯑mas. He had a fine poetical vein, which he was fond of cultivating. Tho' his fortune was ſo ample, it was his perſon, and his verſes, that won the Lady from ſe⯑veral competitors. He had not, however, her judg⯑ment. He was a poet; and I have heard my grand⯑father ſay, that to be a poet, requires an heated ima⯑gination, which often runs away with the judgment.

This Lady took the conſent of all her friends in her choice; but here ſeemed an hint to drop from Lady L. that they conſented, becauſe it was her choice; for Sir Thomas, from the day he enter'd upon his eſtate, ſet out in a way that every-body concluded would di⯑miniſh it.

He made, however, a kind huſband, as it is called, [130] His good-ſenſe and his politeneſs, and the pride he took to be thought one of the beſt-bred men in Eng⯑land, ſecured her complaiſant treatment. But Lady Grandiſon had qualities that deſerved one of the beſt and tendereſt of men. Her eye and her ear had cer⯑tainly miſled her. I believe a woman, who chooſes a man whom every-body admires, if the man be not good, muſt expect that he will have calls and inclina⯑tions, that will make him think the character of a domeſtic man beneath him.

She endeavoured, at ſetting out, to engage his com⯑panionableneſs—ſhall I call it? She was fond of her huſband. He had reaſon to be, and was, proud of his wife: But when he had ſhew'd her every-where, and ſhe began to find herſelf in circumſtances which ought to domeſticate a wife of a much gayer turn than Lady Grandiſon pretended to have, he gave way to his pre⯑dominant byaſs; and after a while, leaving the whole family-care to her, for her excellence in every branch of which he was continually praiſing her (He did her that juſtice) he was but little at home in the ſummer; and, in the winter, was generally engaged four months in the diverſions of this great town; and was the common patron of all the performers whether at plays, operas, or concerts.

At firſt ſetting out in this way, he was ſolicitous to carry his Lady with him to town. She always chear⯑fully accepted of his invitation, when ſhe ſaw he was urgent with her to go. She would not give a pre⯑tence for ſo gay a man to throw off that regard to ap⯑pearances, which pride made him willing to keep up. But afterwards, his invitations growing fainter and fainter, and ſhe finding that her preſence lengthened the time of his ſtay in town, and added greatly to his expences (for he never would abate, when they were together, of that magnificence in which he delighted to live in the country) ſhe declined going up: And having by this time her three children, ſhe found it was [131] as agreeable to Sir Thomas, as to herſelf, that ſhe ſhould turn her thoughts wholly to the domeſtic du⯑ties. Lady Grandiſon, when ſhe found that ſhe could not bring Sir Thomas to leſſen his great expences ſup⯑poſed it to be wiſdom to endeavour, to the utmoſt of her power, to enable him to ſupport them without diſcredit to himſelf, or viſible hurt to his family. The children were young, and were not likely to make demands upon him for many years to come.

Here was a mother, my dear! Who will ſay, that mothers may not be the moſt uſeful perſons in the fa⯑mily, when they do their duty, and their huſbands are defective in theirs? Sir Thomas Grandiſon's delights centred in himſelf, Lady Grandiſon's in her huſband and children. What a ſuperiority, what an inferio⯑rity!

Yet had this Lady, with the beſt oeconomy, no nar⯑rowneſs in her heart. She was beloved for her gene⯑roſity and benevolence. Her poor neighbours adored her. Her table was plenteous. She was hoſpitable, as well from the largeneſs of her own heart, as to give credit to her buſband; and ſo far to accommodate her⯑ſelf to his taſte, as that too great a difference might not be ſeen between his abſence and preſence. As oc⯑caſions offer'd, ſhe would confer benefits in the name of an huſband, whom, perhaps, ſhe had not ſeen of months, and knew not whether ſhe might ſee for months to come. She was ſatisfied, tho' hers was the firſt merit, with the ſecond merit reflected from that ſhe gave him: ‘"I am but Sir Thomas's almoner: I know I ſhall pleaſe Sir Thomas by doing this: Sir Thomas would have done thus: Perhaps he would have been more bountiful had he been preſent."’

He had been once abſent from this admirable wife ſix whole months, when he left her but for one: He deſigned only an excurſion to Paris when he ſet out; but, when in company as gay as himſelf, while he was there, he extended his tour; and, what was ſtill more [132] inexcuſable, he let his Lady hear from him by ſecond⯑hand only. He never wrote one line to her with his own; yet, on his return, affected to ſurpriſe her by a ſudden appearance, when ſhe knew not that he was in England.

Was not this intollerably vain in him? The mo⯑ment he appeared, ſo ſecure was he of his Lady's unmerited Love, that he ſuppoſed the joy ſhe would break out into, would baniſh from her thoughts all memory of his paſt unkindneſs.

He aſk'd her, however, after the firſt emotions (for ſhe received him with real joy) If ſhe could eaſily for⯑give him?—Forgive you, Sir?—Yes, if you can for⯑give yourſelf.

This he called ſevere. Well he might; for it was juſt. Lady Grandiſon's goodneſs was founded in principle; not in tameneſs or ſervility.

Be not ſerious, Sir Thomas, ſaid my Lady; and flung her arms about him. You know, by your que⯑ſtion, you were unkind. Not one line from your own hand neither—But the ſeeing you now ſafe and well, compenſates me for all the anxieties you have given me in the paſt ſix tedious months—Can I ſay they were not anxious ones? But I pity you, Sir, for the pleaſure you have loſt by ſo long an abſence: Let me lead you to the nurſery; or let the dear prattlers come down to receive their father's bleſſing. How delightful is their dawning reaſon! Their improvements exceed my hopes: Of what pleaſure do you deprive yourſelf by theſe long abſences!

My dear Miſs Grandiſon, let me write on. I am upon a ſweet ſubject. Why will you tear me from it? Who, Lucy, would not almoſt wiſh to be the wife, the half-ſlighted wife, of a gay Sir Thomas, to be a Lady Grandiſon?

One reflexion, my dear Miſs Grandiſon, let me make, before I attend you; left I ſhould loſe it: What man who now, at one view, takes in the whole gay, [133] fluttering life of Sir Thomas Grandiſon, tho' young, gay, and flutterring, himſelf, can propoſe to be more happy than Sir Thomas thought himſelf? What wo⯑man, who, in like manner, can take in the whole, uſeful, prudent, ſerene, benevolent, life of Lady Gran⯑diſon, whatever turn to pleaſure, leſs ſolid, and more airy, ſhe may have, ſees not, from this imperfect ſketch, all that they ſhould wiſh to be; and the tran⯑ſitory vanity of the one, and the ſolid happineſs that muſt attend the other, as well here as hereafter?

Dear Lady!—had you not hurried me ſo, how much better ſhould I have expreſſed myſelf!

I come. I come.

LETTER XII. Miſs BYRON. In continuation.

MISS Grandiſon has been making me read aloud ſome part of the letter I had juſt writ to you, Lucy. We know, ſaid ſhe, it is about us; but we ſhall think what you have written, greatly to our diſ⯑advantage, if we cannot hear ſome of it. Then ſhe inſiſted (ſhe is an arbitrary dear creature) on my giv⯑ing the company [It was at tea, and Lord L. preſent] ſuch hiſtories as ſhe ſhould call for of my own family. On this condition only, ſaid ſhe, will we conſent to be made fully known, as I find we ſhall, if I do not ſteal away your pen and ink, to our grandmother Shirley, our aunt Selby, and even to our Lucy.

Do not you think, Lucy, I ran on with pleaſure in deſcribing the perſons and tempers of my father and mother, and relating their fortunes, loves, difficul⯑ties; as my grandmamma and aunt had enabled me to do, from what they uſed to recount in many a long ſummer-day, and in many a winter-evening, as we girls ſat at work—Happy memorials!—Ay, but do [134] you believe ſhe did not queſtion me about later events? She did, indeed, call upon me for two other hiſtories.

And of whom? methinks you aſk.

I won't tell you, Lucy: But if my aunt ſhould be ſo⯑licitous to know, and ſhould gueſs that my uncle's and hers (ſo entertaining and inſtructive) was one of them; and if you, Lucy, ſhould gueſs that the hiſtory of a young lady, whoſe diſcretion got the better of her Love, and who cannot be dearer to herſelf than ſhe is to me, is the other—Why, perhaps neither my aunt nor you, my dear, may be much miſtaken.

Methinks I would fain riſe now-and-then to my former ſerene-pertneſs [Allow you of the words ſo connected?]: But my heart is heavy.

They were delighted with a certain gentleman's hu⯑mourous character and courtſhip; with his lady's pru⯑dence and goodneſs, in the one ſtory; and in the other, with the young Lady's victorious diſcretion. They wiſh to be perſonally acquainted with each, and with my grandmamma. All the worthies in the world, my dear, are not in the Grandiſon-family!

BEFORE I reſume the continuation of the Ladies family-hiſtory, let me aſk; Don't you think, my dear, that God has bleſſed theſe happy children, for the ſake of their excellent mother? And who knows, but for their duty to their leſs-deſerving father? It is my no⯑tion, that one perſon's remiſſneſs in duty, where there is a reciprocal one, does not abſolve the other party from the performance of his. It is difficult, indeed, to love ſo well a faulty or remiſs parent, as a kind and good one. But our duty is indiſpenſable; and where it is paid, a bleſſing may the rather be expected, as the parent has not done his. If, when you do well and ſuffer for it, ſays the Apoſtle, ye take it patient⯑ly, this is acceptable with God.—Not to mention one conſideration, which, however, ought not to be left out of the account; that a good child will be no [135] leſs benefitted by the warning, as Sir Charles no doubt is, from his father's unhappy turn; than by the exam⯑ple; as he is from that of his excellent mother.

Lady L. referred to the paper given in by the ſhort⯑hand writer, for the occaſion (as mentioned by Sir Charles) to which theſe three worthy Children owed the loſs of ſuch a mother ^a: And this drew her into a melancholy relation of ſome very affecting particu⯑lars. Among other things, ſhe ſaid, her mother re⯑gretted, in her laſt hours, that ſhe had no opportu⯑nity that ſhe could think juſt and honourable, to lay by any thing conſiderable for her daughters. Her jewels, and ſome valuable trinkets, ſhe hoped, would be theirs: But that would be at their father's plea⯑ſure. I wiſh, ſaid ſhe, that my dear girls were to have between them the tenth part of what I have ſaved—But I have done but my duty.

I have told you, Charlotte, ſaid the Counteſs, what my mother ſaid to me, a few hours before ſhe died; and I will repeat it to Miſs Byron. After having up⯑on general principles, recommended filial duty, and brotherly and ſiſterly love to us all; and after my bro⯑ther and ſiſter had withdrawn; My dear Careline, ſaid ſhe, let me add to the general arguments of the duty I have been enforcing upon you all, one reſpecting your intereſt, and let your ſiſter know it. I am afraid there will be but a ſlender proviſion made for my dear girls. Your papa has the notion riveſed in him, which is common to men of antient families, that daughters are but incumbrances, and that the ſon is to be every⯑thing. He loves his girls: He loves you dearly: But he has often declared, that, were he to have entire all the fortune that deſcended to him from his father, be would not give to his daughters, marry whom they would, more than 5,000 l. apiece. Your brother loves you: He loves me. It will be in his power, ſhould he [136] ſurvive your father, to be a good friend to you.—Love your brother.

To my brother afterwards ſhe ſaid ſomething: I believe, recommending his ſiſters to him; for we coming in, boy as he was in years, but man in be⯑haviour and underſtanding, he took each of our hands—You remember it, Charlotte [Both ſiſters wept] and kneeling down, and putting them in my mother's held-out dying hands, and bowing his face upon all three—All, madam—All, my deareſt beſt of mamma's, that you have enjoin'd—

He could ſay no more; and our arms were wet with with his tears.—Enough, enough, my ſon; I diſtreſs you!—And ſhe kiſſed her own arm—Theſe are pre⯑cious tears—. You embalm me, my ſon, with your tears—O how precious the balm!—And ſhe lifted up her head to kiſs his cheek, and to repeat her bleſſings to the darling of her heart.

Who could refrain tears, my Lucy, on the repre⯑ſentation of ſuch a ſcene?—Miſs Jervois and I wept, as if we had been preſent on the ſolemn occaſion.

But, my Charlotte, give Miſs Byron ſome brief ac⯑count of the parting ſcene between my father and mother. She is affected as a ſiſter ſhould be—Tears, when time has matured a pungent grief into a ſweet melancholy, are not hurtful: They are as the dew of the morning to the green herbage.

I cannot, ſaid Miſs Grandiſon—Do you, Lady L.

Lady L. proceeded—My father had long kept his chamber, from the unhappy adventure, which coſt him and us all ſo dear. My mother, till ſhe was forced to take to her bed, was conſtantly his attendant: And then was grieved ſhe could not attend him ſtill.

At laſt, the moment, happy to her, long dreaded by us, the releaſing moment, approached. One laſt long farewel ſhe wiſh'd to take of the man, who had been ever dear to her; and who had coſt her ſo dear. He was told of her deſire to be lifted to his bed-ſide in [137] her bed; for one of his wounds (too ſoon ſkinned over) was broken out, and he was confined to his bed.—He ordered himſelf to be carried, in a great chair, to hers. But then followed ſuch a ſcene—

All we three children were in the room, kneeling by the bed-ſide—praying—weeping—O how ineffec⯑tually—Not even hope remaining—Beſt beloved of my ſoul! in faltering accents, ſaid my mother, her head raiſed by pillows, ſo as that ſhe ſat upright—For⯑give the deſire of my heart once more to ſee you!—They would not bring me to you!—O how I diſtreſs you!—For my father ſobbed; every feature of his face ſeem'd ſwelled almoſt to burſting, and working as if in mortal agonies—Charlotte, relieve me!—

The ſweet Lady's eyes were drowned in tears—

I cannot, ſaid Miſs Grandiſon; her handkerchief ſpread over her face.

Miſs Emily ſobbed. She held her hand before her eyes; Her tears trickled through her fingers.

I was affected beyond meaſure—Yet beſought her Ladyſhip to proceed.—She went on.

I have endeavour'd, ſaid my mother, in broken ſentences—It was my wiſh—It was my pride: In⯑deed, my chiefeſt pride, to be a good wiſe!—

O my dear!—You have been—My father could not ſay what.

Forgive my imperfections, Sir!—

O my deareſt life! You had no imperfections: I, I, was all imper—He could not ſpeak out the word for his tears.

Bleſs your children in my ſight: God hitherto has bleſſed them! God will continue to bleſs them, if they continue to deſerve their father's bleſſing. Dear Sir Thomas, as you love them, bleſs them in my ſight. I doubt not your goodneſs to them—But the bleſſing of a dying mother, joined with that of a ſurviving father—muſt have efficary!

[138] My father looked earneſtly to us all—He could not ſpeak.

By brother following my mother's dying eye, which was caſt upon my father, aroſe from his knees, and approaching my father's chair, caſt himſelf at his feet. My father threw his arms about his neck—God bleſs—God bleſs my ſon, ſaid he—and make him a better man than his father. My mother demanding the cheek of her beloved ſon, ſaid, God bleſs my deareſt child, and make you an honour to your father's family, and to your mother's memory!

We girls followed my brother's example.

God bleſs my daughters!—God bleſs you, ſweet Loves, ſaid my father; firſt kiſſing one, then the other, as we kneeled.—God make you as good women as your mother: Then, then will you deſerve to be happy.

God bleſs you, my dear girls, God bleſs you both, ſaid my mother, kiſſing each, as you are dutiful to your father, and as you love one another—I hope I have given you no bad example.

My father began to accuſe himſelf. My brother, with the piety of the patriarch's two beſt ſons, retired, that he might not hear his father's confeſſion. We followed him to the farther end of the room. The manly youth ſat down between us, and held an hand of each between his: His noble heart was ſoften'd: He two or three times liſted the hand of each to his lips. But he could only once ſpeak, his heart ſeem⯑ing ready to burſt; and that was, as I remember, O my ſiſters!—Comfort yourſelves!—But who can ſay comfort—Theſe tears are equally our duty and our relief.

My mother retained to the laſt that generoſity of mind which had ever diſtinguiſhed her. She would not permit my father to proceed with his ſelf▪accuſation: Let us look forward, my deareſt, my only Love, ſaid ſhe. I have a bleſſed hope before me: I pity as well [139] as pray for ſurvivors: You are a man of ſenſe, Sir, and of enlarged ſentiments: God direct you according to them, and comfort you! All my fear was (and that more particularly for ſome of the laſt paſt months) that I ſhould have been the mournful ſurvivor. In a very few moments all my ſufferings will be over; and God give you, when you come to this unavoidable period of all human vanity, the ſame happy proſpects that are now opening to me! O Sir, believe me, all worldly joys are now nothing; leſs than nothing: Even my love of you and of the dear piedges of our mu⯑tual Love with-holds not now my wiſhes after an hap⯑pier ſtate. There may we meet, and never be ſepa⯑rated!—Forgive me only, my beloved huſband, if I have ever made you for one hour unhappy or uneaſy—Forgive the petulancies of my Love!

Who can bear this goodneſs? ſaid my father: I have not deſerved—

Dear Sir, no more—Were you not the huſband of my choice?—And now your grief affects me—Leave me, Sir. You bring me back again to earth—God preſerve you, watch over you, heal you, ſupport you. Your hand, Sir Thomas Grandiſon, the name that was ever ſo pleaſant in my ears! Your hand, Sir! Your heart was my treaſure: I have now, and only now, a better treaſure, a diviner Love, in view▪ Adieu, and in this world for ever adieu, my huſband, my friend, my Grandiſon!

She turned her head from him, ſunk upon her pil⯑lows, and fainted, and ſo ſaw not, had not the grief to ſee, the ſtronger heart of my father overcome; for he fainted away, and was carried out in his chair by the ſervants who brought him in. He was in a ſtrong convulſion-fit, between his not half-cured wounds and his grief; and recover'd not till all was over with my bleſſed mother.

After my father was carried out, ſhe came to her⯑ſelf. Her chaplain was once more admitted. The [140] fatal moment approached. She was aſked, if ſhe would ſee her children again? No, ſhe ſaid; but bid her laſt bleſſing be repeated to them, and her charge, of loving one another, in the words of our Saviour, as ſhe had loved us: And when the chaplain came to read a text, which ſhe had imperfectly pointed to, but ſo as to be underſtood, ſhe repeated, in faltering accents, but with more ſtrength of voice than ſhe had had for an hour before, I have fought a good fight; I have finiſhed my courſe; I have kept the faith—There is laid up for me a crown of righteouſneſs: And then her voice failing, ſhe gave ſigns of ſatisfaction, in the hope of being en⯑titled to that crown; and expired in an ejaculation that her ebbing life could not ſupport.

O my Lucy! may my latter end, and the latter end of all I love, be like hers! The two Ladies were in ſpeechleſs tears, ſo was Miſs Jervois, ſo was I, for ſome minutes. And for an hour or two, all the joys of life were as nothing to me. Even the regard I had entertained for the excellent ſon of a Lady ſo excellent, my protector, my deliverer, had, for ſome hours, ſubſided, and was as nothing to me. Even now that I have concluded this moving recapitulation, it ſeems as nothing; and the whole world, my dear is as a bit of dirt under my feet.

LETTER XIII. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

THE ſon was inconſolable upon his mother's death. He loved his father, but next to adored his mo⯑ther. His father, tho' he had given ſo little attention to his education, was exceſſively fond of him: And, no doubt, but he the more eaſily ſatisfied himſelf on this head, as he knew his remiſſneſs was ſo well ſup⯑plied by his lady's care, which mingled with the cares of the maſters of the ſeveral ſciences, who came home to him, at her deſire.

[141] A deep melancholy having ſeized the young gentle⯑man on a loſs ſo irreparable, his father, who himſelf was greatly grieved, and the more, as he could not but reproach himſelf as having at leaſt haſten'd that loſs, was alarmed for his ſon; and yielded to the entreaties of General W. brother of Lord W. to permit him to travel. The General recommended for a governor to the young gentleman, an officer under him, who had been wounded, and obliged to quit the military ſer⯑vice. Sir Thomas allowed his ſon 800 l. a year, from the day of his ſetting out on his travels, which he aug⯑mented afterwards to 1,000 l. Sir Charles was about ſeventeen when his mother died.

The two daughters were taken by Lady W. But ſhe dying in about twelve-months after Lady Grandi⯑ſon, they returned to their father; who, by that time, had pretty well got over his grief for the loſs of his Lady, and was quite recovered of the wounds which he received in the duel that coſt her her life.

He plac'd over his daughters, as governeſs (though they both took exceptions at that title, ſuppoſing them⯑ſelves of age to manage for themſelves) the widow of one of his gay friends, Oldham by name, whoſe for⯑tune had not held out as Sir Thomas's had done. Men of ſtrong health, I have heard my grandfather ſay, and of a riotous turn, ſhould not, in mere compaſſion, keep company with men of feebler conſtitutions, and make them the companions of their riots. So may one ſay, I believe, that extravagant men, of great and ſmall fortunes, are equally ill-ſuited; ſince the ex⯑pences which will but ſhake the one, will quite de⯑moliſh the other.

Mrs. Oldham had fine qualities, and was an oeco⯑nomiſt. She deſerved a better huſband, than had fal⯑len to her lot; and the young Ladies having had a foundation laid by a ſtill more excellent manager, re⯑ceived no ſmall advantage from her ſkill in family af⯑fairs. But it was related to me with reluctance, and [142] as what I muſt know on a further acquaintance with their family, if they did not tell it to me, that Sir Thomas was grateful to this Lady in a way that coſt her her reputation. She was obliged, in ſhort, in little more than a twelvemonth, to quit the country, and to come up to town. She had an indiſpoſition, which kept her from going abroad for a month or two.

Lady L. being then about nineteen, and Miſs Gran⯑diſon about ſixteen, they had ſpirit enough to oppoſe the return of this Lady to her charge. They under⯑took themſelves to manage every-thing at the capital ſeat in Hampſhire.

Sir Thomas had another ſeat in Eſſey. Thither, on the reluctance of the young Ladies to receive again Mrs. Oldham, he carried her; and they, as well as every-body elſe, for ſome time, apprehended they were actually married. She was handſome; well de⯑ſcended; and tho' ſhe became ſo unhappily ſenſible of the favours and preſents by which Sir Thomas made way to her heart, ſhe had an untainted character when he took her as a governeſs to the young La⯑dies.

Was not Sir Thomas very, very faulty, with re⯑gard to this poor woman?—She had already ſuffered enough from a bad huſband, to whom ſhe remark⯑ably well perform'd her duty.—Poor woman!—The example to his own daughters was an abominable one. She was the relict of his friend: She was under his protection: Thrown into it by her unhappy circum⯑ſtances.—Were not theſe great aggravations to his crime? Happy for thoſe parents who live not to ſee ſuch cataſtrophes as attended this child! This dar⯑ling, it ſeems: Not undeſervedly ſo; and whom they thought they had not unhappily married to Mr. Old⯑ham—And he, poor man! thought himſelf not un⯑happy in Sir Thomas Grandiſon's acquaintance; tho' it ended in his emulating him in his expences, with a [143] much leſs eſtate; in the ruin of his fortune, which indeed was his own fault; and in the ruin of his wife's virtue, which was more Sir Thomas's than hers.—May I ſay ſo?—If I may not (ſince women, whoſe glory is their chaſtity, muſt not yield to temptation) had not the huſband, however, ſomething to anſwer for, who, with his eyes open, lived at ſuch a rate, againſt his wife's dutiful remonſtrances, and better example, as reduced her (after his death) to the ne⯑ceſſity of dependence on another's favour, and ſuch another!

Sir Thomas was greatly diſpleaſed with his daugh⯑ters, for reſiſting him in the return of their governeſs. He had thought the reaſon of her withdrawing a ſe⯑cret, becauſe he wiſh'd it to be one: And yet her diſ⯑grace was, at the time, every-where talked of, but in his preſence.

This woman is ſtill living. She has two children by Sir Thomas, who are alſo living; and one by Mr. Oldham. I ſhall be told more of her hiſtory, when the Ladies come to give me ſome account of their brother's

Sir Thomas went on in the ſame gay fluttering way that he had done all his life. The Love of pleaſure, as it is called, was wrought into his habit. He was a ſl [...]ve to it, and to what he called freedom. He was deemed one of the beſt companions among men, and one of the gallanteſt men among women. His advan⯑tages of perſon and mind were ſnares to him. Mrs. Oldham was not the only one of her ſex with whom he was intimate: He had another miſtreſs in town, who had a taſte for all its gaieties, and who even aſ⯑ſumed his name.

He would row-and then, by way of excurſion, and to ſurpriſe the young Ladies, viſit Grandiſon-hall; but tho' it was once the ſeat he moſt delighted in, neither gave, nor ſeamed to receive, much pleaſure there; hurrying away on a ſudden, as if he had eſcaped from [144] it; tho' never father had more reaſon to be pleaſed with the conduct and duty of daughters: And this he often declared, boaſting of them in their abſence; but ſnubbing, chiding, and ſtudying to find fault with them, when preſent.

But what equally ſurpriſed and affected them, was, that his ſon had not been a year abroad, when he pro⯑hibited them to write to, or correſpond with him; and, by their brother's diſcontinuing to write to them, from about the ſame time, they ſuppoſed that he was under the ſame prohibition: And ſo, it ſeems, he was.

They preſumed, their father's reaſon for this un⯑kind prohibition was, his fear that his gaieties would have been one of the ſubjects of the correſpondence; and the rather, as thoſe gaieties were ſo likely to af⯑fect all three in their fortunes.

The young Ladies, however, for ſome time, con⯑tinued writing to their brother. Miſs Grandiſon, in mentioning this, ſaid, in her uſuſal ſprightly manner, that ſhe never had any notion of obeying unreaſonable commands; commands ſo evidently unreaſonable as to be unnatural: And ſhe called upon me to juſtify her in her notion. The Counteſs alſo deſired me to ſpeak my mind on this ſubject.

I am apprehenſive, ſaid I, of children's partiality in this reſpect: If they make themſelves their own judges in the performance or non-performance of a duty, in⯑clination, I am afraid, will too often be their guide, rather than right reaſon. They will be too apt, per⯑haps, to call thoſe commands unnatural, which are not ſo unnatural as this ſeems to be.

But, Harriet, aſked Miſs Grandiſon, would not you have written on, in the like circumſtances?

I believe not, replied I; and partly for this reaſon; becauſe I ſhould have had no doubt but my brother would have the ſame prohibition; and I ſhould only have ſhewn my brother, as well as my father (were [145] my father to know it) an inſtance of my refractori⯑neſ [...], without obtaining the deſired end; or, if my br [...]er had written, I ſhould have made him a par⯑t [...]er in my fault.

Your [...]ower regards the policy of the thing, Har⯑riet, ſaid Miſs Grandiſon: But ought an unnatural command—

There ſhe ſtopt: Yet by her looks expected me to ſpeak.

I ſhould have thought it hard; but that it was more meritorious to ſubmit, than the contrary. I believe I ſhould have ſuppoſed, that my father might have rea⯑ſons which might not appear to me. But pray, La⯑dies, how did your brother—

O, he was implicit—

Will you forgive me, ladies?—I ſhould have been concerned, I think, that my brother, in a point of duty, tho' it were one that might be diſputable, ſhould be more nice, more delicate, than I his ſiſter.

Miſs Emily looked as if ſhe were pleaſed with me.

Well, you are a good girl, a very good girl, ſaid Miſs Grandiſon: That, whether your doctrine be juſt or not, is out of diſpute.

This prohibition gave the ſiſters the more ſenſible concern, as they were afraid it would lay a foundation for diſtance and indifference in their brother to them; on whom as their mother had preſaged, they were likely, if he ſurvived their father, to have a too great dependence; but more particularly at that time, as their brother had promiſed, at his taking leave of them, to write a regular account of all that befel him, and of all that was curious, and worthy notice, in the courts and places he viſited: and had actually begun to do ſo; and as he had aſked their advice in relation to his governor, who proved not ſo proper a perſon for that employment, as was expected; and to which they had anſwered, without knowing, for ſome time, what was the reſolution he took.

[146] They aſked their father, from time to time, after the welfare of their brother. He would anſwer them with pleaſure, and ſometimes with tears in his eyes, He is all that is dutiful, brave, pious, worthy: And would ſometimes add, God reward him! I cannot. But when he mentioned the word dutiful, he would look at them, as if he had in his thoughts their reſiſt⯑ing him in his intention of reinſtating their govern⯑eſs; the only time, they could recollect, that they had given him the ſhadow of diſpleaſure.

The Ladies went on, and ſaid, that Sir Thomas, in all companies, gloried in his ſon. And once Lord W. who himſelf, on his Lady's death, openly indulged himſelf in liberties which before he was only ſuſpected to take [O my Lucy! how rare a character, in this age, is that of a virtuous man!] told ſome gentlemen, who wonder'd that Sir Thomas Grandiſon could per⯑mit a ſon ſo beloved to be abſent from him ſo many years, that the reaſon Sir Thomas gave was, that his ſon's morals and his own were ſo different, that he ſhould not be able to bear his own conſciouſneſs, if he conſented to his return to England. The unhappy man was ſo habituated to vice, that he could talk fa⯑miliarly of his gaieties to his intimates, ſeeming to think them too well known for him to endeavour to conceal them; but, however, would add ſometimes, I intend to ſet about altering my courſe of life; and then will I ſend for my ſon. But, alas! Sir Thomas went on from year to year, only intending: He lived not to begin the promiſed alteration, nor to ſee his ſon.

Yet one awakener he had, that made him talk of be⯑ginning the alteration of his way of living out of hand, and of ſending for his ſon; which laſt act was to be the fore-runner of his reformation.

It happen'd, that Mrs. Farnborough the woman he lived with when in town, was ſtruck with the ſmall⯑pox, in the height of her gaiety and pleaſure; for ſhe [147] was taken ill at the opera, on ſeeing a Lady of her ac⯑quaintance there, whoſe face bore too ſtrongly the marks of the diſtemper, and who, it ſeems, had made her firſt viſit to that place, rather than to a better. The malady, aided by her terror, proved mortal; and Sir Thomas was ſo much affected with the warning, that he left town, and, in purſuance of his temporary good reſolutions, went down to his daughters; talked of ſending for his ſon; and, for ſome few months, lived like the man of ſenſe and underſtanding he was known to be.

LETTER XIV. Miſs BYRON, In Continuation.

LORD L. returned from his travels about the time that Mrs. Farnborough was taken ill. He had brought ſome preſents to Sir Thomas from his ſon, who took all opportunities to ſend him over curi⯑oſities, ſome of conſiderable value; which ſerved at the ſame time to ſhew his oeconomy, and his duty. He forgot not, in this way, his ſiſters, tho' his ac⯑companying letters were ſhort, and merely polite, and ſuch as required no other anſwer than thanks: Only they could diſcover by them, that he had warm wiſhes to be allowed to return to England, but ſuch a ſub⯑miſſion to his father's pleaſure, as entirely to give up his own.

Sir Thomas ſeemed fond of Lord L. And, ſetting out, on Mrs. Farnborough's death, for Grandiſon⯑hall gave him an invitation to viſit him there; for he would liſten with pleaſure, an hour together, to him, or to any one, who would talk, and give him ſome account of his ſon. How predominant muſt thoſe paſſions, thoſe habits, be in his heart, which could take place of a Love ſo laudably paternal!

In purſuance of this invitation, Lord L. attended [148] him at the Hall; and there fell in Love with the eldeſt of the young Ladies. He revealed his paſſion to her. She referred herſelf wholly to her father. Sir Tho⯑mas could not be blind to their mutual affection. Every-body ſaw it. Lord L's paſſion was of the ar⯑dent kind; and he was too honeſt to wiſh to conceal it. But yet Sir Thomas would not ſee it. He be⯑haved, however, with great freedom and civility to my Lord; ſo that the heart of the young Lady was inſenſibly engaged; but he avoided ſeveral opportu⯑nities which the Lover had lain in wait for, to open his mind, and make propoſals.

At laſt, my Lord deſired an audience of Sir Tho⯑mas, as upon a ſubject of the laſt importance. The Baronet, after ſome little delays, and not without ſome inauſpicious reluctance, granted it: And then my Lord revealed his paſſion to him.

Sir Thomas aſked him, if he had made it known to his daughter? And yet muſt have ſeen, on an hundred occaſions, at breakfaſt, at dinner, at tea, at ſupper, how matters ſtood with both the Lovers, if Miſs Grandiſon's pleaſant account of the matter may be depended upon.

Lord L. owned he had; and that he had aſked her leave to make propoſals to her father, to whom ſhe wholly referred herſelf.

Sir Thomas ſeemed uneaſy; and oddly anſwer'd, he was ſorry for it: He wiſh'd his Lordſhip had not put ſuch notions in the girl's head. Both his daughters would now be ſet a romancing, he ſuppoſed. They were, till now, modeſt young creatures, he ſaid. Young women ſhould not too ſoon be ſet to look out of themſelves for happineſs—He had known ma⯑ny quiet and orderly girls ſet a madding by the no⯑tice of men. He did not know what buſineſs young fellows had to find out qualifications in other mens daughters, that the parents of thoſe daughters had not given themſelves leiſure to diſcover. A daughter of [149] his, he hoped, had not encouraged ſuch diſcoveries. It was to him but as yeſterday, when they were crow⯑ing in the arms of their nurſes; and now, he ſuppoſed, they would be ſet a crowing after wedlock.

What an odd father was Sir Thomas, my Lucy!—His own life, it is evident, had paſſed away very pleaſantly.

Indeed he could hardly bear to think, he added, of either of his daughters as marriagaeble yet. They have not been nurſed in the town hot-beds, my Lord. They are ſober country-girls, and good houſewives. I love not that girls ſhould marry before they have done growing. A young wife makes a vapouriſh mother. I forget their age—But twenty-ſix or twen⯑ty-eight is time enough for a woman, either for the ſake of modeſty or diſcretion, to marry.

We may like gay men for husbands, my dear: Some of us do: But, at this rate, thoſe daughters muſt be very good girls, who can make their beſt courteſies to their mothers, and thank them for their fancies; or the fathers muſt be more attentive to their growth than Sir Thomas was to that of his daughters.—What have I ſaid?—I am here afraid of my uncle.

My Lord was ſurpriſed; and well he might. Sir Thomas had forgot, as Lady L. obſerved, that he himſelf thought Miſs W. was not too young at ſeven⯑teen, to be Lady Grandiſon.

My Lord was a modeſt Man: He was begging (as it may be called) the young woman, whom of all the women in the world he loved beſt, of her father, who was a man that knew the world, and had long made a conſiderable figure in it, and who, for reaſons which would have held with him, had he lived to ſee her forty, had no mind to part with her. Yet my Lord pleaded his paſſion, her great and good qualities, as acknowledged by himſelf; and modeſtly hinted at the unexceptionableneſs of his own character, and the favour he ſtood in with his ſon; not ſaying the leaſt [150] word of his birth and alliances, which ſome Lovers of his rank, would not have forgot: And, it ſeems, he was right in forbearing to make theſe accidents a plea; for Sir Thomas valued himſelf upon his an⯑ceſtry; and uſed to ſay, that his progenitor, in James the Firſt's time, diſgraced it by accepting the title of Baronet.

Sir Thomas allowed ſomething to the plea of his ſtanding well with his ſon: Let me tell you, my Lord, ſaid he, that I ſhall take no ſtep in a family⯑affair of this conſequence, without conſulting with my ſon; and the rather, as he is far from expecting ſo much of my conſideration for him. He is the pride of my life.

My Lord deſired, that his ſuit might be put upon the iſſue of his ſon's approbation.

But pray, my Lord, what fortune do you expect with my girl? Well as you love her, I ſuppoſe the return of her Love for yours, which you ſeem not to doubt, will not be enough. Can the poor girl be a Counteſs without a confounded parcel of droſs faſten'd to her petticoat, to make her weight in the other ſcale?

My circumſtances, ſaid my honeſt Lord L. permit me not, in diſcretion, to make that compliment to my Love, which my heart would with tranſport make, were they better: But I will lay them faithfully before you, and be determined by your generoſity.

I could not but expect, from a young man of your Lordſhip's good-ſenſe, ſuch an anſwer as this: And yet I muſt tell you, that we fathers, who know the world, expect to make ſome advantage of a knowledge that has coſt us ſo much. I ſhould not diſlike a little more romancing in Love, from a man that aſks for my daughter, tho' I care not how little of it is ſhewn by my ſon to another man's. Every father thinks thus, my Lord; but is not ſo honeſt as to own it.

I am ſure Sir Thomas, that you would not think a man worthy of your daughter, who had no regard to [151] any-thing, but the gratification of his own wiſhes; who could think, for the ſake of that, of involving a young Lady in difficulties, which ſhe never knew in her father's houſe.

Why, this, my Lord, is well ſaid. You and I may afford to make handſome compliments to one another, while compliments only are expected. I have a good ſhare of health: I have not quitted the world ſo en⯑tirely, nor think I ought, as to look upon myſelf as the neceſſary tool of my children, to promote their happineſs at the expence of my own. My Lord, I have ſtill a ſtrong reliſh for the pleaſures of this world. My daughters may be women grown: Your Lordſhip ſeems to have found out, that they are; and has per⯑ſuaded one of them, that ſhe is; and the other will be ready to think ſhe is not three years behind her. This is an inconvenience which you have brought upon me. And as I would be glad to live a little longer for my⯑ſelf, I wiſh you to withdraw your ſuit; and leave me to do as well as I can with my daughters. I propoſe to carry them to town next winter. They ſhall there look about them, and ſee whom they could like, and who could like them, that they may not be liable to after-repentance, for having taken the firſt man that offer'd.

My Lord told Sir Thomas, that he hoped there could not be reaſon to imagine, that any-thing could poſſibly ariſe from his addreſs, that ſhould be incom⯑patible with the happineſs of a father—And was going on in the ſame reaſonable ſtrain; but Sir Thomas in⯑terrupted him—

You muſt not, my Lord, ſuppoſe I can be a ſtran⯑ger to whatever may be urged by a young man on this ſubject. You ſay you are in Love: Caroline is a girl that any-body may love: But I have not a mind ſhe ſhould marry ſo ſoon. I know the inconvenience of early marriages. A man's children treading upon his heels, and ſhouldering him with their ſhoulders: In [152] ſhort, my Lord, I have an averſion to be called a grandfather, before I am a grey father [Sir Thomas was not put to it to try to overcome this averſion]. Girls will ſtart up, and look up, and parents cannot help it: But what father, in the vigour of his days, would not wiſh to help it? I am not fond of their part⯑nerſhip in my ſubſtance. Why ſhould I divide my fortune with novices, when, making the handſome allowances to them, that I do make, it is not too much for myſelf? My ſon ſhould be their example. He is within a year as old as my eldeſt girl. On his future alliances I build, and hope to add by them to the con⯑ſequence of all my family [Ah! Lucy!]. Girls are ſaid to be women ſooner than boys are men. Let us ſee that they are ſo by their diſcretion, as well as by ſtature.—Let them ſtay—

And here Sir Thomas abruptly broke off the con⯑verſation for that time; to the great diſtreſs of Lord L. who had reaſon to regret, that he had a man of wit, rather than a man of reaſon, to contend with.

Sir Thomas went directly into his cloſet, and ſent for his two daughters; and, tho' not ill-naturedly, ralli⯑ed t em both ſo much on their own diſcoveries, as he wickedly phraſed it, and, on admitting Lord L. into the ſecret, that neither of them could hold up their heads, for two or three days, in his preſence: But, out of it, Miſs Caroline Grandiſon found that ſhe was in Love; and the more for Lord L.'s generous attachment, and Sir Thomas's not ſo generous diſ⯑couragement.

My Lord wrote over to young Mr. Grandiſon, to favour his addreſs. Lady L. permitted me to copy the following anſwer to his Application.

Both ſiſters rejoiced at the peruſal of this affection⯑ate letter; for they were afraid, that the unnatural prohibition of correſpondence between them and their brother had eſtranged his affections from them.

The particulars of one more converſation I will give you between my Lord and Sir Thomas, on this important ſubject; for you muſt believe, Lord L. could not permit a matter of ſuch conſequence to his own happineſs to go eaſily off; eſpecially as neither of the two daughters were able to ſtand their father's con⯑tinual raillery, which had baniſhed from the cautious eyes, and apprehenſive countenances, of both Ladies, all indications of Love, tho' it reigned with the more abſolute power in the heart of Miſs Caroline, for that concealment.

In this converſation, my Lord began with a little more ſpirit than he finiſhed the former. The Coun⯑teſs lent me my Lord's minutes of it; which he took for her to ſee, and to judge of all that paſſed at the time.

On my Lord's lively, but reſpectful addreſs to Sir Thomas on the occaſion, the Baronet went directly into the circumſtances of my Lord, and his expecta⯑tions.

[154] Lord L. told him frankly, that he paid intereſt for 15000 l. for ſiſters fortunes; three of whom were living and ſingle: That he believed two of them would ſoon be advantageouſly married; and he ſhould wiſh to pay them their portions on the day; and was contriving to do ſo, by increaſing the incumbrance that his father had left upon the fineſt part of his eſtate, to the amount of 5,000 l; which, and his ſiſters for⯑tunes, were all that lay upon a clear eſtate of 5,000 l. a year. After he had thus opened himſelf, he refer⯑red the whole to Sir Thomas's conſideration.

My advice, my Lord, is this, ſaid the Baronet; That you ſhould by no means think of marriage till you are clear of the world. You will have 10,000 l. to pay directly: You will have the intereſt of 10,000 l. more to pay: And you men of title, on your mar⯑riages, whather you like oſtentation or not, muſt be oſtentatious. Your equipages, your houſes, your fur⯑niture—A certain increaſe of expence—By no means, my Lord L. think of marriage till you are quite clear of the world, unleſs you could meet with ſome rich widow or heireſs, who could do the buſineſs at once.

Lord L. could only, at firſt, urge his paſſion, [He durſt not his daughter's affection and the happineſs of both, which were at ſtake]. Sir Thomas oppoſed diſcretion to that plea. Poor paſſion, Lucy, would be aſhamed to ſee the ſun, if diſcretion were always to be attended to, in treaties of this kind.

Afterwards he told Sir Thomas, that he would ac⯑cept the Lady upon his own terms. He beſought his conſent to their nuptials. He would wait his own time and pleaſure. He would be content, if he gave not Miſs Caroline a ſingle ſhilling.

Sir Thomas was fretful—And ſo, Lover-like, you would involve the girl you profeſs to love, in difficul⯑ties. I will aſk her, if ſhe wants for any-thing with me, that a modeſt girl can wiſh for? But, to be ſerious, it is a plaguy thing for a man to be obliged, by the offi⯑cious [155] Love, as it is called, of a pretender to his daugh⯑ters, to open his affairs, and expoſe his circumſtances to ſtrangers. I wiſh, my Lord, that you had let my girls alone. I wiſh you had not found them out in their country-retirement. I ſhould have carried them to town, as I told you, in a few months. Women ſo brought up, ſo qualified, and handſome girls, are ſuch rarities in this age, and men worth having are ſo affrighted at the luxury and expenſiveneſs of the mo⯑dern women, that I doubted not but the characters of my girls would have made their fortunes, with very little of my help. They have family, my Lord, to value themſelves upon, tho' but ſpinſters. And let me tell you, ſince I ſhall be thought a more unnatural man than I am, if I do not obey the preſent demand upon me to open my circumſtances, I owe my ſon a great deal more than 30,000 l.

I don't underſtand you, Sir Thomas.

Why, thus, my Lord, I explain myſelf: My father left me what is called rich. I leſſen'd the ready mo⯑ney, which he had got together for a purchaſe he lived not to complete, a great deal. That I looked upon as a deodand: So was not anſwerable for it: And as I was not married, my ſon had no right in it. When I was married, and he was given me—

Forgive me, Sir Thomas: Your ſon a right—And had not your other children—

No, my Lord: They were girls—And as to them, had I increaſed my fortune by penuriouſneſs, inſtead of living like a man, I was determined as to their for⯑tunes—

But, as I was ſaying, when Lady Grandiſon died, I think (tho' every father does not; nor ſhould I, were he not the beſt of ſons, and did he expect it) the pro⯑duce of her jointure, which is very conſiderable, ſhould have been my ſon's. As to what I annually allowed him, that it was my duty to allow him, as my ſon, and [156] for my own credit, had his mother not brought me a ſhilling.—Then, my Lord, I have been obliged to take up money upon my Iriſh eſtate; which being a family⯑eſtate, my ſon ought to have had come clear to him. You ſee, my Lord, how I expoſe myſelf.

You have a generous way of thinking, Sir Thomas, as to your ſon. But a man of your ſpirit would de⯑ſpiſe me, if I did not ſay, that—

I have not ſo generous a way of thinking for my daughters—I will ſave your Lordſhip the trouble of ſpeaking out, becauſe it is more agreeable from my⯑ſelf than it would be for any other man to do it. But to this I anſwer, that the late Earl of L. your Lordſhip's father, had one ſon and three daughters—I have one ſon, and two. He was an Earl—I am but a ſimple Baronet—If 5,000 l. apiece is enough for an Earl's daughters, half the ſum ought to do for a Baronet's.

Your fortune, Sir Thomas—And in England, where eſtates—

And where living, my Lord, will be five times more expenſive to you than it need to be, if you can content yourſelf to live where your eſtate lies.—As for me, I have lived nobly. But had I been as rich as my father left me, 5,000 l. ſhould have done with a daughter, I aſſure you. You, my Lord, have your notions: I have mine. Money and a girl you expect from me: I aſk nothing of you. As matters ſtand, if my girls will keep (and I hope they will) I intend to make as good a bar⯑gain for them, and with them, as I can. Not near 5,000l. apiece muſt they expect from me. I will not rob my ſon more than I have done.—See, here is a Letter from him. It is in anſwer to one I had written, on the re⯑fuſal of a wretch to lend me, upon my Iriſh eſtate, a ſum that I wanted to anſwer a debt of honour, which I had contracted at Newmarket, unleſs my ſon (tho' it is an eſtate in ſee) would join in the ſecurity. Does not ſuch a ſon as this deſerve every-thing?

[157] I obtained a ſight of this letter; and here is a copy.

[158] Muſt not ſuch a letter as this, Lucy, have ſtung to the heart a man of Sir Thomas Grandiſon's pride? If not, what was his pride?—Sir Thomas had as good an education as his ſon: Yet could not live within the compaſs of an income of upwards of 7,000 l. a year. His ſon called himſelf rich with 800 l. or 1,000 l. a year; and tho' abroad in foreign countries, deſired but half that allowance, that he might contribute, by the other half, to leſſen the difficulties in which his fa⯑ther had involved himſelf by his extravagance.

His father, Lady L. ſays, was affected with it. He wept: He bleſſed his ſon; and reſolved for his ſake, to be more cautious in his wagerings than he had hi⯑therto been. Policy, therefore, would have juſtified the young gentleman's chearful compliance, had he not been guided by ſuperior motives. O my dear! the Chriſtian Religion is a bleſſed religion! How does ho⯑neſt policy, as well as true greatneſs of mind, recom⯑mend that noble doctrine of returning good for evil!

LETTER XV. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

MY Lord repeated his requeſt, that he might have Sir Thomas's conſent to his nuptials, up⯑on his own terms; and promiſed never to expect a ſingle ſhilling in dowry, but to leave the whole of that to time, and to his own convenience and pleaſure.

We know, ſaid Sir Thomas, what all this means. You talk, my Lord, like a young man. You ought not to think (You once ſaid it yourſelf) of involving a young woman you love, as well as yourſelf, in difficul⯑ties. I know the world, and what is beſt to be done, if you will think no more of my daughter. I hope ſhe has diſcretion. Firſt Love is generally firſt Folly. It is ſeldom fit to be encouraged. Your quality, my Lord, to ſay nothing of your merit, will procure you a rich [159] wife from the city. And the city now is as genteel, as polite, as the court was formerly. The wives and daughters of citizens, poor fellows! are apes of us gentry; and ſucceed pretty well, as to outward ap⯑pearance, in the mimickry. You will, by this means, ſhake off all your father's ſins. I ſpeak in the lan⯑guage of young fellows, who expect a father to live ſolely for them, and not for himſelf. Some ſober young men of quality and fortune, affrighted at the gaiety and extravagance of the modern women, will find out my girls: Who, I hope, will have patience. If they have not, let them purſue their inclinations: Let them take their fill of Love, as Solomon ſays; and if they run their heads into an hedge, let them ſtick there by the horns, with all heart!

See, my dear, what a man a rakiſh father is!—O my good Lady Grandiſon, how might your choice have puniſhed your children!

I pray to God, Sir Thomas, ſaid my Lord, bowing, but angry; I pray to God, to continue me in a diffe⯑rent way of thinking from yours, if this be yours. Give me leave to ſay, you are too young a gentleman to be a father of grown-up children. But I muſt love Miſs Grandiſon; and ſtill if poſſible, poor young Lady! more than ever, for what has paſſed in this conver⯑ſation. And ſaying this he withdrew.

Sir Thomas was very angry at this ſpirited ſpeech. He ſent for his daughter and forbad her to receive my Lord's addreſſes. He order'd her never to think of him: And directing Miſs Charlotte to be call'd in, repeated his commands before her; and threatened to turn them both out of his houſe, if they preſumed to encourage any addreſs, but with his knowledge. And don't think, ſaid he, of going on to engage your affecti⯑ons, as a ſenſual forwardneſs is called, and then hope to take advantage of my weakneſs, to countenance your own. I know the world: I know your ſex.—Your ſiſter, I ſee Charlotte, is a whining fool: See how [160] ſhe whimpers! Begone from my preſence, Caroline! And remember Charlotte (for I ſuppoſe this imperti⯑nent Lord's addreſs to your ſiſter will go near to ſet you agog) that I expect, whether abſent or preſent, to know of any application that may be made to you, before your liking has taken root in Love, as it is cal⯑led, and while my advice may have the weight that the permiſſion or diſſent of a father ought to have.

They both wept, courteſied, and withdrew.

At dinner, Miſs Caroline begged to be excuſed at⯑tending her gay and arbitrary father, being exceſſive⯑ly grieved, and unfit, as ſhe deſired her ſiſter to ſay, to be ſeen. But he commanded her attendance.

Miſs Charlotte Grandiſon told me what this wick⯑ed man [Shall I call Sir Charles Grandiſon's father ſo?] ſaid on the occaſion: ‘"Womens tears are but, as the Poet ſays, the ſweat of eyes. Caroline's eyes will not miſbecome them. The more ſhe is aſhamed of herſelf, the leſs reaſon will ſhe give me to be aſhamed of her.—Let me ſee how the fool looks, now ſhe is conſcious of her folly. Her baſhful behaviour will be an half-confeſſion; and this is the firſt ſtep to amendment. Tell her, that a woman's grief for not having been able to carry her point, has always been a pleaſure to me. I will not be robbed of my pleaſure. She owes it me for the pain ſhe has given me."’

Lord L. and ſhe had parted. He had, on his knees, implored her hand. He would not, he ſaid, either aſk or expect a ſhilling of her father: His eſtate would and ſhould work itſelf clear, without injury to his ſiſ⯑ters, or poſtponing their marriage. Her prudence and generoſity he built upon: They would enable him to be juſt to every one, and to preſerve his own credit. He would not, he generouſly ſaid, for the beloved daughter's ſake, utter one reflecting word upon her fa⯑ther, after he had laid naked facts before her. Thoſe, however, would too well juſtify him, if he did. And [161] he again urged for her hand and for a private mar⯑riage. Can I bear to think with patience, my deareſt Miſs Grandiſon, added he, that you and your ſiſter, according to Sir Thomas's ſcheme, ſhall be carried to town, with minds nobler than the minds of any wo⯑men in it, as adventurers, or female fortune-hunters, to take the chance of attracting the eyes and hearts of men, whether worthy or unworthy, purely to ſave your father's pocket? No, madam: Believe me, I love you not for my own ſake merely, tho' heaven knows you are dearer to me than my life, but for yours as well: And my whole future conduct ſhall convince you, that I do. My Love madam, has friendſhip for its baſis; and your worthy brother, once, in an argument convinced me, that Love might be ſelfiſh? that friend⯑ſhip could not; and that in a pure flame they could not be diſunited; and when they were, that Love was a cover only to a baſeneſs of heart, which taught the pretender to it to ſeek to gratify his own paſſion, at the expence of the happineſs or duty of the object pretend⯑ed to be beloved.

See, my Lucy!—Did we Girls ever think of this nice, but juſt, diſtinction before? And is not friend⯑ſhip a nobler band than Love?—But is not Lord L. a good man? Don't you love him, Lucy?—Why have I not met with theſe notions before in the men I have known?

But Miſs Caroline was not leſs generous than my Lord L. No ſcheme of my father's ſhall make me forget, ſaid ſhe the merits of Lord L. Your Lord⯑ſhip's affairs will be made eaſier by time. I will not embarraſs you. Think not yourſelf under any obliga⯑tion to me. Whenever any opportunity offers to make you eaſy all at once (for a mind ſo generous ought not to be laid under difficulties) embrace it: Only let me look upon you as my friend, till envy to an happier woman, or other unworthineſs in Caroline Grandiſon, make me forfeit your good opinion.

[162] Generous creature! ſaid my Lord. Never will I think of any other wife while you are ſingle. Yet will I not fetter her, who would leave me free—May I, madam, hope, if you will not bleſs me with your hand now, that my letters will be received?—Your father in forbidding my addreſs to you, has forbidden me his houſe. He is, and ought to be, maſter in it.—May I hope, madam, a correſpondence—

I am unhappy, ſaid ſhe, that, having ſuch a brother as ſiſter never had, I cannot conſult him. The dear Charlotte is too partial to me, and too apt to think of what may be her own caſe. But my Lord, I de⯑pend upon your honour, which you have never given me reaſon to doubt, that you will not put me upon doing a wrong thing, either with regard to my duty to my father, or to my own character. Try me not with a view to ſee the power you have over me. That would be ungenerous. I own you have ſome: Indeed a great deal.

LETTER XVI. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

YOU may gueſs what were my Lord's aſſurances on this generous confidence in him. They agreed upon a private correſpondence by letters.—Ah! Lady L. was this quite right, tho' it came out happily in the event? Does not concealment always imply ſomewhat wrong? Ought you not to have done your duty, whether your father did his or not? Were you not called upon, as I may ſay, to a tryal of yours? And is not virtue to be proved by tryal? Remember you not who ſays, ‘"For what glory is it, if, when ye be buffeted for your faults, ye ſhall take it patient⯑ly? But if, when ye do well, and ſuffer for it, ye take it patiently, this is acceptable with God."’— [163] But you, Lady L. had loſt your excellent mother ve⯑ry early.

The worthy young Lady would not, however, be prevailed upon to conſent to a private marriage; and my Lord took leave of her. Their parting was ex⯑tremely tender; and the amiable Caroline, in the ſoft⯑neſs of her heart, overcome by my Lord's proteſta⯑tions of everlaſting Love to her, in preference to all the women on earth, voluntarily aſſured him, that ſhe never would receive any other propoſal, while he was living, and ſingle.

Sir Thomas ſhew'd himſelf ſo much diſpleaſed with Lord L. for the freedom of his laſt ſpeech, that my Lord choſe not to deſire another audience of him; and yet, being unwilling to widen the difference, he took polite leave of the angry Baronet in a letter, which was put into his hands juſt before he had com⯑manded Miſs Caroline to attend him at dinner, which ſhe had begged to be excuſed doing.

Don't you pity the young Lady, Lucy, in this ſitu⯑ation? Lord L. having but a little before taken leave of her, and ſet out for London.

Miſs Charlotte told her ſiſter, that, were it ſhe, ſhe ſhould hardly have ſuffer'd Lord L. to go away by himſelf—Were it but to avoid an interview with a fa⯑ther who ſeem'd to have been too much uſed to wo⯑mens tears to be moved by them; and who had ſuch a ſatyrical vein, and ſuch odd notions of Love.

I was very earneſt to know what paſſed at this dinner-time.

Miſs Grandiſon ſaid, It is beſt for me to anſwer Miſs Byron's curioſity, I believe; as I was a ſtander-by, and only my father and ſiſter were the players.

Players! repeated Lady L.—It was a cruel ſcene. And I believe, Miſs Byron, it will make you not won⯑der, that I liked Lord L. much the better for being rather a man of underſtanding than a man of wit.

Miſs Grandiſon began as follows:

[164] I went up with my father's peremptory, as I may call it, to my ſiſter.

O my dear mamma! ſaid Caroline, when ſhe found ſhe muſt go down, on what a new occaſion do I want your ſweet mediation! But, Charlotte, I can neither walk nor ſtand—

You muſt then lean upon me, my dear, and creep: Love will creep, they ſay, where it cannot go.

Wicked girl! interrupted Lady L. I remember that was what ſhe ſaid.

I ſaid it to make you ſmile, if I could, and take courage: But you know I was in tears for you, not⯑withſtanding,

You thought of what might befal yourſelf, Char⯑lotte.

So I did. We never, I believe, properly feel for others, what does not touch ourſelves.

A compaſſionate heart, ſaid I, is a bleſſing, though a painful one: And yet there would be no ſupporting life, if we felt quite as poignantly for others as we do for ourſelves. How happy was it for my Charlotte, that ſhe could ſmile, when the father's apprehended lecture was intended for the uſe of both!

I thank you for this, Harriet. You will not be long my creditor—But I will proceed.

Caroline took my advice. She leaned upon me; and creep, creep, creep, down ſhe crept. A freſh ſtream of tears fell from her eyes, when ſhe came to the dining-room door. Her tremblings were increa⯑ſed: And down ſhe dropt upon a window-ſeat in the paſſage: I can go no further, ſaid ſhe.

Inſtantly a voice, that we knew muſt be obſerved, alarmed our ears—Where are you, Caroline! Char⯑lotte? Girls! where are you? The houſekeeper was in hearing, and ran to us: Ladies! Ladies! Your papa calls!—And we, in ſpite of the weakneſs of the one, and the unwillingneſs of the other, recovered our feet; and, after half a dozen creeping motions more, [165] found ourſelves within the door, and in our father's ſight, my ſiſter leaning upon my arm.

What devil's in the wind now! What tragedy-movements are here!—What meaſured ſteps!—In ſome caſes, all women are natural actreſſes. But come, Caroline, the play is over, and you miſtake your cue.

Good Sir!—Her hands held up—I wept for her; and for my own remoter caſe, if you will, Miſs Byron.

The prologue is yours, Caroline, Charlotte, I doubt not, is ready with her epilogue. But come, come, it is time to cloſe this farce—Take your places, girls; and don't be fools.—A pretty caution, thought I, ſaid Miſs Charlotte, when you make us both ſuch!

However, the ſervants entering with dinner, we hemm'd, handkerchief'd, twinkled, took up our knives and forks, laid them down, and took them up again, when our father's eye was upon us; piddled, ſipped; but were more buſy with our elbows than with our teeth. As for poor ſiſter Caroline, love ſtuck in her throat. She tried to ſwallow, as one in a quinſey; a wry face, and a ſtrain'd neck, denoting her difficulty to get down but a lark's morſel—And what made her more aukward (I am ſure it did me) was a pair of the ſharpeſt eyes that ever were ſeen in a man's head, and the man a father (the poor things having no mother, no aunt, to ſupport their ſpirits) caſt firſt on the one, then on the other; and now-and-then an overclouded brow, adding to our aukwardneſs: Yet ſtill more apprehenſive of dinner-time being over, and the with⯑drawing of the ſervants.

The ſervants loved their young Ladies. They at⯑tended with very ſerious faces; and ſeemed glad when they were diſmiſſed.

Then it was that Caroline aroſe from her ſeat, made her courteſy, aukwardly enough; with the air of a boarding-ſchool Miſs, her hands before her.

[166] My father let her make her honours, and go to the door, I riſing to attend her; but then called her back; I dare ſay, on purpoſe to enjoy her aukwardneſs, and to puniſh her.

Who bid you go? Whither are you going. Caro⯑line? Come back, Charlotte.—But it will be always thus: A father's company is deſpiſed, when a girl gets a Lover into her head. Fine encouragement for a fa⯑ther to countenance a paſſion that ſhall give himſelf but a ſecond or third place, who once had a firſt, in his childrens affections! But I ſhall have reaſon to think myſelf fortunate, perhaps, if my children do not look upon me as their enemy.—Come back when I bid you.

We crept back more aukwardly than we went from table.

Sit down—We croſs'd our hands, and ſtood like a couple of fools.

Sit down when I bid you. You are confoundedly humble. I want to talk with you.

Down ſat the two ſimpletons, their faces and necks all awry, and on the edge of their chairs.

Miſs Grandiſon then gave the following dialogue. She humourouſly, by her voice (an humble one for her ſiſter, a leſs meek one for herſelf, an imperious one for Sir Thomas) marked the ſpeakers. I will pre⯑fix their names.

Sir Thomas. What ſort of leave has Lord L. taken of you, Caroline? He has ſent me a Letter. Has he ſent you one? I hope he did not think a perſonal leave due to the daughter, and not to the father.

Charlotte. He thought you were angry with him, Sir, ſaid I [Poor Caroline's anſwer was not ready].

Sir Tho. And ſuppoſed that your ſiſter was not. Very well! What leave did he take of you, girl? woman? What do you call yourſelf?

Charlotte. Sir, my Lord L. I dare ſay, intended no diſreſpect to—

I might as well have been ſilent, Harriet.

[167] Sir Tho. I like not your preface, girl, interrupted he—Tell me not what you dare ſay. I ſpoke to your ſiſter.—Come, ſit upright. None of your averted faces, and wry necks. A little more innocence in your hearts, and you'll have leſs ſhame in your coun⯑tenances. I ſee what a league there is between you. A promiſing proſpect before me, with you both! But tell me, Caroline, do you love Lord L.? Have you given him hope that you will be his, when you can get the croſs father to change his mind; or, what is ſtill better, out of your way for ever? All fathers are plaguy ill-natur'd, when they do not think of their girls fellows, as their fooliſh girls think of them! An⯑ſwer me, Caroline?

Caroline (weeping, at his ſevere ſpeech). Whan can I ſay, Sir, and not diſpleaſe you?

Sir Tho. What!—Why, that you are all obedi⯑ence to your father. Cannot you ſay that? Sure you can ſay that.

Car. I hope, Sir—

ir Tho. And I hope too. But it becomes you to be certain. Can't you anſwer for your own heart?

Car. I believe you think, Sir, that Lord L. is not an unworthy man.

Sir Tho. A man is not more worthy, for making my daughter forget herſelf, and behave like a fool to her father.

Car. I may behave like a fool, Sir, but not unduti⯑fully. You frighten me, Sir. I am unable to hold up my head before you, when you are angry with me.

Sir Tho. Tell me that you have broken with Lord L. as I have commanded you. Tell me, that you will never ſee him more, if you can avoid it. Tell me, that you will not write to him—

Car. Pardon me, Sir, for ſaying, that Lord L.'s behaviour to me has been ever uniformly reſpectful: He reveres my papa too: How can I treat him with diſreſpect?—

[168] Sir Tho. So! I ſhall have it all out, preſently,—Go on, girl—And do you, Charlotte, attend to the leſ⯑ſon ſet you by your elder ſiſter.

Char. Indeed, Sir, I can anſwer for the goodneſs of my ſiſter's heart, and for her duty to you.

Sir Tho. Well ſaid! Now, Caroline, do you ſpeak up for Charlotte's Heart: One good turn deſerves another. But ſay what you will for each other, I will be my own judge of both your hearts; and facts ſhall be the teſt. Do you know, Caroline, whether Char⯑lotte has any Lover that is to keep you in countenance with yours?

Car. I dare ſay, Sir, that my ſiſter Charlotte will not diſoblige you.

Sir Tho. I hope, Caroline, you can ſay as much for Charlotte's ſiſter.

Car. I hope I can, Sir.

Sir Tho. Then you know my will.

Car. I preſume, Sir, it is your pleaſure, that I ſhould always remain ſingle.

Sir Tho. Hey-day!—But why, pray, does your la⯑dyſhip ſuppoſe ſo?—Speak out.

Car. Becauſe I think, forgive me to ſay it, that my Lord L.'s character and his quality are ſuch, that a more creditable propoſal cannot be expected.—Pray, Sir, forgive me. And ſhe held up her hands, pray⯑faſhion, thus—

Well ſaid, Caroline! thought I—Pull up a courage, my dear!—What a duce—

Sir Tho. His quality!—Gewgaw!—What is a Sco⯑tiſh peerage?—And does your ſilly heart beat after a coronet?—You want to be a Counteſs, do you?—But let me tell you, that if you have a true value for Lord L. you will not, incumbred as he is with ſiſters fortunes, wiſh him to marry you.

Car. As to title, Sir, that is of very little account with me, without the good character.—As to pru⯑dence; [169] my Lord L. cannot ſee any-thing in me to forfeit his prudence for.

Well anſwered, Caroline! thought I. In ſuch a laudable choice, all ſhould not be left upon the poor Lov-yer!

Sir Tho. So the difficulty lies not with you, I find. You have no objection to Lord L. if he has none to you. You are an humbled and mortified girl, then. The woman muſt be indeed in Love, who once thinking well of herſelf, can give a preference againſt herſelf to her Lover.

What buſineſs had Sir Thomas to ſay this, my Lucy?

Sir Tho. Let me know, Caroline, what hopes you have given to Lord L.—Or rather, perhaps, what hopes he has given you?—Why are you ſilent? An⯑ſwer me, girl.

Car. I hope, Sir, I ſhall not diſgrace my father, in thinking well of Lord L.

Sir Tho. Nor will he diſgrace himſelf, proud as are the Scotiſh beggars of their anceſtry, in think⯑ing well of a daughter of mine.

Car. Lord L. tho' not a beggar, Sir, would think it an honour, Sir—

Sir Tho. Well ſaid! Go on: Go on. Why ſtops the girl?—And ſo he ought. But if Lord L. is not a beggar for my daughter, let not my daughter be a beggar for Lord L. But Lord L. would think it an honour, you ſay—To be what?—Your huſ⯑band, I ſuppoſe. Anſwer my queſtion; How ſtand matters between you and Lord L.?

Car. I cannot, ſuch is my unhappineſs! ſay any⯑thing that will pleaſe my father.

Sir Tho. How the girl evades my queſtion!—Don't let me repeat it.

Car. It is not diſgraceful, I hope, to own, that I had rather be—

There ſhe ſtopt, and half-hid her face in her bo⯑ſom [170] And I thought, ſaid Miſs Grandiſon, that ſhe never look'd prettier in her life.

Sir Tho. Rather be Lord L.'s wife than my daugh⯑ter—Well, Charlotte, tell me, when are you to begin to eſtrange me from your affections? When are you to begin to think your father ſtands in the way of your happineſs? When do you caſt your purveying eyes up⯑on a mere ſtranger, and prefer him to your father?—I have done my part, I ſuppoſe: I have nothing to do but to allot you the fortunes that your Lovers, as they are called, will tell you are neceſſary to their affairs, and then to lie me down and die. Your fellows then, with you, will dance over my grave; and I ſhall be no more remembred, than if I had never been—ex⯑cept by your brother.

I could not help ſpeaking here, ſaid Miſs Grandi⯑ſon. O Sir! how you wound me!—Do all fathers—Forgive me, Sir—

I ſaw his brow begin to lour.

Sir Tho. I bear not impertinence. I bear not—There he ſtopt in wrath.—But why, Caroline, do you evade my queſtion? You know it. Anſwer it.

Car. I ſhould be unworthy of the affection of ſuch a man as Lord L. is, if I diſowned my eſteem for him. Indeed, Sir, I have an eſteem for Lord L. above any man I ever ſaw. You, Sir, did not al⯑ways diſeſteem him—My brother—

Sir Tho. So! Now all is out!—You have the for⯑wardneſs—What ſhall I call it?—But I did, and I do, eſteem Lord L.—But as what?—Not as a ſon-in-law. He came to me as my ſon's friend. I invited him down in that character: He, at that time, knew nothing of you. But no ſooner came a ſingle man into a ſingle woman's company, but you both wanted to make a match of it. You were dutiful: And he was prudent: Prudent for himſelf. I think you talk'd of his prudence a while ago. He made his application to you, or you to him, I know not which—[Then [171] how poor Caroline wept! And I, ſaid Miſs Charlotte, could hardly forbear ſaying Barbarous!] And when he found himſelf ſure of you, then was the fool the father to be conſulted: And for what? Only to know what he would do for two people, who had left him no option in the caſe. And this is the trick of you all: And the poor father is to be paſſive, or elſe to be ac⯑counted a tyrant.

Car. Sir, I admitted not Lord L.'s addreſs, but conditionally, as you ſhould approve of it. Lord L. deſired not my approbation upon other terms.

Sir Tho. What nonſenſe is this?—Have you left me any way to help myſelf?—Come, Caroline, let me try you. I intend to carry you up to town: A young man of quality has made overtures to me. I believe I ſhall approve of his propoſals. I am ſure you will, if you are not prepoſſeſſed. Tell me, are you, have you left yourſelf at liberty to give way to my recom⯑mendation?—Why don't you anſwer me?—You know, that you received Lord L.'s addreſſes but con⯑ditionally, as I ſhould approve of them. And your ſpark deſired not your approbation upon other terms. Come, what ſay you to this?—What! are you con⯑founded?—Well you may, if you cannot anſwer me as I wiſh! If you can, why don't you?—You ſee, I put you but to your own teſt.

Car. Sir, it is not for me to argue with my father. Surely, I have not intended to be undutiful. Surely I have not diſgraced my family, by admitting Lord L.'s conditional—

Sir Tho. Conditional!—Fool!—How conditional!—Is it not abſolute, as to the excluſion of me, or of my option? But I have ever found, that the man who condeſcends to argue with a woman, eſpecially on cer⯑tain points, in which nature, and not reaſon, is con⯑cerned, muſt follow her through a thouſand windings, and find himſelf fartheſt off when he imagines himſelf neareſt; and at laſt muſt content himſelf, panting for [172] breath, to ſit down where he ſet out; while ſhe gam⯑bols about, and is ready to lead him a new courſe.

Car. I hope—

Sir Tho. None of your hopes—I will have certain⯑ty. May I—Come, I'll bring you to a point, if I can, woman as you are—May I receive propoſals for you from any other man? Anſwer me, Yes or No. Don't deal with me, as girls do with common fathers—Don't be diſobedient, and then depend upon my weak⯑neſs to forgive you. I am no common father. I know the world. I know your Sex. I have found more fools in it than I have made.—Indeed, no man makes, or needs to make, you fools. You have folly deep⯑rooted within you. That weed is a native of the ſoil. A very little watering will make it ſprout, and choak the noble flowers that education has planted. I never knew a woman in my life, that was wiſe by the expe⯑rience of other people. But anſwer me: Say—Can you receive a new propoſal? or can you not?

Caroline anſwer'd only by her tears.

Sir Tho. Damnably conſtant, I ſuppoſe!—So you give up real virtue, give up duty to a father, for fide⯑lity, for conſtancy, for a fictitious virtue, to a Lover! Come hither to me, girl!—Why don't you come to me when I bid you?—

LETTER XVII. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

MISS Caroline aroſe: Four creeping ſteps, her handkerchief at her eyes, brought her within her father's reach. He ſnatched her hand, quicken'd her pace, and brought her cloſe to his knees. Poor ſiſter Caroline! thought I: O the ty—And I had like at the time, to have added the ſyllable rant to myſelf.—He pulled the other hand from her eye. The handkerchief dropt: He might ſee that it was wet and [173] heavy with her tears. Fain would ſhe have turn'd her blubber'd eye from him. He held both her hands, and burſt out into a laugh—

And what cries the girl for? Why, Caroline, you ſhall have a huſband, I tell you. I will haſten with you to the London market. Will you be offer'd at Ranelagh market firſt? the concert or breakfaſting?—Or ſhall I ſhew you at the opera, or at the play? Ha, ha, hah!—Hold up your head, my amorous girl! You ſhall ſtick ſome of your mother's jewels in your hair, and in your boſom, to draw the eyes of fellows. You muſt ſtrike at once, while your face is new; or you will be mingled with the herd of women, who proſtitute their faces at every polite place. Sweet impatient ſoul!—Look at me, Caroline. Then he laughed again.

Car. Indeed, Sir, if you were not my father—

Well ſaid, Caroline! thought I; and trod on her toe.

Sir Tho. Hey-day! But what then?

Car. I would ſay you are very cruel.

Sir Tho. And is that all you would ſay, poor ſoft thing! in ſuch circumſtances, to any other man? Well, but, all this time, you don't tell me (ſtill hold⯑ing her hands) whether any other man will not do as well as your Scots-man?

Car. I am not kindly uſed. Indeed, Sir, you don't uſe me kindly. I hope I am not an amorous crea⯑ture, as you call me. I am not in haſte to be marri⯑ed. I am willing to wait your time, your pleaſure: But, as I preſume, that there can be no objection to Lord L. I wiſh not to be carried to any London market.

Sir Tho. (gravely). If I am diſpoſed to railly you, Ca⯑roline; if I am willing to paſs off, in a pleaſant manner, a forwardneſs that I did not expect in my daughter; and for which, in my heart, I have deſpiſed the daughters of other men, tho' I have not told the wenches ſo; I will [174] not be anſwered pertly. I will not have you forget yourſelf.

Car. (courteſying). Good Sir, permit me to with⯑draw. I will recollect myſelf, and be ſorry—

Sir Tho. And is it neceſſary for you to withdraw, to recollect your duty?—But you ſhall anſwer my queſtion—How ſtand you and Lord L.? Are you re⯑ſolved to have him, and none other?—Will you wait for him, will he wait for you, till death has numbered me with my anceſtors?

Car. O Sir! And ſhe look'd down after her dropt handkerchief. She wanted it; and would have with⯑drawn one of her hands to reach it; and when ſhe could not, the big tears running down her cheeks [Yet ſhe look'd pretty] down ſhe dropt on her knees—Forgive me, Sir—I dread your diſpleaſure—But muſt ſay, that I am not an amorous girl: And, to con⯑vince you that I am not, I will never marry any man living, if it be not Lord L.

I all this time was in agitations for my poor ſiſter. I tired three chairs; and now look'd at her; now from her; then at my fingers ends, wiſhing them claws, and the man an husband, inſtead of a father. Indeed, Miſs Byron, I could not but make Caroline's treat⯑ment my own; and, in fancy, not ſo very remote, as you imagin'd, Lady L. Once I ſaid to myſelf, If ſome Lord L. tenders himſelf to me, and I like him, I will not ſtand all this. The firſt moon-light night, if he urge me heartily, and I am ſure the parſon is ready, I will be under another protection, deſpicably as I have always thought of runaway daughters!—Should I have done right, Miſs Byron?

The example, Miſs Grandiſon! replied I—Such a mamma as you were bleſſed with! The world that would have ſat in judgment upon the flight of the daughter, would not have known the cruel treatment of the father. I believe, my dear, you are glad you [175] had not the trial: And you ſee how Lady L. is re⯑warded for her patient duty.

That's my good Harriet! ſaid Lady L. I love you for your anſwer. But, Siſter, you leave me in too much diſtreſs. You muſt releaſe me from my knees, and ſend me up to my chamber, as faſt as you can.

A little patience, Lady L.—But what ſay my mi⯑nutes?—Miſs Byron ſeems all attention. This is a new ſubject to her. She never had any-body to con⯑troul her.

I think I could have borne any-thing from a father or mother, ſaid I, had it pleaſed God to continue to me ſo dear a bleſſing.

Fine talking, Harriet! ſaid Miſs Grandiſon. But let me ſay, that a witty father is not a deſirable cha⯑racter—By the way, ours was as cruel (Shall I ſay it, Lady L.? You are upon your knees, you know) to two very worthy ſiſters of his own: One of them ran away from him to a relation in Yorkſhire, where ſhe lives ſtill, and as worthy an old maid ſhe is as any in the county: The other died before ſhe could get her fortune paid, or ſhe would have been married to a man ſhe loved, and who loved her: But ſhe left every ſhilling of her fortune to her maiden ſiſter, and no⯑thing to my father.

It is well my brother is not in hearing, ſaid Lady L. He would not have borne the hundredth part of what we have ſaid. But ſufferers will complain. Re⯑member, however, Charlotte, that I am ſtill upon my knees.

See, my Lucy! Rakiſh men make not either good huſbands, or good fathers; nor yet good brothers.—But, no wonder! The narrow-hearted creatures centre all their delight in themſelves.—Finely do women chooſe, who, taken in by their ſpecious airs, vows, proteſtations, become the abject properties of ſuch wretches! Yet, a reformed rake, they ſay, makes the beſt huſband—Againſt general experience this is ſaid— [176] But by whom? By the vulgar and the inconſiderate only, ſurely!

Miſs Grandiſon proceeded.

Sir Tho. You will never marry any other man liv⯑ing!—And this is declared, in order to convince me that you are not amorous!—Quibbling nonſenſe!—Had you not been amorous, you had not put yourſelf into a ſituation, that ſhould give you courage to ſay this to me. Bold fool! Begone!

She aroſe.

Yet you ſhall not go, holding both her hands. And dare you thus declare yourſelf?—What option, I again aſk you, is left me?—And yet Lord L. and you, as you pretended juſt now, were determined only on a conditional courtſhip as I ſhould, or ſhould not, approve of it! Conſound your Sex! This ever was, and ever will be, the caſe. The blind god ſets you out, where you mean the beſt, on a pacing beaſt; you amble, prance, parade, till your giddy heads turn round; and then you gallop over hedge and ditch; leap fences; and duty, decency, and diſcretion, are trodden under foot!

Poor Miſs Caroline! ſaid I, Lucy, to them both—I expected this cruel retort.

I foreſaw it, replied Lady L. And this kept me off ſo long from declaring my preference of Lord L. to all the men in the world; as in juſtice to his merit, my heart ſeveral times bid me do without ſcruple.

Begone from my preſence, ſaid Sir Thomas, pro⯑ceeded Miſs Grandiſon—Yet he ſtill held her hands—That little witch! I have been watching her eyes, and every working muſcle of her ſaucy face [meaning poor me, ſaid Miſs Grandiſon]: She takes part with you in all your diſtreſſes—You are forely diſtreſſed, are you not?—Am I not a tyrant with you both?—You want to be gone, both of you: Then ſhall I be the ſubject of your free diſcourſes. All the reſentment, that now you endeavour to confine, will then burſt [177] out: I ſhall be intitled to no more of your duty than is conſiſtent with your narrow intereſt: Lord L. will be conſulted in preference to me, and have the whole confidence of my daughters againſt me. I am now, from this hour, to be looked upon as your enemy, and not your father. But I will renounce you both; and permit your brother, the joy of my life, and the hope of my better days, to come over: And he ſhall re⯑nounce you, as I do, or I will renounce him: And, in that caſe, I ſhall be a father without a child; yet three living by the beſt of women. How would ſhe—

I broke out here, ſaid Miſs Grandiſon, with an emo⯑tion that I could not ſuppreſs. O my dear mamma! How much do we miſs you!—Were you to have be⯑come angel when we were infants, ſhould we have miſſed you as we do now?—O my dear mamma! This, this, is the time that girls moſt want a mo⯑ther!—

I was about to ſly for it. I trembled at the ſtern⯑neſs of my father's looks, on this apoſtrophe to my mother. He aroſe. Caroline, don't ſtir, ſaid he; I have ſomething more to ſay to you. Come-hither, Charlotte! and held out both his hands—You have burſt out at laſt. I ſaw your aſſurance ſwelling to your throat—

I threw myſelf at his feet, and beſought him to for⯑give me.

But taking both my hands in one of his, as I held them up folded—Curſe me if I do! ſaid he. I was willing you ſhould be preſent, in hopes to make you take warning by your ſiſter's folly and inconſiſtency. Lord L. has been a thief in my houſe. He has ſtolen my elder daughter's affections from me: Yet has drawn her in, as pretending that he deſired not her favour, but as I approved of his addreſſes. I do not approve of them. I hope I may be allowed to be my own judge in this caſe. She however declares, ſhe will have nobody elſe. And have I brought up my [178] children till the years that they ſhould be of uſe and comfort to me; and continued a widower myſelf for their ſakes [So my father was pleaſed to ſay, ſaid Miſs Grandiſon]; and all for a man I approve not?—And do you, Charlotte, call your bleſſed mother from her peaceful tomb, to relieve you and your ſiſter againſt a tyrant-father?—What comfort have I in proſpect before me, from ſuch daughters?—But leave me. Leave my houſe. Seek your fortunes where you will. Take your cloaths: Take all that belongs to you: But nothing that was your mother's. I will give you each a draught on my banker for 500 l. When that is gone, according to what I ſhall hear of your beha⯑viour, you ſhall, or ſhall not, have more.

Dear Sir! ſaid Caroline, flinging herſelf on her knees by me, forgive my ſiſter!—Dear, good Sir! whatever becomes of me, forgive your Charlotte!

Sir Tho. You are fearleſs of your deſtiny, Caroline. You will throw yourſelf into the arms of Lord L. I doubt not.—I will ſend for your brother. But you ſhall both leave this houſe. I will ſhut it up the mo⯑ment you are gone. It ſhall never again be open'd while I live. When my aſhes are mingled with thoſe of your mother, then may you keep open houſe in it, and trample under foot the aſhes of both.

I ſobbed out, Dear Sir, forgive me! I meant not to reflect upon my father, when I wiſh'd for my mo⯑ther. I wiſh'd for her for your ſake, Sir, as well as for ours. She would have mediated.—She would have ſoften'd—

Sir Tho. My hard heart—I know what you mean, Charlotte!

And flung from us a few paces, walking about in wrath, leaving us kneeling at his vacant chair.

He then, ringing the bell, the door in his hand, ordered in the houſekeeper. She enter'd. A very good woman ſhe was. She trembled for her kneel⯑ing Ladies.

[179] Sir Th. Beckford, do you aſſiſt theſe girls in getting up every thing that belongs to them. Give me an in⯑ventory of what they take. Their father's authority is grievous to them. They want to ſhake it off. They find themſelves women-grown. They want huſbands—

Indeed, indeed, Beckford, we don't, ſaid Caro⯑line; interrupted by my father—

Do you give me the lye, bold-face?—

Pray your honour—Good your honour—intreated honeſt Beckford: never were modeſter young Ladies. They are noted all over the county for their modeſty and goodneſs—

Woman, woman, argue not with me. Modeſty never forgets duty. Caroline loves not her father. Lord L. has ſtolen away her affections from me. Charlotte is of her party: And ſo are you, I find. But take my commands in ſilence—A week longer they ſtay not in this houſe—

Beckford, throwing herſelf on her knees, repeated—Good your honour—

We both aroſe, and threw ourſelves at his feet—

Forgive us! I beſeech you, forgive us!—For my mamma's ſake, forgive us!—ſaid Caroline—

For my mamma's ſake, for my brother's ſake, dear Sir, forgive your daughters! cried I, in as rueful an accent.

And we each of us took hold of his open'd coat, both in tears; and Beckford keeping us company.

Unmoved he went on—I intend you a pleaſure, girls. I know you want to be freed from my autho⯑rity. You are women-grown. The man who has daughters knows not diſcomfort with them, till buſy fellows bid them look out of their father's houſe for that happineſs, which they hardly ever find but in it.

We are yours, my papa, ſaid I—We are nobody's elſe—Do not, do not, expoſe your children to the [180] cenſures of the world. Hitherto our reputations are unſullied—

Dear Sir, cried Caroline, throw us not upon the world, the wide world! Dear Sir, continue us in your protection. We want not to be in any other.

You ſhall try the experiment girls—I am not fit to be your counſellor. Lord L. has diſtanced me with the one: The other calls upon her departed mo⯑ther to appear, to ſhield her from the cruelty of an unnatural father. And Lord L. has the inſolence to tell me to my face, that I am too young a father to take upon me the management of women-grown daughters. And ſo I find it. Blubber not, Beck⯑ford; aſſiſt your young Ladies for their departure. A week is the longeſt time they have to ſtay in this houſe. I want to ſhut it up: Never more to enter its gates.

We continued our pleadings.

O Sir, ſaid Caroline, turn not your children out of doors. We are daughters. We never more wanted a father's protection than now.

What have we done, Sir, cried I, to deſerve being turned out of your doors?—For every offenſive word we beg your pardon. You ſhall always have dutiful children of us. Permit me to write to my brother—

So, ſo! You mend the matter. You want to intereſt your brother in your favour—You want to appeal to him, do you? and to make a ſon ſit in judg⯑ment upon his father!—Prate not, girls! Intreat not!—Get ready to be gone. I will ſhut up this houſe—

Where-ever you are, Sir, intreated I, there let us be—Renounce not your children, your penitent children.

He proceeded. I ſuppoſe Lord L. will as ſoon find out your perſon, Caroline, as he has your inclina⯑tions; ſo contrary to my liking. As to you, Char⯑lotte, you may go down to your old aunt Prue in [181] Yorkſhire: [He calls their aunt Eleanor ſo, from the word Prude—Yet we have ſeen, Lucy, it was owing to him that this Lady did not marry]: She will be able to inſtruct you, that patience is a virtue; and that you ought not to be in haſte to take a firſt offer, for fear you ſhould not have a ſecond.

Poor ſiſter Caroline! He look'd diſdainfully at her.

You are my father, Sir, ſaid ſhe. All is welcome from you: But you ſhall have no cauſe to reproach me. I will not be in haſte. And here on my knees, I promiſe, that I will never be Lord L.'s, without your conſent. I only beg of you, Sir, not to propoſe to me any other man.

My father, partly relented [partly, Harriet]: I take you at your word: And I inſiſt that you ſhall not correſpond with him, nor ſee him.—You anſwer not to that. But you know my will. And once more, anſwer or not, I require your obedience. Beckford, you may go. Riſe, Caroline

And am I forgiven, Sir? ſaid I—Dear Sir, forgive your Charlotte—[Yet, Miſs Byron, what was my crime?]

Make the beſt uſe of the example before you, Charlotte: Not to imitate Caroline, in engaging your affections unknown to me—Remember that. She has her plagues in giving me plague. It is fit ſhe ſhould. Where you cannot in duty follow the example, take the warning.

Beckford was withdrawn. He graciouſly ſaluted each girl: And thus triumphantly made them expreſs ſorrow for—Do you know for what Harriet?

I wiſh thought I to myſelf, Lucy, that theſe boiſterous ſpirits, either fathers or huſbands, were not generally moſt obſerved.

But was Miſs Grandiſon's ſpirit ſo eaſily ſubdued? thought I.

You ſmile, Harriet. What do you ſmile at?

[182] Will you forgive me, if I tell you?

I don't know.

I depend on your good-nature. I ſmiled to think, Lady L. how finely Miſs Grandiſon has got up ſince that time.

Miſs Gr. O the ſly girl!—Remember you not, that I was before your debtor?

A good hit, I proteſt! ſaid Lady L. Yet Char⯑lotte was always a pert girl out of her father's preſence. But I will add a word or two to my ſiſter's narrative.

My father kept us with him till he read Lord L.'s Letter, which he open'd not till then, and plainly, as I ſaw, to find ſome new fault with him and me on the occaſion. But I came off better than I apprehended I ſhould at the time; for I had not ſeen it. Here is a copy of it.

Lady L. allow'd me, Lucy, to take it up with me, when we parted for the night.

Yet my father, ſaid Lady L. called it an artful Let⯑ter; and obſerved, that Lord L. was very ſure of me, or he had not offer'd to make a propoſal to me, that deſerved not to be excuſed. You were aiming at prudence, girl, in your refuſal, I ſee that, ſaid my fa⯑ther. You had no reaſon to doubt but Lord L. would hereafter like you the better for declining marriage in that clandeſtine manner, becauſe the refuſal would [184] give him an opportunity to make things more conve⯑nient to himſelf. One half of a woman's virtue is pride, continued he [I hope not, truly, ſaid Lady L.]; the other half, policy. If they were ſure the man would not think the worſe of them for it, they would not wait a ſecond queſtion. Had you had an independent fortune, Caroline, what wou'd you have done?—But go; you are a weak, and yet a cunning girl. Cun⯑ning is the wiſdom of women. Womens weakneſs is man's ſtrength. I am ſorry that my daughters are not compounded of leſs brittle materials. I wonder that any man who knows the ſex, marries.

Thus ſpoke the rakiſh, the keeping father, Lucy, endeavouring to juſtify his private vices by general re⯑flexions on the ſex. And thus are wickedneſs and libertiniſm called a knowledge of the world, a know⯑ledge of human nature. Swift, for often painting a dunghil, and for his abominable Yahoe ſtory, was complimented with this knowledge: But I hope, that the character of human nature, the character of creatures made in the image of the deity, is not to be taken from the overflowings of ſuch dirty imagi⯑nations.

What company, my dear, muſt thoſe men be ſup⯑poſed to have generally kept? How are we authoriſed to wiſh (only that good is often produced out of evil, as is inſtanced in two ſuch daughters, and ſuch a ſon) that a man of this caſt had never had the honour to call a Lady Grandiſon by his name! And yet Sir Thomas's vices called forth, if they did not eſtabliſh, her virtues. What ſhall we ſay?

[185] I thought, my Lucy, that the converſation I have attempted to give, would not, tho' long, appear te⯑dious to you; being upon a new ſubject, the beha⯑viour of a free-liver of a father to his grown-up daughters, when they came to have expectations upon him, which he was not diſpoſed to anſwer; and the rather, as it might ſerve to ſtrengthen us, who have had in our family none but good men (tho' we have neighbours of a different character, who have wanted to be acquainted with us) in our reſolution to reject the ſuits of libertine men by a ſtronger motive even than for our own ſakes: And I therefore was glad of the opportunity of procuring it for you, and for our Nancy, now her recover'd health will allow her to look abroad more than ſhe had of late been uſed to do. I am ſure my grandmamma, and my aunt Selby, will be pleaſed with it; becauſe it will be a good ſup⯑plement to the leſſons they have conſtantly inculcated upon us, againſt that narrow-hearted race of men, who live only for the gratification of their own law⯑leſs appetites, and conſider all the reſt of the world as made for themſelves, the worſt and moſt noxious reptiles in it.

LETTER XVIII. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

THUS far had the Ladies proceeded in their inte⯑reſting ſtory, when the Letters of my grand⯑mamma and aunt were brought me by a man and horſe from London. By my anſwer you will ſee how much I was affected by the contents. The Ladies ſaw my uneaſineſs, and were curious to know the cauſe. I told them from whence the Letters came, and what the ſubject was; and that my aunt was to give for me, next Saturday, an anſwer to Lady D. in perſon.

[186] I then retired to write. When I had diſpatched the meſſenger, the Ladies wiſhed to know the reſo⯑lution I had come to. I told them I had confirmed my negative.

Miſs Grandiſon, with archneſs, held up her hands and eyes. I was vexed ſhe did. Then, Charlotte, ſaid I, ſpitefully, you would not have declined accept⯑ing this propoſal.

She looked earneſtly at me, and ſhook her head. Ah, Harriet, ſaid ſhe, you are an unaccountable girl! You will tell the truth; but not the whole truth.

I bluſhed, as I felt; and believe looked ſilly.

Ah, Harriet, repeated ſhe; looking as if ſhe would look me through.

Dear Miſs Grandiſon! ſaid I.

There is ſome Northamptonſhire gentleman, of whom we have not yet heard.

I was a little eaſier then. But can this Lady mean any-thing particular? She cannot be ſo ungenerous, ſurely, as to play upon a poor girl, if ſhe thought her entangled. All I am afraid of, is, that my temper will be utterly ruined. I am not ſo happy in myſelf, as I uſed to be. Don't you think, Lucy, that taking one thing with another, I am in a ſituation that is very teazing?—But let me find a better ſubject.

THE Ladies, at my requeſt, purſued their FAMI⯑LY-HISTORY.

Lord L. and Miſs Caroline went on, hoping for a change in Sir Thomas's mind. He would, no doubt, they ſaid have been overcome by the young Lady's duty, and my Lord L.'s generoſity, had he not made it inconvenient to himſelf, to part with money.

He went to town, and carried his daughters with him; and, it is thought, would not have been ſorry, had the Lovers married without his conſent; for he prohibited anew, on their coming to town, my Lord's viſits; ſo that they were obliged to their ſiſter, as ſhe [187] pleaſantly had told Lady L. for contriving to for⯑ward their interviews.

Mean time, my Lord's affairs growing urgent, by reaſon of his two ſiſter's marrying, he gave way to the offers of a common friend of his and Lord W's, to engage that nobleman, who approved of the match, to talk to Sir Thomas on the ſubject.

Lord W. and the Baronet met. My Lord was earneſt in the cauſe of the lovers. Sir Thomas was not pleaſed with his interfering in his family affairs. And indeed a more improper man could hardly have been applied to on the occaſion: For Lord W. who is immenſely rich, was always deſpiſed by Sir Tho⯑mas for his avarice; and he as much diſliked Sir Thomas for what he called his profuſion.

High words paſſed between them. They parted in paſſion; and Sir Thomas reſenting Lord L's ap⯑peal to Lord W. the ſiſters were in a worſe ſituation than before; for now, beſides having incurred the in⯑dignation of their father, their uncle, who was always afraid that Sir Thomas's extravagance would reduce the children to the neceſſity of hoping for his aſſiſt⯑ance, made a pretence of their father's ill treatment of him, to diſclaim all acts of kindneſs and relation to them.

What concern'd the ſiſters ſtill more, was, my Lord's declared antipathy to their brother; and that for no other reaſon, but becauſe his father (who, he was ſure, he ſaid, could neither love nor hate in a right place) doated on him.

In this ſad ſituation were theſe Lovers, when over⯑tures were made to Sir Thomas for his younger daughter: But tho' Miſs Charlotte gave him no pre⯑tence to accuſe her of beginning a Love-affair un⯑known to him; yet thoſe overtures never came to her knowledge from him, tho' they did from others: And would you have wondered, Harriet, ſaid ſhe, with [188] ſuch treatment before my eyes as Caroline met with, if I had been provoked to take ſome raſh ſtep?

No provocation, reply'd I, from a father, can juſtify a raſh ſtep in a child. I am glad, and ſo, I dare ſay, are you, that your prudence was your ſafeguard, when you were deprived of that which ſo good a child might have expected from a father's indulgence, eſpecially when a mother was not in being.

Miſs Grandiſon coloured, and bit her lip. Why did ſhe colour?

At laſt Sir Thomas took a reſolution to look into and regulate his affairs, preparative to the leave he in⯑tended to give to his beloved ſon to come over. From his duty, diſcretion, and good management, he was ſure, he ſaid, he ſhould be the happieſt of men. But he was at a loſs what to do with Mrs. Oldham and her two children. He doubted not, but his ſon had heard of his guilty commerce with her: Yet he cared not, that the young gentleman ſhould find her living in a kind of wife-like ſtate in one of the family⯑ſeats: And yet ſhe had made too great a ſacrifice to him, to be unhandſomely uſed; and he thought he ought to provide for his children by her.

While he was meditating this change of meaſures, that he might ſtand well with a ſon, whoſe character for virtue and prudence made his father half afraid of him, a propoſal of marriage was made to him for his ſon by one of the firſt men in the kingdom, whoſe daughter, accompanying her brother and his wife, in a tour to France and Italy, ſaw and fell in Love with the young Gentleman at Florence: And her brother gave way to his ſiſter's regard for him, for the ſake of the character he bore among the peo⯑ple of prime conſideration in Italy.

Sir Thomas had ſeveral meetings on this ſubject, both with the brother, and the Earl his father; and was ſo fond of bringing it to bear, that he had thoughts of reſerving to himſelf an annuity, and [189] making over the whole of his eſtate to his ſon, in fa⯑vour of this match: And once he ſaid, He ſhould by this means do as Victor Amadeus of Savoy did, rid himſelf of many incumbrances; and being not a king, was ſure of his ſon's duty to him.

The Ladies found a Letter of their brother's among Sir Thomas's looſe papers, which ſhewed that this offer had been actually made him. This is a copy of it.

WHAT an excellent young man is this!—But ob⯑ſerve, Lucy; he ſays he will on his return to England unboſom his whole heart to his father; and till then, he deſires him to diſcontinue the begun treaty with Lord N.—Ah, my dear!—What has any new ac⯑quaintance to expect, were ſhe to be intangled in a hope⯑leſs [191] paſſion? But let us conſider—Had Sir Charles been actually married, would his being ſo, have enabled a woman's reaſon to triumph over her paſ⯑ſion?—If ſo, paſſion is ſurely conquerable: And did I know any-body that wou'd allow it to be ſo in the one caſe, and not in the other, I would bid her take ſhame to herſelf, and, with deep humiliation, mourn her ungovernable folly.

The above Letter came not to the hands of the young Ladies till after their father's death, which happen'd within a month of his receiving it, and be⯑fore he had actually given permiſſion for the young gentleman's return. You may ſuppoſe they were ex⯑ceſſively affected with the bad impreſſions their father had ſought to make in their brother's heart, of their conduct; and when he died, were the more appre⯑henſive of their force.

He had ſuſpended the treaty of marriage for his ſon till the young gentleman ſhould arrive. He had per⯑plexed himſelf about his private affairs, which, by long neglect, became very intricate, and of conſequence muſt be very irkſome for ſuch a man to look into. He was re⯑ſolved therefore to leave it to each ſteward (having per⯑ſuaded himſelf, againſt appearances, to have a good opinion of both) to examine the accounts of the other; not only as this would give the leaſt trouble to himſelf, but as they had ſeveral items to charge, which he had no mind ſhould be explained to his ſon. Nor were thoſe gentlemen leſs ſolicitous to obtain diſcharges from him; for being appriſed of his reaſon for look⯑ing into his affairs, they were afraid of the inſpection of ſo good a manager as their young maſter was known to be.

Mr. Filmer, the ſteward for the Iriſh eſtate, came over, on this occaſion, with his accounts: The two ſtewards acted in concert; and on the report of each, Sir Thomas examined totals only, and order'd releaſes to be drawn for his ſigning.

[192] What a degrader even of high ſpirits, is vice! What meanneſs was there in Sir Thomas's pride! To be afraid of the eye of a ſon, of whoſe duty he was always boaſting!

But who ſhall anſwer for the reſormation of an habitual libertine, when a temptation offers? Ob⯑ſerve what followed:

Mr. Filmer, knowing Sir Thomas's frailty, had brought over with him, and with a view to enſnare the unhappy man, a fine young creature, not more than ſixteen, on pretence of viſiting her aunt who lived in Pallmall, and who was a relation of his wife. She was innocent of actual crime: But her parents had no virtue, and had not made it a part of the young woman's education; but had, on the contrar [...], brought her up with a notion that her beauty would make her fortune; and ſhe knew it was all the for⯑tune they had to give her.

Mr. Filmer, in his attendances on Sir Thomas, was always praiſing the beauty of Miſs Obrian; her gen⯑teel deſcent, as well as figure, her innocence [Inno⯑cence! the Attractive equally to the attempts of Rakes and Devils!] But the Baronet, intent upon purſuing his better ſchemes, for ſome time, only gave the artful man the hearing. At laſt, however (for curioſity⯑ſake) he was prevailed upon to make the aunt a viſit. The niece was not abſent. She more than anſwered all that Filmer had ſaid in her praiſe, as to the beauty of her perſon. Sir Thomas repeated his viſits. The girl was well tutored; behaved with prudence, with reſerve rather; and, in ſhort, made ſuch an impreſſion on his heart, that he declared to Filmer that he could not live without her.

Advantage was endeavoured to be taken of his in⯑ſatuation. He offered high terms: But for ſome time the aunt inſiſted upon his marrying her niece.

Sir Thomas had been too long a leader in the free world, to be ſo taken-in, as it is called. But at laſt, a [193] propoſal was made him, from no part of which, the aunt declared ſhe would recede, tho' the poor girl, (who, it was pretended, loved him above all the men ſhe had ever ſeen) were to break her heart for him. A fine piece of flattery, Lucy, to a man who num⯑bered near three times her years; and who was ſtill fond of making conqueſts.

The terms were: That he ſhould ſettle upon the young woman 500 l. a year for her life; and on her father and mother, if they could be brought to con⯑ſent to the (infamous) bargain, 200 l. a year for their joint and ſeparate lives: That Miſs Obrien ſhould live at one of Sir Thomas's ſeats in England; be allowed genteel equipages, his livery; and even for her credit-ſake, in the eye of her own rela⯑tions, who were of figure, to be connived at in taking his name. The aunt left it to his generoſity to reward her for the part ſhe had taken, and was to take, to bring all this about with the parents and girl.

Sir Thomas thought theſe demands much too high: He ſtood out for ſome time; but artifice being uſed on all ſides to draw him on, Love, as it is called (proſti⯑tuted word!) obliged him to comply.

His whole concern was now, how to provide for this new expence, without robbing, as he called it, his ſon (daughters were but daughters, and no part of the queſtion with him); and to find excuſes for conti⯑nuing the young gentleman abroad,

Mrs. Oldham had, for ſome time paſt, been uneaſy herſelf, and made him ſo, by her compunction on their guilty commerce; and now lately, on Sir Tho⯑mas's communicating his intention to recal his ſon, had hinted her wiſhes to be allowed to quit the houſe in Eſſex, and to retire both from that and him; for fear of making the young gentleman as much her enemy, as the two ſiſters avowedly were.

[194] Mrs. Oldham's propoſal, now that he was acquaint⯑ed with Miſs Obrian, was better reliſhed by Sir Thomas, than when it was firſt made. And before he actually ſigned and ſealed with the aunt, for her niece, he thought it was beſt to ſound that unhappy woman, whether ſhe in earneſt deſired to retire; and if ſo, what were her expectations from him: Re⯑ſolving, in order to provide for both expences, to cut down timber, that, he ſaid, groaned for the ax; but which hitherto he had let ſtand as a reſource for his ſon, and to enable him to clear incumbrances that he had himſelf laid upon a part of his eſtate.

Accordingly, he ſet out for his ſeat in Eſſex.

THERE, while he was planning future ſchemes of living, and reckoning upon his ſavings in ſe⯑veral articles, in order the better to ſupport an ex⯑pence ſo guiltily to be incurred; and had actually be⯑gun to treat with Mrs. Oldham; who agreed, at the firſt word, to retire; not knowing but his motive, (poor man!) as well as hers, was reformation. There was he attacked by a violent fever; which in three days deprived him of the uſe of that reaſon which he had ſo much abuſed.

Mr. Bever, his Engliſh ſteward, poſted down, on the firſt news he had of his being taken ill, hoping to get him to ſign the ready-drawn up releaſes. But the eagerneſs he ſhewed to have this done, giving cauſe of ſuſpicion to Mrs. Oldham, ſhe would not let him ſee his maſter, tho' he arrived on the ſecond day of Sir Thomas's illneſs, which was before the fever had ſeized his brain.

Mr. Filmer had been to meet, and conduct to Lon⯑don, Mrs. Obrian the mother of the girl, who came over to ſee the ſale of the poor victim's honour com⯑pleted [Could you have thought, Lucy, there was ſuch a mother in the world?]; and it was not till the fifth day of the unhappy man's illneſs that he got to him, with his releaſes alſo ready drawn up, as well [195] as the articles between him and the Obrians, in hopes to find him well enough to ſign both. He was in a viſible conſternation when he found his maſter ſo ill. He would have ſtaid in the houſe to watch the event; but Mrs. Oldham not permitting him to do ſo, he put up at the next village, in hopes of a favourable turn of the diſtemper.

On the ſixth day, the phyſicians giving no hopes of Sir Thomas's recovery, Mrs. Oldham ſent to acquaint the two young Ladies with his danger; and they in⯑ſtantly ſet out to attend their father.

They could not be ſuppoſed to love Mrs. Oldham; and, taking Mr. Grandiſon's advice, who accompa⯑nied them, they let the unhappy gentlewoman know, that there was no farther occaſion for her attendance on their father. She had prudently, before, that ſhe might give the leſs offence to the two Ladies, removed her ſon by her former huſband, and her two children by Sir Thomas; but inſiſted on continuing about him, and in the houſe, as well from motives of ten⯑derneſs, as for her own ſecurity, leſt ſhe ſhould be charged with embezlements; for ſhe expected not mercy from the family, if Sir Thomas died.

Poor woman! what a tenure was that by which ſhe held!

Miſs Caroline conſented, and brought her ſiſter to conſent, that ſhe ſhould ſtay; abſolutely againſt Mr. Grandiſon's advice; who, libertine as he was him⯑ſelf, was very zealous to puniſh a poor Magdalen, who, tho' faulty, was not ſo faulty as himſelf. Wick⯑ed people, I believe, my dear, are the ſevereſt puniſhers of thoſe wicked people, who adminiſter not to their own particular gratifications. Can mercy be expected from ſuch? Mercy is a virtue.

It was ſhocking to the laſt degree to the worthy daughters to hear their raving father call upon nobody ſo often, as upon Miſs Obrian; tho' they then knew nothing of the girl, nor of the treaty on foot for her; [196] nor could Mrs. Oldham inform them, who or what ſhe was. Sometimes, when the unhappy man was quieteſt, he would call upon his ſon, in words gene⯑rally of kindneſs and Love. Once in particular, cry⯑ing out—O ſave me! ſave me! my Grandiſon, by thy preſence! I ſhall be conſumed by the fire that is already lighted up in my boiling blood.

On the ninth day, no hope being left, and the phyſicians declaring him to be a dying man, they di⯑ſpatched a Letter by a meſſenger to haſten over their brother, who (having left his ward, Miſs Emily Jer⯑vois, at Florence in the protection of the worthy Dr. Bartlett) was come to Paris, as he had written, in expectation of receiving there his father's permiſſion to return to England.

On the eleventh day of his illneſs, Sir Thomas came a little to himſelf. He knew his daughters. He wept over them. He wiſh'd he had been kinder to them. He was ſenſible of his danger. Several times he lifted up his feeble hands, and dying eyes, repeat⯑ing, God is juſt. I am, I have been, very wicked! Repentance! Repentance! how hard a taſk! ſaid he once to the miniſter who attended him, and whoſe prayers he deſired.—And Mrs. Oldham once coming in his ſight—O Mrs. Oldham! ſaid he, what is this world now? What wou'd I give—But repent, re⯑pent—Put your good reſolutions in practice, leſt I have more ſouls than my own to anſwer for.

Soon after this his delirium return'd; and he ex⯑pired about eleven at night, in dreadful agonies. Unhappy man!—Join a tear with mine, my Lucy, on the awful exit of Sir Thomas Grandiſon, tho' we knew him not.

Poor man! in the purſuit—Poor man!—He lived not to ſee his beloved ſon!—

The two daughters, and Mr. Grandiſon, and Mrs. Oldham (for her own ſecurity) put their reſpective ſeals on every place, at that houſe, where papers, or [197] any-thing of value were ſuppoſed to be repoſited: And Mr. Grandiſon, aſſuming that part of the ma⯑nagement; diſmiſſed Mrs. Oldham from the houſe; and would not permit her to take with her more than one ſuit of cloaths, beſides thoſe ſhe had on. She wept bitterly, and complained of harſh treat⯑ment: But was not pitied; and was referred by Mr. Grandiſon to his abſent couſin for ſtill more rigorous juſtice.

She appealed to the ladies; but they reproach'd her with having lived a life of ſhame, againſt better knowledge; and ſaid, That now ſhe muſt take the conſequence. Her puniſhment was but beginning. Their brother would do her ſtrict juſtice, they doubted not: But a man of his virtue, they were ſure, would abhor her. She had miſ-led their father, they ſaid. It was not in his temper to be cruel to his children. She had lived upon their fortunes; and now they had nothing but their brother's favour to depend upon.

Daughters ſo dutiful, my Lucy, did right to excuſe their father all they could: But Mrs. Oldham ſuf⯑fer'd for all.

I AM ſo much intereſted in this important hiſtory▪ that I have not the heart to break into it, to tell you how very agreeably I paſs my time with theſe ladies, and Lord L. in thoſe parts of the day, when we are all aſſembled. Miſs Emily has a fine mind; gentle, delicate, innocently childiſh beyond her ſtature and womanly appearance; but not her years. The two Ladies are very good to her. Lord L. is an excellent man.

This is Friday morning: And no Sir Charles! Canterbury is ſurely a charming place. Was you ever at Canterbury, Lucy?

To-morrow, Lady D. is to viſit my aunt. My letter to my aunt will be in time, I hope. I long to [198] know—Yet why ſhould I?—But Lady D. is ſo good a woman! I hope ſhe will take kindly my denial, and look upon it as an abſolute one.

I have a great deal more of the family-hiſtory to give you: I wiſh I could write as faſt as we can talk. But, Lucy, concerning the Lady, with whoſe father Sir Thomas was in treaty for his ſon? Don't you want to know ſomething more about her?—But, ah, my dear, be this as it may, there is a Lady, in whoſe favour both ſiſters intereſt themſelves. I have found that out. Nor will it be long, I ſuppoſe, before I ſhall be in⯑formed who ſhe is; and whether or not Sir Charles encourages the propoſal.

Adieu, my Lucy! You will ſoon have another Letter from

LETTER XIX. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

YOU ſee, my dear, how many important mat⯑ters depended on the conduct and determination of the young Baronet

Lord I was at this time in Scotland, where he had ſeen married two of his three ſiſters; and was buſying himſelf in putting his affairs in ſuch a way, as ſhould enable him to depend the leſs, either on the juſtice or generoſity of Sir Thomas Grandiſon, whoſe beloved daughter he was impatient to call his.

Miſs Charlotte was abſolutely dependent upon her brother's generoſity; and both ſiſters had reaſon to be the more uneaſy, as it was now, in the worldly⯑wiſe way of thinking, become his intereſt to keep up the diſtance which their unhappy father had been ſol⯑licitous to create between them, from a policy low, and entirely unworthy of him.

The unhappy Mrs. Oldham had already received a ſevere inſtance of the change of her fortune; and [199] had no reaſon to doubt, but that the ſiſters, who had always, from the time ſhe was ſet over them as their governeſs, look'd upon her with an evil eye; and afterwards had but too juſt a pretence for their aver⯑ſion; would incenſe againſt her a brother, whoſe fortune had been leſſen'd by his father's profuſion. The few relations ſhe had living, were people of honour, who renounced all correſpondence with her, from the time ſhe had thrown herſelf ſo abſolutely into the power of Sir Thomas Grandiſon: And ſhe had three ſons to take care of.

Bever and Filmer, the Engliſh and Iriſh ſtewards, were attending Sir Charles's arrival with great impa⯑tience, in hopes he would ſign thoſe accounts of theirs; to which they had no reaſon to queſtion but his father would have ſet his hand, had he not been taken ſo ſuddenly ill, and remained delirious almoſt to the end of his life.

Miſs Obrian, her mother and aunt, I ſhall men⯑tion in another place.

Lord W. had a great diſlike to his nephew, for no other reaſon, as I have ſaid, than becauſe he was his father's favourite. Yet were not his nieces likely to find their uncle more their friend for that. He was indeed almoſt entirely under the management of a woman, who had not either the birth, the education, the ſenſe, or moderation of Mrs. Oldham, to put in the con⯑trary ſcale againſt her loſt virtue; but abounded, it ſeems, in a low ſelfiſh cunning, by which ſhe never failed to carry every point ſhe ſet her heart upon: For, as is uſual, they ſay, with theſe keeping men, Lord W. would yield up, to avoid her teazing, what he would not have done to a wife of fortune and family, who might have been a credit to his own: But the real ſlave, imagined himſelf maſter of his liberty; and ſat down ſatisfied with the ſound of word.

The ſuſpended treaty of marriage with Lord N.'s ſiſter was alſo to be taken into conſideration, either [200] to be proceeded with, or broken off, as ſhould be concluded by both parties.

This was the ſituation of affairs in the family, when Sir Charles arrived.

He return'd not an anſwer to his ſiſter's notification of his father's danger; but immediately ſet out for Calais, and the ſame day arrived at the houſe of his late father in St. James's Square. His ſiſters con⯑cluded, that he would be in town nearly as ſoon as a Letter could come. They therefore every hour, for two days together, expected him.

Judge, my dear, from the foregoing circumſtances (ſiſterly Love out of the queſtion, which yet it could not be) how awful muſt be to them, after eight or nine years abſence, the firſt appearance of a brother, on whom the whole of their fortunes depended; and to whom they had been accuſed by a father, now ſo lately departed, of want of duty; their brother's duty unqueſtionable!

In the ſame moment he alighted from his poſt⯑chaiſe, the door was open'd; he enter'd; and his two ſiſters met him, in the hall.

The graceful youth of ſeventeen, with fine curling auburn locks waving upon his ſhoulders; delicate in complexion; intelligence ſparkling in his fine free eyes; and good humour ſweetening his lively features; they remembred: And, forgetting the womanly beau⯑ties into which their own features were ripen'd in the ſame ſpace of time, they ſeemed not to expect that manly ſtature and air, and that equal vivacity and in⯑trepidity, which every one who ſees this brother, ad⯑mires in his noble aſpect: An aſpect then appearing more ſolemn than uſual; an unburied and beloved father in his thoughts.

O my brother! ſaid Caroline, with open arms: But, ſhrinking from his embrace; May I ſay, my brother?—and was juſt fainting. He claſped her in his arms, to ſupport her—

[201] Charlotte, ſurpriſed at her ſiſter's emotion, and af⯑fected with his preſence, ran back into the room they had both quitted, and threw herſelf upon a ſettee.

Her brother followed her into the room, his arm round Miſs Caroline's waiſt, ſoothing her; and, with eyes of expectation, my Charlotte! ſaid he, his in⯑viting hand held out, and haſtening towards the ſettee. She then found her feet; and, throwing her arms about his neck, he folded both ſiſters to his boſom: Receive, my deareſt ſiſters, receive your bro⯑ther, your friend; aſſure yourſelves of my unabated Love.

That aſſurance, they ſaid, was balm to their hearts; and when each was ſeated, he, ſitting over againſt them, look'd firſt on one, then on the other; and taking each by the hand; Charming women! ſaid he: How I admire my ſiſters! You muſt have minds anſwerable to your perſons. What pleaſure, what pride, ſhall I take in my ſiſters!

My dear Charlotte! ſaid Miſs Caroline, taking her ſiſter's other hand, has not our brother, now we ſee him near, all the brother in his aſpect? His goodneſs only looks ſtronger, and more perfect: What was I afraid of?

My heart alſo ſunk, ſaid Charlotte; I know not why. But we feared—Indeed, Sir, we both feared—O my brother!—Tears trickling down the cheeks of each—we meant not to be undutiful—

Love your brother, my ſiſters, as he will endeavour to deſerve your Love. My mother's daughters could not be undutiful! Miſtake only! Unhappy miſap⯑prehenſion! We have all ſomething—Shades as well as lights there muſt be!—A kind, a dutiful veil—

He preſſed the hand of each with his lips, aroſe, went to the window, and drew out his handkerchief.

What muſt he have in his thoughts! No doubt, but his father's unhappy turn, and recent departure! No wonder, that ſuch a ſon could not, without pious [202] emotion, bear the reflexions that muſt croud into his mind, at that inſtant!

Then, turning towards them, permit me, my dear ſiſters, ſaid he, to retire for a few moments. He turn'd his face from them. My father, ſaid he, demands this tribute. I will not aſk your excuſe, my ſiſters.

They joined in the payment of it; and waited on him to his apartment, with ſilent reſpect. No cere⯑mony, I hope, my Caroline, my Charlotte. We were true ſiſters and brother a few years ago. See your Charles as you ſaw him then. Let not abſence which has increaſed my Love, leſſen yours.

Each ſiſter took a hand, and would have kiſſed it. He claſped his arms about them both, and ſaluted them.

He caſt his eye on his father's and mother's pic⯑tures with ſome emotion, then on them; and again ſaluted each.

They withdrew. He waited on them to the ſtair⯑head. Sweet obligingneſs! Amiable ſiſters! In a quarter of an hour I ſeek your preſence.

Tears of joy trickled down their cheeks. In half an hour he joined them in another dreſs, and re-ſa⯑luted his ſiſters, with an air of tenderneſs, that baniſhed fear, and left room for nothing but ſiſterly love.

Mr. Grandiſon came in ſoon after. That gentle⯑man: who (as I believe I once before mentioned), had affected, in ſupport of his own free way of life, to talk how he would laugh at his couſin Charles, when he came to England, on his pious turn, as he called it; and even to boaſt, that he would enter him into the town-diverſions, and make a man of him; was ſtruck with the dignity of his perſon, and yet charmed with the freedom of his behaviour. Good God! ſaid he to the Ladies afterwards, what a fine young man is your brother!—What a ſelf-denier was your father!—

[203] The Ladies retiring, Mr. Grandiſon enter'd upon the circumſtances of Sir Thomas's illneſs and death; which, he told the ſiſters, he touch'd tenderly: As ten⯑derly, I ſuppoſe, as a man of his unfeeling heart could touch ſuch a ſubject. He inveighed againſt Mrs. Oldham; and with ſome exultation over her, told his couſin what they had done as to her; and exclaim'd againſt her for the ſtate ſhe had lived in; and the difficulty ſhe made to reſign Sir Thomas to his daugh⯑ters care in his illneſs; and particularly for preſuming to inſiſt upon putting her ſeal with theirs to the cabi⯑nets and cloſets, where they ſuppoſed were any va⯑luables.

Sir Charles heard all this without ſaying one word, either of approbation or otherwiſe.

Are you not pleaſed with what we have done, as to this vile woman, Sir Charles?

I have no doubt, couſin, replied Sir Charles, that every thing was deſign'd for the beſt.

And then Mr. Grandiſon, as he told the ſiſters, ridiculed the unhappy woman on her grief, and mor⯑tified behaviour, when ſhe was obliged to quit the houſe, where, he ſaid, ſhe had reigned ſo long Lady Paramount.

Sir Charles aſk'd, If they had ſearch'd for or found a will?

Mr. Grandiſon ſaid. They had look'd in every probable place; but found none.

What I think to do, couſin, ſaid Sir Charles, is, to interr the venerable remains (I muſt always ſpeak in this dialect, Sir) with thoſe of my mother. This I know, was his deſire. I will have an elegant, but not ſumptuous monument erected to the memory of both, with a modeſt inſcription, that ſhall rather be matter of inſtruction to the living, than a panegyric on the departed. The funeral ſhall be decent, but not oſtentatious. The difference in the expence ſhall be privately applied to relieve or aſſiſt diſtreſſed [204] houſekeepers, or ſome of my fathers poor tenants, who have large families, and have not been wanting in their honeſt endeavours to maintain them. My ſiſters, I hope, will not think themſelves neglected, if I ſpare them the pain of conferring with them on a ſubject that muſt afflict them.

Theſe ſentiments were new to Mr. Grandiſon. He told the ſiſters what Sir Charles had ſaid. I did not contradict him, ſaid he: But as Sir Thomas had ſo magnificent a mind, and always lived up to it, I ſhould have thought he ought to have been honoured with a magnificent funeral. But I cannot but own, however, that what your brother ſaid, had ſomething great and noble in it.

The two Ladies, on their brother's hinting his in⯑tentions to them, acquieſced with all he propoſed; and all was performed according to directions which he himſelf wrote down. He allowed of his ſiſters compliance with the faſhion: But he in perſon ſaw performed, with equal piety and decorum, the laſt offices.

Sir Charles is noted for his great dexterity in buſi⯑neſs. Were I to expreſs myſelf in the language of Miſs Grandiſon, I ſhould ſay, that a ſun-beam is not more penetrating. He goes to the bottom of an af⯑fair at once, and wants but to hear both ſides of a queſtion to determine; and when he determines, his execution can only be ſtaid by perverſe accidents, that lie out of the reach of human foreſight: And when he finds that to be the caſe, yet the thing right to be done, he changes his methods of proceeding; as a man would do, who finding himſelf unable to purſue his journey by one road, becauſe of a ſudden inundation, takes another, which, tho'a little about, carries him home in ſafety.

As ſoon as the ſolemnity was over, Sir Charles, leaving every thing at Grandiſor-hall as he found it, and the ſeals unbroken, came to town, and, in the [205] preſence of his ſiſters, broke the ſeals that had been affixed to the cabinets and eſcrutoires in the houſe there.

The Ladies told him, that their bills were ready for his inſpection; and that they had a balance in their hands. His anſwer was, I hope my dear ſiſters, we ſhall have but one intereſt. It is for you to make the demands upon me, and for me to anſwer them as I ſhall be able.

He made memorandums of the contents of many papers, with ſurpriſing expedition; and then locked them up. He found a bank note of 350l. in the private drawer of one of the bureaus in the apartment that was his father's. Be pleaſed, my ſiſters, ſaid he, preſenting it to Miſs Caroline, to add that to the mo⯑ney in your hands, to anſwer family calls.

He then went with his ſiſters to the houſe in Eſſex. When there, he told them, it was neceſſary for Mrs. Oldham (who had lodgings at a neighbouring farm⯑houſe) to be preſent at the breaking of the ſeals, as ſhe had hers affixed; and accordingly ſent for her.

They deſired to be excuſed ſeeing her.

It will be a concern to me, ſaid he, to ſee her: But what ought to be done, muſt be done.

The poor woman came with fear and trembling.

You will not Lucy, be diſpleaſed with an account of what paſſed on the occaſion. I was very attentive to it, as given by Miſs Grandiſon, whoſe memory was aided by the recollection of her ſiſter. And, as I am uſed to aim at giving affecting ſcenes in the very words of the perſons, as near as I can, to make them appear lively and natural, you will expect, that I ſhould attempt to do ſo in this caſe.

Sir Charles, not expecting Mrs Oldham would be there ſo ſoon, was in his ſtud with his groom and coachman, looking upon his horſes: For there were moſt of the hunters and racers, ſome of the fineſt beaſts in the kingdom,

[206] By miſtake of Miſs Caroline's maid, the poor wo⯑man was ſhewn into the room where the two Ladies were. She was in great confuſion; courteſied; wept; and ſtood, as well as ſhe could ſtand; but leaned againſt the tapeſtry-hung wall.

How came this? ſaid Miſs Caroline to her maid. She was not to be ſhewn in to us.

I beg pardon; courteſying, and was for withdraw⯑ing; but ſtopt on Charlotte's ſpeech to her—My bro⯑ther ſent for you madam—Not we, I aſſure you—He ſays it is neceſſary, as you thought fit to put your ſeal with ours to the locked-up places, that you ſhould be preſent at the breaking them. Yet he will ſee you with as much pain as you give us. Prepare yourſelf to ſee him. You ſeem mighty unfit—No wonder!

You have heard Lucy, that Charlotte attributes a great deal of alteration for the better in her temper, and even in her heart, to the example of her brother.

Indeed, I am unfit, very unfit, ſaid the poor wo⯑man. Let me, Ladies, beſpeak your generoſity: A little of your pity: A little of your countenance. I am, indeed, an unhappy woman!

And ſo you deſerve to be.

I am ſure we are the ſufferers, ſaid Caroline.

Lord L. as ſhe owned, was then in her head, as well as heart.

If I may withdraw without ſeeing Sir Charles I ſhould take it for a favour. I find I cannot bear to ſee him. I inſiſt not upon being preſent at the breaking the ſeals. I throw myſelf upon your mercy, Ladies, and upon his.

Cruel girls! ſhall I call them, Lucy? I think I will—Cruel girls! They aſk'd her not to ſit down, tho' they ſaw the terror ſhe was in: And that ſhe had the modeſty to forbear ſitting in their preſence.

What an humbling thing is the conſciouſneſs of having lived faultily, when calamity ſeizes upon the [207] heart!—But ſhall not virtue be appeaſed, when the hand of God is acknowledged in the words, counte⯑nance, and behaviour, of the offender? Yet, per⯑haps, it is hard for ſufferers—Let me conſider—Have I, from my heart, forgiven Sir Hargrave Pol⯑vexfen? I will examine into that another time.

And ſo you have put yourſelf into mourning, ma⯑dam?

Shall I ſay, that Caroline ſaid this, and what follows? Yet I am glad it was not Charlotte, methinks; for Caroline thought herſelf a ſufferer by her, in an eſpe⯑cial manner—However, I am ſorry it was either.

Pretty deep too! Your weeds, I ſuppoſe, are at your lodgings—

You have been told, Lucy, that Mrs. Oldham by many was called Lady Grandiſon▪ and that her birth, her education, good ſenſe, tho' all was not ſufficient to ſupport her virtue againſt neceſſity and temptation (poor woman!) might have given her a claim to the title.

Indeed, Ladies, I am a real mourner▪ But I never myſelf aſſumed a character, to which it was never in my thought to ſolicit a right.

Then, madam, the world does you injuſtice, ma⯑dam, ſaid Charlotte.

Here, Ladies are the keys of the ſtores; of the confectionary; of the wine-vaults: You demanded them not, when you diſmiſſed me from this houſe. I thought to ſend them▪ But by the time I could pro⯑vide myſelf with a lodging, you were gone; and left only two common ſervants, beſides the groom and helpers: And I thought it was beſt to keep the keys, till I could deliver them to your order, or Sir Char⯑les's. I have not been a bad manager, Ladies, con⯑ſider'd as an houſekeeper. All I have in the world is under the ſeals. I am at yours and your brother's mercy.

The ſiſters order'd their woman to take the keys, [208] and bring them to the foot of their thrones. Dear Ladies, forgive me, if you ſhould, by ſurprize, ſee this. I know that you think and act in a different manner now.

Here comes my brother! ſaid Caroline.

You'll ſoon know, Madam, what you have to [...] to from him, ſaid Charlotte.

The poor woman trembled, and turned pale. O how her heart muſt throb, I warrant!

LETTER XX. Miſs BYRON. In continuation.

SIR Charles enter'd. She was near the door. His ſiſters were at the other end of the room.

He bowed to her—Mrs. Oldham, I preſume, ſaid he—Pray, Madam, be ſeated. I ſent to you, that you might ſee the ſeals—Pray, Madam, ſit down.

He took her hand, and led her to a chair not far diſtant from them; and ſat down in one between them and her.

His ſiſters owned, they were ſtartled at his com⯑plaiſance to her. Dear Ladies! they forgot, at that moment, that mercy and juſtice are ſiſter-graces, and cannot be ſeparated in a virtuous boſom.

Pray, madam, compoſe your ſelf; looking upon her with eyes of anguiſh and pity mingled, as the Ladies ſaid, they afterwards recollected with more ap⯑probation than at the time. What, my Lucy, muſt be the reflexions of this humane man, reſpecting his father, and her, at that moment!

He turn'd to his ſiſters, as if to give Mrs. Oldham time to recover herſelf. A flood of tears relieved her. She tried to ſuppreſs her audible ſobs, and, moſt con⯑ſiderately, he would not hear them. Her emotions attracting the eyes of the Ladies, he took them off, by aſking them ſomething about a picture that hung on the other ſide of the room.

[209] He then drew his chair nearer to her, and again taking her trembling hand—I am not a ſtranger to your melancholy ſtory, Mrs. Oldham—Be not diſ⯑compoſed—

He ſtopt to give her a few moments time to reco⯑ver herſelf—Reſuming; See in me a friend, ready to thank you for all your paſt good offices, and to for⯑get all miſtaken ones.

She could not bear this. She threw herſelf at his feet. He raiſed her to her chair.

Poor Mr. Oldham, ſaid he, was unhappily careleſs! Yet I have been told he loved you, and that you me⯑rited his Love—Your misfortunes threw you into the knowledge of our family. You have been a faithful manager of the affairs of this houſe—By written evi⯑dences I can juſtify you; evidences that no one here will, I am ſure, diſpute.

It was plain, that his father had written in her praiſe, as an oeconomiſt; the only light in which this pious ſon was then willing to conſider her.

Indeed, I have—And I would ſtill have been—

No more of that, madam. Mr. Grandiſon, who is a good-natured man, but a little haſty, has told me that he treated you with unkindneſs. He owns you were patient under it. Patience never yet was a ſoli⯑tary virtue. He thought you wrong for inſiſting to put your ſeal: But he was miſtaken. You did right, as to the thing; and I dare ſay, a woman of your prudence did not wrong in the manner. No one can judge of another, that cannot be that very other in imagination, when he takes the judgment-ſeat.

O my brother! O my brother!—ſaid both Ladies at one time—half in admiration, tho' half-concern'd, at a goodneſs ſo eclipſing.

Bear with me my ſiſters. We have all ſomething to be forgiven for.

They knew not how far they were concern'd, in his opinion, in the admonition, from what their [210] father had written of them. They owned, that they were mortified: Yet knew not how to be angry with a brother, who, tho' more than an equal ſufferer with them, could preſerve his charity.

He then made a motion, dinner-time, as he ſaid, not being near, for chocolate; and referred to Mrs. Oldham to direct it, as knowing beſt where every⯑thing was. She referred to the deliver'd-up keys. Caroline called in her ſervant, and gave them to her. Sir Charles deſired Mrs. Oldham to be ſo good as to direct the maid.

The Ladies eaſily ſaw, that he intended by this, to relieve the poor woman by ſome little employment; and to take the opportunity of her abſence, to en⯑deavour to reconcile them to his intentions, as well as manner of behaving to her.

The moment ſhe was gone out of the room, he thus addreſſed himſelf to the Ladies:

My dear ſiſters, let me beg of you to think fa⯑vourably of me on this occaſion. I would not diſ⯑oblige you for the world. I conſider not the caſe of this poor woman, on the foot of her own merits, with regard to us. Our father's memory, is concern'd. Was he accountable to us, was ſhe, for what each did?—Neither of them was. She is intitled to juſtice, for its own ſake: To generoſity for ours: To kindneſs, for my father's. Mr. Grandiſon accuſed her of living in too much ſtate, as he called it. Can that be ſaid to be her fault? With regard to us, was it any-body's? My father's magnificent ſpirit is well known. He was often at this houſe. Where-ever he was, he lived in the ſame taſte. He praiſes to me Mrs. Oldham's oeconomy in ſeveral of his Letters. He had a right to do what he would with his own fortune. It was not ours till now. Whatever he has left us, he might have ſtill leſſen'd it. That oeconomy is all that con⯑cerns us in intereſt; and that is in her favour. If any act of kindneſs to my ſiſters was wanting from [211] the parent, they will rejoice, that they deſerved what they hoped to meet with from him: And where the parent had an option, they will be glad, that they acquieſced under it. He could have given Mrs. Old⯑ham a title to a name that would have commanded our reſpect, if not our reverence. My ſiſters have enlarged minds: They are daughters of the moſt charitable, the moſt forgiving, of women. Mr. Grandiſon (it could not be you) has carried too ſevere an hand towards her. Yet he meant ſervice to us all. I was willing, before I commended this poor woman to your mercy (ſince it was neceſſary to ſee her) to judge of her behaviour. Is ſhe not humbled enough? From my ſoul I pity her. She loved my father; and I have no doubt but mourns for him in ſecret; yet dares not own, dares not plead, her love. I am wil⯑ling to conſider her only as one who has executed a principal office in this houſe: It becomes us ſo to behave to her, as that the world ſhould think, we con⯑ſider her in that light only. As to the living proofs (unhappy innocents!) I am concern'd, that what are the delight of other parents, are the diſgrace of this. But let us not, by reſentments, publiſh faults that could not be hers only—Need I ſay more?—It would pain me to be obliged to it. With pain have I ſaid thus much—The circumſtances of the cafe are ſuch, that I cannot give it its full force. I aſk it of you as a favour, not as a right (I ſhould hate myſelf, were I capable of exerting to the utmoſt any power that may be devolved upon me) that you will be ſo good as to leave the conduct of this affair to me. You will greatly oblige me, if you can give me your chearful acquieſcence.

They anſwer'd by tears. They could not ſpeak.

By this time Mrs. Oldham returned; and, in an humble manner, offer'd chocolate to each young lady. They bent their necks, not their bodies, with cold ci⯑vility, as they owned; each extending her ſtately hand, [212] as if ſhe knew not whether ſhe ſhould put it out or not.

Methinks I ſee them. How could ſuch gracious girls be ſo ungracious, after what Sir Charles had ſaid?

Their brother, they ſaw, ſeemed diſpleaſed. He took the ſalver from Mrs. Oldham. Pray, madam, ſit down, ſaid he, offering her a diſh, which ſhe de⯑clined, and held the toaſted bread to his ſiſters; who then were ready enough to take each ſome—And when they had drank their chocolate; Now, Mrs. Oldham, ſaid he, I will attend you—Siſters, you will give me your company.

They aroſe to follow him. The poor woman courteſied, I warrant, and ſtood by while they paſſed: And methinks I ſee the dear girls bridle, and walk as ſtately and as upright, as dutcheſſes may be ſuppoſed to do in a coronation-proceſſion.

Miſs Grandiſon acknowledged, that ſhe grudged her brother's extraordinary complaiſance to Mrs. Old⯑ham; and ſaid to her ſiſter, as arm in arm they went out, Politeneſs is a charming thing, Caroline!

I don't quite underſtand it, replied the other.

They did not intend their brother ſhould hear what they ſaid: But he did; and turned back to them (Mrs. Oldham being at a diſtance, and on his ſpeak⯑ing low, dropping ſtill further behind them): Don't you, my ſiſters, do too little, and I will not do too much. She is a gentlewoman. She is unhappy from within. Thank God, you are not. And ſhe is not now, nor ever was, your ſervant.

They reddened, and looked upon each other in ſome confuſion.

He preſſed each of their hands, as in Love. Don't let me give you concern, ſaid he; only permit me to remind you, while it is yet in time, that you have an opportunity given you to ſhew yourſelves Gran⯑diſons.

[213] When they came to the chamber in which Sir Tho⯑mas died, and which was his uſual apartment, Mrs. Oldham turned pale, and begged to be excuſed at⯑tending them in it. She wept. You will find every⯑thing there, Sir, ſaid ſhe, to be as it ought. I am ready to anſwer all queſtions. Permit me to wait in the adjoining drawing-room.

Sir Charles allow'd her requeſt.

Poor woman! ſaid he: How unhappily circum⯑ſtanced is ſhe, that ſhe dares not, in this company, ſhew the tenderneſs, which is the glory, not only of the female, but of the human nature!

In one of the cabinets in that chamber they found a beautiful little caſket, and a paper wafer'd upon the back of it; with theſe words written in Sir Thomas's hand, My wife's jewels, &c.

The key was tied to one of the ſilver handles.

Had you not my mother's jewels divided between you? aſk'd he.

My father once ſhew'd us this caſket at Grandiſon⯑hall, anſwer'd Caroline. We thought it was ſtill there.

My dear ſiſters, let me aſk you: Did my father forbear preſenting theſe to you, from any declared miſapprehenſion of your want of duty to him?

No, replied Miſs Caroline. But he told us, they ſhould be ours when we married. You have heard, I dare ſay, that he was not fond of ſeeing us dreſſed.

It muſt have been miſapprehenſion only, had it been ſo. You could not be undutiful to a father.

He would not permit it to be open'd before him: But, preſenting it to them, Receive your right, my ſiſters. It is heavy. I hope there is more than jewels in it. I know that my mother uſed to depoſit in it her little hoard. I am ſure there can be no diſpute between ſuch affectionate ſiſters, on the partition of the contents of this caſket.

While their brother was taking minutes of papers, &c. the ladies retired to open the caſket.

[214] They found three purſes in it; in one of which was an India bond of 500 l. incloſed in a paper, thus inſcribed by Lady Grandiſon—From my maiden money. 120 Caroluſes were alſo in this purſe in two papers; the one inſcribed, From my aunt Molly; the other, From my aunt Kitty.

In the ſecond purſe were 115 Jacobuſes in a paper, thus inſcribed by the ſame Lady, Preſents made at different times by my honoured mamma, Lady W. three bank notes and an India bond, to the amount of 300 l.

The third purſe was thus labelled, as Lady L. ſhewed me by a copy ſhe had of it in her memoran⯑dum book.

‘"For my beloved ſon: In acknowledgement of his duty to his father and me from infancy to this hour Jan. 1. 17—Of his love to his ſiſters—Of the generoſity of his temper; never once having taken advantage of the indulgence ſhewn him by parents ſo fond of him, that, as the only ſon of an antient family, he might have done what he pleaſed with them—Of his love of truth: And of his modeſty, cou⯑rage, benevolence, ſteadineſs of mind, do⯑cility, and other great and amiable quali⯑ties, by which he gives a moral aſſurance of making A GOOD MAN.—GOD grant it. Amen!"’

The Ladies immediately carried this purſe, thus labelled, to their brother. He took it; read the la⯑bel, turning his face from his ſiſters, as he read;—Excellent woman! ſaid he, when he had read it, Being dead, ſhe ſpeaks. May her pious prayer be an⯑ſwer'd! looking up. Then opening the purſe, he found five coronation-medals of different princes in it, and ſeveral others of value; a gold ſnuff-box, in [215] which, wrapt in cotton, were three diamond rings; one fignified to be his grandfather's; the two others, an uncle's and brother's of Lady Grandiſon: But what was more valuable to him than all the reſt, the Ladies ſaid, was a miniature picture of his mother, ſet in gold; an admirable likeneſs, they told me; and they would get their brother to let me ſee it.

Neglecting all the reſt, he eagerly took it out of the ſhagreen caſe; gazed at it in ſilence; kiſſed it; a tear falling from his eye. He then put it to his heart: Withdrew for a few moments; and return'd with a chearful aſpect.

The Ladies told him what was in the other two purſes. They ſaid they made no ſcruple of accept⯑ing the jewels; but the bonds, the notes, and the money they offer'd to him.

He aſk'd, If there were no particular direction up⯑on either? They anſwer'd, No.

He took them; and emptying them upon the table, mingled the contents of both together: There may be a difference in the value of each: Thus mingled, you, my ſiſters, will equally divide them between you. This picture (putting his hand on his boſom, where it yet was,) is of infinite more va⯑lue than all the three purſes contained beſides.

You will excuſe theſe particularities, my dear friends. But if you do not, I can't help it. We are all apt, I believe, to purſue the ſubjects that moſt delight us. Don't grudge me my pleaſure: Perhaps I ſhall pay for it. I admire this man more than I can expreſs.

Saturday Night—And no Sir Charles Grandiſon. With all my heart!

LETTER XXI. Miſs BYRON. [...]n Continuation.

WHEN Sir Charles and his ſiſters had look'd over every other place in his father's apartment, they followed Mrs. Oldham to hers.

A very handſome apartment upon my word!

How could Miſs Grandiſon—She knew the ſituation the unhappy woman had been in: Miſtreſs of that houſe.

Her brother look'd at her.

Mrs. Oldham ſhewed them which of the furniture and pictures (ſome of the latter valuable ones) ſhe had brought into the houſe, ſaved, as ſhe ſaid, from the wreck of her huſband's fortune—But, ſaid ſhe, with the conſent of creditors. I, for my part, did not wrong any-body.

In that cloſet, Sir, continued ſhe, pointing to it, is all that I account myſelf worth in the world. Mr. Grandiſon was pleaſed to put his ſeal upon the door. I beſought him to let me take 50l. out of it; having but very little money about me: But he would not: His refuſal, beſides the diſgrace, has put me to ſome ſhifts. But, weeping, I throw myſelf upon your mercy, Sir.

The ſiſters frankly owned, that they harden'd each other by fault-finding. They whiſper'd, that ſhe ex⯑pected no mercy from them, it was plain. O what a glory belongs to goodneſs, as well in its influences, as in itſelf! Not even theſe two amiable ſiſters, as Miſs Charlotte once acknowleged, were ſo noble in them⯑ſelves before their brother's arrival, as they are now.

Aſſure yourſelf of juſtice, madam, ſaid Sir Charles. Mr. Grandiſon is haſty: But he would have done you juſtice, I dare ſay. He thought he was acting for a truſt.—You may have letters, you may have things, [217] here in this cloſet, that we have no buſineſs with—Then, breaking the ſeal; I leave it to you, to ſhew us any-thing proper for us to take account of. The reſt I wiſh not to ſee.

My Ladies, Sir—They will be pleaſed to—

YES, Mrs. Oldham, ſaid Caroline: And was put⯑ting herſelf before her brother, and ſo was her ſiſter, while Sir Charles was withdrawing from the cloſet: But he took each by her hand, interrupting Caroline—

No, Mrs. Oldham—Do you lay out things as you pleaſe: We will ſtep into the next apartment.

He accordingly led them both out.

You are very generous, Sir, ſaid Miſs Grandiſon.

I would be ſo, Charlotte. Ought not the private drawers of women to be ſacred?

But ſuch a creature, Sir—ſaid Miſs Caroline—

Every creature is intitled to juſtice—Can Ladies forget decorum? You ſee ſhe was ſurpriſed by Mr. Grandiſon. She has ſuffer'd diſgrace: Has been put to ſhifts.

Well, Sir, if ſhe will do juſtice—

Remember (with looks of meaning) whoſe houſe⯑keeper ſhe was.

They owned they were daunted [And ſo, dear La⯑dies, you ought to have been] but not convinced at that inſtant. It is generous to own this; becauſe the acknowledgment makes not for your glory, Ladies.

Mrs. Oldham, with tears in her eyes, came cour⯑teſying to the Ladies and their brother, offering to conduct them into her cloſet. They found, that ſhe had ſpread on her table in it, and in the two win⯑dows, and in the chairs, letters, papers, laces, fine linen, &c.

Theſe papers, Sir, ſaid ſhe, belong to you. I was bid to keep them ſafe [Poor woman! ſhe knew not how to ſay, by whom bid.] You will ſee, Sir, the ſeals are whole.

Perhaps a will; ſaid he.

[218] No, Sir, I believe not. I was told they belonged to the Iriſh eſtate. Alas! and ſhe wiped her eyes, I have reaſon to think, there was not time for a will—

I ſuppoſe, Mrs. Oldham, you urged for a will—ſaid Miſs Charlotte.

Indeed, Ladies, I often did; I own it.

I don't doubt it, ſaid Miſs Caroline.

And very prudently, ſaid Sir Charles. I myſelf have always had a will by me. I ſhould think it a kind of preſumption to be a week without one.

In this drawer, Sir, are the money and notes, and ſecurities, that I have been getting together. I do aſſure you, Sir, very honeſtly—pulling out a draw⯑er in the cabinet.

To what amount, Mrs. Oldham, if I may be ſo bold? aſk'd Caroline.

No matter, ſiſter Caroline, to what amount, ſaid Sir Charles. You hear Mrs. Oldham ſay, they are honeſtly got together. I dare ſay, that my father's bounty enabled even his meaneſt ſervants to ſave mo⯑ney. I would not keep one, that I thought did not. I make no compariſons, Mrs. Oldham: You are a gentlewoman.

The two Ladies only whiſper'd to each other, as they owned, So we think!—Were there ever ſuch perverſe girls? I am afraid my uncle will think him⯑ſelf juſtified by them on this occaſion, when he aſſerts, that it is one of the moſt difficult things in the world to put a woman right, when ſhe ſets out wrong. If it be generally ſo with us, I am ſure we ought to be very careful of prepoſſeſſion.—And has he not ſaid, Lucy, that the beſt women, when wrong, are moſt tenacious? It may be ſo: But then I hope, he will allow, that at the time they think themſelves right.

I believe there is near 1200 l. ſaid Mrs. Oldham, and look'd, the Ladies obſerved, as if ſhe was afraid of their cenſures.

Near 1200 l. Mrs. Oldham! ſaid Miſs Charlotte. [219] —Lord, ſiſter, how glad would we have been ſome⯑times of as many ſhillings between us!

And what, Caroline, what Charlotte, young Ladies as you were, but growing up into women, and in your father's houſe, would you have done with more than current money? Now you have a claim to indepen⯑dency, I hope that 1200 l. will not be the ſum of ei⯑ther of your ſtores.

They courteſied, they ſaid; but yet thought 1200 l. a great ſaving—Dear Ladies! how could you forget, and what a pain would it have been for your brother to have reminded you, that Mrs. Oldham had two children; to ſay nothing of a third!

Trembling, as they owned, Here, ſaid ſhe, in this private drawer, are ſome preſents—I diſclaim them. If you believe me, Ladies, I never wiſh'd for them. I never was ſeen in them but once. I never ſhall wear them—offering to pull out the drawer.

Forbear, Mrs. Oldham. Preſents are yours. The money in that drawer is yours. Never will I either diſparage or diminiſh my father's bounty. He had a right to do as he pleaſed. Have not we to do as we pleaſe? Had he made a will, would they not have been yours?—If you, Mrs. Oldham, if you, my ſiſ⯑ters, can tell me of any-thing he but intended or in⯑clined to do by any one of his people, that intention will I execute with as much exactneſs, as if he had made a will, and it was part of it. Shall we do no⯑thing but legal juſtice?—The law was not made for a man of conſcience.

Lord bleſs me, my Lucy! what ſhall I do about this man?

HERE (would you believe it?) I laid down my pen; ponder'd, and wept, for joy; I think, it was joy, that there is ſuch a young man in the world; for what elſe could it be?—And now, with a wa'try eye, twinkle, twinkle, do I reſume it.

[220] His ſiſters owned, they were confounded; but that ſtill the time was to come when they were to ap⯑prove, from their hearts, of what he ſaid and did.

Mrs. Oldham wept at his goodneſs. She wept, I make no doubt alſo, as a penitent.—If my Ladies, ſaid ſhe, will be pleaſed to—And ſeemed to be about making an offer to them—of the jewels, as I ſuppoſe.

My ſiſters, Mrs. Oldham, ſaid Sir Charles, inter⯑rupting her are Grandiſons. Pray, madam—holding in her hand, which was extended to the drawer—

She took out of another drawer 40 l. and ſome ſil⯑ver. This, Sir, is money that belongs to you. I re⯑ceived it in Sir Thomas's illneſs. I have ſome other moneys; and my accounts wanted but a few hours of being perfected, when I was diſmiſſed. They ſhall be completed, and laid before you.

Let this money, Mrs. Oldham, be a part of thoſe accounts; declining, then, to take it.

There are Letters, Sir, ſaid ſhe. I would with⯑hold nothing from you. I know not, if, among ſome things, that I wiſh not any-body to ſee, there are not concerns, that you ought to be made acquainted with relating to perſons and things, particularly to Mr. Bever and Mr. Filmer, and their accounts. I hope they are good men.—You muſt ſee theſe Let⯑ters, I believe.

Let me deſire you, Mrs. Oldham, to make ſuch extracts from thoſe Letters, or any others, as you think will concern me; and as ſoon as you can: For thoſe gentlemen have written to me to ſign their ac⯑counts, which, they hint, had my father's appro⯑bation.

She then told Sir Charles (as I have already relat⯑ed) how earneſt Mr. Bever was to get to the ſpeech of Sir Thomas; and how mortified Mr. Filmer was to find him incapable of writing his name; which both ſaid was all that was wanted.

An honeſt man, ſaid Sir Charles, fears not in⯑ſpection. [221] They ſhall want no favour from me. I hope nothing but juſtice from them.

She then ſhewed him ſome other papers; and while he was turning them over, the Ladies and ſhe withdrew to another apartment, in which, in two mahogany cheſts, was her wardrobe. They owned they were curious to inſpect it, as ſhe had always made a great figure. She was intending to oblige them; and had actually open'd one of the cheſts, and, tho' reluctantly, taken out a gown, when Sir Charles enter'd.

He ſeemed diſpleaſed; and, taking his ſiſters aſide, Tell me, ſaid he, can what this poor woman ſeems to be about, proceed from her own motion? I beg of you to ſay, you put her upon it. I would not have reaſon to imagine, that any woman, in ſuch cir⯑cumſtances, could make a diſplay of her apparel.

Why, the motion is partly mine, I muſt needs ſay, anſwer'd Charlotte.

Wholly, I hope; and the compliance owing to the poor woman's mortified ſituation. You are young wo⯑men. You may not have conſider'd this matter. Do you imagine, that your curioſity will yield you pleaſure? Don't you know what to expect from the magnificent and bountiful ſpirit of him, to whoſe me⯑mory you owe duty?

They recollected themſelves, bluſhed, and deſi⯑red Mrs. Oldham to lock up the cheſt. She did; and ſeemed pleaſed to be excuſed from the mortify⯑ing taſk.

Ah, my Lucy, one thing I am afraid of; and that is, that Sir Charles Grandiſon, politely as he behaves to us all, thinks us women in general very pitiable creatures. I wiſh I knew that he did; and that for two reaſons: That I might have ſomething to think him blameable for: And to have the pride of aſſuring myſelf, that he would be convinced of that fault, were he to be acquainted with my grandmamma, and aunt.

[222] But, do you wonder, that the ſiſters, whoſe minds were thus open'd and enlarged by the example of ſuch a brother, blazing upon them all at once, as I may ſay, in manly goodneſs, on his return from abroad, whither he ſet out a ſtripling, ſhould, on all occaſions, break out into raptures, whenever they mention THEIR brother?—Well may Miſs Grandi⯑ſon deſpiſe her Lovers, when ſhe thinks of him and of them at the ſame time.

Sunday. Sir Charles is in town we hear: Came thither but laſt night—Nay for that matter, his ſiſters are more vexed at him than I am.—But what pre⯑tence have I to be diſturbed? But I ſay of him, as I do of Lady D.: He is ſo good, that one would be willing to ſtand well with him.—Then he is my Brother, you know.

LETTER XXII. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

AFTER Sir Charles had inſpected into every⯑thing in this houſe, and taken minutes of papers, letters, writings, &c. and lock'd up the plate, and other valuables, in one room, he order'd his ſervants to carry into Mrs. Oldham's apartment all that be⯑longed to her; and gave her the key of that; and di⯑rected the houſe-keeper to be aſſiſting to her in the removal of them, at her own time and pleaſure, and to ſuffer her to come and go, at all times, with free⯑dom and civility, as if ſhe had never left the houſe, were his words.

How the poor woman courteſied and wept, I war⯑rant! The dear girls, I am afraid, then envied her—and perhaps expreſſed a grudging ſpirit; for they ſaid, This was their brother's addreſs to them at that time:

You may look upon the juſtice I aim at doing to [223] perſons who can claim only juſtice from me, as an earneſt, that I will do more than juſtice to my beloved ſiſters: And you ſhould have been the firſt to have found the fruits of the love I bear you, had I not been afraid, that prudence would have narrowed my intentions. The moment I know what I can do, I will do it; and I requeſt you to hope, largely: If I have ability, I will exceed your hopes.

My dear ſiſters, continued he, and took one hand of each, I am ſorry, for your ſpirits ſake, that you are left in my power. The beſt of women was al⯑ways afraid it would be ſo. But the moment I can, I will give you an abſolute independence on your brother, that your actions and conduct may be all your own.

Surely, Sir, ſaid Caroline (and they both wept) we muſt think it the higheſt felicity, that we are in the power of ſuch a brother. As to our ſpirits, Sir—

She would have ſaid more; but could not; and Charlotte took it up where her ſiſter left off: Beſt of brothers, ſaid ſhe—Our ſpirits ſhall, as much as poſſible (I can anſwer for both) be guided hereafter by yours. Forgive what you have ſeen amiſs in us—But we deſire to depend upon our good behaviour. We cannot, we will not, be independent of you.

We will talk of theſe matters, replied he, when we can do more than talk. I will aſk you, Caroline, after your inclinations; and you, Charlotte, after yours, in the ſame hour that I know what I can do for you both, in the way of promoting them. Enter, mean time, upon your meaſures: Reckon upon my beſt aſſiſtance: Baniſh ſuſpenſe. One of my firſt pleaſures will be, to ſee you both happily married.

They did not ſay, when they related this to me, that they threw themſelves at his feet, as to their better father, as well as brother: But I fancy they did.

He afterwards, at parting with Mrs. Oldham, ſaid, [224] I would be glad to know, madam, how you diſpoſe of yourſelf: Every unhappy perſon has a right to the good offices of thoſe who are leſs embarraſs'd. When you are ſettled, pray let me know the manner: And if you acquaint me with the ſtate of your affairs, and what you propoſe to do for and with thoſe who are intitled to your firſt care, your confidence in me will not be miſplaced.

And pray, and pray, aſk'd I of the Ladies, what ſaid Mrs. Oldham? How did ſhe behave upon this?—

Our Harriet is ſtrangely taken with Mrs. Old⯑ham's ſtory, ſaid Miſs Grandiſon—Why, ſhe wept plentifully, you may be ſure. She claſped her hands, and kneeled to pray to God to bleſs him, and all that—She could not do otherwiſe.

See, Lucy!—But am I, my grandmamma; am I, my aunt, to blame? Is it inconſiſtent with the ſtrict⯑eſt virtue to be charmed with ſuch a ſtory?—May not virtue itſelf pity the lapſed?—O yes, it may! I am ſure, you, and Sir Charles Grandiſon, will ſay it may. A while ago, I thought my ſelf a poor creature, compared to theſe two Ladies: But now I believe I am as good as they in ſome things.—But they had not ſuch a grandmamma and aunt as I am bleſs'd with: They loſt their excellent mother, while they were young; and their brother is but lately come over: And his ſuperior excellence, like ſun⯑ſhine, breaking out on a ſudden, finds out, and brings to ſight, thoſe ſpots and freckles, that were hardly before diſcoverable.

Sir Charles deſired Mrs. Oldham would give in writing what ſhe propoſed to do for herſelf, and for thoſe who were under her care. She did, at her firſt opportunity. It was, That ſhe purpoſed going to London, for the ſake of the young people's education: Of turning into money what jewels, cloaths, and plate, ſhe ſhould think above her then ſituation in life: [225] Of living retired in a little genteel houſe: And ſhe gave in an eſtimate of her worth: To what amount the Ladies know not: but this they know, that their brother allows her an annuity, for the ſake of her ſons by his father: And they doubt not but he will be ſtill kinder to them, when they are old enough to be put into the world.

This the Ladies think an encouragement to a guilty life. I will not dare to pronounce upon it, becauſe I may be thought partial to the generous man: But ſhould be glad of my uncle's opinion. This, how⯑ever, may be ſaid, That Sir Charles Grandiſon has no vices of his own to cover by the extenſiveneſs of his charity and beneficence, and if it be not good⯑neſs in him to do thus, it is greatneſs; and this, if it be not praiſe-worthy, is the firſt inſtance that I have known goodneſs and greatneſs of ſoul ſeparable.

The brother and ſiſters went down, after this, to Grandiſon-hall; and Sir Charles had reaſon to be pleaſed with the good order in which he found every-thing there.

LETTER XXIII. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

THE next thing the Ladies mentioned, was, Sir Charles's management with the two ſtewards.

I will not aim at being very particular in this part of the family-hiſtory.

When Sir Charles found that his father had left the inſpection of each ſteward's account to the other, he enter'd into the examination of the whole himſelf, and tho' he allowed them ſeveral diſputable and un⯑proved charges, he brought them to acknowledge a much greater ballance in his favour, than they had made themſelves debtors for. This was the uſe he made of detecting them, to his ſiſters—You ſee, [226] ſiſters, that my father was not ſo profuſe as ſome people thought him. He had partners in his eſtate; and I have reaſon to think that he often paid intereſt for his own money.

On his ſettling with Filmer, the treaty with Miſs Obrien came out. Mr. Filmer had, by ſurprize, brought that beautiful girl into Sir Charles's preſence; and he owned to his ſiſters, that ſhe was a very lovely creature.

But when the mother and aunt found, that he only admired her as a man would a fine picture, they in⯑ſiſted that Sir Thomas had promiſed to marry Miſs Obrien privately; and produced two of his Letters to her, that ſeemed to give ground for ſuch an expecta⯑tion. Sir Charles was grieved for the ſake of his fa⯑ther's memory, at this tranſaction; and much more on finding that the unhappy man went down to his ſeat in Eſſex, his head and heart full of this ſcheme, when he was ſtruck with his laſt fatal illneſs.

A meeting was propoſed by Filmer, between Sir Charles, the mother, the aunt, and himſelf, at the aunt's houſe in Pallmall. Sir Charles was very de⯑ſirous to conceal his father's frailty from the world. He met them: But before he enter'd into diſcourſe, made it his requeſt to be allowed half an hour's con⯑verſation with Miſs Obrien by herſelf; at the ſame time, praiſing, as it deſerved, her beauty.

They were in hopes, that ſhe would be able to make an impreſſion on the heart of ſo young and ſo lively a man; and complied. Under pretence of preparing her for ſo unexpected a viſit, her aunt gave her cue; But, inſtead of her captivating him, he brought her to ſuch confeſſions, as ſufficiently let him into the baſeneſs of their views.

He returned to company, the young woman in his hand. He repreſented to the mother the wickedneſs of the part ſhe had come over to act, in ſuch ſtrong terms, that ſhe fell into a fit. The aunt was terrified. [227] The young creature wept; and vowed that ſhe would be honeſt.

Sir Charles told them, That if they would give him up his father's two Letters, and make a ſolemn promiſe never to open their lips on the affair, and would procure for her an honeſt huſband, he would give her 1000l. on the day of marriage; and, if the made a good wiſe, would be further kind to her.

Filmer was very deſirous to clear himſelf of having any hand in the blacker part of this plot. Sir Charles did not ſeem ſolicitous to detect and expoſe him: But left the whole upon his conſcience. And having made before ſeveral objections to his account, which could not be ſo well obviated in England, he went over to Ireland with Filmer; and there very ſpeedily ſettled every thing to his own ſatisfaction; and, diſmiſſing him more genteelly than he deſerved, took upon him⯑ſelf the management of that eſtate, directing ſeveral obvious improvements to be made, which are likely to turn to great account.

On his return, he heard that Miſs Obrien was ill of the ſmall-pox. He was not, for her own ſake ſor⯑ry for it. She ſuffer'd in her face, but ſtill was pretty and genteel: And ſhe is now the honeſt and happy wife of a tradeſman near Golden-ſquare who is very fond of her. Sir Charles gave with her the promiſed ſum, and another 100 l. for wedding-cloaths.

One part of her happineſs and her huſband's is, that her aunt, ſuppoſing ſhe had diſgraced herſelf by this match, never comes near her: And her mother is re⯑turn'd to Ireland to her huſband, greatly diſſatisfied with her daughter on the ſame account.

While theſe matters were agitating, Sir Charles forgot not to enquire what ſteps had been taken with regard to the alliance propoſed between himſelf and Lady Frances N.

He paid his firſt viſit to the father and brother of that Lady.

[228] All that the ſiſters know of this matter, is, that the treaty was, on this firſt viſit, entirely broken off. Their brother, however, ſpeaks of the Lady, and of the whole family, with great reſpect. The Lady is known to eſteem him highly. Her father, her brother, ſpeak of him every-where with great re⯑gard: Lord N. calls him the fineſt young gentleman in England. And ſo, Lucy, I believe he is. Sir Charles Grandiſon, Lord N. once ſaid, knows better by non-compliance, how to create friendſhips, than moſt men do by compliance.

Lady L. and Miſs Grandiſon, who, as I have be⯑fore intimated, have another Lady whom they favour, once ſaid to him, that the Earl and his ſon Lord N. were ſo conſtantly ſpeaking in his praiſe, that they could not but think that it would at laſt be a match between him and Lady Frances. His anſwer was, The Lady is infinitely deſerving: But it cannot be.

I am ready to wiſh, he would ſay, what can be, that we need not—Ah, Lucy!—I know not what I would ſay: But ſo it will always be with ſilly girls, that diſtinguiſh not between the would and the ſhould. One of which, is

LETTER XXIV. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

I WILL proceed with the family-hiſtory.

Sir Charles forgot not, on his arrival in Eng⯑land, to pay an early viſit to Lord W. his mother's brother, who was then at his houſe near Windſor.

I have told you, that my Lord had conceived a diſlike to him; and that for no other reaſon, but be⯑cauſe his father loved him. Lord W. was laid up with the gout when he came: But he was inſtantly admitted to his ſtately preſence. The firſt ſalutations, [229] on one ſide, were reſpectful; on the other coldly civil. My Lord often ſurvey'd his kinſman from head to foot, as he ſat; as if he were loth to like him, I ſuppoſe; yet knew not how to help it. He found fault with Sir Thomas. Sir Charles told him, That it was a very ingrateful thing to him to hear his father ſpoken ſlightly of. He deſired his Lordſhip to for⯑bear reflections of that ſort. My father, ſaid he, is no more. I deſire not to be made a party in any diſ⯑putes that may have happen'd between him and your Lordſhip. I come to attend you as a duty which I owe to my mother's memory, and I hope this may be done without wounding that of my father.

You ſay well, ſaid my Lord; but I am afraid, kinſman, by your air and manner, and ſpeech too, that you want not your father's proud ſpirit.

I revere my father for his ſpirit, my Lord. It might not always be exerted as your Lordſhip, and his other relations, might wiſh: But he had a manly one. As to myſelf, I will help your Lordſhip to my character at once. I am, indeed, a very proud man. I cannot ſtoop to ſlatter, and, leaſt of all men, the great and rich: Finding it difficult to reſtrain this fault, it is my whole ſtudy to direct it to laudable ends; and I hope, that I am too proud to do any⯑thing unworthy of my father's name, or of my mo⯑ther's virtue.

Why, Sir, (and look'd at him again from head to foot) your father never in his whole life ſaid ſo good a thing.

Your Lordſhip knew not my father as he deſerved to be known. Where there are miſunderſtandings between two perſons, tho' relations, the character of either is not to be taken from the other. But, my Lord, this is, as I ſaid before, a viſit of duty: I have nothing to aſk of your Lordſhip, but your good opi⯑nion; and that no longer than I deſerve it,

My Lord was diſpleaſed. ‘"You have nothing to aſk [230] of me!"’—repeated he. Let me tell you, independent Sir, that I like not your ſpeech. You may leave me, if you pleaſe. And when I want to ſee you again, I will ſend for you.

Your ſervant, my Lord, and let me ſay, that I will not again attend you, till you do. But when you do, the ſummons of my mother's brother ſhall be chearfully obeyed, when perhaps this unkind treat⯑ment of Lord W. might be remembred.

The very next day, my Lord hearing he was ſtill at Windſor, viewing the curioſities of the place, ſent to him: He directly went. My Lord expreſſed him⯑ſelf highly pleaſed with his readineſs to come, and apologized to him for his behaviour of the day before. He called him nephew, and ſwore, that he was juſt ſuch a young man as he had wiſh'd to ſee. Your mo⯑ther uſed to ſay, proceeded he, that you could do what you would with her, ſhould you even be unrea⯑ſonable! And I beg of you to aſk me no favour, but what is fit for me to grant, for fear I ſhould grudge it after I had granted it; and call in queſtion, what no man is willing to do, my own diſcretion.

He then aſk'd him about the methods he intended to take with regard to his way of life. Sir Charles anſwered, That he was reſolved to diſpoſe of his racers, hunters, and dogs, as ſoon as he could: That he would take a ſurvey of the timber upon his eſtate, and fell that which would be the worſe for ſtanding; and doubted not but that a part of it in Hampſhire would turn to good account: But that he would plant an oakling for every oak he cut down, for the ſake of poſterity: He was determined, he ſaid, to let the houſe in Eſſex; and even to ſell the eſtate there, if it were neceſſary, to clear incumbrances; and to pay off the mortgage upon the Iriſh eſtate; which he had a notion was very improvable.

What did he propoſe to do for his ſiſters; who were left, he found, abſolutely in his power?

[231] Marry them, my Lord, as ſoon as I can. I have a good opinion of Lord L. My elder ſiſter loves him. I will enquire what will make him eaſy: And eaſy I will make him, on his marriage with her, if it be in my power. I will endeavour to make the younger happy too. And when theſe two points are ſettled, but not before, becauſe I will not deceive the family with which I may engage, I will think of myſelf.

Bravo! bravo! ſaid my Lord; and his eyes, that were brimful ſome moments before, then ran over. As I hope to be ſaved, I had a good mind to—to—to—And there he ſtopt.

I aſk only for your approbation, my Lord, or cor⯑rection if wrong. My father has been very regard⯑ful of my intereſts. He knew my heart, or he would perhaps have been more ſolicitous for his daughters. I don't find that my circumſtances will be very nar⯑row: And if they are, I will live within compaſs, and even lay up. I endeavour to make a virtue of my pride, in this reſpect: I cannot live under obliga⯑tion. I will endeavour to be juſt; and then, if I can, I will be generous. That is another ſpecies of my pride. I told your Lordſhip, that if I could not conquer it, I would endeavour to make it innocent at leaſt.

Bravo! bravo! again cried my Lord—And threw his arms about his neck, and kiſſed his cheek, tho' he ſcreamed out at the ſame time, having hurt his gouty knee with the effort.

And then, and then—ſaid my Lord, you will marry yourſelf. And if you marry with diſcretion, good Lord, what a great man you will be!—And how I ſhall love you!—Have you any thoughts of marriage, kinſman?—Let me be conſulted in your match,—and—and—and—you will vaſtly oblige me. Now I believe, I ſhall begin to think the name of Grandiſon has a very agreeable ſound with it. What a fine thing it is, for a young man to be able to clear [232] up his mother's prudence ſo many years after ſhe is gone, and leſſen his father's follies! Your father did not uſe me well; and I muſt be allowed ſometimes to ſpeak my mind of him.

That, my Lord, is the only point on which your Lordſhip and I can differ.

Well, well, we won't differ—Only one thing, my dear kinſman: If you ſell, give me the preference. Your father told me, that he would mortgage to any man upon God's earth ſooner than to me. I took that very heinouſly.

There was a miſunderſtanding between you, my Lord. My father had a noble ſpirit. He might think, that there would be a ſelfiſhneſs in the appear⯑ance, had he aſk'd of your Lordſhip a favour. Little ſpirited men ſometimes chooſe to be obliged to rela⯑tions, in hopes that payment will be leſs rigorouſly exacted, than by a ſtranger.—

Ah kinſman! kinſman!—That's the white ſide of the buſineſs.

Indeed, my Lord, that would be a motive with me to avoid troubling your Lordſhip in an exigence, were it to happen. For miſtruſts will ariſe from poſſibilities of being ungrateful, when perhaps there is no room, were the heart to be known, for the ſuſpicion.

Well ſaid, however. You are a young man that one need not be afraid to be acquainted with. But what would you do as a lender? Would you think hardly of a man that wanted to be obliged to you?

O no!—But in this caſe I would be determined by prudence. If my friend regarded himſelf as the firſt perſon in the friendſhip; me but as the ſecond, in caſes that might hurt my fortune, and diſable me from acting up to my ſpirit, to other friends; I would then let him know, that he thought as meanly of my un⯑derſtanding as of my juſtice.

Lord W. was delighted with his nephew's notions. He over and over propheſied, That he would be a great man.

[233] Sir Charles, with wonderful diſpatch, executed thoſe deſigns, which he had told Lord W. he would carry into effect. And the ſale of the timber he cut down in Hampſhire, and which lay convenient for water-carriage, for the uſe of the government, fur⯑niſhed him with a very conſiderable ſum.

I have mentioned, that Sir Charles, on his ſetting out from Florence to Paris, to attend his father's leave for his coming to England, had left his ward Miſs Jervois, at the former place, in the protection of good Dr. Bartlet. He ſoon ſent for them both over, and placed the young Lady with a diſcreet widow-gen⯑tlewoman, who had three prudent daughters; ſome⯑times indulging her with leave to viſit his ſiſters, who are very fond of her, as you have heard. And now let me add, That ſhe is an humble petitioner to me, to procure her the felicity, as ſhe calls it, to be con⯑ſtantly reſident with Miſs Grandiſon. She will be ſhe ſays, the beſt girl in the world, if ſhe may be allowed this favour: And not one word of advice, either of her guardian, or of Miſs Grandiſon, or of Lady L. ſhall be loſt upon her—And beſides, as good women, ſaid ſhe, as Mrs. Lane and her daughters are, what protection can women give me, were my unhappy mother to be troubleſome, and reſolve to have me, as ſhe is continually threatening?

What a new world opens to me, my Lucy, from the acquaintance I am permitted to hold with this fa⯑mily! God grant that your poor Harriet pay not too dearly for her knowledge!—She would, I believe you think, were ſhe to be entangled in an hopeleſs Love,

LETTER XXV. Miſs BYRON, In Continuation.

LORD L. came to town from Scotland within two or three months of Sir Charles's arrival in England. His firſt viſit was to the young Baronet; who, on my Lord's avowing his paſſion for his ſiſter, and her acknowledging her eſteem for him, introduced him to her, and put their hands together, holding them between both his: With pleaſure, ſaid he, I join hands where hearts ſo worthy are united. Do me, my Lord, the honour, from this moment, to look upon me as your brother. My father, I find, was a little embarraſſed in his affairs. He loved his daugh⯑ters, and perhaps was loth that they ſhould too early claim another protection: But had he lived to make himſelf eaſy, I have no doubt, but he would have made them happy. He has left that duty upon me—And I will perform it.

His ſiſter was unable to ſpeak for joy. My Lord's tears were ready to ſtart.

My father, proceeded Sir Charles, in one of his Letters to me, acquainted me with the ſtate of your Lordſhip's affairs. Reckon upon my beſt ſervices: Promiſe, engage, undertake. The brother, my Lord, hopes to make you eaſy: The ſiſter, will make you happy.

Miſs Charlotte was affected with this ſeene; and ſhe pray'd, with her hands and eyes lifted up, that God would make his power as large as his heart: The whole world would then, ſhe ſaid, be benefited either by his bounty, or his example.

Do you wonder now, my dear Mr. Reeves, that Miſs Grandiſon, Lady L. and Lord L. know not how to contain their gratitude, when this beneficent-minded brother is ſpoken of?

[235] And has not my Charlotte, ſaid he, turning to⯑wards her, and looking at Miſs Caroline, ſome happy man, that ſhe can diſtinguiſh by her Love? You are equally dear to me, my ſiſters. Make me your con⯑fident, Charlotte. Your inclinations ſhall be my choice.

Dear Miſs Grandiſon, why did you miſlead me by your boaſts of unreſervedneſs? What room was there for reſerve to ſuch a brother?—And yet it is plain, you have not let him know all your heart; and he ſeems to think ſo too. And now you are uneaſy at an hint he has thrown out of that nature.

Two months before the marriage, Sir Charles put into his ſiſter's hands a paper ſealed up. Receive theſe, my Caroline, ſaid he, as from your father's bounty, in compliance with what your mother would have wiſh'd, had we been bleſs'd with her life. When you oblige Lord L. with one hand, make him, with the other, this preſent: And intitle yourſelf to all the gratitude, with which I know his worthy heart will overflow, on both occaſions. I have done but my duty. I have performed only an article of the will, which I have made in my mind for my father, as time was not lent him to make one for himſelf.

He ſaluted her, and withdrew, before ſhe broke the ſeal: And when ſhe did, ſhe found in it bank notes for 10,000 l.

She threw herſelf into a chair, and was unable for ſome time to ſtir; but recovering herſelf, hurried out to find her brother. She was told, he was in her ſiſter's apartment. She found him not there, but Charlotte in tears. Sir Charles had juſt left her. What ails my Charlotte?

O this brother, my Caroline!—There is no bear⯑ing his generous goodneſs. See that deed. See that paper that lies upon it. She took it up; and theſe were the contents of the paper:

The deed was for the ſame ſum, as he had given her ſiſter, and to carry intereſt.

The two ſiſters congratulated, and wept over, each other, as if diſtreſſed.—To be ſure they were diſtreſſed.

Caroline found out her brother: But when ſhe ap⯑proached him, could not utter one word of what ſhe had meditated to ſay: But, dropping down on one knee, bleſſed him, as ſhe owned, in her heart, both for Lord L. and herſelf; but could only expreſs her gra⯑titude by her lifted up hands and eyes.

Juſt as he had raiſed and ſeated her, enter'd to them the equally grateful Charlotte. He placed her next her ſiſter, and drawing a chair for himſelf, taking an hand of each, he thus addreſſed himſelf to them:

[237] My dear ſiſters, you are too ſenſible of theſe but due inſtances of my brotherly love. It has pleaſed God to take from us our father and mother. We are more than brothers and ſiſters; and muſt ſupply to each other the wanting relations. Look upon me only as an executor of a will, that ought to have been made, and perhaps would, had time been given, My circumſtances are greater than I expected; greater, I dare ſay, than my father thought they would be. Leſs than I have done, could not be done, by a brother who had power to do this. You don't know how much you will oblige me, if you never ſay one word more on this ſubject. You will act with leſs dignity, than becomes my ſiſters, if you look upon what I have done in any other light than as your due.

O my aunt! Be ſo good, as to let the ſervants prepare my apartment at Selby-houſe. There is no living within the blazing glory of this man! But, for one's comfort, he ſeems to have one fault; and he owns it—And yet does not acknowledgment anni⯑hilate that fault?—O no! for he thinks not of cor⯑recting it. This fault is pride. Do you mind what a ſtreſs he lays now-and-then on the Family-name? and, as above, Dignity, ſays he, that becomes my ſiſters!—Proud mortal!—O my Lucy! he is proud, too proud, I doubt, as well as too conſiderable in his for⯑tunes—What would I ſay?—Yet, I know who would ſtudy to make him the happieſt of men—Spare me, ſpare me here, my uncle; or rather ſkip over this paſſage, Lucy.

Sir Charles, at the end of eight months from his father's death, gave Caroline, with his own hand, to Lord L.

Charlotte had two humble ſervants, Lord G. and Sir Walter Watkyns, as you have ſeen in my former Letters; but likes not either of them.

Lord L. carried his Lady down to Scotland, where [238] ſhe was greatly admired and careſſed by all his rela⯑tions. How happy for your Harriet was their criti⯑cally-propoſed return, which carried down Sir Charles and Miſs Charlotte to prepare every-thing at Colne⯑brooke for their reception!

Sir Charles accompanied my Lord and Lady L. as far on their way to Scotland as York; where he made a viſit to Mrs Eleanor Grandiſon, his father's maiden⯑ſiſter, who reſides there. She, having heard of his goodneſs to his ſiſters, and to every-body elſe with whom he had concerns, longed to ſee him; and on this occaſion rejoiced in the opportunity he gave her to congratulate, to bleſs, and applaud, her nephew.

What multitudes of things have I farther to tell you, relating to this ſtrange man! Let me call him names.

I enquired after the hiſtory of the good Dr. Bartlett: But the Ladies ſaid, As they knew not the whole of it, they would refer me to the Doctor himſelf. They knew however enough, they ſaid, to reverence him as one of the moſt worthy and moſt pious of men. They believed, that he knew all the ſecrets of their brother's heart.

Strange, methinks, that theſe ſecrets lie ſo deep!

Yet there does not ſeem any thing ſo very forbidding, either in Sir Charles or the Doctor, but that one might aſk them a few innocent queſtions. And yet I did not uſe to be ſo very curious neither. Why ſhould I be more ſo than his ſiſters?—Yet perſons coming ſtrangers into a family of extraordinary merit, are apt, I believe, to be more inquiſitive about the affairs and particularities of that family, than thoſe who make a part of it: And when they have no other motive for their curioſity, than a deſire to applaud and imitate, I ſee not any great harm in it.

I was alſo very anxious to know, what, at ſo early an age (for Sir Charles was not then eighteen) were the faults he found with the governor appointed for [239] him. It ſeems, the man was not only profligate himſelf, but, in order to keep himſelf in countenance, laid ſnares for the young gentleman's virtue; which, however, he had the happineſs to eſcape; tho' at an age in which youth is generally unguarded. This man was alſo contentious, quarrelſome, and a drinker; and yet (as Sir Charles at the time acknowledged to his ſiſters) it had ſo very indifferent an appearance, for a young man to find fault with his governor, that, as well for the appearance-ſake, as for the man's, he was very loth to complain, till he became inſupport⯑able. It was mentioned, as it ought, greatly to the honour of the young gentleman's frankneſs and mag⯑nanimity, that when, at laſt, he found himſelf obliged to complain of this wicked man to his father, he gave him a copy of the letter he wrote, as ſoon as he ſent it away. You may make, Sir, ſaid he, what uſe you pleaſe of the ſlep I have taken. You ſee my charge. I have not aggravated it. Only, let me caution you, that, as I have not given you by my own miſconduct any advantage over me, you do not make a ſtill worſe figure in my reply, if you give me occaſion to juſtify my charge. My father loves his ſon. I muſt be his ſon. An altercation cannot end in your favour.

But, on enquiry into the behaviour of this bad man (who might have tainted the morals of one of the fineſt youths on earth), which the ſon beſought the father to make before he paid any regard to his com⯑plaints, Sir Thomas diſmiſſed him, and made a com⯑pliment to his ſon, that he ſhould have no other go⯑vernor, for the future, than his own diſcretion.

Miſs Jervois's hiſtory is briefly this:

She had one of the beſt of fathers: Her mother is one of the worſt of women. A termagant, a ſwearer, a drinker, unchaſte—Poor Mr. Jervois!—I have told you, that he (a meek man) was obliged to abandon his country, to avoid her. Yet ſhe wants to have her [240] daughter under her own tuition—Terrible!—Sir Charles has had trouble with her. He expects to have more—Poor Miſs Jervois!

Miſs Emily's fortune is very great. The Ladies ſay, Not leſs than 50,000 l. Her father was an Italian and Turky merchant; and Sir Charles, by his manage⯑ment, has augmented it to that ſum, by the recovery of ſome thouſands of pounds, which Mr. Jervois had thought deſperate.

AND thus have I brought down, as briefly as I was able, tho' writing almoſt night and day (and greatly indulged in the latter by the Ladies, who ſaw my heart was in the taſk,) the hiſtory of this family, to the time when I had the happineſs (by means, however, moſt ſhockingly undeſirable) to be firſt acquainted with it.

And now a word or two to preſent ſituations.

Sir Charles is not yet come down, Lucy. And this is Monday!—Very well!—He has made excuſes by his couſin Grandiſon, who came down with my couſin Reeves on Sunday morning; and both went up together yeſterday—Vaſtly buſy, no doubt!—He will be here to-morrow, I think, he ſays. His ex⯑cuſes were to his ſiſters and Lord L. I am glad he did not give himſelf the importance with your Harriet, to make any to her on his abſence.

Miſs Grandiſon complains, that I open not my heart to her. She wants, ſhe ſays, to open hers to me; but as ſhe has intricacies that I cannot have, I muſt begin. She knows not how, ſhe pretends. What her ſecrets may be, I preſume not to gueſs: But ſurely I cannot tell a ſiſter, who, with her ſiſter, favours another woman, that I have a regard for her brother; and that before I can be ſure he has any for me.

She will play me a trick, ſhe juſt now told me, if I will not let her know who the happy man in North⯑amptonſhire [241] is, whom I prefer to all others. That there is ſuch a one ſomewhere, ſhe ſays, ſhe has no doubt: And if ſhe find it out, before I tell her, ſhe will give me no quarter, ſpeaking in the military phraſe; which ſometimes ſhe is apt to do. Lady L. ſmiles, and eyes me with great attention, when her ſiſter is raillying me, as if ſhe, alſo, wanted to find out ſome reaſon for my refuſing Lord D. I told them an hour ago, that I am beſet with their eyes, and Lord L.'s; for Lady L. keeps no one ſecret of her heart, nor, I believe, any body's elſe that ſhe is miſtreſs of, from her Lord. Him, I think, of all the men I know (my uncle not excepted) I could ſoon⯑eſt intruſt with a ſecret. But, have I, Lucy, any to reveal? It is, I hope, a ſecret to myſelf, that never will be unfolded, even to myſelf, that I love a man, who has not made profeſſions of Love to me. As to Sir Charles Grandiſon—But have done, Harriet! Thou haſt named a name, that will lead thee—Whither will it lead me?—More than I am at pre⯑ſent my own, I am, and will be ever, my dear Lucy.

LETTER XXVI. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

I WILL now tell you, who the Lady is, to whom the two ſiſters have given their intereſt.

It is Lady Anne S. the only daughter of the Earl of S. A vaſt fortune, it ſeems, independent of her father; and yet certain of a very great one from him. She is to be here this very afternoon, on a viſit to the two Ladies. With all my heart. I hope ſhe is a very agreeable Lady. I hope ſhe has a capacious mind. I [242] hope—I don't know what to hope—And why? Be⯑cauſe I find myſelf out to be a ſelfiſh wretch, and don't wiſh her to be ſo fine and ſo good a woman, as I ſay I do. Is Love, if I muſt own Love, a narrower of the Heart?—I don't know whether, while it is in ſuſpenſe, and is only on one ſide, it be not the parent of jealouſy, envy, diſſimulation; making the perſon pretend generoſity, diſintereſtedneſs, and I cannot tell what; but ſecretly wiſhing, that her rival may not be ſo worthy, ſo lovely, as ſhe pretends to wiſh her to be.—Ah! Lucy, were one ſure, one could afford to be generous: One might then look down with pity upon a rival, inſtead of being mortified with appre⯑henſions of being looked down upon.

But I will be juſt to the education given me, and the examples ſet me. Whatever I ſhall be able to do, or to wiſh, while I am in ſuſpenſe; when any happy wo⯑man becomes the wife of Sir Charles Grandiſon, I will revere her; and wiſh her, for his ſake as well as her own, all the felicities that this world can afford; and if I cannot do this from my heart, I will diſown that heart.

The two Ladies ſet upon Mr. Grandiſon on Sun⯑day, to get out of him the buſineſs that carried Sir Charles ſo often of late to Canterbury. But tho' he owned, that he was not injoined ſecrecy, he affected to amuſe them, and ſtrangely to romance; hinting to them a ſtory of a fine woman in love with him, and he with her; yet neither of them thinking of mar⯑riage: Mr. Grandiſon valued not truth, nor ſcrupled ſolemn words, tho' ludicrouſly uttered, to make the moſt improbable ſtuff perplexing and teazing; and then the wretch laughed immoderately at the ſuſpenſe he ſuppoſed he had cauſed.

What witleſs creatures, what mere nothings, are theſe beaux, fine fellows, and laughers, of men!—how ſilly muſt they think us women!—And how [243] ſilly indeed are ſuch of us, as can keep in counte⯑nance, at our own expence, their folly!

He was left alone with me for half an hour laſt night; and, in a very ſerious manner, beſought me to receive his addreſſes. I was greatly diſpleaſed with the two ſiſters; for I thought they intended to give him this opportunity, by their manner of withdrawing. Surely, thought I, I am not ſunk ſo low in the eyes of the Ladies of ſuch a family as this, as to be thought by them a fit wiſe to the only worthleſs perſon in it, becauſe I have not the fortune of Lady Anne S. I will hear, thought I, what Miſs Grandiſon ſays to this; and, altho' I had made excuſes to my couſin Reeves's, at their requeſt, for ſtaying here longer than I had intended, I will get away to town as faſt as I can. Proud as they are of the name of Grandiſon, thought I, the name only won't do with Harriet Byron. I am as proud as they.

I ſaid nothing of my reſentment: But told both La⯑dies, the moment I ſaw them, of Mr. Grandiſon's declaration. They expreſſed themſelves highly diſ⯑pleaſed with him for it; and ſaid, they would talk to him. Miſs Grandiſon ſaid, She wondered at his pre⯑ſumption. His fortune was indeed very conſiderable, ſhe ſaid, notwithſtanding the extravagance of his youth: But it was an high degree of confidence, in a man of ſuch free principles, to think himſelf intitled to countenance from—in ſhort, from ſuch a Lady, as your Harriet, Lucy; whatever you may think of her in theſe days of her humiliation.

She added the goodneſs of my heart to her com⯑pliment. I hope it is not a bad one. Then it was that I told them of my thoughts of going to town on the occaſion: And the two Ladies inſtantly went to their couſin, and talked to him in ſuch a manner, that he promiſed, if no more notice were taken of the matter, never again to give occaſion for them to re⯑primand him on this ſubject. He had indeed, he [244] owned, no very ſtrong aſpirations after matrimony; and had balanced about it a good while, before he could allow himſelf to declare his paſſion ſo ſeriouſly: But only, as it was probable, that he might at one time or other enter the pale, he thought he never in his life ſaw a woman with whom he could be ſo happy, as with me.

But you ſee, Lucy, by this addreſs of Mr. Gran⯑diſon, that nothing is thought of in the family of an⯑other nature. What makes me a little more affected than otherwiſe I believe I ſhould be, is, That all you, my dear friends, are ſo much in love with this really great, becauſe good, man. It is a very happy cir⯑cumſtance for a young woman, to look forward to a change of condition with a man, of whom every one of her relations highly approves. But what can't be, can't. I ſhall ſee what merit Lady Anne has by-and-by. But if fortune—Indeed, my dear, were I the firſt princeſs on earth, I would have no other man, if I might have him. And ſo I ſay▪ that am but poor Harriet Byron. By this time Lady D. will have taken ſuch meaſures, I hope, as will not diſturb me in my reſolution. It is fixed, my dear. I cannot help it. I muſt not, I ought not, I therefore will not, give my hand, whatever has paſſed between that Lady and my aunt, to any man living, and leave a preſerence in my heart againſt that man. Gratitude, Juſtice, Vir⯑tue, Decency, all forbid it.

And yet, as I ſee no hope, nor trace for hope, I have begun to attempt the conqueſt of my hopeleſs—What ſhall I call it?—Paſſion?—Well, if I muſt call it ſo, I muſt. A child in love-matters, if I did not, would find me out, you know. Nor will I, how⯑ever hopeleſs, be aſhamed of owning it, if I can help it. Is not reaſon, is not purity, is not delicacy, with me? Is it perſon that I am in love with, if I am in love? No: It is virtue, it is goodneſs, it is genero⯑ſity, it is true politeneſs, that I am captivated by; all [245] centred in this one good man. What then have I to be aſhamed of?—And yet I am a little aſhamed now-and-then, for all that.

After all, that Love, which is founded on fancy, or exterior advantages, is a Love, I ſhould think, that may, and oftentimes ought to be overcome: But that which is founded on interior worth; that blazes out when charity, beneficence, piety, fortitude, are ſig⯑nally exerted by the object beloved; how can ſuch a Love as that be reſtrained, damped, ſuppreſs'd? How can it, without damping every ſpark of generous goodneſs, in what my partial grandmamma calls a fellow-heart, admiring and longing to promote and ſhare in ſuch glorious philantropy?

Philantropy!—Yes, my uncle: Why ſhould wo⯑men, in compliance with the petulance of narrow⯑minded men, forbear to uſe words that ſome ſeem to think above them, when no other ſingle word will equally expreſs their ſenſe? It will be ſaid, They need not write. Well then, don't let them read: And carry it a little farther, and they may be forbidden to ſpeak. And every lordly man will then be a Grand Signor, and have his mute attendant.

But won't you think my heart a little at eaſe, that I can thus trifle? I would ſain have it be at eaſe; and that makes me give way to any chearful idea that riſes to my mind.

The Ladies here have made me read to them ſeve⯑ral paſſages out of my Letters to you before I ſend them. They are more generous than I think I wiſh them to be, in allowing me to ſkip and paſs over ſen⯑tences and paragraphs as I pleaſe: For is not this al⯑lowing that I have ſomething to write, or have writ⯑ten ſomething, that they think I ought to keep from their knowledge; and which they do not deſire to know? With all my heart. I will not be mean, Lucy.

WELL, Lucy, Lady Anne has been here, and is [246] gone. She is an agreeable woman. I can't ſay but ſhe is very agreeable. And were ſhe actually Lady Grandiſon, I think I could reſpect her. I think I could—But O, my dear friends, what an happy creature was I, before I came to London!

There was a good deal of diſcourſe about Sir Charles. She owned, that ſhe thought him the handſomeſt man ſhe ever ſaw in her life. She was in love with his great character, ſhe ſaid. She could go no-where, but he was the ſubject. She had heard of the affair between him and Sir Hargrave; and made me an hundred compliments on the occaſion; and ſaid, That her having heard, that I was at Clone⯑brooke, was one inducement to her, to make this viſit.

It ſeems, ſhe told Miſs Grandiſon, That ſhe thought me the prettieſt creature ſhe ever beheld.—Creature was her word—We are all creatures, 'tis true: But I think I never was more diſpleaſed with the ſound of the word Creature, than I was from Lady Anne.

MY aunt's Letter relating to what paſſed between her and Lady D. is juſt brought me.

And ſo Lady D. was greatly chagrined!—I am ſorry for it. But, my dear aunt, you ſay, that ſhe is not diſpleaſed with me in the main, and commends my ſincerity. That, I hope, is but doing me juſtice. I am very glad to find, that ſhe knew not how to get over my prepoſſeſſion in favour of another man. It was worthy of herſelf, and of my Lord D.'s character. I ſhall always reſpect her. I hope this affair is quite over.

My grandmamma regrets the uncertainty I am in: But did ſhe not ſay herſelf, that Sir Charles Grandiſon was too conſiderable in his fortune; in his merit? That we were but as the private, he the public, in this particular? What room is there then for regret? [247] Why is the word uncertainty uſed? We may be certain—And there's an end of it. His ſiſters can railly me; ‘"Some happy man in Northampton⯑ſhire!"—As much as to ſay, "You muſt not think of our brother." "Lady Anne S. has a vaſt for⯑tune."’ Is not that ſaying, ‘"What hope can you have, Harriet Byron?"’—Well, I don't care: This life is but a paſſage, a ſhort paſſage, to a better: And let one joſtle, and another elbow; another puſh me, becauſe they know the weakeſt muſt give way; yet I will endeavour ſteadily to purſue my courſe, till I get thro' it, and into broad and open day.

One word only more on this ſubject—There is but one man in the world, whom I can honeſtly marry, my mind continuing what it is. His I cannot expect to be: I muſt then of neceſſity be a ſingle woman as long as I live. Well! And where is the great evil of that? Shall I not have leſs cares, leſs anxieties?—I ſhall. And let me beg of my dear friends, that none of you will ever again mention marriage to

LETTER XXVII. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

SIR Charles is come at laſt! He came time enough to breakfaſt, and with him the good Dr. Bartlett. My philoſophy, I doubt, is gone again, quite gone; for one while at leaſt. I muſt take ſanctuary, and that very ſoon, at Selby-houſe.

Every word that paſſes now, ſeems to me worth repeating. There is no deſcribing how the preſence of this man animates every one in company. But take only part of what paſſed.

[248] We were in hopes, Sir Charles, ſaid Lord L. that we ſhould have had the pleaſure of ſeeing you before now.

My heart was with you, my Lord: And (taking my hand; for he ſat next me, and bowing) the more ar⯑dently, I muſt own, for the pleaſure I ſhould have ſhared with you all, in the company of this your lovely gueſt.

[What buſineſs had he to take my hand? But in⯑deed, the character of brother might warrant the freedom.]

I was engaged moſt part of laſt week in a very me⯑lancholy attendance, as Mr. Grandiſon could have informed you.

But not a word of the matter, ſaid Mr. Grandiſon, did I tell the Ladies; looking at his two couſins. I amuſed them, as they love to do all mankind, when they have power.

The Ladies, I hope, couſin, will puniſh you for this reflexion.

I came not to town till Saturday, proceeded Sir Charles; and found a billet from Sir Hargrave Pol⯑lexfen, inviting himſelf, Mr. Merceda, Mr. Bagen⯑hall, and Mr. Jordan, to paſs the Sunday evening with me at St. James's-ſquare. The company was not ſuitable to the day, nor the day to the purpoſed meeting. I made my excuſes, and deſired them to favour me at breakfaſt on monday morning. They came. And when we were all in good humour with one another, I propoſed, and was ſeconded by Mr. Jordan, that we would make a viſit—You will hardly gueſs to whom, Miſs Byron—It was to the widow Awberry at Paddington.

I ſtarted, and even trembled. What I ſuffered there, was all in my mind.

He proceeded then to tell me, that he had, tho' not without ſome difficulty on Sir Hargrave's part, en⯑gaged him to draw upon his banker for the 100l. he had promiſed Wilſon; on Mr. Merceda on his banker [249] for 50 l. and he himſelf generouſly added 50 l. more; and, giving, as he ſaid, the air of a frolick to the performance of a promiſe, they all of them went to Paddington. There ſatisfying themſelves of the girl's love for Wilſon, and of the widow's opinion of Wilſon's good intentions by the girl; they let them know, that the ſum of 200 l. was depoſited in Sir Charles's hands to be paid on the day of marriage, as a portion for the young woman; and bid them de⯑mand it as ſoon as they thought fit. Neither Wilſon nor the widow's ſon was there. The widow and her daughters were overjoy'd at this unexpected good news.

They afterwards ſhew'd Sir Charles, it ſeems, every ſcene of my diſtreſs; and told him, and the gentlemen, all but Sir Hargrave (who had not patience to hear it, and went into another room) my whole ſad ſtory. Sir Charles was pleaſed to ſay, That he was ſo much affected with it, that he had ſome little difficulty, on joining Sir Hargrave, to be as civil to him as he was before he heard the relation.

To one condition, it ſeems, the gentlemen inſiſted Sir Charles ſhould conſent, as an inducement for them to comply with his propoſal. It was, that Sir Charles ſhould dine with Sir Hargrave and the company at his houſe on the foreſt, ſome one day in the next week, of which they would give him notice. They all inſiſted upon it; and Sir Charles ſaid, he came the more readily into the propoſal, as they declared, it would be the laſt time they ſhould ſee him, for at leaſt a twelvemonth to come; they being determined to proſecute their intended tour.

Wilſon and young Awberry waited on Sir Charles the ſame evening. The marriage is to be celebrated in a few days. Wilſon ſays, that his widow-ſiſter in Smithfield will, he is ſure, admit him into a partner⯑ſhip with her, now that he ſhall have ſomething to carry into the ſtock; for ſhe loves his wiſe-elect; and [250] the ſaving both of body and ſoul, will be owing, he declared (with tranſport that left him ſpeechleſs) to Sir Charles Grandiſon.

Every-body was delighted with the relation he gave. Dear Sir Charles, ſaid Mr. Grandiſon, let me be al⯑lowed to believe the Roman Catholic doctrine of Su⯑pererogation; and let me expreſs my hope, that I your kinſman may be the better for your good works. If all you do, is but neceſſary, the Lord have mercy upon me!

Miſs Grandiſon ſaid, if I had written to my friends the account of what I ſuffered from the vile at⯑tempt of Sir Hargrave, as ſhe doubted not but I had, Lady L. as well as herſelf, would take it for a parti⯑cular mark of my confidence, if they might be allowed to peruſe it,

When I am favoured, reply'd I, with the return of my Letters, I will very chearfully communicate to you, my dear Ladies, my relation of this ſhocking affair.

They all expreſſed a pleaſure in my frankneſs. Sir Charles ſaid, he admired me beyond expreſſion, for that noble criterion of Innocence and goodneſs.

There, Lucy!

I think there is nothing in that part, but what they may ſee.

LETTER XXVIII. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

THE two ſiſters and Lord L. were then ſolicitous to know what was the occaſion, which he called melancholy, that had engaged his attendance ſo many days at Canterbury.

It is really a melancholy occaſion, reply'd he. You muſt not be ſurpriſed, my Lord; nor you, my ſiſters, if you ſee me in mourning in a few days. His ſiſters [251] ſtarted. And ſo, truly, muſt I. But I am his third ſiſter, you know. He ſeemed in haſte to explain him⯑ſelf, left he ſhould keep us in painful ſuſpenſe. My journeyings to Canterbury have been occaſioned by the melancholy neceſſity of viſiting a ſick friend, who is now no more.

You had all ſuch an opinion, ſaid Mr. Grandiſon, that I could keep no ſecret, that—

You were reſolved, interrupted Miſs Grandiſon, to ſay any-thing but the truth. Indeed, couſin, you had better have been ſilent at this time—Is there a neceſ⯑ſity, brother, for us to go into mourning?

There is not. I had a true value for the departed. But cuſtom will oblige me to mourn outwardly, as an executor only. And I have given orders about that, and other neceſſary matters.

Did we know the deceaſed gentleman, brother? ſaid Lady L.

No. His name was Danby. He was an eminent merchant; an Engliſhman; but, from his youth, ſettled in France. He had for months been in a lan⯑guiſhing ſtate of health; and at laſt, finding his re⯑covery deſperate, was deſirous to die in his native country. He landed at Dover about two months ago: But his malady ſo greatly increaſed, that he was obliged to ſtop at Canterbury in his way to town; and there at laſt he yielded to the common deſtiny. The body was to be brought to town as this night. I have order'd it to an undertaker's. I muſt lock myſelf up for a day or two, when I go to town. His concerns are large; but he told me, not intricate. He deſired, that his will might not be opened 'till after his interrment; and that that might be private. He has two nephews, and a niece. I would have had him join them in the truſt with me: But he refuſed to do ſo. An attempt once had been made upon his life, by villains ſet at work by a wicked brother, father of thoſe nephews, and that niece, of which they were innocent: They [252] are worthy young people. I had the happineſs to ſave his life: But had no merit in it; for my own ſafety was involved in his. I am afraid he has been too grateful.

But, my good brother, ſaid Miſs Grandiſon, were you not a little reſerved on this occaſion? You went and returned, and went and returned, to Canterbury, and never ſaid one word to us of the call you had to go thither. For my part, I thought there was a La⯑dy in the caſe, I do aſſure you.

My reſerve, as you call it, Charlotte, was rather accidental, than deſigned; and yet I do now-and-then treat your agreeable curioſity as mariners are ſaid to do a whale; I throw out a tub. But this was too melancholy an occaſion to be ſported with. I was affected by it. Had the gentleman lived to come to town, you would all have been acquainted with him. I love to communicate pleaſure, but not pain; when, eſpecially, no good end can be anſwered by the commu⯑nication. I go to different places, and return, and hardly think it worth troubling my ſiſters with every movement. Had I thought you had any curioſity a⯑bout my little journeyings to Canterbury, you ſhould have had it anſwered. And yet I know my ſiſter Charlotte loves to puzzle, and find out ſecrets where none are intended.

She bluſh'd; and ſo did I. Your ſervant, Sir, was all ſhe ſaid.

But, Charlotte, proceeded he, you thought it was a Lady that I viſited: You know not your brother. I never will keep a ſecret of that nature from you, my good Lord, nor from you, my ſiſters, when I find myſelf either encouraged or inclined to make a ſecond viſit. It is for your Sex, Charlotte to be very chary of ſuch ſecrets; and reaſon good, if you have any doubt, either of the man's worthineſs, or of your own conſequence with him.

He looked very earneſtly at her, but ſmiled.

[253] So, my brother! I thank you, humourouſly rubbing one ſide of her face (tho' ſhe needed not to do ſo, to make both cheeks glow) this is another box on the ſame car. I have been uneaſy, I can tell you, Sir, at an hint you threw out before you laſt went to Can⯑terbury, as if I kept you from ſomething that it beho⯑ved you to know. Now, pray, Sir, will you be pleaſed to explain yourſelf?

And, ſince you put it ſo ſtrongly to me, Charlotte, let me aſk you, Have you not?

And let me aſk you, Sir—Do you think I have?

Perhaps, Charlotte, your ſolicitude on this ſubject, now, and the alarm you took at the time, on a very ſlight hint, might warrant—

No warrants, brother!—Pray be ſo good as to ſpeak all that lies on your mind.

Ah, Charlotte! and looked, tho' ſmilingly, with meaning.

I will not bear this Ah, Charlotte! and that mean⯑ing look.

And are you willing, my dear, to try this cauſe?

I demand my tryal.

Charming innocence! thought I, at the time—Now ſhall I find ſome fault, I hope, in this almoſt perfect brother. I triumphed in my mind, for my Charlotte.

Who ſhall be your judge?

Yourſelf, Sir.

God grant you may be found guilty, couſin, ſaid Mr. Grandiſon, for your plaguing of me.

Has that wretch, looking at Mr. Grandiſon, inſi⯑nuated any-thing?—She ſtopt.

Are you afraid, my ſiſter?

I would not give that creature any advantage over me.

Sir Ch. I think I would, if there were fair room—You have too often all the game in your own hands. You ſhould allow Mr. Grandiſon his chance.

[254] Miſs Gr. Not to ariſe from ſuch an obſerving by⯑ſtander, as my brother.

Sir Ch. Conſcious, Charlotte!

Miſs Gr. May be not—

Sir Ch. May be, is doubtful: May be No, implies May be Yes.

Lady L. You have made Charlotte uneaſy. Indeed, brother, you have. The poor girl has been harping upon this ſtring, ever ſince you have been gone.

Sir. Ch. I am ſorry what I ſaid preſſed ſo hard—Do you, Lady L. if this delinquency comes to tryal, of⯑fer yourſelf as an advocate for Charlotte?

Lady L. I know not an act of delinquency ſhe has committed.

Sir Ch. The act of delinquency is this—Shall I, Charlotte, explain myſelf?—

Miſs Gr. Teazing man! How can you—

Mr. Grandiſon rubbed his hands, and rejoiced. Miſs Grandiſon was nettled. She gave Mr. Grandi⯑ſon ſuch a look—I never ſaw ſuch a contemptuous one—Pray, Sir, do you withdraw, if you pleaſe.

Mr. Gr. Not I, by the Maſs! Are you afraid of a tryal in open Court? O-ho, couſin Charlotte!—

Miſs Gr. Have I not a cruel brother, Miſs Byron?

Lord L. Our ſiſter Charlotte really ſuffers, Sir Charles.

Sir Ch. I am ſorry for it. The innocent ſhould not ſuffer. We will drop the cauſe.

Lady L. Worſe and worſe, brother.

Sir Ch. How ſo, Lady L.? Is not Charlotte, in⯑nocent?

Dr. Bartlett. If an advocate be required, and you, Sir Charles, are judge, and not a pleader in this cauſe, I offer myſelf to Miſs Grandiſon.

Sir Ch. A very powerful one ſhe will then have, You think her cauſe a juſt one, Doctor, by your offer,

Will you, Charlotte, give Dr. Bartlett a brief? Or have you given him one▪

[255] Dr. Bart. I have no doubt of the juſtice of the cauſe

Sir Ch. Nor of the juſtice of the accuſer, I hope. I cannot be a judge in it.

Lady L. Nay, then▪—Poor Charlotte!

Miſs Gr. I wiſh, couſin Grandiſon, you would withdraw.

Mr. Gr. I wiſh, couſin Charlotte, you would not wiſh it.

Miſs Gr. But are you ſerious, brother?

Sir Ch. Let us call another cauſe, ſiſter, if you pleaſe. Pray, my Lord, what viſitors have you had ſince I had the honour to attend you?

Miſs Gr. Nay, brother—Don't think—

Sir Ch. BE QUIET, Charlotte.

Lady L. Your own words, ſiſter!—But we had a viſit from Lady Anne S. yeſterday.

I was glad to hear Lady L. ſay this. But nothing came of it.

Sir Ch. You have ſeen Lady Anne more than once, my Emily: How do you like Lady Anne?

Miſs Emily. Very well, Sir. She is a very agree⯑able Lady. Don't you think ſo, Sir?

Sir Ch. I do—But, Charlotte (and looked tenderly upon her) I muſt not have you uneaſy.

She ſat vexed—her complexion raiſed, and playing with a lump of ſugar; and ſometimes twirling round and round a tea-cup; for the tea-things, thro' ear⯑neſtneſs of talking, were not taken away, tho' the ſervants were withdrawn.

Mr. Gr. Well, I will leave you together, I think. Poor couſin Charlotte!—[Riſing, he tapped her ſhoulder.] Poor couſin Charlotte! Ha, ha, ha, hah!

Miſs Gr. Impertinence! with a look, the fellow to that ſhe gave him before.

Miſs Emily. I will withdraw, if you pleaſe, ma⯑dam; riſing, and courteſying.

[256] Miſs Grandiſon nodded her aſſent. And Emily withdrew likewiſe.

Dr. Bartlett offer'd to do ſo. Miſs Grandiſon ſeem'd not to diſapprove of his motion: But Sir Charles ſaid▪ The Doctor is retained on your part, Charlotte: He muſt hear the charge. Shall Miſs Byron be judge?

I begged to be excuſed. The matter began to look like earneſt.

Miſs Gr. (whiſpering me) I wiſh, Harriet, I had opened my whole heart to you. Your naſty ſcrib⯑bling! Eternally at your pen, or I had.

Then I began to be afraid for her. Dear Miſs Grandiſon! re-whiſper'd I, it was not for me to ob⯑trude—Dear Miſs Grandiſon, my pen ſhould never have interfered, if—

Miſs Gr. (ſtill whiſpering) One ſhould be court⯑ed out of ſome ſort of ſecrets. One is not very for⯑ward to begin ſome ſort of diſcourſes—Yet the ſub⯑jects moſt in our hearts, perhaps. But don't deſpiſe me. You ſee what an accuſer I have. And ſo ge⯑nerous a one too, that one muſt half condemn one's ſelf at ſetting out.

Harriet. (whiſpering) Fear nothing, my Char⯑lotte. You are in brother's hands.

Miſs Gr. Well, Sir Charles; and now, if you pleaſe, for the charge. But you ſay, you cannot be judge and accuſer: Who ſhall be judge?

Sir Ch. Your own heart, Charlotte. I deſire all preſent to be your advocates, if their judgment be with you: And if it be not, that they will pity you in ſilence.

He looked ſmilingly ſerious. Good Heaven! thought I.

Miſs. Gr. Pity me!—Nay, then—But, pray, Sir, your charge.

Sir Ch. The matter is too ſerious to be ſpoken of in metaphor.

[257] Miſs Gr. Good God!—Hem!—and twice more ſhe hemm'd—Pray, Sir, begin. Begin while I have breath.

Lord and Lady L. and Dr. Bartlett, and I look'd very grave; and Miſs Grandiſon look'd, in general, fretfully humble, if I may ſo expreſs myſelf: And every-thing being removed, but the table, ſhe play'd with her diamond ring; ſometimes pulling it off, and putting it on; ſometimes putting the tip of her finger in it, as it lay upon the table, and turning it round and round, ſwiſter or ſlower, and ſtopping thro' down⯑caſt vexation, or earneſt attention, as ſhe found her⯑ſelf more or leſs affected—What a ſweet confuſion!

Sir Ch. You know, my dear Charlotte, that I very early after my arrival, enquired after the ſtate of your heart. You told me it was abſolutely free.

Miſs Gr. Well Sir.

Sir Ch. Not ſatisfied with your own acknowledge⯑ment; as I knew that young Ladies [I know not why, when proper perſons make enquiries, and for motives not ungenerous] are too apt to make ſecrets of a paſſion that is not in itſelf illaudable; I aſked your elder ſiſter, who ſcrupled not to own hers, whe⯑ther there was any one man, whom you preferred to another?—She aſſured me, that ſhe knew not of any one.

Lady L. My ſiſter knows that I ſaid truth.

Miſs Gr. Well, well, Lady L. nobody doubts your veracity.

Sir Ch. Dear Charlotte, keep your temper.

Miſs Gr. Pray, Sir, proceed—And the ring turn'd round very faſt.

Sir Ch. On ſeveral occaſions I put the ſame que⯑ſtion, and had the ſame aſſurances. My reaſon for repeating my queſtion, was owing to an early intel⯑ligence—Of which more by-and-by.

Miſs Gr. Sir!

[258] Sir Ch. And that I might either provide the mo⯑ney that I thought due to her as my ſiſter, or take time to pay it, according to the circumſtances of her engagement; and take from her all apprehenſions of controul, in a caſe that might affect the happineſs of her life—Theſe, and brotherly Love, were the mo⯑tives of my enquiry.

Miſs Gr. Your generoſity, Sir, was without example.

Sir Ch. Not ſo, I hope, My ſiſters had an equi⯑table, if not a legal right to what has been done. I found, on looking into my affairs, that, by a mo⯑derate calculation of the family-circumſtances, no man ſhould think of addreſſing a daughter of Sir Tho⯑mas Grandiſon, without ſuppoſing himſelf intitled, either by his merits or fortune, to expect 10,000 l. with her—And this, even allowing to the Son the cuſtomary preferences given to men as men; tho' given for the ſake of pride, perhaps, rather than na⯑tural juſtice. For does not tyrant cuſtom make a daughter change her name in marriage, and give to a ſon, for the ſake of name only, the eſtate of the com⯑mon anceſtor of both?

This generous hint, affected me. It was nearly my own caſe, you know. I might otherwiſe have been a rich heireſs, and might have had as ſtrong preten⯑ſions to be diſtinguiſhed by the Grandiſons for my fortune, as any Lady S. in the kingdom. But worth⯑leſs as thoſe are, to whom, for the ſake of the name, my father's eſtate is paſſed, I never grudged it to them till I came acquainted with theſe Grandiſons.

Lord L. But who, Sir Charles, but you—

Sir Ch. Pray, my Lord, let not your generoſity miſlead you to think that a favour, which is but a due. We ſhall not be judged by compariſon. The Laws of Truth and Juſtice are always the ſame. What others would not have done in the like ſituation, that let [259] them look to: But what is the mortal man, who ſhould make an unjuſt advantage of mortality?

Miſs Grandiſon pulled out her handkerchief, put it to her eyes, and then in her lap; and putting half on, and half off, by turns, her ring, looked now-and-then at me, as if ſhe wiſhed me to pity her.

Indeed, Lucy, I did pity her: Every one did; and ſo did her judge, I dare ſay, in his heart. But juſtice, my Lucy, is a ſevere thing. Who can bear a tryal, if the integrity and greatneſs of this man's heart is to be the rule, by which their actions are to be examined? Yet you ſhall hear how generous he was.

Sir Ch. Allow me, for Miſs Byron's ſake, who has been but lately reſtored to our family, to be a lit⯑tle more particular, than otherwiſe I need to be. I had not been long in England, before Sir Walter Wat⯑kyns deſired my intereſt with my ſiſter. I told him, That ſhe was entirely her own miſtreſs; and that I ſhould not offer to lead her choice. Lord G. made his court to her likewiſe; and applying to me, re⯑ceived the ſame anſwer.

I enter'd, however, into ſerious talk with my ſiſter upon this ſubject. She aſk'd me what I thought of each gentleman. I told her frankly.

Miſs Gr. And pray, brother be ſo good as to re⯑peat what you ſaid of them. Let Miſs Byron be judge whether either of the portraits was very in⯑viting.

Sir Ch. I told her, Miſs Byron, that Sir Walter would, I preſumed, be thought the handſomer man of the two. He was gay, lively, genteel; and had that courage in his air and manner, that Ladies were ſel⯑dom diſpleaſed with. I had not, however, diſcovered any great depth in him. My ſiſter, I imagined, if ſhe married him, would have the ſuperiority in good ſenſe: But I queſtion'd whether Sir Walter would eaſily find that out; or allow it, if he did. He [260] was a briſk man for an hour, and might have wit and ſenſe too; but indeed I hardly ever ſaw him out of Ladies company; and he ſeemed to be of opinion, that flaſh rather than fire, was what would recom⯑mend him to them. Sometimes I have thought, I told her, that women of ſenſe ſhould puniſh ſuch men with their contempt, and not reward them with their approbation, for thus indirectly affronting their un⯑derſtandings: But that I had known women of ſenſe approve a man of that character; and each woman muſt determine for herſelf, what appeared moſt a⯑greeable to her.

Miſs Gr. (whiſpering) Well, Harriet—

Har. (whiſpering) Don t interrupt him.

Sir Ch. You remember, my dear Charlotte, that it was in this kind of way I ſpoke about Sir Walter Watkyns; and added, That he was independent; in poſſeſſion of the family-eſtate, which I believed was a good one; and that he talked handſomely to me of ſettlements.

I do remember this, ſaid Miſs Grandiſon; and whiſpering me, I am afraid, ſaid ſhe, he knows too much; but the perſon he cannot know.—Well, Sir, and pray be pleaſed to repeat what you ſaid of Lord G.

Sir Ch. Lord G. told you, was a gay-dreſſing man, but of a graver caſt than the other. The faſhi⯑on, rather than his inclination, ſeemed to govern his outward appearance. He was a modeſt man, and I feared had too much doubt of himſelf to appear with that dignity in the eye of a lively woman, which ſhould give him a firſt conſequence with her.

Miſs Gr. Your ſervant, Sir.

Sir Ch. I believed he would make a good huſband: So perhaps might Sir Walter: But the one would bear, and the other perhaps muſt be borne with. Ladies, as well as men, I preſumed, had ſome ſoibles, that they would not care to part with. As to fortune, I added, [261] that Lord G. was dependent on his father's pleaſure. He had, indeed, his father's entire approbation, I found, in his addreſs: And I hoped that a ſiſter of mine would not wiſh for any man's death, for the ſake of either title or fortune. You have ſeen Lord G. Miſs Byron?

Har. What, Sir Charles, was Miſs Grandiſon's anſwer?

I did not care to give any opinion, that might either hurt or humour my Charlotte.

Sir Ch. Charlotte told me, in ſo many words, That ſhe did not approve of either. Each gentleman, ſaid I, has beſought me to be his advocate: A taſk that I have not undertaken. I only told them, That I would talk to my ſiſter upon the ſubject: But did not think a brother ought to expect an influence over a ſiſter, where the gentlemen ſuſpected their own. You will remember, ſaid I to my ſiſter, that women cannot chooſe where they will; and that the ſame man can⯑not be every-thing—She deſired me to tell her, which of the two I would prefer?—Firſt, ſaid I▪ let me re⯑peat the queſtion I have more than once put to you—Have you any the leaſt ſhadow of a preference in your heart, to any third perſon?—What was my ſiſter's an⯑ſwer? She ſaid, She had not. And yet, had I not had the private intelligence I hinted at, I ſhould have been apt to imagine, that I had ſome reaſon to repeat the queſtion, from the warmth, both of manner and accent, with which ſhe declared, that ſhe approved of neither. Women, I believe, do not, with earneſtneſs, reject a man who is not quite diſagreeable, and to whoſe qua⯑lity and fortune there can be no objection, if they are abſolutely unprejudiced in another's favour.

We women look'd upon one another. I have no doubt, thought I, but Sir Charles came honeſtly by his knowlege of us. The dear Charlotte ſat uneaſy. He proceeded.

[262] However, I now made no queſtion but my ſiſter's affections were abſolutely diſengaged. My dear Char⯑lotte, ſaid I, I would rather be excuſed telling you, which gentleman's ſuit I ſhould incline to favour, leſt my opinion ſhould not have your inclination with it; and your mind, by that means, ſhould ſuffer any em⯑barraſment. She deſired to know it.

Miſs Gr. You were very generous, Sir; I owned you were, in this point, as well as in all others.

Sir Ch. I then declared in ſavour of Lord G. as the man who would be moſt likely to make her happy; who would think himſelf moſt obliged to her for her favour: And I took the liberty to hint, that tho' I ad⯑mired her for her vivacity, and even, when her wit carried its keeneſt edge, loved to be awakened by it, and wiſhed it never to loſe that edge; yet I imagined that it would hurt ſuch a man as Sir Walter. Lord G. it would enliven: And I hoped, if ſhe took pleaſure in her innocent fallies, that ſhe would think it ſome⯑thing, ſo to chooſe, as that ſhe ſhould not be under a neceſſity of repreſſing thoſe ſprightly powers, that very ſeldom were to be wiſhed to be reined in.

Miſs Gr. True, Sir. You ſaid, very ſeldom. I re⯑member.

Sir Ch. I never will flatter either a prince, or a Lady; yet ſhould be ſorry to treat either of them rudely. She then aſked me after my own inclinations. I took this for a deſire to avoid the ſubject we were upon; and would have withdrawn; but not in ill⯑humour. There was no reaſon for it. My ſiſter was not obliged to follow me in a ſubject that was not agreeable to her: But I took care to let her know that her queſtion was not a diſagreeable one to me: But would be more properly anſwered on ſome other oc⯑caſion. She would have had me to ſtay.—For the ſake of the former ſubject, do you aſk me to ſtay, Charlotte? No, ſaid ſhe.

[263] Well then, my dear, take time to conſider of it; and at ſome other opportunity we will reſume it. Thus tender did I intend to be, with regard to my ſiſter's inclinations.

Miſs Grandiſon wiped her eyes—And ſaid, but with an accent that had a little peeviſhneſs in it, You wanted not, Sir, all this preparation. Nobody has the ſhadow of belief, that you could be wrong.

Sir Ch. If this, Charlotte, be well ſaid; if, in that accent, it be generouſly ſaid; I have done—And from my heart acquit you, and as cordially condemn my⯑ſelf, if I have appeared in your eye to intend to raiſe my own character, at the expence of yours. Believe me, Charlotte, I had much rather, in a point of de⯑licacy, that the brother ſhould be found faulty than the ſiſter: And let it paſs, that I am ſo.—And only tell me, in what way you would with me to ſerve you.

Miſs Gr. Pardon me, brother. You can add for⯑giveneſs to the other obligations under which I la⯑bour. I was petulent.

Sir Ch. I do; moſt cordially I do.

Miſs Gr. (wiping her eyes) But won't you pro⯑ceed, Sir?

Sir Ch. At another opportunity, madam.

Miſs Gr. MADAM▪—Nay, now you are indeed angry with me. Pray, proceed.

Cir. Ch. I am not: But you ſhall allow me an hour's converſation with you in your dreſſing-room, when you pleaſe.

Miſs Gr. No!—Pray, proceed. Every one here is dear to me. Every one preſent muſt hear either my acquittal or condemnation. Pray, Sir, proceed—Miſs Byron, pray ſit ſtill—Pray (for we were all riſing to go out) keep your ſeats. I believe I have been wrong. My brother ſaid, you muſt pity me in ſilence, if you found me faulty. Perhaps I ſhall be obliged to you for your pity.—Pray, Sir, be pleaſed to acquaint me with what you know of my faults.

[264] Sir Ch. My dear Charlotte, I have ſaid enough to point your fault to your own heart. If you know it, that, I hope, is ſufficient.—Do not imagine, my dear, that I want to controul you—But—He ſtopt.

Miſs Gr. BUT what, Sir?—Pray, Sir—And ſhe trembled with eagerneſs.

Sir Ch. But it was not right to—And yet, O that I were miſtaken in this point, and my ſiſter not wrong!

Miſs Gr. Well, Sir, you have reaſon, I ſuppoſe, to think—there ſhe ſtopt—

Sir Ch. That there is a man whom you can approve of—notwithſtanding—

Miſs Gr. All I have ſaid to the contrary. Well, Sir, if there be, it is a great fault to have denied it.

Sir Ch. That is all I mean—It is no fault in you to prefer one man to another. It is no fault in you to give this preference to any man, without conſulting your brother. I propoſed that you ſhould be entirely miſtreſs of your own conduct and actions. It would have been ungenerous in me, to have ſuppoſed you ac⯑countable to me, who had done no more than my duty by you. Dear Charlotte, do not imagine [...] capable of laying ſuch a load on your free will: But I ſhould not have been made to pronounce to Lord G. and even to the Earl his father (on their enquirie [...], whether your affections were or were not engaged▪ in ſuch a manner as gave them hopes of ſucceeding.

Miſs Gr. Are you ſure, Sir?

Sir Ch. O my ſiſter, how hard fought (now muſt I ſay?) is this battle!—I can urge it no farther. For your ſake, I can urge it no farther.

Miſs Gr. Name your man, Sir!—

Sir Ch. Not my man, Charlotte—Captain Ander⯑ſon is not my man.

He aroſe; and, taking her motionleſs hand, preſſed it with his lips:—Be not too much diſturbed, ſaid he I am diſtreſs'd, my ſiſter, for your diſtreſs—I think, [265] more than I am for the error: And, ſaying this, bow⯑ing to her, he withdrew.

He ſaw and pitied her confuſion. She was quite confounded. It was very good of him to withdraw, to give her time to recover herſelf. Lady L. gave her her ſalts. Miſs Grandiſon hardly ever wanted ſalts before.

O what a poor creature am I, ſaid ſhe, even in my own eyes! Don't deſpiſe me, Harriet—Dr. Bartlett, can you excuſe me for ſo ſturdy a perſeverance?—My Lord, forgive me;—Lady L. be indulgent to a ſiſter's fault. But my brother will always ſee me in this de⯑preciating light! "A battle hard fought," indeed! How one error, perſiſted in, produces another!

When Sir Charles heard her voice, as talking, every one ſoothing, and pitying her, he returned. She would have riſen, with a diſpoſition ſeemingly, as if ſhe would have humbled herſelf at his feet: But he took her folded hands in one of his, and with the other drew a chair cloſe to her, and ſat down: With what ſweet majeſty, and mingled com⯑paſſion in his countenance! Miſs Grandiſon's con⯑ſciouſneſs made it terrible only to her—Forgive me, Sir! were her words.

Dear Charlotte, I do. We have all ſomething to be forgiven for. We pity others then moſt cordially, when we want pity ourſelves. Remember only, in the caſes of other perſons, to ſoften the ſeverity of your virtue.

He had Mrs. Oldham in his thoughts, as we all af⯑terwards concluded.

We know not, ſaid he, to what inconveniencies a ſmall departure from principle will lead: And now let us look forward. But firſt, Had you rather ſhew me into your dreſſing-room?

Miſs Gr. I have now no wiſh to conceal any⯑thing from the perſons preſent. I will only withdraw for a few moments.

[266] She went out. I followed her. And then, want⯑ing ſome-body to divide her fault with the dear Char⯑lotte blamed my naſty ſcribbling again: But for that, ſaid ſhe, I ſhould have told you all.

And what, my dear, would that have done, return⯑ed I?—That would not have prevented—

No: But yet you might have given me your advice: I ſhould have had the benefit of that; and my con⯑feſſions would have been, then, perhaps, aforehand with hi [...] accuſations.—But, forgive me, Harriet—

O my Charlotte, thought I to myſelf, could you but rein-in your charming ſpirit, a little, a very little, you would not have had two forgiveneſſes to aſk in⯑ſtead of one.

LETTER XXIX. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

MISS Grandiſon deſired me to return to the company. I did. She ſoon followed me; took her ſeat; and, with an air of mingled dignity and concern, deliver'd herſelf after this manner.

If it be not too late, after a perſeverance in error ſo obſtinate, to reinſtate myſelf in my brother's good opinion, dearer to me than that of the whole world beſides, my ingenuouſneſs ſhall make atonement for that error.

Sir. Ch. I would ſpare my ſiſter the—

Miſs. Gr. I will not be ſpared, Sir—Pray hear me—I would not, in order to extenuate my own faults (I hope I have not many) ſeek to throw blame upon the abſent; much leſs upon the everlaſtingly abſent: And yet my brother's piety muſt not be offended, if I am obliged to ſay ſomething that may ſeem to caſt a ſhade on a memory—Be not hurt, Sir—I will be favourable to that memory, and juſt to my own fault. You, [267] Harriet, would no more excuſe me, than my brother, if I failed in either.

I bowed, and bluſhed. Sir Charles look'd at me with a benign aſpect.

My father, proceeded ſhe, thought fit to be, or to ſeem to be, diſpleaſed with ſomething that paſſed be⯑tween him and Lord L. on the application made by my Lord to him for my ſiſter.

Sir Ch. He was not willing, perhaps that a treaty of marriage ſhould be begun but at his own firſt mo⯑tion, however unexceptionable the man, or the propoſal.

Miſs Gr. Every one knows that my father had great abilities; and they were adorned with vivacity and ſpirit, that, where-ever pointed, there was no reſiſting. He took his two daughters to taſk upon this occaſion; and, being deſirous to diſcourage in them, at that time, any thoughts of marriage, he exerted, beſides his authority, on this occaſion (which I can truly ſay, had due weight with us both) that vein of humour and raillery for which he was noted; inſo⯑much that his poor girls were confounded, and unable to hold up their heads. My ſiſter, in particular, was made to be aſhamed of a paſſion, that ſurely no young woman, the object ſo worthy, ought to be aſhamed of. My father alſo thought ſit (perhaps for wiſe rea⯑ſon) to acquaint us, that he deſigned for us but ſmall fortunes: And this depreciated me with myſelf. My ſiſter had a ſtronger mind, and had better proſpects. I could not but apprehend from what my ſiſter ſuffer'd, what muſt be my ſufferings in turn; and I thought I could be induced to take any ſtep, however raſh, where virtue was not to be wounded, rather than un⯑dergo what ſhe underwent from the raillery of a man ſo lively, and ſo humorous, and who ſtood in ſo ve⯑nerable a degree of relation to me. While theſe im⯑preſſions were ſtrong in my mind, Captain Anderſon, who was quarter'd near us, had an opportunity to fall [268] into my company at an aſſembly. He is a ſprightly man, and was well received by every-body; and par⯑ticularly a favourite of three young ladies, who could hardly be civil to each other, on his account: And this, I own, when he made aſſiduous court to me, in preference to them, and to every other woman, gave him ſome conſequence with me: And then being the principal officer in that part of the country, he was careſſed, as if he were a general. A daughter of Sir Thomas Grandiſon was deemed a prize worthy of his ambition, by every-body, as well as by himſelf: While this poor daughter, dreading the difficulties that her ſiſter had met with, and being led to think, by what her father declared to both ſiſters, that two or three thouſand pounds would be the height of her fortune, had only to apprehend, that a captain either of horſe or foot, who had been perhaps for years a frequenter of public places, both in town and coun⯑try, in hopes of raiſing his fortune, would think him⯑ſelf but poorly paid for his pains (were ſhe even to obtain her father's pardon) ſhould ſhe engage without waiting for his conſent; as ſhe was urged to do, by letter, which he found ways unſuspectedly to ſend her.—I hope, Sir, I hope, my Lord, and you, my two ſiſters, that you will now, from what I have ſaid, acquit me of inſincerity, tho' you cannot of paſt in⯑diſcretion.

Nevertheleſs, my pride at times was piqued: Sometimes I declared off; at other times was pre⯑vailed upon by arts which men are maſters of, to go on again; till I found myſelf entangled, and at a loſs to know how to go either backward or forward. The gentleman was indeed of a genteel family: But the ob⯑ject of my ſiſter's regard had ſo much to be ſaid for him; ſtood ſo well with my brother; and even with my father; was ſo much the man of quality, in every reſpect, that a raſh ſtep in me would be look'd upon as the more diſgraceful, on that account: And I could [269] not but apprehend, that if I married Captain Ander⯑ſon, I muſt be pitied, rejected, ſcorned, for one while, if not for ever.

And what title, often thought I, when I permitted myſelf ſeriouſly to think, have I to give my father a ſon, my brother, my ſiſter, my Lord L. (ſhould he and my ſiſter marry) a brother, whom they would not have choſen, nor will probably own?—Have they not a right to reject him, as their relation? And ſhall Charlotte Grandiſon, the daughter of the moſt pru⯑dent of mothers, take a ſtep that ſhall make her be looked upon as the diſgrace of her family? Shall ſhe be obliged to follow a ſoldier's fortune into different quarters, and perhaps to diſtant regions?

Such as theſe were, at times, my reaſonings; and per⯑haps they wouldhave had the leſs force with me, had I, in giving myſelf an huſband, had none of theſe rela⯑tions living, on whom to obtrude a new one, to their diſlike, by my marriage.

Hence I could not bear to reveal the matter to my ſiſter, who, in her choice, had ſo much advantage over me. I thought within theſe few weeks paſt, I could reveal it to my new-found ſiſter: and it was one of my motives to come hither, at your invitation, Lord and Lady L. when you told me ſhe was ſo obliging as to accompany you down: But ſhe was everlaſtingly writing; and I was ſhy of forcing an opportunity, as none agreeably offer'd.

Sir Ch. I would not interrupt you, Charlotte.—But may I aſk, if this whole affair was carried on by letter? Did you not ſometimes ſee each other?

Miſs Gr. We did. But our meetings were not frequent, becauſe he was at one time quarter'd in Scotland; at another, was ſent to Ireland; where he ſtaid ſix or ſeven months; at others, in diſtant parts of the kingdom.

Sir Ch. In what part of the king's dominions is the Captain now?

[270] Miſs Gr. Dear Sir, could not the perſon who ac⯑quainted you with the affair, inform you of that?

Sir Ch. (ſmiling) The perſon could, madam; and did. He is in London.

Miſs Gr. I hope, my brother, after the freedom of my confeſſion, and an ingenuouſneſs that is not often found in ſuch caſes as this, will not be ſo un⯑kind as to imagine, that I ought to have traps laid for me, as if I were not now at laſt frank and un⯑reſerved.

Sir Ch. Exceedingly juſt, Charlotte! exceeding⯑ly juſt!—I beg your pardon. I ſaid, we had all ſomething to be forgiven for. I am not however queſtioning you, with intent to caſt a ſtone; but to lend you a hand.

Miſs Gr. O that we had had liberty granted to us, having ſuch a brother, to correſpond with him!—Happy ſhall I be, if I can atone—

There ſhe ſtopt.

Sir Ch. Proceed with your ſtory, my dear Char⯑lotte.—Greatly does the atonement overbalance the fault!

Miſs Gr. (bowing to her brother) Captain Ander⯑ſon is in town. I have ſeen him twice. I was to have ſeen him at the play, had I not come down to Colnebrooke. Not a tittle of the truth will I hide from you. Now I have recover'd the right path, not one wry ſtep will I again willingly take. I have ſuffer'd enough by thoſe I had taken, tho' I endea⯑vour'd to carry it off as well as I could (even ſome⯑times by a ſpirit of bravery) when it lay heavy here—putting her hand to her heart.

Sir Charles roſe from his ſeat; and taking one of his ſiſter's hands between both his, Worthy ſiſter! Amiable Charlotte! After this noble frankneſs, I muſt not permit you to accuſe yourſelf. An error gracefully acknowledged, is a victory won. If you think Captain Anderſon worthy of your heart, he [271] ſhall have a place in mine; and I will uſe my intereſt with Lord and Lady L. to allow of his relation to them. Miſs Byron and Dr. Bartlett will look upon him as their friend.

He ſat down again; his countenance ſhining with brotherly love.

Miſs Gr. O Sir, what ſhall I ſay? You add to my difficulties by your goodneſs. I have told you how I had entangled myſelf. Captain Anderſon's addreſs began with hopes of a great fortune▪ which he ima⯑gined a daughter of Sir Thomas Grandiſon could not ſail, firſt or laſt, to have. That this was his principal motive, has been, on many occaſions (on too many for his advantage) viſible to me. My allowance of his addreſs, as I have hinted, was owing to my ap⯑prehenſions, that I ſhould not be a fortune worthy of a more generous man. At that time, our life was a confined one; and I girliſhly wiſhed for Liberty—MATRIMONY and LIBERTY—Girliſh connexion! as I have ſince thought.

We could none of us help ſmiling at this lively fally: But ſhe went on more ſeriouſly.

I thought at firſt, that I could break with him when I would: But he holds me to it; and the more, ſince he has heard of your goodneſs to me; and builds great hopes of future preferment on the alliance.

Sir Ch. But do you not love Captain Anderſon, my ſiſter?

Miſs Gr. I believe I love him as well as he loves me. His principal view, as I have ſaid, has come out, avowedly, to be my fortune. If I regulate my eſteem for him by his for me, I ought not, for the very reaſon that he likes me, to approve of him.

Sir Ch. I do not wonder that the Captain is ſerious to hold you to it, to uſe your words: But, my dear Charlotte, anſwer me, Have you had leſs liking to Captain Anderſon ſince your fortune is aſcertained, and abſolutely in your own power, than you had before?

[272] Miſs. Gr. Not on that account, if I know my heart: But he has been a much more earneſt ſuiter ſince your goodneſs to me was generally known, than before When public report had made me abſolutely dependent on my brother; and diminiſhed (beyond the truth, as it has proved) the circumſtances of the family; and when my ſiſter and I were unhappy be⯑tween our fears and our hopes; I then heard but little from Captain Anderſon; and that little was ſo pru⯑dent, and ſo cold—But I had found out the man before.

Lord and Lady L. with warmth of voice, called him unworthy man. I thought him ſo; and ſo, by his looks, did Dr. Bartlett.

Sir. Ch. Poor man!—He ſeems to have been too prudent, to truſt even to providence. But what, my ſiſter, are now your difficulties?

Miſs Gr. They proceed from my folly. Captain Anderſon appeared to me at firſt, a man of ſenſe, as well as an agreeable man in his perſon and air. He had a lively and eaſy elocution. He ſpoke without doubt; and I had therefore the leſs doubt of his un⯑derſtanding. The man who knows how to ſay agree⯑able things to a woman, in an agreeable manner, has her vanity on his ſide; ſince, to doubt his veracity, would be to queſtion her own merit. When he came to write, my judgment was even ſtill more engaged in his favour than before. But when he thought himſelf on a ſafe footing with me, he then loſt his hand⯑writing, and his ſtile, and even his orthography. I bluſh to ſay it; and I then bluſhed to ſee it.

Sir Ch. Men will be men. It is natural for us, when we find out our imperfections, to endeavour to ſupply them, or to gloſs them over to thoſe, whoſe good opinion of us we wiſh to engage. I have known men who are not ſo ready as the Captain ſeems to have been, to find out their own defects. Captain Anderſon, perhaps, loſt his letter-writer, by [273] the ſhifting of quarters. But it is ſtrange that a man of family, as the Captain is, ſhould be ſo very illi⯑terate.

Miſs Gr. His early wildneſſes, as I afterwards heard, made him run from ſchool, before he had ac⯑quired common ſchool-learning. His friends bought him a pair of colours. That was all they would ever do for him: And his father marrying a ſecond wife, by whom he had children, conſidered not him as one. This came out to be his ſtory. But he diſplayed him⯑ſelf to me in very different lights. He pretended to have a pretty eſtate, which, tho' not large, was well⯑conditioned, and capable of improvement; beſides very conſiderable expectations. A mind that would not impoſe on another, muſt leaſt bear to be impoſed upon himſelf: But I could not help deſpiſing him, when I found myſelf ſo groſly impoſed upon, by the letters he had procured to be written for him; and that he was not either the man of ſenſe, or learning, that he would have had me think him.

Sir Ch. But what was the ſafe footing, my ſiſter, that he thought he was upon with you?

Miſs Gr. O Sir! while all theſe good appearances held in his favour, he had teazed me into a promiſe. And when he had gained that point▪ then it was, or ſoon after, that he wrote to me with his own hand. And yet, tho' he convinced me by doing ſo, that he had before employed another, it was a point agreed upon, that our intercourſe was to be an abſolute ſe⯑cret; and I trembled to find myſelf expoſed to his ſcribe, a man I knew not; and who muſt certainly deſpiſe the lover whom he helped to all his agreeable flouriſhes, and, in deſpiſing him, muſt probably deſ⯑piſe me. Yet I will ſay, that my letter were ſuch as I can ſubmit to the ſevereſt eye. It was indeed giving him encouragement enough, that I anſwered him by pen and ink; and he preſumed enough upon it, or he [274] had never dared to teaze me, for a promiſe, as he did for months before I made him one.

Sir Ch. Women ſhould never be drawn-in to fetter themſelves by promiſes. On the contrary, they ought always to deſpiſe, and directly to break with the man, who offers to exact a promiſe from them. To what end is a promiſe of this kind endeavoured to be ob⯑tained, if the urger ſuſpects not the fitneſs of his ad⯑dreſſes in the eyes of thoſe who have a right to be con⯑ſulted; and if he did not doubt either his own merit, or the lady's honour and diſcretion?—Therefore wanted to put it out of her own power to be dutiful; or (if ſhe had begun to ſwerve, by liſtening to a clandeſtine addreſs) to recover herſelf? Your father, my dear (but you might not know that) could have abſolved you from this promiſe ^a. You have not now, however, any-body to controul you: You are abſolutely your own miſtreſs: And I ſee not but a promiſe—But, pray, of what nature was this pro⯑miſe?

Miſs Gr. O my folly!—I declared, that I never would marry any other man without his conſent, while he was ſingle. By this means (to my confuſion) I own, that I made him my father, my guardian, my brother; at leaſt, I made the influences over me, of ſuch of them as had been living, of no avail, in the moſt material article of my life; teazed, as I told you, into it; and againſt my judgment.

Soon after, he let me know, as I ſaid, in his own hand-writing, what an illiterate, what a mere ſuper⯑ſicial man I had entered into treaty with. And ever ſince I have been endeavouring by pen, as well as in perſon, to get him to abſolve me from my raſh pro⯑miſe: And this was my view and endeavour before I had a title to the independence, in which, Sir, you was ſo good as to eſtabliſh me.

I once thought, proceeded ſhe, that he would [275] eaſily have complied, and have look'd out elſewhere for a wife; for I ſought not to fetter him, as you juſtly call it: He was not of ſo much conſequence with me; and this renders me, perhaps, the leſs ex⯑cuſeable:—But you held me not long enough in ſuſ⯑penſe, as to the great things you intended to do for me, to enable me to obtain that releaſe from Captain Anderſon, which I was meditating to procure, before he knew what thoſe were.

All this time I kept my own ſecret. I had not confidence enough in the ſteps I had ſo raſhly taken (indeed had not humility enough) to make any living creature acquainted with my ſituation: And this was the reaſon, I ſuppoſe, that I never was gueſſed at, or found out. The proverb ſays▪ Two can keep a ſecret, when one is away: But my Harriet knows [I bowed] that I very early, in my knowledge of her, dropt hints of an entanglement, as I ludicrouſly called it; for I could not, with juſtice, ſay Love.

Sir. Ch. Charming frankneſs! How do your virtues ſhine thro' your very miſtakes!—But there are many women who have ſuffer'd themſelves to be worſe en⯑tangled, even beyond recovery, when they have not had to plead the apprehenſions which you had at en⯑tering into this affair.

Miſs Gr. You are Sir Charles Grandiſon, Sir: I need no [...] ſay more. We often dread, in raſh encoun⯑ter [...] to make thoſe communications, which only can be means to [...]ricate us from the difficulties into which we have plunged ourſelves. Had I, for the laſt ſix or ſeven years of my life, known my brother as I now know him; had I been indulged in a correſpon⯑dence with him in his abſence; not a ſtep would I have taken, but with his approbation.

Sir Ch. Perhaps I was too implicit on this occaſion: But I always thought it more safe in a diſputable caſe, to check than to give way, to an inclination. My fa⯑ther knew the world. He was not an ill-natured man. [276] He loved his daughters. I had not the vanity to ima⯑gine, that my ſiſters, the youngeſt near as old as my⯑ſelf, would want my advice, in material articles: And to break thro' a father's commands, for the ſake merely of gratifying myſelf—I don't know how—But I could not do it: And as a conſiderate perſon, when he has loſt a dear friend, and more particularly a parent, is apt to recollect with pleaſure thoſe inſtances in which he has given joy to the departed, and with pain the contrary; methinks I am the more ſatisfied with my⯑ſelf, for having obeyed a command, that however, at the time, I knew not how to account for.

Miſs Gr. You are happy, brother, in this recol⯑lection. I ſhould be more unhappy than I am (on your principles) had I vexed my father in this affair. Thank God, he knew nothing of it. But now, Sir, I have told you the whole truth. I have not aggra⯑vated the failings of Captain Anderſon; nor wiſh to do ſo; for the man that once I had but the ſhadow of a thought to make one day my neareſt relation, is in⯑titled, I think, to my good wiſhes, tho' he prove not quite ſo worthy, as I once believed him.

Permit me, however, to add, that Captain An⯑derſon is paſſionate, overbearing: I have never of late met him, but with great reluctance: Had I not come to Colnebrooke, I ſhould have ſeen him, as I confeſſed; but it was with the reſolution that I had for a conſiderable time paſt avowed to him, Ne⯑ver to be his; and to be a ſingle woman all my life, if he would not diſengage me of my raſh, my fooliſh promiſe. And now be pleaſed (looking round her to every one preſent) to adviſe me what to do.

Lord. L. I think the man utterly unworthy of you, ſiſter Charlotte. I think you are right to reſolve ne⯑ver to have him.

Lady L. Without waiting for my brother's opi⯑nion, I muſt ſay, That he acts moſt ungenerouſly and unworthily, to hold you to an unequal promiſe: A pro⯑miſe, [277] the like of which you offered not to bind him by. I cannot, Charlotte, think you bound by ſuch a promiſe: And the poor trick of getting another perſon to write his letters for him, and expoſing my ſiſter to a ſtranger, and againſt ſtipulation—How I ſhould hate him!—What ſay you, ſiſter Harriet?

Harriet. I ſhould be unworthy of this kind confi⯑dence, if, thus called upon, I did not ſay ſomething, tho' it came out to be next to nothing—There ſeems not to have been any ſtrong affection, any ſympathy of ſoul, if I may ſo expreſs myſelf, at any time, Miſs Grandiſon, between you and Captain Anderſon, I think?

Sir Ch. A very proper queſtion.

Miſs Gr. There was not, on either ſide, I believe. I have hinted at my motives, and at his. In every letter of his he gave me cauſe to confirm what I have ſaid of his ſelf-intereſtedneſs: And now his principal plea to hold me to my promiſe, is, his intereſt. I would not to him, I never did, plead mine; tho' his example would excuſe me, if I did.

Lord L. Was the promiſe given in writing, ſiſter?

Miſs Gr. Indeed it was. She looked down.

Harriet. May I be pardon'd, madam?—The ſub⯑ſtance of your promiſe was, That you would never marry any other man without his conſent, while he remained unmarried—Did you promiſe, that if ever you did marry at all, it ſhould be to him?

Miſs Gr. No. He wanted me to promiſe that; but I refuſed. And now, my Harriet, what is your advice?

Harriet. I beg to hear Dr. Bartlett's opinion; and yours, Sir (to Sir Charles) before I preſume to give mine.

Sir Charles looked at the Doctor. The Doctor referred himſelf to him.

Sir Ch. Then, Doctor, you muſt ſet me right, if I am wrong. You are a Caſuiſt.

[278] As to what Lord L. has ſaid, I think with his Lordſhip, that Captain Anderſon appears not, in any of his conduct, to be worthy of Miſs Grandiſon: And in truth, I don't know many who are. If I am partial excuſe the brother.

She bowed. Every one was pleaſed, that Miſs Grandiſon was enabled to hold up her head, as ſhe did, on this compliment from her brother.

Sir Ch. I think alſo, if my ſiſter eſteems him not, ſhe is in the right to reſolve never to be his. But what ſhall we ſay, as to her promiſe, Never to be the wife of any other man without his conſent▪ while he re⯑mains unmarried? It was made, I apprehend, while her father was living; who might, I believe, Doctor, you will allow, have abſolved her from it: But then, her very treating with him ſince to diſpenſe with it, ſhews, that in her own conſcience ſhe thinks herſelf bound by it.

Every one being ſilent, he proceeded.

Lady L. is of opinion, that he acts ungenerouſly and unworthily, to endeavour to hold her to an un⯑equal promiſe. But what man, except a very gene⯑rous one indeed, having obtained an advantage over ſuch a woman as Charlotte [She redden'd] would not try to hold it? Muſt he not, by giving up this advantage, vote againſt himſelf? Women ſhould be ſure of the men in whom they place a confidence that concerns them highly. Can you think, that the man who engages a woman to make a promiſe, does not intend to hold her to it? When he teazes her to make it, he as good as tells her he does, let what will happen to make her wiſh ſhe had not.

Miſs Gr. O my brother! The repetition of that word teazes!—Are you not raillying me?—Indeed I deſerve it.

Sir Ch. Men gain all their advantages by teazing, by promiſes, by importunities—Be not concerned, my Charlotte, that I uſe your word.

[279] Miſs Gr. O my brother, what ſhall I do, if you railly me on my folly?

Sir Ch. I mean not to railly you. But I know ſomething of my own ſex; and muſt have been very negligent of my opportunities, if I know not ſomething of the world [I thought, Lucy, he would here have uſed the word other inſtead of the word world]. We have heard her reaſon for not binding the Captain by a like promiſe; which was, That ſhe did not value him enough to exact it: And was not that his miſ⯑fortune?

She is apprehenſive of blame on this head: But her ſituation will be conſider'd: I muſt not repeat the cir⯑cumſtances. I was grieved to hear that my ſiſters had been in ſuch circumſtances! What pity, that thoſe who believe they beſt know the Sex, think them⯑ſelves intitled to treat it with leaſt reſpect! (How we women looked upon one another!] I ſhould hope in charity. [In charity, Lucy!] and for the true value I bear it, as I think a good woman one of the greateſt glories of the creation, that the fault is not generally in the Sex.

As to the Captain's artifice to obtain a footing by letters of another man's writing; that was enough in⯑deed to make a woman, who herſelf writes finely, deſpiſe him when ſhe knew it. But to what will not perſons ſtoop to gain a point, on which their hearts are fixed?—This is no new method. One ſignal in⯑ſtance I will mention. Madam Maintenon, it is re⯑ported, was employed in this way, by a favourite miſtreſs of Louis XIV. And this was ſaid to be the means of introducing her to the monarch's favour, on the ruins of her employer. Let me repeat, that wo⯑men ſhould be ſure of their men, before they embark with them in the voyage of Love. Hate the man, ſays Lady L. for expoſing her to the letter writer!—Ex⯑poſing!—Let me ſay, That women, who would not be expoſed, ſhould not put themſelves out of their [280] own power. O Miſs Byron! (turning, to my con⯑fuſion, to me, who was too ready to apply the firſt part of the caution) be ſo good as to tell my Emily, that ſhe never love a man, of whoſe Love ſhe is not well aſſured: That ſhe never permit a man to know his conſequence with her, 'till ſhe is ſure he is grate⯑ful, juſt, and generous: And that ſhe deſpiſe him as a mean and intereſted man, the firſt moment he ſeeks to engage her in a promiſe. Forgive me Charlotte: You ſo generouſly blame yourſelf, that you-will not ſcruple to have your experience pleaded for an exam⯑ple to a young creature, who may not be able, if en⯑tangled▪ to behave with your magnanimity.

Seaſonably did he ſay this laſt part, ſo immediatley after his reference to me; for I made Miſs Grandi⯑ſon's confuſion a half-cover for my own; and I fear but a half-cover.

I find I muſt not allow myſelf to be long from you, my dear friends; at leaſt, in this company. Miſs Cantillon, Miſs Barnevelt, and half a dozen more Miſſes and Maſters, with whoſe characters and de⯑ſcriptions I firſt paraded; Where are you? Where can I find you? My heart, when I ſaw you at Lady Betty Williams's, was eaſy and unapprehenſive: I could then throw my little ſquibs about me at pleaſure; and not fear, by their return upon me, the ſingeing of my own cloaths!

LETTER XXX. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

BUT now what remains to be done for our ſiſter? aſk'd Lady L. Charlotte looked round her, as ſeconding the queſtion. Every one referr'd to Sir Charles.

In the firſt place, let me aſſure you, my dear Char⯑lotte, reſumed he, that if you have but the ſhadow of a [281] preference for Captain Anderſon; and if you believe, from what has paſſed between you, and from the ſuſ⯑penſe you have kept him in (which may have been a hindrance to his fortune or preferment) that you ought to be his, whether in juſtice, or by inclination; I will amicably meet him, in order to make and to receive propoſals. If we do not find him grateful or gene⯑rous, we will make him ſo, by our example; and I will begin to ſet it.

Every one was affected: Dr. Bartlett as much as any-body. Miſs Grandiſon could hardly ſit ſtill. Her chair was uneaſy to her. While her brother looked like one who was too much accuſtomed to acts of beneficence, to ſuppoſe he had ſaid any-thing ex⯑traordinary.

Miſs Grandiſon, after ſome heſitation, replied, In⯑deed, Sir, Captain Anderſon is not worthy of being called your brother. I will not enter into the parti⯑culars of his unworthineſs; becauſe I am determined not to have him. He knows I am: Nor does my promiſe engage me to be his. Had he virtue, had he generoſity—But indeed he has not either, in the de⯑gree that would make me reſpect him, as a woman ſhould reſpect her huſband.

Sir Ch. Well then, Charlotte, I would have you excuſe yourſelf, if you have given him hope of meet⯑ing him; let him know, that you have acquainted me with all that has paſſed between you; and that you refer yourſelf wholly to me; but with a reſolution (if ſuch be your reſolution) never to be his.

Miſs. Gr. I ſhall dread his violent temper.

Sir Ch. Dread nothing! Men who are violent to a woman, when they have a point to carry by being ſo, are not always violent to men. But I ſhall treat him civilly. If the man ever hoped to call you his, he will be unhappy enough in loſing ſuch a prize. You may tell him, that I will give him a meeting where⯑ever he pleaſes. Mean time, it may not be amiſs, if [282] you have no objection, to ſhew me ſome of the letters that have paſſed between you; of thoſe particularly, in which you have declared your reſolution not to be his; the farther backward, the better, if from the date of ſuch you have always been of the ſame mind.

Miſs Gr. You ſhall ſee the copies of all my letters; and all his, if you pleaſe. And you will gather from both, Sir, that it was owing to the unhappy ſituation I thought myſelf in, from the unkind treatment my ſiſter met with, and to the being forbidden to expect a fortune that would intitle me to look up to a man of figure in the world, that I was ever approachable by Captain Anderſon.

Sir. Ch. Unhappy! But let us look forward. I will meet Captain Anderſon. If there are any letters, in which he has treated my ſiſter undhandſomely, you muſt not let me ſee them. My motive for looking into any of them, is ſervice to you, Charlotte, and not curioſity. But let me, nevertheleſs, ſee all that is ne⯑ceſſary to the queſtion, that I may not, when I meet him, hear any-thing from him, that I have not heard from you; and which may make for him, and againſt you. I do aſſure you, that I will allow in his favour, all that ſhall appear favourable to him, tho' againſt my ſiſter. I may meet him prejudiced, but not deter⯑mined: And I hope you ſee by my behaviour to you, Charlotte, that were you and he to have been fond Lovers in your letters, you need not be afraid of my eye. I never am ſevere on Lovers foibles. Our paſſions may be made ſubſervient to excellent purpo⯑ſes. Don't think you have a ſupercilious brother. A ſuſceptibility of the paſſion called Love, I condemn not as a fault; but the contrary. Your brother, La⯑dies (looking upon all three) is no Stoic.

And have you been in love, Sir Charles Grandiſon? thought I to myſelf—Shall I, Lucy, be ſorry, or ſhall I be glad, if he has?—But after all, is it not ſtrange, that in all this time one knows ſo little of his hiſtory [283] while he was abroad?—And yet, he ſaid, That he was not angry at his ſiſter for queſtioning him on the ſubject. Had I been his ſiſter, queſtions of that ſort would not have been to be now aſked.

But here is a new taſk for her brother. I ſhall long to know how this affair will end.

The tryal of Miſs Grandiſon, as ſhe called it, be⯑ing thus happily over, and Miſs Emily and Mr. Gran⯑diſon deſired to walk in, Sir Charles took notice, with ſome ſeverity on our ſex, on the general liking, which he ſaid women have for military men. He did not know he ſaid, whether the army were not beholden to this approbation, and to the gay appearance officers were expected to make, rather than to a true martial ſpirit, for many a gallant man.

What ſay you, Emily? ſaid he? Do not a cockade and a ſcarlet coat, become a fine gentleman, and help to make him ſo, in your eyes?

Be pleaſed, Sir, to tell me how ſuch a one ſhould look in my eyes, and I will endeavour to make them conform to your leſſons.

He bowed to the happy girl: For my part, ſaid he, I cannot but ſay, that I diſlike the life of a ſoldier in general; whoſe trade is in blood; who muſt be as much a ſlave to the will of his ſuperiors in command, as he is almoſt obliged to be a tyrant to thoſe under him.

But as to the Sex, if it were not, that Ladies, where Love and their own happineſs interfere, are the moſt incompetent judges of all others for themſelves—Pardon me—

Your ſervant, Sir, ſaid Lady L.—And we all bow⯑ed to him.

How can a woman, proceeded he, who really loves her huſband, ſubject herſelf of choice, to the neceſſary abſences, to the continual apprehenſions, which ſhe muſt be under for his ſafety, when he is in the height of what is emphatically called his DUTY? He ſtopt. [284] No anſwer being made, Perhaps, reſumed he, i may be thus accounted for: Women are the moſt de⯑licate part of the creation. Conſcious of the weak⯑neſs of their ſex, and that they ſtand in need of pro⯑tection (for apprehenſiveneſs the child of prudence▪ is as characteriſtic in them, as courage in a man) they naturally love brave men—And are not all military men ſuppoſed to be brave?

But how are they miſtaken in their main end, ſup⯑poſing this to be it!

I honour a good, a generous, a brave, and humane ſoldier: But were ſuch an one to be the braveſt of men, how can his wife expect conſtant protection from the huſband who is leſs his own, and conſequently leſs hers, than almoſt any other man can be (a ſailor ex⯑cepted); and who muſt therefore, oftener, than any other man, leave her expoſed to thoſe inſults, from which ſhe ſeems to think he can beſt defend her?

Lady L. (ſmiling) But may it not be ſaid, Sir, that thoſe women who make ſoldiers their choice, deſerve in ſome degree, a rank with heroes; when they can part with their huſbands for the ſake of their country's glory?

Sir Ch. Change your word glory for ſafety, Lady L. and your queſtion will be ſtrengthen'd. The word and thing called Glory, what miſchief has it not oc⯑caſioned!—As to the queſtion itſelf, were you ſerious, let every one, I anſwer, who can plead the motive, be intitled to the praiſe that is due to it.

Miſs Gr. There is ſo much weight in what my brother has ſaid, that I thank Heaven, I am not in danger of being the wife of a ſoldier.

We, who knew what ſhe alluded to, ſmiled at it; and Mr. Grandiſon looked about him, as if he wanted to find more in the words, than they could import to him: And then was very earneſt to know how his couſin had come off.

[285] Sir Ch. Triumphantly, couſin. Charlotte's ſuppoſed fault h [...]s brought to light additional excellencies.

Mr. Gr. I am ſorry for that with all my ſoul—There was no bearing her before—And now what will become of me?

Miſs Gr. You have nothing new to fear, Mr. Grandiſon, I aſſure you. I have been detected in real faults. I have been generouſly treated; and re⯑pent of my fault. Let me have an inſtance of like ingenuouſneſs in you; and I will ſay, there are hopes of us both.

Mr. Gr. Your ſervant, couſin. Either way I muſt have it. But were you to follow the example by which you own yourſelf amended, I might have the better chance, perhaps, of coming up to you in ingenuouſneſs.

Lord L. Upon my word, ſiſter Charlotte, Mr. Grandiſon has ſaid a good thing.

Miſs Gr. I think ſo too, my Lord. I will put it down. And if you are wiſe, Sir (to him) aſk me to ſew up your lips 'till to-morrow dinner-time.

Mr. Grandiſon looked offended.

Sir. Ch. Fie, Charlotte!

I am glad, thought I, my good Miſs Grandiſon, that you have not loſt much ſpirit by your tryal!

MISS Grandiſon has ſhewed me ſome of the letters that paſſed between Captain Anderſon and her. How muſt ſhe have deſpiſed him, had ſhe been drawn in to give him her hand! And the more for the poor figure he would have made as a brother to her brother! How muſt ſhe have bluſhed at every civility paid him in ſuch a family! Yet from paſſages in his letters, I dare ſay, he would have had the higher opinion of himſelf; firſt for his ſucceſs with her, and for every civility paid him afterwards by her relations.

And thus had Sir Thomas Grandiſon, with all his pride, like to have thrown his daughter, a woman of [286] high character, fine underſtanding, and an exalted mind, into the arms of a man, who had neither for⯑tune, nor education, nor yet good ſenſe, nor gene⯑roſity of heart, to countenance his pretenſions to ſuch a Lady, or her for marrying beneath herſelf.

This is a copy of what Miſs Grandiſon has writ⯑ten to ſend to Captain Anderſon.

She is diſſatisfied with what ſhe has written: But I tell her, I think it will do very well.

LETTER XXXI. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

SIR Charles has already left us. He went to town this morning on the affairs of his executor⯑ſhip. He breakfaſted with us firſt.

Dr. Bartlett, with whom already I have made myſelf very intimate, and who, I find, knows his whole heart, tells me he is always fully employed. That we knew before—No wonder then, that he is not in love. He [287] has not had leiſure, I ſuppoſe to attend to the calls of ſuch an idle paſſion.

You will do me the juſtice to own, that in the round of employments I was engaged in at Selby⯑houſe, I never knew any-thing of the matter: But indeed there was no Sir Charles Grandiſon; firſt to engage my gratitude; and then, my heart. So it is: I muſt not, it ſeems, deny it. If I did, ‘"a child in Love-matters would detect me,"’

O MY Lucy! I have been hard ſet by theſe ſiſters. They have found me out; or rather, let me know, that they long ago found me out. I will tell you all as it paſſed.

I had been ſo buſy with my pen, that tho' accuſ⯑tomed to be firſt dreſſed, where-ver I was, I was now the laſt. They entered my dreſſing-room arm in arm; and I have ſince recollected, that they look⯑ed as if they had miſchief in their hearts; Miſs Gran⯑diſon eſpecially. She had ſaid, She would play me a trick.

I was in ſome little hurry, to be ſo much behind⯑hand, when I ſaw them dreſſed.

Miſs Grandiſon would do me the honour of aſſiſt⯑ing me, and diſmiſſed Jenny, who had but juſt come in to offer her ſervice.

She called me charming creature twice, as ſhe was obligingly buſy about me; and the ſecond time ſaid, Well may my brother, Lady L. ſay what he did of this girl!

With too great eagerneſs, What, what, ſaid I—I was going to add—did he ſay?—But catching my⯑ſelf up, in a tone of leſs ſurprize—deſigning to turn it off—WHAT honour you do me, madam, in this your kind aſſiſtance!

Miſs Grandiſon leered archly at me; then turning to Lady L. This Harriet of ours, ſaid ſhe, is more than half a rogue.

[288] Puniſh her then, Charlotte, ſaid Lady L. You have, tho' with much ado, been brought to ſpeak out your⯑ſelf; and ſo have acquired a kind of right to puniſh thoſe who affect diſguiſes to their beſt friends.

Lord bleſs me, Ladies! And down I ſat—What, what—I was going to ſay, do you mean? But ſtopt, and I felt my face glow.

What, what! repeated Miſs Grandiſon—My ſweet girl can ſay nothing but What, what!—One of my fellows, Sir Walter Watkyns, is in her head, I ſuppoſe—Did you ever ſee Wat—Watkyns, Harriett?

My handkerchief was in my hand, as I was going to put it on. I was unable to throw it round my neck. O how the fool throbbed, and trembled!

Miſs Gr. Confirmation, Lady L.! Confirmation!

Lady L. I think ſo, truly—But it wanted none to me.

Har. I am ſurpriſed! Pray, Ladies, what can you mean by this ſudden attack?

Miſs. Gr. And what, Harriet, can you mean by theſe What, what's, and this ſudden emotion?—Give me your handkerchief!—What doings are here!

She ſnatch'd it out of my trembling hand, and put it round my neck—Why this ſudden palpitation?—Ah! Harriet! Why won't you make confidents of your two ſiſters? Do you think we have not found you out before this?

Har. Found me out! How found me out!—Dear Miſs Grandiſon, you are the moſt alarming Lady that ever lived!—

I ſtood up, trembling.

Miſs Gr. Am I ſo? But, to cut the matter ſhort—[Sit down, Harriet. You can hardly ſtand.] Is it ſuch a diſgraceful thing for a fine girl to be in Love?

Har. Who I, I, in Love?

Miſs Gr. (laughing) So, Lady L. you ſee that Harriet has found herſelf out to be a fine girl!— [289] Diſqualify now; can't you, my dear? Tell fibs▪ Be affected. Say you are not a ſine girl, and-ſo-forth.

Har. Dear Miſs Grandiſon—It was your turn the day before yeſterday. How can you forget—

Miſs Gr. Spiteful too! My life to a farthing, you pay for this, Harriet!—But, child, I was not in Love—Ah! Harriet! That gentleman in North⯑hamptonſhire—Did you think we ſhould not find you out?

This hearten'd me a little.

Har. O Madam, do you think to come at any⯑thing by ſuch methods as this? I ought to have been aware of Miſs Grandiſon's alarming ways.

Miſs Gr. You pay for this, alſo, Harriet. Did you not ſay, that I ſhould take the reins, Lady L.! I will have no mercy on our younger ſiſter for this abominable affectation and reſerve.

Har. And ſo, Ladies, you think, I warrant, that Mr. Orme—

Lord L. Take the reins, Charlotte; making a motion, with a ſweet pretty air, with her handker⯑chief, as if ſhe toſſed her ſomething—I myſelf, Har⯑riet, am againſt you now. I wanted a trial of that frankneſs of heart, for which I have heard you ſo much commended: And, ſurely, you might have ſhewed it, if to any perſons living, to your two ſiſters.

Miſs Gr. No more▪ no more, Lady L. Have you not left her to me? I will puniſh her. You will have too much lenity.—And now tell me, Harriet—Don't you love Mr. Orme better than any Man you ever yet ſaw?

Har. Indeed I do not.

Miſs Gr. Whom do you love better, Harriet?

Har. Pray, Miſs Grandiſon!

Miſs Gr. And pray, Miſs Byron▪

Har. Reſume the reins, Lady L.—Pray do!— [290] Miſs Grandiſon has no mercy! Yet met with a great deal the day before yeſter—

Miſs Gr. The day before yeſterday?—Very well!—But then I was ingenuous—

Har. And am not I?—Pray, Lady L.

Lady L. I think, not.—

And ſhe ſeemed a little too cruelly to enjoy the flut⯑ter I was in.

Miſs Gr. And you ſay that there is no one gentle⯑man in Northamptonſhire—

Har. What is the meaning of this, Ladies? But I do aſſure you, there is not—

Miſs Gr. See, Lady L. there are ſome queſtions that the girl can anſwer readily enough.

I believe I looked ſerious. I was ſilent. Indeed my very ſoul was vexed.

Miſs Gr. Ay, Harriet, be ſullen: Don't anſwer any queſtions at all. That's your only way, now—And then we go no further, you know. But tell me—Don't you repent, that you have given a denial to Lady D.?

Har. I won't be ſullen, Ladies. Yet I am not pleaſed to be thus—

Miſs Gr. Then own yourſelf a woman, Harriet; and that, in ſome certain inſtances, you have both af⯑fectation, and reſerve. There are ſome caſes, my dear, in which it is impoſſible but a woman muſt be guilty of affectation.

Har. Well then, ſuppoſe I am. I never pretended to be clear of the foibles which you impute to the Sex. I am a weak, a very weak creature: You ſee I am—

And I put my hand in my pocket for my handker⯑chief.

Miſs Gr. Ay, weep, love. My ſiſter has heard me ſay, that I never in my life ſaw a girl ſo lovely in tears.

Har. What have I done to deſerve—

Miſs Gr. Such a compliment!—Hay?—But you ſha'n't weep neither.—Why, why, is this ſubject ſo [...]ffecting, Harriet?

[291] Har. You ſurpriſe me!—Parted with you but an hour or two ago—And nothing of theſe reproaches, And now, all at once, both Ladies—

Miſs Gr. Reproaches, Harriet!—

Har. I believe ſo. I don't know what elſe to call them.

Miſs Gr. What! Is it a reproach to be taxed with Love—

Har. But the manner, madam—

Miſs Gr. The manner you are taxed with it, is the thing then—Well, putting on a grave look, and aſſuming a ſofter accent—You are in Love, however: But with whom? is the queſtion—Are we, your ſiſters, intitled to know with whom?

Surely, Ladies, thought I, you have ſomething to ſay, that will make me amends for all this intolerable teazing: And yet my proud heart, whatever it were to be, ſwelled a little, that they ſhould think that would be ſuch high amends, which, however, I by myſelf, communing only with my own heart, would have thought ſo.

Lady L. (coming to me, and taking my hand) Let me tell you, our deareſt Harriet, that you are the moſt inſenſible girl in the world, if you are not in Love—And now what ſay you?

Har. Perhaps I do know, Ladies, enough of the Paſſion, to wiſh to be leſs alarmingly treated.

They then ſitting down, one on either ſide of me; each took a hand of the trembling fool.

I think I will reſume the reins, Charlotte, ſaid the Counteſs. We are both cruel. But tell us, my lovely ſiſter, in one word tell your Caroline, tell your Char⯑lotte, if you have any confidence in our love (and in⯑deed we love you, or we would not have teazed you as we have done) if there be not one man in the world, whom you love above all men in it?

I was ſilent. I looked down. I had, in the ſame moment, an ague, in its cold, and in its hot fit. They [292] vouchſafed, each, to preſs with her lips the paſſive hand each held.

Be not afraid to ſpeak out, my dear, ſaid Miſs Grandiſon. Aſſure yourſelf of my love; my true ſiſterly love. I once intended to lay the way to the opening of your heart by the diſcovery of my own, before my brother, as I hoped, could have found me out—But nothing can be hid—

Madam! Ladies! ſaid I, and ſtood up in a hurry, and, in as great a diſcompoſure, ſat down again—Your brother has not, could not—I would die be⯑fore—

Miſs. Gr. Amiable delicacy!—He has not—But ſay you, Harriet, he could not?—If you would not be teazed, don't aim at reſerves—But think you, that we could not ſee, on an hundred occaſions, your heart at your eyes?—That we could not affix a proper meaning to thoſe ſudden throbs juſt here, patting my neck; thoſe half-ſuppreſſed, but always involuntary ſighs—[I ſighed]—Ay, juſt ſuch as that—[I was con⯑founded]—But, to be ſerious, we do aſſure you, Har⯑riet, that had we not thought ourſelves under ſome little obligation to Lady Anne S. we ſhould have talked to you before on this ſubject. The friends of that Lady have heen very ſolicitous with us—And Lady Anne is not averſe—

Har. Dear Ladies! withdrawing the hand that Miſs Grandiſon held, and taking out my handker⯑chief; you ſay, you love me!—Won't you deſpiſe whom you love?—I do own—

There I ſtopt; and dried my eyes.

Lady L. What does my Harriet own?—

Har. O madam, had I a greater opinion of my own merit, than I have reaſon to have (and I never had ſo little an one, as ſince I have known you two) I could open to you, without reſerve, my whole heart—But one requeſt I have to make you—You muſt grant it.

[293] They both in a breath aſked what that was.

Har. It is, That you will permit your chariot to carry me to town this very afternoon—And long ſhall not that town hold your Harriet—Indeed, indeed, La⯑dies, I cannot now ever look your brother in the face—And you will alſo both deſpiſe me! I know you will!

Sweet, and as ſeaſonable as ſweet (for I was very much affected) were the aſſurances they gave m of their continued love.

Miſs Gr. We have talked with our brother this morning—

Har. About me! I hope he has not a notion, that—There I ſtopt.

Lady L. You were mentioned: But we intend not to alarm you farther. We will tell you what paſſed. Lady Anne was our ſubject.

I was all attention.

Miſs Gr. We aſked him if he had any thoughts of marriage? The queſtion came in properly enough, from the ſubject that preceded it. He was ſilent: But ſighed, and looked grave [Why did Sir Charles Grandiſon ſigh, Lucy?] We repeated the queſtion. You told us, brother, ſaid I, that you do not intend to reſume the treaty begun by my father for Lady Frances N. What think you of Lady Anne S.? We need not mention to you how conſiderable her for⯑tune is; what an enlargement it would give to your power of doing good; nor what her diſpoſition and qualities are: Her perſon is far from being diſagree⯑able: And ſhe has a great eſteem for you.

I think Lady Anne a very agreeable woman, replied he: But if ſhe honours me with a preferable eſteem, ſhe gives me regret: becauſe it is not in my power to return it.

Not in your power, brother?

It is not in my power to return it.

O Lucy! how my heart ſlutter'd! The ague-ſir [294] came on again; and I was hot and cold as before, almoſt in the ſame Moment.

They told me, they would not teaze me further. But there are ſubjects, that cannot be touch'd upon without raiſing emotion in the boſom of a perſon who hopes, and is uncertain. O the cruelty of ſuſpenſe! How every new inſtance of it tears in pieces my be⯑fore almoſt burſting heart!

Miſs Gr. My brother went on—You have often hinted to me at a diſtance this ſubject. I will not, as I might, anſwer your queſtion, now ſo directly put, by ſaying, that it is my wiſh to ſee you, Charlotte, happily married, before I engage myſelf. But, per⯑haps, I ſhall be better enabled ſome time hence, than I am at preſent, to return ſuch an anſwer as you may expect from a brother.

Now, my Harriet, we are afraid, by the words, Not in his power; and by the hint that he cannot at pre⯑ſent anſwer our queſtion as he may be enabled to do ſome time hence; we are afraid, that ſome foreign Lady—

They had raiſed my hopes; and now, exciting my fears by ſo well-grounded an apprehenſion, they were obliged for their pains to hold Lady L's ſalts to my noſe. I could not help expoſing myſelf, my heart having been weaken'd too by their teazings before. My head dropt on the ſhoulder of Miſs Grandiſon. Tears relieved me.

I deſired their pity. They aſſured me of their love; and called upon me, as I valued their friend⯑ſhip, to open my whole heart to them.

I pauſed. I heſitated. For words did not imme⯑diately offer themſelves. But at laſt, I ſaid, Could I have thought myſelf intitled to your▪ excuſe, Ladies, your Harriet, honoured, as ſhe was, from the firſt, with the appellation of ſiſter, would have had no re⯑ſerve to her ſiſters: But a juſt conſciouſneſs of my wn unworthineſs, overcame a temper that I will [295] ſay, is naturally frank and unreſerved. Now, howe⯑ver—

There I ſtopt and held down my head.

Lady L. Speak out, my dear,—What Now—

Miſs Gr. What Now, however—

Harriet. Thus called upon; thus encouraged—And I lifted up my head as boldly as I could (but it was not, I believe, very boldly) I will own, that the man, who by ſo ſignal an inſtance of his bravery and goodneſs engaged my gratitude, has poſſeſſion of my whole heart.

And then, almoſt unknowing what I did, I threw one of my arms, as I ſat between them, round Lady L's neck, the other round Miſs Grandiſon's; my glowing face ſeeking to hide itſelf in Lady L.'s boſom.

They both embraced me, and aſſured me of their united intereſt. They ſaid, They knew I had alſo Dr. Bartlett's high regard: But that they had in vain ſought to procure new lights from him; he conſtantly, in every-thing that related to their brother, referring himſelf to him: And they aſſured me, that I had like⯑wiſe the beſt wiſhes and Intereſt of Lord L. to the fulleſt extent.

This, Lucy, is ſome—conſolation—muſt I ſay?—ſome eaſe to my pride, as to what the family think of me: But yet, how is that pride mortified, to be thus obliged to rejoice at this ſtrengthening of hope to obtain an intereſt in the heart of a man, of whoſe engagements none of us know any-thing! But if, at laſt, it ſhall prove, that that worthieſt of hearts is diſengaged; and if I can obtain an intereſt in it, be pride out of the queſtion! The man, as my aunt wrote, is Sir Charles Grandiſon.

I was very earneſt to know, ſince my eyes had been ſuch tell-tales, if their brother had any ſuſpicion of my regard for him.

They could not, they ſaid, either from his words or behaviour, gather that he had. He had not been ſo [296] much with me, as they had been. Nor would they wiſh that he ſhould ſuſpect me. The beſt of men, they ſaid, loved to have difficulties to conquer. Their brother, generous as he was, was a man.

Yet, Lucy, I thought at the time of what he ſaid at Sir Hargrave Pollexfen's, as recited by the ſhort⯑hand writer—That he would not marry the greateſt princeſs on earth, if he were not aſſured, that ſhe loved him above all the men in it.

I fancy, my dear, that we women, when we love, and are doubtful, ſuffer a great deal in the apprehen⯑ſion, at one time, of diſguſting the object of our paſſion, by too forward a Love; and, at another, of diſ⯑obliging him by too great a reſerve. Don't you think ſo?

The Ladies ſaid, They were extremely ſolicitous to ſee their brother married. They wiſhed it were to me, rather than to any other woman; and kindly add⯑ed, That I had their hearts, even at the time when Lady Anne, by a kind of previous engagement had their voices.

And then they told me what their brother ſaid of me, with the hint of which they began this alarming converſation.

When my brother had let us know, ſaid Miſs Grandiſon, that it was not in his power to return a preferable eſteem for a like eſteem, if Lady Anne ho⯑noured him with it; I ſaid—Had Lady Anne as many advantages to boaſt of, as Miſs Byron has, could you then, brother, like Lady Anne?

Miſs Byron, replied he, is a charming woman.

Lady L. (ſlily enough, continued Miſs Grandiſon) ſaid, Miſs Byron is one of the prettieſt women I ever beheld. I never ſaw in any face, youth, and dignity, and ſweetneſs of aſpect, ſo happily blended:

On this occaſion, Lucy, my vanity may, I hope, revive, ſo long as I repeat only, and repeat juſtly.

‘"Forgive me, Lady L. replied my brother—But [297] as Alexander would be drawn only by Apelles; ſo would I ſay to all thoſe who leave mind out of the deſcription of Miſs Byron, That they are not to "deſcribe her. This young Lady" [You may look proud, Harriet!] "has united in her face, feature, complexion, grace, and expreſſion, which very few women, even of thoſe who are moſt celebrated for beauty, have ſingly in equal degree: But, what is infinitely more valuable, ſhe has an heart that is equally pure and open. She has a fine mind: And it is legible in her face. Have you not obſerved, Charlotte, added he, what intelligence her very ſilence promiſes? And yet, when ſhe ſpeaks, ſhe never diſappoints the moſt raiſed expectations."’

I was ſpeechleſs, Lucy.

Well, brother, continued Miſs Grandiſon—If there is not every-thing you ſay in Miſs Byron's face and mind, there ſeems to me little leſs than the warmth of Love in the deſcription—You are another Apelles, Sir, if his colours were the moſt glowing of thoſe of all painters.

My eyes had the aſſurance to aſk Miſs Grandiſon, What anſwer he returned to this? She ſaw they had.

Ah! Harriet! ſmilling—That's a meaning look, with all its baſhfulneſs. This was my brother's anſwer—‘"Every-body muſt love Miſs Byron—You know, Charlotte, that I preſented her to you, and you to her, as a third ſiſter: And what man better loves his ſiſters, than your brother?"’

We both looked down, Harriet; but not quite ſo ſilly, and ſo diſſappointed a you now look—

Dear Miſs Grandiſon!—

Well, then another time don't let your eyes aſk queſtions, inſtead of your lips.

Third ſiſter! my Lucy! Indeed I believe I looked ſilly enough. To ſay the truth, I was diſſappointed.

Har. And this was all that paſſed? You hear by my queſtion, Ladies, that my lips will keep my eyes in countenance.

[298] Miſs Gr. It was; for he retired as ſoon as he had ſaid this.

Har. How retired, madam?—Any diſcompo—You laugh at my folly; at my preſumption perhaps—

They both ſmiled. No, I can't ſay that there ſeemed to be either in his word or manner, any diſtinguiſhing emotion; any great diſcompo—He was about to retire before.

Well, Ladies, I will only ſay, That the beſt thing I can do, is, to borrow a chariot-and-ſix, and drive away to Northamptonſhire.

But wh yo, Harriet?

Becauſe it is impoſſible but I muſt ſuffer in your brother's opinion, every time he ſees me, and that whether I am ſilent or ſpeaking.

They made me fine compliments: But they would indeed have been fine ones, could they have made them from their brother.

Well, but, Lucy, don't you think, that had Sir Charles Grandiſon meant any-thing, he would have expreſſed himſelf to his ſiſters in ſuch high terms, be⯑fore he had ſaid one very diſtinguiſhing thing to me? Let me judge by myſelf—Men and women, I believe, are ſo much alike, that, put cuſtom, tyrant-cuſtom, out of the queſtion, the meaning of the one may be generally gueſſed at by that of the other, in caſes where the heart is concerned. What civil, what po⯑lite things, could I allow myſelf to ſay to and of Mr. Orme, and Mr. Fowler! How could I praiſe the ho⯑neſty and goodneſs of their hearts, and declare my pity for them! And why? Becauſe I meant nothing more by it all, than a warmer kind of civility; that I was not afraid to let go, as their merits pulled.—And now, methinks, I can better gueſs, than I could till now, at what Mr. Greville meant, when he wiſhed me to declare, that I hated him. Sly wretch!—ſince the woman who uſes a man inſolently in courtſhip, certainly makes that man of more importance to her, than ſhe would wiſh him to think himſelf.—

[299] But why am I ſtudious to torment myſelf? What will be, muſt. ‘"Who knows what Providence has deſigned for Sir Charles Grandiſon?"’—May he be happy! But indeed, my Lucy, your Harriet is much otherwiſe, at this time.

LETTER XXXI. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

I WILL not let you loſe the ſubſtance of a very agreeable converſation, which we had laſt night after ſupper. You may be ſure I thought it the more agreeable, as Sir Charles was drawn in to bear a con⯑ſiderable part in it. It would be impoſſible to give you more than paſſages, becauſe the ſubjects were various, and the tranſitions ſo quick, by one perſon aſking this queſtion, another that, that I could not, were I to try, connect them as I endeavour generally to do.

Of one ſubject, Lucy, I particularly owe you ſome account. Miſs Grandiſon, in her lively way (and lively ſhe was, notwithſtanding her trial ſo lately o⯑ver) led me into talking of the deteſted maſquerade. She put me upon recollecting the giddy ſcene, which thoſe dreadfully intereſting ones that followed it, had made me wiſh to blot out of my memory.

I ſpared you at the time, Harriet, ſaid ſhe. I aſked you no queſtions about the maſquerade, when you flew to us firſt, poor frighted bird! with all your gay plumage about you.

I coloured a deep crimſon, I believe. What were Sir Charles's firſt thoughts of me, Lucy, in that fan⯑taſtic, that hated dreſs? The ſimile of the bird too, was his, you know; and Charlotte looked very archly.

My dear Miſs Grandiſon, ſpare me ſtill. Let me [300] forget, that ever I preſumptuouſly ventured into ſuch a ſcene of folly.

Do not call it by harſh names, Miſs Byron, ſaid Sir Charles. We are too much obliged to it.

Can I, Sir Charles, call it by too harſh a name, when I think, how fatal, in numberleſs ways, the event might have proved? But I do not ſpeak only with reference to that. Don't think, my dear Miſs Grandiſon, that my diſlike to myſelf, and to this fooliſh diverſion, ſprings altogether from what befel me: The ſame ſhocking villainy might have been at⯑tempted by the ſame vile man from a more laudable and reaſonable diverſion. I had on the ſpot the ſame contempts, the ſame diſdain of myſelf, the diſlike of all thoſe who ſeemed capable of joy on the light, the fooliſh occaſion.

My good Charlotte, ſaid Sir Charles ſmiling, is leſs timorous than her younger ſiſter. She might be per⯑ſuaded, I fancy, to venture—

Under your conduct, Sir Charles. You know, Lady L. and I, who have not yet had an opportunity of this ſort, were trying to engage you againſt the next ſubſcription-ball.

Indeed, ſaid Lady L. our Harriet's diſtreſs has led me into reflexions I never made before on this kind of diverſion; and I fancy her account of it, will per⯑fectly ſatisfy my curioſity.

Sir Ch. Proceed, good Miſs Byron. I am as cu⯑rious as your ſiſters, to hear what you ſay of it. The ſcene was quite new to you. You probably expected entertainment from it. Forget for a while the acci⯑dental conſequences, and tell us how you were at the time amuſed.

Amuſed! Sir Charles!—Indeed I had no opinion of the diverſion, even before I went. I knew I ſhould deſpiſe it. I knew I ſhould often wiſh myſelf at home before the evening were over. And ſo indeed I did. I whiſpered my couſin Reeves more than once, O ma⯑dam! [301] this is ſad! This is intolerable ſtuff! This place is one great bedlam! Good Heaven▪ Could there be in this one town ſo many creatures devoid of reaſon, as are here got together? I hope we are all here.

Yet you ſee, ſaid Miſs Grandiſon, however Lady L. is, or ſeems to be, inſtantaneouſly informed, there were two, who would gladly have been there: The more, you may be ſure, for its having been a diver⯑ſion prohibited to us, at our firſt coming to town. Sir Charles lived long in the land of maſquerades—Oh, my dear! we uſed to pleaſe ourſelves with hopes, that when he was permitted to come over to England, we ſhould ſee golden days under his auſpices.

Sir Ch. (ſmiling) Will you accompany us to the next ſubſcription-ball, Miſs Byron?

I, Sir Charles, ſhould be inexcuſable, if I thought—

Miſs Gr. (interrupting, and looking archly) Not under our brother's conduct, Harriet?

Indeed, my dear Miſs Grandiſon, had the diver⯑ſion not been prohibited, had you once ſeen the wild, the ſenſeleſs confuſion, you would think juſt as I do: And you would have one ſtronger reaſon againſt coun⯑tenancing it by your preſence; for who, at this rate, ſhall make the ſtand of virtue and decorum, if ſuch Ladies as Miſs Grandiſon and Lady L. do not?—But I ſpeak of the common maſquerades, which I believe are more diſorderly. I was diſguſted at the freedoms taken with me, tho' but the common freedoms of the place, by perſons who ſingled me from the throng, hurried me round the rooms, and engaged me in fifty idle converſations; and to whom, by the pri⯑vilege of the place, I was obliged to be bold, pert, ſaucy, and to aim at repartee and ſmartneſs; the cur⯑rent wit of that witleſs place. They once got me into a country-dance. No prude could come, or if ſhe came, could be a prude, there.

Sir Ch. Were you not pleaſed, Miſs Byron, with the firſt coup d'oeil of that gay apartment?

[302] A momentary pleaſure: but when I came to re⯑flect, the bright light, ſtriking on my tinſel dreſs, made me ſeem to myſelf the more conſpicuous fool. Let me be kept in countenance as I might, by ſcores of ſtill more ridiculous figures, what, thought I, are other people's follies to me? Am I to make an ap⯑pearance that ſhall want the countenance of the vaineſt, if not the ſillieſt part of the creation? What would my good grandfather have thought, could he have ſeen his Harriet, the girl whoſe mind he took pains to form and enlarge, mingling in a habit ſo prepoſterouſly rich and gaudy, with a croud of Satyrs, Harlequins, Scaramouches, Fauns, and Dryads; nay, of Witches and Devils; the graver habits ſtriving which ſhould moſt diſgrace the cha⯑racters they aſſumed, and every one endeavouring to be thought the direct contrary of what they appeared to be.

Miſs Gr. Well, then, the Devils, at leaſt, muſt have been charming creatures!

Lady L. But, Sir Charles, might not a maſquerade, if decorum were obſerved, and every one would ſup⯑port with wit and ſpirit the aſſumed character—

Mr. Gr. Devils and all, Lady L.?

Lady L. It is contrary to decorum for ſuch ſhock⯑ing characters to be aſſumed at all: But might it not, Sir Charles, ſo regulated, be a rational and an almoſt inſtructive entertainment?

Sir Ch. You would ſcarcely be able, my dear ſiſter, to collect eight or nine hundred people, all wits, and all obſervant of decorum. And if you could, does not the example reach down to thoſe who are capa⯑ble of taking only the bad and dangerous part of a diverſion; which you may ſee by every common news-paper is become dreadfully general?

Mr. Gr. Well, Sir Charles, and why ſhould not the poor devils in low life divert themſelves as well as their betters? For my part, I rejoice when I ſee ad⯑vertiſed [303] an eighteen-penny maſquerade, for all the pretty 'prentice ſouls, who will that evening be Ar⯑cadian Shepherdeſſes, Goddeſſes, and Queens.

I bluſhed at the word Arcadian; yet Mr. Grandi⯑ſon did not ſeem to have my maſquerade dreſs in his thoughts.

Miſs Gr. What low profligate ſcenes couldſt thou expatiate upon, good man! if thou wert in proper company! I warrant thoſe Goddeſſes have not want⯑ed an adorer in our couſin Everard.

Mr. Gr. Dear Miſs Charlotte, take care! I pro⯑teſt, you begin to talk with the ſpite of an old maid.

Miſs Gr. There, brother! Do you hear the wretch? Will not you, knight-errand like, defend the cauſe of a whole claſs of diſtreſſed damſels, with our good Yorkſhire aunt at the head of them?

Sir Ch. Thoſe general prejudices and aſperſions, Charlotte, are indeed unjuſt and cruel. Yet I am for having every-body marry. Bachelors, couſin Everard, and maids, when long ſingle, are looked upon as houſes long empty, which no-body cares to take. As the houſes in time, by long diſuſe, will be thought by the vulgar haunted by evil ſpirits, ſo will the other, by the many, be thought poſſeſſed by no good ones.

The tranſition was ſome-how made from hence to the equitableneſs that ought to be in our judgements of one another. We muſt in theſe caſes, ſaid Sir Charles, throw merit in one ſcale, demerit in the o⯑ther; and if the former weigh down the latter, we muſt in charity pronounce to the perſon's advantage. So it is humbly hoped we ſhall finally be judged our⯑ſelves: For who is faultleſs?

Yet, ſaid he, for my own part, that I may not be wanting to prudence, I have ſometimes where the merit is not very ſtriking, allowed perſons, at firſt ac⯑quaintance, a ſhort leaſe only in my good opinion; ſome for three, ſome for ſix, ſome for nine, others for twelve months, renewable or not, as they anſwer [304] expectation. And by this meane I leave it to every one to make his own character with me; I preſerve my charity, and my complacency; and enter directly, with frankneſs, into converſation with him; and ge⯑nerally continue that freedom to the end of the re⯑ſpective perſon's leaſe.

Miſs Gr. I wonder how many of your leaſes, bro⯑ther, have been granted to Ladies?

Sir Ch. Many, Charlotte, of the friendly ſort: But the kind you archly mean, are out of the queſtion at preſent. We were talking of eſteem.

They inſenſibly led the converſation to Love and Courtſhip; and he ſaid [What do you think he ſaid, Lucy?] That he ſhould not, perhaps, were he in Love, be over-forward to declare his paſſion by words; but rather ſhew it by his aſſiduities and veneration, unleſs he ſaw, that the ſuſpenſe was painful to the ob⯑ject; and in this caſe it would be equally mean and inſolent not to break ſilence, and put himſelf in the power of her, whoſe honour and delicacy ought to be dearer to him than his own.

What ſay you to this, Lucy?

Some think, proceeded he, that the days of court⯑ſhip are the happieſt days of life. But the man, who, as a Lover, thinks ſo, is not to be forgiven. Yet it muſt be confeſſed, that hope gives an ardour which ſubſides in certainty.

Being called upon by Lord L. to be more explicit:

I am not endeavouring, ſaid he, to ſet up my par⯑ticular humour for a general rule. For my own ſake, I would not, by a too early declaration, drive a Lady into reſerves; ſince that would be to rob myſelf of thoſe innocent freedoms, and of that complacency, to which an honourable Lover might think himſelf entitled; and which might help him (Don't be af⯑frighted, Ladies!) to develop the plaits and folds of the female heart.

[305] This developement ſtuck with us women a little. We talked of it afterwards. And Miſs Grandiſon then ſaid, It was well her couſin Everard ſaid not that. And he anſwered, Sir Charles may with more ſafety ſteal an horſe, than I look over the hedge.

Miſs Gr. Ay, couſin Grandiſon, that is becauſe you are a Rake. A name, believe me, of at leaſt as much reproach, as that of an Old Maid.

Mr. Gr. Aſperſing a whole claſs at once, Miſs Charlotte! 'Tis contrary to your own maxim; And a claſs too (this of the Rakes) that many a generous⯑ſpirited girl chooſes out of, when ſhe would diſpoſe of herſelf and her fortune.

Miſs Gr. How malapert this Everard!

What Sir Charles next ſaid, made him own the character more decently by his bluſhes.

The woman who chooſes a Rake, ſaid he, does not conſider, that all the ſprightly airs for which ſhe preferred him to a better man, either vaniſh in ma⯑trimony, or are ſhewn to others, to her mortal diſquiet. The agreeable will be carried abroad: The diſagree⯑able will be brought home. If he reform (and yet bad habits are very difficult to ſhake off) he will pro⯑bably, from the reflexions on his paſt guilty life, be an unſociable companion, ſhould deep and true con⯑trition have laid hold on him: If not, what has ſhe choſen? He married not from honeſt principles: A Rake deſpiſes matrimony: If ſtill a Rake, what hold will ſhe have of him? A Rake in Paſſion is not a Rake in Love. Such a one can ſeldom be in Love: From a laudable paſſion he cannot. He has no deli⯑cacy. His Love deſerves a vile name: And if ſo, it will be ſtrange, if in his eyes a common woman ex⯑cel not his modeſt wife,

What he ſaid, was openly approved by the Gentle⯑men: tacitly by the Ladies.

The ſubject changing to marriages of perſons of unequal years; I knew, ſaid Lord L. a woman of cha⯑racter, [306] and not reckoned to [...], who married at twenty a man of more than fif [...]y in hopes of bu⯑rying him; but who lived with her [...]eward of twenty years; and then dying, ſhe is now in treaty with a young Rake of twenty-two. She is rich! and, poor woman! hopes to be happy. Pity, Sir Charles, ſhe could not ſee the picture you have been dra [...]ng.

Retribution, ſaid Sir Charles, will frequently take its courſe. The Lady, keeping in view one ſteady purpoſe; which was, That ſhe would marry a young man, whenever death removed the old one, forgot, when ſhe loſt her huſband, that ſhe had been growing older for the laſt twenty years; and will now very probably be the deſpiſed mate to the young huſband, that her late huſband was to her. Thirty years hence, the now young man will perhaps fall into the error of his predeceſſor, if he outlive the wife he is going to take, and be puniſhed in the ſame way. Theſe are what may be called puniſhments in kind. The vio⯑lators of the ſocial duties are frequently puniſhed by the ſucceſs of their own wiſhes. Don't you think, my Lord, that it is ſuitable to the divine benignity, as well as juſtice, to lend its ſanctions and puniſhments in aid of thoſe duties which bind man to man?

Lord L. ſaid ſome very good things. Your Harriet was not a mute: But you know, that my point is, to let you into the character and ſentiments of Sir Charles Grandiſon: And whenever I can do them tolerable juſtice, I ſhall keep to that point. You will promiſe for me, you ſay, Lucy—I know you will.

But one might have expected that Dr. Bartlett would have ſaid more than he did, on ſome of the ſubjects: Yet Mr. Grandiſon, and he, and Miſs Emily, were almoſt equally, and attentively, ſilent, till the laſt ſcene: And then the Doctor ſaid, I muſt ſhew you a little tranſlation of Miſs Emily's from the Italian. She bluſhed, and looked as if ſhe knew not whether ſhe ſhould ſtay or go. I ſhall be glad to ſee [307] any-thing of my Emily's, ſaid Sir Charles. I know ſhe is a miſtreſs of that language, and elegant in her own. Pray, my dear, (to her) let us be obliged, if it will not pain you.

She bluſhed, and bowed.

I muſt firſt tell you, ſaid the Doctor, that I was the occaſion of her chooſing ſo grave a ſubject, as you will find that of the ſonnet from which hers is taken.

A ſonnet! ſaid Miſs Grandiſon. My dear little POETESS, you muſt ſet it, and ſing it to us.

No indeed, madam, ſaid Miſs Jervois, bluſhing ſtill more, Dr. Bartlett would by no means have me a Poeteſs, I am ſure: And did you not, dear madam, ſpeak that word, as if you meant to call me a name?

I think ſhe did, my dear, ſaid Sir Charles: Nor would I have had my Emily diſtinguiſhed by any name, but that of a diſcreet, an ingenious, and an amiable young woman. The title of Wit and Poeteſs, has been diſgraced too often by Sappho's and Corrinna's an⯑cient and modern. Was not this in your head, ſiſter? But do not be diſturbed, my Emily [the poor girl's eyes gliſtened]. I mean no check to livelineſs and mo⯑deſt ingenuity. The eaſy productions of a fine fancy, not made the buſineſs of life, or its boaſt, confer no denomination that is diſgraceful, but very much the contrary.

I am very glad, for all that, ſaid Miſs Jervois, that my little tranſlation is in plain proſe: Had it not, I ſhould have been very much afraid to have it ſeen.

Even in that caſe, you need not to have been afraid, my dear Miſs Jervois, ſaid the good Dr. Bartlett: Sir Charles is an admirer of good poetry: And Miſs Grandiſon would have recollected the Philomelas, the Orinadas, and other excellent names among her own ſex, whoſe fine genius does it honour.

Your diffidence and ſweet humility, my dear Emily, ſaid Lady L. would, in you, make the moſt envied accompliſhments amiable.

[308] I am ſure, ſaid the lovely girl, hanging down her head, tears ready to ſtart, I have reaſon to be affected with the ſubject—The indulgent mother is deſcribed with ſo much ſweet tenderneſs—O what pleaſures do mothers loſe, who want tenderneſs.

We all, either by eyes or voices, called for the Sonnet, and her tranſlation. Dr. Bartlett ſhewed them to us; and I ſent copies of both.

‘"See a fond mother incircled by her children: With pious tenderneſs ſhe looks around, and her ſoul even melts with maternal Love. One ſhe kiſſes on the forehead; and clasps another to her boſom. One ſhe ſets upon her knees; and finds a ſeat upon her foot for another. And while, by their actions, their liſping words, and aſking eyes, ſhe underſtands their various numberleſs little wiſhes, to theſe ſhe diſpenſes a look; a word to thoſe; and whether ſhe ſmiles or frowns, 'tis all in tender Love.’

‘"Such to us, tho' infinitely high and awful, is PROVIDENCE: So it watches over us; comforting theſe; providing for thoſe; liſtening to all; aſſiſt⯑ing [309] every one: And if ſometimes it denies the fa⯑vour we implore, it denies but to invite our more earneſt prayers; or, ſeeming to deny a bleſſing, grants one in that refuſal."’

When the tranſlation was read aloud, the tears that before were ſtarting, trickled down the ſweet girl's cheeks. But the commendations every one joined in, and eſpecially the praiſes given her by her guardian, drove away every cloud from her face.

LETTER XXXII. Sir CHARLES GRANDISON, To Miſs GRANDISON.

I HAVE already ſeen Captain Anderſon. Richard Saunder, whom I ſent with your Letter▪ as ſoon as I came to town, found him at his lodgings near Whitehall. He expreſſed himſelf, on re [...]ding it be⯑fore the ſervant, with indiferent warmth. I would not make minute enquiries after his words, becauſe I intended an amicable meeting with him.

We met at four yeſterday afternoon, at the Cocoa-tree in Pall-mall: Lieut. Col. Mackenzie, and Major Dillon, two of his frienda, with whom I had no ac⯑quaintance, were with him. Ths Captain and I withdrew to a private room. The two gentlemen enter'd it with us.

You will on this occaſion, I know, expect me to be particular: Yet muſt allow, that I had no good cauſe to manage; ſince thoſe points that had moſt weight (and which were the ground of your objecti⯑ons to him, when you ſaw him in a near light) could not be pleaded without affronting him; and if they were, would hardly meet with his allow⯑ance; and could therefore have no force in the argument.

[310] On the two gentlemen entering the room with us, without apology or objection, I aſk'd the Captain, If they were acquainted with the affair we met upon? He ſaid, They were his dear and inſeparable friends, and knew every ſecret of his heart. Perhaps in this caſe, Captain Anderſon, returned I, it were as well they did not.

We are men of honour, Sir Charles Grandiſon, ſaid the Major briſkly.

I don't doubt it, Sir. But where the delicacy of a Lady is concern'd, the hearts of the principals ſhould be the whole world to each other. But what is done, is done. I am ready to enter upon the affair before theſe gentlemen, if you chooſe it, Captain.

You will find us to be gentlemen, Sir Charles, ſaid the Colonel.

The Captain then began, with warmth, his own ſtory: Indeed he told it very well. I was pleaſed, for my ſiſter's ſake (pardon me, Charlotte) that he did. He is not contemptible, either in perſon or un⯑derſtanding. He may be ſaid, perhaps, to be an illi⯑terate, but he is not an ignorant man; tho' not the perſon whom the friends of Charlotte Grandiſon would think worthy of the firſt place in her heart.

After he had told his ſtory (which I need not repeat to you) he inſiſted upon your promiſe. And his two friends declared in his favour, with airs, each man, a little too peremptory. I told them ſo; and that they muſt do me the juſtice to conſider me as a man of ſome ſpirit, as well as themſelves. I came hither with a friendly intention, gentlemen ſaid I. I do not love to follow the lead of haſty ſpirits. But if you expect to carry any point with me, it muſt not be either by raiſed voices, or heightened complexions.

Their features were all at once changed. And they ſaid, they meant not to be warm.

I told the Captain, That I would not enter into a minute defence of the Lady, tho' my ſiſter; I owned, [311] that there had appeared a precipitation in her conduct. Her treatment at home, as ſhe aprehended, was not anſwerable to her merits. She was young, and knew nothing of the world. Young Ladies were often ſtruck by appearances. You, Captain Anderſon, ſaid I, have advantages in perſon and manner, that might obtain for you a young Lady's attention. And as ſhe believed herſelf circumſtanced in her family, I wonder not that ſhe lent an air to the addreſs of a gallant man; whoſe command in that neighbourhood, and, I doubt not, whoſe behaviour in that com⯑mand, added to his conſequence. But I take it for granted, Sir, that you met with difficulties from her, when ſhe came to reflect upon the diſreputation of a young woman's carrying on clandeſtinely a correſpond⯑ence with a man, of whoſe addreſs her father, then living, was not likely to approve. There was none of that violent paſſion on either ſide, that precludes rea⯑ſon, diſcretion, duty. It is no wonder then, that a woman of Charlotte Grandiſon's known good ſenſe, ſhould reflect, ſhould conſider: And perhaps the leſs, that you ſhould therefore ſeek to engage her by pro⯑miſe. But what was the promiſe? It was not the promiſe that, it ſeems, you ſought to engage her to make; To be abſolutely yours, and no other man's: But it was, That ſhe would not marry any other man without your conſent, while you remained ſingle. An unreaſonable promiſe, however, I will preſume to ſay, either to be propoſed, or ſubmitted to.

Sir! ſaid the Captain; and looked the Soldier.

I repeated what I laſt ſaid.

Sir! again ſaid the Captain; and looked upon his friends, who pointed each his head at the other, and at him, by turns—as if they had ſaid, Very free language!

For, Sir, proceeded I, did it not give room to think, that you had either ſome doubts of your own merit with the Lady, or of her affection and ſteadi⯑neſs [312] And in either caſe, ought it to have been pro⯑poſed? ought it to have been made? For my part, I ſhould diſdain to think of any woman for a wife who gave me reaſon to imagine, that ſhe was likely to ba⯑lance a moment, as to her choice of me, or any other man.

Something in that! ſaid the Colonel.

As you explain yourſelf, Sir Charles, ſaid the Major—

The Captain, however, ſat ſwelling. He was not ſo eaſily ſatisfied.

Your motive, we are not to queſtion, Captain, was Love. Miſs Grandiſon is a young woman whom any man may love. By the way, where a man is aſſured of a return in Love, there is no occaſion for a pro⯑miſe. But a promiſe was made. My ſiſter is a wo⯑man of honour. She thinks herſelf bound by it; and ſhe is content to lead a ſingle life to the end of it, if you will not acquit her of this promiſe. Yet ſhe leaves, and at the time did leave, you free. You will have the juſtice, Sir, to allow, that there is generoſity in her conduct to you, which remains for you to ſhew to her, ſince a promiſe ſhould not be made but on equal terms. Would you hold her to it, and be not held yourſelf? She deſires not to hold you. Let me tell you, Captain, that if I had been in your ſituation, and had been able to prevail upon myſelf to endeavour to bring a Lady to make me ſuch a promiſe, I ſhould have doubted her love of me, had ſhe not ſought to bind me to her by an equal tie. What! ſhould I have ſaid to myſelf, Is this Lady dearer to me than all the women upon earth? Do I ſeek to bind her to me by a ſolemn promiſe, which ſhall give me a power over her? And has ſhe ſo little regard for me, as not to va⯑lue, whether I marry any other woman?

The Gentlemen looked upon one another; but were ſilent. I proceeded.

Le us ſet this matter in its true light. Here is a [313] young woman, who had ſuffered herſelf to be embar⯑raſſed in a treaty, that her whole heart, ſhe aſſures me, was never in, This was her fault. But know we not how inextricable are the entanglements of Love, as it is called, when young women are brought to enter into correſpondence with men? Our Sex have oppor⯑tunities of knowing the world, which the other have not. Experience, gentlemen, engaging with inexpe⯑rience, and perhaps to the difference of twice the number of years [Sir! ſaid the Captain!] the com⯑bat muſt be too unequal. How artfully do men endea⯑vour to draw in the women whom they think it worth their while to purſue!—But would any man here wiſh to marry a woman, who declares that ſhe was inſen⯑ſibly drawn in beyond her purpoſe? Who ſhewed, when ſhe refuſed to promiſe that ſhe would be his, in preference to all other men, that ſhe did not love him above all other men? Who, when ſhe was pre⯑vailed on to fetter herſelf, made him not of conſe⯑quence enough to herſelf to bind him? And, in a word, who has long ago declared to him, and ſteadi⯑ly perſiſts in the declaration, That ſhe never will be his?—You ſeem, gentlemen, to be men of ſpirit. Would you wiſh to marry the firſt woman on earth on theſe terms, if you could obtain her?—which, how⯑ever, is not the caſe; ſince Miſs Grandiſon's promiſe extends not ſo far as to oblige her to marry Captain Anderſon.

The Captain did not, he told me, like ſome part of what I had ſaid, and ſtill leſs ſome of the words I had uſed;—And ſeemed to be diſpoſing his features to take a livelier turn than became the occaſion. I interrupted him therefore: I meet you not, Captain, ſaid I, either to hear, or to obviate, cavils upon words. When I have told you, that I came with an amicable inten⯑tion, I expect to be believed. I intend not offence. But let us be men. I am perhaps a younger man by ten years, than any one preſent; but I have ſeen the [314] world, as much as any man of my age; and know what is due to the character of a Gentleman, whe⯑ther it be captain Anderſon's, or my own: And ex⯑pect not wilful miſconſtructions.

All I mean is, Sir, ſaid the Captain, that I will not be treated contemptuouſly, no, not even by the brother of Miſs Grandiſon.

The brother of Miſs Grandiſon, Sir, is not ac⯑cuſtomed to treat any man contemptuouſly. Don't treat yourſelf ſo, and you are ſafe from unworthy treatment from me. Let me add, Sir, that I permit every man to ſix his character with me, as he pleaſes. I will venture to ſay, I have a large charity; but I extend it not to tameneſs: But yet will always al⯑low a third perſon to decide upon the juſtice of my in⯑tentions and actions.

The Captain ſaid, That he aſcribed a great deal of my ſiſter's poſitiveneſs in her denial of him (thoſe were his words) to the time of my arrival in England; and he doubted not, that I had encouraged the propoſals, either of Sir Walter Watkyns, or of Lord G. becauſe of their quality and fortunes: And hence his difficul⯑ties were encreaſed.

And then up he roſe, ſlapt one hand upon the table, put the other on his ſword, and was going to ſay ſome very fierce things, prefacing them with damning his blood, when I ſtood up: Hold, Captain; be calm, if poſſible—Hear from me the naked truth; I will⯑make you a fair repreſentation; and, when I have done, do you reſume, if you think it neceſſary, that angry air you got up with, and ſee what you'll make of it.

His friends interpoſed. He ſat down, half out of breath with anger. His ſwelled features went down by degrees.

The truth of the matter is ſtrictly and briefly this.

All my ſiſter's difficulties (which, perhaps, were greater in apprehenſion than in fact) ended with my [315] father's life. I made it my buſineſs, on my arrival, as ſoon as poſſible, to aſcertain my ſiſter's fortunes. Lord. L. married▪ the elder. The two gentlemen you have mentioned, made their addreſſes to the younger. I knew nothing of you, Captain Anderſon. My ſiſter had wholly kept the affair between you and her, in her own breaſt. She had not revealed it, even to her ſiſter. The reaſon ſhe gives, and to which you, Sir, could be no ſtranger, was, That ſhe was determined never to be yours. The ſubject requires explicitneſs, Cap⯑tain Anderſon: And I am not accuſtomed to palliate, whenever it does. She hoped to prevail upon you to leave her as generouſly free, as ſhe had left you. I do aſſure you, upon my honour, that ſhe favours not either of the gentlemen. I know not the man ſhe does favour. It is I, her brother, not herſelf, that am ſo⯑licitous for her marrying. And, upon the indifference ſhe expreſſed to change her condition, on terms to which no objection could be made, I ſuppoſed ſhe muſt have a ſecret preference to ſome other man. I was afterwards informed, that letters had paſſed be⯑tween her and you, by a Lady, who had it from a Gentleman of your acquaintance. You have ſhewn me, Sir, by the preſence of theſe Gentlemen, that you were not ſo careful of the ſecret, as my ſiſter had been.

I charged my ſiſter, upon this diſcovery, with re⯑ſerve to me: But offered her my ſervice in her own way; aſſuring her, that if her heart were engaged, the want of quality, title, and fortune, ſhould not be of weight with me; and that whomſoever ſhe ac⯑cepted for her huſband, him would I receive for my brother.

The colonel and the Major extravagantly applaud⯑ed a behaviour on this occaſion, which deſerved no more than a common approbation▪

She ſolemnly aſſured me, proceeded I, that altho' ſhe held herſelf bound by the promiſe which youth, [316] inexperience, and ſolicitation, had drawn her in to make, ſhe reſolved to perform it by a perpetual ſingle life, if it were inſiſted upon. And thus, Sir, you ſee, that it depends upon you to keep Charlotte Grandiſon a ſingle woman, till you marry ſome other Lady (A power let me tell you, that no man ought to ſeek to obtain over any young woman) or, generouſly to ac⯑quit her of it, and leave her as free as ſhe has left you.—And now, gentlemen (to the Major and Colonel) if you come hither not ſo much parties as judges, I leave this matter upon your conſideration; and will with⯑draw for a few moments.

I left every mouth ready to burſt into words; and walked into the public room. There I met with Co⯑lonel Martin, whom I had ſeen abroad: and who had juſt aſked after Major Dillon. He, to my great ſurprize, took notice to me of the buſineſs that brought me thither.

You ſee, my ſiſter, the conſequences you were of to Captain Anderſon. He had not been able to forbear boaſting of the honour which a daughter of Sir Tho⯑mas Grandiſon had done him, and of his enlarged proſpects, by her intereſt. Dear Charlotte—How unhappy was the man, that your pride ſhould make you think yourſelf concern'd to keep ſecret an affair that he thought a glory to him to make known to ma⯑ny! For we ſee (ſhall I not ſay, to the advantage of this gentleman's character) that he has many dear and inſeparable friends, from whom he concealed not any ſecret of his heart.

Colonel Mackenzie came out ſoon after, and we withdrew to the corner of the room. He talked a great deal of the ſtrength of the captain's paſſion; of the hopes he had conceived of making his fortune, thro' the intereſt of a family to which he imputed conſideration: He made me a great many compli⯑ments. He talk'd of the great detriment this long⯑ſuſpended affair had been to his friend; and told me, [317] with a grave countenance, that the Captain was grown as many years older, as it had been in hand; and was ready to rate very highly ſo much time loſt in the prime of life. In ſhort, he aſcribed to the Captain the views and the diſappointments of a mili⯑tary fortune-hunter too plainly for his honour in my eye; had I been diſpoſed to take proper notice of the meaning of what he ſaid.

After having heard him out, I deſired the Colonel to let me know what all this meant, and what were the Captain's expectations.

He paraded on again, a long time; and aſked me, at laſt, If there were no hopes that the Lady—

None at all, interrupted I. She ha ſteadily de⯑clared as much. Charlotte Grandiſon is a woman of fine ſenſe. She had great qualities. She has inſupe⯑rable objections to the Captain, which are founded on a more perfect knowledge of the man, and of her own heart, than ſhe could have at firſt. It is not my in⯑tention to depreciate him with his friend: I ſhall not, therefore, enter into particulars. Let me know, Co⯑lonel, what the gentleman pretends to. He is paſ⯑ſionate, I ſee: I am not a tame man. But God for⯑bid, that Captain Anderſon, who hoped to be bene⯑fited by an alliance with the daughter of Sir Thomas Grandiſon, ſhould receive hurt, or hard treatment, from her brother!

Here Colonel Martin, who had heard ſomething of what was ſaid, deſired to ſpeak with Colonel Macken⯑zie. They were not ſo diſtant, but my ear unavoid⯑ably caught part of their ſubject. Colonel Martin ex⯑patiated, in a very high manner, on my character, when I was abroad. He imputed bravery to me (a great article among military men, and with you Ladies) and I know not how many good qualities—And Colonel Mackenzie took him in with him to the other two gentlemen: Where, I ſuppoſe, every⯑thing that had paſſed was repeated.

[318] After a while, I was deſired by Colonel Martin. in the name of the gentlemen, to walk in; he himſelf ſitting down in the public room.

They received me with reſpect. I was obliged to hear and ſay a great many things, that I had ſaid and heard before: But at laſt two propoſals were made me; either of which, they ſaid, if complied with, would be taken as laying the Captain under very high obligation.

Poor man! I had compaſſion for him, and cloſed with one of them; declining the other for a reaſon which I did not give to them. To ſay truth, Char⯑lotte, I did not chooſe to promiſe my intereſt in behalf of a man, of whoſe merit I was not aſſured, had I been able to challenge any, as perhaps I might by Lord W.'s means; who ſtands well with proper perſons. A man ought to think himſelf, in ſome meaſure, ac⯑countable for warm recommendations; eſpecially where the public is concerned: And could I give my promiſe, and be cool as to the performance? And I ſhould think myſelf alſo anſwerable to a worthy man, and to every one connected with him, if I were a means of lifting one leſs worthy over his head. I choſe therefore to do that ſervice to him, for which I am reſponſible only to myſelf. After I have ſaid this, my ſiſter muſt aſk me no queſtions,

I gave a rough draught, at the Captain's requeſt, of the manner in which I would have releaſes drawn. Colonel Martin was deſired to walk in. And all the gentlemen promiſed to bury in ſilence and all that had ever come to their knowlege, of what had paſſed be⯑tween Charlotte Grandiſon, and Captain Anderſon.

Let not the mentioning to you theſe meaſures, hurt you, my ſiſter. Many young Ladies of ſenſe and fa⯑mily have been drawn into ſtill greater inconveni⯑encies than you have ſuffered. Perſons of eminent abilities (I have a very high opinion of my Charlotte's) ſeldom err in ſmall points. Moſt young women who [319] begin a correſpondence with our deſigning Sex, think they can ſtop when they will. But it is not ſo. We, and the dark ſpirit that ſets us at work, which we ſometimes miſ-call Love, will not permit you to do ſo. Men and Women are Devils to one another. They need no other tempter.

All will be completed to morrow; and your writ⯑ten promiſe, of conſequence, given up. I congratu⯑late my ſiſter on the happy concluſion of this affair. You are now your own miſtreſs, and free to chooſe for yourſelf. I ſhould never forgive myſelf, were I, who have been the means of freeing you from one controul, to endeavour to lay you under another. Think not either of Sir Walter or of Lord G. if your heart declare not in favour of either. You have ſometimes thought me carneſt in behalf of Lord G. But I have never ſpoken in his favour, but when you have put me upon anſwering objections to him, which I have thought inſufficient: And indeed, Charlotte, ſome of your objections have been ſo ſlight, that I was ready to believe, you put them for the pleaſure of having them anſwered.

My Charlotte need not doubt of admirers, where—ever ſhe ſets her foot, And I repeat, that whoever be the man ſhe inclines to favour, ſhe may depend upon the approbation and good offices of

LETTER XXXIII. Miſs HARRIET BYRON, To Miſs SELBY.

I SEND you incloſed (to be returned by the firſt opportunity) Sir Charles's Letter to his ſiſter, ac⯑quainting her with the happy concluſion of the affair between Captain Anderſon and her. Her brother, as [320] you will ſee▪ acquits her not of precipitation. If he did, it would have been an impeachment of this juſtice, O the dear Charlotte! how her pride is piqued at the meanneſs of the man! But no more of this ſubject, as the Letter is before you.

And now, my dear and honoured friends, let me return you a thouſand thanks for the great pacquet of my Letters, juſt ſent me, with a moſt indulgent one from my aunt, and another from my uncle.

I have already put into the two Ladies, and my Lord's, without reſerve, all the Letters that reach to the maſquerade affair, from the time of my ſetting out for London, and when they have heard thoſe, I have promiſed them more. This confidence has greatly obliged them; and they are employed, with no ſmall earneſtneſs, in peruſing them.

This gives me an opportunity of purſuing my own devices—And what, beſides ſcribling, do you think one of them is—A kind of perſecution of Dr. Bartlett; by which, however, I ſuſpect, that I myſelf am the greateſt ſufferer. He is an excellent man; and I make no difficulty of going to him in his cloſet; en⯑couraged by his aſſurances of welcome.

Let me ſtop to ſay, my Lucy, that when I approach this good man in his retirement, ſurrounded by his books, his table generally covered with thoſe on pious ſubjects, I, in my heart, congratulate the ſaint, and inheritor of future glory; and in that great view am the more deſirous to cultivate his friendſhip.

And what do you think is our ſubject? Sir Charles, I ſuppoſe, you gueſs—And ſo it is, either in the mid⯑dle or latter end of the few converſations we have yet had time to hold: But, I do aſſure you, we begin with the ſublimeſt; tho' I muſt ſay, to my ſhame, that it has not ſo much of my heart, at preſent, as once it had, and I hope again it will one day have—The great and glorious truths of Chriſtianity, are this ſubject; which yet, from this good Dr. Bartlett, [321] warms my heart, as often as he enters into it. But this very ſubject, ſublime as it is, brings on the other, as of conſequence: For Sir Charles Grandiſon, with⯑out making an oſtentatious pretenſion to religion, is the very Chriſtian in practice, that theſe doctrines teach a man to be. Muſt not then the doctrines in⯑troduce the mention of a man who endeavours hum⯑bly to imitate the Divine example? It was upon good grounds he once ſaid, That as he muſt one day die, it was matter of no moment to him, whether it were to-morrow, or forty years hence.

The Ladies had referred me to the Doctor himſelf for a more ſatisfactory account than they had given me, how Sir Charles and he firſt came acquainted. I told him ſo, and aſked his indulgence to me in this enquiry.

He took it kindly. He had, he ſaid, the hiſtory of it written down. His nephew, whom he often employs as his amanuenſis, ſhould make me out, from that little hiſtory an account of it, which I might ſhew, he was pleaſed to ſay, to ſuch of my ſelect friends, as I entruſted with the knowlege of my own heart.

I ſhall impatiently expect the abſtract of this little hiſtory; and the more, as the Doctor tells me, there will be included ſome particulars of Sir Charles's be⯑haviour abroad in his younger life, and of Mr. Beau⯑champ, whom the Doctor ſpeaks of with love, as his patron's deareſt friend, and whom he calls a ſecond Sir Charles Grandiſon.

SEE, my Lucy, the reward of frankneſs of heart. My communicativeneſs has been already encouraged with the peruſal of two Letters from the ſame excel⯑lent man to Doctor Bartlett; to whom, from early days (as I ſhall be ſoon more particularly informed) he has given an account of all his conduct and move⯑ments.

[322] The Doctor drew himſelf in, however, by reading to Lord L. and the Ladies, and me, a paragraph or two out of one of them: And he has even allowed me to give my grandmamma and aunt a ſight of them. Return them, Lucy, with the other Letter, by the very next poſt. He ſays, he can deny me no⯑thing. I wiſh I may not be too bold with him—As for Miſs Grandiſon, ſhe vows, that ſhe will not let the good man reſt till ſhe gets him to communicate what he ſhall not abſolutely declare to be a ſecret, to as three ſiſters, and my Lord L. If the firſt man, ſhe ſays, could not reſiſt one woman, how will the Doctor deal with three, not one of them behind-hand with the firſt in curioſity? And all loving him, and whom he proſeſſes to eſteem? You ſee, Lucy, that Miſs Grandiſon has pretty well got up her ſpirits again.

JUST now Miſs Grandiſon has related to me a con⯑verſation that paſſed between my Lord and Lady L. herſelf, and Doctor Bartlett: In which the ſubject was their brother and me. The Ladies and my Lord are entirely in my intereſts, and regardful of my punctilio. They roundly told the Doctor, That, be⯑ing extremely earneſt to have their brother marry, they knew not the perſon living, whom they wiſhed to call his wife preferably to Miſs Byron; could they be ſure, that I was abſolutely diſengaged. Now, Doctor, ſaid Miſs Grandiſon, tell us frankly, What is your opinion of our choice for a more than nomi⯑nal ſiſter?

I will make no apologies, Lucy, for repeating all that was repeated to me of this converſation.

Lord L. Ay, my good Doctor Bartlett, let us have your free opinion.

Dr. B. Miſs Byron (I pronounce upon knowledge, for ſhe has more than once ſince I have been down, done me the honour of entering into very free and ſerious converſations with me) is one of the moſt ex⯑cellent of women.

[323] And then he went on, praiſing me for ingenuouſ⯑neſs, ſeriouſneſs, chearfulneſs, and for other good qualities, which his partiality found out in me: And added, Would to heaven that ſhe were neither more nor leſs than Lady Grandiſon!

God bleſs him! thought I—Don't you join, my Lucy, to ſay, at this place, you who love me ſo dearly, God bleſs you, Doctor Bartlett?

Lady L. Well, but, Doctor, you ſay that Miſs By⯑ron talks freely with you; cannot you gather from her, whether ſhe is inclined to marriage? Whether ſhe is abſolutely diſengaged? Lady D. made a pro⯑poſal to her for Lord D.; and inſiſted on an anſwer to this very queſtion: That matter is gone off. As our gueſt, we would not have Miſs Byron think us im⯑pertinent. She is very delicate. And as ſhe is ſo amiably frank-hearted, thoſe things ſhe chooſes not to mention of her own accord, one would not, you know, officiouſly put to her.

This was a little too much affected. Don't you think ſo, Lucy? The Doctor, it is evident by his anſwer, did.

Dr. B. It is not likely that ſuch a ſubject can ariſe between Miſs Byron and me: And it is ſtrange, me⯑thinks that Ladies calling each other ſiſters, ſhould not be abſolutely miſtreſſes of this queſtion.

Lord L Very right, Doctor Bartlett. But Ladies will, in theſe points, take a compaſs before they ex⯑plain themſelves. A man of Doctor Bartlett's pene⯑tration and uprightneſs, Ladies, ſhould not be treated with diſtance. We are of opinion, Doctor, that Miſs Byron, ſuppoſing that ſhe is abſolutely diſen⯑gaged, could make no difficulty to prefer my brother to all the men in the world. What think you?

Dr. B. I have no doubt of it: She thinks herſelf under obligations to him. She is goodneſs itſelf. She muſt love goodneſs. Sir Charles's perſon, his vivacity, his addreſs, his underſtanding—What woman would [324] not prefer him to all the men ſhe ever ſaw? He has met with admirers among the Sex in every nation in which he has ſet his foot [Ah! Lucy!]. You, La⯑dies, muſt have ſeen, forgive me (bowing to each) that Miſs Byron has a more than grateful reſpect for your brother.

Miſs Gr. We think ſo, Doctor; and wanted to know if you did: And ſo, as my Lord ſays, fetched a little compaſs about; which we ſhould not have done to you. But you ſay, That my brother has had numbers of admirers—Pray, Doctor, is there any one Lady (We imagine there is) that he has preferred to another, in the different nations he has travelled through?

Lord L. Ay, Doctor, we want to know this; and if you thought there were not, we ſhould make no ſcruple to explain ourſelves, as well to Miſs Byron, as to my brother.

Don't you long to know what anſwer the Doctor returned to this, Lucy? I was out of breath with impatience, when Miſs Grandiſon repeated it to me.

The Doctor heſitated—And at laſt ſaid; I wiſh with all my heart, Miſs Byron could be Lady Gran⯑diſon.

Miſs Gr. COUD be?—Could be, ſaid each.

And COULD be? ſaid the fool to Miſs Grandiſon, when ſhe repeated it, her heart quite ſunk.

Dr. B. (ſmiling) You hinted, Ladies, that you are not ſure that Miſs Byron is abſolutely diſengaged. But, to be open and above-board, I have reaſon to believe, that your brother would be concerned, if he knew it, that you ſhould think of putting ſuch a queſtion as this to any-body but himſelf. Why don't you? He once complained to me, that he was afraid his ſiſters looked upon him as a reſerved man; and condeſcended to call upon me to put him right, if I thought his appearance ſuch as would give you grounds for the ſurmiſe. There are two or three [325] affairs of intricacy that he engaged in, and particu⯑larly one, that hangs in ſuſpence; and he would not be fond, I believe, of mentioning it, till he can do it with certainty: But elſe, Ladies, there is not a more frank-hearted man in the world, than your brother.

See, Lucy, how cautious we ought to be in paſſing judgment on the actions of others, eſpecially on thoſe of good men, when we want to faſten blame upon them; perhaps with a low view (envying their ſupe⯑rior worth) to bring them down to our own level!—For are we not all apt to meaſure the merits of others by our own ſtandard, to give praiſe or diſpraiſe to actions or ſentiments, as they ſquare with their own?

Lord L. Perhaps, Doctor Bartlett, you don't think yourſelf at liberty to anſwer, whether theſe particular affairs are of ſuch a nature, as will interfere with the hopes we have of bringing to effect a marriage between my brother and Miſs Byron?

Dr. B. I had rather refer to Sir Charles himſelf on this ſubject. If any man in the world deſerves from prudence and integrity of heart to be happy in this life, that man is Sir Charles Grandiſon. But he is not quite happy.

Ah, Lucy!—The Doctor proceeded. Your bro⯑ther, Ladies, has often ſaid to me, That there was hardly a man living who had a more ſincere value for the Sex than he had; who had been more diſtinguiſhed by the favour of worthy women; yet who had paid dearer for that diſtinction than he had done.

Lady L. Paid dearer! Good Heaven!

Miſs Gr. How could that be?

Lord L. I always abroad heard the Ladies reckon upon Sir Charles, as their own man. His vivacity, his perſonal accompliſhments, his politeneſs, his gene⯑roſity, his bravery!—Every woman who ſpoke of him, put him down for a man of gallantry. And is he not a truly gallant man?—I never mentioned it [326] before—But a Lady Olivia, of Florence was much talked of, when I was in that city, as being in love with the handſome Engliſhman, as our brother was commonly called there—

Lady Olivia! Lady Olivia! repeated each ſiſter; and why did not your Lordſhip?—

Why? Becauſe, tho' ſhe was in love with him, he had no thoughts of her. And, as the Doctor ſays, ſhe is but one of thoſe who admired him where-ever he ſet his foot.

Bleſs me, thought I, what a black ſwan is a good man!—Why (as I have often thought, to the credit of our Sex) will not all the men be good?

Lady L. My Lord, you muſt tell us more of this Lady Olivia.

Lord L. I know very little more of her. She was reputed to be a woman of high quality and fortune, and great ſpirit. I once ſaw her. She is a fine figure of a woman. Dr. Bartlett can, no doubt, give you an account of her.

Miſs Gr. Ah, Doctor! What an hiſtory could you give us of our brother, if you pleaſed!—But as there is no likelihood that this Lady will be any⯑thing to my brother, let us return to our firſt ſubject.

Lady L. By all means. Pray Dr. Bartlett, do you know what my brother's opinion is of Miſs Byron?

Dr. B. The higheſt that man can have of woman.

Lady L. As we are ſo very deſirous to ſee my bro⯑ther happily married, and think he never could have a woman ſo likely to make him happy, would you ad⯑viſe us to propoſe the alliance to him? We would not to her, unleſs we thought there were room to hope for his approbation, and that in a very high degree.

Dr. B. I am under ſome concern, my dear Ladies, to be thought to know more of your brother's heart, than ſiſters do whom he loves ſo dearly, and who equally love him. I beſeech you, give me not ſo [327] much more conſequence with him than you imagine you have yourſelves. I ſhall be afraid, if you do, that the favour I wiſh to ſtand in with you, is owing more to your brother's diſtinction of me, than to your own hearts.

Lord L. I ſee not why we may not talk to my bro⯑ther directly on this head. Whence is it that we are all three inſenſibly drawn in, by each other's example, to this diſtance between him and us?—It is not his fault. Did we ever aſk him a queſtion, that he did not directly anſwer, and that without ſhewing the leaſt affectation or reſerve?

Miſs Gr. He came over to us all at once ſo perfect, after an eight or nine years abſence, with ſo much power, and ſuch a will, to do us good, that we were awed into a kind of reverence for him.

Lady L. Too great obligations from one ſide, will indeed create diſtance on the other. Grateful hearts will always retain a ſenſe of favours heaped upon them.

Dr. B. You would give pain to his noble heart, did he think, that you put ſuch a value upon what he has done. I do aſſure you▪ that he thinks he has hardly performed his duty, by his ſiſters. And, as occaſions may ſtill offer, you will find he thinks ſo. But let me beg of you to treat him without reſerve or diffidence; and that you would put to him all thoſe queſtions which you would wiſh to be anſwered. You will find him, I dare ſay, very candid, and very explicit.

Miſs Gr. That ſhall be my taſk, when I next ſee him. But, dear Doctor Bartlett, if you love us, com⯑municate to us all that is proper for us to ſee, of the correſpondence that paſſes between him and you.

The Doctor, it ſeems, bowed; but anſwered not.

So you ſee, Lucy, upon the whole, that I have no great reaſon to build ſo much, as my uncle, in his laſt Letter, imagines I do, on the intereſt of theſe Ladies and my Lord L. with their brother. Two or three [328] intricate affairs on his hands: One of them ſtill in ſuſ⯑penſe; of which for that reaſon he makes a ſecret: He is not quite happy: Greatly diſtinguiſhed by the fa⯑vour of worthy women: Who would wonder at that?—But has paid dear for the diſtinction!—What can one ſay? What can one think? He once ſaid him⯑ſelf, That his life was a various life; and that ſome unhappy things had befallen him. If the prudence of ſuch a man could not ſhield him from misfortune, who can be exempted from it?—And from worthy women too!—That's the wonder!—But is this Olivia one of the worthy women!—I fancy he muſt deſpiſe us all. I fancy he will never think of incumbering himſelf with one of a Sex, that has made him pay ſo dear for the general diſtinction he has met with from it. As to his politeneſs to us; a man may afford to ſhew politeneſs to thoſe he has re⯑ſolved to keep at diſtance.

But, ah, Lucy,—There muſt be one happy wo⯑man, whom he wiſhes not to keep at diſtance. This is the affair, that hangs in ſuſpence; and of which, therefore, he chooſes to ſay nothing.

I HAVE had the pleaſure of a viſit from my god⯑father Deane. He dined with us this day in his way to town. The Ladies, Doctor Bartlett, and my Lord L. are charmed with him. Yet I had pain mingled with my pleaſure. He took me aſide, and charged me ſo home—He was too inquiſitive. I never knew him to be ſo very urgent to know my heart. But I was frank: Very frank: I ſhould hardly have been ex⯑cuſeable, if I had not, to ſo good a man, and ſo dear a friend. Yet he ſcarce knew how to be ſatisfied with my frankneſs.

He will have it, that I look thinner and paler than I uſed to do. That may very well be. My very ſoul, at times—I know not how I am—Sir Charles is in ſuſpenſe too, from ſomebody abroad. From my heart I [329] pity him. Had he but ſome faults; ſome great ble⯑miſhes; I fancy I ſhould be eaſier about him. But to hear nothing of him, but what is ſo greatly praiſe⯑worthy, and my heart ſo delighted with acts of bene⯑ficence—And now, my godfather Deane, at this viſit, running on in his praiſes, and commending, inſtead of blaming me, for my preſumptuous thoughts; nay, exalting me, and telling me, That I deſerve him—that I deſerve Sir Charles Grandiſon!—Why did he not chide me? Why did he not diſſuade me?—Neither fortune nor merit anſwerable!—A man who knows ſo well what to do with fortune!—The Indies, my dear, ought to be his! What a king would he make! Power could not corrupt ſuch a mind as his. Caeſar, ſaid Dr. Bartlett, ſpeaking of him before Mr. Deane and all of us, was not quicker to deſtroy, than Sir Charles Grandiſon is to relieve. Emily's eye, at the time, ran over with joy at the expreſſion; and, dry⯑ing them, ſhe looked proudly round on us all, as if ſhe had ſaid, This is my guardian!

But what do you think, Lucy? My godfather will have it, that he ſees a young paſſion in Miſs Jer⯑vois for her guardian!—God forbid!—A young Love may be conquered, I believe; but who ſhall caution the innocent girl? She muſt have a ſweet pleaſure in it, creeping, ſtealing, upon her. How can ſo unex⯑perienced an heart, the object ſo meritorious, reſiſt or reject the indulgence? But, O my Emily! ſweet girl! do not let your Love get the better of your gra⯑titude, leſt it make you unhappy! and, what would be ſtill more affecting to a worthy heart, make the generous object of a paſſion that cannot be gratified, unhappy; and for that very reaſon; becauſe he cannot reward it! See you not already, that, with all his goodneſs, he is not quite happy? He is a ſufferer from worthy women!—O my Emily, do not you add to the infelicity of a man, who can make but one [330] woman happy; yet wiſhes to befriend all the world—But, huſh! ſelfiſh adviſer! Should not Harriet Byron have thought of this in time?—Yet ſhe knew not, that he had any preivous engagements: And may death lay his cold hand upon her heart, before ſhe become an additional diſturbance to his! He knows not, I hope he gueſſes not, tho' Dr. Bartlett has found me out as well as the ſiſters, that I am cap⯑tivated, heart and ſoul, by his merits. May he never know it, if the knowledge of it would give him the ſhadow of uneaſineſs!

I owned to Mr. Deane, that my Lord L. and the Ladies were warmly intereſted in my favour. Thank God for that! he ſaid. All muſt happen to his wiſh. Nay, he would have it, that Sir Charles's goodneſs would be rewarded in having ſuch a wife: But what wife can do more than her duty to any huſband who is not abſolutely a ſavage? How then can all I could do, reward ſuch a man as this?

But, Lucy, don't you bluſh for me, on reading this laſt page of my writing? You may, ſince I bluſh myſelf on re-peruſing it. For ſhame, Harriet Byron, put a period to this Letter!—I will; nor ſubſcribe to it ſo much as the initials of my name.

LETTER XXXIV. Sir CHARLES GRANDISON, To Dr. BARTLETT. [Incloſed in the preceding.]

LAST night I ſaw interred the remains of my worthy friend Dr. Danby. I had cauſed his two nephews and his niece to be invited: But they did not attend.

As the will was not to be opened till the funeral [331] was over, about which the good man had given me verbal directions; apprehending, I believe, expoſtu⯑lations from me, had I known the contents; I ſent to them this morning to be preſent at the opening.

Their Attorney, Mr. Sylveſter, a man of character, and good behaviour, brought me a Letter, ſigned by all three, excuſing themſelves on very ſlight pretences, and deſiring that he might be preſent for them. I took notice to him, that the behaviour of his principals over-night and now, was neither reſpectful to the me⯑mory of their uncle, nor civil, with regard to me. He honeſtly owned, that Mr. Danby having ac⯑quainted his two nephews, a little before he died, that he had made his will, and that they had very little to expect from him, they, who had been educated by his direction, and made merchants, at his expence, with hopes given them, that he would, at his death, do very handſomely for them, and had never diſoblig⯑ed him, could not be preſent at the opening of a will, the contents of which they expected to be ſo morti⯑fying to them.

I opened it in preſence of this gentleman. The preamble was an angry one; giving reaſons for his reſentment againſt the father of theſe young perſons, who (tho' his brother) had once, as I hinted to you at Colnebrooke, made a very ſhocking attempt upon his life. I was hurt, however, to find a reſentment carried ſo far as againſt the innocent children of the offender, and into the laſt will of ſo good a man; that will ſo lately made, as within three weeks of his death; and he given over for three months before.

Will the tenderneſs due to the memory of a friend permit me to aſk, where would that reſentment have ſtopt, had the private man been a monarch, which he could carry into his laſt will?

But ſee we not, on the other hand, that theſe [332] children, had they power, would have puniſhed their uncle, for diſpoſing, as he thought fit, of his own fortune; no part of which came to him by inhe⯑ritance?

They had been educated, as I have ſaid, at his expence; and, in the phraſe of buſineſs, well put out. Expences their careleſs father would not have been at: He is, in every light, a bad man. How much better had theſe children's title been to a more conſiderable part of their uncle's eſtate than he has bequeathed to them, had they been thankful for the benefits they had actually received! Benefits, which are of ſuch a nature, that they cannot be taken from them.

Mr. Danby has bequeathed to each of the three, one thouſand pounds; but on expreſs condition, that they ſignify to his executor, within two months after his demiſe, their acceptance of it, in full of all demands upon his eſtate. If they do not (tender being duly made) the three thouſand pounds are to be carried to the uſes of the will.

He then appoints his executor; and makes him re⯑ſiduary legatee; giving for reaſon, that he had been the principal inſtrument in the hand of Providence, of ſaving his life.

He bequeaths ſome generous remembrances to three of his friends in France; and requeſts his executor to diſpoſe of three thouſand pounds to charitable uſes, either in France or England, as he thinks fit, and to what particular objects he pleaſes.

And, by an inventory annexed to the will, his ef⯑fects in money, bills, actions, and jewels, are made to amount to upwards of thirty thouſand pounds ſterling.

Mr. Sylveſter complimented me on this great wind⯑fall, as he called it; and aſſured me, that it ſhould be his advice to his clients, that each take his and [333] her legacy, and ſit down contented with it: And he believed, that they the rather would, as, from what their uncle had hinted, they apprehended, that the ſum of an hundred pounds each, was all they had to hope for.

I enquired into the inclinations and views of the three; and received a very good general account of them; with an hint, that the girl was engaged in a Love-affair.

Their father, after his vile attempt upon his bro⯑ther's life, was deteſted by all his friends and relations, and went abroad; and the laſt news they heard of him, was, that he was in a very ill ſtate of health, and in unhappy circumſtances, in Barbadoes: And very probably by this time is no more.

I deſired Mr. Sylveſter to adviſe the young people to recollect themſelves; and ſaid, That I had a diſ⯑poſition to be kind to them: And as he could give me only general accounts of their views, proſpects, and engagements, I wiſh'd they would, with marks of confidence in me, give me particular ones: But that, whether they complimented me as I wiſhed, or not, I was determined, for the ſake of their uncle's memory, to do all reaſonable ſervices to them. Tell them, in a word, Mr. Sylveſter, and do you forgive the ſeeming vanity, That I am not accuſtomed to ſuffer the narrowneſs of other people's hearts to con⯑tract mine.

The man went away, very much pleaſed with what I had ſaid; and in about two hours, ſent me a note, in the names of all his clients, expreſſing gra⯑titude and obligation; and requeſting me to allow him to introduce them all three to me this afternoon.

I have ſome neceſſary things to do, and perſons to ſee, in relation to my deceaſed friend, which will be diſpatched over a diſh of tea. And therefore I have invited the honeſt attorney, and his three clients, to ſup with me.

[334] I will not ſend this to Colnebrooke, where I hope you are all happy (All muſt; for are they not all good? And are not you with them?) till I accompany it with the reſult of this evening's converſation. Yet I am too fond of every occaſion that offers to tell you, what; however, you cannot doubt, how much I am yours, not to ſign to that truth the name of

LETTER XXXV. Sir CHARLES GRANDISON. In Continuation.

MR. Sylveſter, an honeſt pleaſure ſhining in his countenance, preſented to me, firſt, Miſs Dan⯑by; then, each of her brothers; who all received my welcome with a little conſciouſneſs, as if they had ſomething to reproach themſelves with, and were generouſly aſhamed to be overcome. The ſiſter had the leaſt of it: And I ſaw by that, that ſhe was the leaſt blameable, not the leaſt modeſt; ſince I dare ſay ſhe had but followed her brothers lead; while they looked down and baſhful, as having all that was done amiſs to anſwer for.

Miſs Danby is a very pretty, and very genteel young woman. Mr. Thomas and Mr. Edward Dan⯑by, are agreeable in their perſons and manners, and want not ſenſe.

In the firſt moment I diſſipated all their uneaſineſs; and we ſat down together with confidence in each other. The honeſt attorney had prepared them to be eaſy after the firſt introduction.

I offer not to read to you, ſaid I, the will of your uncle. It is ſufficient to repeat what Mr. Sylveſter has no doubt, told you; That you are each of you entitled by it to a thouſand pounds.

[335] They all bowed; and the elder brother ſignified their united conſent to accept it upon the terms of the will.

Three thouſand pounds more are to be diſpoſed of to charitable uſes, at the diſcretion of the executor: Three other legacies are left to three different gentle⯑men in France: And the large remainder, which will not be leſs than four-and-twenty thouſand pounds, falls to the executor, as reſiduary legatee, equally un⯑expected and undeſired.

The elder brother ſaid, God bleſs you with it, Sir. The ſecond ſaid, It could not have fallen to a worthier man. The young Lady's lips moved: But words proceeded not from them. Yet her eyes ſhewed that her lips made me a compliment:

It is ungenerous, Dr. Bartlett, to keep expecting minds in ſuſpence, tho' with a view of obliging in the end. The ſurprize intended to be raiſed on ſuch an occaſion, carries in its appearance an air of inſult. I have, ſaid I, a great deſire to do you ſervice. Now let me know, gentlemen (I will talk to the young Lady ſingly, perhaps) what your expectations were upon your uncle; what will do for each of you, to enable you to enter the world with advantage, in the way you have been brought up; and, as I told your worthy friend, Mr, Sylveſter, I will be ready to do you all reaſonable ſervice.—But, hold, Sir; for Mr. Thomas Danby was going to ſpeak; you ſhall conſider before you anſwer me. The matter is of im⯑portance. Be explicit. I love openneſs and ſincerity. I will withdraw, till you have conſulted together. Command me in when you have determined.

I withdrew to my ſtudy: And, in about a quarter of an hour, they let me know, that they were ready to attend me. I went in to them. They looked upon one another. Come, gentlemen don't fear to ſpeak: Conſider me, for your uncle's ſake, as your brother.

[336] The elder brother was going to ſpeak; but, heſi⯑tating, Come, ſaid I, let me lead you into the mat⯑ter—Pray, Sir, what is your preſent ſituation? What are your preſent circumſtances?

My father, Sir, was unhappy—My father—

Well, Sir, no more of your father—He could do nothing for you. Your whole dependence, I pre⯑ſume, was upon your uncle.

My uncle, Sir, gave us all our education—My uncle gave each brother a thouſand guineas for put⯑ting out each to a merchant; five hundred only of which ſums were ſo employed; and the other five hundred guineas, are in ſafe hands.

Your uncle, Sir, all reverence to his memory, was an excellent man.

Indeed, Sir, he was,

And what, Sir, is the buſineſs you were brought up to?

My maſter is a Weſt-India merchant.

And what, Mr. Danby, are your proſpects in that way?

Exceeding hopeful, Sir, they would have been—My maſter intended to propoſe to my uncle, had he lived to come to town, to take me in a quarter-partner with him directly; and, in a twelvemonth's time, an half-partner.

A very good ſign in your favour, Sir. You muſt have behaved yourſelf well. And will he now do it?

Ah! Sir—And was ſilent.

Upon what terms, Mr. Danby, would he have propoſed to your uncle to take you in a quarter-partner?

Sir—he talked of—

Of what?

Four thouſand pounds, Sir. But my uncle never gave us hopes of more than three thouſand guineas each, beſides the thouſand he had given: And when he had ſo much reaſon to reſent the unhappy ſteps of [337] my father, he let us know, that he would not do my-thing for us: And, to ſay truth, the thouſand pounds left us in the will, is more than we expected.

Very ingenuous. I love you for your ſincerity. But, pray, tell me, Will four thouſand pounds be well laid out in a quarter-partnerſhip?

To ſay truth, Sir, my maſter had a view, at the year's end, if nothing unexpected happened to pre⯑vent it, to give me his niece in marriage; and then to admit me into a half of the buſineſs, which would be equivalent to a fortune of as much more.

And do you love the young woman?

Indeed I do.

And does ſhe countenance your addreſs?

If her uncle—I don't doubt if her uncle could have prevailed upon my uncle—

Well, Sir, I am your uncle's executor. Now, Sir, (to Mr. Edward Danby) let me know your Situation; your proſpects.

Sir, I was put to a French wine-merchant. My maſter is in years. I am the ſole manager of his bu⯑ſineſs; and he would leave off to me, I believe, and to his nephew, who knows not ſo much of it as I do, nor has the acquaintance, either in France or Eng⯑land, that I have; could I raiſe money to purchaſe half the ſtock.

And what, Sir, is neceſſary for that purpoſe?

O Sir! at leaſt ſix thouſand pounds. But had my uncle left me the three thouſand we once hoped for, I could have got the other half at an eaſy intereſt; for I am well beloved, and have always borne a good character.

What did you ſuppoſe your uncle would do with the bulk of his fortune (you judged it, I ſuppoſe, to be large) if you expected no more than three thou⯑ſand guineas each at the moſt, beſides what he had given you?

We all thought, Sir, ſaid Mr. Edward Danby, it [338] would be yours, from the time that he owed his life to your courage and conduct. We never entertained hopes of being his heirs general: And he ſeveral times told me, when I was in France, that you ſhould be his heir.

He never hinted that to me. What I did was as neceſſary to be done for my own Safety, as for his. He much over-rated my ſervices. But what are your proſpects, Mr. Edward Danby, in the French wine⯑trade?

O Sir, very great!

And will your maſter leave off to you and his ne⯑phew, think you?

I dare ſay he would, and be glad of retiring to En⯑field, where he has a houſe he is ſo fond of, that he would be continually there, by his good-will.

And have you, Sir, any proſpect of adding to your circumſtances by marriage?

Women are a drug, Sir. I have no doubt of of⯑fers, if once I were my own maſter.

I ſtarted. His ſiſter looked angry. His brother was not pleaſed: Mr. Sylveſter, who, it ſeems, is an old bachelor, laughed—

A true merchant this already! thought I.

Well, now, ſhall I have your conſents, gentlemen, to take your ſiſter aſide?—Will you truſt yourſelf with me, Miſs Danby? Or had you rather anſwer my queſtion in company?

Sir, your character, your goodneſs, is ſo well known, I ſcruple not to attend you.

I took her hand, and led her to my ſtudy, leaving the door open, to the drawing-room in which they were. I ſeated her. Then ſat down, but ſtill held her hand.

Now, my dear Miſs Danby, you are to ſuppoſe me, as the executor of your uncle, his repreſentative. If you had that good uncle before you, and he was urg⯑ing you to tell him what would make you happy, with [339] an aſſurance, that he would do all in his power to⯑wards it; and if you would open your mind freely to him; with equal freedom open it to me. There was only this difference between us: He had reſentments againſt your father, which he carried too far, when he extended them to his innocent children [But it was an atrocious attempt, that embitter'd his otherwiſe benevolent ſpirit]: I have no reſentment; and am armed with his power, and have all the will he ever could have, to ſerve you. Aud now, let me know, what will effectually do it?

The worthy girl wept. She looked down. She ſeemed as if ſhe were pulling threads out of her hand⯑kerchief. But was unable to return any other an⯑ſwer, than what her eyes, once caſt up, as if to Hea⯑ven, made for her.

Give me, my good Miſs Danby (I would not diſtreſs you) give me, as your brothers did of their Situation, ſome account of yours. Do you live with either of your brothers?

No, Sir. I live with an aunt: My mother's ſiſter.

Is ſhe good to you?

Yes, Sir, very good. But ſhe has children; and cannot be ſo good as ſhe would be to me. Yet ſhe has always been kind; and has made the beſt of my un⯑cle's allowance for my education: And my fortune, which is unbroken, is the ſame ſum that he gave my brothers: And it is in good hands: And the inter⯑eſt of it, with my aunt's additional goodneſs and ma⯑nagement, enables me to make a genteel figure: And, with my own houſewifry, I never have wanted ſome little matters for my pocket.

Good girl, thought I!—Mercantile carle! thy bro⯑ther Edward, pretty one! How dared he to ſay, that women are drugs?—Who, in their oeconomy, ſhort as their power is, are generally ſuperior to men!

Your uncle was very good to put you upon a foot with your brothers, in his bounty to them; as now he [340] has alſo done in his will: And aſſure yourſelf, that his repreſentative, will be equally kind to you as to your brothers. But ſhall I aſk you, as your uncle would have done—Is there any one man in the world, whom you prefer to another?

She was ſilent; looked down; and again picked her handkerchief.

I called in her elder brother (not the drug-mer⯑chant) and aſked him, What he knew of his ſiſter's affections?

Why, my good Dr. Bartlett, are theſe women aſhamed of owning a laudable paſſion? Surely there is nothing ſhameful in diſcreet Love.

Her brother acquainted me with the ſtory of her Love; the good girl bluſhing, and looking down all the while, with the conſciouſneſs of a ſweet thief, who had ſtolen a heart, and being required to reſtore it, had been guilty of a new cheat, and given her own inſtead of it.

The ſon of Mr. Galliard, an eminent Turkey merchant, is the man with whom ſhe has made this exchange. His father, who lives in the neighbour⯑hood of her aunt, had ſent him abroad, in the way of his traffick; partly with a view to prevent his mar⯑rying Miſs Danby, till it ſhould be ſeen whether her uncle would do any-thing conſiderable for her: And he was but juſt returned; and, in order to be allowed to ſtay at home, had promiſed his father never to marry without his conſent: But nevertheleſs loved his ſiſter, Mr. Danby ſaid, above all women; and de⯑clared that he never would be the huſband of any other.

I aſked, whether the father had any objections, but thoſe of fortune, to his ſon's choice; and was an⯑ſwered, No. He could have no other, the young man, like a brother, ſaid: There was not a more vir⯑tuous and diſcreet young woman in the kingdom than his ſiſter, tho' he ſaid it, that ſhould not ſay it.

Tho' you ſay it, that ſhould ſay it. Is not our [341] relation intitled to the ſame juſtice that we would do to another?

We muſt not blame indiſcriminately, continued I, all fathers who expect a fortune to be brought into their family, in ſome meaſure equivalent to the benefit the new-comer hopes to receive from it; eſpecially in mercantile families, if the young man is to be ad⯑mitted into a ſhare with his father; who, by the way, may have other children—

He has—

Something by way of equivalent for the part he gives up, ſhould be done. Love is a ſelfiſh Deity. He puts two perſons upon preferring their own in⯑tereſts, nay, a gratification of their paſſion often a⯑gainſt their intereſts, to thoſe of every-body elſe; and reaſon, diſcretion, duty, are frequently given up in a competition with it. But Love, nevertheleſs, will not do every-thing for the ardent pair. Parents know this: And ought not to pay for the raſhneſs they wiſh to prevent, but cannot.

They were attentive. I proceeded, addreſſing my⯑ſelf to both in the mercantile ſtyle.

Is a father, who by his prudence, has weathered many a ſtorm, and got ſafe into port, obliged to re⯑embark in the voyage of Life, with the young folks, who perhaps in a little while, will conſider him as an incumbrance, and grudge him his cabin? Parents (tho' a young man, I have always thought in this manner) ſhould be indulgent; but children, when they put themſelves into one ſcale, ſhould allow the parent his due weight in the other. You are angry at this father, are you not, my dear Miſs Danby?

I ſaid this, to hear what anſwer ſhe would return.

Indeed I am not. Mr. Galliard knows beſt his own affairs, and what they require. I have ſaid ſo twenty and twenty times: And young Mr. Galliard is convinced, that his father is not to be blamed, having other children. And, to own the truth (look⯑ing [342] on the floor, we both ſit down, and wiſh together, now-and-then: But what ſignifies wiſhing?

My ſiſter will now have two thouſand pounds: Perhaps when old Mr. Galliard ſees, that his ſon's affections—

Old Mr. Galliard, interrupted I, ſhall be aſked to do nothing inconvenient to himſelf, or that is not ſtrictly right by his other children: Nor ſhall the niece of my late worthy friend enter into his family, with diſcredit to herſelf.

Notice being given, that ſupper was ready, I took the brother and ſiſter each by the hand; and, enter⯑ing the drawing-room with them, Enjoy, ſaid I, the little repaſt that will be ſet before you. If it be in my power to make you all three happy, happy you ſhall be.

It muſt give great pleaſure, my dear Dr. Bartlett, you will believe, to a man of my lively ſenſations, to ſee three very different faces in the ſame perſons, from thoſe they had entered with. I imagined more than once, as the grateful eyes of the ſiſter, and tongues of the brothers, expreſſed their joy, that I ſaw my late worthy friend looking down upon us, delighted, and not with diſapprobation, upon his choice of an executor, who was determined to ſupply the defects, which the frailty of human nature, by an ever-ſtrong reſentment on one hand, and an overflowing grati⯑tude on the other, had occaſioned.

I told Mr. Thomas Danby, that beſides his legacy, he might reckon upon five thouſand pounds, and enter accordingly into treaty for and with his maſter's niece.

Mr. Edward Danby, I commiſſioned, on the ſtrength of the like additional ſum, to treat with the gentle⯑man he had ſerved.

And you, my good Miſs Danby, ſaid I, ſhall ac⯑quaint your favoured Mr. Galliard, That, beſides the two thouſand pounds already yours, you will have five [343] thouſand pounds more at his ſervice. And if theſe ſums anſwer not your full purpoſes, I expect you will let me know; ſince, whether they do or not, my re⯑ſpect to the memory of your worthy uncle ſhall be ſhewn to the value of more than theſe three ſums to his relations. I never will be a richer man than I ought to be: And you muſt inform me, what other relations you have, and of their different ſituations in life, that I may be enabled to amend a will, made in a long and painful ſickneſs, which might four a diſpo⯑ſition that was naturally all benevolence.

They wept; looked at one another; dried their eyes; and wept again. Mr. Sylveſter alſo wept for joy. I thought my preſence painful to them; and withdrew to my Study; and ſhut the door, that I might not add to their pain.

At my return—Do you—Do you, referred each brother to the other: And Mr. Thomas Danby get⯑ting up to ſpeak, I ſee, my friends, ſaid I, your grate⯑ful hearts in your countenances. Do you think my pleaſure is not, at leaſt, equal to yours? I am more than rewarded in the conſciouſneſs of having en⯑deavoured to make a right uſe of the power entruſted to me. You will each of you, I hope (thus ſet forward) be eminent in his particular buſineſs. The merchants of Great Britain are the moſt uſeful mem⯑bers of the community. If I have obliged you, let me recommend to you, each in his ſeveral way, ac⯑cording to his ability, and as opportunity may offer, to raiſe thoſe worthy hearts, that inevitable calamities ſhall make ſpiritleſs. Look upon what is done for you, not as the reward of any particular merits in yourſelves, but as your debt to that Providence, which makes it a principal part of your religion, To do good to your fellow-creatures. In a word, let me enjoin you, in all your tranſactions, to remember mercy, as well as juſtice.

The brothers with folded hands, declared, that [344] their hearts were opened by the example ſet them; and, they hoped, would never be ſhut. The ſiſter looked the ſame declaration.

Mr. Sylveſter, raiſed with this ſcene of gratitude, tears in his honeſt eyes, ſaid, That he ſhould be im⯑patient till he had looked into his affairs, and thro' his acquaintance, in order to qualify himſelf to do ſome little good, after ſuch a ſelf-rewarding example.

If a private man, my dear Dr. Bartlett, could be a means of expanding thus the hearts of four perſons, none of them unworthy, what good might not princes, and thoſe who have princely fortunes, do?—Yet, you ſee, I have done nothing but mere juſtice. I have not given up any-thing that was my own, before this Will gave me a power, that perhaps was put into my hands, as a new trial of the integrity of my heart.

But what poor creatures are we, my dear friend, that the very avoiding the occaſion of a wrong action, ſhould gladden our hearts, as with the conſciouſneſs of ſomething meritorious?

At parting, I told the nephews, That I expected to hear from them the moment any-thing ſhould be brought to effect; and let their maſters and them agree, or not, I would take the ſpeedieſt methods that could be fallen upon, to transfer to them, and to their ſiſter, ſuch actions and ſtocks, as would put them in full poſſeſſion of what they were intitled to, as well by my promiſe, as by their uncle's will.

I was obliged to injoin them ſilence.

Their ſiſter wept; and when I preſſed her hand at taking leave of her, gratefully returned the preſſure; but in a manner ſo modeſt (recollecting herſelf into ſome little confuſion) that ſhewed gratitude had poſ⯑ſeſſion of her whole heart, and ſet her above the forms of her ſex.

The good attorney, as much raiſed, as if he were one of the perſons benefited, joined with the two bro⯑thers in invoking bleſſings upon me.

[345] So much, my dear Dr. Bartlett, for this night. The paſt day is a day that I am not diſpleaſed with.

LETTER XXXVI. Dr. BARTLETT, To Miſs BYRON.

I Preſent to you, madam, the account you deſired to ſee, as extracted by my kinſman from my pa⯑pers. You ſeemed to wiſh it to be haſtened for you: It is not what it might have been; but more facts, I preſume, will anſwer your intention. Be pleaſed, therefore, to accept it with your uſual goodneſs.

"DR. Bartlett went abroad as governor of a young man of quality; Mr. Lorimer, I am to call him, to conceal his real name. He was the very re⯑verſe of young Mr. Grandiſon. He was not only rude and ungovernable; but proud, ill-natured, ma⯑licious, even baſe.

"The Doctor was exceedingly averſe to take upon him the charge of the wicked youth abroad; having had too many inſtances of the badneſs of his nature while in England: But he was prevailed upon by the ſolicitations of his father (who repreſented it as an act of the greateſt charity to him and his family) as well as by the ſolemn promiſes of good behaviour from the young man; for he was known to regard the ad⯑vice of Dr. Bartlett more than that of any other per⯑ſon.

"The Doctor and Mr. Lorimer were at Turin, when young Mr. Grandiſon (who had been ſome months in France) for the firſt time arrived in that city; then in the eighteenth year of his age.

"Dr. Bartlett had not a more profligate pupil, than Mr. Grandiſon had a governor; tho' recommended by General W. his uncle by the mother's ſide. It [346] uſed to be obſerved in places where they made but a few days reſidence, that the young gentleman ought to have been the governor, Monſieur Creutzer the go⯑verned. Mr. Grandiſon had, in ſhort, the happineſs, by his prudence, to eſcape ſeveral ſnares laid for his virtue, by a wretch, who hoped, if he could betray him into them, to ſilence the remonſtrances of the young man, upon his evil conduct; and to hinder him from complaining of him to his father.

"Mr. Grandiſon became acquainted with Dr. Bartlett at Turin: Monſieur Creutzer, at the ſame time, commenced an intimacy with Mr. Lorimer; and the two former were not more united from good qualities, than the two latter were from bad.

"Several riotous things were done by Creutzer and Lorimer, who, whatever the Doctor could do to ſeparate them, were hardly ever aſunder. One of their enormities fell under the cognizance of the civil magiſtrate; and was not made eaſy to Lorimer with⯑out great intereſt and expence: While Creutzer fled to Rome, to avoid condign puniſhment; and wrote to Mr. Grandiſon to join him there.

"Then it was, that Mr. Grandiſon wrote (as he had often ineffectually threatened to do) to repreſent to his father the profligacy of the man; and to re⯑queſt him to appoint him another governor; or to permit him to return to England till he had made choice of one for him; begging of Dr. Bartlett, that he would allow him, 'till he had an anſwer from his father, to apply to him for advice and inſtruction.

"The anſwer of his father was, That he heard of his prudence from every mouth: That he was at liberty to chuſe what companion he pleaſed: But that he gave him no governor but his own diſcretion.

"Mr. Grandiſon then, more earneſtly than be⯑fore, and with an humility and diffidence, ſuited to his natural generoſity of temper, that never grew upon indulgence, beſought the Doctor's direction: [347] And when they were obliged to ſeparate, they eſta⯑bliſhed a correſpondence which never will end but with the life of one of them.

"Mr. Grandiſon laid before the Doctor all his plans; ſubmitting his conduct to him, as well with regard to the proſecution of his ſtudies, as to his tra⯑vels: But they had not long correſponded in this manner, when the Doctor let him know, that it was needleſs to conſult him aforehand; and the more ſo, as it often occaſioned a ſuſpenſion of excellent reſolu⯑tions: But he beſought him to continue to him, an ac⯑count of all he undertook, of all he performed, and of every material incident of his life; not only as his narrations would be matter of the higheſt entertain⯑ment to him; but as they would furniſh him with leſſons from example, that might be of greater force upon the unhappy Lorimer, than his own precepts.

"While the Doctor was paſſing thro' but a few of the cities in Lombardy, Mr. Grandiſon made al⯑moſt the tour of Europe; and yet gave himſelf time to make ſuch remarks upon perſons, places, and things, as could hardly be believed to be the obſerva⯑tions of ſo young a man. Lorimer, mean time, was engaged in ſhews, fpectacles, and in the diverſions of the places in which he lived, as it might be ſaid, ra⯑ther, than thro' which he paſſed.

"The Doctor, at one time, was the more patient with theſe delays, as he was willing that the carnival at Venice ſhould be over, before he ſuffered his pupil to go to that city. But Lorimer, ſuſpecting his in⯑tention, ſlipt thither unknown to his governor, at the very beginning of it; and the Doctor was forced to follow him. And when there, had the mortification of hearing of him (for the young man avoided his go⯑vernor as much as poſſible) as one of the moſt riotous perſons there.

"In vain did the Doctor, when he ſaw his pupil, ſet before him the example of Mr. Grandiſon; a [348] younger man. All the effect the Letters he uſed to read to him had upon him, was, to make him hate the more both his Governor and Mr. Grandiſon. By one Letter only did he do himſelf temporary credit. It was written ſome months before it was ſhewn him, in which Mr. Grandiſon deſcribed ſome places of note, thro' which he had paſſed, and thro' which the Doc⯑tor and his charge had alſo more lately paſſed. The mean creature contrived to ſteal it; and his father having often urged for a ſpecimen of his ſon's ob⯑ſervations on his travels, he copied it almoſt verbatim, and tranſmitted it as his own to his father; only let⯑ting the Doctor know, after he had ſent it away; that he had written.

‘"The Doctor doubted not, but Lorimer had ex⯑poſed himſelf; but was very much ſurpriſed, when he received a congratulatory Letter from the father on his ſon's improvements, mingled with ſome little aſperity on the Doctor, for having ſet out his ſon to his diſad⯑vantage: "I could not doubt," ſaid the fond father, "that a ſon of mine had genius: He wanted no⯑thing but to apply,"—And then he gave orders for doubling the value of his next remittance.’

‘"The Doctor took the young gentleman to taſk about it. He owned what he had done, and gloried in his contrivance. But his governor thought it incum⯑bent upon him to undeceive the father, and to ſave him the extraordinary part of his remittance.’

‘"The young man was enraged at the Doctor, for expoſing him, as he called it, to his father, and for the check he was continually giving to his lawleſs ap⯑petites; and falling into acquaintance with a cour⯑tezan, who was infamous for ruining many young tra⯑vellers by her ſubtle and dangerous contrivances, they joined in a reſolution to revenge themſelves on the Doctor, whom they conſidered as their greateſt enemy.’

‘"Several projects they fell upon; One, in parti⯑cular, [349] was, to accuſe him, by a third hand, as con⯑cerning himſelf with affairs of ſtate in Venice; A crime, which in that jealous republic, is never over⯑looked, and generally ends fatally for the accuſed; who, if ſeized, is hardly ever heard of afterwards. From this danger he narrowly eſcaped, by means of his general good character, and remarkable inoffen⯑ſiveneſs, and the profligateneſs of his accuſers: Nor knew he his danger till many months afterwards. The Doctor believes, that he fared the better for be⯑ing an Engliſhman, and a governor to the ſon of a Britiſh nobleman, who made ſo conſiderable a figure in England; becauſe the Italians in general reap ſo much advantage from the travellers of this nation, that they are ready to favour and encourage them a⯑bove thoſe of any other.’

‘"The Doctor had been very ſolicitous to be ac⯑quitted of his ungracious charge. In every Letter he wrote to England, this was one of his prayers: But ſtill the father, who knew not what to do with his ſon at home, had beſought his patience; and wrote to his ſon in the ſtrongeſt terms, after reproaching him for his ungraciouſneſs, to pay an implicit obedi⯑ence to the Doctor.’

‘"The father was a learned man. Great pains had been taken with Lorimer, to make him know ſomething of the antient Greek and Roman hiſtories. The father was very deſirous, that his ſon ſhould ſee the famous places of old Greece, of which he him⯑ſelf had read ſo much: And with great difficulty, the Doctor got the young man to leave Venice, where the vile woman, and the diverſions of the place, had taken ſcandalous hold of him.’

‘"Athens was the city, at which the father had de⯑ſired they would make ſome ſtay; and from thence viſit other parts of the Morea. And there the young man found his woman got before him, according to private agreement between them.’

[350] ‘"It was ſome time before the Doctor found out that the very woman who had acted ſo abandoned a part with Lorimer at Venice, was his miſtreſs at Athens: And when he did, he applied, on ſome freſh enormities committed by Lorimer, to the tribunal which the Chriſtians have there, conſiſting of eight venerable men choſen out of the eight quarters of the city, to determine cauſes among Chriſtians; and they taking cognizance of the facts, the wicked woman ſuborned wretches to accuſe the Doctor to the Cadi, who is the Turkiſh judge of the place, as a dangerous and diſaffected perſon; and the Cadi being, as it was ſuppoſed, corrupted by preſents, got the Vayvode, or Governor, to interfere; and the Doctor was ſeized, and thrown into priſon: His Chriſtian friends in the place were forbidden to interpoſe in his favour; and pen and ink, and all acceſs to him were prohibited.’

‘"The vile woman, having concerted meaſures with the perſons ſhe had ſuborned, for continuing the Doctor in his ſevere confinement, ſet out with her paramour for Venice; and there they rioted as before.’

‘"Mr. Beauchamp, a young man of learning and fine parts, happened to make an acquaintance with Mr. Grandiſon in the iſland of Candia, where they met as countrymen, which, from a ſympathy of minds, grew immediately into an intimacy that will hardly ever end. This young gentleman, in the courſe of his travels, viſiting Athens, about this time, was informed of the Doctor's misfortune, by one of the eight Chriſtians, who conſtituted the tribunal a⯑bove-mentioned, and who was an affectionate friend of the Doctor, tho' forbidden to buſy himſelf in his cauſe: And Mr. Beauchamp (who had heard Mr. Grandiſon ſpeak of the Doctor with an uncommon af⯑fection) knowing that Mr. Grandiſon was then at Conſtantinople, diſpatched a man on purpoſe, to ac⯑quaint him with the affair, and with all the particu⯑lars he could get of the caſe, authenticated as much as the nature of the thing would admit.’

[351] ‘"Mr. Grandiſon was equally grieved and aſto⯑niſhed at the information. He inſtantly applied to the Engliſh embaſſador at the Porte, as alſo to the French miniſter there, with whom he had made an acquaintance: They to the Grand Vizir: And an order was iſſued for ſetting the Doctor at liberty. Mr. Grandiſon, in order to urge the diſpatch of the Chiaux, who carried it, accompanied him, and arri⯑ved at Athens, juſt as the Vayvode had determined to get rid of the whole affair in a private manner (the Doctor's finances being exhauſted) by the bow⯑ſtring. The danger endeared the Doctor to Mr. Grandiſon; a relief ſo ſeaſonable endeared Mr. Grandiſon to the Doctor; to them both Mr. Beau⯑champ, who would not ſtir from Athens, till he had ſeen him delivered; having buſied himſelf in the in⯑terim, in the beſt manner he could (tho' he was ob⯑liged to uſe caution and ſecrecy) to do him ſervice, and to ſuſpend the fatal blow.’

‘"Here was a cement to a friendſhip (that had been begun between the young gentlemen from likeneſs of manners) between them and the Doctor, whom they have had the goodneſs ever ſince to regard, as their father: And to this day it is one of the Doctor's de⯑lights to write to his worthy ſon Beauchamp all that he can come at, relating to the life and actions of a man, whom the one regards as an example; the other as an honour to the human race.’

‘"It was ſome time before the Doctor knew for certain, that the ungracious Lorimer had been con⯑ſenting to the ſhocking treatment he had met with; for the wretches whom the vile woman had ſuborned, had made their eſcape from Athens before the arrival of Mr. Grandiſon and the Chiaux; the flagitious youth had written to his father, in terms of the deepeſt ſorrow, an account of what had befallen his governor; and his father had taken the beſt meaſures that could be fallen upon at ſo great a diſtance, for [352] the Doctor's ſuccour and liberty: But in all probabi⯑lity, he would have been loſt before thoſe meaſures could have taken effect.’

‘"Lorimer's father, little thinking that his ſon had connived at the plot formed againſt his governor, be⯑ſought him, when he had obtained his liberty, not to leave his ſon to his own devices. The Doctor, as little thinking then, that Lorimer had been capable of a baſeneſs ſo very villainous, in compaſſion both to father and ſon, went to Venice, and got him out of the hands of the vile women; and then to Rome: But there, the unhappy wretch continuing his profli⯑gate courſes, became at laſt a ſacrifice to his diſſolute⯑neſs; and his death was a deliverance to his Family, to the Doctor, and to the Earth.’

‘"On his death-bed he confeſſed the plot, which the infamous courtezan had meditated againſt the Doctor at Venice, as well as his connivance at that which ſhe had carried into execution at Athens. He died in horror not to be deſcribed; begging for longer life, and promiſing reformation on that condition. The manner of his death, and the crimes he confeſ⯑ſed himſelf guilty of, by the inſtigation of the moſt a⯑bandoned of women, beſide thoſe committed againſt his governor, ſo ſhocked and grieved the Doctor, that he fell ill, and his Recovery was long doubted of.’

‘"Mean time Mr. Grandiſon viſited ſome parts of Aſia and Afric, Egypt particularly; correſponding all the time with Dr. Bartlett, and allowing the corre⯑ſpondence to paſs into the hands of Mr. Beauchamp; as he did that which he held with Mr. Beauchamp, to be communicated to the Doctor.’

‘"When Mr. Grandiſon returned to Italy, find⯑ing there his two friends, he engaged the Doctor to accompany Mr. Beauchamp in that part of his tour into ſome of the Eaſtern regions, which he himſelf had been particularly pleaſed with, and, as he ſaid, wanted to be more particularly informed of: And [353] therefore inſiſted, that it ſhould be taken at his own expence. He knew that Mr. Beauchamp had a ſtep⯑mother, who had prevailed on his father to take off two-thirds of the allowance he made him on his travels.’

‘"Mr. Beauchamp very reluctantly complied with the condition ſo generouſly impoſed on him by his be⯑loved friend; another of whoſe arguments was, That ſuch a tour would be the moſt likely means to eſta⯑bliſh the health of a Man equally dear to both.’

‘"Mr. Grandiſon never was at a loſs for arguments to keep in countenance the perſons whom he benefit⯑ed; and to make their acceptance of his favours ap⯑pear not only to be their duty, but an obligation laid on himſelf.’

‘"Mr. Grandiſon himſelf, when the two gentle⯑men ſet out on their tour, was engaged in ſome af⯑fairs at Bologna and Florence, which gave him great embarraſment.’

‘"Dr. Barlett and Mr. Beauchamp, viſited the principal iſlands of the Archipelago: After which, the Doctor left the young gentleman purſuing his courſe to Conſtantinople, with intention to viſit ſome parts of Aſia, and took the opportunity of a veſſel that was bound for Leghorn, to return thither.’

‘"His health was happily eſtabliſhed: And, know⯑ing that Mr. Grandiſon expected the long-deſired call from his father to return to England, and that it was likely that he could be of uſe to his ward Miſs Jervois, and her affairs, in her guardian's abſence, he was the more deſirous to return to Italy.’

‘"Mr. Grandiſon rejoiced at his arrival: And ſoon after ſet out for Paris, in order to attend there the expected call; leaving Emily, in the interim, to his care.’

‘"Lorimer's father did not long ſurvive his ſon. He expreſſed himſelf in his laſt hours highly ſenſible of the Doctor's care of his unhappy boy; and earneſtly [354] deſired his Lady to ſee him handſomely rewarded for his trouble. But not making a will: and the Lady having, by her early over-indulgence, ruined the mo⯑rals of her child (never ſuffering him to be either cor⯑rected or chidden, were his enormities ever ſo flagrant) ſhe bore a ſacred grudge to the Doctor for his honeſt repreſentations to her Lord of the young man's im⯑moralities: And not even the interpoſition of a Sir Charles Grandiſon has hitherto been able to procure the leaſt acknowledgment to the Doctor; though the loſs as well, of his reputation, as life, might have been the conſequence of the faithful ſervices he had endea⯑voured to render to the profligate youth, and in him to the whole family."’