LETTER I. Mis;s LUCY SELBY, To Lady G.

YOU enjoined me, my dear Lady G. at parting on Monday laſt, to write to you; and to be very particular in what I wrote. I will, becauſe I love and fear you. Otherwiſe I would not write at all; firſt, becauſe I had not the good fortune to pleaſe you, in mine to Lady L.; and next, becauſe I ſhall ſo ſoon have the honour to attend you in town. Well then, I begin.

On Tueſday we women were employed in prepa⯑rations for the tenants jubilee, next day. Sir Charles, attended by my brother, paid a morning viſit to Mr. Greville, whom he found moody, reſerved, and [2] indiſpoſed. My brother James ſays, that he never ſaw ſuch a manly, yet tender treatment, from one man to another, as Sir Charles gave him; and that he abſolutely ſubdued him, and left him acknowledge⯑ing the favour of his viſit, and begging a repetition of it, as often as he could, while he ſtaid in theſe parts; and that, he ſaid, as well for his credit, as for his com⯑fort. But when, Sir Charles, ſaid he, do you carry from us the Syren? I will call her names. I hate her. The ſooner the better. Curſe me, if I ſhall be able to creep out of the houſe, while ſhe is viſible on Northamptonſhire ground—Tho' I was a friend to the match—Do you mind that, young man (to my brother James): O Love! Love! added he, of what contradictions art thou the cauſe! Tho' I hate her, I almoſt long to ſee her. You'll allow me to viſit you both, I hope when I have got over theſe plaguy megrims?

The ſame day Sir Charles making a friendly viſit, as going by Sir John Holles's ſeat, to that family, found Miſs Orme there, expecting her brother to call for her in his poſt-chaiſe.

Great civilities paſſed between Sir Charles and Miſs Orme. She was doubtful whether her brother had, at that time, beſt ſee Sir Charles, as he was weak in health and Spirits: But juſt as Sir Charles was at the gate, going to his chariot, attended by Sir John and the young Ladies, poor Mr. Orme came.

The Liveries would not allow Mr. Orme to doubt who it was. He turned pale. Sir Charles addreſſed himſelf to him with his uſual polite freedom. Know⯑ing, Sir, ſaid he, that Mr. Orme was expected by one of the beſt of Siſters, I preſume to ſalute you, as the Mr. Orme to whom I have been deſirous, ever ſince I have been in Northamptonſhire, to pay my compliments.

Sir Charles Grandiſon, Sir—

At your ſervice, Mr. Orme; taking his hand.

[3] The happieſt man in the world, replied Mr. Orme, with ſome emotion. The beſt, the lovelieſt woman on earth calls you hers.

I am, I think myſelf, the happieſt of men. But it will add to my joy, to have it wiſhed me by ſo good a man as Mr. Orme.

Ah, Sir!—Could I wiſh joy to any man on this occaſion, it would be to you, becauſe of your cha⯑racter; and in the reflection, that the moſt excellent of women muſt be happier with you, than any other man could have made her. But Self, Self, Sir! He is indeed a hero, who, with ſuch a ſervent attach⯑ment as mine, can diveſt himſelf of Self. I loved her, Sir, from her early infancy, and never knew another Love.

The man, Mr. Orme, who loved Miſs Byron, gave diſtinction to himſelf. Permit me to preſent her to you, and you to her, as dear friends; and allow me a third place in your friendſhip. You have a ſiſter who juſtly claims a ſecond. I dare en⯑gage for the dear creature, from what I know of her value for Mr. Orme, that ſhe will allow of this friendſhip, on the foot of his own merits, were my recommendation out of the queſtion.

O Sir Charles! you are, you ought to be, the man. And will you allow me on theſe terms to viſit you, and viſit her?—But, alas! I fear, I fear, I cannot ſoon—

At your own time, my dear Mr. Orme.—At Mr. Selby's; at her houſe in London; in Hampſhire; where-ever ſhe is, and whether I am preſent or ab⯑ſent, Mr. Orme will be received as her brother and my brother, as her friend and my friend.

Good God! Good God!—He guſhed into tears. He ran into the houſe to hide his emotion; but in vain; for when he went in, he wept like a child!—Forgive me, forgive me, Sir John! (who juſt then came in from taking leave of his noble gueſt) but [4] there is no bearing this man's magnanimity!—He is all I have heard of him. Happy, happy Miſs By⯑ron!—No man but this could deſerve her. But where is he? riſing: I will aſk his pardon for my abrupt departure from him.

He is gone, anſwered Sir John. I ſaw him in his chariot! Good Mr. Orme! he called you, and ſighed for you. Poor Mr. Orme declared, that he would wait upon Sir Charles, and tell him, how acceptable to his heart, and what balm to his mind, would be the tender he had the goodneſs to make him. Siſter, ſaid he, you were at the gate, as well as the young Ladies; did he not hint, did he not ſay, that Miſs By⯑ron ſpoke of me with tenderneſs?

Miſs Kitty Holles ſupplied to us afterwards my bro⯑ther's account of what paſſed in this accidental inter⯑view. Theſe dear girls know not how to keep from Selby-houſe. They are good girls; how then can they help admiring Sir Charles Grandiſon?

I begin to fancy I am in a way to pleaſe you, Lady G. Of which▪ at taking up my pen, I had little hopes, and therefore intended not to take much pains about it. But the ſubject muſt warm the coldeſt genius. Is it not of your brother, and my couſin?

In the afternoon, a Letter was brought from Sir Rowland Meredith. My couſin intends to ſhew it to you in town. Such a mix are in it, of joy and ſadneſs; of condolement and congratulation; I be⯑lieve was never ſeen in one ſheet of paper. It is dated from Windſor. The good man was there in his way to town; reſolving to pay a viſit to the wonderful man, as he calls [...]im, of whom he had heard ſo great a character; [...]nd who was probably to be the huſband of his daug [...]r Byron; and there he heard (from Lord W's do [...]ſtics I ſuppoſe) that Sir Charles was in Northamptonſhire, and that the mar⯑riage was actually ſolemnized. He therefore intended [5] to ſet out directly for Bath, where Mr. Fowler was, or at the Hot-well at Briſtol, purſuing meaſures for his health; with a view to conſole his poor boy.

This is a good old man. Methinks I am half ready to wiſh, that ſome of my couſin's admirers would dry up their tears, and come among us: Yet we are nice and dainty girls, ſome of us, let me tell you.—Tis fooliſh, however, to ſuggeſt leavings, and ſuch ſort of ſtuff; the Lady ſuch as but one man could deſerve; his merit allowed univerſally.

Sir Charles acquainted his Lady with all that had paſſed between him and Mr. Orme. She received his account with joy and thankfulneſs.

You are enter'd, Sir, ſaid ſhe, into a numerous family. I have called Sir Rowland Meredith my Fa⯑ther; Mr. Fowler my Brother. Be pleaſed to read this Letter.

I remember the relation, my dear, returned Sir Charles, and acknowledge it. Mr. Fowler is another Mr. Orme. Sir Rowland is a very worthy man.

He read it—What an excellent heart has Sir Row⯑land! My deareſt Love! cultivate their friendſhip▪ as I will Mr. Orme's. My pity for theſe worthy ob⯑jects, joining with yours, and the frankneſs of our mutual behaviour to them, will ſtrengthen their hearts. We owe it to them, my deareſt Life, as much as it is in our power, to ſoften their diſappoint⯑ment.—Could they have a greater?

O my Lady G! Who can think of a man after this—Except one might hope, from the perſonal knowledge of his charming behaviour, that the men who addreſſed us, might be improved by ſuch an example?

The Tenants Jubilee, as they called it, was on Wedneſday. It was a much more orderly day than we expected. Sir Charles was all condeſcenſion and chearful goodneſs: My couſin all graciouſneſs, was the word for her. Mrs. Shirley was of the company [6] How was ſhe reverenced! She ever was! Once when the bride was withdrawn, and Sir Charles was en⯑gaged in talk with Mr. Deane, ſhe whiſpered two or three of her tenants to tell the reſt, that it was great joy to her, to be aſſured, that after her departure, the tenants of her dear Mr. Shirley would be treated with as much kindneſs (perhaps with more) as he, and as ſhe, after his example, had ever treated them. Yet one caution, I give, ſaid ſhe: My dear ſon will ſee with his own eyes: He will diſpenſe with his own hands. He will not be impoſed upon.

Thurſday and Friday the Bride ſaw company. There was as little both days of the impertinence that attends form, as, I believe, was ever known on the like occaſion; but more of ſincere admiration. We had a vaſt number of people. Some of them perſons of faſhion, with whom we had but ſlender acquaintance; but who wiſhed to ſee the happy pair.

We ſhall be this day at Shirley-manor in a family way: In that, my dear Lady G. (after all the buſtle and parade that we can make) lies the true, becauſe the untumultuous joy.

To-morrow we ſhall ſerve God in our uſual way.

Adieu, my dear Lady G.—This is the ſort of ſtuff you muſt be ſatisfied with from a poor untalented girl, as is

No end of duty, love, compliments, &c. I begin again to doubt I ſhan't pleaſe you:—So am (allowably) tired.

LETTER II. Lady G. To Miſs SELBY.

COME, come, Lucy, you do pretty well. Don't be diſheartned, child. Yet you are not quite the clever girl I once thought you. You, that held [7] ſuch a part in the correſpondence of our Harriet.—But you ſay, you can't help it. Poor girl! I am ſorry for it. Your talents lie in ſpeech, not in writing.—Your account of the interview between Orme and my brother, ſhews you can't write at all. No, not you—Poor Lucy! But write one Letter more before you come to town. Do! my dear! You have charming ſubjects before you, yet.

I, you ſee, have a talent to make ſubjects out of nothing: You, poor ſoul! can't follow them when made to your hand. I'll tell you a ſtory of my good man and his good woman. A ſhort one. The poor man is very ſenſible of ſlight ailments. Happy, as he is, in a wife, no wonder he is afraid of dying. He was complaining to me juſt now [To whom but to a pitying wife ſhould a man complain when he ails any-thing?] that he had a troubleſome diſorder in the inſide of his mouth. I looked very grave; ſhook my careful head. I am afraid, my Lord, ſomething is breeding there, that ſhould not. He ſtarted, and looked concerned. The man will never know me. God ſorbid! ſaid he—afraid of nothing leſs than a cancer. Have I not told you a thouſand times, my Lord, of your gaping? As ſure as you are alive, your mouth is fly-blown.

Expecting compaſſion, he found a jeſt, and never was man ſo angry. I was forced to take his hand, and ſtroke his cheeks with mine, to be friends.

But, Lucy, let not any of theſe flippances meet my brother's eye, or invade his ear: I ſhall be un⯑done if they do.

Caroline is pure well. Her Lord is never out either of her chamber, or the nurſery.

Aunt Nell makes an admirable nurſe. Her parrot and her ſquirrel are now neglected for a little mar⯑mouſet. Every-body but the real nurſe likes aunt Nell. The good creature is ſo underſtanding, ſo [8] directing! I proteſt, theſe old maids think they know every-thing. The nurſe, I ſee, can't endure her.

I interfere not. The boy is robuſt, and they leave him the free exerciſe of his limbs, and he has a fine pipe, and makes the nurſery ring whenever he pleaſes; ſo will do well enough.

But high-ho, Lucy! all theſe nurſery memento's, how do they ſadden and mortify me! The word mother, what a ſolemn ſound has it to me now; Caro⯑line's ſituation before me!—But, come, the evil day is at diſtance: Who's afraid?

Beauchamp ſighs for Emily: Emily for ſomebody elſe. Sir Hargrave is ſtill miſerable. Poor Sir Har⯑ry! He ſtill lives! But can life be life, when there is no hope?

Write me one more Letter before you come up: If it be ever ſo ſhort a one. Don't be proud and ſau⯑cy: You imagine, I ſuppoſe, that you can't write as well as Harriet and I. Granted. Attempt it not therefore. But write as well as you can; and that, till Harriet can find herſelf at leiſure to reſume her pen, ſhall content

No end of your compliments to us in town, you ſay.—No end of ours to you in the country, were I to begin them: Therefore will not ſay a word about them. You know my meaning by my gaping.

LETTER III. Miſs SELBY, To Lady G.

AND muſt I write your Ladyſhip one more Letter?

And will a ſhort one content you?

Well then, I'll try for it.

[9] On Sunday laſt, we hoped to be quiet and good: But the church was as much crouded as it was the Sunday before.

Monday and Tueſday the Bride and Bridegroom returned the viſits made them. At one, they met Miſs▪ Orme, and accompanied her to their ſeat called The Park, at her requeſt. You did not ſeem to like my account of Sir Charles's interview with Mr. Orme in my laſt: So I will not tell you what paſſed on ac⯑caſion of this viſit to that worthy man. I will be as perverſe as you are difficult. I don't care. Yet, as your new ſiſter deſcribed the meeting and parting to me, you would have been pleaſed with what I could have told you.

Yeſterday we had a Ball given by Mrs. Shirley. Were I able to write to pleaſe you, how I could ex⯑patiate on this occaſion! How did the Bridegroom ſhine! Every-body was in raptures with him, on his charming behaviour to his Bride. The notice he took of her was neither too little, nor too much, for the moſt delicate obſervers. Every young Lady envied her; and how coldly did ſome of them look on their own humble ſervants! They indeed were as regard⯑ful of him as their miſtreſſes; ſo bore the preference the better. My uncle Selby was all, and more than all, he uſed to be. How happy, that he is a ſober man! His joy, raiſed by wine, would have made him mad.

This day we have been all happy together. A calm, ſerene day; at Shirley-manor! And thus is the matter ſettled among us—Your brother and new ſiſter; my uncle and aunt Selby; Mr. Deane, and your Ladyſhip's humble ſervant; are to ſet out early to-morrow morning for London. My brother James would ſain accompany us; Sir Charles kindly in⯑viting him: But I withſtood it; ſo did my aunt; the private reaſon becauſe of Miſs Jervois.

Sir Charles thinks to ſtay in town till the Friday [10] following; and then propoſes to carry his Bride and all of us, to Grandiſon-hall.

A motion was made to Sir Charles by my grand⯑mamma Selby; whether he would not chooſe to be preſented with his Lady to the King on their nuptials. Sir Charles anſwered, that he was ready to comply with every propoſal that ſhould ſhew his duty to his Sovereign, and the grateful ſenſe he had of the honour done him by his Harriet.

We are to call on Lord and Lady W. at Wind⯑ſor; and take them with us.

My couſin and I are to write conſtantly to our two grandmamma's. My ſiſter Nancy devotes her⯑ſelf to our grandmother Selby. Miſs Holles's will conſtantly viſit Mrs. Shirley. Sir Charles is to bring down his Lady twice a year, or oftner, if conveniency permit.

He hoped, he ſaid, after a while, to induce his Harriet to take a trip with him to Ireland, to inſpect the improvements making in his eſtate there. He will find no difficulty, I believe, to prevail upon her to accompany him thither; nor even, were he diſ⯑poſed to it, to the world's end.

He hopes for a viſit from the Italian family, ſo de⯑ſervedly dear to him; by which he is to regulate many of his future motions.

His new-taken houſe in Groſvenor-ſquare being, as you know, nearly ready, he propoſes to compli⯑ment with it thoſe noble gueſts, for the time of their reſidence in England; for he, will not, it ſeems, be ſo ſoon obliged to quit his preſent London-houſe, as he had thought he muſt.

And thus, my dear Lady G. have I obeyed your commands. I know you will not be ſatisfied with me. Had I been able to follow a ſubject that was made to my hand, I ſhould have attempted the parting ſcene between my couſin and her grandmamma. Could I have borrowed your pen, I would have diſplay'd the [11] tender, yet magnanimous parent, not once, tho' tot⯑tering with age and infirmities, hinting that ſhe might never again ſee the darling of her heart. She ſaddened not hope; but encouraged it. All ſhe ſaid, demon⯑ſtrated Love of her Harriet, diveſted of Self, and a ſoul above the weaker paſſions; and well might ſhe, ſince ſhe has already one foot among the ſtars, and can look down with pity, unmixed with envy, on all thoſe who by their youth, are doomed to toil through the rugged road of life, in ſearch of a happineſs that is not to be met with in it; and at the higheſt, can be compounded for, only by the bleſſing of a contented mind. With the ſame pen, before I had reſigned it, would I have deſcribed the lovely grandchild embrace⯑ing the knees of the indulgent parent, not ſatisfied with one, two, three bleſſings; and, leſs generouſly in the purport, tho' not in the intent (judging from her own preſent happineſs, that there is ſtill ſome⯑thing worth wiſhing for to be met with in this world) praying to God to preſerve the over-ripened fruit ſtill on the withered tree: In which we all joined. But O how much leſs generouſly, as I hinted, becauſe it was altogether for our own ſakes!—But I know not whoſe pen I muſt have borrowed, to have done juſtice to Sir Charles Grandiſon's behaviour on this occa⯑ſion!

Excuſe this ſerious concluſion, my dear Lady G. My couſin ſhall not ſee it. May ſhe know nothing but felicity! In hers is bound up that of Sir Charles Grandiſon; and in his that of hundreds. I long, tho' we parted ſo lately, to throw myſelf at your feet, and to aſſure you, that whatever defects there are in my pen, there are none in the Love borne you, by

LETTER IV. Lady GRANDISON, To Mrs. SHIRLEY.

LUCY (my ever honoured grandmamma) has given you the particulars of the rapturous recep⯑tion I met with on Saturday, from my dear Lady L. on the viſit we made her in her chamber. She, as well as her Lord, welcomed and congratulated us, and herſelf, with ſuch a grace!—They are a charming pair!—We all rejoiced with her, on the addition ſhe had made to two families ſo worthy.

Mrs. Eleanor Grandiſon received us alſo in rap⯑tures.

How did the tenderly kind notice which Sir Charles took of the lovely little infant (It is a fine child!) delight the happy mother, and every-body!

Lord and Lady G. met us at Lady L's; Emily, and the Earl of G. and Lady Gertrude, with them. How affectionately did the dear girl welcome us, af⯑ter a few tears, which ſhe endeavoured to hide, and which we paſſed over as tears of joy! But Lucy has given you all particulars ^(a); and the noble manner alſo, in which Sir Charles gave me poſſeſſion of his houſe, on our firſt arrival. Every-body was charmed with it. It coſt my aunt ſome tears.

The Chriſtening was delayed till Monday; becauſe Sir Charles was deſirous it ſhould be performed at church. He had ſome few difficulties to get over, before he carried his point; and this was the ſub⯑ſtance of his reaſonings on the ſubject: People of faſhion, he ſaid, ſhould conſider themſelves as ex⯑amples to the lower orders of people. They ſhould ſhew a conformity to the laws of their country, both eccleſiaſtical and civil, where they can do it with a good conſcience. In the preſent caſe, Baptiſm, ſaid [13] he, is one of our two ſacraments; and ſhall it not be performed, when it can, as the church directs; the child in full health?

I will give you, my dear grandmamma, journal⯑wiſe, I think, an account of our proceedings; ſtill referring myſelf to my Lucy for ſuch particulars as now I ſhall not have time to give. For you know, my dear grandmamma, that my time is not now my own, as it uſed to be; tho' I ſhall think myſelf very ungrate⯑ful, and undutiful too, if I permit my new duties ſo wholly to engroſs me, as to furniſh an excuſe for the neglect of thoſe which from my very birth I owe to you.

I think Lucy has not mentioned to you the lively converſations that paſſed in the evening, after the chriſtening, between Sir Charles and Lady G. ſhe chooſing to ſingle out her brother (as ſhe had threat⯑ned, unknown to him, to do) in order to try once more her ſtrength with him, in vivacity and raillery. She delighted every-body with her wit: For it was not ſo rapid and ſo unguarded as ſometimes it is. He condeſcended, was Lucy's juſt obſervation, to re⯑turn wit for her wit, in order to follow her lead, as he ſaw the company was delighted with their conver⯑ſation; and was exceedingly brilliant. She compli⯑mented herſelf on the merit of having drawn him out, tho' to her own diſadvantage. Finding herſelf over⯑matched, ſhe ſhifted her attacks, and made one up⯑on me; but with ſo much decorum and complaiſance, as ſhewed ſhe intended to do me honour, rather than herſelf.

Tueſday evening.] Sir Charles is juſt returned from viſiting Sir Harry Beauchamp. The poor man num⯑bers his hours, and owned, that the three the beſt of men gave him, as by his own watch (tho' Sir Charles intended to be back in one) were more happy ones than he had promiſed himſelf in this life. O madam! How eaſy ſits my Sir Charles's piety upon [14] him! He can pity a dying friend, without ſaddening his own heart; for he lives the life of duty as he goes along, and fears not the inevitable lot!

Wedneſday.] He is juſt returned from a viſit to Sir Hargrave. Sir Hargrave, it ſeems, compliment⯑ed him, but with tears in his eyes, on his marriage. Great God! ſaid he, how are you rewarded! How am I puniſhed! Is there not hope that I have all my puniſhment in this life? I am ſure, it is very, very heavy.

He viſited the ſame day Mrs. Oldham, and her children.

He drank tea this afternoon with the Danby family in full aſſembly, at the houſe of the elder brother; and came to my couſin Reeves's to ſupper. My uncle, aunt, Mr. Deane, and Lucy, accompanied me thither to tea and ſupper, where, as by promiſe, we were joined by Lord and Lady G. Lord L. Mrs. Eleanor Grandiſon, my Emily, and Mr. Beauchamp. Mr. Reeves had alſo invited Lady Betty Williams. What felicitations did ſhe pour on me! She ſighed, poor Lady! for the unhappy ſtep her daughter had taken: And I ſighed for the mother; who, tho' ſhe had not given her daughter a bad example, had not ſet her a good one.

Lucy will tell you what a charming evening we had.

On Thurſday,] Mr. Grandiſon preſented his new⯑married Lady to Sir Charles and me, on account of our marriage, and dined with us. Sir Charles received the Lady, as well as his couſin, with the utmoſt polite⯑neſs. She is far from being a diſ [...]greeable woman: But, at firſt, the awe ſhe had of the people of rank in company, particularly of Lady G. as ſhe owned to me, gave her an air of aukwardneſs. But Sir Charles's polite notice of her ſoon made her eaſy.

Mr. Grandiſon found an opportunity to praiſe to me her good ſenſe and fine qualities; but in ſuch a way, as if he were making apologies for having given [15] the honour of his name to a woman under his own rank (ungrateful!) who yet had re-eſtabliſhed him: He concluded his panegyric with letting me know, that ſhe had already preſented him with 25,000 pounds: He looked as if he thought he deſerved it all: and actually called her a very diſcerning woman. I queſtion⯑ed not, I told him, his gratitude to a Lady ſo deſerv⯑ing; and he as good as promiſed to reward her by his Love; whiſpering, with an air of ſelf-ſufficiency, ſticking his hand in his ſide, and ſurveying himſelf to the right and left, Her former Huſband, madam, was a very plain, but an honeſt man. But I do aſſure you ſhe has taſte!—O dear! O dear! thought I to myſelf.

Sir Charles invited them both to Grandiſon-hall, and ſhe ſeemed not a little proud on his calling her, as he did ſeveral times, Couſin.

Lord L. and Lord and Lady G. dined with us, as did Mrs. Eleanor Grandiſon and Emily. Lady G. in the main, behaved prettily enough to Mr. Grandiſon and his Bride. But once a little forgetting herſelf, and putting on a ſupercilious air, I whiſpered her, Dear Lady G. conſider, you can give pride to others by your condeſcenſion: You muſt not yourſelf condeſcend to be proud.

Be you, my Harriet, re-whiſpered ſhe, always my monitreſs. It is the ſorry fellow, not his wife, that I look down upon, She, a widow Cit, might have done ſtill worſe.

Cit! Lady G. And in a trading kingdom?

Ay, Cit, child! Have you not heard my brother ſay, that even in the republic of Venice, there are young nobility and old nobility: Diſtinctions in blood every-where but at Amſterdam!

Who, and what, at firſt, made the diſtinction, my dear? aſked I.

Be quiet, Harriet!—I think I am very good—

And at the height of your goodneſs, Charlotte?

[16] Be quiet, when I bid you? aloud.

Sir Charles a little jealous of our whiſpering, for the ſake of his couſins, turning to Mr. Grandiſon, Your couſin Charlotte, you know, Sir, is always hard preſſed, when ſhe calls out, Be quiet.

I was always rejoiced, replied he, when my couſin was brought to that.

Sir Charles has been twice at the Drawing-room, ſince we have been in town. He admires the integrity of heart of his Sovereign, as much as he reveres his royal dignity. Once I remember, he wiſhed that his Majeſty would take a ſummer's progreſs thro' his Britiſh, another into his Iriſh, dominions; but ex⯑preſly with this proviſo, That every gentleman and woman of condition ſhould be welcome at his court, who came not in new dreſſes to pay their duty to him; and this leſt the gentry's vying with each other in ap⯑pearance, ſhould hurt their private circumſtances; and for the ſame reaſon, that he would graciouſly treat, but not be treated by, any of the nobility at their houſes.

To-morrow morning, Sir Charles, his grateful Har⯑riet, happy creature! my uncle and aunt Selby, Mr. Deane, and Emily, are to ſet out by the way of Wind⯑ſor for Grandiſon-hall. We are to take an early dinner there with Lord and Lady W.; who, on that condi⯑tion, have promiſed to attend their beloved nephew, and his friends, to the Hall.

Lord G. is allowed to ſtay a week with us, and no more. He is then to attend his now but half⯑ſaucy Lady, at one of the Earl of G's ſeats in Hert⯑fordſhire; where, by promiſe of long-ſtanding, ſhe is to keep her Chriſtmas: At which ſhe mutters not a little; becauſe ſhe would ſain have been with us; and becauſe ſhe imagines, it will be proper for her to confine herſelf at home, by the time they will part with her.

My aunt Selby, and even my uncle, will write. [17] He muſt, he ſays, the over-flowings of his joy. Lucy loves to deſcribe houſes, furniture, gardens, and ſuch like. She ſays, ſhe will ſometimes give converſations too, at which I ſhall not be preſent; but will leave to my pen perſons, characters, and what paſſes of the more tender ſort in converſations where I am by. But as well Lucy's Letters, as mine, are to be ſent to Lady G. unſealed; and ſhe, after ſhewing them to her ſiſter, will haſten them to Northamptonſhire. Refer⯑ring therefore to Lucy for more particular accounts, I ſubſcribe myſelf, with all duty and grateful love to my grandmamma, as well as with kindeſt remembrances to all my dear friends,

LETTER V. Lady GRANDISON, To Mrs. SHIRLEY.

O My deareſt, deareſt grandmamma! Here I am! The declared miſtreſs of this ſpacious houſe, and the happieſt of human creatures! This is all at this in⯑ſtant I can write.

LORD and Lady W. honoured us, as they had pro⯑miſed, with their company; but detained us ſo long, that we were obliged to he one night on the road. But by eleven this morning we arrived here.

At our alighting, Sir Charles claſping me in his arms, I congratulate you, my deareſt life, ſaid he, on your entrance into your own houſe. The laſt Lady Grandiſon, and the preſent, might challenge the whole Britiſh nation to produce their equals. Then turning to every one of his gueſts, thoſe of my family firſt, as they were ſtrangers to the place, [18] he ſaid the kindeſt, the politeſt things that ever pro⯑ceeded from the mouth of man. I wept for joy. I would have ſpoken, but could not. Every-body con⯑gratulated the happy Harriet.

Dr. Bartlett was approaching to welcome us, but drew back till our mutual congratulations were over. He then appeared. I preſent to you, my dear Dr. Bartlett, ſaid the beſt of men, the lovely friend, whom you have ſo long wiſhed to ſee miſtreſs of this houſe. He then offered my hand to the Doctor.

God bleſs you, madam! tears in his eyes.—God bleſs you both! Then kiſſed, inſtead of myhand, which I withdrew, my offered cheek. He could ſay no more: I could not ſpeak diſtinctly.

My dear Sir Charles led me, followed by all our rejoicing friends, thro' a noble dining-room to the drawing-room, called, The Lady's: The whole houſe, my dear, ſaid he, and every perſon and thing belong⯑ing to it, is yours: But this apartment is more parti⯑cularly ſo. Let what is amiſs in it, be altered as you would have it.

O Sir! graſping his preſenting hand between both mine, was all I could ſay.

This room is elegantly furniſhed. It is hung with a light green velvet, delicately ornamented; the chairs of the ſame; the frames of them gilt; as is the frame of a noble cabinet in it.—My mother's, my deareſt life, whiſpered he. It will be always faſhionable: And you, I know, will value it on her account.—Indeed I ſhall.—He preſented me with the keys. Here perhaps will you depoſit your letters and correſpondences; ſome of which (the continuation of thoſe I have had the honour to ſee) you will allow me to peruſe. But of choice, remember, madam. For your whole heart muſt be in the grant of the favours you will confer upon me of this kind.

Dear Sir, ſaid I, leave me power of ſpeech; my will ſhall be yours, in every-thing. But you will [19] find a ſtrange, ſtrange heart, laid open to you, if you command from me a ſight of the papers, that proba⯑bly will be repoſited here, when all my matters are brought from Northamptonſhire.

You ſhall have all the Letters you ever wrote to me, and the venerable circle, ſaid Lucy; a loan, not a gift; if you will ſhew them to Sir Charles.

Courage, Lucy, not inclination, will be only want⯑ing.

Thank you, Lucy, ſaid he. Thank you, my Love, to me. You muſt make marks againſt the paſſages in the Letters you ſhall have the goodneſs to communicate, which you would not have me read. I will give you my honour that I will not paſs the bounds you preſcribe.

I will ſnatch another opportunity to proceed.—My dear Sir Charles indulges me. I have told him, that if he now-and-then miſſes, he muſt conclude that I am doubling my joy, by communicating it as I have opportunity, to my dear Grandmamma.

EVERY-BODY admires the elegance of this draw⯑ing-room. The fineſt japan china, that I ever ſaw, except that of Lady G's, which ſhe ſo whimſically received at the hands of her Lord, took particularly every female eye.

Sir Charles led me into a cloſet adjoining—Your Oratory, your Library, my Love, when you ſhall have furniſhed it, as you deſired you might, by your choſen collection from Northamptonſhire.

It is a ſweet little apartment, my dear grandmamma; elegant book-caſes, unfurniſhed. Every other orna⯑ment complete. How had he been at work to oblige me, by Dr. Bartlett's good offices, while my heart per⯑haps was torn, part of the time, with uncertainty!

The houſe-keeper, a middle-aged woman, who is noted, as you have heard her maſter ſay, for prudence, integrity, and obligingneſs, a gentlewoman (born) [20] appearing; Sir Charles preſented her to me. Re⯑ceive, my Love, a faithful, a diſcreet gentlewoman, who will think herſelf honoured with your com⯑mands. Mrs. Curzon (to her) you will be happy in a miſtreſs who is equally beloved and reverenced by all who have the honour of her countenance, if ſhe approve of your ſervices, and if you chooſe to conti⯑nue with us.

I took her hand: I hope Mrs. Curzon, there is no doubt but you will. You may depend upon every-thing that is in my power to make you eaſy and happy.

She looked pleaſed; but anſwered only with a re⯑ſpectful courteſy.

Sir Charles led the gentleman out to ſhew them his Study. We juſt looked into a fine ſuite of rooms on the ſame floor, and joined them there.

We found my uncle and Mr. Deane admiring the diſpoſition of every-thing, as well as the furniture. The glaſs-caſes are neat, and, as Dr. Bartlett told us, ſtored with well-choſen books in all ſciences. Mr. Deane praiſed the globes, the orrery, and the inſtru⯑ments of all ſorts, for geographical, aſtronomical, and other ſcientifical obſervations. It is ornamented with pictures, ſome, as Dr. Bartlett told us, of the beſt maſters of the Italian and Flemiſh ſchools, ſtatues, buſtoes, bronzes: And there alſo, placed in a diſtin⯑guiſhed manner, were the two rich cabinets of me⯑dals, gems, and other curioſities, preſented to him by Lady Olivia. He mentioned what they contain⯑ed, and by whom preſented; and ſaid, he would ſhew us at leiſure the contents. They are not mine, added he: I only give them a place till the generous owner ſhall make ſome worthy man happy. His they muſt be. It would be a kind of robbery to take them from a family, that, for near a century paſt, have been collecting them.

[21] LUCY ſays, ſhe will be very particular in her Let⯑ters. This will take up time; eſpecially as Lady G. and Lady L. muſt ſee them in their way to Nor⯑thamptonſhire; tho' they will not detain them. I ſhall have an opportunity to ſend this to London on Mon⯑day. This makes me intent to ſnatch every oppor⯑tunity of writing. It will otherwiſe be too long be⯑fore you will hear from us by my hand.

I do not intend to invade this ſlow girl's province; yet I will give you a ſlight ſketch of the houſe and apartments, as I go along.

The ſituation is delightful. The houſe is very ſpa⯑cious. It is built in the form of an H; both fronts pretty much alike. The hall, the dining-parlour, two drawing-rooms, one adjoining to the ſtudy, the other to the dining-parlour (which with the ſtudy, mentioned already, and other rooms, that I ſhall leave to Lucy to deſcribe, make the ground-floor) are handſome, and furniſhed in an elegant, but not ſumptuous taſte; the hangings of ſome them beauti⯑ful paper only. There is adjoining to the ſtudy, a room called The Muſic-parlour, ſo called in Sir Tho⯑mas's time, and furniſhed with ſeveral fine muſical inſtruments: Sir Thomas was as great an admirer of muſic as his ſon; and a performer.

It is no news to you, madam, that Sir Charles ſhews a great regard to every thing, place, and diſpo⯑ſition, that was his father's; and not abſolutely incon⯑venient, and inconſiſtent with the alterations he has thought neceſſary to make: And which Dr. Bartlett praiſes highly, and promiſes to particularize to me. We are to be ſhewn this Muſic-parlour by-and-by.

The dining-room is noble and well proportioned: It goes over the hall and dining-parlour. It is hung with crimſon-damaſk, adorned with valuable pictures. The furniture is rich, but leſs ornamented than that of the Lady's drawing-room.

The beſt bed chamber adjoining, is hung with [22] fine tapeſtry. The bed is of crimſon velvet, lined with white ſilk; chairs and curtains of the ſame. Two fine pictures drawn by Sir Godfrey, one of Sir Tho⯑mas, the other of Lady Grandſon, whole lengths, took my eye: O with what reverence, that of my Lady!—Lady L. Lady G. as girls, and Sir Charles as a boy of about ten years of age, made three other fine whole lengths. I muſt contemplate them, when I have more leiſure.

The ſuit of rooms on the firſt floor which we juſt ſtept into, are each denominated from the colour of the hangings, which are generally of damaſk.

Mrs. Curzon tells us, that, on occaſion, they make fifteen beds, within the houſe, in which the beſt Lord in the land need not diſdain to repoſe.—You re⯑member, madam, that Sir Charles, in his invitation to the Italian family, tells them, he has room to receive them. The offices are ſaid to be exceedingly con⯑venient.

The gardens and lawn ſeem from the windows of this ſpacious houſe to be as boundleſs as the mind of the owner, and as free and open as his counte⯑nance.

[MISS Lucy Selby thus deſcribes the ſituation of the houſe, and the park, gardens, orchard, &c. in one of her Letters which does not appear.]

‘"THIS large and convenient houſe is ſituated in a ſpacious park; which has ſeveral fine avenues lead⯑ing to it.’

‘"On the north ſide of the park, flows a winding ſtream, that may well be called a river, abound⯑ing with trout and other fiſh; the current quicken⯑ed by a noble caſcade, which tumbles down its foaming waters from a rock, which is continued to ſome extent, in a kind of ledge of rock-work rudely diſpoſed.’

‘"The park itſelf is remarkable for its proſpects, [23] lawns, and rich-appearing clumps of trees of large growth; which muſt therefore have been planted by the anceſtors of the excellent owner; who, contenting himſelf to open and enlarge many fine proſpects, delights to preſerve, as much as poſſible, the plantations of his anceſtors; and particularly thinks it a kind of impiety to fell a tree, that was planted by his father.’

‘"On the ſouth ſide of the river, on a natural and eaſy aſcent, is a neat, but plain villa, in the ruſtic taſte, erected by Sir Thomas; the flat roof of which preſents a noble proſpect. This villa con⯑tains convenient lodging-rooms; and one large room in which he uſed ſometimes to entertain his friends.’

‘"The gardener's houſe is a pretty little building. The man is a ſober diligent man, he is in years: Has a houſewifely good creature of a wife. Con⯑tent is in the countenances of both: How happy muſt they be!’

‘"The gardens, vineyard, &c. are beautifully laid out. The orangery is flouriſhing; every-thing in⯑deed is, that belongs to Sir Charles Grandiſon; alcoves, little temples, ſeats, are erected at differ⯑ent points of view: The orchard, lawns, and graſs-walks, have ſheep for gardeners; and the whole being bounded only by ſunk fences, the eye is carried to views that have no bounds.’

‘"The orchard, which takes up near three acres of ground, is planted in a peculiar taſte. A neat ſtone bridge in the centre of it, is thrown over the river: It is planted in a natural ſtope; the higher fruit-trees, as pears, in a ſemicircular row, firſt; apples at further diſtances next; cherries, plumbs, ſtandard apricots, &c. all which in the ſeaſon of bloſſoming, one row gradually lower than another, muſt make a charming variety of blooming ſweets to the eye, from the top of the ruſtic villa, which commands the whole.’

[24] ‘"The outſide of this orchard, next the north, is planted with three rows of trees, at proper diſtances from each other; one of pines; one of cedars; one of Scotch firs, in the like ſemicircular order; which at the ſame ti [...]e that they afford a perpetual ver⯑dure to the eye, and ſhady walks in the ſummer, defend the orchard from the cold and blighting winds.’

‘"This plantation was made by direction of Sir Thomas, in his [...] of fancy. We have heard that he had a poeti [...]l, and conſequently, a fanciful taſte."’ [Thus far from Miſs Selby. Lady Gran⯑diſon thos proceeds.]

My uncle, once took my aunt out from the com⯑pany, in a kind of hurry. I ſaw his eyes gliſten, and was curious on her return, to know the occa⯑ſion. This was his ſpeech to her, unable to check his emotion; What a man is this, dame Selby! We were ſurely wanting in reſpect to him when he was among us. To ſend ſuch a one to an inn!—Fie upon us!—Lord be good unto me! how are things come about!—Who would have thought it?—Some⯑times I wonder the girl is not as proud as Lucifer; at other times, that ſhe is able to look him in the face!

To this convenient houſe belongs an elegant little chapel, neatly decorated. But Sir Charles, when down, generally goes to the pariſh-church, of which he is patron.

The gallery I have not yet ſeen—Dr. Bartlett tells me, it is adorned with a long line of anceſtors.

AFTER dinner, which was ſumptuous and well⯑ordered, Sir Charles led us into the Muſic-parlour. O, madam, you ſhall hear what honour was done me there.—I will lead to it.

Several of the neighbouring gentlemen, he told us, are performers; and he hopes to engage them as op⯑portunities [25] ſhall offer. My dear Dr. Bartlett, ſaid he, your ſoal is harmony: I doubt not but all theſe are in order—"May I aſk you, my Harriet?" point⯑ing to the harpſichord. I inſtantly ſat down to it. It is a fine Inſtrument. Lord G. took up a violin; Lord L. a German flute; Mr. Deane a baſs-viol; and we had a little concert of about half an hour.

Here is a noble organ: When the little concert was over, he was ſo good himſelf, on my aunt's referring to him with aſking eyes, to ſhew us it was in tune.

We all ſeated ourſelves round him, on his prepare⯑ing to oblige us; I between my aunt and Lucy; and he with a voice admirably ſuited to the inſtrument (but the words, if I may be allowed to ſay ſo, ſtill more admirably to the occaſion) at once delighted and ſurprized us all, by the following Lines:

How did our friends look upon one another, as the excellent man proceeded!—I was aſtoniſhed. It was happy I ſat between my aunt and Lucy!—They each took one of my hands. Tears of joy ran down my cheeks. Every one's eyes congratulated me. [26] Every tongue but mine, encored him. I was ſpeech⯑leſs. Again he obliged us. I thought at the time, I had a foretaſte of the joys of heaven!—How ſweet the incenſe of praiſe from a huſband! That huſband a good man!—My ſurrounding friends enjoying it!—How will you, madam, rejoice in ſuch an inſtance of a Love ſo pure, and ſo grateful! Long, long may it be, for the ſake of his Harriet, his and her friends, for the world's ſake, before his native ſkies reclaim him!

He approached me with tender modeſty; as if abaſhed by the applauſe he met with. But ſeeing me affected, he was concerned. I withdrew with my aunt and Lucy. He followed me. I then threw myſelf at his feet; embraced his knees; and had ſpeech been lent me, would have offered him the fervent vows of a heart overflowing with Love and Gra⯑titude.

LETTER VI. Lady GRANDISON. In Continuation.

THE Muſic-parlour [I can hardly mention it with⯑out breaking into raptures] is adorned with a variety of fine carvings, on ſubjects that do honour to poetry and muſic. Be it Lucy's taſk to deſcribe them. Let me mention other inſtances of his tender goodneſs to one of the happieſt creatures on earth.

You know, madam, Sir Charles, when in Nor⯑thamptonſhire, offered me my choice of ſervants of both ſexes; and when I told him, that I choſe not to take with me any one of either but my Sally, he ſaid, that when I came to Grandiſon-hall, where they would be all together, I ſhould chooſe which of the men-ſervants I would more particularly call my own. He gave me juſt now the names and qualities of each. Frederic I had ſeen at Selby-houſe, an obſervant, ſenſible-looking young man (but are not all his ſer⯑vants [27] ſo?): I chooſe him. He called him in (my aunt Selby preſent): All my ſervants, Frederic, ſaid he, are as much your Lady's as mine: But you will de⯑vote yourſelf more particularly to her commands. I mean not, however, any diſtinction in your favour, where you all equally merit diſtinction. The power, madam, of change or diſmiſſion thro' the houſe is entirely yours.

To-morrow, I am to go over all the bridal oſten⯑tation again at the pariſh-church. On Monday Lady Mansfield and her family are to be here.—Your gueſts, my dear, ſaid Sir Charles, to me, before all our friends, I hope, for a week at leaſt. This was the firſt notice he gave of it to Lord and Lady W. What joy and gratitude appeared in her countenance upon it.

Tueſday, by general approbation (Sir Charles ſub⯑mitting the choice of the day to his gueſts) we are to have the neighbouring gentry here to dinner, and for the reſt of the day. Sir Charles has been long wiſhed by them all to reſide among them. He breaks thro' the uſual forms, and choſe this way, at once, to receive the viſits of all his neighbours, and in both our names gave the invitation. He ſnewed us a liſt of the perſons invited. It is a very large one. My deareſt life, ſaid he, we ſhall be all half-familiarized to them, they to us, even to-morrow, by the free⯑dom of this invitation for the Tueſday following.

Mrs. Curzon came to me for directions about the bedchambers. I took that opportunity to tell her, that I ſhould add to the number of female ſervants, only my Sally, of whoſe diſcretion I had no doubt. You muſt introduce to me, ſaid I, at a proper time, the female ſervants. If you, Mrs. Curzon, approve of them, I ſhall make no changes. I am, myſelf, the happieſt of women: Every one who deſerves it, ſhall find her happineſs in mine.

You will rejoice all their hearts, madam, by this [28] early declaration of your good to them. I can truly ſay, that the beſt of maſters has not the worſt of ſervants: But Dr. Bartlett would make bad ſervants good.

I ſhall want no other proof, ſaid I, of their good⯑neſs, than their love and reſpect to Dr. Bartlett.

In company of my aunt, Lady W. Lucy, Miſs Jer⯑vois, attended by Mrs. Curzon, we went to chooſe our rooms; and thoſe for our expected gueſts of Monday. We ſoon fixed on them. My aunt with her uſual good⯑neſs, and Lady W. with that condeſcenſion that is na⯑tural to her, took great notice of Mrs. Curzon, who ſeem⯑ed delighted with us all; and ſaid, that ſhe ſhould be the happier in the performance of her duty, as ſhe had been informed, we were managing Ladies. It was a pleaſure, ſhe ſaid, to receive commands from perſons who knew when things were properly done. You, my deareſt grandmamma, from my earlieſt youth, have told me, that to be reſpected even by ſervants, it is neceſſary to be able to direct them, and not be thought ignorant in thoſe matters that it becomes a miſtreſs of a family to be acquainted with. They ſhall not find me pragmatical, however, in the little knowledge I have in family-matters.

Will nothing happen, my dear grandmamma—But no more of this kind—Shall I by my diffidences leſſen the enjoyments of which I am in full poſſeſſion? My joy may not be ſufficient to baniſh fear; but I hope it will be a prudent one, which will ſerve to in⯑creaſe my thankfulneſs to heaven, and my gratitude to the man ſo juſtly dear to me.

But do you, my grandmamma, whenever you pray for the continuance of your Harriet's happineſs, pray alſo for that of Lady Clementina: That only can be wanting in my preſent ſituation, to complete the felicity of

LETTER VII. Lady GRANDISON. In Continuation.

WHAT a crouded church-yard and church had I to paſs thro' to the handſome ſeat, which be⯑longs to the excellent patron of it!—How much ex⯑alted was I to hear his whiſpered praiſes! How did my Northamptonſhire friends rejoice in the reſpectful approbation paid to the happy creature, to whom they are more immediately related! I am always a little mortified by praiſes of my figure. What a tranſitory thing is outward form!—May I make to myſelf a more ſolid and permanent foundation for that reſpect, which is generally more pleaſing to a female heart than it ought to be.

Sir Charles was not unhappy in his invitation for next Tueſday. It took off, I imagine, ſome parti⯑cular addreſſes to him. Yet ſeveral gentlemen at his coach-ſide acknowledged the favour done them in it.

My uncle, who, you know, madam, loves every-thing that promotes good neighbourhood, is greatly delighted with the thoughts of the day. How proud is he of his Harriet! How much more proud of his relation to the beſt of men!

I have looked upon what Lucy has written. I ſee there will be but little room for me to ſay any-thing. She is delighted with the taſk. It employs all her fa⯑culties; diſplays her fine taſte in architecture, paint⯑ings, needle-works, ſhell-works. She will give you a deſcription of ſeveral charming performances in the two latter arts, of the late Lady Grandiſon!—How does the character of that admirable Lady riſe upon us! With what emulation does it fire me! On twenty accounts, it was a very bold thing, my grand⯑mamma, for your Harriet to aſpire to be Lady Gran⯑diſon!—Yet how does Sir Charles's goodneſs, his [30] kind acceptance of all my humble endeavours, en⯑courage me!—O, madam! he ſaid truth, when in court⯑ſhip he told me, that I parted with power to have it returned me with augmentation. I don't know how it is, but his freedom of behaviour to me is increaſed; yet his reſpectfulneſs is not diminiſhed.—And, tender as he was before to me, his tenderneſs is ſtill greater than it was: Yet ſo much unaffected dignity in it, that my reverence for him is augmented, but with⯑out any abatement of my Love. Then his chearful⯑neſs, his more than chearfulneſs, his vivacity, ſhews, that he is at heart pleaſed with his Harriet. Happy Harriet!—Yet I cannot forbear now-and-then, when my joy and my gratitude are at the higheſt, a ſigh to the merits of Lady Clementina!—What I am now, ſhould ſhe have been, think I often!—The ge⯑neral admination paid me as the wife of Sir Charles Grandiſon, ſhould have been paid to her!—Lady L. Lady G. ſhould have been, her ſiſters! She ſhould have been the miſtreſs of this houſe, the co-guardian of Emily, the ſucceſſor of the late excellent Lady Grandiſon!—Hapleſs Clementina!—What a ſtrange thing, that a love of religion in two perſons ſo pious, ſo good, each in their way, ſhould ſunder, for ever ſunder, perſons whoſe minds were ſo cloſely united!

Sir Charles, by Lucy, invites me, till dinner is ready, to walk with them, at her requeſt, in the gal⯑lery. Lucy wants, in deſcribing that gallery, to give you, my deareſt grandmamma (in whom every other of my friends is included) a brief hiſtory of the an⯑ceſtors of Sir Charles, whoſe pictures adorn it. I come! Lord of my heart! I attend you!—

How, madam, would you have been delighted, could you have ſat in this truly noble gallery, and ſeen the dear man, one arm round my waiſt, holding my oppoſite hand in the hand of the ſame ſurrounding arm, pointing ſometimes with the other, ſometimes [31] putting that other arm round my Lucy's, and giving ſhort hiſtories of the perſons whoſe pictures we ſaw!

Some of the pictures are really fine. One of Sir Charles's, which is drawn when he was about ſix⯑teen, is on horſeback. The horſe a managed, cur⯑vetting, proud beaſt.—His ſeat, ſpirit, courage, ad⯑mirably expreſſed: He muſt have been, as his ſiſters ſay he was, the lovelieſt, and the moſt undaunted, yet moſt modeſt-looking, of youths. He paſſed his own picture ſo ſlightly, that I had not time to take in half the beauties of it. You will not doubt, ma⯑dam, but I ſhall be often in this gallery, were only this one picture there.

What pleaſure had I in hearing the hiſtory of this antient family, from this unbroken ſeries of the pictures of it, for ſo many generations paſt! And will mine, one day, thought I, be allowed a place among them, near to that of the moſt amiable of them all, both as to mind and figure? How my heart exulted! What were my meditations as I traced the imagined footſteps of dear Lady Grandiſon, her picture and Sir Thomas's in my eye! as finely executed, as thoſe in the beſt bedchamber. May I, thought I, with a happier lot, be but half as deſerving! But, madam, did not Lady Grandiſon ſhine the more for the hard⯑ſhips ſhe paſſed through?—And is it neceſſary for virtue to be called forth by trials, in order to be juſti⯑fied by its fortitude under them? What trials can I be called to with Sir Charles Grandiſon? But may I not take my place on the footſtep of her throne, yet make no contemptible figure in the family of her be⯑loved ſon? I will humbly endeavour to deſerve my good fortune, and leave the reſt to Providence.

There are in different apartments of this ſeat, beſides two in the houſe in the town, no leſs than ſix pictures of Sir Thomas: But then two of them were brought from his ſeat in Eſſex. Sir Thomas was fond of his perſon: They are drawn in different attitudes. [32] He appears to be, as I have always heard he was, a fine figure of a man. But neither Lucy nor I, tho' we made not the compliment to Sir Charles, you may ſuppoſe (who always ſpeaks with reverence and unaffected Love of his father) thought him compara⯑ble in figure, dignity, intelligence, to his ſon.

We were called to dinner, before we had gone half-way thro' the gallery.

We had a crouded church again in the afternoon.

Sunday night.] This excellent Dr. Bartlett! And, this excellent Sir Charles Grandiſon! I may ſay.—Sir Charles having enquired of the Doctor, when alone with him, after the rules obſerved by him be⯑fore we came down, the Doctor told him, that he had every morning and night the few ſervants attend⯑ing him in his antechamber to prayers, which he had ſelected out of the Church Service. Sir Charles deſired him by all means to continue ſo laudable a cuſtom; for he was ſure maſter and ſervants would both find their account in it.

Sir Charles ſent for Richard Saunders and Mrs. Curzon. He applauded to them the Doctor's good⯑neſs, and deſired they would ſignify, the one to the men-ſervants, the other to the women, that he ſhould take it well of them, if they chearfully at⯑tended the Doctor; promiſing to give them opportu⯑nity, as often as was poſſible. Half an hour after ten, Doctor, I believe is a good time in the evening?

That, Sir, is about my time, and eight in the morning, as an hour the leaſt likely to interfere with their buſineſs. Whenever it does, they are in their duty, and I do not then expect them.

About a quarter after ten, the Doctor ſlipt away. Soon after Sir Charles withdrew, unperceived by any of us. The Doctor and his little church were aſſem⯑bled. Sir Charles joined them, and afterwards re⯑turned to company, with that chearfulneſs that always [33] beams in his aſpect. The Doctor followed him, with a countenance as ſerene. I took the Doctor aſide, tho' in the ſame apartment, ſuppoſing the matter. Sir Charles joining us—O Sir, ſaid I, why was I not whiſpered to withdraw with you? Think you, that your Harriet—

The company, my deareſt Love, interrupted he, was not now to be broken up. When we are ſettled, we can make a cuſtom for ourſelves, that will be allowed for by every-body, when it is ſeen we per⯑ſevere, and are in every other reſpect, unform: Joſhua's reſolution, Doctor, was an excellent one ^(a). The chapel, now our congregation is large, will be the propereſt place; and there, perhaps, the friends we may happen to have▪ with us, will ſometimes join us.

Monday morning.] Sir Charles has juſt now pre⯑ſented to me, in Doctor Bartlett's preſence, Mr. Da⯑niel Bartlett, the Doctor's nephew, and his only care in this world; a young gentleman of about eighteen, well educated, and a fine accomptant, a maſter of his pen, and particularly of the art of ſhort-hand writing. The Doctor inſiſted on the ſpecification of a ſalary, which he named himſelf to be 40l. a year, and to be within the houſe, that he might always be at hand. He could not truſt, he ſaid, to his patron's aſſurances, that his bountiful ſpirit would allow him to have a re⯑gard, in the reward, only to the merit of the ſervice.

Monday noon.] Lady Mansfield, Miſs Mansfield, and the three Brothers, are arrived. What excellent women, what agreeable young gentlemen, what grateful hearts, what joy to Lady W. on their arrival, what pleaſure to Lord W. who, on every occaſion, ſhews his delight in his nephew!—All theſe things, with their compliments to your happy Harriet, let Lucy tell. I have not time.

[34] WHAT, my dear grandmamma, ſhall we do with Lord and Lady W.?—Such a rich ſervice of gilt plate! Juſt arrived! A preſent to me!—It is a noble pre⯑ſent!—And ſo gracefully preſented! And I ſo grace⯑fully permitted to accept of it, by my beſt, my ten⯑dereſt friend!—Let Lucy deſcribe this too.

Tueſday morning] A vaſt company we ſhall have. Gentlemen and their Ladies are invited: Your Har⯑riet is to be dreſſed: She is already dreſſed. How kindly am I complimented, by every one of my friends!—Let Lucy, let my aunt (ſhe promiſes to aſſiſt Lucy) relate all that ſhall paſs, deſcribe the per⯑ſons, and give the characters of our viſiters; our managements, our entertainments, the Ball, that is to conclude the day and night. I ſhall not be able, I ſuppoſe, to write a line.

Wedneſday noon.] Our company left us not till ſix this morning. My uncle was tranſported with the day; with the night.

I will only ſay, that all was happy; and decency, good order, mirth, and jollity, went thro' the whole ſpace. Sir Charles was every-where, and with every-body. He was almoſt as much every Lady's as mine. O how he charmed them all! Sir William Turner ſaid once, behind his back, Of what tranſports did my late friend Sir Thomas▪ who doted upon his ſon, deprive himſelf by keeping him ſo long abroad!

I could not but think of what my dear Lady G. once wrote, that women are not ſo ſoon tired as men, with theſe diverſions, with dancing particularly. By three, all but Sir Charles and my uncle ſeemed quite fa⯑tigued: But recovered themſelves. My Emily de⯑lighted every-body. She was the whole night what I wiſhed her to be—Dear madam, be not uneaſy. We ſhall be very happy in each other.

[35] O that you were with us, my deareſt grandmam⯑ma! But you, from your chearful piety, and joyful expectation of happineſs ſupreme, are already, tho' on earth, in heaven!—Yet it is my wiſh, my aunt's, my uncle's, Lucy's, twenty times a day, that you were preſent, and ſaw him, The Domeſtic man, The chearful Friend, The kind Maſter, The enlivening Companion, The polite Neighbour, The tender Huſ⯑band! Let nobody who ſees Sir Charles Grandiſon at home, ſay, that the private ſtation is not that of true happineſs.

How charmingly reſpectful is he to my uncle, aunt, and good Mr. Deane! To Lucy, he is an affectionate brother. Emily, dear girl, how ſhe enjoys his tender⯑neſs to her!

My uncle is writing to you, madam, a Letter. He ſays, it will be as long as his arm. My aunt will diſ⯑patch this day a very long one. Theirs will ſupply my defects. Lucy is not quite ready with her firſt Letter. If there were not ſo much of your Harriet in it, I would highly praiſe what ſhe has hitherto written.

Thurſday morning.] I leave to my uncle the ac⯑count of the gentlemens diverſions in the gardens and fields. They are all extremely happy. But Lord G. already pines after his Charlotte. He will not be pre⯑vailed on to ſtay out his week, I doubt, ſweet-temper'd man! as I ſee him in a thouſand little amiable inſtances. If Lady G. did not love him, I would not love her. Lord W. is afraid of a gouty attack. He is never quite free. He and his admirable Lady will leave us to-morrow.

I think, my dear Lady G. with you, that diſcre⯑tion and gratitude are the corner-ſtones of the matri⯑monial fabric. Lady W. had no prepoſſeſſions in any other man's favour. My Lord loves her. What muſt be that woman's heart, that Gratitude and Love [36] cannot engage? But ſhe loves my Lord. Surely ſhe does. Is not real and unaffected tenderneſs for the infirmities of another, the very eſſence of Love; What is wanting where there is that? My Sir Charles is de⯑lighted with Lady W's goodneſs to his uncle. He tells her often, how much he reveres her for it.

In our retired hours, we have ſometimes the excel⯑lent Lady abroad for our Subject. I always begin it.

He never declines it. He ſpeaks of her with ſuch manly tenderneſs! He thanks me, at ſuch times, for allowing him, as he calls it, to love her. He regrets very much the precipitating of her: Yet pities her parents and brothers. How warmly does he ſpeak of his Je⯑ronymo! He has a ſigh for Olivia. But of whom, ex⯑cept Lady Sforza and her Laurana, does he not ſpeak kindly!—And them he pities. Never, never, was there a more expanded heart!

Ah, madam, a cloud has juſt bruſhed by us! Its ſkirts have affected us with ſadneſs, and carried us from our ſunſhine proſpects home; that is to ſay, to thoughts of the general deſtiny!—Poor Sir Harry Beauchamp is no more! A Letter from his Beauchamp! Sir Charles ſhewed it to me, for the honour of the writer, now Sir Edward. We admired this excellent young man together, over his Letter. What fine things did Sir Charles ſay on this occaſion, both by way of ſelf-con⯑ſolation, and on the inevitable deſtiny! But he dwelt not on the ſubject. He has written to Lady Beau⯑champ, and to the young Baronet. How charmingly conſolatory!—What admirable—But Sir Charles, ma⯑dam, is a CHRISTIAN!

THIS event has not at all influenced his temper. He is the ſame chearful man to his gueſts; to his Harriet; to every-body. I am afraid it will be the cauſe of his firſt abſence from me: How ſhall I part with him, tho' it were but for two days?

[37] Friday noon.] What a vacancy! Lady Mansfield, and her ſons, Lord G. and Lord and Lady W. have left us. Miſs Mansfield is allowed to ſtay with me ſome time longer. Emily is very fond of her. No wonder: She is a good young woman.

We are buſied in returning the viſits of our neigh⯑bours, which Sir Charles promiſed to do, as if they were individually made to us. We have a very agree⯑able neighbourhood. But I want theſe viſitings to be over. Sir Charles and his relations and mine, are the world to me. Theſe obligations of ceremony, tho' unavoidable, are drawbacks upon the true do⯑meſtic felicity. One happineſs, however, reſults from the hurry and buſtle they put us in: Emily's mind (tho' ſhe not always accompanies us) ſeems to be engaged: When we are not quite happy in our own thoughts, it is a relief to carry them out of our⯑ſelves.

SIR Charles and I have juſt now had a ſhort con⯑verſation about this dear girl. We both joined in praiſing her; and then I ſaid, I thought, that ſome time hence Mr. Beauchamp and ſhe would make a vary happy pair.

I have, ſaid he, a Love for both. But as the one is my own very particular friend, and as the other is my ward, I would rather he found for himſelf, and ſhe for herſelf, another Lover, and that for obvious reaſons.

But, ſuppoſe, Sir, they ſhould like each the other?

So as they made it not a compliment to me, but gave me reaſon to believe, that they would have pre⯑ferred each the other to every one elſe, were they ſtrangers to me, I would not ſtand in their way. But the man, who hopes for my conſent for Emily, muſt give me reaſon to think, that he would have preferred her to any other woman, tho' ſhe had a much leſs for⯑tune than ſhe is miſtreſs of.

[38] I am much miſtaken, Sir, if that may not be the caſe of your friend.

Tell me, my nobly frank, and ever-amiable Har⯑riet, what you know of this ſubject. Has Beauchamp any thoughts of Emily?—

Ah, Sir, thought I, I dare not tell you all my thoughts; but what I do tell you, ſhall be truth.

I really, Sir, don't imagine Emily has a thought of your Beauchamp—

Nor of any other perſon? Has ſhe?—

Lady G. Lady L. and myſelf, are of opinion, that Beauchamp loves Emily.

I am glad, my dear, if any thing were to come of it, that the man loved firſt.

I was conſcious. A tear unawares dropt from my eye—He ſaw it. He ſolded his arm about me, and kiſſed it from my check. Why, my Love! my deareſt Love! why this? and ſeemed ſurpriſed.

I muſt tell you, Sir, that you may not be ſurpriſed. I fear, I fear—

What fears m [...] Love?

That the happieſt of all women cannot ſay, that her dear man loved her firſt!—

He folded me in his kind arms. How ſweetly en⯑gaging! ſaid he: I will preſume to hope, that my Harriet, by the happieſt of all women, means her⯑ſelf—You ſay not no! I will not inſult your goodneſs ſo much, as to aſk you to ſay yes. But, this I ſay, that the happieſt of all men loved his Harriet, before ſhe could love him; and, but for the honour he owed to another admirable woman, tho' then he had no hopes of ever calling her his, would have convinced her of it, by a very early declaration. Let me add, that the moment I ſaw you firſt (diſtreſſed and terri⯑fied as you were, too much to think of favour to any man) I loved you: And you know not the ſtruggle it coſt me (my deſtiny with our dear Clementina ſo un⯑certain) to conceal my Love—Coſt me, who ever [39] was punctiliouſly ſtudious to avoid engaging a young Lady's affections, leſt I ſhould not be able to be juſt to her; and always thought what is called Platonic Love an inſidious pretenſion.

O Sir! And I flung my fond arms about his neck, and, hiding my glowing face in his boſom, called him, murmuringly, the moſt juſt, the moſt generous, of men.

He preſſed me ſtill to his heart; and when I raiſed my conſcious face, tho' my eye could not bear his, Now, Sir, ſaid I, after this kind, this encouraging acknowlegement, I can conſent, I think I can, that the Lord of my heart ſhall ſee, as he has more than once wiſhed to ſee, long before he declared himſelf, all that was in that forward, that aſpiring heart.—

Lucy had furniſhed me with the opportunity be⯑fore. I inſtantly aroſe, and took out of a drawer a parcel of my Letters, which I had ſorted ready, on occaſion, to oblige h m, which, from what he had ſeen before, down to the dreadful maſquerade affair, carried me to my ſetting out with his ſiſters to Colnebrook.

I think not to ſhow him farther, by my own con⯑ſent, becauſe of the recapitulation of his family ſto⯑ry, which immediately follows; particularly include⯑ing the affecting accounts of his mother's death; his father's unkindneſs to the two young Ladies; Mrs. Oldham's ſtory; the ſiſters conduct to her; which might have revived diſagreeable ſubjects.

Be pleaſed, Sir, ſaid I, putting them into his hands, to judge me favourably. In theſe papers is my heart laid open.

Precious truſt! ſaid he, and put the papers to his lips: You will not find your generous confidence miſplaced.

An opportunity offering to ſend away what I have written, here, my deareſt grandmamma, concludes

LETTER VIII. Lady GRANDISON. In Continuation.

I Will not trouble you, my dear grandmamma, with an account of the preparations we are make⯑ing to benefit and regale our poorer neighbours, and Sir Charles's tenants, at this hoſpitable ſeaſon. Not even Sir Charles Grandiſon himſelf can exceed you, either in bounty or management, on this annual So⯑lemnity. Sir Charles has conſulted with Dr. Bart⯑lett, and every-thing will be left to the direction of that good man. My uncle and aunt have diſpatched their directions to Selby-houſe, that their neighbours and tenants may not ſuffer by their abſence.

The gentlemen are all rid out together, the Doctor with them, to reconnoitre the country, as my uncle calls it. Emily and Lucy are gone with them, on horſeback. My aunt and I declined accompanying them; and took this opportunity, attended by Mrs. Curzon, to go thro' the Offices.

In the houſekeeper's room, I received the maid⯑ſervants, ſeven in number; and, after her, called each by her name, and ſpoke kindly to them all. I told them how handſomely Mrs. Curzon ſpoke of them, and aſſured them of my favour. I praiſed the chearfulneſs with which Dr. Bartlett had told me they attended him every day in his antechamber. They ſhould have the opportunity given them, I ſaid, as often as poſſible. I hoped that my Sally behaved well among them.

They praiſed her.

Sally, ſaid I, has a ſerious turn. Piety is the beſt ſecurity in man and woman for good behaviour. She will ſeldom fail of attending the Doctor with you. We ſhall all be happy, I hope. I am acquainting my⯑ſelf with the methods of the houſe. Nobody ſhall [41] be put out of their good way by me. My aunt only ſaid, My niece propoſes to form herſelf on the ex⯑ample of the late excellent Lady Grandiſon.

They bleſſed me; tears in their eyes.

I made each of them a preſent for a pair of gloves.

We went thro' all the Offices, the loweſt not ex⯑cepted. The very ſervants live in paradiſe. There is room for every thing to be in order Every thing is in order. The Offices ſo diſtinct, yet ſo con⯑veniently communicating—Charmingly contrived!—The low ſervants, men and women, have Laws, which at their own requeſt, were drawn up, by Mrs. Curzon, for the obſervance of the minuteſt of their reſpective duties; with little mulcts, that at firſt only there was occaſion to exact. It is a houſe of harmony, to my hand. Dear madam! What do good people leave to good people to do? Nothing! Every one knowing and doing his and her duty; and having, by means of their own diligence, time for themſelves.

I was pleaſed with one piece of furniture in the houſekeeper's room, which neither you, madam, nor my aunt, have in yours. My aunt ſays, Selby-houſe ſhall not be long after her return without it. It is a Servants Library, in three claſſes: One of books of divinity and morality: Another for houſewifry: A third of hiſtory, true adventures, voyages, and innocent amuſement. I, II, III. are marked on the caſes, and the ſame on the back of each book, the more readily to place and re-place them, as a book is taken out for uſe. They are bound in buff for ſtrength. A little ſine is laid upon whoever puts not a book back in its place. As new books come out, the Doctor buys ſuch as he thinks proper to range under theſe three claſſes.

I aſked, if there were no books of gardening? I was anſwered, that the gardener had a little houſe in the garden, in which he had his own books. But her [42] maſter, Mrs. Curzon ſaid, was himſelf a Library of gardening, ordering the greater articles by his own taſte.

Seeing a pretty glaſs-caſe in the houſekeeper's apart⯑ment, filled with phyſical matters, I aſked, If ſhe diſpenſed any of thoſe to the ſervants, or the poor? Here is, ſaid ſhe, a collection of all the uſeful drugs in medicine: But does not your Ladyſhip know the noble method that my maſter has fallen into ſince his laſt arrival in England? What is that? He gives a ſalary, madam, to a ſkilful apothecary; and pays him for his drugs beſides (and theſe are his, tho' I have a key to it); and this gentleman diſpenſes phyſic to all his tenants, who are not able to pay for advice; nor are the poor who are not his tenants, refuſed, when recommended by Dr. Bartlett.

Bleſſings on his benevolence! ſaid I. O my aunt! What a happy creature am I! God Almighty, if I diſgrace not my huſband's beneficence, will love me for his ſake!—Dear creature, ſaid my aunt—And for your own two, I hope.

There lives in an houſe, madam, continued Mrs. Curzon, within five miles of this, almoſt in the middle of the eſtate, and pays no rent, a very worthy young man; brought up, under an eminent ſurgeon of one of the London hoſpitals, who has orders likewiſe for attending his tenants in the way of his buſineſs—As alſo every caſualty that happens within diſtance, and where another ſurgeon is not to be met with. And he, I underſtand, is paid on a cure actually performed, very handſomely. But if the patient die, his trouble and attendance are only conſidered according to the time taken up; except a particular caſe requires con⯑ſideration.

And this ſurgeon, Mrs. Curzon, this apothecary—

Are noted, madam, for being good, as well as ſkil⯑ful men. My maſter's teſt is, that they are men of ſeriouſneſs, and good livers: Their conſciences, he ſays, are his ſecurity.

[43] How muſt this excellent man be beloved, how re⯑ſpected, Mrs. Curzon!

Reſpected and beloved, madam!—Indeed he is—Mr. Richard Saunders, has often obſerved to me, that if my maſter either rides or walks in company, tho' of great Lords, people diſtinguiſh him by their re⯑ſpectful love: To the Lord, they will but ſeem to lift up their hats, as I may ſay; or if women, juſt drop the knee, and look grave, as if they paid reſpect to their quality only: But to my maſter, they pull off their hats to the ground, and bow their whole bodies: They look ſmilingly, and with pleaſure and bleſſings, as I may ſay, in their faces: The good women courteſy alſo to the ground, turn about when he has paſſed them, and look after him—God bleſs your ſweet face; and God bleſs your dear heart, will they ſay—And the ſervants who hear them are ſo de⯑lighted!—Don't your Ladyſhip ſee, how all his ſer⯑vants love him as they attend him at table? How they watch his eye in ſilent reverence—Indeed, madam, we all adore him; and have prayed morning, noon, and night for his coming hither, and ſettling among us. And now is the happy time: Forgive me, ma⯑dam; I am no flatterer; But we all ſay, He has brought another angel to bleſs us.

I was forced to lean upon my aunt—Tears of joy trickled down my cheeks. O, madam, what a happy lot is mine!—

My uncle wonders I am not proud—Proud, ma⯑dam!—Proud of my inferiority!

We viſited Mr. Bartlett in his new office. He is a modeſt, ingenious young man. I aſked him to give me at his leiſure, a catalogue of the Servants Libra⯑ry, for my aunt.

O my dear, ſaid my aunt, had your grandpapa, had your papa, your mamma, lived to this day!—

I will imagine, ſaid I, that I ſee them looking down from their heaven. They bid me take care to de⯑ſerve [44] the lot I have drawn; and tell me, that I can only be more happy, when I am what and where they are.

DR. Bartlett, attended by his ſervant, is returned without the gentlemen. I was afraid he was not very well. I followed him up, and told him my appre⯑henſions.

He owned afterwards, that he was a little indiſ⯑poſed when he came in; but ſaid, I had made him well.

I told him, what had paſſed between Mrs. Curzon and me. He confirmed all ſhe ſaid.

He told me, that Sir Charles was careful alſo in improving his eſtates. The minuteſt things, he ſaid, any more than the greateſt, eſcaped not his attention. He has, ſaid he, a bricklayer, a carpenter, by the year; a ſawyer, three months conſtantly in every year. Repairs are ſet about the moment they become neceſ⯑ſary. By this means he is not impoſed upon by in⯑croaching or craving tenants. He will do any-thing that tends to improve the eſtate; ſo that it is the beſt conditioned eſtate in the county. His tenants grow into circumſtance under him. Tho' abſent, he gives ſuch orders, as but few perſons on the ſpot would think of. He has a diſcernment that goes to the bot⯑tom of every-thing. In a few years, improving only what he has in both kingdoms, he will be very rich, yet anſwer the generous demands of his own heart upon his benevolence: All the people he employs he takes upon character of ſeriouſneſs and ſobriety, as Mrs. Curzon told you; and then he makes them the more firmly his, by the confidence he repoſes in them. He continually, in his written directions to his maſter⯑workmen, cautions them to do juſtice to the tenants as well as to him, and even to throw the turn of the ſcale in their favour. You are, ſays he, my friends, my workmen: You muſt not make me both judge [45] and party. Only remember, that I bear not impo⯑ſition. The man who impoſes on me once, I will forgive: But he never ſhall have an opportunity to deceive me a ſecond time: For I cannot act the part of a ſuſpicious man, a watchman over people of doubtful honeſty.

The Doctor ſays, he is a great planter, both here and in Ireland: And now he is come to ſettle here, he will ſet on foot ſeveral projects, which hitherto he had only talked of, or written about.

Sir Charles, I am ſure, ſaid he, will be the friend of every worthy man and woman. He will find out the ſighing heart before it is overwhelmed with ca⯑lamity.

He propoſes, as ſoon as he is ſettled, to take a perſonal Survey of his whole eſtate. He will make himſelf acquainted with every tenant, and even cot⯑tager, and enquire into his circumſtances, number of children, and proſpects. When occaſions call for it, he will forgive arrears of rent; and if the poor men have no proſpect of ſucceſs, he will buy his own farms of them, as I may ſay, by giving them money to quit: He will tranſplant one to a leſs, another to a larger farm, if the tenants conſent, according as they have ſtock, or probability of ſucceſs in the one or the other; and will ſet the poor tenants in a way of cultivating what they hold, as well by advice as money; for while he was abroad, he ſtudied Huſband⯑ry and Law, in order, as he uſed to ſay, to be his father's ſteward; the one to qualify him to preſerve, the other to manage, his eſtate. He was always pre⯑pared for, and aforehand with, probable events.

Dear, dear Dr. Bartlett, ſaid I, we are on a charming ſubject; tell me more of my Sir Charles's management and intentions. Tell me all you know, that is proper for me to know.

Proper, madam! Every-thing he has done, does, and intends to do, is proper for you, and for all the [46] world to know. I wiſh all the world were to know him, as I do; not for his ſake, but for their own.

That moment (without any-body's letting me know the gentlemen were returned) into the Doctor's apart⯑ment came Sir Charles. My back was to the door, and he was in the room before I ſaw him. I ſtarted! Sir, Sir! ſaid I, as if I thought excuſes neceſſary.

He ſaw my confuſion. That, and his ſudden en⯑trance, abaſhed the Doctor. Sir Charles reconciled us both to ourſelves—He put one arm round my waiſt, with the other he lifted up my hand to his lips, and in the voice of Love, I congratulate you both, ſaid he: Such company, my deareſt Life! ſuch company, my deareſt friend! you cannot have every hour! May I, as often as there is opportunity, ſee you to⯑gether! I knew not that you were! The Doctor and I, madam, ſtand not upon ceremony. Pardon me, Doctor. I inſiſt upon leaving you as I found you—

I caught his hand, as he was going—Dear, dear Sir, I attend you. You ſhall take me with you; and, if you pleaſe, make my excuſes to my aunt, for leaving her ſo long alone, before you came in.

Doctor, excuſe us both; my Harriet has found, for the firſt time, a will. It is her own, we know, by its obligingneſs.

He received my offered hand, and led me into com⯑pany: Where my aunt called me to account for leaving her, and begged Sir Charles would chide me.

She was with Dr. Bartlett, madam, ſaid he: Had ſhe been with any other perſon, man or woman, and Mrs. Selby, alone, I think we would have tried to chide her.

What obligation, what ſweet politeneſs, my dear grandmamma!

Such, madam, is the happineſs of your Harriet.

Lucy has a charming Letter to ſend you!—From that Letter, you will have a ſtill higher notion of my happineſs, of the dear man's unaffected tenderneſs to [47] me, and of the approbation of a very genteel neigh⯑bourhood, than I myſelf could give you.

Lady G. and Lady L. have both made up for their ſuppoſed neglects. I had written to each to charge them with having not congratulated me on my ar⯑rival here. Two ſuch charming Letters!—I have already anſwered them. The love as well as over (Thank heaven they do!)

LETTER IX. Lady GRANDISON. In Continuation.

THE deareſt, beſt of men, has left me! Juſt now left me!—Did not every-body keep me in coun⯑tenance, I ſhould be very angry with myſelf for wiſh⯑ing that ſuch a man ſhould be always confined to my company! I muſt keep my fondneſs within equi⯑table bounds. But, kind man! he ſeemed, and, if he ſeemed, he was, as loth to part with me. He is gone to London, madam: Poor Lady Beauchamp has be⯑ſought his preſence, not at Sir Harry's funeral (He was to be interred, it ſeems laſt night) but at the opening of the will: And his Beauchamp joined in the requeſt.

He hopes to be down with us on Thurſday. Miſs Mansfield took the opportunity to return to her mother, who ſent word, that ſhe knew not how to live without her.

Sir Charles was pleaſed to give to me the keys of his Study, and of Lady Olivia's Cabinets. Lucy gave you, madam, an account of the invaluable contents. And now I will amuſe myſelf there, and ſit in every chair, where I have ſeen him ſit, and tread over his imagined footſteps.

Tueſday.] My books are come, and all my trinkets [48] with them. We have all been buſy in claſſing the books. My cloſet will be now furniſhed as I wiſh it: And I ſhall look at theſe, my dear companions of Selby-houſe, and recollect the many, many happy hours they gave me there.

Was I ever, ever unhappy, my dear Grandmamma? If I was, I have forgot the time. I acquieſce chear⯑fully with your wiſhes not to dis-furniſh your gallery, by ſending to me our family pictures. Let thoſe of my benevolent father and my excellent mother, of happy, happy memory, ſtill continue there to ſmile upon you, as you are pleaſed to expreſs yourſelf. No⯑body but you and my aunt Selby have a right to each of thoſe of mine, which are honoured with a place in your reſpective drawing-rooms. My dear Sir Charles, thank heaven! calls the original his. But why would you load me with the precious gold box, and its contents; leſs precious thoſe, tho' of ineſtimable value, than my dear grandpapa's picture in the lid?—But I can tell you, madam, that Sir Charles is an ungrateful man: He will not thank you for it. A remembrance, madam (I know what he will ſay) ‘"Does the beſt of women think my Har⯑riet wants any-thing to remind her of the obliga⯑tions ſhe is under to parents ſo dear?"’—He will be very jealous of the honour of his Harriet. Forgive, madam, the freedom of my expoſtulation, as if I were not your girl, as well as his.

What reaſons have you found out (but this was always your happy, your inſtructive way) to be bet⯑ter pleaſed with your abſence from us, than if you were preſent with us, as we all often wiſh you!

HERE, Lady L. Lady G. ſiſters ſo dear to me, ſince theſe Letters will paſs under your eye, let me ac⯑count to you, by the following extract from my grand⯑mamma's laſt Letters, for the meaning of what I have written to that indulgent parent, in the lines imme⯑diately preceding.

[49] ‘"You often, my deareſt Harriet, wiſh me to be with you. In the firſt place I am here enjoying myſelf in my own way, my own ſervants about me; a trouble, a bar, a conſtraint, upon no one; but thoſe to whom I make it worth while to bear with me. I ſhould think I never could do enough to ſtrangers: No, tho' I were ſure they thought I did too much. In the next, were I to be with you at Grandiſon-hall, I could not be every-where: So that I ſhould be deprived of half the delightful ſcenes and converſations, that you, your aunt, and Lucy, relate and deſcribe to me by pen and ink: Nor ſhould I be able perhaps to bear thoſe grate⯑ful ones, to which I ſhould be preſent. My heart, my dear, you know is very ſuſceptible of joy; it has long been preparing itſelf for the ſublimeſt. Grief touches it not ſo much. The Loſſes I ſuſ⯑tained of your father, your mother, and my own dear Mr. Shirley; made all other ſorrows light. Nothing could have been heavy, but the calamity of my gentle Harriet, had ſhe been afflicted with it. Now, I take up the kind, the rapturous Let⯑ters, from my table, where I ſpread them. When the contents are too much for me, I lay them down; and reſume them, as my ſubſided joy will allow. Then lay them down again, as I am af⯑fected by ſome new inſtance of your happineſs; bleſs God, bleſs you, your deareſt of men; bleſs every-body.—In every Letter I find a cordial that makes my heart light, and for the time, inſenſible of infirmity:—Can you, my Harriet, be happier than I?"’

I am called upon by my aunt and Lucy. I will here, my dear grandmamma, conclude myſelf,

LETTER X. Lady GRANDISON. In Continuation.

LETTER XI. Lady GRANDISON. In Continuation.

LETTER. XII. Lady GRANDISON. In Continuation.

I Have been obliged, by the juſt demands made up⯑on us by the equally-ſolemn and joyful ſeaſon, to be ſilent for many days. You, madam, and you, Ladies L. and G. have, I doubt not, been engaged in conſequence of the ſame demand;—ſo will excuſe me; eſpecially as Lucy and my aunt have both writ⯑ten, and that very minutely, in the interim.

Mr. Deane, to our great joy, has ſignified to us his intention to live near us; and to preſent his houſe at Peterborough to one of his two nephews.

Sir Charles has beſought him to conſider Grandi⯑ſon-hall as his own houſe. He promiſes that he will. I hope, by my care of him, to be an humble means of prolonging his life, at leaſt of making his latter days chearful.

What a happy ſeaſon has this been to ſcores of peo⯑ple in our neighbourhood! but moſt to ourſelves, as the giver is more bleſſed than the receiver! Such ad⯑mirable management! Such good order!—But I told you, that all was left to Dr. Bartlett's direction: What a bleſſing is he to us, and all around him!

Sir Charles has a Letter from Mr. Lowther, who is on his return from Bologna. By the date it ſhould have arrived a fortnight ago: So that he may be every day expected.

[63] Mr. Lowther lets him know, that the family at Bologna are all in ſpirits, on the proſpect they have of carrying their point with Lady Clementina; who, however, for the preſent, declines the viſits of the Count of Belvedere; and they humour her in that particular.

Mr. Lowther is afraid, he ſays, that all is not quite right as to her mind. Poor Lady! He judges ſo, from the very great earneſtneſs ſhe continues to expreſs to make a viſit to England.

She received, he ſays, with great intrepidity, the news of Sir Charles's marriage. She beſought a bleſſ⯑ing upon him and his bride: but ſince has been thought⯑ful, reſerved, and ſometimes is found in tears. When challenged, ſhe aſcribed, once, her grief to her ap⯑prehenſions that her malady may poſſibly return.

The phyſicians have abſolutely given their opinion, that ſhe ſhould marry.

The General is expected from Naples to urge the ſolemnity; and vows, that he will not return till ſhe is actually Counteſs of Belvedere.

She begs, that ſhe may be allowed again to paſs the Apennines, and viſit Mrs. Beaumont at Florence, in order to ſettle her mind.

She dreads to ſee the General.

How I am grieved for her!—Sir Charles muſt be afflicted too. Why, why, will they not leave to time, the pacifier of every woe, the iſſue of the event upon which they have ſet their hearts?

Mr. Lowther writes, that Signor Jeronymo is in a fine way.

Mr. Lowther in his Letter acquits Sir Charles of all obligation to himſelf. He returns him bills for the ſum he had advanced; and declares, that he never will enter into his preſence, if he refuſes to accept of his acquittance. The family, he tells him, have no⯑bly rewarded him.

Dr. Bartlett applauds Mr. Lowther's ſpirit on this [64] occaſion. As Sir Charles, he ſays, is not an oſtenta⯑tious man, but judges of every thing, according to the rules of right and prudence, he has no doubt (tho' he might not expect this handſome treatment) but he will acquieſce with it. This, however, leſſens not the comparative merit of Mr. Lowther. There are men, I believe, who having ſucceeded ſo well, would have accepted of a reward from both parties. Yet, on recollection, Sir Charles ſtipulated with Mr. Low⯑ther, that he ſhould receive no fee, but from himſelf: And his preſent to the worthy man was the ampler on that account.

I have two charming Letters from the Counteſs of D. By her permiſſion, I have ſhewn to Sir Charles the correſpondence between that good Lady and me. He greatly admires her. She deſires, that he will be acquainted with her ſon; and declares, ſhe will always look upon me as her daughter, and call me ſo. Sir Charles bids me tell her, that he cannot conſent to her calling me ſo, unleſs ſhe will look upon him as her ſon, and unleſs my Lord will allow him to call him brother. He bid me expreſs his wiſhes of a friendſhip with both, anſwerable to that deſirable re⯑lation.

My uncle ſays, he knows not ſuch a place as Sel⯑by-houſe. Shirley-manor indeed he loves for the ſake of the dear miſtreſs of it: But, as long as he has with him his Dame, his Harriet, Mr. Deane, and Sir Charles, he is happy. Yet my aunt now-and-then gets upon a riſing ground in the park, and aſks, pointing, Does not Northamptonſhire lie off there?

Emily is very good in the main. Dear girl! I do pity her. Her young heart, ſo early to be tried and tormented by the ſtings of hopeleſs Love!—Her eyes juſt now were fixed for ſeveral minutes, ſo much Love in them! on the face of her guardian, that his modeſt eye ſell under them.

I will give you, on this occaſion, the particulars [65] of a converſation, that paſſed between us; which, at the concluſion, let in a little dawn of hope, that the dear girl may be happy in time.

I had more than once been apprehenſive, that her eyes would betray her to her guardian; who at pre⯑ſent imputes all her reverence for him to gratitude; and as ſoon as he was withdrawn, with a true ſiſterly tenderneſs, Come hither, my Love, ſaid I. I was buſy with my needle—She came.

My deareſt Emily, if you were to look with ſo much earneſtneſs in the face of any other man, as you ſometimes do, and juſt now did, in that of your guardian, and the man a ſingle man, he would have hope of a wife.

High-ho! ſighed ſhe. Did my guardian mind me?—I hope he did not ſo much, madam, as you do.

So much as I do, my Love!

Yes, madam. When my guardian is preſent, you do look very hard at me: But I hope, I am not a confident girl.

You are ſerious, my Emily!

And ſo is my dear Lady Grandiſon!

I was a little ſurpriſed. The child abaſhed me. Her Love, thought I, will make her hardy, without intending to be ſo.

She was too innocent even for conſciouſneſs of having diſconcerted me. She looked upon my work: What would I give, madam, to be ſo fine a work⯑woman as you?—But why that ſigh, madam?

The poor Lady Clementina! ſaid I: I was really thinking of her.

Do you ſigh for every-body, madam, that loves my guardian?

There are different ſorts of Love, Emily.

Why ſo I think. Nobody loves my guardian bet⯑ter than I myſelf do: But it is not the Love that Lady Clementina bears him. I love his goodneſs.

And does not Clemementina?

[66] Yes, yes, but ſtill the Love is different.

Explain, my dear, your kind of Love.

Impoſſible!

Why, now, ſighs my Emily? You aſked me why I ſighed. I have anſwered it was from pity.

Why, madam, I can pity Lady Clementina, and I do: But I ſigh not for her; becauſe ſhe might have had my guardian, and would not.

I ſigh for her the more, for that very reaſon, Emi⯑ly; her motive ſo great!

Pho, pho, her motive! When he would have al⯑lowed her to be of her own religion!

Then you ſigh not now for Clementina, Emily?

I believe not.

For whom then?

I don't know. You muſt not aſk. A habit, and nothing elſe.

Again ſighs my Emily?

You muſt not mind me, madam. A habit, I tell you. But, believe me, Lady Grandiſon (hiding her bluſhing face in my boſom, her arms about my neck) I believe, if the truth were known—

She ſtopt, but continued there her glowing cheek—

What, my dear, if the truth were known?

I dare not tell you. You will be angry at me.

Indeed, my love, I will not.

O yes, but you will.

I thought we had been ſiſters, my dear. I thought we were to have no ſecrets. Tell me, what, if the truth were known?

Why, madam, for a trial of your forgivingneſs, tell me, Are you not apt to be a little jealous?

Jealous, my Emily! You ſurpriſe me! Why, of whom, of what, jealous? Jealouſy is doubt; of whom ſhould I doubt?

People have not always cauſe, I ſuppoſe, madam.

Explain yourſelf, my dear.

Are you not angry with me, madam?

[67] I am not. But why do you think me jealous?

You need not, indeed! My guardian adores you. You deſerve to be adored.—But you ſhould allow a poor girl to look upon her guardian now-and-then, with eyes of gratitude. Your charming eye is ſo ready to take mine to taſk!—I am, if I know myſelf, a poor innocent girl. I do love my guardian, that's certain: So I ever did, you know, madam: And let me ſay, before he knew there was ſuch a Lady in the world as yourſelf, madam.

I threw aſide my work, and claſping my arms about her, And love him ſtill, my Emily. You cannot love him ſo well as he deſerves. You are indeed a dear innocent, but not a poor, girl. You are rich in the return of his Love. I will ever, ever, be a pro⯑moter of an affection ſo innocent, ſo pure on both ſides. But jealouſy, my dear! do you charge me with jealouſy? Impoſſible I ſhould deſerve it! My only concern is, leſt, as the heart is gueſſed at by the eyes (the hearts of young creatures eſpecially, whoſe good minds are incapable of art or deſign) you ſhould give room for the cenſorious, who know not as I do, that your Love is reverence next to filial, to attribute it to a beginning of the other ſort of Love; which yet in you, were it kindled, would be as bright and as pure a flame as ever warmed a virgin heart.

O madam! how you expreſs yourſelf! What words you have! They go to my heart!—I don't know how it is: But every day I reverence more and more my guardian: Reverence! Yes, that is the proper word! I thank you for it! Filial reverence! Juſt the thing! And let me ſay, that I never re⯑verenced him ſo much as now, that I ſee what a po⯑lite, what a kind, what an affectionate huſband he makes my dear Lady Grandiſon. Yet, let me tell you truth, madam, I ſhould, I am afraid, be ſuch a little-minded poor creature, that if I were married, and had not a huſband that was very like him, I ſhould envy you. I ſhould be at leaſt unhappy.

[68] If you could be envious, my dear, you would be unhappy: But you muſt never encourage the addreſſes of a man, who you think loves you not better than any other woman: Who is not a good man upon principle: Who is not a man of ſenſe: and that has ſeen ſomething of the world.

And where, madam, can ſuch a man be found?

Leave it to your guardian, my dear. He if any⯑body, will find you a man that you may be happy with, if your eye be not aforehand with your judg⯑ment.

That, madam, I hope it will not be: Firſt, be⯑cauſe the reverence I have for my guardian, and his great qualities, will make all other men look little in my eye; and next, as I have ſuch a confidence in his judgment, that if he points his finger, and ſays, That's the man, Emily! I will endeavour to like him. But I believe I never now ſhall like any man on earth.

It is early days, my Love; but is there not ſome one man, that, were you of age to marry, you would think better of than of any other?

I don't know what to ſay to that. It is early days, as you ſay. I am but a girl. But girls have thoughts. I will tell you, madam, that the man who has paſſed ſome years in the company of Sir Charles Grandiſon; who is beloved by him, on proof, on expe⯑rience (as I may ſay) of his good heart—She ſtopt.

Beauchamp, my dear?

Why yes Him, I mean: He is the moſt to be liked of any man but my guardian: But he now is a great man; and I ſuppoſe may have ſeen the wo⯑man he could love.

I fanſy not, my dear.

Why do you fanſy not, madam?

Becauſe, if I muſt ſpeak as freely to you, as I would have you do always to me, I think he ſhews great and uncommon reſpect to you, tho' you are ſo young a creature.

[69] That's for my guardian's ſake: But be that as it will; let me be ſecure of my guardian's Love and yours, and I ſhall have nothing to wiſh for.

Her guardian, my guardian, my friend, my Lover, my HUSBAND, every ſweet word is one, coming in, put an end to the ſubject. I leave this converſation to your own reflexions, my dear grandmamma, Lady L. Lady G. But I have hopes from it.

LETTER XIII. Lady GRANDISON. In Continuation.

ANOTHER long ſilence. Lucy will ſupply all my defects. She will tell you how much I have been engaged. She has ſent you a charming Letter, filled with obſervations on the good order eſtabliſhed here before our arrival by Dr. Bartlett and Mrs. Cur⯑zon; with accounts of ſome particular charities, both public and private, that deſerve to be imitated by all who have ability; and of our viſit made laſt Wed⯑neſday at Mansfield-houſe.

The Lady of it would not part with us, till Thurſ⯑day, the days being ſhort, and the weather unfavour⯑able Mr. Dobſon and his Lady were gueſts there. He is a credit to his cloath; his wife to him. They are greatly beloved by all who know them. Lady Mansfield and Miſs Mansfield are all that is polite and good. The three brothers were there. The eldeſt, who was once a melancholy man, is now one of the chearfulleſt. With what pleaſure did I meditate, as I looked upon them, the reſtoration of ſuch a worthy and antient family to affluence! They were born to it: Yet when they were deprived of it, how glorious was the reſignation of mother and daughters! And now, how eaſy ſits the proſperity upon them! Never ſaw I eyes more expreſſive of gratitude to a benefactor, [70] than thoſe both of Ladies and Gentlemen, as they were often caſt upon my dear Sir Charles.

I heartily wiſh Mr. Orme may find his expecta⯑tions anſwered in the ſecond voyage Nancy tells me he is preparing for to Liſbon. She will make known my beſt wiſhes for the reſtoration of his health. How good is his ſiſter to accompany him!—I always loved her.

I received yeſterday yours, madam, acquainting me with Mr. Greville's viſit and propoſal, and aſking my opinion of the latter; and whether I would chooſe to mention it to Lucy and my aunt. What can I ſay? You once told me, madam, that you believed Lucy would not have refuſed Mr. Greville, had he firſt applied to her. Lucy's grandmother, you ſay, is not averſe to the match; and you think my uncle would not refuſe his conſent, becauſe of the conti⯑guity of their reſpective eſtates, and in hopes, that he might reſume with ſucceſs, on ſuch an event, his fa⯑vourite project of exchange of lands. Yet I am ſure this conſideration would have no weight with him, if he thought Lucy could not be happy with Mr. Gre⯑ville.

I have mentioned it to my aunt. She ſays, Mr. Greville is not a baſhful man. He knows how to apply to Lucy himſelf. And ſhe has no notion, in ſuch a caſe, of that pride which with-holds him till he thinks himſelf ſure of the family-intereſt.

He will, if poſſible, he ſays, be related to me: Let that be mentioned to Lucy, as one of his principal motives, and his buſineſs with her is done for ever.

Lady G. would laugh at the notion of a difficulty from a firſt Love. Firſt Love ſhe calls firſt nonſenſe. Too frequently it is ſo. Lucy is a noble girl. She has overcome a firſt attachment; the more laudably, as it coſt her ſome ſtruggles to do it. Mr. Greville, I doubt, has had ſeveral firſt Loves: This tranſition, therefore, is nothing to him. So neither of them [71] will be firſt Love to the other. It may therefore be a match of diſcretion. Yet his character! The re⯑formation he boaſts of!—I hope he is reformed: But I have no notion of a good young woman, as Lucy is, truſting her perſon, I may ſay her principles, to the arbitrary will of an impetuous man, who has been an a vowed Libertine, and pretend not to have reformed from proper convictions. A ſcoffer too! How came he by his new Lights?—You, madam, have told us young folks the difficulty of overcoming evil habits. I own that Lucy alway ſpoke of him with more faviour than any-body elſe. She was inclined to think him a good-natured man; and was pleaſed with what ſhe called humour in him. Humour! I never could call it ſo. Humour, I uſed to tell her, is a gentle, a decent, tho' a lively thing. Mr. Greville is boiſterous, impetuous, rude, I had almoſt ſaid: His courtſhip to me was either rant, or affront; the one to ſhew his Plain-dealing, the other his Love. He knows not what reſpectful Love is. In ſhort, his mirth, his good-nature, as it is called, has fierceneſs in it; it always gave me apprehenſion.

As to worldly matters, there can be no exception to him: But I cannot be of the opinion of Lucy's grandmother, that he is a generous man. He has only qualities that look like generoſity. His ſtart to me, when he reſigned his pretenſions to me, as they have been called (for I know not any he had) was only a ſtart. He could not hold it. But be all theſe things as they may, how can I, who love Lucy as myſelf, propoſe to the dear girl a man, whom I could not think of for myſelf? Lucy has a fine fortune, and ſurely there are men enow in the world, who have never made pretenſions to Lucy's couſin, who would think themſelves honoured by her acceptance; otherwiſe, I ſhould, after Sir Rowland's hint, and earneſt wiſhes in his nephew's favour, much ſooner recommend Mr. Fowler to her than Mr. Greville.

[72] MY aunt had ſaid, that, for her part, ſhe ſhould chooſe to leave the above affair to its own workings: Yet could not forbear to acquaint Lucy with it. The dear girl came to me, to demand a ſight of your Letter, and of what I had written upon it. I could not (tho' I had ſome little reluctance to ſhew her the latter) deny her. I will give you, madam, the ſubſtance of a ſhort dialogue that paſſed between us on the occaſion; and leave it to you to draw ſuch concluſions from it, as you ſhall judge proper, with re⯑gard to my Lucy's inclinations.

She did not know what I meant, ſhe ſaid, by write⯑ing to you, that ſhe had always ſpoken of Mr. Greville with more favour than any-body elſe.

It is ungenerous, Lucy, if you are angry at what you would oblige me to ſhew you againſt my will.

I am not angry. But—She ſtopt, and would not explain her half ſullen BUT. O Lucy, thought I, you are a woman, my dear!

As to what you write, ſaid ſhe, of his deſire of be⯑ing related to you; who would not?—If that be not his principal motive—Very well, Lucy! thought I.

I know, ſaid ſhe, that my grandmamma Selby has often wiſhed Mr. Greville would make his addreſſes to her grand-daughter!—So! So! So! Lucy, thought I.

His Libertiniſm indeed is an objection—But I have not heard lately of any enormities—

Go on, Lucy, thought I: Hitherto appears not any reaſon for Mr. Greville to deſpair.

He may have ſeen his folly.

No doubt but he has! thought I. He ſaw it all the time he was committing it: But, perhaps, he is the more determined bad man for that. Is not purity of heart, thought I, as well as of manners, an eligible thing?

If a woman is not to marry till ſhe meet with a ſtrictly virtuous man—

[73] You have too often pleaded that argument, Lucy, to me—I am ſorry—I ſtopt; willing to hear her quite out; for ſhe held before her what I had written.

How came he, you aſk, ſaid ſhe, by his new lights? I have nothing to do with how he came by them. I ſhould rather indeed he had them from pro⯑per convictions—But if he has them, that's enough.

Is it, my dear, let him have been what he will?

I am for judging charitably—

Charming! thought I—judging charitably! So I have loſt a virtue, and you, Lucy, have found it▪

Mr. Greville is nothing to me: Nor ever will be.

Not quite ſo ſure of that, thought I to myſelf.

You ſay, Harriet, you have no notion of a good young woman, truſting her principles to the arbitrary will of a man who has been a free Liver—Muſt the man be arbitrary?—Were a huſband a free Liver, muſt a wife's own principles be endangered?

Theſe queſtions from my Lucy! thought I.

A ſcoffer, you ſay, Harriet!—The man's a fool for that!—But what a poor ſoul muſt ſhe be that could not ſilence a ſcoffer!

Silence a ſcoffer! Ah Lucy! ſaid I: And would you marry a man with a hope to be able to ſilence him? Mr. Greville is a conceited man: My Lucy has ſix times his ſenſe; but he will not be convinced of that. You will have the leſs influence upon him, if he is jealous of the ſuperiority of your underſtanding. Mr. Gre⯑ville is obſtinate as well as conceited. Few men, I be⯑lieve, will own conviction from a wife's arguments.

To be ſure the man is not a Sir Charles Grandiſon. Who is?—Let him, as my aunt Selby ſays, apply to me; I ſhall give him his anſwer.

You would wiſh he ſhould, Lucy?

I don't ſay ſo.

I fancy, Lucy, you would not be very cruel if he did.

You fancy I would not—But I can, as you always [74] did, treat the man who profeſſes to love me, with civility, yet not throw myſelf into his arms at the firſt word—

Firſt word, Lucy! No! The ſecond, or third, or fourth, is time enough; ſo the man is not mean time rendered quite hopeleſs.

Very well, Lady Grandiſon: But let me go on with what you have written—Good-natured man!—I do think he is not an ill-natured man.

So much the better for himſelf, and his future wife, Lucy.

That will not be I, Lady Grandiſon.

Perhaps not, Lucy.

—Humour! I do think he is a humorous good-natured man. A little too vehement perhaps in his mirth; a little too frolic: But who is faultleſs?

Proceed, my Lucy.

—Generous! ‘"Not a generous man!—"Quali⯑ties that look like generous ones."’—You are a nice diſtinguiſher, Harriet; you always were—But here you tell your grandmamma, that you had rather I ſhould have Mr. Fowler than Mr. Greville—

Well, my dear, and what ſay you to that?

Why, I ſay, I think you are not ſo nice for me, in this caſe, as you are in others.

How ſo?

How ſo! Why is there not a difference between the actual propoſals made by Mr. Greville to Mrs. Shirley; and Sir Rowland's undertaking to try to prevail upon Mr. Fowler to make his addreſſes to me?

Granted, my dear!—I have not a word more to ſay in behalf of Mr. Fowler. Mr. Greville, Lucy—

Is a man I never will have—

No raſh reſolutions, my dear. And yet I believe a woman has ſeen the ſame man in a very different light, when he has offered himſelf to her acceptance, from what ſhe did before.

[75] I believe ſo—But I had a mind to ſound you, Har⯑riet; and to come at your opinion—

You were intitled to it, Lucy, without attempting to ſound me for it.

True! But we women ſometimes chooſe to come at a point, by the roundabouts, rather than by the forerights.

That is, Lucy, either when we think the foreright way, as you call it, would not anſwer our wiſhes; or when we are not willing to open our own hearts.

Your ſervant, my dear: But the cap fits not. Whenever I ſpeak to you, my heart is upon my Lips.

Let me try then, in this one doubtful inſtance, that I ever had from you of its being ſo. Do you think of encouraging Mr. Greville's propoſal?

It is not a propoſal, till it comes in a direct way to myſelf.

Very well, my dear—I ſay no more till it does.

SIR Charles has juſt now heard that Mr. Lowther, is arrived in London. He longs (ſo I am ſure do I) to know, how affairs are ſituated in Italy. O for good news from thence! Then will my happineſs in this Life be perfected.

LETTER XIV. Lady GRANDISON. In Continuation.

LETTER XV. Lady GRANDISON. In Continuation.

LETTER XVI. Lady GRANDISON, To Ladies L. and G.

I Write to my deareſt ſiſters now.

Nor will I aſk you to ſend my Letters to my grandmamma for the preſent.

Lucy ſhall be leſt to entertain my Northampton⯑ſhire friends.

The incloſed tranſlation of a Letter written by Sig⯑nor Jeronymo, will give you the ſurpriſing news—ſurpriſing indeed—Poor, poor Lady!

I muſt tell you in my next, how we were all af⯑fected on the receiving it: No more at preſent can I add, but that I am, my dear Ladies.

LETTER XVII. Signor JERONYMO della PORRETTA, To Sir CHARLES GRANDISON.

YOU will be ſurpriſed—aſtoniſhed—The dear Clementina! How has ſhe tarniſhed all her glo⯑ry! A young creature of her nice honour!—Good [98] God!—And muſt I her brother, your Jeronymo, ex⯑poſe his ſiſter?

We gave into almoſt every wiſh of her heart. The dear Scripturiſt had requeſted a month's time to travel from place to place on the other ſide of the Apen⯑nines, partly in imitation of the daughter of the fa⯑mous Iſraelitiſh General ^(a); and partly on pretence of eſtabliſhing her health; implying, that ſhe con⯑ſidered the meditated marriage as a ſacrifice: And we had hopes at the end of it, that ſhe would be brought to give her hand, not unchearfully, to the Count of Belvedere, for whom ſhe owned pity and gratitude.

We had conſented to ſeveral trifling delays of her return to us before. Yet beſought her to excuſe us from allowing her to viſit Rome and Naples; and ſhe acquieſced with the reaſons we gave her. She deſired leave to take into her ſervice, as a page, an Engliſh youth, the nephew of a gentleman of the Engliſh factory at Leghorn, who was well recom⯑mended by his uncle, on the enquiry Mrs. Beaumont, at our deſire, made into his character. We, ſup⯑poſing her motive to be merely an innocent and grate⯑ful regard to the country of a man whom we could allow her to reſpect, conſented. She accordingly took him; and he attended her in her excurſions to Piſtoia, Prato, Pratolina, Piſa, Sienna, &c.; to ſome of which places ſhe was accompanied by Mrs. Beaumont, and the Ladies her friends. But being deſirous to ſee the ſea-coaſt from Piombino to Lucca, according to a plan ſhe ſhewed; and talking of ſtretching to Ge⯑noa, when at Lucca; which was to conclude her excurſions, and complete her month; ſhe was left by thoſe Ladies to be attended by her own ſervants: Theſe, all but her page and Laura, ſhe contrived (the high-ſoul'd Clementina ſtooped to art!) to ſend dif⯑ferent ways, ordering them to meet her at Lucca; but, inſtead of going thither, took a ſhort way to [99] Leghorn; and there embarked on board an Engliſh ſhip ready cleared out, and bound for the port of London; and it had ſailed three days, before it was known what was become of her. But then the con⯑tents of the following Letter, directed to Mrs. Beau⯑mont, aſtoniſhed that Lady, and her friends; as you will believe it did us, when it was tranſmitted to us in a Letter written by Mrs. Beaumont, acquainting us with the particulars of her excurſions and flight; and the certainty, upon proper enquiries at Leghorn, that ſhe was gone to England.

‘"Forgive me, my deareſt Ladies; my deareſt Mrs. Beaumont, particularly, forgive me! I am embarked in an enterprize, that will be enough my puniſhment. Pity me, therefore, as well as pardon me! The impending evil is always the moſt terrible. My heart is extremely averſe to a married life. A fortnight of the month is ex⯑pired, at the end of which I am expected to give my vows to a man not unworthy of them, could I think it in my power to make him happy, and could I be ſo myſelf in the proſpects before me: But how can that be? Perſuaſion, cruel perſua⯑ſion! A kneeling father, a fighing mother; gene⯑rous, but entreating brothers; how, how can I re⯑ſiſt you, if I go to dear, once moſt dear Bologna? All you, my friends, at Bologna, at Urbino, every⯑where, forgive me! What have I not ſuffered be⯑fore I came to the reſolution that muſt be purſued, tho' repentance, when I have attained the pro⯑poſed aſylum, follow! My good Lord of B. for⯑give me alſo. Change your attachment. You deſerve a better wife, than conſcience, than ho⯑nour, than juſtice (words that mean the ſame thing) tell me, can be made you, by the unhappy Clementina. She dare not add Della Porretta.—Ah my mother!"’—

This Letter was left with a perſon at Leghorn, [100] with orders, not to ſend it, till the veſſel had ſailed three days. We are all diſtracted; but moſt my mo⯑ther.

For the ſake of her peace of mind, we are come to a reſolution to anticipate our ſummers viſit to you; and, unpropitious as the ſeaſon is for ſuch a journey, we ſhall ſet out next week accordingly. God give my mother ſtrength to bear the fatigue! Courage ſhe has, on this occaſion, who never before could be brought to go by ſea any-where: No, not to Naples, to viſit her Giacomo, and his Lady, tho' in a more propitious ſeaſon.

It was a long-laid ſcheme, we imagine; for ſhe had diſmiſſed her faithful Camilla, on her urging her to a change of condition. I am afraid the good wo⯑man was too ſedulous in obeying the orders given her by my brother, to make uſe of every opportunity to inſpire her with tender ſentiments, in favour of the Count of Belvedere. Laura has for ſome time been her only favourite ſervant.

This youth, by name Antony Dagley, no doubt has managed this affair for her.

Mrs. Beaumont now recollects ſeveral circumſtan⯑ces, which, could ſhe have ſuſpected Clementina to be capable of ſuch an enterprize, might have given her ſuſpicion.

The veſſel ſhe is in, is called The Scanderoon: Alexander Henderſon maſter.

How can the dear creature on her arrival in Eng⯑land look You, your Lady, your Siſters, in the face? What may ſhe ſuffer, in ſuch a voyage, at ſuch a ſeaſon! To what inſults may ſhe be expoſed! So little as ſhe knows of the Engliſh tongue! Laura not a ſyllable of it! Depending on the fidelity of a ſtranger-boy! So few changes of apparel as ſhe had the opportunity to take with her!—Whether pro⯑vided with any conſiderable ſums of money, we know not! England, in her opinion, a nation of [101] heretics!—Good Heaven! could Clementina della Porretta be guilty of ſuch a raſhneſs?

But what an averſeneſs muſt ſhe have to marriage! We have certainly been too precipitating. You cau⯑tioned us: Yet, I dare ſay, could not have believed, that our Clementina could have taken ſuch a ſtep. But, alas! we conclude, that it is owing more to the effects of her late unhappy malady, than to any other cauſe. When once the mind is diſordered, there is danger, it ſeems, of its ſhewing itſelf, on ex⯑traordinary occaſions, even after the cure is ſuppoſed to be perfected, capable of extravagance. Again I ſay, we have been too haſty.—Our brother Giaco⯑mo!—But he is the moſt diſintereſted of men. He would not otherwiſe be ſo urgent as he is for her mar⯑riage.

Dear, dear creature! How my heart bleeds for the diſtreſſes ſhe may be thrown into!—But they cannot be equal to thoſe which her mother feels for her. Clementina knows how much the lives of her father and mother are bound up in hers. But I repeat, ſhe muſt be under the influences of her former malady, or never, never, could ſhe have done an act, that ſhe muſt know would wound our very ſouls.

From the lights I have held out, we hope you will be able to find her before ſhe can have ſuffered more than the inconveniencies of the voyage; before ſhe can have wanted money, or other conveniencies. If you do, your ſiſters will give the raſh one countenance and protection till we can arrive.

Our company will be, my Father, Mother, the Biſhop, your Jeronymo, Father Mareſcotti, and our two couſins Sebaſtiano and Juliano. Mrs. Beaumont has the goodneſs, purely from motives of charity, to accompany my mother. Poor Camilla, almoſt as inconſolable as my mother, attends her Lady.

We muſt give you the trouble of hiring for us as large a houſe as you can procure. The circumſtances [102] we are in, allow us not to think of any-thing more than common convenience, and to be incognito.

Our two couſins above-named may be in lodgings, if room be wanted.

We ſhall have no more than neceſſary attendants.

A leſſer houſe, or handſome lodgings will content the Count of Belvedere.

Theſe cares for us, my dear Grandiſon, we muſt throw upon you: Yet, if my Lowther be in Eng⯑land, he will be ſo kind as to eaſe you of part of them. You will have concern enough in ſharing ours, for the occaſion which carries us to you, ſo much ſooner than we intended, and in an inconve⯑nient ſeaſon; circumſtances that will ſufficiently de⯑monſtrate the diſtreſs we are in.

The veſſel we have hired, is called, The Leghorn Frigate. The maſter's name is Arthur Gunning. If we are favoured in our voyage, the maſter hopes to be in your river Thames in about three weeks from our embarking.

God give us, my Grandiſon, a meeting not un⯑happy! May we find the dear fugitive ſafe in your protection, or under the wings of one of your noble ſiſters!

I hope this unhappy affair will produce no uneaſi⯑neſs between your Lady and you. If it ſhould, what an additional evil would the dear raſh one have to anſwer for!

The General is too much incenſed againſt the un⯑happy girl, to think of accompanying us, could he obtain permiſſion of his ſovereign.

The leaſt reparation the dear creature can make us, the Biſhop ſays, is, chearfully to give her vows to the good Count of Belvedere, who looks forward to the iſſue of this affair, as the criſis of his fate.

I hardly know what I have written; nor how to leave off. It is to you, our dear friend, our conſoler, our brother, and, let me add, our refuge, next to [103] that Almighty, who we hope will guide us in ſafety to you, and give an iſſue not greatly derogatory to the glory of our ſiſter, and family. Join, my Gran⯑diſon, your prayers with ours, to this purpoſe. No⯑bleſt of friends, Adieu!

LETTER XVIII. Lady GRANDISON, To Ladies L. and G.

LET me now give you the promiſed particulars.

As we, and our beloved gueſts, were at dinner on Monday, all harmony, all love; the dear Emily laying out the happy days ſhe hoped to ſee in North⯑hamptonſhire; Sir Charles uſing generous arguments to prevail on my uncle and aunt to ſtay a little longer with him; the Letter, the affecting Letter, was given into Sir Charles's hands: "From my Jerony⯑mo!" ſaid he, looking at the ſuperſcription. Aſking excuſe, he broke it open, and, caſting his eye upon the firſt lines, he ſtarted; and bowing to his gueſts, and to me, he aroſe from table, and withdrew to his Study.

We had not half dined. I urged our friends, but could not ſet them the example; and we aroſe by conſent, and went into the adjoining drawing-room.

Sir Charles ſoon joined us there: His face was in a glow: He ſeemed to have ſtruggled for a compoſure, for our ſakes, which, however, he had not obtained.

I looked upon him with eyes, I ſuppoſe, that had ſpeech in them, by his taking my hand, and ſaying, Be not ſurpriſed, my Love: You will ſoon have gueſts.

From Italy! From Italy, Sir!—"Yes, my life"—Who? Who, Sir?

Dr. Bartlett was with us. He beſought him to [104] give a tranſlation of that Letter. The Doctor retired to do it: And Sir Charles ſaid, It is not impoſſible but Clementina may be ſoon in England: Perhaps be⯑fore the reſt of her family. Be not ſurpriſed (for we all looked upon one another): Dr. Bartlett will give you the contents of the Letter. Oblige me, my dear⯑eſt Love, with your hand.

He led me into his Study; and there, in the moſt tender and affectionate manner, acquainted me with the contents of the Letter.

My deareſt Harriet, ſaid he, his arms encircling my waiſt, will not, cannot doubt the continuance of my tendereſt Love. I am equally ſurpriſed and diſturbed at the ſtep taken. God preſerve the dear Clementina! Join your prayers with mine for her ſafety. You can pity the unhappy Lady: She is, I am afraid, de⯑ſolate and unprotected: You can pity her equally un⯑happy friends. They are following her: They are all good: They mean well. Yet over-perſuaſion, as you lately obſerved, in ſuch a caſe a hers, is a degree of perſecution. In the unhappy circumſtances ſhe had been in, ſhe ſhould have had time given her. Time ſubdues all things.

Let me beſeech you, Sir, ſaid I, to give the un⯑happy Lady your inſtant protection. Conſider me as a ſtrengthener, not a weakener, of your hands, in her ſervice. I have no concern but for her ſafety and honour, and for your concern on the affecting occa⯑ſion. Dear Sir, let me by participation leſſen it.

Soul of my Soul, ſaid he, claſping me more ardent⯑ly to his boſom, I had no doubt of your generous goodneſs. It would be doing injuſtice to the unhap⯑py abſent, and to the knowledge I have of my own heart, as well as to you, the abſolute miſtreſs of it, did I think it neceſſary to make profeſſions of my unalterable, my inviolable Love to you. I will ac⯑quaint you with every ſtep I take in this arduous af⯑fair. You muſt adviſe me as I go along. Minds ſo [105] delicate as your and Clementina's, muſt be allied. I ſhall be ſure of my meaſures when I have the appro⯑bation of my Harriet. All our friends (They have diſcretion) ſhall be made acquainted with my proceed⯑ings. I will not leave a doubt upon the mind of any one of them, that my Harriet is not, as far as it is in my power to make her, the happieſt of women.

What, Sir, is the date of the Letter?—He looked; It has no date, my dear, Jeronymo's grief—The Lady, Sir, ſaid I, may be arrived. Leave me here at Gran⯑diſon-hall, with my friends: I will endeavour to engage their ſtay a little longer than they had deſigned; and do you haſten up to town: If you can do ſervice to the unhappy Lady, deſtitute as you apprehend ſhe is at preſent of protection, and expoſed to difficulties and dangers, your Letters ſhall be, if poſſible, more ac⯑ceptable to me, than even the preſence of the man who is as dear to me as my own ſoul.

I was raiſed. It was making me great, my dear Ladies, to have it in my power, as I may ſay, to con⯑vince Sir Charles Grandiſon, that my compaſſion, my love, my a lmiration of the nobleſt of women, was a ſincere admiration and love.

How happy a man am I! ſaid he. You have an⯑ticipated me by your goodneſs. I will haſten up to town. You will engage your friends. The man whoſe Love is fixed on the mind, all lovelineſs as is the admirable perſon that thus I again preſs to my fond boſom, muſt be as happy as a mortal man can be!

He led me back to the expecting company: Who all ſtood up, as by an involuntary motion, at our entrance; each perſon looking eager to know our ſentiments. The Doctor had not finiſhed the tranſla⯑tion: But Sir Charles ſent up for the Letter; and▪ begged of the Doctor, who brought it down himſelf, to read it in Engliſh to us all. He did ſo.

What, my dear Ladies, was there of Peculiarity in [106] my generoſity, as your brother was pleaſed to call it?—My uncle, my aunt, my Lucy, Mr. Deane, all, before Sir Charles could well ſpeak, beſought him not to ſuffer their being here to be one moment's hindrance to his ſetting out for London.

He generouſly applauded me to them for what had paſſed between us in his Study, and told them, he would ſet out early in the morning, if they would promiſe to keep me company here.

They ſaid, they would ſtay as long as their convenience would permit; and the longer, that he might be the eaſier on ſuch a generous call to town.

One thing, dear Sir, ſaid I, let me beg; Let not the ſweet fugitive be compelled, if you can help it, to marry. Let not advantage be taken, as they ſeem, by a hint in this Letter, inclined to take it, of this ſeem⯑ing raſh ſtep, to make her compliance the condition of their forgiveneſs and reconciliation.

He called me his generous, his noble Harriet; re⯑peated, that he would be governed by my advice, and that then he ſhould be ſure of his footing.

Your brother ſet out early this morning for Lon⯑don: Join your prayers, my dear Ladies, with his and mine, and with thoſe of all our friends here, for a happy iſſue to the preſent afflictions of the dear Cle⯑mentina. How I long, yet half-fear, to ſee her! Shall I, do you think, be able to ſee her, without being ap⯑prehenſive, that ſhe will look upon me as the invader of her right? She was undoubtedly his firſt Love.

Your brother communicated to me his intention of completing the furniſhing of the new-taken houſe in Groſvenor-ſquare, which was before in great forward⯑neſs, and to have it well aired for the reception of his noble friends. He will acquaint his ſiſters with his further intentions, as occaſions ariſe. God ſucceed to him his own wiſhes!—He may be truſted with them.

Adieu, my deareſt Siſters! How proud am I, that I can indeed call you ſo, by the name of

LETTER XIX. Sir CHARLES GRANDISON, To Lady GRANDISON.

ON my arrival here laſt Night I found a long Let⯑ter, dated Sunday laſt, from the unhappy Lady, whom we both ſo much admire and pity. The con⯑tents too well confirm her wandering ſtate of mind, and account for the ſteps ſhe has taken. I will ſend you the Letter itſelf as ſoon as I have ſeen her, and can prevail upon her to put herſelf into my protection. Till the hope of a happier ſtate of mind ſhall dawn upon us, the contents of it will afflict you.

She has been ten days in England: I wrote to her laſt night, to beg her to admit me to her preſence.

She expreſſes in her Letter a generous joy in our happineſs, and in the excellent character which ſhe has heard of the beloved of my heart; of every heart. In the midſt of her affecting wanderings, ſhe preſerves the greatneſs of mind that ever diſtinguiſhed her. She wiſhes to ſee you; but unknown to us both.

It would not be difficult perhaps to find out the place of her abode; but ſhe depends on my honour, that I will not attempt it: Clementina loves to be puncti⯑liouſly obſerved. In the way ſhe is in, ſhe muſt be ſoothed, and as little oppoſed as poſſible. She thinks too highly of my character, and apprehends that the ſtep ſhe has taken, has lowered her own. She has great ſenſibility, and only ſometimes wanders into mi⯑nuteneſſes that her circumſtances, which I find are not happy, oblige her to attend to. I have great hopes, that I ſhall be able to ſooth, conciliate, and reſtore her; her mind ſeems not to he deeply wounded. God enable me to quiet the heart of the nobleſt of your Siſters! Forgive me for my two beloved Siſters. They will, if you do.

[108] I hope our dear friends will make themſelves and you happy, at Grandiſon-hall. This cloud paſſed away, if God preſerve us to each other, and our friends to us, all our future days muſt be ſerene: At leaſt as far as it is in my power, they ſhall be ſo to my Harriet. Profeſſions would diſgrace my Love, and your merits. All that your own heart can wiſh me to be, that, if I know it, will I be; for am I not the happy huſband of the beſt and moſt generous of women; and, as ſuch,

LETTER XX. Lady CLEMENTINA, To Sir CHARLES GRANDISON.

BY this time, it is very probable, you have heard of the raſheſt ſtep that the writer of theſe pre⯑ſents (chequer'd and unhappy, as the laſt years of her life have been) over took. She knows it to be raſh: She condemns herſelf for taking it. She doubts not but ſhe ſhall be condemned by every-body for it: Nor is ſhe ſure, that ſhe ſhall have the better opinion of your juſtice, if you are not one of the ſevereſt of her cenſur⯑ers: For you are a good man. Your goodneſs, I hear, fills every mouth in this your own country; and it is not one of your leaſt praiſes, that you did your duty in the ſtricteſt manner, to a Father, who was want⯑ing in his to his whole family. It is, it ſeems, your principle, that where a duty is reciprocal, the failure in it of the one, acquits not the other for a failure in his. How then can I appear before you? I am co⯑ver'd with bluſhes at the thoughts of it—I, who am a runaway from the kindeſt, the moſt indulgent, of parents—God forgive me!—Yet, can I ſay, I re⯑pent? [109] —I think, I can.—But at beſt, it is a conditional repentance only, that I boaſt.

I am here in your England; I cannot, cannot, tell you where; in a low condition; my fortune ſcanty; my lodgings not very convenient; two ſervants on⯑ly my attendants; Laura (you remember her) one; weeping every hour after her friends, and our Italy: My other you know not—My page he was called in the days of my ſtate, as I may, comparatively, call them; but now my every thing: Poor youth! But he is honeſt, he is faithful. God reward him!—I cannot.

Yet in all this my depreſſion of circumſtances, if I may ſo expreſs myſelf, and ſometimes (too often in⯑deed) of ſpirits; I think I am happy in the thought that I am a ſingle woman.

Well, Sir!—And what can I ſay further? A thou⯑ſand things I have to ſay: Too many, to know which to ſay firſt. I had better ſay no more: I am not, how⯑ever, ſure, I ſhall ſend you this, or any other Letter.

I have been ten days in this great, and, as it ſeems to me, ugly city: A vaſtly populous one: People very buſy. I thought your London people were all rich—But what is this to write to you about?

I have been out but once, and that for a morning in one of your parks. I can't ſay, I like England, nor its people, much: But I have ſeen nothing of the one, or the other.

I live a very melancholy life: But that befits me beſt.

They tell me, that your churches are poor, plain things. You beſtow more upon yourſelves than you do upon your God: But perhaps you truſt more to the heart, than to the eye, in the plainneſs of your places of devotion. But, again, what is all this ſtuff to you?—Yet, I am apt to ramble too-too much!

The truth is, I am not very well: So excuſe me.

But do you know how it comes about, that having [110] the beſt of fathers, the beſt of mothers, the moſt af⯑fectionate of brothers, I ſhould yet think them per⯑ſecutors? How it comes about, that I, who love them, who honour them, as much as daughter ever honoured parents, or ſiſter ever loved brothers, ſhould run away from them all, into a ſtrange land, a land of heretics; yet once be thought a pious kind of crea⯑ture? Do you know how this comes about?

Once there was a man—But him I renounced—But I had a good reaſon for it. And do you think I repent it? By my truth, Chevalier, I do not: I ne⯑ver did. Yet I think of nobody half ſo often, nor with half the pleaſure: For, tho' a Heretic, he is a good man.

But huſh! Dare I, in this country, ſay he is a Heretic? Perhaps, we Catholics are looked upon as Heretics here. Idolaters I know we are ſaid to be—I grant that I had like to have been an idolater once—But let that paſs. I believe we Catholics think worſe of you Proteſtants, and you Proteſtants think worſe of us Catholics, than either deſerve: It may be ſo. But, to me, you ſeem to be a ſtrange people, for all that.

Of one thing, my good Chevalier, methinks I ſhould be glad.—Here I am told you are married: That I knew before I left Italy: Elſe, let me tell you, I never would have come hither: Yet I ſhould have got away rather than be married myſelf, I believe: But then perhaps it would have been to a Catholic country.

What was I going to ſay?—One thing I ſhould be glad of: It is to ſee your Lady; but not if ſhe were to ſee me. I came with very few cloaths, and they were not the beſt I had at Florence: My beſt of all are at Bologna. My father and mother loved to ſee me dreſſed. I dreſſed many a time to pleaſe them more than to pleaſe myſelf. For I am not a proud creature: Do you think I am? You knew me once [111] better than I knew myſelf: But you know little of me now. I am a runaway: And I know you won't for⯑give me. I can't help it. However, I ſhould be glad to ſee your Lady. She dreſſes richly, I ſuppoſe. Well ſhe may!

I am told, ſhe is one of the lovelieſt women in England: And as to her goodneſs—there is nobody ſo good. Thank God! You know, Chevalier, I always prayed, that the beſt of women might be called by your name.

But Olivia, it ſeems, praiſes her; and Olivia ſaw her when ſhe was a rambler to England, as, God help me! I am now.

But Olivia's motive and mine were very different. Olivia went to England in hopes of a huſband—Poor woman! I pity her.

But, Chevalier, cannot I ſee your Lady, and ſhe not ſee me? I need not be in diſguiſe to ſee her. If you were with her, handing her, ſuppoſe, to church, (I would not ſcruple to croud myſelf into ſome unob⯑ſerved corner of your church on ſuch an occaſion) you would be too proud of her to mind me: And you would not know me, if you ſaw me; for I would ſtoop in my ſhoulders, and look down; and the cloaths I ſhould have on would be only an Engliſh linen gown and petticoat, unadorned by ribbands or gew-gaw—Not half ſo well dreſſed as your Lady's woman▪

But yet I ſhould thank God, that you had not diſ⯑graced the regard I had once for you: I had a great deal of pride, you know, in that hope. Thank you, Sir, that you have married ſo lovely and ſo deſerving a woman. She is of a good family, I hope.

It wa a great diſappointment to me when I came firſt to London, to find, that you were not there. I thought, ſome how or other, to catch a ſight of you and your Lady, were it but as you ſtept into your coach; and I to have been in a chair, near, or even on foot. For, when I heard what a character you bore, [112] for every kind of goodneſs; I, a poor fagitive, was afraid to ſee you. So many good leſſons as you taught me, and all to come to this! Unhappy Clementina!

Where will your Ladyſhip (but I have forbidden that ſtile) chooſe to take up your reſidence? ſaid An⯑thony when we firſt landed (My ſervant's name is Anthony; but you ſhall not know his other name). We landed among a parcel of guns, at the Tower, they called it, in a boat.

Laura anſwered for me; for he ſpoke in Italian; Somewhere near the Chevalier Grandiſon's, won't you, madam? I won't tell you what was my anſwer; for perhaps I am near the Thames—I don't want you to find me out. I beſeech you, Chevalier, don't give yourſelf pain for me. I am a fugitive. Don't diſgrace yourſelf in acknowleging any acquaintance with a creature who is poor and low; and who deſerves to be poor and low; for is ſhe not a runaway from the beſt of parents? But it is to avoid, not to get, a huſ⯑band; you'll be pleaſed to remember that, Sir.

But, poor Laura—I am ſorry for Laura; more ſor⯑ry than for myſelf—My brother Giacomo would kill the poor creature, I believe, if ever ſhe were to come in his way. But ſhe is in no fault. It was with great reluctance ſhe obeyed her miſtreſs. She was ſeveral times as impertinent as Camilla. Poor Camilla! I uſed ever hardly. She is a good creature. I uſed her hardly againſt my own nature, to make her the eaſier to part with me. I love her. I hope ſhe is well. It is not worth her while to pine after me; I was an un⯑grateful creature to her.

My Anthony is a good young man, as I told you. I think to ſave half his wages, and give the other half to raiſe Laura's, to keep her a little in heart. The poor young man hoped preferment in my ſervice; and I can do nothing for him. It will behove me to be a good manager. But I will ſell the few jewels I have left, rather than part with him, till he can get a better [113] ſervice. What little things do I trouble you with! Little things to you; but not quite ſo little to me now, as I have managed it. But ſo as I can do juſtice to this poor youth, and poor Laura, I matter not myſelf. What I have done is my choice: They had no op⯑tion. I over-perſuaded Laura, as my friends would have done me. I feel that ſting: It was not doing as I would be done by. Very, very wicked in me! I dare ſay, you would tell me ſo, were you to find me out.

But, Chevalier, ſhall I ſend you, yes, or no, this ſcrawl, written to divert me in a penſive mood? I would not, if I thought it would trouble you. God forbid that your pupil Clementina ſhould give you diſ⯑compoſure, now eſpecially in the early part of your nuptials! Yet if I could ſo manage, as that you would permit your ſecretary (I would not aſk the favour of your own pen) to ſend a few lines to ſome parti⯑cular place, where my ſervant could fetch them un⯑known to you or any body, only to let me know, If you have heard from Bologna, or Naples, or Florence (I was very ungrateful to good Mrs. Beaumont and the Ladies her friends) and how they all do; my fa⯑ther, mother (my heart at times bleeds for them) my dear Jeronymo, my two other brothers, and good Father Mareſcotti, and my ſiſter-in-law whom I have ſo much reaſon to love; it will be a great eaſe to my heart; provided the account be not a very melancholy one▪ If it ſhould, poor Clementina's days would be number'd upon twice five fingers.

I am put in a way—This ſhall be ſent to your pa⯑lace in town. You will order your ſecretary to direct his Letter, to George Trumbull, Eſq to be left till called for, at White's Chocolate-houſe in St. James's-ſtreet. I depend upon your honour, Chevalier, that you will acquieſce with my deſire to remain incognita, till I ſhall conſent to reveal to you the place of my abode, or to ſee you elſewhere. I ſign only

LETTER XXI. Sir CHARLES GRANDISON, To Lady GRANDISON.

ALL day yeſterday I was in pain that I heard not from Clementina. But I made myſelf as eaſy as I could in viſiting my ſiſters, and their Lords, and my aunt Grandiſon. What bleſſings do they all pour forth on my Harriet! What compaſſion do they ex⯑preſs for the dear fugitive! How do they long to ſee her!

Yeſterday I received a Letter from her.

The copy of that to which hers is an anſwer; of hers; and of my reply; and her return to that; I incloſe. You will read them to our friends in Engliſh.

You will find by the laſt of the four, that I am to be admitted to her preſence. I would not miſs a poſt, or I ſhould have delayed, till the interview be over, the ſending this to my Harriet. Hope the beſt, my deareſt Love. The purity of your heart, and of Cle⯑mentina's, and the integrity of my own, if I know my heart, bid us humbly hope for a happy diſſipation of the preſent cloud, which, hanging over the heads of a family I revere, engages our compaſſion, and mingles a ſigh with our joys.

Adieu, my beſt, my deareſt Love. Anſwer for me to all my friends.

LETTER XXII. Sir CHARLES GRANDISON, To Lady CLEMENTINA.

TEN days the noble Clementina in England, the native place of her fourth brother, her equally [115] admiring and faithful friend; yet not honour him with the knowledge of her arival!—Forgive me, if I call you cruel.—It is in your power, madam, to make one of the happieſt men in the world a very unhappy one; and you will effectually do it, if you keep from him the opportunity of throwing himſelf at your feet, and welcoming you to a country always dear to him, but which will be made ſtill dearer by your arrival in it.

I have a Letter from your and my Jeronymo. I have a great deal to ſay to you of its contents; of your father, mother, brothers—But it muſt be ſaid, not written. For God's ſake, madam, permit me to attend you in company of one of my ſiſters, or other⯑wiſe, as you ſhall think beſt. You have in me a faithful, an indulgent friend. I am no ſevere man: Need I tell you that I am not? If you do not chooſe that any-body elſe ſhall know the place of your abode, I will faithfully keep your ſecret. You ſhall be as much the miſtreſs of your own will, of your own actions, as if I knew not where to addreſs myſelf to you. If ever you had a kind thought of your fourth brother, if you ever wiſhed him happy, grant him the favour of attending you; for his happineſs, I repeat, depends upon it.

I received our Jeronymo's Letter but yeſterday. Tender and affectionate are the contents.

I have ridden poſt, to get hither this night, in hopes of being favoured with intelligence of you. In the morning I ſhould have made enquiries at the proper places: But little did I think my Siſter could have been ſo many days in town. Let not an hour paſs after this comes to your hand, before you relieve the anxious heart of,

LETTER XXIII. Lady CLEMENTINA, To Sir CHARLES GRANDISON.

I Received yours but this moment. What can I ſay to the contents? I wiſh to ſee you; but dare not. Your happineſs, you ſay, depends upon an interview with me. Why do you tell me it does? I wiſh you happy. Yet, if you wiſhed me ſo, you would have told me how my dear friends in Italy do. This omiſ⯑ſion was deſigned. It was not generous in the Che⯑valier Grandiſon. It was made to extort from me a favour, which you thought I ſhould otherwiſe be unwilling to grant.

But can you forgive the raſh Clementina? God is merciful as well as juſt. You imitate him. But how can Clementina, humbled as ſhe is, be ſunk ſo low, as to appear a delinquent, before the man ſhe reſpects for a character which, great as ſhe thought it before, has riſen upon her ſince her arrival in England?

But, Sir, can you, will you engage, that my friends will allow me to continue ſingle? Can you anſwer, in particular, for the diſcontinuance of the Count of Bel⯑vedere's addreſſes? Can you procure forgiveneſs, not only for me, but my poor Laura? Will you take in⯑to your ſervice, or recommend him effectually to that of ſome one of your friends, in ſome manner that is not altogether ſervile, the honeſt youth who has be⯑haved unexceptionably in mine? For he wiſhes not to return to Italy.

Anſwer me theſe few eaſy and plain queſtions; and you ſhall hear further from

LETTER XXIV. Sir CHARLES GRANDISON, To Lady CLEMENTINA.

TO the queſtions of dear Lady Clementina I an⯑ſwer thus—I will endeavour to prevail upon your parents, and other friends, to leave you abſo⯑lutely free to chuſe your own ſtate without uſing ei⯑ther compulſion, or over-earneſt perſuaſion.

Who, madam, can forbid the Count of Belvedere to hope? Leave him hope. if he has not the over-earneſt entreaties of your own relations to give weight to his addreſſes, it will be in your power to give him either encouragement or deſpair.

I will engage for the joyful reconciliation to her of all the dear Clementina's friends. I am ſure I can.

Laura ſhall be forgiven, and provided for by an an⯑nuity equal to her wages, if the continuance of her ſervice be not accepted.

I will myſelf entertain your young man; and place and reward him according to his merits.

And now, madam, admit to the honour of your preſence,

LETTER XXV. Lady CLEMENTINA, To Sir CHARLES GRANDISON.

I Depend upon your honour, Sir, for the perfor⯑mance of the preſcribed conditions: Yet, on me⯑ditating my appearance before you, I am more and more aſhamed to ſee you. It was a great diſappoint⯑ment [118] to me at my firſt arrival, that you were at your country-ſeat. At that time my heart was full. I had much to ſay, and I could have ſeen you then with more fortitude than now falls to my ſhare. However, I will ſee you. To-morrow, Sir, about five in the evening, you will find at one of the doors on the higher ground, on the left hand going up St. James's ſtreet, from the Palace, as it is called, the expecting Laura, who will conduct you to

LETTER XXVI. Sir CHARLES GRANDISON, To Lady GRANDISON.

LETTER XXVII. Sir CHARLES GRANDISON. In Continuation.

LETTER XXVIII. Sir CHARLES GRANDISON. In Continuation.

THE arrival of the Leghorn-frigate is every day expected. The merchants have intelligence, that it put in at Antibes. If the journey by land from [133] thence to Paris, and ſo to Calais, could be made fa⯑vourable to my dear friend Jeronymo, I have no doubt but our expected gueſts landed there, at this ſeaſon of the year, ſo unpropitious to tender paſſengers.

The houſe in Groſvenor-ſquare is now, thanks to good Lord G. quite ready for their reception. There will be room, I believe, as they propoſe to be here incognito, and with only neceſſary attendants, for the Marquis and his Lady, for Mrs. Beaumont (who will be both their comforter and interpreter) for the two Brothers, and Father Mareſcotti. Saunders has alrea⯑dy procured handſome lodgings for the Count of Bel⯑vedere. I wiſh with you, my Love, that the Count were not to accompany them. The poor Lady muſt not know it, if it can be avoided. The two young Lords, whom I invited when I was in Italy, muſt be more immediately our own gueſts, if my deareſt Life has no objection.

Aſſure yourſelf, my generous Harriet, that the Lady ſhall not be either compelled, or too urgently perſuaded, if I have weight with the family when they arrive. They ſhall not know where ſhe is, nor ſee her, but by her own conſent, and as I ſee their diſpo⯑ſition to receive her as I wiſh. Excellent creature! what a noble ſolicitude is yours for her tranquillity of mind!

I have not yet been able to break to her the daily expectation I have of ſeeing in England her parents and brothers: Yet am uneaſy, that ſhe knows it not. I want courage, my Harriet, to acquaint her with it. I have more than once eſſayed to do it. Dear crea⯑ture! ſhe looks with ſo much innocence, and ſo much reliance upon me; and is, at times, ſo appre⯑henſive!—I know not how to break it to her.

She depends upon my mediation. She urges me to begin a treaty of reconciliation with them. I defer writing, I tell her, till I have ſeen Mrs. Beaumont. [134] Little does ſhe think they are upon their journey, and that I know not where to direct to them. She longs for Mrs. Beaumont's arrival; and hopes, ſhe ſays, ſhe will bring with her the poor Camilla, that ſhe may have an opportunity to obtain her excuſe for the harſh treatment ſhe gave her: And yet Camilla, ſaid ſhe, was a teazing woman.

Were you ever ſenſible, my Harriet, of the tender pain that an open heart (yours is an open and an en⯑larged one) feels; longing, yet, for its friend's ſake, afraid, to reveal unwelcome tidings, which, however, it imports the concerned to know? How loth to diſ⯑turb the tranquillity which is built upon ignorance of the event! Yet that every tranquillity (contemplated upon) adding to the pain of the compaſſionating friend; who reflects, that when the unhappy news ſhall be revealed, Time, and Chriſtian philoſophy, only, will ever reſtore it to the heart of the ſufferer!

Lord and Lady L. are endeavouring to divert their too thoughtful gueſt by carrying her to ſee what they think will either entertain or amuſe her. To-mor⯑row (Lady L. contributing to the dear Lady's proper appearance there) they purpoſe to attend her to the drawing-room. But hitherto ſhe ſeems not to have a very high opinion of the country. If her heart could be eaſy, every thing would have a different appear⯑ance to her.

I HAVE this moment the favour of yours of yeſter⯑day. If our kind friends will ſtay no longer with you at the Hall, do you, my deareſt Love, as you propoſe, accompany them up. They are extremely obliging in propoſing to give me here two or three days of their company, before they return to North⯑hamptonſhire.

My conſent, my Harriet!—Why, if you have a choice of your own, do you aſk it? I muſt approve of whatever you wiſh to do. Could I have been cer⯑tain, [135] I would have met my Love. But you will have many dear friends with you.

Tell my Emily, that I have had a viſit from her Mother and Mr. O-Hara; and was ſo much pleaſed with them, that I propoſe on Monday to return their viſit at their own lodgings.

Now I know I am to be ſoon bleſſed with the pre⯑ſence of my Harriet, I have given way to all my wiſhes: One of them is, Never to be ſeparated from the joy of my heart. Such, I truſt, will ſhe ever be, to

LETTER XXIX. Lady GRANDISON, To Mrs. SHIRLEY.

AGAIN, my ever-honoured grandmamma, does your Harriet reſume the pen. Lucy and my aunt, between them, have given you an account of every-thing that paſſed ſince my laſt.

We arrived laſt night. With what tenderneſs did the beſt of men, and of huſbands, receive his Harriet, and her friends!

This afternoon, at tea, I am to be preſented to Lady Clementina at Lord L's. Don't you believe my heart throbs with expectation? Indeed it does. Sir Charles ſays, her emotions are as great on the occa⯑ſion.

What honour does my dear Sir Charles do to his Harriet! He conſults her, as if he doubted his own judgment, and wanted to have it confirmed by hers. What happineſs is hers, who marries a good man! Such a one will do obliging things for principle's ſake: He will pity involuntary failings: He will do juſtice to [136] good intentions, and give importance to all his fellow⯑creatures; becauſe he knows they and he are equally creatures of the almighty. What woman, who thinks, but will prefer a good man to all others, however diſtinguiſhed by rank, fortune, or perſon? But my Sir Charles is a good man, and diſtinguiſhed by all thoſe advantages. What a creature ſhould I be, bleſſed with a huſband of a heart ſo faithful, and ſo well⯑principled, if I were not able to let my Love and compaſſion flow to a Clementina, tho' once (and in⯑deed for that very reaſon) the only beloved of his heart!—Why are not real calls made upon me, to convince ſuch a man, that I have a mind emulative of his own, at leaſt of Clementina's? The woman who, from motives of Religion, having the heart of a Sir Charles Grandiſon in her hand, loving him above all earthly creatures, and all her friends conſenting, could refuſe him her vows, muſt be, in that act, the greateſt, the moſt magnanimous, of women. But could the noble Lady have thus acted, my dear grandmamma, had not ſhe been ſtimulated by that glorious En⯑thuſiaſm, of which her diſturbed imagination had ſhewn ſome previous tokens; and which, rightly di⯑rected, has heretofore given the palm of martyrdom to Saints?

WE have juſt now been welcomed to town by Sir Edward Beauchamp. Sir Charles, on preſenting him to me, thus expreſſed himſelf: You remember, my deareſt Life, what I wrote to you of the laſt part of the converſation between Sir Edward and me, in re⯑lation to my Emily. Your prudence, my Harriet, and love of the good girl; your diſcretion and generoſity, Sir Edward; will join you together as counſellors and adviſers of your Grandiſon. My Wife and my Friend cannot err in this inſtance, becauſe you will both conſider what belongs to the characters of a Guardian, and a Ward ſo beloved by you both; and, if you doubt, have Dr. Bartlett at hand.

[137] My uncle, and aunt Lucy, are determined to ſet out next Wedneſday for Northamptonſhire. Sir Ed⯑ward deſired to know of Sir Charles, If he had any objection to his attending them down? None at all, ſurely, was Sir Charles's anſwer.

Mr. Deane accompanies them, in order to adjuſt ſome matters at Peterborough, preparative to the fa⯑vour he does us of ſettling with us or near us, for the remainder of his days. May that remainder be long and happy!

Sir Charles aſked Emily juſt now, If ſhe held her mind, as to going down? Indeed ſhe did, ſhe ſaid: Her heart was in it; and ſhe would go that inſtant to acquaint her mother with her intention, and to buy ſome things preparatory to her journey: She ſhould take it for a great favour, ſhe told Lucy, if ſhe would go with her on both occaſions.

Lucy has made to herſelf a great intereſt in Emily's heart. They are both ſure they ſhall be happy in each other. My aunt loves her: So does my uncle. Who does not? I am ſure you will, my dear grand⯑mamma, and pity her too. Dear pretty ſoul! She coſts me now and then a tear. But had I not been in her way, it would have been worſe. She could have no hope: I am ſure ſhe knows ſhe could not. But what a ſad gradation is there in that Love, which, tho' begun in hopeleſneſs of ſucceeding, riſes by ſelf⯑flattery, to a poſſibility, then to probability, to hope; and, ſinking again to hopeleſneſs, ends in deſpair!—But how coolly I write on, for one who is by-and-by to ſee a Clementina!

I AM waiting Sir Charles's kind leiſure to carry me to Lady L's. He has Mr. Lowther with him juſt now; who, however, finding us engaged, will not ſtay.

Sir Charles approved my dreſs, as he paſſed by me to go to Mr. Lowther in the ſtudy. He ſnatched my hand, and preſſed it with his lips: My ever-lovely, [138] my ever-conſiderate Harriet▪ you want no ornaments: But I was ſure you would not give yourſelf any but thoſe that flowed from a compaſſionate and generous heart, when you were to viſit a Lady who at preſent is not in happy circumſtances; yet is intitled by me⯑rit, as well as rank, to be in the happieſt.

My aunt and Lucy long for my return, to have an account of the Lady▪ and what paſſes between us. How my heart—What is the matter with my heart?

LETTER XXX. Lady GRANDISON. In Continuation.

LADY Clementina, my deareſt grandmamma▪ muſt not, ſhall not, be compelled. If I admired, if I loved her before now that I have ſeen her, that I have converſed with her, I love, I admire her, if poſſible, ten times more. She is really, in her per⯑ſon, a lovely woman, of middle ſtature; extremely genteel: An air of dignity, even of grandeur, ap⯑pears in her aſpect, and in all ſhe ſays and does: Her complexion is fine without art: Indeed ſhe is a lovely woman! She has the fineſt black eye, hair, eyebrows of the ſame colour, I ever ſaw; yet has ſometimes a wildiſh caſt with her eye, ſometimes a languor, that, when one knows her ſtory, reminds one that her head has been diſturbed. Why, taking advantage of her Sex, is ſuch a perſon to be controul⯑ed, and treated as if ſhe were not to have a will; when ſhe has an underſtanding, perhaps, ſuperior to that of either of her wilful brothers?

When we alighted at Lady L's, I begged Sir Charles to conduct me into any apartment but that where ſhe was. I ſat down on the firſt ſeat. Lady L. haſtened to me—My deareſt ſiſter, you ſeem diſordered—Fie!—Lady Grandiſon, and want ſpirits!

[139] Sir Charles (not obſerving my emotion) had left me; and went to attend Lady Clementina. She, it ſeems, was in ſome diſorder. My Harriet (ſaid he to her, as he told me afterwards) attends the com⯑mands of her Siſter-excellence.

Call me not Excellence! Call me not her Siſter! Am I not a fugitive in her eye, in every-body's eye?—I think, Chevalier, I cannot ſee her. She will look down upon me. I think I am as much afraid to ſee her, as I was at firſt to ſee you. Is there ſeverity in her virtue?

She is all goodneſs, all ſweetneſs, madam. Did I not tell you, that ſhe is the Clementina of England?

Well, Sir, you are very good. Don't let me be unpolite. I am but a gueſt in this hoſpitable houſe—Elſe I would have attended her at the firſt door. Is ſhe not Lady Grandiſon? Happy, happy woman!

Tears were in her eyes. She turned away to hide them. Then ſtepping forward; I am now prepared to receive her: Pray, Sir, introduce me.

She is not without her emotions, madam—She is preparing herſelf to ſee you. Love, compaſſion, for Lady Clementina, fills her boſom—I will preſent her to you.

Lady L. went to her. Sir Charles came to me.—My deareſt Love, why this concern? You will ſee a woman you cannot fear, but muſt love. She has been in the like agitations—Favour me with your hand.

No, Sir—That would be to inſult her.

My deareſt Life! forget not your own dignity [I ſtarted]; nor give me too much conſequence with a Lady, who, like yourſelf, is all Soul. I glory in my wife: I cannot deſert myſelf.

I was a little awed at the time; but the moment I got home, and was alone with him, I acknowledged his goodneſs and greatneſs, both in one.

He led me in. Lady L. only (at Sir Charles's re⯑queſt, for both our ſakes) was preſent. The noble [140] Lady approached me. I haſtened to meet her, with trembling feet. Sir Charles, kiſſing a hand of each, joined them together. Siſter-excellencies, I have of⯑ten called you! Deareſt of women, love each other, as I admire you both.

She threw her arms about my neck: Receive, O receive, to your Love, to your Friendſhip, a poor de⯑ſolate! Till within theſe few days, a deſolate indeed! a fugitive! a rebellious! an ingrate to the beſt of pa⯑rents!

I embraced her—Miſtaken parents, I have called them, madam—I have pitied them; but moſt I have pitied you—Honour me with your ſiſterly love. This beſt of men had before given me two Siſters. Let us be four.

Be it ſo, my dear Lady L. ſaid Sir Charles, bring⯑ing her to us: And, claſping his arms about the three; You anſwer for the abſent Charlotte and yourſelf; a fourfold cord that never ſhall be broken.

Sir Charles led us to one ſettee, again putting a hand of each together, and ſitting down over-againſt us; Lady L. on the other hand of him. We were both ſilent for a few moments, each ſtruggling with her tears.

My Harriet, madam, ſaid Sir Charles, as I have told you, knows your whole ſtory. You two are of long acquaintance. Your minds are kindred minds. Your griefs are hers: Your pleaſures ſhe will rejoice in as her own.—My Harriet, you now ſee, you now know by perſon, the admirable Clementina, whoſe magnanimity you ſo much admired, whoſe character, you have ſo often ſaid, is the firſt among women.

We both wept: But her tears ſeemed tears of kind⯑neſs and eſteem. I put the hand which was not in hers, on her arm. I wanted courage; my reverence for her would not allow me to be ſo free, or it had again embraced the too conſcious Lady. Believe me, madam (excuſe my broken Italian) I have ever re⯑vered [141] you. I have ſaid often, very often, that your happineſs, happy as I am, is neceſſary to complete mine, as well as Sir Charles Grandiſon's.

This goodneſs to me, a fugitive, an alien to your country; not a lover of your religion! O Lady Gran⯑diſon, you muſt be as much all I have heard of you in your mind, as I ſee you are in your perſon. Re⯑ceive my thank for making happy the man I wiſhed to be the happieſt of men; for well does he deſerve to be made ſo. We were Brother and Siſter, madam, before he knew you. Let me be his Siſter ſtill, and let me be yours.

Kindred minds, Sir Charles Grandiſon calls ours, madam. He does me honour. May I, on further knowledge, appear to as much advantage in your eye, as you, from what I know of you, do in mine; and I ſhall be a very happy creature!

Then you will be happy. I was prepared to love you. I love you already, methinks, with a paſſion that wants not further knowlege of your goodneſs to augment it. But can you, madam, look upon me with a true ſiſterly eye? Can you pity me for the ſtep I have taken, ſo ſeemingly deregatory to my glory? Can you believe me unhappy, but not wicked, for taking it? O madam! my reaſon has been diſturbed—Do you know that?—You muſt attribute to that, ſome of my perverſeneſſes.

Heaven, deareſt Lady Clementina, only knows how many tears your calamity has coſt me! In the moſt arduous caſes, I have preferred your happineſs to my own. You ſhall know all of me, and of my heart. Not a ſecret of it, tho' yet uncommunicated to this deareſt of men▪ will I conceal from you. I hope we ſhall be true Siſters, and true Friends, to the end of our lives.

My noble Harriet! ſaid the generous man—Frank⯑neſs of heart, my dear Clementina, is her characteri⯑ſtic. She means all ſhe ſays; and will perform more [142] than ſhe promiſes. I need not tell you, my Love, what our Clementina is: You know her to be the nobleſt of women: Give her the promiſed proofs of your confidence in her; and, whatever they be, they muſt draw cloſe the knot which never will be untied.

Already, thus encouraged, ſaid the noble Lady, let me apply to you, madam, to ſtrengthen for me the intereſt I preſume to have in the friendſhip of Sir Charles Grandiſon. Let me not, Sir, let me not, I intreat you all three, be compelled to give my vows to any man in marriage. All of you promiſe me; and I ſhall with more delight look before me, than for a long, long time paſt, I thought would fall to my Lot.

You, madam, muſt concede a little, perhaps: Your parents muſt a little relax. Their reaſon, if you will not be too unconceding, ſhall not, if I am referred to, be mine, unleſs it is reaſon in every other impartial judgment. Would to Heaven they were at hand to be conſulted!

What a wiſh! Then you would give me up! You are a good man: Will a good man reſiſt the autho⯑rity of parents, in favour of a run-away child? Dear, dear madam, claſping her arms about me, prevail up⯑on your Chevalier Grandiſon to protect me, to plead for me: He can deny you nothing: He will then pro⯑tect me, tho' my father, my mother, my brothers, ſhould all join to demand me of him.

My dear Lady Clementina, ſaid I, you may de⯑pend on your own intereſt with Sir Charles Grandiſon. He has your happineſs at heart, and will have, as much as I wiſh him to have mine.

Generous, noble, good Lady Grandiſon! how I admire you! May the Almighty ſhower upon you his choiceſt bleſſings! If you allow me an intereſt in his ſervices, I demand it of you, Chevalier.

Demand it, expect it, be aſſured of it, my dear Lady Clementina. I want to talk with you upon your ex⯑pectations, [143] your wiſhes. As much as is practicable, whatever they are, they ſhall be mine.

Well, Sir, when then ſhall we talk?—To-morrow will be too ſoon for my ſpirits.

Do my Harriet then the honour of paſſing the day on Monday with her. The dear friends we have for our gueſts will chooſe to paſs it with Lord and Lady G.—Yourſelf, Lady L. my Harriet, and I, will be all the company: You ſhall declare your pleaſure, and that ſhall be a Law to me At preſent, this af⯑fecting interview has diſcompoſed us all; and we will retire.

Kindly conſidered! ſaid ſhe: You are in England what you were in Italy—I am diſcompoſed. I have diſcompoſed you, madam! to me. I was born to give trouble to my friends. Forgive me! I once was happy—I may hope, madam, to Lady L. your ſup⯑porting preſence at your brother's on Monday?

Lady L. bowed her aſſent. She underſtands Italian; but ſpeaks it not.

The Lady ſtood up, yet trembling. I will with⯑draw, Ladies, Sir, if you pleaſe. My head ſeems as if bound round by a tight cord (putting her hand to her forehead). Then claſping her arms round me, thus in a high ſtrain ſpoke ſhe—Angel of a woman, gracious as the bleſſed Virgin Mother, benign▪ all that is good and great, I attend you on Monday. Adieu!—She kiſſed my cheek, I claſped my arms about her. Revered Lady Clementina!—I could ſay no more. Tears, and tenderneſs of accent, interrupted my ſpeech. Lady L. conducted her to her own apartment, and left her to her Laura.

We ſat down, admiring, praiſing, praying for her. Dear, dear Sir. ſaid I, taking Sir Charles's hand, Lady Clementina muſt not be perſuaded. Perfuaſion is Compulſion. Why comes over the Count of Bel⯑vedere? If ſhe knows it, I will not anſwer for her right mind.

[144] My Uncle and Aunt, Lucy, Emily, were very cu⯑rious after particulars, when we came home, as we did to ſupper.

Sir Charles left it to Lady L. to manage with Lady G. who he knew expected a day of our beloved gueſts; and he himſelf apologized to them for the freedom he had taken of ſo diſpoſing of them. They had the goodneſs to thank him for his freedom with them. But yet they long to ſee the admirable Lady, who could renounce the man of her choice from religious motives; yet love him ſtill; fly to him for protection; yet be able to congratulate him on his marriage; and love his wife. She is great indeed! ſaid my aunt—Lucy praiſed my generoſity—But what is that which is called generoſity in me, who am in full poſſeſſion of all my wiſhes, to that of Clementina?

Join, my dear grandmamma, in prayers for her happineſs; the rather, as in it, from true affection, is concluded that of

LETTER XXXI. Lady GRANDISON. In Continuation.

LETTER XXXII. Lady GRANDISON. In Continuation.

OUR grief will be your joy, my deareſt grand⯑mamma! My Uncle, my Aunt Lucy, Emily, Mr. Deane!—They are juſt gone: Juſt left me.

What a parting!—But Emily! Dear creature! what was her grief, her noble ſtruggle with herſelf, to conceal her anguiſh from her guardian!

She will now be yours, and my aunt Selby's; and, when once ſettled, will, muſt, be happy; for ſhe is good, and you all love her, and will love her the more for this great inſtance of her nobleneſs of mind.

About half an hour before we parted, ſhe begged to ſpeak a few words to me in my cloſet. I led her thither. When we entered it, ſhe ſhut the door, and dropt down on her knees. I would have raiſed her; but ſhe would not be raiſed. I claſped my arms about her neck. I have revealed all my folly to you, ſaid ſhe. Forgive the weakneſs of a poor girl. A thouſand, thouſand thanks to you, madam, for your indulgent goodneſs to me. I longed to live with you and my guardian. I placed my whole happineſs in the grant. You gave me an opportunity to try the experiment. What I little expected happened: I was more unhappy than before. I revere your grand⯑mamma: She is a bleſſed Lady! How good was ſhe on your wedding-day, to wiſh me, poor me! to ſup⯑ply to her the loſs of her Harriet! Her goodneſs, her condeſcenſion, that of all your family, overcame me: It would not, perhaps, had I not tried the other ex⯑periment. All that I have now to beg of you, is, to pardon me for the trouble I muſt have given to your noble heart: It is a noble heart, or it could not have borne with me as it has done. But promiſe to write a [153] Letter to me once a fortnight—and permit me to write to you once a week; and I ſhall think myſelf a happy creature. Not a thought of my heart but I will re⯑veal to you.

I do promiſe, my Love, my Emily. The corre⯑ſpondence between us will delight me. Nobody ſhall ſee any of our Letters, but at your choice.

Lady L. Lady G. may, madam: They love the poor Emily. Nobody elſe may, I believe; I ſhall write ſo poorly!—But I ſhall improve as I have more years, and more ſenſe. But my preſent concern is more for Lady Clementina than for myſelf. Poor Lady! Pray write ſomething of her friends behaviour to her, and hers to them, to me particularly, beſides what you write to your grandmamma: I ſhall take it for ſuch a favour! And it will make me look ſo im⯑portant! You don't know how proud it will make me; and it will induce your Lucy, and every-body, to ſhew me every-thing you write to them; and I ſhall have it in my power to read out of your Letters to me ſomething in return; which will look like an acquittal of obligation.

All that ſhe wiſhed me to do, and ſtill more, as occaſions offered, I promiſed.

She aroſe from her knees, called me by many tender names; kiſſed one cheek, then the other; then one hand, then the other. I folded her to my fond heart: My Siſter, my Friend, my Emily, I called her. We wetted each other's Boſom with our tears; and both went down with red eyes.

Extremely tender, but delicate, was the leave ſhe took of her guardian. The Brother, the affectionate Friend, and Father, I may ſay, appeared in his un⯑reſerved tenderneſs to her. She hurried into my uncle's coach, which ſtood ready, when ſhe parted with him, that her emotion might not be too viſible. I haſtening in after her, leſt ſhe ſhould be too much [154] affected; while my Aunt, Lucy, and my Uncle, were taking their leaves in the hall.

My deareſt Emily, I admire you! ſaid I. Do you, do you!—Beſt of wives, of women, of friends, of ſiſters, do you ſay ſo?—I behaved not amiſs, then?

Amiſs! No, my dear: Charmingly, my Love! You are great as ever woman was.

How you comfort me!

Adieu, adieu! my beſt Love! ſaid I.—My beſt Lady Grandiſon! ſaid ſhe: Both in a breath, as from one heart, embracing; and quitting each other with regret; her arms folded about herſelf, when I left her; as if I were ſtill within them.

I gave my hand to Sir Edward Beauchamp, on ſtepping out of the coach; for he was ready to attend them; and hurrying into the hall, threw myſelf into the arms of my aunt. My Love, ſaid ſhe, take care of yourſelf: Emily ſhall not need to be your concern: She will be our Harriet.

Indeed ſhe ſhall, ſaid Lucy. Dear girl, ſhe ſhall be mine: And, thank God, I now have two Harriets inſtead of one.

My uncle wept like a child at parting with me. He would have carried it off, ſmiling in his tears. What, what, ſobbed he, ſhall I do for my girl! I ſhall miſs, I ſhall miſs, your ſau-ſau-ſaucineſs ſometimes—Was I ever angry with you in my Life?

Mr. Deane comforted himſelf, that he ſhould but ſettle his affairs at Peterborough, and then would make our reſidence his, where-ever we ſhould be.

All of them departed bleſſing us, and we them; hoping for a ſpeedy meeting in Northamptonſhire. Every one expreſs'd their ſolicitude for the happineſs of Lady Clementina, as well for her own ſake, as for Sir Charles's and mine.

God give you, and my deareſt, deareſt friends, now [155] on their journey to you, a happy meeting, with every felicity that on this earth can fall to the lot of perſons ſo dear to the heart of

LETTER XXXIII. Signor JERONYMO, To Sir CHARLES GRANDISON.

HERE we are, my Grandiſon; my father and mother ſo indifferent in their healths, that we ſhall have time to wait for your direction. My mo⯑ther was ſo incommoded, that we put in at Antibes; and by ſlow journeys, ſtopping a few days at Paris, proceeded to Calais, where we hired a veſſel to bring us hither. My Brother, and Father Mareſcotti, are indiſpoſed. Camilla is not well. Mrs. Beaumont, to whom we owe infinite obligations, is the life of us all.

Have you heard of the dear fugitive, who has given us all ſo much diſturbance, and, at this ſeaſon of the year, ſo much fatigue? God grant that ſhe may be ſafe in your protection, and in her right mind! Had ſhe been ſo at the time▪ ſhe had never meditated ſuch a wild, ſuch a diſgraceful flight. The heart of the Count of Belvedere is torn in pieces by his impatience. He will ſoon follow the man and horſe whom we di⯑ſpatch with this. Signor Sebaſtiano will accompany him. Juliano will ſtay with us. The fatigue has been rather too much for your Jeronymo: But he rejoices, that he has his foot on Engliſh ground; the country that gave birth to his Grandiſon; and in his hopes of ſeeing his kind and ſkilful Lowther. God grant us a happy meeting; and that no interruption may have been given to your nuptial happineſs, by the extravagance of a young creature, which can [156] only be accounted for in her, by the unhappy diſor⯑der of her mind! Adieu, Adieu, my Grandiſon!

LETTER XXXIV. Lady GRANDISON, To Mrs. SHIRLEY.

LETTER XXXV. Lady GRANDISON. In Continuation.

LETTER XXXVI. Lady GRANDISON. In Continuation.

LETTER XXXVII. Lady GRANDISON. In Continuation.

LETTER XXXVIII. Lady GRANDISON. In Continuation.

NOW for particulars of what paſſed yeſterday. Sir Charles is gone to Groſvenor-Square, to en⯑quire after the health and compoſure of his noble gueſts there.

When I called upon Lady Clementina yeſterday, five o'clock, I found her greatly diſtreſſed with her [179] own apprehenſions. I muſt, ſaid ſhe to me, be a guiltier creature than I had allowed myſelf to think I was: Why elſe am I ſo aſhamed, ſo afraid, to ſee parents whom I ever honoured, brothers and friends whom I ever loved?—O Lady Grandiſon! What a diſpiriting thing is the conſciouſneſs of having done amiſs! And to a proud heart too!

Then looking upon the written plan, Let me ſee, ſaid ſhe, what I am to ſign. Theſe were the remarks ſhe made upon them, as ſhe read:

(1.) Hard, hard article, the firſt! But your Gran⯑diſon, madam, my fourth brother, my friend, my protector, tells me, that I ſhall diſcharge all the obli⯑gations he ever laid upon me, if I will ſign it.—I ſubmit.

(2.) How flattering to my pride; to my hopes of doing good to the indigent and unhappy!

(3.) Nominating my attendants—my confeſſor—Kind, conſiderate Grandiſon! If I give up the firſt wiſh of my heart, I ſhall not inſiſt upon theſe ſtipu⯑lations in my favour. My parents ſhall have, in theſe caſes, affirmative and negative too. Indeed I deſire not in any article to be independent of them.

(4.) A grateful article! I acknowlege, Chevalier, your protection with gratitude, in this ſtipulation.

(5.) If my friends promiſe, they will perform. Ours is a family of untainted honour. I hope my Brother Giacomo will be anſwered for by his Brothers in theſe articles: But he will hate me, I fear.

Generous Grandiſon! what tempting propoſals do you conclude with! And you, Lady Grandiſon, are ſo good as to ſay, that my happineſs is wanting to complete yours—That is a motive, I aſſure you. Lead me, madam, and do you, my dear Lady L. (my hoſpitable other protectreſs) oblige me with your countenance too. A woman of your honour and goodneſs, Siſter of the Chevalier Grandiſon, acknow⯑leging me your gueſt, and anſwering for my behaviour, [180] will credit the abject Clementina in the eyes of her forgiving relations.—Sir Charles Grandiſon there be⯑fore me, to prepare them to receive graciouſly the fu⯑gitive!—Lead me on, while I can be led: I will at⯑tend you.

She looked wild and diſordered; and, giving each of us a hand, we led her to the coach. But, at ſtep⯑ping in, ſhe trembled, faltered, and ſeemed greatly diſturbed. We conſoled her all we could; and the coach drove to Groſvenor-Square. When it ſtopt, ſhe threw her arms about Lady L. and, hiding her face in her boſom, called upon the Bleſſed Virgin to ſupport her—How, how, ſaid ſhe, can I look my Fa⯑ther, my Mother, in the face!

Sir Charles, on the coach ſtopping, appeared. He ſaw her emotion. It is kind, my Harriet! It is kind, Lady L. to accompany Lady Clementina.—Your goodneſs will be rewarded in being eye-witneſſes of the moſt gracious reception that ever indulgent pa⯑rents gave to a long abſent daughter.

Ah, Chevalier! was all ſhe could ſay.

Let me conduct you, deareſt Lady Clementina, into a drawing-room, where you will ſee no other perſon but whom you now ſee, till your recovered ſpirits ſhall rejoice the deareſt of friends.

I was afraid ſhe was too much diſcompoſed to at⯑tend to this conſiderate expedient. I repeated, there⯑fore, what Sir Charles laſt ſaid. She was viſibly en⯑couraged by it. She gave him her trembling hand; and he led her into the prepared drawing-room. Lady L. and I followed, and took our ſeats on each hand of her; Sir Charles his over-againſt her. Our of⯑fered ſalts, and ſoothing, with difficulty kept her from fainting.

When ſhe was a little revived—Huſh! ſaid ſhe, with her finger held up, and wildneſs in her looks, caſting her eyes to the doors and windows in turn: They will hear us!—Further recovering herſelf—O [181] Chevalier! ſaid ſhe, what ſhall I ſay? How ſhall I look? What ſhall I do?—And am I, am I, indeed, in the ſame houſe with my Father, Mother, Jero⯑nymo? Who elſe? Who elſe? with quickneſs.

It is ſo ordered, my deareſt Clementina, ſaid Sir Charles, in love and tenderneſs to you, that you ſhall only ſee your Mother firſt; then your Father—At your own pleaſure, your Brothers, Mrs. Beaumont, Father Mareſcotti.

Sir Charles was ſent for out—Don't, don't leave me, Sir. Then looking to Lady L. and then to me—You are all goodneſs, Ladies—Don't leave me.

Sir Charles inſtantly returned: Your Mamma, ma⯑dam, all indulgence, is impatient to fold you to her heart. What joy will you give her?

He offered his hand. She gave him hers; mo⯑tioning for out attendance. Sir Charles led her, we following, into the room where was her expecting Mother. The moment each ſaw the other, they ran with open arms to each other. O my Mamma!—My Clementina!—was all that either could ſay. They ſunk down on the floor, the Mother's arms about the Daughter's neck; the Daughter's about the Mother's waiſt.

Sir Charles lifted them up, and ſeated them cloſe to each other—Pardon! Pardon! Pardon! ſaid the dear Lady, hands and eyes lifted up, ſliding out of her Mother's arms on her knees—But at that moment could ſay no more.

The Marquis, not being able longer to contain him⯑ſelf, ruſhed in—My Daughter! my Child! my Cle⯑mentina! Once more do I ſee my Child!

Sir Charles had half-lifted her up, when her Father entered. She ſunk down again, proſtrate on the floor, her arms extended: O my Father! Forgive!—Forgive me, O my Father!

He raiſed her up, by Sir Charles's aſſiſtance; and, ſeating her between himſelf and his Lady, both again [182] wrapt their arms about her. She repeated prayers for forgiveneſs, in broken accents: Bleſſings, in accents as broken, flowed from their hearts to their lips.

After the firſt emotions, when they could ſpeak, and ſhe now-and-then could look up, which ſhe did by ſnatches, as it were, her eyes preſently falling un⯑der theirs, Behold, madam, Behold, my Lord, ſaid ſhe, the hoſpitable Lady to whom—Looking at Lady L. Behold, looking at me, a more than woman; an Angel—More ſhe would have ſaid; but ſeemed at a loſs for words.

We have before ſeen and admired, ſaid the Mar⯑quis, in Lady Grandiſon, the nobleſt of all women.

He aroſe to approach us: Sir Charles led us both to them.

Lady Clementina ſnatched firſt my hand, and eagerly preſſed it with her lips; then Lady L's: Her heart was full: She ſeemed to want to ſpeak; but could not: And Lady L. and I, with overflowing eyes, congratulated the Father, Mother, Daughter; and were bleſſed in ſpeech by the two former; by hands and eyes lifted up, by Lady Clementina.

Sir Charles then withdrawing, returned with the Biſhop, and Signor Jeronymo. It is hard to ſay, whether theſe two Lords ſhewed more joy, than Cle⯑mentina did ſhame and confuſion. She offered at begging pardon: But the Biſhop ſaid, Not one word of paſt afflictions! Nobody is in fault. We are all happy once more; and happy on the conditions pre⯑ſcribed to both by this friend of mankind in general, and of our family in particular.

My ever noble, my venerable brother, ſaid Jero⯑nymo (who had claſped his Siſter to his fond heart, his eyes running over) how I love you for this un⯑called for aſſurance to the dear Clementina! Every article of my Grandiſon's plan ſhall be carried into execution. We will rejoice with the Chevalier in his England—And he, and all who are dear to him, ſhall accompany us to Italy. We will be all one family.

[183] Sir Charles then introduced to the Lady his greatly and juſtly eſteemed Mrs. Beaumont. Clementina threw herſelf into her arms. Forgive me, my dear Mrs. Beaumont! If you forgive me, Virtue will. Pardon the poor creature, who never, never, would have ſo much diſgraced your leſſons, and her mam⯑ma's example, as ſhe has done, had not a heavy cloud darkened her unhappy mind. Say you forgive me, as the beſt and moſt indulgent of parents, and the kindeſt of brothers, have done.

It was not your fault, my dear Lady Clementina, but your misfortune. You never was ſo much to be blamed as pitied. All here are of one ſentiment. We came over to heal your wounded mind: Be it healed, and every one will be happy; yes, more hap⯑py perhaps (for now we all underſtand one another,) than if you had not left us to mourn your abſence.

Bleſſed be my Comforter, my Friend, my beloved Mrs. Beaumont! You always knew how to blunt the keen edge of calamity: What a ſuperior woman are you!

Father Mareſcotti was introduced by the Marquis himſelf, with a reſpect worthy of his piety and good⯑neſs. I ſubmit, Father, ſaid Lady Clementina, be⯑fore he could ſpeak, to any penance you ſhall inflict.

His voice would not befriend him: His action, however, ſhewed him to be all joy and congratulation.

I have been wicked, very wicked, continued ſhe—But Mrs. Beaumont ſays, and ſhe ſays juſtly, that I merited pity, rather than blame. Yet if you think not ſo, you, who are the keeper of my conſcience, ſpare me not.

Who, who, ſaid the good man recovering ſpeech, ſhall condemn, when father, mother, and brothers, ſo zealous for the honour of their family, acquit! God forgive you, my deareſt Lady! And God for⯑give us all!

My deareſt Chevalier Grandiſon, ſaid Jeronymo, [184] what gratitude, what obligations, do we owe to you, and your admirable Lady and Siſters! Again I ac⯑knowlege the obligation for a whole family, from this hour a happy one, I hope.

It had been agreed between the family and Sir Charles, that not a word ſhould be mentioned to Lady Clementina of the Count of Belvedere. They requeſted Sir Charles to take upon himſelf the break⯑ing to her, that he was in England, in his own man⯑ner, as opportunity ſhould offer.

Every one having been greatly affected, Sir Charles propoſed to take leave; and that Lady Clementina ſhould return to Lady L's for that night, as prepara⯑tion might not have been made for her ſtay in Groſ⯑venor-Square: But all the family, with one voice, declared they could not part with the reſtored daughter and ſiſter of their hopes: And ſhe herſelf chearfully conſented to ſtay; gratefully, however, with a bent knee, thanking Lady L. for her ſiſterly treatment.

Who, in the general joy, ſaid Sir Charles, has remembred the good Camilla? Let Camilla congra⯑tulate her Lady and all of us, on this happy occaſion.

Every-one called out for Camilla. In ran the worthy creature. On her knees ſhe embraced her young Lady's, and wept for joy. Ah! my Camilla, my friend Camilla! ſaid Clementina, claſping her arms about her neck, I have been cruel to you: But it was not I—Alas! alas! I was not always myſelf—I will endeavour to repair your wrongs.

Thank God that I once more claſp my dear young Lady to my heart!—I have no wrongs to complain of.

Yes, yes, you have, kind Camilla: I wanted to elude your watchful duty; and was too cunning to be juſt to my Camilla.

Sir Charles forgot not to commend Laura to for⯑giveneſs and favour. Laura, ſaid Lady Clementina, is blameleſs. She obeyed me with reluctance. If I am myſelf forgiven, forgive Laura.

[185] My deareſt Love, ſaid the Marchioneſs, we have agreed, that you ſhall chooſe your own ſervants. The Chevalier, we have no doubt, had Laura in his thoughts, when he made that ſtipulation; the Engliſh youth too. You, my Clementina, muſt have it in your power to do with theſe as you pleaſe.

May I be permitted, my Lords, ſaid Sir Charles, to make one requeſt for myſelf to Lady Clementina; a requeſt which ſhall be conſiſtent with the articles you will all ſign?

I will agree to a requeſt of yours, Chevalier, ſaid the Lady, be it almoſt what it will.

I will not, madam, make it to-day, nor to-morrow. After the hurry of ſpirits we have all ſuſtained, let to⯑morrow be a day of compoſure. Permit me to expect you all at dinner with me on Friday. The articles then may be ſigned: And then, but not before, I will mention my requeſt, and hope it will be granted.

Sir Charles's invitation was politely accepted; and to-morrow—

Lady Clementina and Mrs. Beaumont below!—Agreeable ſurprize!

SIR Charles had been out, and was juſt come in when the two Ladies alighted. I was overjoyed to ſee them, and to ſee Lady Clementina ſerene, and ſeem⯑ingly not unhappy. We are come, ſaid Mrs. Beau⯑mont, to make our earlieſt acknowlegements for the happineſs reſtored to a whole family. Lady Clemen⯑tina could not be eaſy till ſhe had paid her perſonal thanks to Lady Grandiſon, for the ſupport her pre⯑ſence gave her yeſterday.

Gratitude, ſaid the Lady, fills my her: But how, Chevalier, ſhall I expreſs it? I beſeech you, let me know your requeſt. Tell me, dear Lady Grandiſon, wherein I can oblige my fourth brother?

My deareſt Lady Clementina, ſaid Sir Charles, for⯑tify your heart againſt a gentle (I hope it will then be [186] but a gentle) ſurprize. You have not yet ſigned, your Relations have not, I preſume, the articles to which you have mutually agreed.

Sir! Chevalier! Sir!

Let me not alarm you, madam.

He put one of her hands in mine; and took the other in a very tender manner, in his.

You intend to ſign them?—They do, I am ſure. To-morrow, when we are all together, they will be ſigned on both ſides.

I hope ſo—They will not, Chevalier, be receded from?

They will not, madam: And hence you will be aſſured, that the Count of Belvedere will never be propoſed to you with any degree of urgency.

I hope not, I hope not, ſaid ſhe with quickneſs.

Should you, madam, on your return to Italy, be unwilling to ſee the Count as a friend of your family, as a reſpecter of your great qualities, as a country⯑man?

I ſhall always regard the Count of Belvedere as a man of honour, as a friend of my Brother Giacomo, of all our family—But I cannot place him in any other light. What means the Chevalier Grandiſon? Keep not my mind in ſuſpenſe.

I will not. Your father, your mother, your bro⯑thers, came over in hopes, that you might be pre⯑vailed upon in the Count's favour. They have given up that hope—

They have, Sir!

And will abſolutely leave you to your own will, to your own wiſhes, on the condition to which you have agreed to ſign—But ſhall I aſk you—Were the Count to be in France, would you allow him to come over, and take leave of your family and you, before he ſets out for the court of Madrid?

What, Sir! as a man who had hopes from me of more than my good wiſhes?

[187] No, madam; only as a friend to the whole family—not requeſting any other favour, now he ſees you ſo determined, than your good wiſhes, your prayers, for him, as you will ever have his for you.

I can conſent in that view: But were any other favour to be hoped from me; were my generoſity to be expected to be prevailed upon—O Chevalier! Lady Grandiſon! Mrs. Beaumont! Let me not be attempted in this way: The articles would be broken: This would be perſuaſion, and that compulſion.

Nothing, madam, of this kind is intended. The articles will be inviolably obſerved on the part of your relations. But here Mrs. Beaumont, who never in⯑tended to ſet her foot on the Engliſh ſhore, to oblige and comfort your mother, is come to England: And in the general grief that was occaſioned by your ab⯑ſenting yourſelf, if the man, who was always deſervedly eſteemed by your family, had accompanied, had at⯑tended, your father, your brothers—

Sir Charles ſtopt, and looked at the apprehenſive Lady with ſuch a ſweet benignity, and, on her eye meeting his, with ſuch tender and downcaſt modeſty (all the graces of gentle perſuaſion are his!)—

O Chevalier! your requeſt! your requeſt! Tell me in what I can oblige the moſt obliging of friends, of men!

I will tell you, madam—bowing on the hand he held—Conſent, if it be not with too much pain to yourſelf, to ſee the Count of Belvedere.

See him, Sir! How? When? Where? As what?

As a friend to your family—a well-wiſher to your glory, your happineſs; and as a man ready and de⯑ſirous to promote the latter at the expence of his own. He wiſhes but, while he ſtays here—

"Stays here," Sir!

To be allowed to viſit your family, and to ſee you once, twice, thrice, as you pleaſe—but entirely un⯑der the conditions of the articles to be ſigned to-mor⯑row.

[188] And is then the Count in England?

He is, madam. He attended his and your friends over. He has not once deſired to appear in your pre⯑ſence: He keeps himſelf cloſe in private lodgings. Hence judge of his reſolution not to diſturb or offend you. He will depart the kingdom without an inter⯑view, if you will have it ſo: But I could not bear, that ſo good a man ſhould be obliged to depart diſ⯑gracefully, as I may ſay, and as if he were undeſerving of pity, tho' he could not obtain favour.

O Chevalier!

Secured, madam, by the articles, tho' his emo⯑tion may be apprehended to be great, yours cannot—There is not the ſame reaſon for the one as for the other: I make it my requeſt, that the Count of Bel⯑vedere may be allowed, as one of the choſen friends of your houſe, but as no more (more the articles for⯑bid) a place at my table to-morrow.

To-morrow, Sir! and I at it!—

He bowed affirmatively.

O how the penetrating man looked into the heart of the Lady at her eyes!—As ſure us you are alive, madam, he thought of gueſſing by her then emotion, whether any hopes could diſtantly lie for the Count, by the conſequence his preſence or abſence would give him with her.

She pauſed—At laſt—And is this, Chevalier, the requeſt you had to make me?

It is, madam; and if my Harriet had not had the honour of this viſit, I ſhould have made the ſame re⯑queſt for his admiſſion in the evening to-morrow—as now I do to dinner.

Well, Sir; I can ſuſpect no double-dealing from Sir Charles Grandiſon.

I aſk for no favour for the Count more than I have mentioned, madam: I am bound by the articles I have drawn, as if I were a party to them.

Well, Sir, I conſent to ſee the Count. He will [189] be prudent. I hope I ſhall be ſo. In Italy, more than once, after you had left it, I ſaw him: And I always wiſhed him happy.

Now, my deareſt Siſter, ſaid Sir Charles, my ever-to-be-reſpected friend, I am eaſy in my mind. I could not bear in my thoughts, that any-thing I knew, which it concerned you to know, ſhould be concealed from you.

Tears ſtood in her eyes. O madam, ſaid ſhe to me, God and you only can reward this excellent man for his goodneſs to me, and all the world that know him.—You ſee your influence, Chevalier. In every way do I wiſh to ſhew my gratitude. But never, never, aſk me to give my hand in marriage.

Ah! my dear Lady! thought I; a tear ſtealing involuntarily down my cheek; the leſs, the leſs, I doubt, muſt you be aſked, for having before you a man, who having no equal, you cannot think of any other.

The two Ladies hurried away to Lady L's. How ſincerely has the friendly heart of dear Lady L. been affected in all theſe tender ſcenes!

LETTER XXXIX. Lady GRANDISON. In Continuation.

LETTER XL. Lady GRANDISON, To Mrs. SHIRLEY.

NOW, my dear grandmamma, let me give you ſome account of what paſſed yeſterday.

The Articles ſigned and witneſſed, were put into Lady Clementina's hand, and a pen given her, that ſhe might write her name, in the preſence of all her ſurrounding friends here.

Never woman appeared with more dignity in her air and manner. She was charmingly dreſſed, and became her dreſs. A truly lovely woman! But eve⯑ry one by looks ſeemed concerned at her ſolemnity. She ſigned her name; but tore off, deliberately, their names; and kiſſing the torn bit, put it in her bo⯑ſom: Then, throwing herſelf on her knees to her father and mother, who ſtood together, and preſent⯑ing the paper to the former; Never let it be ſaid, that your child, your Clementina, has preſumed to article in form with the deareſt of parents. My name ſtands. It will be a witneſs againſt me, if I break the articles which I have ſigned. But in your for⯑giveneſs, my Lord, in yours, madam, and in a thou⯑ſand acts of indulgence, I have too much experienced your paſt, to doubt your future, goodneſs to me. Your intention, my ever honoured parents, is your act. I pray to God to enable your Clementina to be all you wiſh her to be. In the ſingle Life only in⯑dulge me. Your word is all the aſſurance I wiſh for. I will have no other.

They embraced her. They tenderly raiſed her between them; and again embraced her.

I would not, methinks, Sir, ſaid ſhe, turning to Sir Charles, for the firſt time ſee the Count of Bel⯑vedere before all this company, tho' I revere every one in it. Is the Count in the houſe?

[193] He is in my Study, madam.

Will my mamma, ſaid ſhe, turning to her, honour me with her preſence?

She gave her hand to Sir Charles, and took mine.—Jeronymo followed her; and Sir Charles led her into the next room. Too great ſolemnity in all this! whiſper⯑ed the Marquis to Father Mareſcotti. She courtefied, invitingly, to Mrs Beaumont. She alſo followed her.

Sir Charles, ſeating her and the Marchioneſs, by the young Lady's ſilent permiſſion, went into his Study; and, having prepared the Count to expect a ſolemn and uncommon reception, introduced him. He approached her, profoundly bowing: A ſweet bluſh overſpread her cheeks▪ You, my Lord of Bel⯑vedere, ſaid ſhe, are one of thoſe my friends, to whom I am, in ſome meaſure, accountable for the raſh ſtep which brought me into this kingdom; be⯑cauſe it has induced you to accompany my brothers, whom you have always honoured with your friend⯑ſhip.—Forgive me for any inconveniencies you have ſuffered on this occaſion.

What honour does Lady Clementina do me to rank me in the number of the friends to whom ſhe thinks herſelf accountable!—Believe me, madam—

My Lord, interrupted ſhe, I ſhall always regard you as the friend of my family, and as my friend. I ſhall wiſh your happineſs, I do wiſh your happineſs, as my own; and I cannot give you a better proof that I do, than by with-holding from you the hand which you have ſought to obtain with an unſhaken, and my friends think, an obliging perſeverance, quite thro' an unhappy malady, which ought to have deterred you, for many ſakes, and moſt for your own.

My dear mamma, throwing herſelf at her feet, forgive me for my perſeverance. It is not altogether owing (I hope it is not at all owing) to perverſeneſs, and to a wilful reſiſtance of the wills and wiſhes of all my friends, that I have withſtood you. Two reaſons [194] influenced me, when I declined another hand: Reli⯑gion and Country, a double reaſon, was one; the un⯑happy malady which had ſeized me, was another. Two reaſons, riſing with dignity, and turning from her weeping mother, alſo influence me with regard to the Count of Belvedere; tho' neither of them are the important articles of Religion and Country. I own to you, before theſe my deareſt friends, and let it be told to every one concerned to know it, that juſtice to the Count of Belvedere is one—What a wretch ſhould I be, if I gave my hand to a man who had not the preference in my heart, which is a huſband's due!—And ſhould I, who had an unhappy reaſon to refuſe one worthy man for his own ſake, perhaps for the ſakes of the unborn (I will ſpeak out on this impor⯑tant occaſion) not be determined to do as much juſtice to another?—In one word, I refuſed to puniſh the Chevalier Grandiſon [Madam, to me, you know my ſtory]: What has the Count of Belvedere done, that I ſhould make no ſcruple to puniſh him? My good Lord, be ſatisfied with my wiſhes for your hap⯑pineſs. I find myſelf, at times, very, very wrong. I have given proofs but too convincing to all my friends, that I am not right.—While I ſo think, conſcience, ho⯑nour, juſtice (as I told you once before, my good Che⯑valier) compel me to embrace the Single Life.—I have, in duty to my neareſt friends, given up the way I ſhould have choſen to lead it in—Let me try to recover myſelf in their way. My deareſt, deareſt, mamma (again dropping on her knees to her) I will endeavour to make all my friends happy in the way they have agreed to make me ſo. Pray for me, all my friends!—looking round her, tears in big drops trickling down her cheeks. Then riſing, Pray for me, my Lord of Belvedere: I will for you; and that you may do juſtice to the merit of ſome worthier woman, who can do juſtice to yours.

She hurried from us, in a way which ſhewed ſhe [195] was too much elevated for her corporal powers. Sir Charles beſought Mrs. Beaumont to follow her. Mrs. Beaumont took my hand.

We found the Lady in the Study: She was on her knees, and in tears. She aroſe at our entrance Each of us haſtening to give her a hand, O my dear Lady Grandiſon, ſaid ſhe, forgive me.—My dear Mrs. Beaumont, am I, am I wrong? Tell me, Have I be⯑haved amiſs?

We both applauded her. Well we might. If her greatneſs be owing to a raiſed imagination, who ſhall call it a malady? Who, but for the dear Lady's own ſake, would regret the next-to-divine impulſe, by which, on ſeveral occaſions, ſhe has ſhewn her⯑ſelf actuated?

She ſuffered herſelf to be led to her mother, who embracing her (Clementina again kneeling to her) My deareſt child, my bleſſed daughter, we all of us, while ſuch are your apprehenſions, muſt acquieſce with your reaſons. Be happy, my Love, in your own magnanimity. I glory in my child.

And I in my Siſter, ſaid the noble Jeronymo—Saint! Angel! kneeling to her on one knee, not⯑withſtanding his lameneſs, I next to adore my Siſter.

She called him her brother, her true brother. Then, taking my hand; And will you, Lady Grandiſon, ſaid ſhe, be my Siſter? Shall Sir Charles Grandiſon be my Brother? Will you return with us into Italy? Shall we cultivate on both ſides a family-friendſhip to the end of our lives?

I threw my arms about her neck, tears mingling on the cheeks of both: It will be my ambition, my great ambition, to deſerve the diſtinction you give me—My Siſter, my Friend, the Siſter of my beſt Friend, love him as he honours you; and me for his ſake, as I will you for your own, as well as his, to the end of my life

Sir Charles claſped his arms about us both. His [196] eyes ſpoke his admiration of her, and his delight in each. Angels he called us. Then ſeating us, he took the Count's hand; and, leading him to her, Let me, madam, preſent to you the Count of Belvedere, as a man equally to be pitied and eſteemed. He yields to your magnanimity with a greatneſs of mind like your own. Receive then, acknowlege, the friend in him. He will endeavour to forego a dearer hope.

Then will I receive him as my friend. I thank you, my Lord, for the honour you have ſo long done me. May you be happy with a woman, who can de⯑ſerve you!—See that happy pair before you! May you be as happy as Sir Charles Grandiſon!—What greater felicity can I wiſh you?

He took her hand: On one knee he lifted it to his lips: I will tear from you, madam, a tormentor. I muſt aſk nothing of you; but, for myſelf, I can only promiſe, in the words of the Chevalier Grandi⯑ſon, to endeavour to forego, a dearer, the deareſt, hope.

The Count aroſe, bowing to her with profound reſpect; his eyes full; as his heart ſeemed to be. Signor Jeronymo motioned to return to the company. Lady Clementina wiſhed to retire with me, till what had paſſed was related to the reſt. I led her to my cloſet. There did we renew our vows of everlaſting friendſhip.

Sir Charles, thinking the relation would be painful to the Count, withdrew with him into his Study. Mrs. Beaumont, and Signor Jeronymo, told thoſe who were not preſent at the affecting ſcenes, what had paſſed.

When we were ſummoned to dinner, every one re⯑ceived Lady Clementina as an Angel. They ap⯑plauded her for her noble behaviour to the Count, and bleſſed themſelves for having taken the reſolution of coming to England; and, moſt of all, they bleſſed my dear Sir Charles; to whom they aſcribed all their open⯑ing [197] happy proſpects; and promiſed themſelves that his family and theirs would be as much one, as if the alli⯑ance, once ſo near taking place, had actually done ſo.

Sir Charles, at and after dinner, urged the carry⯑ing into execution the latter part of his beneficent plan. He offered to attend them to the Drawing⯑room, to the Play, to the Oratorios (and took that op⯑portunity to give the praiſes which every-body allows to be due to Mr. Handel); and to every place of Public Entertainment which was worthy the notice of Foreigners; and left it to their choice, whether they would go firſt to Grandiſon-hall, or ſatisfy their curioſity in and about town.

The Marquis ſaid, that as Sir Charles and I were brought out of the country by the arrival of their Clementina, and our expectation of them, he doubted not but it would be moſt agreeable to us, to return to our own ſeat; adding, politely, that the higheſt entertainment they could have, would be the com⯑pany and converſation of us, and our friends; and that rather at our own ſeats, than any-where elſe. The public diverſions, he was pleaſed to ſay, might take their attention afterwards. Now they were here, they would not be in haſte to return, provided Sir Charles and his friends would anſwer the hope he had given of accompanying them back to Italy.

There is no repeating the polite and agreeable things, that were ſaid on all ſides.

Well then, my dear grandmamma, to cut ſhort, thus it was at laſt agreed upon:

The Count of Belvedere, who, all the afternoon and evening, received the higheſt marks of civility and politeneſs from the admirable Clementina (which, by the way, I am afraid will not promote his cure) pro⯑poſes, with Signors Sebaſtiano and Juliano, to paſs a month or ſix weeks in ſeeing every-thing which they ſhall think worthy of their notice in and about this great city; and then, after one farewel-viſit to us, [198] they intend to ſet out together for the Court of Madrid; where the Count intends to ſtay ſome months.

We ſhall all ſet out, on Monday next, for Grandi⯑ſon-hall.

Lord and Lady L. will follow us in a week or fortnight.

How will the poor dear Charlotte mutter! whiſ⯑pered Lady L. to me: But ſhe and her Lord will join us as ſoon as poſſible.

Mrs. Eleanor Grandiſon loves not the Hall, be⯑cauſe of the hardſhips ſhe received from the late owner of it, Sir Thomas; and thinks herſelf bound by a raſh vow which ſhe made the laſt time ſhe was there, Never again to enter its gates: And ſhe will be delighted, Lady L. ſays, in attending, in the ab⯑ſence of the fathers and mothers, the dear little in⯑fants of her two nieces.

Lady Clementina whiſpered me more than once, how happy ſhe ſhould think herſelf in theſe excur⯑ſions; and hoped all their healths would be eſtabliſh⯑ed by them. She ſaid the ſweeteſt, the moſt affec⯑tionate things to me. Once ſhe ſaid, bidding me call her nothing but my Clementina, that ſhe ſhould be happy, if ſhe were ſure I loved her as much as ſhe loved me. I aſſured her, and that from my very heart, that I dearly loved her.

Surely it was a happy incident, my dear grand⯑mamma, that Lady Clementina took a ſtep, which, tho' at firſt it had a raſh appearance, has been pro⯑ductive of ſo much joy to all round (to the poor Count of Belvedere excepted) and, in particular, to

LETTER XLI. Lady GRANDISON, To Lady G.

HOW happy, my dear Lady G. are we all of us here, in one another! How happy is your Har⯑riet!—And yet when you can come, and partake of my felicity, it will be ſtill enlarged.

I have juſt now received a Letter from Lucy. The conſents, as you will ſee (for I ſhall incloſe it) are a converſation that paſſed a few days ago at Shirley⯑manor, upon a ſubject of which you are a better judge than your Harriet. In ſhort, it is a call upon you, as I interpret it, to ſupport your own doctrine; by which, in former Letters, you have made ſome of the honeſteſt girls in England, half-aſhamed to own a firſt paſſion. You know how much I am at preſent engaged. I would not have the dear girls neglected. Anſwer the Letter therefore for me, and for yourſelf; yet, remember, that I do not engage to abide implicit⯑ly by your determination. Ever, ever, my Charlotte,

LETTER XLII. Miſs LUCY SELBY, To Lady GRANDISON.

EVERY hour in the day ſome circumſtance or other makes me wiſh my dear Lady Grandiſon in Northamptonſhire. Emily charms us all—But ſtill every object reminds us of our Harriet. Not that Harriet alone would content us now. Nor could Sir Charles and Lady Grandiſon be at this time ſpared by their noble gueſt. After all therefore, every-thing [200] is beſt as it is. But indeed we all wiſhed for you yeſter⯑day evening, moſt particularly, at Shirley-manor. The converſation was an intereſting one to all us girls; and Emily, Nancy, and our couſin Holles's, have brought me to give you an account of it, and to appeal to you upon it; and through you to Lady G. And yet we are all of us more than half afraid of a Lady, who has already treated but lightly, a ſubject that young women think of high importance.

The converſation began with my couſin Kitty's greatly pitying Lady Clementina; deſcribing in her pathetic way, the ſtruggles ſhe had had between her firſt duties and her inclination; the noble preference ſhe had given to the former; and the perſecution, as ſhe called it, of all her friends to induce her to marry when ſhe choſe to live ſingle all her life. Every one of us young folks joined with my couſin Kitty.

But your grandmamma Shirley could not, ſhe ſaid, perfectly agree with us in the hardſhip of Lady Cle⯑mentina's ſituation; who having from noble motives ſpontaneouſly rejected the man of her choice, was, from reaſons of family convenience, and even of perſonal happineſs, urged to marry a nobleman, who, by all accounts, is highly deſerving and agreeable, and every⯑way ſuitable to her: A man in ſhort, to whom ſhe pretended not an averſion; nor hoped nor wiſhed to be the wife of any other man; propoſing to herſelf only the Single Life, and having given up all thoughts of taking the veil.

Perſonal happineſs! cried out Miſs Kitty Holles: Can the woman be happy in a ſecond choice, whoſe firſt was Sir Charles Grandiſon?

And whom, for noble motives, ſhe refuſed, ſaid my aunt Selby, remember that, Kitty; and whom ſhe wiſhed to be, and who actually is, the huſband of an⯑other woman.

The girls looked at one another: But Mrs. Shirley ſpeaking, they were all ſilent.

[201] The happineſs of human Life, my dears, replied your grandmamma, is at beſt but comparative. The utmoſt we ſhould hope for here, is ſuch a ſituation, as, with a ſelf-approving mind, will carry us beſt through this preſent ſcene of trial: Such a ſituation, as, all circumſtances conſidered, is, upon the whole, moſt eligible for us, tho' ſome of its circumſtances may be diſagreeable.

Young people ſet out with falſe notions of hap⯑pineſs; gay, fairy-land imaginations; and when theſe ſchemes prove unattainable, ſit down in diſappoint⯑ment and dejection. Tell me now, Kitty Holles, and ſpeak freely, my Love [She would not addreſs herſelf to ſome of us for a reaſon I, your Lucy, for one, need not give] we are all friends; the graveſt of us have been young; tell us, Kitty, your ideas of happineſs for a young woman juſt ſetting out in Life.

Poor Emily anſwered only with a ſudden bluſh, and a half-ſtifled ſigh: But all the reſt, as with one voice, cried out Harriet, our Harriet, is the happy woman—To be married to the man of her choice; The man choſen by her friends, and applauded by all the world.

And ſo, ſaid Mrs. Selby, as there is but one Sir Charles Grandiſon in the world, were his ſcheme of Proteſtant Nunneries put in execution, all the reſt of womankind, who had ſeen him with diſtinction, might retire into cloiſters.

Were men to form themſelves by his example, ſaid Emily [No unfavourable hint for Sir Edward]—There ſhe ſtopt.

Beſides, ſaid I (my own caſe in view) when our eye has led our choice, imagination can eaſily add all good qualities to the plauſible appearance. But to give our hand where we cannot give a preference, is ſurely, madam, acting againſt conſcience in the moſt important article of Life.

A preference we ought to give, my Lucy: But need this be the preference of giddy inclination? No [202] verſion pre-ſuppoſed, will not reaſon and duty give this preference in a ſecurer and nobler way to the man who, upon the whole, is moſt ſuitable to us? It is well known, that I was always for diſcouraging our Harriet's declarations, that ſhe never would be the wife of any other man than him ſhe is now ſo happy as to call hers. If (as we all at one time apprehend⯑ed) our hopes had been abſolutely impracticable, the noble Counteſs of D. who gave ſuch convincing rea⯑ſons on her ſide of the queſtion ^(a)would have had my good wiſhes for the Earl of D. So, before him, had not ill health been an objection, would Mr. Orme. You all know, that I wiſhed but to live to ſee my Harriet the wife of ſome worthy man. A ſingle woman is too generally an undefended, unſupported creature. Her early connexions, year by year, drop off; no new ones ariſe; and ſhe remains ſolitary and unheeded, in a buſy buſtling world; perhaps ſoured to it by her unconnected ſtate. Is not ſome gra⯑titude due to a worthy man, who early offers himſelf for her guide and protector through Life? Gratitude was the motive even of Harriet's inclination at firſt.

Nancy ſmiled. Why ſmiles my Nancy? aſked your ſmiling grandmamma. I am ſure you think, child▪ there is weight in what I ſaid.

Indeed, madam, there is—Great weight—But juſt as you gave us an idea of the dreary unconnected Life of a ſingle woman in years, I thought of poor Mrs. Penelope Arby. You all know her. I ſaw her in imagination, ſurrounded with parrots and lap-dogs!—So ſpring-like at paſt fifty, with her pale pink Lute⯑ſtring, and back head—Yet ſo peeviſh at girls!—

And ſhe, reſumed Mrs. Shirley, refuſed ſome good offers in her youth, out of dread of the tyranny of a huſband, and the troubleſomeneſs of a parcel of Brats!—Yet now ſhe is abſolutely governed by a fa⯑vourite maid, and as full of the Bon-mots of her par⯑rots, [203] as I uſed to be of yours, my Loves, when you were prattlers.

Yet let us not, ſaid Mrs. Selby, with the inſolence of Matrons or Brides-expectant, be too ſevere upon Old Maids. Lady G▪ ſurely is faulty in this particu⯑lar. Many worthy and many happy perſons in that claſs, have I known: Many amiable and uſeful in ſo⯑ciety, even to their lateſt age—You, madam, to Mrs. Shirley, had a friend—Mrs. Eggleton.

I had, my dear Mrs. Selby—Never has any length of time, any variety of ſcene, at all effaced the dear idea, tho' ſhe died many years ago. She never mar⯑ried; but that was not her own fault. She was ad⯑dreſſed when near twenty, by a young gentleman of unexceptionable character. She received his addreſſes, on condition that both their friends approved of them. She was a viſiter in town. The relations of both lived in the country. The young couple loved each other: But neither of their families, when conſulted, approving the match, to the great regret of both, it was broken off. The gentleman married, and was not unhappy. In three or four years, another wor⯑thy man made his addreſſes to Mrs. Eggleton. All her friends approved. She found him deſerving of her affection, and agreed to reward his merit. He was to make one voyage to the Indies, on proſpects too great to be neglected, and on his return they were to be married. His voyage was proſperous to the ex⯑tent of all his wiſhes. He landed in his native coun⯑try; flew to his beloved miſtreſs. She received his viſit with grateful joy. It was his laſt viſit. He was taken ill of a violent fever; died in a few days, deli⯑rious, but bleſſing her.

She and I have talked over the ſubject we are upon a hundred times. In thoſe days I was young, and had my romantic notions.

Indeed, madam! ſaid Patty Holles; Indeed, ma⯑dam! ſaid Emily—Dear, dear madam, ſaid Kitty [204] Holles, if it be not too bold a requeſt, let us hear what they were.

The reading in faſhion when I was young, was Ro⯑mances. You, my children, have, in that reſpect, fallen into happier days. The preſent age is greatly obliged to the authors of the Spectators. But till I be⯑came acquainted with my dear Mrs. Eggleton, which was about my ſixteenth year, I was over-run with the abſurdities of that unnatural kind of writing.

And how long, madam, did they hold?

Not till I was quite twenty. That good Lady cured me of ſo falſe a taſte: But till ſhe did, I had very high ideas of firſt impreſſions; of eternal con⯑ſtancy; of Love raiſed to a pitch of idolatry. In theſe diſpoſitions, not more than nineteen, was my dear Mr. Shirley propoſed to me, as a perſon whoſe character was faultleſs; his offers advantageous. I had ſeen him in company two or three times, and looked upon him merely as a good ſort of man; a ſenſible man—But what was a good ſort of man to an Oroondates? He had paid no addreſſes to me: He applied to my friends on a foot of propriety and pru⯑dence. They laid no conſtraint upon me. I con⯑ſulted my own heart—But, my dear girls, what a temptation have you thrown in the way of narrative old age!

All of us moſt eagerly beſought her to go on.

The excellent Mrs. Eggleton knew my heart bet⯑ter than I did myſelf. Even now, ſaid ſhe, you diſ⯑like not this worthy man. You can make no reaſon⯑able objection to his offer. You are one of many Siſters [We were then a numerous family—Alas! how many dear friends have I out lived!] A match ſo advantageous for you, will be of real benefit to your whole family. Eſteem, heightened by Gratitude, and enforced by Duty, continued ſhe, will ſoon ripen into Love: The only ſort of Love that ſuits this im⯑perfect ſtate; a tender, a faithful affection. There [205] is a ſuperior ardor due only to Supreme perfection and only to be exerciſed by us mortal creatures in humble devotion. My dear Henrietta, concluded ſhe, condeſcend to be happy in ſuch a way as ſuits this mor⯑tal ſtate.

I replied to her, with diſtreſs of mind, proceeded Mrs. Shirley, that I could not depend upon my own ſentiments. I had ſeen little of the world. Suppoſe, after I have vowed Love to a man quite indifferent to me, I ſhould meet with the very one, the kindred ſoul, who muſt irreſiſtably claim my whole heart? I will not ſuſpect myſelf of any poſſibility of miſcon⯑duct, where the duty and the crime would be ſo glaring; but muſt I not, in ſuch a caſe, be for ever miſerable?

The mild Mrs. Eggleton did not chide: She only argued with me. Often afterwards did I with delight, repeat this converſation to the beſt of men, my dear Mr. Shirley, when a length of happy years had veri⯑fied all ſhe ſaid.

Dear madam, cried Kitty, tell us how ſhe argued, or we ſhall all remain on your ſide of the queſtion.

O my children! ſaid the venerable parent, in what talkativeneſs do you engage me!

I fear, Henrietta, ſaid Mrs. Eggleton, that tho' you are a good chriſtian, your opinions in this point are a little heatheniſh. You look upon Love as a blind irreſiſtable Deity, whoſe darts fly at random, and admit neither defence nor cure. Conſider the matter, my dear, in a more reaſonable light. The paſſions are intended for our ſervants, not our maſters, and we have, within us, a power of controuling them, which it is the duty and the buſineſs of our lives to exert. You will allow this readily in the caſe of any paſſion that poets and romance writers have not ſet off with their falſe colourings. To inſtance in anger; Will my Henrietta own, that ſhe thinks it probable, anger ſhould ever tranſport her beyond the bounds of duty?

[206] I pleaded, that I was not naturally of an angry temper; and was aſked with a ſmile, whether I meant by that diſtinction, to own myſelf of a loving one.

I could not be angry with my good Mrs. Eggle⯑ton; yet I remember I was vexed to the heart.

But why then, rejoined ſhe, ſhould you think your⯑ſelf more likely to fall in Love after you are married, than before?

At leaſt, ſaid I, a little peeviſhly, let me ſtay till I am in Love, as you are pleaſed to call it, before I marry.

I would not by any means, replied ſhe, have you marry a man for whom you have not a preferable inclination; but why may you not find, on admit⯑ting Mr. Shirley's addreſſes, young, agreeable, wor⯑thy, and every way ſuitable to you, as he is, that he is that man whom your inclination can approve?

I never ſaw him yet, ſaid I, with the leaſt emo⯑tion. I have no averſion to him: I might eſteem him: But what is that to the Love one is ſo ſolemn⯑ly to vow a huſband? And ſhould I, after that vow, behold an object whom I could indeed have loved?—

A Duke de Nemours! ſaid ſhe, taking up the Princeſs of Cleves, that unluckily lay on my table—Ah, my Henrietta, have I found you out!—That princeſs, my dear, was a ſilly woman. Her ſtory is written with dangerous elegance; but the whole foundation of her diſtreſſes was an idle one. To fan⯑ſy herſelf in Love with a mere ſtranger, becauſe he appeared agreeable at a Ball, when ſhe lived happily with a worthy huſband, was miſtaking mere Liking for Love, and combating all her Life after with a chimera of her own creating. I do not tell you it is impoſſible for you to meet hereafter with perſons in ſome external accompliſhments ſuperior to the deſerv⯑ing man whoſe wiſh is to make you happy: But will you ſuffer your eye to lead you into miſery then, when [207] an additional tie of duty forbids its wandering? If ſo, I muſt ſuppoſe it would equally miſlead you now. Tell me, Henrietta, What think you of thoſe girls, who blaſt all the hopes of their fond parents, by e⯑loping with a well-dreſt captain, a ſpruce dancing⯑maſter, or a handſome player?

She ſtruck me dumb with ſhame.

You ſee then, my dear, the filial duty, the duty of a reaſonable and modeſt woman, were ſhe even without parents or friends, forbids fancy to be her guide, as much as the ſacred engagement of marriage forbids it to be her tormenter.

But have there not been inſtances, ſaid I; do not you and I know one [We did] in this neighbour⯑hood, where a truly good woman was made miſerable for years, by having her heart and hand differently engaged?

Mrs. Eggleton reminded me, that there were, in that caſe, ſuch extremely particular circumſtances, as made it abſurd to form from thence a general judg⯑ment. In almoſt every thing, ſaid ſhe, we act but upon probabilities; and one exception out of a thou⯑ſand ought never to determine us. Even this excep⯑tion in the caſe you hint at, is owing, in ſome mea⯑ſure, to a pitiable miſguided imagination. Let us take our rules, my dear, from plain common ſenſe, and not from poetical refinements.

Say, my children, ſaid the condeſcending parent, did my friend argue well?

I think, madam, anſwered Kitty, ſhe argued poor Love out of doors. She did not ſeem to allow the poſſibility of any perſon's being in Love at all.

I told her ſo, replied my grandmamma.

So far from it, ſaid ſhe, with a ſigh, and a look expreſſive of the ſofteſt tenderneſs, that my own af⯑fections, as you know, were deeply engaged. The amiable youth, to whom I was to be united by mar⯑riage, died. His memory will ever be dear to my [208] heart. Love authorized by reaſonable proſpects; Love guided and heightened by duty, is every-thing excellent that poets have ſaid of it: Yet even this Love muſt ſubmit to the awful diſpenſations of Pro⯑vidence, whether of death or other diſappointment; and ſuch trials ought to be met with chearful reſigna⯑tion, and not to be the means of embittering our lives, or of rendering them uſeleſs: And every thing we ought to do, be aſſured, my dear, we ſhall be enabled to do, if we ſet about it rightly, and with equal humility and truſt. As for that kind of Love, which in its very beginning is contrary to Duty, to ſuppoſe that unconquerable, is making ourſelves wretched indeed: And for firſt-ſight impreſſions, and beginning inclinations, though always dangerous, and often guilty to indulge, they are abſolutely trifles to overcome and ſuppreſs, to a perſon of prudence and virtue.

How we dwelt upon every ſweet document that fell from the lips of the dear Mrs. Shirley!

But now, Harriet, for the appeals. After all, were you, or were you not, a romantic girl, when you de⯑clared, that you never would be the wife of any man living, if you were not Sir Charles Gaandiſon's; even at the time when neither you nor we thought there could be any hopes of ſuch a happy event?—

But had we not, however, better appeal to Lady G. than to you? You were always ſo wiſe!—Yet you could not be contented with the worthy Orme. You knew, inſtinctively, as I may ſay, that your kindred mind dwelt in St. James's Square. And Lady G. forty years hence will be looking back, I ſuppoſe, with wonder, on the time when ſhe gave her then fair hand of ſwan-ſkin, changed to buff. [Her own ſlighty idea!] with reluctance, to her deſerving Lord. So, perhaps, we had beſt make no appeals at all. If we did, neither you nor ſhe are at leiſure now to anſwer them. Yet we have one appeal more to make; but [209] it muſt be to our Harriet; not to Lady G.—Was not even our venerable parent a little too ſevere upon Old Maids? That wicked Nancy fell a laughing—Does ſhe know what may be her own caſe? Here is a great parcel of girls of us—Have not I, her Elder, been croſſed in Love already? But if no proper match ever offers, muſt we take an improper one, to avoid the ridicule of a mere name? An unſupported ſtate is better than an oppreſſed, a miſerable one, however: And how many raſhly-choſen huſbands, and repentant wives, could I ſet againſt Nancy's Mrs. Arby?—But the poſt is juſt going out; ſo that, far from entering on ſo copious a ſubject, I have barely time to add, that I am, with the trueſt affection, my deareſt crea⯑ture,

LETTER XLIII. Lady G. To Lady GRANDISON.

I AM very well—What's the matter with the wo⯑man!—I will write!—Fifteen days controul and candle—Why ſurely!—

They are impertinent, my dear; and would take my pen and ink from me!—

YOU do well, Harriet, to throw upon me your ſelf-condemning taſk.

How conſcious you are, when you tell me, before you know my opinion of the contents of Lucy's Let⯑ter, that you will not ſubſcribe implicitly to my de⯑termination!—But I will not ſpare you. In my con⯑demnation of them, read your own. I have written my anſwer, and ſhall incloſe it: and no more at pre⯑ſent trouble myſelf about them.

But here, I, Charlotte G. who married with in⯑difference [210] the poor Lord G.; who made the honeſt man, whenever I pleaſed, foam, fume, fret, and exe⯑crate the hour that he firſt beheld my face, now ſtand forth, an example of true conjugal felicity, and an encouragement for girls who venture into the married ſtate, without that prodigious quantity of violent paſſion, which ſome hare-brained creatures think as eſſential of Love.

You, my dear, left us tolerably happy. But now we are almoſt in-tolerably ſo. I had begun to recover my ſpirits, depreſſed, as they had been, for near a month before, on finding myſelf, like any common woman, confined to my chamber, while every other mouth ſang O be joyful; and one was preparing, another was ſet out, and half a ſcore more were actu⯑ally got to dear Grandiſon-hall. I bit my lip, and raved at the wretch to whom I attributed my durance: When, yeſterday (after a ſeries indeed of the moſt obliging and moſt grateful behaviour, that a man ever expreſſed for a Preſent made him, which he holds in⯑valuable) he entered my chamber; and ſurpriſed me, as I did him (for I intended that he ſhould know nothing of the matter, nor that I would ever be ſo condeſcending); ſurpriſed me, as how? Ah, Harriet! In an act that confeſſed the mother, the whole mo⯑ther!—Little Harriet at my breaſt; or, at my neck, I believe I ſhould ſay—ſhould I not?

The nurſe, the nurſery-maids, knowing that I would not for the world have been ſo caught by my nimble Lord (for he is in twenty places in a minute) were more affrighted than Diana's nymphs, when the goddeſs was ſurpriſed by Acteon; and each, inſtead of ſurrounding me in order to hide my bluſhes, was for running a different way; not ſo much as attempt⯑ing to relieve me from the Brat.

I was ready to let the little Leech drop from my arms—O wretch! ſcreamed I—Begone!—begone! Whence the boldneſs of this intruſion?

[211] Never was man in a greater rapture. For Lady Gertrude had taught him to wiſh that a mother would be a mother: He threw himſelf at my feet, claſping me and the little varlet together in his arms. Brute! ſaid I, will you ſmother my Harriet—I was half⯑aſhamed of my tenderneſs—Dear-eſt, dear-eſt, dear-eſt Lady G.—Shaking his head, between every dear and eſt, every muſcle of his face working; how you tranſ⯑port me!—Never, never, never, ſaw I ſo delightful a ſight! Let me, let me, let me (every emphatic word repeated three times at leaſt) behold again the dear ſight. Let me ſee you claſp the precious gift, our Harriet's Harriet too, to that lovely boſom—The wretch (trembling however) pulled aſide my handker⯑chief. I try'd to ſcold; but was forced to preſs the little thing to me, to ſupply the place of the hand⯑kerchief—Do you think, I could not have killed him?—To be ſure, I was not half angry enough. I knew not what I did, you may well think—for I bowed my face on the ſmiling infant, who crowed to the preſſure of my lips.

Begone, Lord G. ſaid I—See! ſee! how ſhall I hold the little Marmouſet, if you devour firſt one of my hands, then the other?

He aroſe, took the little thing from me, kiſſed its forehead, its cheeks, its lips, its little pudſey hands, firſt one, then the other; gave it again to my arms; took it again; and again reſigned it to me.

Take away the pug, ſaid I, to the attendants—Take it away, while any of it is left—They reſcued the ſtill ſmiling babe, and run away with it.

My Lord then again threw himſelf at my feet—Pardon, pardon me, deareſt creature, ſaid he, that I took amiſs any thing you ever ſaid or did—You that could make me ſuch rich amends—O let not thoſe charming, charming ſpirits ever ſubſide, which for a fortnight together, till yeſterday, I miſſed. I loved you too well, proceeded he, to take any uſage that was [212] not quite what I wiſhed it, lightly. But for ſome time paſt I have ſeen that it was all owing to a viva⯑city, that now, in every inſtants of it, delights my ſoul. You never, never, had malice or ill-nature in what I called your petulance. You bore with mine. You ſmiled at me: Henceforth every thing you ſay, every thing you do, will I take for a favour. O my Charlotte! Never, never more ſhall it be in your power to make me ſo far forget myſelf, as to be angry!

My dear Lord G.!—I had like to have ſaid—I believe I did ſay—Then will you ruin, abſolutely ruin, me! What ſhall I do—for my Roguery?—

Never, never part with what you call ſo!—

Impoſſible, my Lord, to retain it, if it loſe its wonted power over you. I ſhall have a new leſſon to learn. O my Lord! why began you not this courſe before Harriet and Caroline ſet out for Grandiſon⯑hall? I might by a cloſer obſervation of their beha⯑viour, have made myſelf miſtreſs of leſſons that would have far more delightfully ſupplied the old ones, than can be done without their examples. But, my Lord, the time will ſoon come, when we ſhall be allowed to fly to that benefit at Grandiſon-hall. Our little Har⯑riet ſhall go with us: The infant is the cement be⯑tween us; and we will for the future be every day more worthy of that, and of each other.

My Lord hurried from me in ſpeechleſs rapture; His handkerchief at his eye—Nurſe, ſaid I, bring me again our precious charge. I will be all the mo⯑ther. I claſped it to my boſom. What ſhall I do, my little Harriet! Thy father, ſweet one! has run away with my Roguery—

What a ſcene is here!—I will not read it over. If it requires a bluſh, do you, my dear, bluſh for me: I am hardened—And ſhall not perhaps, were I to re-peruſe it, my maternity ſo kindly acknowleged, ſo generouſly accepted, by my Lord G. be able to bluſh for myſelf.

[213] But, that I may ſeem only to have changed the ob⯑ject, not wholly to have parted with my levity, read the incloſed here, in anſwer to the appeal of the young people; directed thus:

Tell aunt Selby that I am not an enemy to old maids; but only to thoſe ill qualities which I ſhould equally diſlike in old or in young Any-bodies. I love Lady Gertrude, and even aunt Eleanor, for thoſe qua⯑lities that are love-able in them. But you ſee that your Nancy, the mild, good-natured Nancy, could not for⯑bear laughing at the idea of the young-old Penelope Arby: Yet knows ſhe not, ſays the malicious Lucy, what may be her own caſe. But I have appealed for you; and to whom? To Lady Gertrude. I was writing to her on a particular occaſion, when your [218] pacquet was brought me; and, in order to enliven my ſubject, tranſcribed three lines of Lucy's query upon defending the ſingle ſtate. She was but at En⯑field, and returned me the following by the ſame meſſenger; the other part of my Letter requiring an immediate anſwer.

‘"Your queſtion, my deareſt niece, is whimſically aſked: You tell me that a whole room-full of young country ladies wait only the ſucceſs of an appeal you have referred to me, to know whether they ſhall out of hand diſpoſe of themſelves to re⯑cruiting officers, mountebanks, and fox-hunters; or venture to live on with the melancholy title of old maids, in an unſupported, undeſended ſtate.’

‘"One or two queries to be put, proceeds the Sage are, Whether the worthy matches you have men⯑tioned, or any unſuitable matches whatſoever, would be a ſupport and defence? Whether the wo⯑man who makes a raſh and improper choice, does not throw herſelf out of that protection and de⯑fence which every one may depend upon in the ſtate of life marked out to them by Providence? And whether the ſingle ſtate is not thus marked out to the woman who never has it fitly in her choice to change it?’

‘"I, my dear, who am an old maid, muſt not write partially on that ſide of the queſtion. In general, I will fairly own, that I think a woman is moſt likely to find her proper happineſs in the married ſtate. May you, my dear niece, experience it every day more and more!—But there are ſurely many exceptions: Women of large and independent fortunes, who have the hearts and underſtanding to uſe them as they ought, are often more bene⯑ficial to the world, than they would have been had they beſtowed them on ſuch men as look for for⯑tune only. Women who have by their numerous relations many connexions in the world, need not [219] ſeek out of their own alliances for protection and defence. Ill health, peculiarity of temper or ſen⯑timents, unhappineſs of ſituation, of perſon, af⯑ford often ſuch reaſons, as make it a virtue to re⯑fuſe what it would otherwiſe be right to accept.’

‘"But why do I write ſeriouſly to ſuch a lively creature? Only, my dear"’—

But, girls, I will give you no more of Lady Ger⯑trude. I have not done with you myſelf yet.

Much to the ſame purpoſe, I remember, as Mrs. Shirley's, were the expoſtulations of Lady D. in one of her Letters to Harriet; who only anſwered her, (I alſo remember) like a girl. What could ſhe ſay?

‘"You, my Harriet," (wrote that Lady,) "are pious, dutiful, benevolent—Cannot you, if you are unable to entertain, for the man who now with ſo much ardour addreſſes you, were you married to him, the paſſion called Love, regard him as Grati⯑tude would oblige you to prefer any other man who is aſſiduous to do you ſervice or pleaſure? Cannot you ſhew him as much good-will, as you could any other man, whom it was in your power to make happy? Would you eſteem him leſs than a perſon abſolutely a ſtranger to you? The exerti⯑on of your native benevolence, of your natural o⯑bligingneſs, of your common gratitude, of your pity, is all that is aſked of you. You have no ex⯑pectation of the only man, who is dearer to you than he. This exertion will make my Lord happy; and if you retain that delight, which you have hitherto taken, in promoting the happineſs of others who are not undeſerving, yourſelf not unhappy.’

You have now before you, girls, the opinion of Mrs. Shirley, and the Counteſs of D. on the eaſe you put. They both ſit enthroned on the ſerene hill of wiſdom, which hardly one in fifty of their Sex attains. From thence they look down with pity, and with beckoning ſinger, to the crowds below them, who [220] with aching eyes, and deſpairing hearts, emulate their ſtarry heights; but in too faintly attempting to gain the aſcent, tumble down, ſome (ſhameful!) head over heels, immerſed in the miry puddles of ſenſe; and others taking a ſuppoſed more eaſy, tho' viſibly run round-about way, are miſled by mazy paths into dreary deſarts, till they loſe even the di⯑ſtant ſight of the ſacred hill.

There, chits, I end romantically, figuratively at leaſt, in compliment to your fanciful taſtes. And thus much as to you, girls, young Lady-expectants, whimſicals, and ſo forth, from

My women are ſo impertinent, and my Marmouſet is ſo voracious, that I have been forced to take two days for what once I could have performed in little more than two hours.

LETTER XLIV. Lady GRANDISON, To Mrs. SHIRLEY.

AND muſt I, my dear grandmamma, be more particular in relation to ourſelves, our gueſts, our amuſements, diverſions, converſations—Why then does not Lucy write as uſual, every tender, every engaging, every lively occurrence that happens at Selby-houſe, and Shirely-manor? Is ſhe ſo much taken up with her agreeable Peer, that ſhe muſt leave the obliging taſk wholly to Nancy and Emily? I don't care. They ſhall be my beſt girls; and I will put down my Lucy as a woman of mere quality before ſhe has the title. Yet let me tell her, that could ho⯑neſt Mr. Fowler have courted for himſelf, have ſuf⯑fered [221] his heart to riſe to his lips, I ſhould have wiſhed by her means, to have been related to him and Sir Rowland. But that matter, it ſeems, is as good as over; and I will proceed to do my duty, whether ſhe does hers or not.

I have told you, madam, how much our gueſts are pleaſed with us and the place. How much we are charmed with them, I need not tell you. Every praiſe you have heard of them, is confirmed and heighten⯑ed, on a more intimate knowlege of them.

Lord and Lady L. are with us. Lord and Lady G. will come as ſoon as they can. Lady L. has her ſweet infant with her. And I hope Lady G. will not come without my god-child.

Sir Edward Beauchamp is at preſent our gueſt. The good doctor, you know, is at home here; and how beloved, how revered, by every one!

Sir Charles! The Soul of us all!—O madam! never ſurely, was one ſpot bleſſed with ſo many per⯑ſons of one mind, as are now rejoicing together at Grandiſon-hall.

And pray, my dear grandmamma, let me aſk; Would it not be affectation rather than modeſty, were I to leave myſelf un-named in this noble circle? I will not. Every body, for Sir Charles's ſake, looks on me, with the kindeſt partiality, and my heart tells me that being his as much as my own, it deſerves that partiality.

Except at certain devotional hours of retirement, we know not, but that we are all of one faith. No⯑thing of religious ſubjects is ever mentioned among us, but in thoſe points in which all good Chriſtians are agreed. You, madam, who have a true catholic cha⯑rity for the worthy of all perſuaſions, would be de⯑lighted to ſee the affectionate behaviour of the two fathers (I will call them) to each other. When they are not in the general company, they are always to⯑gether, walking, riding out; or in the apartment of [222] each other, reading, converſing. The dear Clemen⯑tina cannot but ſee, that charitable and great minds, however differing in ſome even eſſential articles of religion, might mingle hearts and love each other; and from Sir Charles's catholiciſm, that ſhe might have been happy with him, and kept her own faith.—But no! it would in her notion, now I recollect, have been a dangerous trial. She could not truſt her own heart—Great and noble Lady! how much is ſhe to be revered!

The gentlemen ride out almoſt every day.—Our converſations! It would be endleſs to give you an ac⯑count of the converſations that yet, I flatter myſelf, would delight you all. The leaſt intereſting ones of thoſe we hold, would have made a great figure in my former Letters. Such the company, you may ſup⯑poſe we know not what trifling ſubjects are.

Every one avoids mentioning the name of the poor Count of Belvedere in the preſence of Lady Cle⯑mentina; yet we all pity him. We have reaſon to do ſo, from the account Signor Jeronymo receives of his diſtreſs of mind, while he endeavours to overcome his hopeleſs paſſion.

Allow me, madam, to conclude this Letter here. We are to have a little concert this evening, and our company is beginning to aſſemble in the muſic-room.—I muſt go and attend the marchioneſs and Lady Clementina; who herſelf will be a performer. She is an admirable one. I can only ſtay to add, that I am

LETTER XLV. Lady GRANDISON, To Mrs. SHIRLEY.

LETTER XLVI. Lady G. To Miſs SELBY.

YOUR complaining Letter ^(a)reached me here, Lucy, but this day. I arrived here on Monday afternoon. Ungracious Harriet! She chid me for coming. But I went to Church firſt. What would they have?

My Lord and I are one now: If therefore I ſay, I arrived, it is the ſame as ſaying, he did: My little Harriet with us, you may be ſure.

But what does the girl complain for? Maiden crea⯑tures ſhould ſend us married women two Letters for one. Eſtabliſh for me this expectation: You will ſoon yourſelf be the better for the doctrine.

You tell me, that hardly any of your girls are ſatis⯑fied with my imperial deciſion on the appeal laid before me, tho' ſupported by the opinions of Mrs. Shirley, Lady D. and every wiſe woman. I don't care whe⯑ther you are or not. Sorry chits! you decide among yourſelves, and then aſk for the opinions of others: What for? In hopes they will confirm your own; if not, to be ſaucy, and reject them.

You want me to tell you a hundred thouſand things, of what's doing, what's done, what's ſaid, here? Not I. Harriet is writing a long, long Letter to her grand⯑mamma, ſhe tells me; and journalwiſe ^(b).—Let that when you have it, content you. She ſays I muſt not ſee it. But I will. Something ſaucy about me in it, I ſuppoſe.

My Brother, and his principal Men-gueſts, are in town. They went on Monday morning. So I have not ſeen them.—Will not come back till Friday [234] next week. Harriet is impatient for his return. O girls! girls! That a Church ceremony can ſo ſoon make ſuch a difference in the ſame perſon!—But he is ſo generouſly tender of her, that the wonder, in her caſe, is the leſs.

Lady Clementina is a noble creature. We are obliged to call both her and Harriet to order; or they would never be aſunder. The garden and park are the places in which they moſt delight to walk. Make Harriet give you the particulars of their converſa⯑tions.—Then I ſhall have them. I have demanded them; but ſhe only acquaints me in general, that ſhe is delighted with Lady Clementina's part in them. The other expreſſes no leſs admiration of Harriet's. But, beſides that they rob us of their com⯑pany too often, which is ruder in the miſtreſs of the houſe than in the gueſt; Harriet does not enough conſider her own circumſtances. Their walks are too long. She comes in, and throws herſelf ſome⯑times into a chair—ſo tired!—Yet, chidden for her long walks, ſuch engaging converſations! ſhe cries out—Heroines both, I ſuppoſe; and they are mir⯑rors to each other; each admiring herſelf in the other. No wonder they are engaged inſenſibly by a vanity, which carries with it, to each, ſo generous an appear⯑ance; for all the while, Harriet thinks ſhe is only ad⯑miring Clementina; Clementina, that ſhe's applauding Harriet.

Well, Lucy—But I find you will not be Lucy long—Your day, it ſeems, will ſoon be fixed: The day, happy may it be! which will ſet a coronet on your head. A fooliſh kind of bawble, after all, but it looks not amiſs on the outſide of one's coach—if the inſide contain not—Did I ſay a monkey, Lu⯑cy? But that will not be your caſe. My Lord knows your Lord, and eſteems him. Lord G's eſteem (china and ſhells out of the queſtion) is not con⯑temptible, I can tell you. His Love for his flippant [235] Charlotte made him play monkey-tricks, which leſ⯑ſened him in my eyes: but now I ſee he is capable of forgetting his butterflies, and eſteeming me, I re⯑member my promiſe, and honour him: Obedience will come—when it can.

Well, but, Lucy, Dr. Bartlett knew your Lord Rereſby abroad, and ſpeaks well of him. He has wiſhed for this match ever ſince it was firſt mention⯑ed; nay before it was mentioned—Ever ſince he was a brideman on my brother's happy day: and you are a good girl, that you have not paraded, as Harriet did, and Clementina does.

Have I any more to ſay? I think not. I will en⯑deavour to get a ſight of what Harriet has written. Let her deny me, if ſhe dare. If that ſuggeſts to me a ſubject which ſhe has not touched upon, well and good: If not, take it for a concluſion, chits, that I wiſh you all well; and to our venerable Mrs. Shir⯑ley, and reſpectable aunt Selby, and her honeſt man, health, happineſs, and ſo-forth.

LETTER XLVII. Lady G. To Miſs SELBY.

I AM afraid your brother James will terrify you all. Surpriſing;—I am very angry with him; for, how⯑ever ſlight he might make of what I have to tell you, I know, that none of you beſides will. I therefore diſpatch this by a man and horſe, on purpoſe to ſet your hearts at eaſe.—The wretch left her in a faint⯑ing fit. Had the dear creature ever any of theſe fits before? But why do I aſk? this is eaſily accounted for: She was over-ſatigued with a walk. Againſt warning, againſt threatenings, ſhe and Lady Cle⯑mentina had taken a longer walk than ever they did [236] before, quite to the end of the park, to view ſome al⯑terations which Sir Charles was making there. They had forgotten that they had the ſame length to walk back again. Half-way on their return, tired, and each accuſing herſelf, and apologizing to the other, they were ſurprized by a ſudden ſhower of rain; a vi⯑olent one; a thunder-ſhower: No ſhelter: They were forced to run for it towards a diſtant tree; which when they approached, they found wet thro'; as they both were. So they made the beſt of their way to the houſe; were ſeen at a little diſtance, mak⯑ing the appearance of frighted hares. The ſervants ran to them with clokes, which, thrown over their wet cloaths, helped to load them. As Harriet en⯑tered the hall-door, which leads into the garden, ſhe was ſurpriſed with the ſight of Sir Charles, entering at the other. She expected him not till Friday or Saturday. Her complexion changed: She ſighed; ſobbed: Her cheeks, her lips turned pale: Down ſhe was ſinking. My brother was terrified; but he caught her in his arms, and ſaved her fall.

Lady L. and I were together, indulging ourſelves with our little nurſeries, who were crowing at each other; I ſinging to both [by the way they are ſur⯑priſing infants] when word was brought, that my Brother was come, and Lady Grandiſon was dying. How were we both terrified! We, in our fright, each popt her pug into the arms of the other, by way of ridding our hands of our own; and the women being not at hand, threw the ſmiling brats into one cradle; and down hurried we to our Harriet.

In the midſt of all this buſtle, this wiſe Brother of yours, Lucy, ſlipt away without taking leave of us. What tho' his hour was fixed, and his poſt-chaiſe waiting, could he not have ſtaid one half-hour? O theſe inconſiderate, hare-brain'd—Don't be angry, Lucy, he has vex'd us for you. I ſhould otherwiſe have left to herſelf the account of her indiſpoſition [237] and recovery. She has got cold: So has her ſiſter⯑excellence, as my Brother juſtly calls her. Is it to be wondered at?—She was feveriſh all day yeſterday; but made ſlight of it; and would have come down to dinner; but we would not permit her to leave her chamber.

How was Lady Clementina affected! She laid all at her own door: And laſt night, Harriet being ſtill more feveriſh, ▪we all talked ourſelves into a thouſand panies. Lady Clementina was not to be pacified.

To-day, ſhe is, in a manner, quite well; and we are all joy upon it. But ſhe ſhall never again do the honours of the Park to Lady Clementina. Truſt me for that, grandmamma Shirley; and expect a Letter from the dear creature herſelf by the poſt. Adieu, adieu, Lucy, every body, in a violent hurry ſub⯑ſcribes

P. S. My hurry is owing only to the demands of my Marmouſet upon me. To nothing elſe, upon my honour! For we are all ſafe, ſerene, and ſo-forth.

LETTER XLVIII. Lady GRANDISON, To Mrs. SHIRLEY.

I AM ſorry, my deareſt grandmamma, you have all been ſo much alarmed by an indiſpoſition which is already gone off. My couſin James, fooliſh youth! I wiſh he had not called upon us on his return from Portſmouth, or that he had ſtaid at Grandiſon-hall till now. Lady G. has given you, in her lively way, an account of the girliſh inconſideration, which might have been attended with a fever, had not Mr. Low⯑ther been at hand; who thought it adviſeable that I [238] ſhould loſe blood. But it was the joy on ſeeing Sir Charles after an abſence of eight days, and ſeveral days ſooner than I had expected that pleaſure, which overcame me.

Never, never, was there ſo tender, ſo affectionate, ſo indulgent a huſband!—Lady G. has told you that I fainted away—When recovered, I found myſelf in his arms; all our friends and gueſts aſſembled round me; every one expreſſing ſuch a tender concern.

Harriet, be grateful! But canſt thou be enough ſo? How art thou beloved of hearts the moſt worthy!—And what new proofs haſt thou received of that Love of all other the deareſt! Every hour do I experience ſome new inſtance of his tender goodneſs. He ſtirred not from my chamber for half an hour together, for two whole days and nights. All the reſt he took was in a chair by my bed-ſide; and very little was his reſt: Yet, bleſſed be God! his health ſuffered not. Every cordial, every medicine, did he adminiſter to me with his own hands. He regarded not any-body but his Harriet. The world, he told me, was nothing to him without his Harriet. So amiably has he appeared in this new light, not in my fond eyes only, but in thoſe of all here; who are continually congratulating me upon it; and every one telling me little circumſtances of his kind attention, and anxious fondneſs, as ſome happened to obſerve one, ſome another, that tho' I wanted not proofs before of his affection for me, I cannot account my indiſpoſition an unhappineſs; eſpe⯑cially as it has gone off without the conſequences, of which you were ſo very apprehenſive.—‘"Dear Sir, I obey you: But indeed, Sir, writing to my grandmamma does me good. But I obey."’ Only, let thus far as I have written, be diſpatched to my Northamptonſhire friends,

LETTER XLIX. Lady GRANDISON. In Continuation.

LETTER L. Lady GRANDISON. In Continuation.

THE conference was held in Italian. It was but juſt turned of ſeven in the morning, when we met in my drawing-room.

I had told Lady Clementina that ſhe muſt lead the ſubject; but Sir Charles, ſeeing her in ſome confuſion, relieved her—You do me, madam, ſaid he, great ho⯑nour (and it is worthy of our brotherly and ſiſterly friendſhip in propoſing to aſk my opinion on any ſub⯑ject in which you are intereſted. Our dear Harriet's recovery (God be praiſed for it!) has left no wiſh in my heart ſo ardent as for your happineſs. Permit me to ſay, my dear Lady Clementina, it is neceſſary for that of us both.

Indeed, madam, it is, ſaid I, taking her hand. Tenderneſs, love, reſpect, I am ſure, were in my countenance, if it ſpoke my heart. She condeſcend⯑ingly bowed upon mine: Tears were in her eyes: You pain me, Chevalier, you pain me, madam, by your goodneſs—How many of my friends have I made un⯑happy!

For ſome days paſt, ſaid Sir Charles, I have ob⯑ſerved, that you have ſeemed more uneaſy than uſual. Would to Heaven it were in my power to remove the cauſe!

[247] Perhaps it may. Ah, Chevalier! I thought when I came into the compromiſe, that I might have made my⯑ſelf happier in it, than I now find I can be.

Dear Lady Clementina! ſaid Sir Charles; and ſtopt.

Be not diſpleaſed with me, Chevalier. I muſt hold myſelf bound by it, if it be inſiſted on. But tho' my condeſcending friends urge me not by entreaties, by perſuaſions, ſee you not that their wiſhing eyes, and ſighing hearts, break every hour the Articles agreed to?

Dear Lady Clementina!

I knew you would be angry with me.

I am not. It would be equally unfriendly and inſo⯑lent if I were. But, my dear Clementina, what an affecting picture have you drawn of the reſignation of parents to the will of their child, in an article which their hearts were fixed upon.

Add not weight, Sir, to my uneaſy reflexions. I can hardly bear to ſee in them the generous ſuppreſſion of their own wiſhes.

She then addreſſed herſelf to me.—Bear with me, dear Lady Grandiſon, if I caſt an eye back to former ſituations. You know my whole ſtory.—For a few moments bear with me.—I never, God is my wit⯑neſs, envied you. On the contrary, I rejoiced to find thoſe merits which I had not power to reward, ſo amply rewarded by you; and that the Chevalier was ſo great a gainer by my declining his vows.—She ſtopt.

Proceed, deareſt Lady Clementina, ſaid I—Are we not ſiſters? And do I not know, that yours is the no⯑bleſt of female minds?

I rejoice, Sir, from my heart, that I was enabled to act as I did.—

Again ſhe ſtopt. Sir Charles bowed in ſilence.

But ſtill I hoped, that one day my parents would have been overcome in favour of the divine dedica⯑tion. [248] That was always my wiſh, till you, Sir, indu⯑ced me to come into a compromiſe. And then I was reſolved to make myſelf, if poſſible, happy, in the ſingle Life allowed me. But what can I do? My for⯑mer wiſhes recur. I cannot help it: And it ſeems evident to me, that there is but one meaſure, and that is the convent, which can make me happy.

Dear Lady Clementino! ſaid Sir Charles, will you be pleaſed to allow me—

Olivia, Sir, interrupted ſhe (you don't, perhaps, know that) reflects upon me. It was indeed a raſh ſtep which I took, when I fled to England: How has it countenanced the excurſion ſhe made hither? Tho', God knows, our motives were widely different: Hers was to obtain what mine was intended to avoid. But your ſudden indiſpoſition, madam, pointed the ſting, and carried it into my heart. That flaſhed full upon me, the impropriety of my ſituation. Can there be, ſay, Chevalier, can there be, any expedient which will free me from reflexion, from ſlander, except that of the veil?

You lead the queſtion, madam, replied Sir Charles: I but follow you. Surely there can.

You are not angry with me, Chevalier? You do not upbraid me with breach of Articles?

I do not, madam, while we only reaſon, not reſolve. Aſſure yourſelf that your tranquillity of mind is one of the principal objects of my daily vows. Say, Lady Clementina, all that is in your heart to ſay. Your friend, your brother, hears his ſiſter with all the ten⯑derneſs of fraternal love.

How ſoothing! How kind!—You ſay there is an⯑other expedient. What, excepting marriage, is it?

Were it that, and that could be an acceptable ex⯑pedient—We are only reaſoning, madam; not re⯑ſolving—

Do you, Chevalier, (with a look of impatience;) propoſe that to me.

[249] I do not, madam—I ſaid we were reaſoning only▪—But ſurely you may be very happy in the ſingle Life. You may have thought of plans, which, on conſideration, may not pleaſe you: But it is yet early. Lady Clementina has too much greatneſs of mind to permit any-thing that may be ſaid by male⯑volent people to effect her. She knows her heart; and has reaſon to be ſatisfied with it. Were your for⯑mer wiſhes to take place, will not ill-will and ſlander follow you into the moſt ſacred retirements? There are ſeveral tender points to be conſidered in your paſt ſituation. Theſe are conſidered by your parents. They have no view but to your happineſs. You and they indeed have different notions of the means. They think marriage with a worthy man of your own faith, would tend to eſtabliſh it. You think aſſuming the veil the only expedient. This ſubject has been much canvaſſed. They are determined not to urge you: Yet their judgments are not changed. Shall they not be allowed to wiſh? Eſpecially when they urge not, ſpeak not, their wiſhes? Your father was ear⯑neſt with the count of Belvedere, in my hearing, when laſt in town, to give up all expectations from you. God preſerve their lives till they ſee you happy! You muſt be convinced, that they are not ſo intent upon the means as to obtain the end.

My father, my mother, are all goodneſs!—God preſerve their precious lives!—Tears trickled down her cheeks.

I am ſure, my dear Lady Clementina, you cannot be happy in any ſtate of life, if your choice, purſued, would make your parent; unhappy.—Could Lady Clementina, were ſhe even profeſſed, diveſt herſelf of all filial, of all family regards? Would not that very contemplative life, of which ſhe is at preſent ſo fond, make her, when it was too late to retrieve the ſtep (and with the more regret, perhaps, becauſe it was too late) carry her thoughts, her affections, with [250] greater force, back to parents, if living, ſo deſervedly dear, to brothers ſo diſintereſtedly kind, to her; and who have all ſhared ſo largely in her diſtreſſes?

She ſighed. She wept. O Chevalier! was all ſhe ſaid.

You cannot, madam, live only to yourſelf, for yourſelf: And you may live to your God in the world, perhaps, more efficaciouſly than in the con⯑vent, with regard to your ſoul's health, as you have ſuch large ability to do good: For, wants not the world, as I have heretofore pleaded, ſuch an example as you can give it?—The heart, madam, not the profeſſion is the truly acceptable. Your maternal grandfather, tho' a ſound Catholic, would have it, that there were many ſighing hearts in convents; and on this ſuppoſition (confirmed to him by a ſingu⯑lar inſtance which affected him) he inſerted in his will the clauſes which he thought would oblige you to mar⯑ry. Your other grandfather joined in the enforcement of them.

And what, Sir, was the penalty? Only the forfei⯑ture of an eſtate, which I wiſh not for; which none of us want. We are all rich. It is a purchaſed, not a paternal eſtate.

And purchaſed with what view, madam? And for whom?

I would have my family ſuperior to ſuch motives.

Muſt they not, my dear Clementina, be judges for themſelves?

I do not believe, proceeded ſhe, that there are ma⯑ny ſighing hearts in convents: But if there were, and my friends would be ſatisfied (for that, I own, is an eſſential point with me) I ſhould not, I am ſure, add to the number of ſuch. As to what you ſay of the world wanting ſuch an example as I could ſet it, I have not vanity enough to be convinced by that ar⯑gument. Whether my ſoul's peace could be beſt promoted in the world, or in the convent, muſt be [251] left to me to judge; who know that in the turmoils and diſturbances I have met with, both of mind and body, the retired, the ſequeſtered life, is moſt likely to recompoſe my ſhattered ſpirits.

Thoſe turmoils, thoſe diſturbances, madam, thank God! are over.

I pity, I can forgive, I do forgive, the poor Lau⯑rana. Ah Sir! you know not, perhaps, that LOVE, a paſſion which is often the cauſe of guilty meanneſs, as ſometimes indeed of laudable greatneſs, was the ſecret cauſe of Laurana's cruelty to me. She hated me not, till that paſſion invaded her boſom. Shall I remember the evil of her behaviour, and not the good?

Admirable Clementina! ſaid Sir Charles: Admi⯑rable lady! ſaid his Harriet; both in a breath.

She was the companion of my childhood, proceeded the exalted Lady. We had our education together. I was the ſufferer; thank God! not the aggreſſor. She has made me great, by putting it in my power to for⯑give her. Let all my revenge be in her compunction from my forgiveneſs, and from my wiſhes to promote her welfare!

And a revenge indeed would that be, ſaid Sir Charles, were ſhe, who had acted by an excellent creature, as ſhe has done by you, capable of gene⯑rous compunction. But, nobleſt of women, can it be expected, if you can forgive her, that your family ſhould join, by giving up their reverſionary expec⯑tance, to reward her for her cruelty to their child, who was entruſted to her kindeſt care and protec⯑tion? Can you, madam, treat lightly thoſe inſtances of your parents and brother's Love, which have made them reſent her barbarity to you?—My dear Lady Clementina, you muſt not aim at being above Na⯑ture. Remember that your grandfather never de⯑ſigned this eſtate for Laurana. It was only to be proviſionally hers, in order to ſecure it the more ef⯑fectually [252] to you; and, on failure of deſcendants from you, to your elder brother, who, however, wiſhes not for it. His heart is in your marriage. He only wiſhes, that it may not be the cruel Laurana's. If you can defeat the deſign of your grandfathers, with regard to your own intereſt, ought you to do injuſtice to your brother's claim?

O Chevalier!

Ought you think of diſpoſing of your brother's right? Has not he much better reaſon to be conſidered by you for his affection, than Laurana has for her cru⯑elty?—Abhorred be that ſort of LOVE, my dear Lady Clementina, which is pleaded in excuſe of bar⯑barity, or of any extravagant, undutiful, or unnatural action!

She ſighed. Tears again ſtole down her cheeks. After a ſhort ſilence—O ſpare me, Chevalier!—Deſpiſe me not, Lady Grandiſon!—My enfeebled reaſon may lead me into error; but when I know it is error, I will not continue in it. I ſee that, with regard to my brother's intereſt in this eſtate, I rea⯑ſoned wrong. I was guilty, my dear Lady Grandi⯑ſon, I doubt, in your eye, of a falſe piece of heroiſm. I was for doing leſs than juſtice to a brother, that I might do more than juſtice to an unnatural relation.

All that Laurana can hope from you, my dear Lady Clementina, ſaid Sir Charles, is, that you will intitle her to the receipt of the conſiderable legacy your grand⯑father bequeathed to her—

And how is that to be done, interrupted ſhe, but by my marriage?—Ah, Chevalier!

Such, indeed, is the ſtate of the caſe. Such was it deſigned to be. I, madam, but ſtate it. I adviſe no⯑thing.

Still, Sir, the motive which may allowably have weight with my friends, ought not to have principal weight with me. Conſider, Sir: Is it not ſetting an earthly eſtate againſt my immortal ſoul?

[253] Far otherwiſe, madam. Can you ſo far doubt of the divine grace, can you ſo diſparage your own virtues, as to ſuppoſe they want the ſecurity of a convent? Do juſtice, my dear Lady Clementina, to yourſelf. You have virtues which cannot be exerted in a convent; and you have means to diſplay them for the good of hundreds. I argue not as a prote⯑ſtant, when I addreſs myſelf to you. The moſt zea⯑lous catholic, if unprejudiced, circumſtanced as you are, muſt allow of what I ſay.

Ah, Chevalier! how you anticipate me! I was go⯑ing to charge you with arguing like a proteſtant.

Did not your grandfathers, madam, in effect, argue as I argue, when they made their wills? Did not your father, mother, uncle, brothers, thus argue, when they wiſhed you to relinquiſh all thoughts of the veil? And are not the one, were not the others, all zealous catholics? Does not your brother the bi⯑ſhop, does not your truly pious confeſſor, acquieſce in their reaſonings, and concur with (at leaſt not oppoſe) the family-reaſons?

She looked down, ſweetly conſcious. Sir Charles proceeded.

Has not your mother, madam, who gave you and your three brothers to the world, a merit both with God and man, one of you dedicated, as he is, to God (you ſee, madam, I addreſs myſelf to you in the catholic ſtile) which the cloiſtered life could not have given her? Are not the conjugal and maternal duties (performed as ſhe has performed them) of higher ac⯑count, than any of thoſe can be, which may be ex⯑erted in the ſequeſtred life? Clementina would not wiſh to be a better woman in the convent, than her mother has always been out of it.

She heſitated, ſighed, looked down: At laſt, What can I ſay? ſaid ſhe. I have ſigned to the waving of my wiſhes after the veil; and muſt, I ſee, abide by my ſigning. It is, however, generous in you, Sir, not [254] to plead againſt me that my act; and to hear me with patience want to be abſolved from it. But I am not happy—She ſtopt; and turned away her face to con⯑ceal her emotion.

Sir Charles was affected▪ as well as I.

She recovered her ſpeech. I am, at times, ſaid ſhe, too ſenſible of running into flight and abſurdity. My late unhappy malady has weakened my reaſoning pow⯑ers. You both can, I ſee you both do, pity me. Let me ſay, Chevalier, that when I came into your propoſed compromiſe (which, after ſo grievous a fault com⯑mitted, as the flying from my native country, and in⯑dulgent parents, I could the leſs refuſe) I promiſed myſelf happineſs in a ſituation, in which, I now ſee, it is not to be found. Your friendſhip, your united friendſhip for me, happy pair! I thought (as I knew I deſerved it by my diſintereſted affection for you both) would contribute to it; I was therefore deſirous to cul⯑tivate it. My wounded reaſon allowed me not to conſider, that there were improprieties in my ſcheme, of which the world would judge otherwiſe, than I did: And when I heard of vile and undeſerved re⯑flexions caſt upon me; but moſt when that ſudden indiſpoſition ſeized you, my dear Lady Grandiſon, and ſeemed to my frighted imagination to threaten a life ſo precious—

She pauſed: Then proceeded.—I have told you, madam, my reflexions.—Before you, Chevalier, I have ſaid enough.—And now adviſe me what to do.—To ſay truth, I almoſt as much long to quit Eng⯑land, as I did to fly to it. I am unhappy. O my fluctuating heart! When, when, ſhall I be ſettled?

What, madam, can I ſay? anſwered Sir Charles: What can I adviſe? You ſay you are not happy. You think your parents are not ſo. We all believe you can make them ſo. But God forbid it ſhould be to your own unhappineſs, who have already been ſo great a ſufferer, tho' hardly a greater than every one [255] of your friends has been from your ſufferings. I plead not madam, the cauſe of any one man. I have told you, that your father himſelf adviſes a certain noble⯑man to give over all hopes of you: And that perſon himſelf ſays, that he will endeavour to do ſo; firſt, becauſe he promiſed you, that he would; and next, becauſe he is now too well aſſured, that you have an averſion to him.

An averſion, Chevalier! God forbid that I ſhould have an averſion to any hum n creature! I thought my behaviour to that Gentleman had been ſuch—She ſtopt.

It was great; it was worthy of Clementina. But this is his apprehenſion: And if it be juſt, God for⯑bid that Lady Clementina ſhould think of him!

My dear Lady Grandiſon, do you adviſe me upon all that has paſſed in this conference. You aſſured me at the beginning of it, that my peace of mind was neceſſary to your happineſs.

From my affection for you, my dear Lady Clemen⯑tina, and from my affection only, it is neceſſary. You cannot have a diſtreſs, which will not, if I know it, be a diſtreſs to me. You know beſt what you can do. God give you happineſs, and make yours the foundation of that of your indulgent parents! They are of opinion, that a ſettled life with ſome worthy man of your own country and faith, will greatly contribute to it. Your mamma is firmly of opinion it will: So is Mrs. Beaumont. You ſee that you cannot, in juſtice to your brother, and to his chil⯑dren yet unborn, as well as in duty to your deceaſed grandfathers, aſſume the veil: You ſee that the un⯑natural Laurana, whom you ſtill are ſo great as to love, cannot enjoy a conſiderable legacy bequeathed her, but on your marriage.—If you have a diſlike to the nobleman who has ſo large a ſhare in the affec⯑tions of all your family, by no means think of him. Rejoice, madam, in a ſingle life, if you think you can [256] be happy in it, till ſome man offer whom you can fa⯑vour with your eſteem. Let me be honoured mean time with the continuance of your Love, as I ſhall be found to deſerve it. We are already ſiſters. In pre⯑ſence, we will be one; in abſence, we will not be divided; for we will mingle ſouls and ſentiments on paper.—

I was proceeding; but ſhe wrapt her arms about my neck. She bathed my cheek with her tears.—O how generouſly did ſhe extol me! how delighted, how affected, was the deareſt of men! how delicate was his behaviour to both! the tender friend in her, the beleved wife, were with the niceſt propriety, diſ⯑tinguiſhed by him.

The dear Lady was too much diſordered by her own grateful rapture, to recover a train of reaſoning. She told me, however, that ſhe would ponder, weigh, con⯑ſider every thing that had paſſed.

God give her happineſs! prays with her whole heart,

LETTER LI. Lady GRANDISON, To Mrs. SHIRLEY.

LETTER LII. Lady G. To Miſs SELBY.

AND ſo, Lucy, your day is fixed. May next Thurſday be a happy one, and reward the he⯑roic girl who ſo nobly conquered a firſt Love, on the diſcovered unworthineſs of the man. And you own that your heart is far from being indifferent to Lord Rereſby—Good girl!—Confirmation of all my Doctrines. We women prate and prate of what we can, and what we can-not; what we ought, and what we ought-not, to do: But none of us ſtay-till-we-are-aſked mortals know what we ſhall, or can do, till we are tried by the power of determining be⯑ing put into our hands. Was it poſſible for me to have loved that ſorry wretch Anderſon, ſo well as I really love my honeſt Lord G? It was not. But [262] tho' I name that creature myſelf, never do you pre⯑ſume to do it. I bluſh even to this hour at looking back to certain giddineſſes that debaſed my character—But let me quit a ſubject ſo diſagreeable.

Lady Clementina has had a bad night▪ it ſeems—Came not down to breakfaſt. The poor Enamo⯑re to was in deſpair. I tried to hearten him up a little: But my brother will not let any body flatter him with a hope that too probably may end in diſ⯑appointment.

Yonder [I am writing at my window, you muſt know] is the fair Inflexible muſing in the garden. I have a good mind to call to her; for I ſee by her motions and downcaſt looks, that Reſverie is no fa⯑vourable ſign for the Count—No need of my calling to her; my Prother has this minute joined her. As ſoon as he came in ſight, ſhe went to him.—Now, dear brother, put in a word for the poor man.

Well, but Lucy, this Lord of yours muſt come among us. He ſnall not carry you to Ireland this year. Let all who would be good huſbands and good wives, come to Grandiſon-hall, and learn: And, pray, let them come while I am here. Yet I have ſomething to ſay againſt our Harriet too.—She is ſo taken up with her heroic friendſhip, that Clemen⯑tina is now almoſt the only ſubject of her pen. What godlike inſtances of my brother's goodneſs does ſhe leave untold tho' ſhe admires him for them, as much as ever! Every riſing, every ſetting fun, are witneſſes of his divine Philanthropy. I ſuppoſe ſhe looks upon his praiſes now to be her own. Well ſhe may. Never were hearts ſo united, ſo formed for one ano⯑ther. But Harriet uſed to praiſe herſelf formerly; Did ſhe not, uncle Selby?

Believe me, I will praiſe my honeſt man when⯑ever he gives me cauſe. For inſtance; Yeſterday, I was well enough pleaſed with what he ſaid to my [263] brother.—You, Sir Charles, ought not to give your⯑ſelf up to a private life. Your country has a claim upon ſuch a character as yours.

Without doubt, ſaid I—Shall we, my-Lord, make my brother an embaſſador, or a juſtice of peace? Lord G. rubbed his forehead; but ſeeing me ſmile, his countenance brightened up. Don't you know, Charlotte, ſaid my brother, that nothing but the engagements our noble gueſts have given me, would have prevented me from acting in the uſeful cha⯑racter you have laſt named?

O that you had, brother! What admirable cauſes would then have been brought before US, en dernier reſſort! How delightfully would your time have been taken up with the appeals of ſcolding wives, forſaken damſels, and witches preſumptive!

L dy G. moſt be herſelf, whatever be the ſubject, replied Sir Charles. You and I love her, my Lord, for her charming vivacity. But think you, my ſiſter, that a day ſpent in doing good, be the objects of it ever ſo low, is not more pleaſing to reflect upon▪ than a day of the moſt elegant indulgence? Would per⯑ſons of ſenſe and diſtinction (myſelf out of the que⯑ſtion) more frequently than they do, undertake the task, it would be lighter to every one, and would keep the great power veſted in this claſs of magiſtrates, and which is every year increaſing, out of mean and mercenary hands. And, ſurely, men of conſidera⯑tion in the world owe it to their tenants and neigh⯑bours, and to thoſe of their fellow-creatures to whoſe induſtry they are obliged for their affluence, to em⯑ploy in their ſervice, thoſe advantages of rank and education, which make it perhaps eaſy for them to clear up and adjuſt, in half an hour, matters that would be of endleſs perplexity and entanglement to the parties concerned.

Mind this, uncle Selby; for I think you are too fond of your own ways and your own ho [...]rs, to do your duty as an active juſtice, tho' of the quorum.

[264] But I ſhould have told you, Lucy, how this con⯑verſation began. I got the occaſion for it out of Dr. Bartlett af erwards. You muſt know, that I viſit him now and then as Harriet uſed to do, to learn ſome of my brother's good deeds, that otherwiſe would not come to our knowledge; by which I un⯑derſtand that notwithſtanding he gives his gueſts ſo much of his company, and appears ſo eaſy and free among us, yet, that every beneficent ſcheme is going on: Not one improvement ſtands ſtill: He knows not what it is to be one moment idle.

Dr. Bartlett tells me, that ſome gentlemen of prime conſideration in the county, have been offering my brother their intereſt againſt the next election. He modeſtly acknowleged the grateful ſenſe he had of the honour done him; but declined it for the pre⯑ſent, as having been too little a while returned into his own country, after ſo long an abſence, to be as yet fit for a truſt ſo important. We young men, ſaid he, are apt to be warm: When we have not ſtudied a point throughly, we act upon haſty con⯑cluſions, and ſometimes ſupport, ſometimes oppoſe, on inſufficient grounds. I would not be under Engagements to any party: Neither can I think of contributing to deſtroy the morals and health of all the country people round me, to make myſelf what is called an Intereſt. Forgive me, gentlemen: I mean not to ſlight your favours: But on ſuch an occaſion, I ought to be explicit.

But, after the gentlemen were gone. There is a county, Dr. Bartlett, ſaid he, of which I ſhould be ambitious to be one of the repreſentatives, had I a na⯑tural intereſt in it; becauſe of the reverence I bear to the good man, to whom in that caſe I ſhould have the honour to call myſelf a collegue. When I can think myſelf more worthy than at preſent I am, of ſtanding in ſuch a civil relation to him, I ſhall con⯑ſider him, as another Gamaliel, at whoſe feet (ſo [265] long abſent as I have been from my native country) I ſhall be proud to be initiated into the ſervice of the public.

It is not difficult to gueſs, who my brother—But my Marmouſet is ſqualling for me; and I muſt fly to ſilence it.

Now, Lucy, that I have pacified my Brat, do I wiſh you with me at my window. My Brother and his Harriet only, at this inſtant walking almoſt under it, engaged in earneſt converſation: Seem⯑ingly, how pleaſing a one! admiration and tender⯑neſs mingled in his looks: In her, while he ſpeaks, the moſt delighted attention: When ſhe anſwers, love, affiance, modeſt deference, benevolence, com⯑paſſion; an expreſſion that no pen can deſcribe—Knowing them both ſo well, and acquainted with their uſual behaviour to each other, I can make it all out. She is pleading, I am ſure, for Clementina. Charming pleader!—Yet, my dear Mrs. Shirley, I fear her reaſonings are romantic ones. Our Harriet, you know, was always a little tinctured with Hero⯑iſm; and ſhe goes back in her mind to the time that ſhe thought ſhe could never be the wife of any other man than my brother (tho' then hopeleſs that he could be hers); and ſuppoſes Clementina in the ſame ſituation.

When I looked firſt, I dare ſay, he was giving her an account of the converſation that paſſed an hour ago, between him and Clementina. He had his arm round her waiſt, ſometimes preſſing her to him as they walked; ſometimes ſtanding ſtill; and, on her replies, raiſing her hand to his lips, with ſuch tender poſſion—But here ſhe comes.

Harriet, if I am a witch, let Lucy know it. Here—read this laſt paragraph—Have I gueſſed right at your ſubject of diſcourſe?—You will tell me, you ſay, in a Letter by itſelf—Do ſo.

LETTER LIII. Lady GRANDISON, To Miſs SELBY.

LETTER LIV. Miſs EMILY JERVOIS, To Lady GRANDISON.

I Have ſomething to communicate to you, my dear Lady Grandiſon, and take your advice about: yet, ſo young a creature as I am, I am quite aſhamed. But you muſt keep my ſecret from every living ſoul, and from my guardian too, for the preſent, ſince in writ⯑ing to you, I think I write to him, as you know all his heart, and are ſo prudent a Lady. It is true, I was, (or I might have been, I ſhould rather ſay) a for⯑ward girl with regard to him: But then my whole heart was captivated by his perfections, by his great⯑neſs of mind; that was all. May not a creature, tho' ever ſo young, admire a good man's goodneſs? May ſhe not have a deep ſenſe of gratitude for kind⯑neſs conferred? That gratitude may indeed, as ſhe grows up, engage her too deeply; and I found my⯑ſelf in danger; but made my eſcape in time. Thank God!—and thank you, who aſſiſted me!—what an excellent Lady are you, that one can ſpeak to you of theſe tender matters! But you are the Queen of our Sex, and ſit inthroned, holding out your ſcep⯑ter in pity to one poor girl, and raiſing another, and another; for it is glory enough for you to call the man yours, for whom ſo many hearts have ſighed in ſecret.

[270] But this was always my way—I never ſat my⯑ſelf down to write to my guardian or to you, but my preambles were longer than my matter—To the point then—but be ſure keep my ſecret.

Here every-body is fond of Sir Edward Beau⯑champ. He is indeed a very agreeable man. Next to my guardian, I think him the moſt agreeable of men. He is always coming down to us. I cannot but ſee that he is particularly obliging to me. I really believe, young as I am, he loves me: But every body is ſo ſilent about him: yet they ſlide away, and leave us together very oſten. It looks as if all favoured him; yet would not interfere. He has not made any declaration of love neither.—I am ſo young a creature, you know; and to be ſure he is a very prudent man.

My guardian dearly loves him—who does not? His addreſs is ſo gentle: His words are ſo ſoothing: His voice—To be ſure he is a very amiable man! Now tell me freely—Do you think my guardian (but pray only ſound him—I am ſo young a creature, you know) would be diſpleaſed if matters were to come to ſomething in time?—Three or four years hence, ſuppoſe, if Sir Edward would think it worth while to ſtay for ſo ſilly a creature?—I would not think of ſooner.—If not, I would not allow myſelf to be ſo much in his company, you know.

He has a very good eſtate; and tho' he is ten or twelve years older than I; yet he never will be more than that; ſince every year that goes over his head, will go over mine likewiſe—So you will be pleaſed to give me your opinion.

And here all the world is for marrying, I think. Miſs Selby is as good as gone, you know. Her brother courts Miſs Patty Holles: Miſs Kitty is not without her humble ſervant. Nay, Miſs Nancy Sel⯑by, for that matter—But let theſe intelligences come from themſelves.

[271] You, my dear Lady Grandiſon, have led up this dance—So happy as you are—I think it is a right thing for young women to marry when young men are ſo deſirous to copy Sir Charles Grandiſon.

Haſten to me your advice, if but in ſix lines. We expect Sir Edward down next week. I muſt like his company, becauſe he is always telling us one charming thing or other of my guardian; and becauſe he ſo ſin⯑cerely rejoices in your happineſs and his.

God continue it to you both. This is our prayer night and morning, for our own ſakes, as well as yours, believe

LETTER LV. Lady GRANDISON, To Miſs JERVOIS.

I HAVE a great opinion of your prudence, my Love: And I have as high a one of Sir Edward Beauchamp's honour and diſcretion. His fortune, his merit are unexceptionable. Your guardian loves him. If you could certainly love Sir Edward above all men, and he you above all women, I am of opi⯑nion your guardian will think no alliance can be hap⯑pier for both, and for himſelf too: For you know, my dear, that your welfare is near his heart. Let me, my ſweet Emily, refer you as to your conduct on this occaſion, to my own almoſt-unerring counſellors, my grandmamma and aunt Selby. Don't be aſhamed to open your heart to them: Are you not under their wings? I will ſo manage, that they ſhall lead the way to your freedom with them. Your difficulties by this means will be leſſened. Sir Charles will pay the greateſt attention to their advice. But yet I muſt [272] inſiſt, that the reference to them, ſhall not deprive of my Emily's confidence,

LETTER LVI. Lady GRANDISON, To Mrs. SHIRLEY.

LETTER LVII. Lady GRANDISON, To Mrs. SHIRLEY.

UNHAPPY Laurana! Sir Charles expreſſed great concern for the manner of her death. How can you, brother, ſaid Lady G. (when we three only were together) be concerned for ſo execrable a wretch!

Shall a human creature periſh, replied he, and its fellow-creature not be moved? Shall an immortal Being fix its eternal ſtate by an act dreadful and irre⯑verſible; by a crime that admits not of repentance; and ſhall we not be concerned? this indeed was ow⯑ing to diſtraction: But how ill was ſuch a ſoul as Laurana's prepared to ruſh into Eternity?—Unhap⯑py Laurana!

It is not thought fit, for obvious reaſons, to ac⯑quaint Clementina with the contents of the general's Letter.

AT laſt, my dear grandmamma, the great point ſeems to be decided. Lady Clementina had for ſome time been employing herſelf in drawing up, in two oppoſite columns, the arguments for and againſt her entering into the marriage-ſtate. She ſhewed them to me, and afterwards to Mrs Beaumont; but would not allow either of us to take a copy. She has ſtated them very fairly. I could not but obſerve to her on which ſide the ſtrength lay.

This morning ſhe gave us her company at break⯑faſt-time for a few minutes only. She was in viſible emotions; and ſeemed deſirous of getting the better of them; but was unable; and therefore retired, She ſhut herſelf up, and about noon, ſent, ſealed up, [278] a Letter; which I will Engliſh as well as I can; thus directed;

THE Marquis was alone with his Lady in her dreſſing room when Camilla carried them this Letter. They opened it with impatience. They could not contain their joy when they peruſed it. They both declared, that it was all that ſhould, all that ought to be exacted from het. The Biſhop, Signor Jero⯑nymo, and her two couſins, on the contents being communicated to them, were in ceſtaſies of joy.

All that the Count of Belvedere had wiſhed for, was, that Lady Clementina would give him hope, [281] that if ſhe ever married, he might be the happy man; and for the ſake of this diſtant hope, he was reſolved to forego all other engagements. Sir Charles was deſired to acquaint him with the happy tidings. He did, with his uſual prudence: but his joy is extreme.

The Marquis and Marchioneſs were impatient to embrace and thank their beloved Daughter. The moment ſhe ſaw them ſhe threw herſelf at their feet, as they ſat together on one ſettee, and were riſing to embrace her—O my father! O my mo⯑ther! Have I not been perverſe in your eyes?—It was not I!—You can pity me!—It was not always in my power to think as I now do. My mind was diſturbed. I ſought for tranquility, and could no where find it. My brother Guiacomo was too preci⯑pitating, yet, in his earneſtneſs to have me marry, ſhewed his diſintereſtedneſs. He gave me not time, as you both, thro' the advice of the common friend of us all have done. The neareſt evil was the heavieſt to me: I ſought to avoid that, and might have fallen into greater. God reward you, my fa⯑ther, my mother, and all my dear friends, for the in⯑dulgence you have ſhewn me!—To follow me too into foreign climates, at an unpropitious ſeaſon of the year—And for what?—Not to chide, not to pu⯑niſh me; but to reſtore me to the arms of your pa⯑rental love!—And did you not vouchſafe to enter into conditions with your child!—How greatly diſ⯑ordered in my mind muſt I be, if I ever forget ſuch inſtances of your graciouſneſs!

The tender parents preſſed her to their boſoms. How did her two brothers and Mrs. Beaumont ap⯑plaud her!—

O how good, ſaid ſhe, are you all to me! What a malady! A malady of the darkeſt hue! was mine, that it could fill me with ſuch apprehenſions, as were able to draw a cloud between your goodneſs and my gra⯑titude; [282] and make even your indulgence wear the face of hardſhip to me.

The Biſhop thought it not adviſeable, that the Count, who hardly knew how to truſt himſelf with his own joy, ſhould be preſently introduced to her. The rejoicing Lover therefore walked into the garden; giving way to his agreeable contemplations.

Clementina, her mind filled with ſelf-complacency on the joyful reception her propoſal had met with, went into the garden, intending to take one of her uſual walks, Laura attending her. The Count ſaw her enter, and fearing to diſoblige her, if he broke in upon her, in her retirements, profoundly bowed, and took a different path, but ſhe, croſſing another alley, was near him before he was aware. He ſtarted; but recovering, threw himſelf at her feet—Life of my hope! Adorable Lady Clementina! ſaid he—But could not at the moment ſpeak another word.

She relieved him from his confuſion—Riſe, my Lord, ſaid ſhe, I croſſed to meet you, on purpoſe to exchange a few words with you, as you happened to be in the garden.

I cannot, connot riſe, till, thus proſtrate at your feet, I have thanked you, madam, with my whole ſoul—

No thanks are due, my Lord, interrupting him. God knows what may happen in the next twelve months. Riſe, my Lord. [He aroſe.] As a friend of our houſe, I will reſpect you: So I have hereto⯑fore told you: But for your own ſake, for honour's, for juſtice ſake, I think it neceſſary to tell you, you muſt not make an abſolute dependance on me from what I have written to my Parents, tho' I repent not of what I have written.

I will not, madam: For one year, for many years; I will await your pleaſure. If at the end of any limited period, after that you have named, I cannot be ſo happy as to engage your favour, I will [283] reſign to my deſtiny—Only, mean time, permit me to hope.

I mentioned, my Lord, that it was for your own ſake, that I wiſhed you not to depend upon a contingency. Be you free to purſue your own meaſures. Who can ſay, what one, two, or three years may produce? Maladies that have once ſeized the head, generally, as I have heard ſay, keep their hold, or often re⯑turned. Have I not very lately, been guilty of a great raſhneſs? Believe me, Sir, if at the end of the allow⯑ed year, I ſhall have reaſon to ſuſpect myſelf, I will ſuffer by myſelf. I ever thought you a worthy man: God forbid that I ſhould make a worthy man unhappy. That would be to double my own miſery.

Generous Lady! exalted goodneſs!—Permit me, I once more beſeech you, but to hope. I will reſign to your pleaſure whatever it ſhall finally be; and bleſs you for your determination tho' it ſhould doom me to deſpair.

Remember, my Lord, you are warned. You de⯑pend upon the regard all our houſe have for you. I owe it duty next to implicit, for its unexampled in⯑dulgence to me. Your reliance on its favour is not a w [...]ak one: But, O Count, remember I caution you, that your dependence on me, is not a ſtrong me. Be prudent: let me not be vexed. My heart ſickens at the thought of importunity. Oppoſition has its root in importunity. If you are as happy as I wiſh, you will be very happy. But at preſent I have no notion, that I can ever contribute to make you ſo.

He bent one knee, and was going to reply—Adieu, adieu, ſaid ſhe—Not another word, my Lord, if you are wiſe. Are not events in the hand of Providence?

She hurried from him. He was motionleſs for a few moments: His heart, however, overflowed with hope, love, and reverence.

On his reporting to the Marchioneſs, Mrs. Beau⯑mont, the two Brothers, and me, what paſſed be⯑tween [284] the noble Lady and him, as above, we all con⯑gratulated him.

The warning Lady Clementina has given you my Lord, ſaid Mrs. Beaumont, is of a piece with her uſual greatneſs of mind, ſince the event referred to, is not, cannot be, in her own power.

There is not, ſaid Signor Jeronymo, there can be but one woman greater than my ſiſter—It is ſhe, who can adopt as her deareſt friend, a young creature of her own Sex in calamity (circumſtances ſo delicate!) and for her ſake, occaſionally forget that ſhe is the wife of the beſt, and moſt beloved of men.

Clementina, ſaid the Biſhop (the Count being with⯑drawn) will now complete her triumph. She has, up⯑on religious motives, refuſed the man of her inclinati⯑on; the man deſervedly beloved and admired by all her friends, and by the whole world: And now will ſhe, from motives, of duty, accept of another worthy man; and thereby lay her parents themſelves, as well as the moſt diſintereſted of brothers, under obligation to her.—What a pleaſure, madam, (to the Marchio⯑neſs) will it be to you, to my honoured Lord, to my Uncle, and even to our Giacomo, and ſtill more to his excellent wife, to reflect on the patience you have had with her, ſince her laſt raſh ſtep, and the indulgence ſhewn her! Clementina now will be all our own.

Every one praiſed Sir Charles, and attributed to him the happy proſpects before them.

LETTER LVIII. Lady GRANDISON, To Mrs. SHIRLEY.

LETTER LIX. Lady GRANDISON, To Mrs. SHIRLEY.

I GAVE you, my dear grandmamma, in my two laſt Letters ^(a), an account of our delightful engage⯑ments, among ourſelves principally, and now-and-then at public places. What a rich portion of time has paſſed: And we have ſtill the promiſe of a week to come. And how let me take a ſurvey of our preſent happy ſituation.

[289] Every thing that can be adjuſted, is. The Count of Belvedere, as by Letters to Signor Jeronymo, is on his way to Italy, and not unhappy: Lady Cle⯑mentina is miſtreſs of every queſtion, and the more ſtudious, for that reaſon, of obliging all her friends. How joyfully do we all, in proſpect, ſee a durable tranquillity taking poſſeſſion of her noble heart! The Marquis and Marchioneſs have not one care written on their heretofore viſibly anxious brows. Clementina ſees, as every one does, their amended health in their fine countenances; wonders at the power ſhe had over them, and regrets that ſhe made not, what ſhe calls, a more grateful and dutiful uſe of it.

Father Mareſcotti, the Biſhop, Signor Juliano, compliment the Engliſh air, as if that had contributed to the alteration; and promiſe wonders from that and its ſalubrious baths for Jeronymo.

The higheſt merit is given to the conduct of Sir Charles, and to the advice he gave not to precipitate the noble Clementina.

Lord and Lady L. Lord and Lady G. when we are by ourſelves, felicitate me more than any body elſe on theſe joyful changes; for they rightly ſay, that I could not but look upon the happineſs of Lady Cle⯑mentina, as eſſential to my own.

But your congratulations, my deareſt grand⯑mamma, I moſt particularly expect, that in this whole critical event, which brought to England a Lady ſo deſerving of every one's Love, not one ſhadow of doubt has ariſen of the tender, inviolable affection of the beſt of men to his grateful Harriet.

So peculiarly circumſtanced as he was, how un⯑affectedly noble has been his behaviour to his WIFE, and to his FRIEND, in the preſence of both! How often, tho' cauſeleſly (becauſe of the nobleneſs of the Lady's heart) have I ſilently wiſhed him to abate of his outward tenderneſs to me, before her, tho' ſuch as [290] became the pureſt mind.—Nothing but the conſcious integrity of his own heart, above diſguiſes or con⯑cealments, as his ever was, could thus gloriouſly have carried him thro' ſituations ſo delicate.

He had, from the firſt, avowed his friendly, his compaſſionating Love, as well as Admiration, of this noble Lady: That generous avowal prepared his Harriet to expect, that he ſhould behave with ten⯑derneſs to her, even had not her tranſcendent wor⯑thineſs done honour to every one who paid her ho⯑nour. To her he applauded, he exalted his Harriet: She was prepared to expect that he would recognize, in the face of the ſun, obligations that he had en⯑tered into at the altar: And both knew, that he was a good man; and that a good man cannot allow himſelf either to palliate or temporize with a duty, whether it regarded friendſhip, or a ſtill cloſer and more ſacred union. How many difficulties will the character and intervention of a man of undoubted virtue obviate! What cannot he effect? What force has his example! Sir Charles Grandiſon's Love is a Love to be gloried in. Magnanimity and tenderneſs are united in his noble heart. Littleneſs of any kind has no place in it: All that know him are ſtudious to commend themſelves to his favourable opinion; ſolicitous about what he will think of them; and, ſuppreſſing common foibles before him, find their hearts expand, nor know how to be mean.

O my God! do thou make me thankful for ſuch a Friend, Protector, Director, Huſband! Increaſe, with my gratitude to THEE, my merits to him, and my power of obliging him. For HIS SAKE, ſpare to him [This, my grandmamma, he bids be my prayer—I know it is yours] in the awful hour approach⯑ing, his Harriet; whoſe life and welfare, he aſſures her, are the deareſt part of his own.

LETTER. LX. Lady GRANDISON, To Mrs. SHIRLEY.

LETTER LXI. Lady GRANDISON, To Mrs. SHIRLEY.

AH, my grandmamma!—The poor Sir Har⯑grave!—

Sir Charles returned but this morning. He found him ſenſible. He rejoiced to ſee him. He inſtantly begged his prayers. He wrung his hands; wept; lamented his paſt free life. Fain, ſaid he, would I have been truſted with a few years trial of my penitence. I have wearied heaven with my prayers to this purpoſe. I deſerved not perhaps that they ſhould be heard. My conſcience cruelly told me, that I had neglected a multitude of opportuni⯑ties! ſlighted a multitude of warnings!—O Sir Charles Grandiſon! It is a hard, hard thing to die! In the prime of youth too!—Such noble poſſeſſions!—

And then he warned his ſurrounding friends, and made compariſons between Sir Charles's happineſs, and his own miſery. Sir Charles, at his requeſt, ſat up with him all night: He endeavoured to ad⯑miniſter comfort to him; and called out for mercy for him, when the poor man could only, by expreſ⯑ſive looks, join in the ſolemn invocation. Sir Har⯑grave had begged he would cloſe his eyes. He did. He ſtaid to the laſt painful moment. Judge what [298] ſuch a heart as Sir Charles's muſt have felt on the awful occaſion!

Poor Sir Hargrave Pollexfen! May he have met with mercy from the All-merciful!

He gave his will into Sir Charles's hands, ſoon after he came down. He has made him his ſole executor. Have you not been told, that Sir Charles had heretofore reconciled him to his relations and heirs at Law? He had the pleaſure of finding the reconciliation ſincere. The poor man ſpoke kindly to them all. They were tenderly careful of him. He acknowleged their care.

I cannot write for tears.—The poor man, in the laſt ſolemn act of his life, has been intendedly kind, but really cruel, to me.—I ſhould have been a ſincere mourner for him (A life ſo miſpent!) without this act of regard for me—He has left me, as a ſmall atonement, he calls it, for the terrors he once gave me, a very large Legacy in money (Sir Charles has not yet told me what) and his jewels and plate—And he has left Sir Charles a noble one beſides. He died immenſely rich. Sir Charles is grieved at both Le⯑gacies: And the more, as he cannot give them back to the heirs; for they declare, that he bound them under a ſolemn oath (and by a curſe, if they broke it) not to except back either from Sir Charles, or me, the large bequeſts he told them he had made us: And they aſſured Sir Charles, that they would be religiouſly bound by it.

Many unhappy objects will be the better for theſe bequeſts. Sir Charles tells me, that he will not in⯑terfere, no, not ſo much as by his advice, in the diſ⯑poſal of mine. You, madam, and my aunt Selby, muſt direct me, when it comes into my hands. Sir Charles intends, that the poor man's memory ſhall receive true honour from the diſpoſition of his Legacy to him. He is pleaſed with his Harriet, for the concern ſhe expreſſed for this unhappy man. [299] The moſt indulgent of huſbands finds out ſome reaſon to praiſe her for every thing ſhe ſays and does. But could HE be otherwiſe than the beſt of HUSBANDS, who was the moſt dutiful of SONS; who is the moſt affectionate of BROTHERS; the moſt faithful of FRIENDS: Who is good upon principle, in every relation of life?

What, my dear grandmamma, is the boaſted cha⯑racter of moſt of thoſe who are called HEROES, to the un-oſtentatious merit of a TRULY GOOD MAN? In what a variety of amiable lights does ſuch a one appear? In how many ways is he a bleſſing and a joy to his fellow-creatures?

And this bleſſing, this joy, your Harriet can call more peculiarly her own!

My ſingle heart, methinks, is not big enough to contain the gratitude which ſuch a Lot demands. Let the overflowings of your pious joy, my deareſt grandmamma, join with my thankfulneſs in paying part of the immenſe debt for