LETTER I. Sir CHARLES GRANDISON, To Dr. BARTLETT.

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

YOUR kind Letters from Lyons, my deareſt friend, rejoiced us extremely. Clementina lan⯑guiſhed to hear from you. How was it poſſible for you to write with ſo much warmth of affection to her, yet with ſo much delicacy, that a rival could not take exceptions at it?

She writes to you. It is not for me, it is not for [7] any of us, I think, to ſay one word to the principal ſubject of her Letter. She ſhewed it to me, and to her mother, only.

Dear creature! Could ſhe be prevailed upon!—But how can you be aſked to ſupport the family-wiſhes? Yet if you think them juſt, I know you will. You know not Self, when juſtice and the ſervice of your friend ſtand in oppoſition to it. All that I am afraid of is, that we ſhall be too precipitate for the dear creature's head.

Would to God, you could have been my Brother! That was the firſt deſire of my heart!—But you will ſee by her Letter (the leaſt flighty that ſhe has written of a long time) that ſhe has no thought of that: And ſhe declares to us, that ſhe wiſhes you happily married to an Engliſhwoman. Would to Heaven, we might plead your example to her!

I will certainly attend you in your England!—If one thing, that we all wiſh, could happen, you would have the whole family, as far as I know. We think, we talk, of nobody but you. We look out for Eng⯑liſhmen, to do them honour for your ſake.

Mrs, Beaumont is with us. Surely ſhe is your near relation! She adviſes caution; but thinks that our preſent meaſures are not wrong ones, as we never can give into my ſiſter's wiſhes to quit the world. Dear Grandiſon! love not Mrs. Beaumont the leſs for her opinion in our favour.

Mr. Lowther writes to you: I ſay nothing, there⯑fore, of that worthy man.

I am wiſhed to write more enforcingly to you, on a certain important ſubject: But I ſay, I cannot, dare not, will not.

Dear Grandiſon, love ſtill your Jeronymo! Your friendſhip makes life worthy of my wiſh. It has been a conſolation to me, when every other failed, and all around me was darkneſs, and the ſhadow of death. You will often be troubled with Letters from [8] me. My beloved, my deareſt friend, my Grandiſon, adieu!

LETTER III. Lady CLEMENTINA, To Sir CHARLES GRANDISON.

HOW welcome to me was your Letter from Ly⯑ons! My good Chevalier Grandiſon, my heart thanks you for it: Yet it was poſſible that heart could have been ſtill more thankful, had I not obſerved in your Letter an air of penſiveneſs, tho' it is endea⯑voured to be concealed. What pain would it give me to know, that you ſuffer on my account!—But no more in this ſtrain: A complaining one muſt take place.

O Chevalier, I am perſecuted! And by whom? By my deareſt, my neareſt friends. I was afraid it would be ſo. Why, why, would you deny me your influence, when I importuned you for it? Why would you not ſtay among us, till you ſaw me pro⯑feſſed? Then had I been happy—In time, I ſhould have been happy!—Now am I beſet with entreaties, with ſupplications, from thoſe who ought to com⯑mand;—yet unlawfully, if they did: I preſume to think ſo: Since parents, tho' they ought to be con⯑ſulted in the change of condition, as to the perſon; yet ſurely ſhould not oblige the child to marry, who chooſes to be ſingle all her life. A more cogent rea⯑ſon may be pleaded, and I do plead it to my relations, as Catholics, as I wiſh for nothing ſo much as to aſ⯑ſume the veil.—But you are a Proteſtant: You favour not a Divine dedication, and would not plead for me. On the contrary, you have ſtrengthened their hands!—O Chevalier! how could you do ſo, and ever love me! Did you not know, there was but one way to [9] eſcape the grievous conſequences of the importunities of thoſe who juſtly lay claim to my obedience?—And they do claim it.

And in what forcible manner, claim it!—Shall I tell you? Thus, then: My father, with tears in his eyes, beſeeches me! My mother gently reminds me of what ſhe has ſuffered for me in my illneſs; and declares, that it is in my power to make the reſt of her days happy: Nor ſhall ſhe think my own tranquility of mind ſecured, ▪till I oblige her!—O Chevalier! what pleas are theſe from a father, whoſe eyes plead more ſtrongly than words: and from a mother, on whoſe bright days I caſt a cloud!—The Biſhop pleads: How can a Catholic Biſhop plead, and not for me? The General declares, that he never wooed his beloved wife for her conſent with more fervour than he does me for mine, to oblige them all. Nay, Jeronymo! Bluſh, ſiſterly love! to ſay it—Jeronymo, your friend Jero⯑nymo, is ſolicitous on the ſame ſide—Even Father Mareſcotti is carried away by the example of the Bi⯑ſhop.—Mrs. Beaumont argues with me in their fa⯑vour.—And Camilla, who was ever full of your praiſes, teazes me continually.

They name not the man: They pretend to leave me free to chooſe through the world. They plead, that, zealous as they are in the Catholic faith, they were ſo earneſt for me to enter into the ſtate, that they were deſirous to ſee me the wife even of a Pro⯑teſtant, rather than I ſhould remain ſingle: And they remind me, that it was owing to my ſcruple only, that this was not effected.—But why, why will they weaken rather than ſtrengthen my ſcruple? Could I have got over three points—The ſenſe of my own unworthineſs, after my mind had been diſturbed; The inſuperable apprehenſion, that, drawn aſide by your Love, I ſhould probably have enſnared my own Soul: and that I ſhould be perpetually lamenting the certainty of the loſs of his whom it would be my [10] duty to love as my own; their importunity would hardly have been wanted.

Tell me adviſe me, my good Chevalier, my fourth brother (You are not Now intereſted in the debate) if I may not lawfully ſtand out? Tell me, as I know that I cannot anſwer their views, except I marry, and yet cannot conſent to marry, whether I may not as well ſequeſter myſelf from the world, and inſiſt upon ſo doing?

What, what can I do?—I am diſtreſſed—O thou, my Brother, my Friend, whom my heart ever muſt hold dear, adviſe me! To you I have told them I will appeal. They are ſo good as to promiſe to ſuſpend their ſolicitations, if I will hold ſuſpended my thoughts of the veil till I have your advice.—But give it not againſt me—If you ever valued Clementina,

Give it not againſt her!

LETTER IV. Sir CHARLES GRANDISON, To Lady CLEMENTINA.

WHAT can I ſay, moſt excellent of women, to the contents of the Lerter you have honoured me with? What a taſk have you impoſed upon me! You take great, and, reſpecting your intentions, I will call it, kind care, to let me know that I can have no intereſt in the deciſion of the caſe you refer to me. I repeat my humble acquieſcence; but muſt again de⯑clare, that it would have been next to impoſſible to do ſo, had you not made a point of conſcience of your ſcruples.

But what weight is my advice likely to have with a young Lady, who repeatedly, in the cloſe of her Let⯑ter, deſires me not to give it for her parents?

I, madam, am far from being unprejudiced in this caſe. For can the man who once himſelf hoped for [11] the honour of your hand, adviſe you againſt Marri⯑age?—Are not your parents generouſly indulgent, when they name not any particular perſon to you? I applaud both their wiſdom and their goodneſs, on this occaſion. Poſſibly, you gueſs the man whom they would recommend to your choice: And I am ſure, Lady Clementina would not refuſe their recommen⯑dation merely becauſe it was theirs. Nor indeed upon any leſs reaſon than an unconquerable averſion, or a preference to ſome other Catholic. A Proteſtant, it ſeems, it cannot be.

But let me aſk my Siſter, my Friend, What anſwer can I return to the Lady who had ſhewn, in one in⯑ſtance, that ſhe had not an inſuperable averſion to Matrimony; yet on conſcientious reaſons refuſing one man, and not particularly favouring any, can ſcruple to oblige (obey is not the word they uſe) ‘'a Father, who with tears in his eyes beſeeches her; a Mother who gently reminds her of what ſhe has ſuffered for her; who declares, that it is in her power to make the reſt of her days happy; and who urges a ſtill ſtronger plea reſpecting them both, and the whole family, to engage the attention of the beloved daughter?"—O madam, what pleas are thoſe (Let me ſtill make uſe of your own pathetic words) from a Father whoſe eyes plead more ſtrongly than words! and from a Mother, over whoſe bright days you had (tho' involuntarily) caſt a cloud!—Your Brother the Biſhop, a man of piety; your Con⯑fſſor, a man of equal piety; your two other Bro⯑thers, your diſintereſted Friend Mrs. Beaumont; your faithful Camilla; all wholly diſintereſted.'’—What an enumeration againſt yourſelf.—Forbidden, as I am. to give the cauſe againſt you, what can I ſay? Deareſt Lady Clementina, can I, on your own repreſentation, give it for you?

You know, madam, the ſacrifice I have made to the plea of your conſcience, not my own. I make [12] no doubt, but parents ſo indulgent as yours, will yield to your reaſons, if you can plead conſcience againſt the performance of the filial duty; the more a duty, as it is ſo gently urged: Nay, hardly urged; but by tears, and wiſhes, which the eyes, not the lips, expreſs; and which if you will perform, your parents will think themſelves under an obligation to their child.

Lady Clementina is one of the moſt generous of wo⯑men: But conſider, madam, in this inſtance of prefer⯑ing your own will to that of the moſt indulgent of pa⯑rents, whether there is not an apparent ſelfiſhneſs, incon⯑ſiſtent with your general character, even were you to be as happy in a convent, as you propoſe. Would you not, in that caſe, live to yourſelf, and renounce your parents and family, as parts of that world which you would vow to deſpiſe?—Dear Lady! I asked you once before, Is there any thing ſinful in a Sacrament? Such all good Catholics deem Matrimony. And ſhall I ask you, Whether, as ſelf-denial is held to be meri⯑torious in your church, there is not a merit in denying yourſelf in the caſe before us, when you can, by per⯑forming the filial duty, oblige your whole family?

Permit me to ſay, that tho' a Proteſtant, I am not an enemy to ſuch foundations in general. I could wiſh, under proper regulations, that we had Nunne⯑neries among us. I would not, indeed, have the obli⯑gation upon Nuns be perpetual: Let them have liber⯑ty, at the end of every two or three years, to renew their vows, or otherwiſe, by the conſent of friends. Celibacy in the Clergy is an indiſpenſable law of your church: Yet a Cardinal has been allowed to lay down the purple, and marry. You know, madam, I muſt mean Ferdinand of Medicis. Family-reaſons, in that caſe, preponderated, as well at Rome, as at Florence.

Of all the women I know, Lady Clementina della Porretta ſhould be the laſt who ſhould be earneſt to take the veil. There can be but two perſons in the world, beſides herſelf, who will not be grieved at her [13] choice. We know their reaſons. The will of her grandfathers, now with God, is againſt her; and her living parents, and every other perſon of her family, thoſe two excepted, would be made unhappy, if ſhe ſequeſtered herſelf from the world, and them. Cle⯑mentina has charity: She wiſhes, ſhe once ſaid, to take a great revenge upon Laurana. Laurana has ſomething to repent of: Let her take the veil. The fondneſs ſhe has for the world, a fondneſs which could make her break through all the ties of relation, and humanity, requires a check: But are any of thoſe in convents more pious, more exemplary pious, than Clementina is, out of them?

Much more could I urge on the ſame ſide of the queſtion; but what I have urged has been a taſk upon me; a taſk which I could not have performed, had I not preferred to my own, the happineſs of you and your family.

May both earthly and heavenly bleſſings attend your determination, whatever it be, prays, deareſt madam.

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

I Have written, my beloved friend, to Lady Clemen⯑tina; and ſhall incloſe a copy of my Letter.

I own, that, till I received hers, I thought there was a poſſibility, tho' not a probability, that ſhe might change her mind in my favour. I foreſaw that you would all join, for family-reaſons, to preſs her to [14] marry: And when, thought I, ſhe finds herſelf very earneſtly urged, it is poſſible, that ſhe will forego her ſcruples, and, propoſing ſome conditions for herſelf, will honour with her hand the man whom ſhe has avowedly honoured with a place in her heart, rather than any other. The malady ſhe has been afflicted with, often leaves, for ſome time, an unſteadineſs in the mind: My abſence, as I propoſed to ſettle in my native country, never more, perhaps, to return to Italy; the high notions ſhe has of obligation and gra⯑titude; her declared confidence in my honour and affection; all co-operating, ſhe may, thought I, change her mind; and if ſhe does, I cannot doubt the favour of her friends. It was not, my Jeronymo, pre⯑ſumptuous to hope. It was juſtice to Clementina to attend the event, and to wait for the promiſed Letter: But now, that I ſee you are all of one mind, and that the dear Lady, tho' vehemently urged by all her friends to marry ſome other man, can appeal to me, only as to her fourth Brother, and a man not intereſted in the event—I give up all my hopes.

I have written accordingly to your dear Clementi⯑na; but it could not be expected, that I ſhould give the argument all the weight that might be given it: Yet, being of opinion that ſhe was in duty obliged to yield to the entreaties of all her friends, I have been honeſt. But ſurely no man ever was involved in ſo many difficult ſituations as your Grandiſon; who yet never, by enterprize or raſhneſs, was led out of the plain path into difficulties ſo uncommon.

You wiſh, my dear friend, that I would ſet an ex⯑ample to your excellent ſiſter. I will unboſom my heart to you.

There is a Lady, an Engliſh Lady, beautiful as an Angel, but whoſe beauty is her leaſt perfection, either in my eyes, or her own: Had I never known Cle⯑mentina, I could not have loved her, and only her, of all the women I ever beheld. It would not be doing her [15] juſtice, if I could not ſay, I do love her; but with a flame as pure as the heart of Clementina, or as her own heart, can boaſt. Clementina's diſtreſſed mind af⯑fected me: I imputed her ſufferings to her eſteem for me. The farewel interview denied her, ſhe demonſ⯑trated, I thought, ſo firm an affection for me, at the ſame time that ſhe was to me, what I may truly call, a firſt Love; that, tho▪ the difficulties in my way ſeemed in⯑ſuperable. I thought it became me, in honour, in gratitude, to hold myſelf in ſuſpenſe, and not offer to make my addreſſes to any other woman, till the deſ⯑tiny of the dear Clementina was determined.

It would look like vanity in me to tell my Jerony⯑mo how many propoſals, from the partial friends of women of rank and merit ſuperior to my own, I thought myſelf obliged, in honour to the Ladies them⯑ſelves, to decline: But my heart never ſuffered unea⯑ſineſs from the uncertainty I was in of ever ſucceeding with your beloved ſiſter, but on this Lady's account, I preſume not, however, to ſay, I could have ſucceed⯑ed, had I thought myſelf at liberty to make my ad⯑dreſſes to her: Yet, when I ſuffered myſelf to balance, becauſe of my uncertainty with your Clementina, I had hopes, from the intereſt my two ſiſters had with her (her affections diſengaged), that, had I been at li⯑berty to make my addreſſes to her, I might.

Shall I, my dear Jeronymo, own the truth?—The two nobleſt-minded women in the world, when I went over to Italy, on the invitation of my Lord the Biſhop, held almoſt an equal intereſt in my heart; and I was thereby enabled juſtly, and with the greater command of myſelf, to declare to the Marchioneſs, and the General, at my laſt going over, that I held myſelf bound to you; but that your ſiſter, and you all, were free. But when the dear Clementina began to ſhew ſigns of recovery, and ſeemed to confirm the hopes I had of her partiality to me; and my gratitude and attachment ſeemed of importance to her complete [16] reſtoration; then, my Jeronymo, did I content my⯑ſelf with wiſhing another husband to the Engliſh Lady, more worthy of her than my embaraſſed ſituati⯑on could have made me. And when I farther expe⯑rienced the condeſcending goodneſs of your whole fa⯑mily, all united in my favour; I had not a wiſh but for your Clementina.

What a diſappointment, my Jeronymo, was her rejection of me! obliged, as I was, to admire the noble Lady the more for her motives of rejecting me.

And now, my dear friend, what is your wiſh?—That I ſhall ſet your ſiſter an example? How can I? Is marriage in my power? There is but one woman in the world, now your dear Clementina has refuſed me, that I can think worthy of ſucceeding her in my affec⯑tions, tho' there are thouſands of whom I am not worthy. And ought that Lady to accept of a man whoſe heart had been another's, and that other living, and ſingle, and ſtill honouring him with ſo much of her regard, as may be thought ſufficient to attach a grateful heart, and occaſion a divided Love? Cle⯑mentina herſelf is not more truly delicate than this Lady. Indeed, Jeronymo, I am ready, when I con⯑template my ſituation, on a ſuppoſition of making my addreſſes to her, to give up myſelf, as the unworthieſt of her favour of all the men I know; and ſhe has for an admirer almoſt every man who ſees her—Even Olivia admires her! Can I do juſtice to the merits of both, and yet not appear to be divided by a double Love?—For I will own to all the world, my affection for Clementina; and, as once it was encouraged by her whole family, glory in it.

You ſee, my Jeronymo, how I am circumſtanced. The example, I fear, muſt come from Italy; not from England. Yet ſay I not this for punctilio-ſake: It is not in my power to ſet it, as it is in your Cle⯑mentina's: It would be preſumption to ſuppoſe it is, Clementina has not an averſion to the ſtate: She [17] cannot to the man you have in view, ſince prepoſſeſſi⯑on in favour of another is over—This is a hard puſh upon me. I preſume not to ſay what Clementina will, what ſhe can do: But ſhe is naturally the moſt dutiful of children, and has a high ſenſe of the more than common obligations ſhe owes to parents, to brothers, to whom ſhe has as unhappily as involuntarily given great diſtreſs: Difference in Religion, the motive of her rejecting me, is not in the queſtion: Filial duty is an article of Religion.

I do myſelf the honour of writing to the Mar⯑chioneſs, to the General, to Father Mareſcotti, and to Mr. Lowther. May the Almighty perfect your re⯑covery, my Jeronymo; and preſerve in health and ſpi⯑rits the dear Clementina!—and may every other laudable wiſh of the hearts of a family ſo truly-excel⯑lent, be granted to them!—prays, my deareſt Jerony⯑mo, the friend who expects to ſee you in England; the friend who loves you, as he loves his own heart; and equally honours all of your name; and will, ſo long as he is

LETTER VI. Mrs. REEVES, To Miſs BYRON.

O My dear couſin! I am now ſure you will be the happieſt of women! Sir Charles Grandiſon made us a viſit this very day.—How Mr. Reeves and I rejoiced to ſee him! We had but juſt before been called upon by a line from Lady G. to rejoice with her on her brother's happy arrival. He ſaid, he was under obligation to go to Windſor and Hampſhire, upon extraordinary occaſions; but he could not go, till he had paid his reſpects to us, as well for our own ſakes, as to enquire after your health. He had re⯑ceived, [18] he ſaid, ſome diſagreeable inimitations in re⯑lation to it. We told him, you were not well; but we hoped not dangerouſly ill. He ſaid ſo many kind, tender, yet reſpectful things of you—O my Harriet! I am ſure, and ſo is Mr. Reeves, he loves you dearly. Yet we both wondered that he did not talk of paying you a viſit. But he may have great matters in hand.—But what matters can be ſo great as not to be poſt⯑poned, if he loves you?—and that he certainly does. I ſhould not have known how to contain my joy be⯑fore him, had he declared himſelf your Lover.

He condeſcendingly asked to ſee my little boy—Was not that very good of him? He would have won my heart by this condeſcenſion, had he not had a great ſhare of it before—For your ſake, my couſin. You know I cannot mean otherwiſe: And you know, that, except Mr. Reeves and my little boy, I love my Harriet better than any-body in the world. No-body in Northamptonſhire, I am ſure, will take excepti⯑ons at this.

I thought I would write to you of this kind viſit. Be well, now, my dear: All things, I am ſure, will come abou for good: God grant they may!—I dare ſay, he will viſit you in Northamptonſhire: And if he does, what can be his motive? Not mere friendſhip: Sir Charles Grandiſon is no triſler!

I know you will be ſorry to hear that Lady Betty Williams is in great affliction. Miſs Williams has run away with enſign who is not worth a ſhilling: He is, on the contrary, over head and cars, as the ſaying is, in debt. Such a mere girl! But what ſhall we ſay?

Miſs Cantillon has made as fooliſh a ſtep. Lord bleſs me! I think girls, in theſe days, are bewitched. A nominal captain too: Her mother vows, they ſhall both ſtarve for her: And they have no other depend⯑ence. She can't live without her pleaſures: Neither can he without his. A Ranelagh ſop. Poor wretches! [19] What will become of them? For every-thing is in her mother's power, as to fortune.—She has been met by Miſs Alleſtree: and looked ſo ſhy! ſo ſilly! ſo ſlatternly! Unhappy coquettiſh thing!

Well, but God bleſs you, my dear!—My nurſery calls upon me: The dear little ſoul is ſo fond of me! Adieu. Compliments to every-body I have ſo much reaſon to love: Mr. Reeves's too. Once more, Adieu.

LETTER VII. Miſs BYRON, To Mrs. REEVES.

YOUR kind Letter, my dear couſin, has, at the ſame time, delighted and pained me. I rejoyce in the declared eſteem of one of the beſt of men; and I honour him for his friendly love expreſſed to you and my couſin, in the viſit he made you: But I am pained at your calling upon me (in pity to my weakneſs, ſhall I call it? a weakneſs ſo ill concealed) to rejoice, that the excellent man, when he has di⯑ſpatched all his affairs of conſequence, and has nothing elſo to do, may poſſibly, for you cannot be certain, make me a viſit in Northamptonſhire.—O my couſin! And were his abſence, and the apprehenſion of his being the huſband of another woman, think you, the occaſion of my indiſpoſition; that I muſt now, that the other affair ſeems determined in a manner ſo un⯑expected, be bid at once to be well?

Sir Charles Grandiſon, my dear couſin, may ho⯑nour us with the prognoſticated viſit, or not, as he pleaſes: But were he to declare himſelf my Lover, my heart would not be ſo joyful as you ſeem to expect, if Lady Clementina is to be unhappy. What tho' the refuſal of marriage was hers; was not that refuſal [20] the greateſt ſacrifice that ever woman made to her ſu⯑perior duty? Does ſhe not ſtill avow her Love to him? And muſt he not, ought he not, ever to love her? And here my pride puts in it's claim to attention—Shall your Harriet ſit down and think herſelf happy in a ſecond-place Love? Yet let me own to you, my couſin, that Sir Charles Grandiſon is dearer to me than all elſe that I hold moſt dear in this world: And if Clementina could be not un -happy [Happy I have no notion ſhe can be without him] and he were to de⯑clare himſelf my Lover; Affectation, be gone! I would ſay; I will truſt to my own heart, and to my future conduct, to make for myſelf an intereſt in his affections, that ſhould enrich my content; in other words, that ſhould make me more than contented.

But time will ſoon determine my deſtiny: I will have patience to wait its determination. I make no doubt but he has ſufficient reaſons for all he does.

I am as much delighted, as you could be, at the notice he took of your dear infant. The brave muſt be humane: And what greater inſtance of humanity can be ſhewn, than for grown perſons to look back upon the ſtate they were once themſelves in, with tenderneſs and compaſſion?

I am very ſorry for the cauſe of Lady Betty's af⯑fliction. Pity! the good Lady took not—But I will not be ſevere, after I have ſaid, that children's faults are not always originally their own.

Poor Miſs Cantillon!—But ſhe was not under age; and as her puniſhment was of her own chooſing—I am ſorry, however, for both. I hope, after they have ſmarted, ſomething will be done for the poor wretches. Good parents will be placable; bad ones, or ſuch as have not given good examples, ought to be ſo.

God continue to you, my dear couſins both, your preſent comforts, and increaſe your pleaſures! for all your pleaſures are innocent ones; prays

LETTER VIII. Miſs BYRON, To Lady G.

DO you know what is become of your brother? My grandmamma Shirely has ſeen his Ghoſt; and talked with it near an hour; and then it vaniſhed. Be not ſurprized, my dear creature. I am ſtill in amaze at the account my grandmamma gives us of its appearance, diſcourſe, and vaniſhing! Nor was the dear parent in a reſverie. It happened in the middle of the afternoon, all in broad day. Thus ſhe tells it:

‘'I was ſitting, ſaid ſhe, in my own drawing⯑room, yeſterday, by myſelf; when, in came James, to whom it firſt appeared, and told me that a gen⯑tleman deſired to be introduced to me. I was read⯑ing Sherlock upon Death, with that chearfulneſs with which I always meditate the ſubject. I gave orders for his admittance; and in came, to appearance, one of the handſomeſt men I ever ſaw in my life, in a riding-dreſs. It was a courteous Ghoſt: It ſa⯑luted me; or at leaſt I thought it did: For it an⯑ſwering to the deſcription that you, my Harriet, had given me of that amiable man, I was ſurpriſed. But, contrary to the manner of ghoſts, it ſpoke firſt—Venerable Lady, it called me; and ſaid, its name was Grandiſon, in a voice—ſo like what I had heard you ſpake of it, that I had no doubt but it was Sir Charles Grandiſon himſelf; and was ready to fall down to welcome him.’

And now, my dear Lady G. let me repeat my queſtion; What is become of your brother?

Forgive me, this light, this amuſing manner. My grandmamma ſpeaks of this viſit as an appearance, ſo ſudden, and ſo ſhort, and nobody ſeeing him but ſhe; that it gave a kind of amuſing levity to my pen, and I could not reſiſt the temptation I was under to ſur⯑priſe you, as he has done us all. How could he take ſuch a journey, ſee nobody but my grandmamma, and fly the country? Did he do it to ſpare us, or to ſpare himſelf?

The direct truth is this: My grandmamma was ſit⯑ting by herſelf, as above: James told her, as above, that a gentleman deſired to be introduced to her. He was introduced. He called himſelf by his own name; took her hand; ſaluted her—Your character, madam, and mine, ſaid he, are ſo well known to each other, that tho' I never before had the honour of approaching you, I may preſume upon your pardon for this in⯑truſion.

He then launched out in the praiſes of your happy friend. With what delight did the dear, the indul⯑gent parent repeat them from his mouth! I hope ſhe mingled not her own partialities with them, whether I deſerved them, or not; for ſweet is praiſe, from [23] thoſe we wiſh to love us. And then he ſaid, You ſee before you, madam, a man glorying in his affection to one of the moſt excellent of your Sex; an Italian Lady; the pride of Italy! And who, from motives which cannot be withſtood, has rejected him, at the very time that all her friends conſenting, and innu⯑merable difficulties overcome, he expected that ſhe would yield her hand to his wiſhes—And they were his wiſhes. My friendſhip for the dear Miſs Byron (You and ſhe muſt authorize me to call it by a ſtill dearer name, before I dare to it) is well known: That alſo has been my pride. I know too well what belongs to female delicacy in general, and particularly to that of Miſs Byron, to addreſs myſelf firſt to her, on the ſubject which occaſions you this trouble. I am not accuſtomed to make profeſſions, not even to La⯑dies—Is it conſiſtent with your notions of delicacy, madam; Will it be with Mr. and Mrs. Selby's; to give your intereſt in favour of a man who is thus ſitu⯑ated? A rejected man! A man who dares, to own, that the rejection was a diſappointment to him; and that he tenderly loved the fair rejecter. If it will, and Miſs Byron can accept the tender of a heart that has been divided, unaccountably ſo (the circumſtances, I preſume, you know) then will you, then will ſhe, lay me under an obligation that I can only endeavour to repay by the utmoſt gratitude and affection.—But if not, I ſhall admire the delicacy of the ſecond refuſer, as I do the piety of the firſt, and, at leaſt, ſuſpend all thoughts of a change of condition.

Nobleſt of men—And my grandmamma was pro⯑ceeding in high ſtrains, but very ſincere ones; when, interrupting her, and pulling out of his pocket the pacquet I mentioned above; I preſume, madam, ſaid he, that I ſee favour and goodneſs to me in your be⯑nign countenance: But I will not even be favoured, but upon your full knowledge of all the facts I am maſter of myſelf. I will be the guardian of the deli⯑cacy [24] of Miſs Byron and all her friends in this im⯑portant caſe, rather than the diſcourager, tho' I were to ſuffer by it. You will be ſo good as to read theſe Letters to your daughter Byron, to her Lucy, to Mr. and Mrs. Selby, and to whom elſe you will think fit to call to the conſultation: They will be thoſe, I pre⯑ſume, who already know ſomething of the hiſtory of the excellent Clementina. If, on the peruſal of them, I may be admitted to pay my reſpects to Miſs Byron, conſiſtently, as I hinted, with her notions and yours of that delicacy by which ſhe was always directed, and at the ſame time be received with that noble frank⯑neſs which has diſtinguiſhed her in my eye above all women but one (Excuſe me, madam, I muſt always put theſe ſiſter-ſouls upon an equal foot of excellence); then ſhall I be a happier man than the happieſt. Your anſwer, madam, by pen and ink, will greatly oblige me; and the more, the ſooner I can be favoured with it; becauſe, being requeſted by my friends abroad to ſet an example to their beloved Clementina, as you will ſee in more than one of theſe Letters; I would avoid all punctilio, and let them know, that I had offered myſelf to Miſs Byron, and have not been mor⯑tified with abſolute denial; if I may be ſo happy as to be allowed to write ſo.

Thus did this moſt generous of men prevent, by this reference to the Letters, my grandmamma's heart overflowing to her lips. He ſhould directly, he ſaid, proceed on his journey to London; and was in ſuch haſte to be gone, when he had ſaid what he had to ſay, that it precipitated a little my grandmamma's ſpirits: But the joy ſhe was filled with, on the occaſion, was ſo great, that ſhe only had a concern upon her, when he was gone, as if ſomething was left by her undone or unſaid, which ſhe thought ſhould have been ſaid and done to oblige him.

The Letters he left on the table, were copies of what he wrote from Lyons to the Marquis and Mar⯑chioneſs, [25] the Biſhop, the General, and Father Mare⯑ſcotti; as alſo to Lady Ciementina, and her brother, the good Jeronymo ^(a). That to the Lady cannot be enough admired, for the tenderneſs, yet for the ac⯑quieſcence with her will expreſſed in it. Surely they were born for each other, however it happens, that they are not likely to come together.

A Letter from Signor Jeronymo, in anſwer to his from Lyons, I will mention next. In this—Sir Charles is wiſhed to uſe his ſuppoſed influence upon Lady Clementina (What a hard taſk upon him! (to diſſuade her from the thoughts of going into a nunnery and to reſolve upon marriage ^(b).

Next is a Letter of Lady Clementina to Sir Charles, complaining tenderly of perſecution from her friends, who preſs her to marry; while ſhe contends to be al⯑lowed to take the veil, and applies to Sir Charles for his intereſt in her behalf.

The next is Sir Charles's reply to Lady Clementina.

Then follows a Letter from Sir Charles to Signor Jeronymo. I have copied theſe three laſt, and incloſe them in confidence ^(c).

By theſe you will ſee, my dear, that the affair be⯑tween this excellent man and woman is entirely given up by both; and alſo in his reply to Signor Jero⯑nymo, that your Harriet is referred to as his next choice. And how can I ever enough value him, for the dignity he has given me, in putting it, as it ſhould ſeem, in my power to lay an obligation upon him; in making for me my own ſcruples; and now, laſtly, in the method he has taken in the application to my grandmamma, inſtead of to me; and leaving all to our determination. But thus ſhould the men give dignity, even for their own ſaken to the women whom they wiſh to be theirs. Were there more Sir Charles Grandiſons, would not even the Female world [26] (much better, as I hope it is, than the Male) be amended?

My grandmamma, the moment Sir Charles was gone, ſent to us, that ſhe had ſome very agreeable news to ſurpriſe us with; and therefore deſired the whole family of us, her Byron particularly to attend her at Breakfaſt, the next morning. We looked upon one another, at the meſſage, and wondered. I was not well, and would have excuſed myſelf; but my aunt inſiſted upon my going. Little did I or any-body elſe think of your brother having viſited my grand⯑mamma in perſon. When ſhe acquainted us that he had, my weakened ſpirits wanted ſupport: I was ob⯑liged to withdraw with Lucy.

I thought I could not bear, when I recovered my⯑ſelf, that he ſhould be ſo near, and not once call in, and enquire after the health of the creature for whom he profeſſed ſo high an eſteem, and even affection: But when, on my return to company, my grand⯑mamma related what paſſed between them, and the Letters were read; then again were my failing ſpirits unable to ſupport me. They all gazed upon me, as the Letters were reading, as well as while my grand⯑mamma was giving the relation of what he ſaid, and of the noble, the manly air with which he delivered himſelf.—With joy and ſilent congratulation they gazed upon me; while I felt ſuch a variety of ſenſi⯑bilities in my heart, as I never felt before, ſenſibi⯑lities mixed with wonder; and I was ſometimes ready to doubt whether I were not in a reſverie; whether indeed I was in this world, or another; whether I was Harriet Byron—I know not how to deſcribe what I felt in my now fluttering, now rejoicing, now deject⯑ed heart—

Dejected?—Yes, my dear Lady G. Dejection was a ſtrong ingredient in my ſenſibilities. I know not why. Yet may there not be a fulneſs in joy, that will mingle diſſatisfaction with it? If there may, ſhall I [27] be excuſed for my ſolemnity, if I deduce from thence an argument, that the human ſoul is not to be fully ſatisfied by worldly enjoyments; and that therefore the completion of its happineſs muſt be in another, a more perfect ſtate? You Lady G. are a very good woman, tho' a lively one; and I will not excuſe you, if on an occaſion that bids me look forward to a very ſolemn event, you will not forgive my ſeriouſneſ—That bids me look forward, I repeat; for Sir Charles Grandiſon cannot alter his mind: The world has not wherewith to tempt him to alter it, after he has made ſuch advances, except I miſbehave.

Well, my dear, and what was the reſult of our conference?—My grandmamma, my aunt, and Lucy, were of opinion, that I ought no more to revolve the notions of a divided or ſecond-placed Love: That every point of female delicacy was anſwered: That he ought not only ſtill to be allowed to love Lady Clementina, but that I and all her Sex ſhould revere her: That my grandmamma, being the perſon ap⯑plied to, ſhould anſwer for me, for us all, in words of her own chooſing.

I was ſilent. What think you, my dear, ſaid my aunt? with her accuſtomed tenderneſs.

Think! ſaid my uncle, with his uſual facetiouſneſs; Do you think, if Harriet had one objection, ſhe would have been ſilent? I am for ſending up for Sir Charles out of hand. Let him come the firſt day of next week, and let them be married before the end of it.

Not quite ſo haſty, neither, Mr. Selby, ſaid my grandmamma, ſmiling: Let us ſend to Mr. Deane. His love for my child, and regard for deſerve the moſt grateful returns.

What a duce, and defer an anſwer to Sir Charles, who gives a generous reaſon, for the ſake of the Lady abroad, and her family (and I hope he thinks a little of his own ſake) for wiſhing a ſpeedy anſwer?—

No, Mr. Selby: Not deſer writing, neither. We [28] know enough of Mr. Deane's mind already. But, for my part, I don't know what terms, what conditions, what additions to my child's fortune, to propoſe—

Additions! madam—Why, ay; there muſt be ſome, to be ſure—And we are able, and as willing as able, let me tell you, to make them—

I beſeech you, Sir, ſaid I—Pray, madam—No more of this—Surely it is time enough to talk of theſe ſubjects.

So it is, niece. Mr. Deane is a lawyer. God help me! I never was brought up to any-thing but to live on the fat of the land, as the ſaying is. Mr. Deane and Sir Charles ſhall talk this matter over by them⯑ſelves. Let us, as you ſay, ſend for Mr. Deane. But I will myſelf be the meſſenger of theſe joyful tidings.

My uncle then tuned out, in his gay manner, a line of an old ſong; and then ſaid, I'll go to Mr. Deane: I will ſet out this very day—Pull down the wall, as one of our kings ſaid; the door is too far about.—I'll bring Mr. Deane with me to-morrow, or it ſhall coſt me a fall.

You know my uncle, my dear. In this manner did he expreſs his joy.

My grandmother retired to her cloſet; and this that follows is what ſhe wrote to Sir Charles. Every⯑body is pleaſed whenever ſhe takes up the pen. No one made objection to a ſingle word in it.

But, my dear Lady G. does your brother tell you and Lady L. nothing of his intentions? Why, if he does, do not you—But I can have no doubt. Is not the man Sir Charles Grandiſon? And yet, methinks, I want to know what the contents of his next Letters from Italy will be.

You will have no ſcruple, my dear Lady G. to [30] ſhew my whole Letter to Lady L. and, if you pleaſe, to my Emily—But only mention the contents, in your own way, to the gentlemen. I beg you will yourſelf ſhew it to Mrs. Reeves: She will rejoice in her pro⯑gnoſtigations. Uſe that word to her: She will under⯑ſtand you. Your brother muſt now, leſs than ever, ſee what I write. I depend upon your diſcretion, my dear Lady G.

LETTER IX. Lady G. To Miſs BYRON.

EXcellent Mrs. Shirley! Incomparable woman! How I love her! If I were ſuch an excellent an⯑cient, I would no more wiſh to be young, than ſhe has ſo often told us, ſhe does. What my brother once ſaid, and you once wrote to your Lucy, is true (in her caſe, at leaſt); that the matronly and advanced time of life, in a woman, is far from being the leaſt elegible part of it; eſpecially, I may add, when health and a good conſcience accompany it. What a ſpirit does ſhe, at her time of Life, write with!—But her heart is in her ſubject—I hope I may ſay that, Har⯑riet, without offending you.

Not a word did my brother ſpeak of his intention, till he received that Letter; and then he invited Lady L. and me, and our two honeſt men, to afternoon tea with him—[O but I have not reckoned with you for your ſaucy rebukes in your laſt of the 7th; I owe you a ſpite for it; and, Harriet, depend on payment—What was I writing?—I have it—] And when tea was over, he, without a bluſh, without looking down, as a girl would do in this ſituation—[But why ſo, Har⯑riet? Is a woman, on theſe occaſions, to act a part as if ſhe ſuppoſed herſelf to be the greateſt gainer by [31] matrimony; and therefore was aſhamed of conſenting to accept of an honourable offer? As if, in other words, ſhe was to be the ſelf-denying receiver rather than conferrer of an obligation?—Lord, how we ram⯑bling-headed creatures break in upon ourſelves!] with a good grace he told us of his intention to marry; of his apparition to Mrs. Shirley; of his ſudden vaniſh⯑ing; and all that—And then he produced Mrs. Shir⯑ley's Letter, but juſt received.

And do you think we were not overjoyed?—Indeed we were. We congratulated him: We congratulated each other: Lord L. looked as he did when Caroline gave him his happy day: Lord G. could not keep his ſeat: He was tipſy, poor man, with his joy: Aunt Nell prank'd herſelf, ſtroked her ribbands of pink and yellow, and chuckled and mumped for joy, that her nephew at laſt would not go out of Old England for a wife. She was mightily pleaſed too with Mrs. Shir⯑ley's Letter. It was juſt ſuch a one as ſhe herſelf would have written upon the occaſion.

I poſted afterward to Mrs Reeves, to ſhew her, as you requeſted, your Letter: And when we had read it, there was, Dear Madam, and, Dear Sir; and now this, and now that; and Thank God—three times in a breath; and we were couſins, and couſins, and couſins: And, O bleſſed! And, O be joyful! And—Hail the day!—And, God grant it to be a ſhort one!—And, How will Harriet anſwer to the queſtion? Will not her frankneſs be try'd? He deſpiſes affecta⯑tion: So he thinks does ſhe!—Good Sirs! and, O dears—How things are brought about!—O my Har⯑riet! you never heard or ſaw ſuch congratulations be⯑tween three goſſips, as were between our two couſin Reeves's and me: And not a little did the good wo⯑man pride herſelf in her prognoſtics; for ſhe explained that matter to me.

Dr. Bartlett is at Grandiſon-hall, with our unhappy couſin. How will the good man rejoice!

[32] Now you will aſk, What became of Emily?—

By the way, do you know that Mrs. O-Hara is turned Methodiſt? True as you are alive. And ſhe labours hard to convert her husband. Thank God ſhe is any-thing that is ſerious! Thoſe People have really great merit with me, in her converſion.—I am ſorry that our own Clergy are not as zealouſly in ear⯑neſt as they, They have really, my dear, if we may believe aunt Eleanor, given a face of religion to ſub⯑terranean colliers, tinners, and the moſt profligate of men, who hardly ever before heard either of the word, or thing. But I am not turning Methodiſt, Harriet. No! you will not ſuſpect me.

Now Emily, who is at preſent my viſiter, had asked leave before my brother's invitation (and was gone, my Jenny attending her) to viſit her mother, who is not well. My brother was engaged to ſup abroad with ſome of the Danby's, I believe: I there⯑fore made Lord and Lady L. couſin Reeves and couſin Reeves, and my aunt Grandiſon, ſup with me.

Emily was at home before me—Ah the poor Emi⯑ly!—I'll tell you how it was between us—

My lovely girl, my dear Emily, ſaid I, I have good news to tell you, about Miſs Byron.

O thank God—And is ſhe well? Pray, madam, tell me, tell me; I long to hear good news of my dear Miſs Byron.

Why, ſhe will ſhortly be married, Emily!—

Married, madam!—

Yes, my love!—And to your guardian, child!—

To my guardian, madam!—Well, but I hope ſo—

I then gave her a few particulars.

The dear girl tried to be joyful, and burſt into tears!

Why weeps my girl—O fie! Are you ſorry that Miſs Byron will have your guardian? I thought you loved Miſs Byron.

[33] So I do, madam, as my own ſelf, and more than myſelf, if poſſible—But the ſurprize, madam—In⯑deed I am glad! What makes me ſuch a fool?—In⯑deed I am glad!—What ails me, to cry, I wonder! It is what I wiſhed, what I prayed for, night and day. Dear madam, don't tell any-body. I am aſhamed of myſelf,

The ſweet April-faced girl then ſmiled through her tears.

I was charmed with her innocent ſenſibility; and if you are not, I ſhall think leſs of you than ever I did yet.

Dear madam, ſaid ſhe, permit me to withdraw for a few minutes: I muſt have my cry out—And I ſhall then be all joy and gladneſs.

She tript away; and in half an hour came down to me with quite another face.

Lady L. was then with me. I had told her of the girl's emotion. We are equally lovers of you, my dear, ſaid I: you need not be afraid of Lady L.

And have you told, madam?—Well, but I am not a hypocrite. What a ſtrange thing! I who have al⯑ways been ſo much afraid of another Lady, for Miſs Byron's ſake, to be ſo oddly affected, as if I were ſorry!—Indeed I rejoice.—But if you tell Miſs Byron, ſhe won't love me: She won't let me live with her and my guardian, when ſhe is happy, and has made him ſo. And what ſhall I do then? for I have ſet my heart upon it.

Miſs Byron, my dear, loves you ſo well, that ſhe will not be able to deny you any-thing your heart is ſet upon, that is in her power to grant.

God bleſs Miſs Byron as I love her, and ſhe will be the happieſt of women!—But what was the matter with me?—Yet I believe I know!—My poor mother had been crying ſadly to me, for her paſt unhappy life. She kiſſed me, as ſhe ſaid, for my Father's [34] ſake: She had been the worſt of wives to the beſt of huſbands.

Again the good girl wept at her mother's remem⯑bered remorſe—My guar—my guardian's goodneſs, my mother ſaid, had awakened her to a ſenſe of her wickedneſs. My poor mother did not ſpare herſelf: And I was all ſorrow; for what could I ſay to her on ſuch a ſubject?—And all the way that I came home in the coach, I did nothing but cry. I had but juſt dried my eyes, and tried to look chearful, when you came in. And then, when you told me the good news, ſomething ſtruck me all at once, ſtruck my very heart; I cannot account for it: I know not what to liken it to—And had I not burſt into tears. I believe it would have been worſe for me. But now I am myſelf; and if my poor mother could pacify her conſcience, I ſhould be a happy creature—becauſe of Miſs Byron's happineſs. You look at each other, Ladies: But if you think I ſhould not, bid me be gone from your pre⯑ſence for a falſe girl, and never ſee you more.

Now, Harriet, this emotion of Emily appears to me as a ſort of phaenomenon. Do you account for it as you will; but I am ſure Emily is no hypocrite: She has no art: She believes what ſhe ſays, that her ſudden burſt of tears was owing to her heart being af⯑fected by her mother's contrition: And I am alſo ſure that ſhe loves you above all the women in the world. Yet it is poſſible, that the ſubtle thief, ycleped Love, had got very near her heart; and juſt at the moment threw a dart into one angle of it, which was the ſome⯑thing that ſtruck her, all at once, as ſhe phraſed it, and made her find tears a relief. This I know, my dear, that we may be very differently affected by the ſame event, when judged of at a diſtance, and near. If you don't already, or if you ſoon will not, expe⯑rience the truth of this obſervation in the great event before you, I am much miſtaken.

[35] But you ſee, Harriet, what joy this happy decla⯑ration of my brother, and the kind reception it has met with from Northamptonſhire, has given us all. We will keep your ſecret, never fear, till all is over; and, when it is, you ſhall let my brother know, from the Letters we have had the favour of ſeeing, as much as we do. Till he does, excellent as he thinks you, he will not know one half of your excellencies, nor the merit which your Love and your Suſpenſes have made you with him.

But, with you, I long for the arrival of the next Letters from Italy. God grant that Lady Clemen⯑tina hold her reſolution, now that ſhe ſees it is almoſt impoſſible for her to avoid marrying. If ſhe ſhould relent, what would be the conſequence, to my bro⯑ther, to herſelf, to you! And how ſhall all we, his friends and yours, be affected! You think the Lady is obliged, in duty to her parents, to marry. Lady L. and I are determined to be wiſe, and not give our opi⯑nions till the events which are yet in the boſom of Fate, diſcloſing themſelves, ſhall not leave us a poſſi⯑bility of being much miſtaken. And yet, as to what the filial duty requires of her, we think ſhe ought to marry. Mean time, I repeat, ‘'God grant that Lady Clementina now hold her mind!'’

LADY L. ſends up her name. Formality in her, ſurely. I will chide her. But here ſhe comes.—I love, Harriet, to write to the moment; that's a knack I had from you and my brother: And be ſure conti⯑nue it, on every occaſion: No pathetic without it!

Your ſervant, Lady L.

And your ſervant, Lady G.—Writing? To whom?

To our Harriet—

I will read your Letter—Shall I?

Take it; but read it out, that I may know what I have written.

[36] Now give it me again. I'll write down what you ſay to it, Lady L.

Lady. L. I ſay you are a whimſical creature. But I don't like what you have laſt written.

Charlotte. Laſt written—'Tis down.—But why ſo, Lady L.?

Lady L. How can you thus teaze our beloved By⯑ron, with your conjectural evils?

Ch. Have I ſuppoſed an impoſſibility?—But 'tis down—Conjectural evils.

Lady L. If you are ſo whimſical, write—‘'My dear Miſs Byron—'’

Ch. My dear Miſs Byron—'Tis down.

Lady L. (Looking over me) ‘'Do not let what this ſtrange Charlotte has written, grieve you:—'’

Ch. Very well, Caroline!—grieve you.—

Lady L. Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof.'

Ch. Well obſerved.—Words of Scripture, I be⯑lieve.—Well—evil thereof.—

Lady L. Never, ſurely, was there ſuch a creature as you, Charlotte—

Ch. That's down, too.—

Lady L. I, that down? laughing—That ſhould not have been down—Yet 'tis true.

Ch. Yet 'tis true—What's next?

Lady L. Piſh—

Ch. Piſh—

Lady L. Well, now to Harriet—‘'Clementina cannot alter her reſolution; her objection ſtill ſub⯑ſiſting. Her Love for my brother'’—

Ch. Hold, Lady L. Too much, at one time—Her Love for my brother—

Lady L. ‘'On which her apprehenſions that ſhe ſhall not be able, if ſhe be his wife'’—

Ch. Not ſo much at once, I tell you: It is too much for my giddy head to remember—if ſhe be his wife—

[37] Lady L.—‘'to adhere to her own religion, are founded'’—

Ch.—founded.

Lady L. ‘'Is a ſecurity for her adherence to a re⯑ſolution ſo glorious to herſelf.'’

Ch. Well ſaid, Lady L.—May it be ſo, ſay, and pray, I.—Any more, Lady L.?

Lady L. ‘'Therefore'’—

Ch. Therefore—

Lady L. ‘'Regard not the perplexing Charlotte'’—

Ch. I thank you▪ Caroline—perplexing Charlotte—

Lady L. ‘'Is the advice of your ever-affectionate Siſter, Friend, and Servant.'’—

Ch. So!—Friend and Servant—

Lady L. Give me the pen.—

Ch. Take another.—She did—and ſubſcribed her name, 'C. L.'

With all my heart. Harriet. And here, after I have repeated my hearty wiſhes, that nothing of this that I have ſo ſagely apprehended may happen (for I deſire not to be dubbed a witch ſo much at my own, as well as at your, expence), I will alſo ſubſcribe that of

My brother ſays, he has ſent you a Letter, and your grandmamma another—Full of grateful ſenſibi⯑lities, both, I make no queſtion.—But no Flight, or Goddeſs-making abſurdity, I dare ſay. You will give us copies, if you are as obliging as you uſed to be.

LETTER X. Miſs BYRON. To Lady G.

WHAT have I done to my Charlotte? Is there not ſomething cold and particular in your ſtile, eſpecially in that part of your Letter preceding the entrance of my good Lady L.? And in your Poſt⯑ſcript—You will give us copies, if you are as obliging as you uſed to be.—Why ſhould I, when likely to be more obliged to you than ever, be leſs obliging than before? I can't bear this from Lady G. Are you giving me a proof of the truth of your own obſervation? ‘'That we may be very differently affected by the ſame e⯑vent, when judged of at a diſtance, and near.'’—I could not ſupport my ſpirits, if the ſiſter of Sir Charles Grandiſon loved me the leſs for the diſtinction her brother pays me.

And what, my dear, if Lady Clementina ſhould RELENT, as you phraſe it? My friends might be now grieved—Well, and I might be affected too, more than if the viſit to my grandmamma had not been made: I own it.—But the high veneration I truly profeſs to have for Lady Clementina, would be parade and pretenſion, if, whatever became of your Harriet, I did not reſolve, in that caſe, to try, at leaſt, to make myſelf eaſy, and give up to her prior and worthier claim: And I ſhould conſider her effort, tho' unſucceſsful, as having intitled her to my higheſt eſteem. To what we know to be right, we ought to ſubmit; the more difficult, the more meritorious: And, in this caſe, your Harriet would conquer, or die. If ſhe conquered, ſhe would then, in that inſtance, be greater than even Clementina. O my dear, we know not, till we have the trial, what emulation will enable a warm and honeſt mind to do.

[39] I will ſend you incloſed, copies of the two Letters tranſcribed by Lucy ^(a). I am very proud of them both; perhaps too proud; and it may be neceſſary that I ſhould be pulled down; tho' I expected it not from my Charlotte. ‘'To be complimented in ſo noble and ſincere a manner as you will ſee I am, with the power of laying an obligation on him,'’ (inſtead of owing it to his compaſſionate conſideration for a creature ſo long labouring in ſuſpenſe, and then deſpairing that her hopes could be anſwered) is enough at the ſame time to flatter her vanity, and gratify the moſt delicate ſenſibility.

You will ſee ‘'how gratefully he takes my grand⯑mamma's hint, that I knew how by experience to account for a double, a divided Love, as ſhe is pleaſed to call it—and the preference my aunt, and herſelf, and I, have given to the claim of Lady Clementina.'’ You, my dear, know our ſincerity in this particular. There is ſome merit in owning a truth when it makes againſt us. To do juſtice in another's caſe againſt one's ſelf, is, methinks, making at leaſt a ſecond merit for one's ſelf. ‘'He aſks my leave to attend me at Selby-houſe.'’—I ſhould re⯑joice to ſee him—But I could wiſh, methinks, that he had firſt received Letters from abroad. But how can I hint my wiſhes to him without implying either doubt or reſerve?—Reſerve in the delay of his viſit implied by ſuch hint; doubt, of his being at liberty to purſue his intentions: That would not become me to ſhew; as it might make him think that I wanted proteſta⯑tions and aſſurances from him, in order to bind him to me; when, if the ſituation be ſuch as obliges him to balance but in thought, and I could know it; I would die before I would accept of his hand. He has confirmed and eſtabliſhed, as I may ſay, my pride (I had always ſome) by the diſtinction he has given [40] me: Yet I ſhould deſpiſe myſelf, if I found it gave me either arrogance, or affectation. ‘'He is ſo conſi⯑derate as to deſpenſe with my anſwering his Letters;'’ for he is pleaſed to ſay, ‘'That if I do not forbid him to come down, by my aunt Selby, or my grand⯑mamma, he will preſume upon my leave.'’

My uncle ſet out for Peterborough, in order to bring Mr. Deane with him to Selby-houſe. Poor Mr. Deane had kept his chamber for a week before; yet had not let us know he was ill. He was forbid to go abroad for two days more; but was ſo overjoyed at what my uncle communicated to him, that he ſaid, he was not ſenſible of alling any-thing; and he would have come with my uncle next day, but nei⯑ther he nor the doctor would permit it: But on Tueſ⯑day he came.—Such joy!—Dear good man!—Such congratulation!—How conſiderable, to their happi⯑neſs, do they all make that of their too-too much ob⯑liged Harriet!

They have been in conſultation often; but they have excluded me from ſome particular ones. I gueſs the ſubject; and beg of them, that I may not be too much obliged. What critical ſituations have I been in! When will they be at an end.

Mr. Deane has written to Sir Charles. I am not to know the contents of his Letter. The hearts of us women, when we are urged to give way to a clan⯑deſtine and unequal addreſs, or when inclined to fa⯑vour ſuch a one, are apt, and are pleaded with, to riſe againſt the notions of bargain and ſale. Smithfield bargains, you Londoners call them: But unjuſt is the odium, if preliminaries are neceſſary in all treaties of this nature. And ſurely previous ſtipulations are in⯑diſpenſably ſo among us changeable mortals, however promiſing the ſunſhine may be at our ſetting out on the journey of life; a journey too that will not be ended but with the life of one of the travellers.

If I ever were to be tempted to wiſh for great [41] wealth, it would be for the ſake of Sir Charles Gran⯑diſon; that I might be a means of enlarging his power: Since I am convinced, that the neceſſities of every worthy perſon within the large circle of his ac⯑quaintance, would be relieved, according to his abi⯑lity.

My dear Emily!—Ah Lady G.! Was it poſſible for you to think, that my pity for the amiable Innocent ſhould not increaſe my love of her! I will give you leave indeed to deſpiſe me, if you ever find any-thing in my behaviour to Emily, let me be circumſtanced as I will, that ſhall ſhew an abatement of that tender affection which ever muſt warm my heart in her fa⯑vour. Whenever I can promiſe any-thing for myſelf, then ſhall Emily be a partaker of my felicity, in the way her own heart ſhall direct. I hope, for her own ſake, that the dear girl puts the matter right, when ſhe attributes her ſudden burſt of tears to the weakneſs of her ſpirits occaſioned by her mother's remorſe: But let me ſay one thing; It would grieve me as much as it did Sir Charles, in the Count of Belvedere's caſe, to ſtand in the way of any-body's happineſs. It is not, you ſee, your brother's fault, that he is not the huſband of Lady Clementina: She wiſhes him to marry an Engliſhwoman.—Nor is even the hope of Lady Olivia fruſtrated by me. You know I always pitied her; and that before I knew, from Sir Charles's Letter to Signor Jeronymo, that ſhe thought kindly of me.—Lady Anne S.; Do you think, my dear, that worthy Lady could have hopes, were it not for me?—And could my Emily have any, were I out of the world?—No, ſurely: The very wardſhip, which he executes with ſo much indulgent goodneſs to her, would ex⯑clude all ſuch hopes, conſiderable enough as his eſtate is, to anſwer a larger fortune than even Emily's. Were hers not half ſo much as it is, it would perhaps be more likely than now, that his generous mind might be diſpoſed in her favour, ſome years hence.

[42] Let me, however, tell you, that true ſiſterly pity overwhelmed my heart, when I firſt read that part of your Letter which ſo pathetically deſcribes her tender woe. Be the occaſion her Duty, or her Love, or owing to a mixture of both, I am charmed with her beautiful ſimplicity: I wept over that part of your Letter for half an hour (for I was by myſelf); and more than once I looked round and round me, wiſhing for the dear creature to be near me, and want⯑ing to claſp her to my boſom.

Love me ſtill, and that as well as ever, my dear Lady G. or I ſhall want a great ingredient of happi⯑neſs, in whatever ſituation I may be. I have written to thank my dear Lady L. for her goodneſs to me, in dictating to your pen; and I thank you, my dear, for being dictated to. I cannot be well. Send me but one line; eaſe my overburdened heart of one of its anxieties, by telling me that there has nothing paſſed of littleneſs in me, that has abated your love to

LETTER XI. Lady G. To Miſs BYRON.

FLY, Script, of one line; on the wings of the wind, fly, to acquaint my Harriet that I love her above all women—and all men too; my brother excepted. Tell her, that I now love her with an in⯑creaſed love; becauſe I love her for his ſake, as well as her own.

Forgive, my dear, all the careleſsneſs, as you al⯑ways did the flippancies, of my pen. The happy pro⯑ſpect that all our wiſhes would be ſucceeded to us, had given a levity, a wantonneſs, to it. Wicked pen!—But I have burnt the whole parcel from which I took [43] it!—Yet I ſhould correct myſelf; for I don't know whether I did not intend to teaze a little: I don't know whether my compaſſion for Emily did not make me more ſilly. If that were ſo (for really I ſuffered my pen to take its courſe at the time; therefore burnt it) I know you will the more readily forgive me.

Littleneſs, Harriet! You are all that is great and good in woman. The littleneſs of others adds to your greatneſs. Have not my foibles always proved this?—No, my dear! you are as great, as—Clementina her⯑ſelf: And I love you better, if poſſible, than I love myſelf.

A few lines more on other ſubjects; for I can't write a ſhort Letter to my Harriet.—

The Counteſs of D. has made my brother a viſit. I happened to be at his houſe. They were alone to⯑gether near an hour. At going away, he attending her to her chair, ſhe took my hand; All, all my hopes are over, ſaid ſhe; but I will love Miſs Byron, for all that. Nor ſhall you, Sir Charles, in the day of your power, deny me my correſpondent: Nor muſt you, madam, and Lady L. a friendſhip with Sir Charles Grandiſon's two ſiſters.

Lady W. and my ſiſter and I correſpond. I want you to know her, that you may love her as well as we do. Love-matches, my dear, are fooliſh things. I know not how you will find it ſome time hence: No general rule, however, without exceptions, you know. Violent Love on one ſide, is enough in conſcience, if the other be not a fool, or ungrateful: The Lover and Lovée make generally the happieſt couple. Mild, ſedate convenience, is better than a ſtark ſtaring-mad paſſion. The wall-climbers, the hedge and ditch⯑leapers, the river-forders, the window-droppers, al⯑ways find reaſon to think ſo. Who ever hears of darts, flames, Cupids, Venus's, Adonis's, and ſuch⯑like nonſenſe, in matrimony?—Paſſion is tranſitory; but diſcretion, which never bois over, gives durable [44] happineſs. See Lord and Lady W. Lord G. and his good woman, for inſtances

O my mad head! And wh [...] think you, did I men⯑tion my correſponding with Lady W.?—Only to tell you, and I had like to have forgot it, that ſhe feli⯑citates me in her laſt, on the like [...]ihood of a happy ac⯑quiſition to our family, from what my brother com⯑municated of his intention to make his addreſſes to Somebody—I warrant you gueſs to whom.

Lady Anne S.—Poor Lady Anne S.!—I dare not tell my brothet how much ſhe loves him: I am ſure it would make him uneaſy.

Beauchamp deſires his compliments to you. He is in great affliction. Poor Sir Harry is thought irre⯑coverable. Different phyſicians have gone their rounds with him: But the new ones only aſk what the old ones did, that they may gueſs at ſomething elſe to make trial of. When a patient has money, it is hard, I be⯑lieve, for a phyſician to be honeſt, and to ſay, till the laſt extremity, That the Parſon and Sexton may take him.

Adieu, my love!—Adieu, all my grandmammas, aunts, couſins, and kin's kin of Northamptonſhire—Adieu!

LETTER XII. Miſs BYRON, To Lady G.

A Thouſand thanks to you, my dear Lady G. for the favour of your laſt: You have re-aſſured me in it. I think I could not have been happy even in the affection of Sir Charles Grandiſon, were I to have found an abatement in the Love of his two ſiſters. Who, that knows you both, and that had been fa⯑voured with your friendſhip, could have been ſatisfied with the leaſt diminution of it?

[45] I have a Letter from the Counteſs of D ^(a). She is a moſt generous woman. ‘'She even congratulates me, on your brother's account, from the conver⯑ſation that paſſed between him and her. She gives me the particulars of that converſation. Exceed⯑ingly flattering are they to my vanity.'’ I muſt, my dear, be happy, if you continue to love me; and if I can know that Lady Clementina is not unhappy. This latter is a piece of Intelligence, neceſſary, I was going to ſay, for my tranquility: For can your bro⯑ther be happy, if that Lady be otherwiſe, whoſe griev⯑ous malady could hold in ſuſpence his generous heart, when he had no proſpects at the time, of ever calling her his?

I pity from my heart Lady Anne S. What a dread⯑ful thing is hopeleſs Love; the object ſo worthy, that every mouth is full of his praiſes! How many women will your brother's preference of one, be ſhe who ſhe will, diſappoint in their firſt Loves! Yet out of a hundred women, how few are there, who, for one reaſon, or other, have the man of their choice!

I remember, you once ſaid, It was well that Love is not a paſſion abſolutely invincible: But, however, I do not, my dear, agree with you in your notions of all Love-matches. Love merely perſonal, that ſort of Love which commences between the year of fifteen and twenty; and when the extraordinary merit of the object is not the foundation of it; may, I believe, and perhaps generally ought to, be ſubdued. But Love that is founded on a merit that every-body acknow⯑leges—I don't know what to ſay to the vincibility of ſuch a Love: For myſelf, I think it impoſſible that I ever could have been the wife of any man on earth, and given him my affection in ſo entire a manner, as ſhould, on reflexion, have acquitted my own heart—Tho' I hope I ſhould not have been wanting in my general duties—And why impoſſible? Becauſe I muſt [46] have been conſcious, that there was another man whom I would have preferred to him. Let me add, that when proſpects were darkeſt with regard to my wiſhes, I promiſed my grandmamma and aunt, to make myſelf eaſy, at leaſt to endeavour to do ſo, if they never would propoſe to me the Earl of D. or any other man. They did promiſe me.

Lady D. in her Letter to me, ‘'is ſo good as to claim the continuance of my correſpondence.'’ Moſt ungrateful, and equally ſelf-denying, muſt I be, if I were to decline my part of it.

I have a Letter from Sir Rowland Meredith ^(a)You, who have ſeen his former Letters to me, need not be ſhewn this. The ſame honeſt heart appears in them all; the ſame kind profeſſions of paternal love. You love Sir Rowland; and will be pleaſed to hear that his worthy nephew is likely to recover his health: I cannot, however, be joyful that they are reſolved to make me ſoon one more viſit. But you will ſee that Mr. Fowler thinks, if he could be allowed to viſit me once more, he ſhould, tho' hoping nothing from the viſit, be eaſier for the reſt of his life. A ſtrange way of thinking! ſuppoſing Love to be his diſtemper: Is it not?

I have a Letter from Mr. Fenwick. He is arrived at his ſeat near Daventry. He has made a very ſhort excurſion abroad. He tells me in it, that he deſigns me a viſit on a particular ſubject. If it be, as I ſuſpect, to engage my intereſt with my Lucy, he ſhall not have her: He is not worthy of her.

The friendſhip and favour of Lady W. is one of the great felicities which ſeem to offer to bleſs my future lot.

Mr. Greville is the moſt perſevering, as well as moſt audacious of men. As other men endeavour to gain a woman's affections by politeneſs; he makes pride, ill-nature, and impetuoſity, the proofs of his Love; [47] and thinks himſelf ill uſed, eſpecially ſince his large acquiſition of fortune, that they are not accepted as ſuch. He has obliged Mr. Deane to hear his pleas; and preſumed to hope for his favour. Mr. Deane frankly told him, that his intereſt lay quite another way. He then inſolently threatened with deſtruction, the man, be he who he will, that ſhall ſtand in his way. He doubts not, he ſays, but Sir Charles Gran⯑diſon is the man deſigned: But if ſo cool a Lover is to be encouraged againſt ſo ſervent a one as himſelf, he is miſtaken in all his notions of womens conduct and judgments in Love-matters. A diſcrect Lover, he ſays, is an unnatural character: Women, the odious wretch ſays, love to be devoured (Is he not an odious wretch?) and if Miſs Byron can content herſelf with another woman's leavings, for that, he ſays, he is well in⯑formed is the caſe, he knows what he ſhall think of her ſpirit. And then he threw out, as uſual, re⯑flections on our Sex, which had malice in them.

This man's threats diſturb me. God grant that your brother may not meet with any more embar⯑raſments from inſolent men, on my account!

If theſe men, this Greville in particular, would let me be at peace, I ſhould be better, I believe, in my health: But Lady Frampton is his advocate, by Let⯑ter. He watches my footſteps, and, in every viſit I make, throws himſelf in the way: And on Sundays he is always ready with his officious hand, as I alight to enter the church, and to lead me back to my uncle's coach. My uncle cannot affront him, be⯑cauſe he will not be affronted by him. He rallies off, with an intrepidity that never was exceeded, all that my aunt ſays to him. I repulſe him with anger every⯑where but in a place ſo public, and ſo ſacred. He diſ⯑turbs my devotion, with his ſtaring eyes, always fixed on our pew; which draw every one's after them. He has the aſſurance, when he intrudes himſelf into my company, to laugh off my anger; telling me, [48] that it is what he has long wiſhed for; and that now he is ſo much uſed to it, that he can live on my frowns, and cannot ſupport life without them. He plainly tells me, that Mr. Fenwick's arrival from abroad, and another certain perſon's alſo, are the occaſion of his reſumed ſedulity.

Every-body about us, in ſhort, is intereſted for or againſt him. He makes me appear coy and ridicu⯑lous. He—But no more of this bold man. Would to Heaven that ſome one of thoſe who like ſuch, would relieve me from him!

Viſiters, and the poſt, oblige me, ſooner than I otherwiſe ſhould, to conclude myſelf, my dear Lady G.

LETTER XIII. Mr. DEANE, To Sir CHARLES GRANDISON.

AN alliance more acceptable, were it with a prince, could not be propoſed, than that which Sir Charles Grandiſon, in a manner ſo worthy of him⯑ſelf, has propoſed with a family who have thought themſelves under obligation to him, ever ſince he de⯑livered the darling of it from the lawleſs attempts of a ſavage Libertine. I know to whom I write; and will own, that it has been my wiſh, in a moſt parti⯑cular manner.

As to the ſurviving part of the family, excluſive of Miſs Byron (for I will mention her parents by-and-by) it is, in all its branches, worthy. Indeed, Sir, your wiſh of a relation to them, is not a diſcredit to your high character. As to the young Lady—I ſay nothing of her—Yet how ſhall I forbear—O Sir, be⯑lieve me! ſhe will dignify your choice. Her duty [49] and her inclination through every relation of life, were never divided.

Excuſe me, Sir—No parent was ever more fond of his child than I have been, from her infancy, of this my daughter by adoption. Hence, Sir, being con⯑ſulted on this occaſion, as my affection I will ſay for the whole family deſerves, I take upon me to acquaint you, before any further ſteps are taken, what our dear child's fortune will be: For it has been always my notion, that a young gentleman, in ſuch a caſe, ſhould, the moment he offers himſelf, if his own pro⯑poſals are acceptable, be ſpared the indelicacy of ask⯑ing queſtions as to fortune. We know, Sir, yours is great: But as your ſpirit is princely, you ought to have ſomething worthy of your own fortune with a wife. But here, alas! we muſt fail, I doubt; at leaſt, in hand.

Mr. Byron was one of the beſt of men; his Lady a moſt excellent woman: There never was a happier pair. Both had reaſon to boaſt of their anceſtry, His eſtate was upwards of Four thouſand pounds a year; but it was entailed, and, in failure of male heirs, was to deſcend to a ſecond branch of the family which had made itſelf the more unworthy of it, by ſettling in a foreign country, renouncing, as I may ſay, its own Mr. Byron died a young man, and left his Lady enſient; but grief for loſing him, occaſioned firſt her miſcarriage, and then her death; and the eſtate followed the name. Hence, be pleaſed to know, that Miſs Byron's fortune, in her own right is no more than between Thirteen and Fourteen thouſand pounds. It is chiefly in the funds. It has been called 15,000l. but it is not much more than thirteen. Her grandmother's jointure is between 4 and 500l. a year. We none of us wiſh to ſee my god-daughter in poſ⯑ſeſſion of it: She herſelf leaſt of all. Mrs. Shirley is called, by every one that knows her, or ſpeaks of her, The ornament of old age. Her husband, an [50] excellent man, deſired her to live always in the man⯑ſion-houſe, and in the hoſpitable way he had ever kept up, if what he left her would ſupport her in it. She has been longer ſpared to the prayers of her friends, and to thoſe of the poor, than was appre⯑hended; for ſhe is but infirm in health. She there⯑fore can do but little towards the increaſe of her child's fortune. But Shirley-manor is a fine old ſeat, Sir!—And there is timber upon the eſtate, which wants but ten years growth, and will be felled to good account. Mr. Selby is well in the world. He propoſes, as a token of his love, to add 3000l, in hand to his niece's fortune; and by his will, ſomething very conſiderable, farther expectant on his Lady's death; who being Miſs Byron's aunt, by the father's ſide, intends by her will to do very handſomely for her.—By the way, my dear Sir, be aſſured, that what I write is abſolutely unknown to Miſs Byron.

There is a man who loves her as he loves himſelf. This man has laid by a ſum of money every year for the advancing her in marriage, beginning with the fifth year of her life, when it was ſeen what a hopeful child ſhe was: This has been putout at accumulated in⯑tereſt; and it amounts, in ſixteen years, or there⯑abouts, to very near 8000l, This man, Sir will make up the eight thouſand, ten, to be paid on the day of marriage: And I hope, without promiſing for what this man will do further at his death, that you will accept of this Five or Six-and-twenty thouſand Pounds, as the chearfulleſt given and beſt-beſtowed money that ever was laid out.

Let not theſe particulars pain you, Sir: They ſhould not; The ſubject is a neceſſary one. You, who ought to give way to the increaſe of that power which you ſo nobly uſe, muſt not be pained at this mention, once for all. Princes, Sir, are not above asking money of their people as free-gifts, on the marriage of their children. He that would be greater than a prince [51] may, before he is aware, be leſs than a gentleman. Of this ten thouſand pounds, Eight is Miſs Byron's due, as ſhe is likely to be ſo happy with all our con⯑ſents; elſe it would not: For that was the man's re⯑ſerved condition; and the ſum, or the deſignation of it, was till this day only known to himſelf.

As to ſettlements in return, I would have acted the lawyer, but the honeſt lawyer, with you, Sir, and made demands of you; but Mr. and Mrs Selby, and Mrs. Shirley, unanimouſly declare, that you ſhall not be preſcribed to in this caſe. Were you not Sir Charles Grandiſon? was the queſtion. I was againſt leaving it to you, for that very reaſon. It will be, ſaid I, to provoke ſuch a man as Sir Charles to do too much. Moſt other men ought to be ſpurred; but this muſt be held in. But, however, I acquieſced; and the more eaſily, becauſe I expect that the deeds ſhall paſs through my hands; and I will take care that you ſhall not, in order to give a proof of Love where it is not wanted, exert an inadequate genero⯑ſity.

Theſe matters I thought it was abſolutely neceſſary to apprize you of: You will have the goodneſs to ex⯑cuſe any imperfections in my manner of writing. There are none in my heart, when I aſſure you, that no man breathing can more reſpect you, than, Sir.

LETTER XIV. Sir CHARLES GRANDISON, To THO. DEANE, ETo THO. DEANE, Eſq

YOU know not, my dear Mr. Deane upon what an unthankful man you would beſtow your fa⯑vours. I pretend not to be above complying with the [52] laudable cuſtoms of the world. Princes are examples to themſelves. I have always, in things indifferent, been willing to take the world as I find it; and con⯑form to it.

To ſay Miſs Byron is a treaſure in herſelf, is what every man would ſay, who has the honour to know her: Yet I would not, in a vain oſtentation, as the in⯑tereſt of a man and his wife is one, make a compli⯑ment to my affection by reſigning or giving from her her natural right; eſpecially as there is no one of her family that wants to be benefited by ſuch gifts or re⯑ſignations. But then I will not allow, that any of her friends ſhall part with what is theirs, to ſupply—What? A ſuppoſed deficiency in her fortune. And by whom, as implied by you, ſuppoſed a deficiency?—By me; and it is left to me to confirm the imputation by my acceptance of the addition ſo generouſly, as to the intention, offered. Had I incumbrances on my eſtate, which, undiſcharged, would involve in difficul⯑ties the woman I love; I know not what, for her ſake, I might be tempted to do. But avarice only can in⯑duce a man who wants it not to accept of the bounty of a Lady's friends, in their life-time eſpecially—When thoſe friends are not either father or mother; one of them not a relation by blood, tho' he is by a nearer tye, that of Love: And it is not the fortune which the Lady poſſeſſes, in her own right, an ample one?

I am as rich as I wiſh to be, my dear Mr. Deane. Were my income leſs, I would live within it; were it more, it would increaſe my duties. Permit me, my good Sir to ask, Has the MAN, as you call him (and a MAN indeed he appears to me to be) who intends to make ſo noble a preſent to a ſtranger, no relations, no friends, who would have reaſon to think them⯑ſelves unkindly treated, if he gave from them ſuch a large portion of his fortune?

I would not be thought romantic; neither aim I at [53] oſtentation. I would be as glad to follow, as to ſet, a good example. Can I have a nobler, if Miſs Byron honours me with her hand, than ſhe, in that caſe, will give in preferring me to the Earl of D. a worthy man, with a much more ſplendid fortune than mine? Believe me, my dear Mr. Deane, it would, on an e⯑vent ſo happy, be a reſtraint to my own joy before friends ſo kindly contributing to the increaſe of her fortune, leſt they ſhould imagine that their generoſity on the occaſion, was one of the motives of my gra⯑titude to her for her goodneſs to me,

You tell me, that Miſs Byron knows nothing of your propoſals: I beſeech you, let her not know any⯑thing of them: Abaſe not ſo much, in her eye, the man who preſumes on her favour for the happineſs of the reſt of his life, by ſuppoſing (Your ſuppoſition, Sir, may have weight with her) he could value her the more for ſuch an addition to her fortune. No, Sir: Let Miſs Byron (ſatisfied with the conſciouſneſs of a worth which all the world acknowleges) in one of the moſt ſolemn events of her life look round among her congratulating friends with that modeſt confidence which the ſenſe of laying a high obligation on a fa⯑voured object gives to diffident merit; and which the receiving of favours from all her friends, as if to ſup⯑ply a ſuppoſed defective worth, muſt either abate; or, if it do not, make her think leſs of the intereſted man, who could ſubmit to owe ſuch obligations.

If theſe friendly expoſtulations conclude againſt the offer of your generous friend, they equally do ſo againſt that of Mr. Selby. Were that Gentleman and his Lady the parents of Miſs Byron, the caſe would be different: But Miſs Byron's fortune is an aſcertained one; and Mr. Selby has relations who ſtand in an equal degree of conſanguinity to him, and who are all intitled, by their worthineſs, to his favour. My beſt reſpects and thanks are however due; and I beg you [54] will make my acknowledgments accordingly, as well to your worthy friend, as to Mr. Selby.

I take the liberty to ſend you down the rent-roll of my Engliſh eſtate. Determine for me as you pleaſe, my deareſt Mr. Deane. Only take this caution—Af⯑front me not a ſecond time; but let the ſettlements be ſuch, as may be fully anſwerable to my fortune; altho', in the common methods of calculation, it may exceed that of the dear Lady That you may be the better judge of this, you will find a brief particular of my Iriſh Eſtate, ſubjoined to the other.

I was intending, when I received yours, to do my⯑ſelf the honour of a viſit to Selby-houſe. I am im⯑patient to throw myſelf at the feet of my dear Miſs Byron, and to commend myſelf to the favour of Mr. and Mrs. Selby, and every one of a family I am pre⯑pared by their characters, as well as by their relation to Miſs Byron, to revere and love. But as you ſeem to chooſe that the requiſite preliminaries ſhould be firſt adjuſted by pen and ink, I ſubmit, tho' with reluct⯑ance, to that courſe; but with the leſs, as I may, in the interim, receive Letters from abroad, which, tho' they can now make no alteration with regard to the treaty ſo happily begun, may give me an opportunity of laying the whole ſtate of my affairs before Miſs Byron; by which means ſhe will be enabled to form a judgment of them, and of the heart of, dear Sir,

LETTER XV. Miſs BYRON, To Lady G.

WELL did you obſerve, my dear that we may be very differently affected by the ſame e⯑vent, when judged of at a diſtance, and near. May I, in the preſent ſituation, preſume to ſay near? Mr. Deane has entered into the particulars of my fortune with Sir Charles. The Letter was not ſhewn me be⯑fore it went; and I was not permitted to ſee the co⯑py of it till your brother's anſwer came; and then they ſhewed me both.

O my dear Mr. Deane! my ever-kind uncle and aunt Selby! Was not your Harriet Byron too much obliged to you before?—As to your brother, What, my love, ſhall I do with my pride? I did not know I had ſo much of that bad quality. My poverty, my dear, has added to my pride. Were my fortune ſu⯑perior to that of your brother, I am ſure I ſhould not be ſo proud as I now, on this occaſion, find I am. How generouſly does he decline accepting the good⯑neſs that was offered to give me more conſideration with him (as kindly intended by them)! What can I ſay to him, but that his heart, ſtill prouder than my own, and more generous than that of any other per⯑ſon breathing, will not permit me to owe uncommon obligations to any but himſelf?

He deſires that I may not know any-thing of this tranſaction: But they thought the communication would give me pleaſure. However, they wiſh me not to take notice to him, when he viſits Selby-houſe, that they have communicated it to me. If I did, I ſhould think myſelf obliged to manifeſt a gratitude that would embarraſs me, in my preſent ſituation, and [56] ſeem to fetter the freedom of my will. Millions of obligations ſhould not bribe me to give up even a cor⯑ner of my heart, to a man to whom I could not give the whole. Your brother, my dear, is in poſſeſſion of the whole.

You know that I hate affectation: But muſt I not have great abatements in my proſpects of happineſs, becauſe of Lady Clementina? And muſt they not be ſtill greater, ſhould ſhe be unhappy, ſhould ſhe repent of the reſolution ſhe ſo nobly took, for his ſaying, that whatever be the contents of his next Letters from Italy, they can make no alteration with regard to the treaty begun with us?—Dear, dear Clementina! moſt excellent of women! Can I bear to ſtand in the way of your happineſs?—I cannot—My life, any more than yours, may not be a long one; and I will not fully the whiteneſs of it (Pardon my vanity; I pre⯑ſume to call it ſo, on retroſpecting it, regarding my intentions only) by giving way to an act of injuſtice, tho' it were to obtain for me the whole heart of the man I love.

Yet think you, my dear, that I am not mortified? ‘'How can I look round upon my congratulating friends, in one of the moſt ſolemn events of my life, with that modeſt confidence which the ſenſe of laying an obligation on a favoured object'’ (You know in whoſe generous words I expreſs myſelf) ‘'gives to diffident merit?'’ O my Charlotte! I am afraid of your brother! How ſhall I look up to him, when I next ſee him?—But I will give way to this new gueſt, my pride. What other way have I?—Will you forgive me, if I try to look upon your bro⯑ther's generoſity to me and my friends, in declining ſo greatly their offers, as a bribe to make me ſit down ſatisfied with half, nay, not half, a heart?—And now will you not ſay, that I am proud indeed? But his is the moſt delicate of human minds; And ſhall not the woman pretend to ſome delicacy who has looked up to him?

[57] I thought of writing but a few lines in the cover of the two Letters. I hope I ſhould not incur diſpleaſure from any-body here, were they to know I ſend them to you for your peruſal. But let only Lord G. your other Self, and Lord and Lady L. read them, and re⯑turn them by the next poſt. I know you four will pity the poor and proud girl, who is ſo inexpreſſibly obliged almoſt to every one ſhe knows; but who, be⯑lieve her, proud as ſhe is, never will be aſhamed to own her obligations to you, and to Lady L.

LETTER XVI. Lady G. To Miſs BYRON.

I Return your two Letters: Very good ones, both. I like them. Lord L. and Lord G. thank you for allowing them to peruſe them. We will know nothing of the matter. My brother will ſoon be with you, I believe. I wiſh Dr. Bartlet were in town: One ſhould then know ſomething of the motions of my brother—Not that he is reſerved, neither. But he is ſo much engaged, that I go four times to St. James's-Square, and perhaps do not ſee him once. My Lord had the aſſurance to ſay, but yeſterday, that I was there more than at home. He is very impertinent: I believe he has taken up my ſaucineſs. I laid it down, and thought to reſume it occaſionally; but when I came to look for it, behold! it was gone!—But I hope, if he has it not, it is only miſlaid. I intend, if it come not ſoon to hand, to ſet the pariſh-crier to proclaim the loſs, with a reward for the finder. It might be the ruin of ſome indiſcreet woman, ſhould ſuch a one meet with it, and try to uſe it. Aunt Eleanor [There I remember myſelf: No more aunt [58] Nell!] is as joyful, to think her nephew will ſoon be married, and to an Engliſh woman, as if ſhe were go⯑ing to be married herſelf. Were there to be a wed⯑ding in the family, or among her acquaintance, once a year! what with preparation, what with ſolemniza⯑tion, good old ſoul! ſhe would live for ever. Chide again, Harriet; I value it not. Yet in your laſt chid⯑ing you were exceſſively grave: But I forgive you. Be good, and write me every-thing how and about it; and write to the moment: You cannot be too minute.

I want you to ſee Lady Olivia's preſents: They are princely. I want to ſee a Letter ſhe wrote to my brother: He mentioned it as ſomething extraordinary. When you are his, you muſt ſhew me all he writes, that you are permitted to have in your power long enough to tranſcribe. He and ſhe correſpond. Do you like that, Harriet?—Lady L. writes: Emily writes. So I have only to ſay, I am

LETTER XVII. Miſs BYRON, To Lady G.

LETTER XVIII. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

I Am ſtolen up again, to tell you how it is. I never will be petulant again—Dear Sir, forgive me! How wicked in us all, but my grandmamma and Mr. Deane, to blame a man who cannot be guilty of a wilful fault! The fault is all my aunt's and mine—Was my aunt ever in fault before?

We were all together when he entered. He ad⯑dreſſed himſelf to us, in that noble manner, which en⯑gages every-body in his favour, at firſt ſight. How, ſaid he, bowing to every one, have I ſuffered, in be⯑ing hindered, by an unhappy man, from doing myſelf the honour of attending you ſooner!

You ſee, my dear, he made not apologies to me, as if he ſuppoſed me diſappointed by his abſence. I was afraid he would. I know I looked very grave.

He then particularly addreſſed himſelf to each; to me firſt; next to my grandmamma; and taking one of her hands between both his, and bowing upon it, I rejoice to ſee you, madam, ſaid he—Your laſt fa⯑vours will ever be remembered by me, with gratitude. I ſee you well, I hope. Your Miſs Byron will be well, if you are; and our joy, looking round him, will then be complete.

She bowed her head, pleaſed with his compliment; ſo were my aunt, and Lucy, and Nancy. I was ſtill a little ſullen; otherwiſe I ſhould have been pleaſed too, that he made my health depend on that of my grand⯑mamma.

Madam, ſaid he, turning to my aunt, I am afraid I made you wait for me at breakfaſt. A moſt imper⯑tinent viſiter! He put me out of humour. I dared not to let you and yours (looking at me) ſee, how [72] much I could be out of humour. I am naturally paſ⯑ſionate: But paſſion is ſo ugly, ſo deforming a thing, that, if I can help it, I will never, by thoſe I love, be ſeen in it.

I am ſorry, Sir, ſaid my aunt, you meet with any⯑thing to diſturb you.

My uncle's ſpirit had not come down: He, too, was ſullen in behalf of the punctilio of the girl whom he honours with his jealous Love. How, how, is that, Sir Charles? ſaid he.

My aunt preſented Lucy and Nancy to him: But before ſhe could name either—Miſs Selby, ſaid he, Miſs Byron's own Lucy, I am ſure. Miſs Nancy Selby!—I know your characters, Ladies, ſaluting each, and I know the intereſt you have in Miſs Byron.—Honour me with your approbation, and that will be to give me hope of hers.

He then turning to my uncle and Mr. Deane, and taking a hand of each—My dear Mr. Deane, ſmiles upon me, ſaid he—But Mr. Selby looks grave.—

At-ten -tive only Sir Charles, to the cauſe of your being put out of humour, that's all—

The cauſe, Mr. Selby!—Know, then, I met with a man at my inn, who would force himſelf upon me: Do you know I am a qurrelſome man? He was ſo hardy as to declare, that he had pretenſions to a Lady in this company, which he was determined to aſſert.

O that Greville! ſaid my aunt—

I was ready to ſink. Wretched Harriet! thought I, at the inſtant: Am I to be for ever the occaſion of embroiling this excellent man!

My grandmamma, Mr. Deane, my uncle, my couſin James, all ſpoke at once—Dear, dear Sir Charles, ſaid one, ſaid another—How, how, was it?

Both ſafe! Both unhurt! No more of the raſh man, at this time. He is to be pitied. He loves Miſs Byron to diſtraction.

[73] This comes of nicety! whiſpered my uncle, to my aunt: fooliſh nicety!—To let ſuch a man as this go to an inn!—Inhoſpitable, vile punctilio! Then turn⯑ing to Sir Charles—Dear Sir, forgive me! I was a little ſerious, that I muſt own [I pulled my uncle by the ſleeve, fearing he would ſay too much by way of atonement for his ſeriouſneſs]:—I, I, I, was a little ſe⯑rious, I muſt own [I, I, I, was afraid ſomething was the matter—turned he off, what he was going to ſay—too freely, ſhall I ſay?—Hardly ſo! had he ſaid what he would; tho' habitual punctilio made me almoſt involuntarily twitch my uncle by the ſleeve: for my heart would have directed my lips to utter the kindeſt things; but my concern was too great to allow them to obey it.

I muſt go down, Lady G.—I am enquired after; 'tis juſt dinner-time—Let me only add, that Sir Charles waved further talk of the affair between him and that wretch, while I ſtaid—perhaps they have got it out of him ſince I came up.

I SHALL be ſo proud, my dear!—a thouſand fine things he has ſaid of your Harriet, in her little ab⯑ſence!—Lucy, Nancy, call him THE man: And every one looks upon him as if there were not one ſoul in company but he and themſelves. My grand⯑mamma's eyes are complained of as weak, to co⯑lour her joyful emotion: But, thank God, her eyes are not weak. And he is ſo reſpectfully tender to her, that had he not my heart before, he would have won it now.

He had again waved the relation of the inſult he met with: Mr. Greville himſelf, he ſuppoſed, would give it. He had a mind to ſee if the gentleman, by his report of it, was a gentleman. Thank God, ſaid he, I have not hurt a man who boaſts of his paſſion for Miſs Byron; and of his neighbourhood to this fa⯑mily!

[74] OUR places were choſen for us at table: Sir Charles's next me. Cannot I be too minute, do you ſay?—So eaſy, ſo free, ſo polite; ſomething ſo hap⯑pily addreſſed occaſionally to each perſon at table—O my dear! I am abundantly kept in countenance; for every one loves him, as well as I. You have been pleaſed to take very favourable notice of our ſervants—They are good, and ſenſible. What reverence for him, and joy for their young miſtreſs's ſake, ſhone in their countenances as they attended!

My couſin James, who has never been out of Eng⯑land, was very curious to be informed of the manners, cuſtoms, diverſions, of the people in different coun⯑tries—Italy, in particular—Ah the dear Clementina! What abatement from recollection! ‘'The ſighing heart,'’ I remember he ſays, in one of his Letters to Dr. Bartlett, ‘'will remind us of imperfection, in the higheſt of our enjoyments.’' And he adds, ‘'It is fit it ſhould be ſo.'’ And on what occaſion did he write this?—O my Charlotte, I was the occaſion! It was in kind remembrance of me! He could not, at that time, have ſo written, had he been indifferent, even then, to your Harriet.

I am ſo apprehenſive of my uncle's after remarks, that I am half-afraid to look at Sir Charles: And he muſt by-and-by return to this wicked inn—They wonder at my frequent abſences. It is to oblige you, Lady G. and indeed myſelf: There is vaſt pleaſure in communicating one's pleaſures to a friend who inte⯑reſts herſelf, as you do, in one's deareſt concerns.

YOU know and admire my grandmamma's chearful compliances with the innocent diverſions of youth: She made Lucy give us a leſſon on the harpſichord, on purpoſe, I ſaw, to draw me in. We both obeyed.

I was once a little out in an Italian ſong. In what a ſweet manner did he put me in▪ touching the keys [75] himſelf, for a minute or two. Every one wiſhed him to proceed; but he gave up to me, in ſo polite a man⯑ner, that we all were ſatisfied with his excuſes.

My poor couſin Jemmy is on a ſudden very earneſt to go abroad; as if, ſilly youth, travelling would make him a Sir Charles Grandiſon!

I have juſt aſked your brother, If all is over be⯑tween Mr. Greville and him? He ſays, He hopes and believes ſo. God ſend it may; or I ſhall hate that Greville!

MY uncle, Mr. Deane, and my couſin James, were too much taken with Sir Charles, to think of with⯑drawing, as it might have been expected they would; and after ſome general converſation, that ſucceeded our playing, Sir Charles drew his chair between my grandmamma and aunt, and taking my grandmam⯑ma's hand, May I not be allowed a quarter of an hour's converſation with Miſs Byron in your preſence, La⯑dies? ſaid he, ſpeaking low. We have indeed only friends and relations preſent: But it will be moſt a⯑greeable, I believe, to the dear Lady, that what I have to ſay to her, and to you, may be rather reported to the gentlemen, than heard by them.

By all means, Sir Charles, ſaid my grandmamma. Then whiſpering to my aunt, No man in this com⯑pany thinks, but Sir Charles. Excuſe me my dear.

The moment Sir Charles applied himſelf in this particular manner to them, my heart, without hear⯑ing what he ſaid, was at my mouth. I aroſe, and withdrew to the cedar-parlour, followed by Lucy and Nancy. The gentlemen, ſeeming to recollect them⯑ſelves, withdrew likewiſe, to another apartment. My aunt came to me—Love!—But ah! my dear, how you tremble!—You muſt come with me, And then ſhe told me what he had ſaid to my grandmamma and her.

I have no courage—None at all, ſaid I, If appre⯑henſion, [76] if timidy, be ſigns of Love, I have them all. Sir Charles Grandiſon has not one.

Nay, my dear, ſaid Lucy, impute not to him want of reſpect, I beſeech you.—Reſpect, my Lucy! What a poor word!—Had I only reſpect for him, we ſhould be nearer an equality.—Has he ſaid any-thing of La⯑dy Clementina?

Don't be ſilly, Harriet, ſaid my aunt. You uſed to be—

Uſed to be!—Ah, madam I Sir Charles's heart, at beſt, a divided heart! I never had a trial till now.

I tell you all my foibles, Lady G.

My aunt led me in to Sir Charles and my grand⯑mamma. He met me at my entrance into the room, and in the moſt engaging manner, my aunt having taken her ſeat, conducted me to a chair which happen⯑ed to be vacant between her and my grandmother. He took no notice of my emotion, and I the ſooner recovered myſelf, and ſtill the ſooner, as he himſelf ſeemed to be in ſome little confuſion. However, he ſat down, and with a manly, yet reſpectful air, his voice gaining ſtrength as he proceeded, thus deliver⯑ed himſelf.

Never, Ladies, was man more particularly circum⯑ſtanced than he before you. You know my ſtory: You know what once were the difficulties of my ſituation with a family that I muſt ever reſpect; with a Lady of it whom I muſt ever revere: And you, madam (to my grandmamma) have had the good⯑neſs to ſignify to me, in a moſt engaging manner, that Miſs Byron has added to the innumerable inſtances which ſhe has given me of her true greatneſs of mind, a kind, and even a friendly concern for a Lady who is the Miſs Byron of Italy. I aſk not excuſe for the compariſon. The heart of the man before you, ma⯑dam (to me) in ſincerity and frankneſs emulates your own.—

You want not excuſe, Sir, ſaid my grandmamma— [77] We all reverence Lady Clementina: We admire her.

He bowed to each of us; as my aunt and I looked I believe, aſſentingly to what my grandmamma ſaid. He proceeded:

Yet in ſo particular a ſituation, altho' what I have to ſay, may, I preſume, be collected from what you know of my ſtory; and tho' my humble appli⯑cation to Miſs Byron for her favour, and to you, La⯑dies, for your intereſt with her, have not been diſ⯑couraged; ſomething, however, may be neceſſary to be ſaid, in this audience, of the ſtate of my own heart, for the ſake of this dear Lady's delicacy, and yours. And I will deliver myſelf with all the truth and plain⯑neſs which I think are required in treaties of this na⯑ture, equally with thoſe ſet on foot between nation and nation.

I am not inſenſible to Beauty: But the beauty of perſon only, never yet had power over more than my eye; to which it gave a pleaſure like that which it re⯑ceives from the flowers of a gay parterre. Had not my heart been out of the reach of perſonal attractions, if I may ſo expreſs myſelf; and had I been my own maſter; Miſs Byron, in the firſt hour that I ſaw her (for her beauty ſuffered not by her diſtreſs) would have left me no other choice: But when I had the honour of converſing with her, I obſerved in her mind and behaviour that true dignity, delicacy, and noble frank⯑neſs, which I ever thought characteriſtic in the Sex, but never met with, in equal degree, but in one Lady. I ſoon found, that my admiration of her fine qualities was likely to lead me into a gentler, yet a more irre⯑ſiſtable paſſion: For of the Lady abroad I then could have no reaſonable, at leaſt, no probable hope: Yet were there circumſtances between her and me, which I thought, in ſtrict juſtice, obliged me to attend the iſſue of certain events.

I called myſelf therefore to account, and was [78] alarmed when I found that Miſs Byron's graces had ſtolen ſo imperceptibly on my heart, as already to have made an impreſſion on it too deep for my tranquillity. I determined therefore, in honour, in juſtice, to both Ladies, to endeavour to reſtrain a paſſion ſo new, yet likely to be ſo ſervent.

I had avocations in town, while Miſs Byron was with my ſiſters in the country. Almoſt afraid of truſt⯑ing myſelf in her preſence, I purſued the more will-ingly thoſe avocations in perſon, when I could have managed ſome of them, perhaps, near as well by other hands. Compaſſion for the one Lady, becauſe of her calamity, might, at that time, I found, have been made to give way, could thoſe calamities have been o⯑vercome, to Love for the other. Nor was it difficult for me to obſerve, that my ſiſters and Lord L. who knew nothing of my ſituation, would have choſen for a ſiſter the young Lady preſent, before every other woman.

Sometimes, I will own to you, I was ready, from that ſelf-partiality and vanity which is too natural to men of vivacity and ſtrong hopes, to flatter myſelf, that I might, by my ſiſters intereſt, have made myſelf, not unacceptable to a Lady, who ſeemed to be wholly diſengaged in her affections: But I would not permit myſelf to dwell on ſuch hopes: Every look of com⯑plaiſance, every ſmile, which uſed to beam over that lovely countenance, I attributed to her natural good⯑neſs, and frankneſs of heart, and to that grateful ſpirit which made her over-rate a common ſervice that I had been ſo happy as to render her. Had I even been free, I ſhould have been careful not to deprive myſelf of that animating ſunſhine, by a too early declaration. For well did I know, by other mens experience, that Miſs Byron, at the ſame time that her natural polite⯑neſs, and ſweetneſs of manners, engaged every heart, was not, however, eaſily to be won.

But, notwithſtanding all my efforts to prevent a [79] competition which had grown ſo faſt upon me, I ſtill found my uneaſineſs increaſe with my affection for Miſs Byron. I had then but one way left—It was, to ſtrengthen my heart, in Clementina's cauſe, by Miſs Byron's aſſiſtance: In ſhort, to acquaint Miſs Byron with my ſituation; to engage her generoſity for Clementina, and thereby deprive myſelf of the encouragement my fond heart might have hoped for, had I indulged my wiſhes of obtaining her favour. My end was anſwered, as to the latter. Miſs By⯑ron's generoſity was engaged for the Lady; but was it poſſible that my obligations to her for that generoſi⯑ty ſhould not add to my admiration of her?

At the time I laid before her my ſituation (it was in Lord L's Study at Colnebrooke) ſhe ſaw my emotion. I could not conceal it. My abrupt departure from her, muſt convince her, that my heart was too much engaged for that ſituation ^(a). I deſired Dr. Bartlett to take an airing with me, in hopes, by his counſels, to compoſe my diſordered ſpirits ^(b). He knew the ſtate of my heart: He knew, with regard to the pro⯑poſals I had formerly made to the family at Bologna, relating to Religion and Reſidence (as I had alſo de⯑clared to the brothers of the Lady) that no worldly grandeur ſhould ever have induced me to allow, in a beginning addreſs, the terms, I was willing, as a com⯑promiſe, to allow to that Lady; for thoroughly had I weighed the inconveniencies which muſt attend ſuch an alliance: The Lady zealous in her Religion; the Confelſor who was to be allowed her, equally zealous; the ſpirit of making proſelytes ſo ſtrong, and held by Roman Catholics to be ſo meritorious; and myſelf no leſs in earneſt in my Religion; I had no doubt to pronounce, I told the good Doctor, in confidence, ‘'that I ſhould be much more happy in marriage with the Lady of Selby-houſe, were ſhe to be induced to [80] honour me with her hand, than it was poſſible I could be with Lady Clementina, even were they to comply with the conditions I had propoſed; as I doubted not but that Lady would alſo be, were her health reſtored, with a man of her own nation and Religion:'’ And I owned to him, beſides, ‘'that I could have no hope of conquering the oppoſition given me by the friends of Clementina; and that I could not at times but think hardly of the indigni⯑ties caſt upon me by ſome of them.'’

The doctor, I knew, at the ſame time that he la⯑mented the evil treatment Clementina met with from her miſtaken friends, and her unhappy malady; and admired her for her manifold excellencies; next to adored Miſs Byron: And he gave his voice accord⯑ingly. ‘'But here, doctor, is the caſe, ſaid I—Cle⯑mentina is a woman with whom I had the honour of being acquainted before I knew Miſs Byron: Cle⯑mentina has infinite merits: She herſelf refuſed me not: She conſented to accept of the terms I offered: She even beſought her friends to comply with them. She has an opinion of my honour, and of my ten⯑derneſs for her. Till I had the happineſs of know⯑ing Miſs Byron, I was determined to await either her recovery or releaſe; and will Miſs Byron her⯑ſelf, if ſhe knows that, forgive me (the circum⯑ſtances not changed) for the change of a reſolution of which Clementina was ſo worthy? The treat⯑ment the poor Lady has met with, for my ſake, as once ſhe wrote, tho' virgin modeſty induced her to croſs out thoſe words, has heightened her diſorder. She ſtill to this moment, wiſhes to ſee me: While there is a poſſibility, tho' not a probability, of my being made the humble inſtrument of reſtoring an excellent woman, who in herſelf deſerves from me every conſideration of tenderneſs, ought I to wiſh to engage the heart (were I able to ſucceed in my wiſhes) of the equally -excellent Miſs Byron?—Could [81] I be happy in my own mind, were I to try, and to ſucceed? And if not, muſt I not be as ungrateful to her, as ungenerous to the other?—Miſs Byron's happineſs cannot depend on me. She muſt be happy in the happineſs ſhe will give to the man of her choice, whoever ſhall be the man!'’

We were all ſilent. My grandmamma and aunt ſeemed determined to be ſo; and I could not ſpeak. He proceeded:

You know not, dear Miſs Byron, I wiſhed you not to know, the conflicts my mind laboured with, when I parted with you on my going abroad. My deſtiny was wrapt up in doubt, and uncertainty. I was in⯑vited over: Signor Jeronymo was deemed irrecover⯑able: He wiſhed to ſee me, and deſired but to live to ſee me. My preſence was requeſted as a laſt effort to recover his noble ſiſter. You yourſelf, madam, ap⯑plauded my reſolution to go: But, that I might not be thought to wiſh to engage you in my favour (ſo cir⯑cumſtanced as I was, that to have done ſo, would have been to have acted unworthily to both Ladies,) I inſinuated my hopeleſſneſs of ever being nearer to you than I was.

I was not able to take a formal leave of you. I went over. Succeſs attended the kind, the ſoothing treatment which Clementina met with from her friends. Succeſs alſo attended the means uſed for the recovery of the noble Jeronymo. Conditions were again pro⯑poſed. Clementina, on her reſtoration, ſhone upon us all even with a brighter luſtre than ſhe did before her diſorder. All her friends conſented to reward with the hand of their beloved daughter, the man to whom they attributed ſecondarily the good they rejoiced in. I own to you, Ladies, that what was before honour and compaſſion, now became admiration; and I ſhould have been unjuſt to the merits of ſo excellent a wo⯑man, if I could not ſay, Love. I concluded myſelf al⯑ready the huſband of Clementina; yet it would have [82] been ſtrange, if the welfare and happineſs of Miſs By⯑ron were not the next wiſh of my heart. I rejoiced that (deſpairing as I did of ſuch an event before I went over, becauſe of the articles of Religion and Reſi⯑dence) I had not ſought to engage more than her friendſhip; and I devoted myſelf wholly to Clemen⯑tina—I own it, Ladies—And had I thought, Angel as ſhe came out, upon proof, that I could not have given her my heart, I had been equally unjuſt, and ungrateful. For, dear Ladies, if you know all her ſtory, you muſt know, that occaſion called her out to act gloriouſly; and that gloriouſly ſhe anſwered the call.

He pauſed. We were ſtill ſilent. My grand⯑mamma and aunt looked at each other by turns. But their eyes, as well as mine, at different parts of his ſpeech ſhewed their ſenſibility. He proceeded, grace⯑fully looking down, and at firſt with ſome little heſi⯑tation.

I am ſenſible, it was with a very ill grace, that, re⯑fuſed, as I muſt in juſtice call it, tho' on the nobleſt motives, by Clementina, I come to offer myſelf, and ſo ſoon after her refuſal, to a Lady of Miſs Byron's delicacy. I ſhould certainly have acted more laudably, reſpecting my own character only, had I taken at leaſt the uſual time of a Widower-Love. But great minds, ſuch as Miſs Byron's, and yours, Ladies, are above common forms, where decorum is not too much ne⯑glected. As to myſelf, what do I, but declare a paſ⯑ſion, that would have been, but for one obſtacle, which is now removed, as ſervent as man ever knew? Dr. Bartlett has told me, madam [to me], that you and my ſiſters have ſeen the Letters I wrote to him from Italy: By the contents of ſome of thoſe, and of the Letters I left with you, madam [to my grand⯑mamma], you have ſeen Clementina's conſtant ad⯑herence to the ſtep ſhe ſo greatly took. In this Let⯑ter, received but laſt Wedneſday [taking one out of [83] his boſom], you will ſee (my laſt Letters to them un⯑received, as they muſt be) that I am urged by all her family, for the ſake of ſetting her an example, to ad⯑dreſs myſelf to a Lady of my own country. This impels me, as I may ſay, to accelerate the humble ten⯑der of my vows to you, madam. However haſty the ſtep may be thought, in my ſituation; Would not an inexcuſable neglect, or ſeeming indifference, as if I were balancing as to the perſon, have been attributable to me, had I, for dull and cold form's ſake, been ca⯑pable of poſtponing the declaration of my affection to Miſs Byron? And if, madam, you can ſo far get over obſervances, which perhaps, on conſideration, will be found to be punctilious only, as to give your heart, with your hand, to a man who himſelf has been per⯑plexed by what ſome would call (particular as it ſounds) a double Love (an embarraſment, however, not of his own ſeeking, or which he could poſſibly avoid) you will lay him under obligation to your goodneſs (to your magnanimity, I will call it) which all the affec⯑tionate tenderneſs of my life to come will never en⯑able me to diſcharge.

He then put the Letter (a tranſlation of it incloſed) into my hand. I have already anſwered it, madam, ſaid he, and acquainted my friend, that I have actually tendered myſelf to the acceptance of a Lady worthy of a ſiſterly relation to their Clementina; and have not been rejected. Your goodneſs muſt enable me (I humbly hope it will) to give them ſtill ſtronger aſ⯑ſurances of your favour: On my happineſs they have the generoſity to build a part of their own.

Not well before, I was more than once apprehen⯑ſive of fainting, as he talked, agreeable as was his talk, and engaging as was his manner. My grand⯑mamma and aunt ſaw my complexion change at his particular addreſs to me, in the laſt part of his ſpeech. Each put her kind hand on one of mine, and held it on it, as my other hand held my handkerchief now [84] to my eyes, and now as a cover to my ſelf-felt vary⯑ing cheek.

At the ſame moment that he ceaſed ſpeaking, he took our triply-united hands in both his; and in the moſt reſpectful, yet graceful manner, his Letter laid in my lap, preſſed each of the three with his lips; mine twice. I could not ſpeak. My grandmamma and aunt, delighted, yet tears ſtanding in their eyes, looked upon each other, and upon me; each as expecting the other to ſpeak. I have perhaps, ſaid he, with ſome emotion, taken up too much of Miſs Byron's attention on this my firſt perſonal declaration: I will now return to the company below. To-morrow I will do myſelf the honour to dine with you. We will for this evening poſtpone the important ſubject. Miſs Byron, I preſume, will be beſt pleaſed to have it ſo. I ſhall to-morrow be favoured with the reſult of your deliberations. Mean time may I meet with an inter⯑ceding friend in every one I have had the pleaſure to ſee this day! I muſt flatter myſelf with the honour of Miſs Byron's whole heart, as well as with the appro⯑bation of all her friends. I cannot be thought at preſent, to deſerve it; but it ſhall be the endeavour of my life ſo to do.

He withdrew, with a grace which was all his own.

The moment he was gone from us, my grand⯑mamma threw her arms about her Harriet, then about my aunt; and they congratulated me, and each other.

We were all pained at heart, when we read the Let⯑ter. It is from Signor Jeronymo, urging your bro⯑ther to ſet the example to his ſiſter, which they ſo much want her to follow. I ſend you the tranſlation. Pray return it. Poor Lady Clementina! Without ſeeing the laſt Letters he wrote to them, ſhe ſeems to be tired into compliance. I will not ſay one half that is upon my mind on this occaſion, as you will have the Letter before you. His laſt-written Letters [85] will not favour her wiſhes. Poor Lady! Can I for⯑bear to pity her? And ſtill the more is ſhe to be pi⯑tied, as your brother's excellencies riſe upon us.

I beſought my aunt to excuſe me to the company.

Sir Charles joined his friends (HIS friends indeed they are all!) with a vivacity in his air and manner, which charmed every-body; while the ſilly heart of your Harriet would not allow her to enter into com⯑pany the whole night. Indeed it wanted the induce⯑ment of his preſence; for, to every one's regret, he declined ſtaying ſupper; yet my uncle put it to him—What, Sir, do you chooſe to ſup at your inn? My uncle will have it, that Sir Charles looked an anſwer of diſpleaſure for ſuffering him to go to it atall. My uncle is a good-natured man. He will ſometimes concede, when he is not convinced; and on every ap⯑pearance which makes for his opinion, we are ſure to hear of it.

I ſhall have an opportunity to-morrow morning early (This morning I might ſay) to ſend this long Letter by a neighbour, who is obliged to ride poſt to town on his own affairs.

Had I not had this agreeable employment, reſt, I am ſure, would not have come near me. Your bro⯑ther, I hope, has found it. Remember, I always mean to include my dear Lady L. in this correſpond⯑ence: Any-body elſe, but diſcretionally. My dear Ladies both, Adieu.

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

WE have at laſt, my Grandiſon, ſome hopes given us, that our dear Clementina will yield to our wiſhes.

[86] The General, with his Lady, made us a viſit from Naples, on purpoſe to make a deciſive effort, as he called it; and vowed that he would not return till he left her in a diſpoſition to oblige us. The Biſhop at one time brought the Patriarch to reaſon with her; who told her, that ſhe ought not to think of the veil, unleſs her father and mother conſented to her aſſum⯑ing it.

Mrs. Beaumont was prevailed upon to favour us with her company. She declared for us: And on Thurſday laſt Clementina was ſtill harder ſet. Her Father, Mother, the General and his Lady, the Bi⯑ſhop, all came into my chamber, and ſent for her. She came. Then did we all ſupplicate her to oblige us. The General was at firſt tenderly urgent: The Biſhop beſought her: The young Marchioneſs preſſed her: Her Mother took her hand between both hers, and in ſilent tears could only ſigh over it: And, laſtly, my Father dropt down on one knee to her. My daughter, my child, ſaid he, oblige me. Your Jero⯑nymo could not refrain from tears.

She fell on her knee—O my Father, ſaid ſhe, riſe, or I ſhall die at your feet! Riſe, my Father!

Not, my dear, till you conſent to oblige me.

Grant me but a little time, my Father, my dear, my indulgent Father!

The General thought he ſaw a flexibility which we had never before ſeen in her on this ſubject, and called upon her for her inſtant determination. Shall a Fa⯑ther kneel in vain? ſaid he. Shall a Mother in weep⯑ing ſilence in vain entreat?—Now, my ſiſter, com⯑ply—or—He ſternly ſtopt.

Have patience with me, ſaid ſhe, but till the Che⯑valier's next Letters come: You expect them ſoon. Let me receive his next Letter. And putting her hand to her forehead—Riſe, my Father, or I die at your feet!

I thought the General puſhed too hard. I begged that the next Letters might be waited for.

[87] Be it ſo, ſaid my father, riſing, and raiſing her: But whatever be the contents, remember, my deareſt child, that I am your Father, your indulgent Father; and oblige me.

My dear Clementina, ſaid the General, will not this paternal goodneſs prevail upon you? Your Fa⯑ther, Mother, Brothers, are all ready to kneel to you; Yet are we all to be ſlighted? And is a foreigner, an Engliſhman, a Heretic (great and noble as is the man; a man, too, whom you have ſo gloriouſly refuſed) to be preferred to us all? Who can bear the thoughts of ſuch a preference!

And remember, my Siſter, ſaid the Biſhop, that you already know his opinion. You have already had his advice, in the Letters he wrote to you in the month's correſpondence which paſſed between you, before he left Italy. Think you, that the Chevalier Grandiſon can recede from an opinion ſolemnly given, the circumſtances not having varied?

I have not been well. It is wicked to oppoſe my Father, my Mother: I cannot argue with my Brothers. I have not been well. Spare me, ſpare me, my Lords, to the General and the Biſhop. My Father gives me time: Don't you deny it me.

My mother, afraid of renewing her diſorder, ſaid; Withdraw, my dear, if you chooſe to do ſo, and compoſe yourſelf: The intention is not to compel, but to perſuade you.

O madam! ſaid ſhe, perſuaſion ſo ſtrongly urged by my parents, is more than compulſion.—I take the liberty you give me.

She hurried to Mrs. Beaumont, and, throwing her arms about her, O madam, I have been oppreſſed! Oppreſſed by perſuaſion! By a kneeling Father! By a weeping Mother! By entreating Brothers!—And this is but perſuaſion!—Cruel perſuaſion!

Mrs. Beaumont then entered into argument with her. She repreſented to her the General's inflexibility: [88] Her Father's and Mother's indulgence: The wiſhes of her two other Brothers: She pleaded your opinion given as an impartial man, not merely as a Proteſtant: She told her of an admirable young Lady of your own country, who was qualified to make you happy: of whom ſhe had heard ſeveral of your countrymen ſpeak with great diſtinction. This laſt plea, as the intimate friendſhip between you and Mrs. Beaumont is ſo well known, took her attention. She would not for the world ſtand in the way of the Chevalier Grandiſon. She wiſhed you to be happy, ſhe ſaid, whatever be⯑came of her. Father Mareſcotti ſtrongly enforced this point; and adviſed her to come to ſome reſolu⯑tion, before your next Letters arrived, as it was not to be doubted, but the contents of them would ſupport your former opinion. The Patriarch's arguments were re-urged with additional force. A day was named when ſhe was again to be brought before her aſſembled friends. Mrs. Beaumont applauded her for the magnanimity ſhe had already ſhewn, in the diſ⯑charge of her firſt duty; and called upon her to diſ⯑tinguiſh herſelf equally in the filial.

Clementina took time to conſider of theſe and other arguments; and after three hours paſſed in her cloſet, ſhe gave the following written paper to Mrs. Beau⯑mont; which, ſhe ſaid, ſhe hoped, when read in full aſſembly, would excuſe her from attending her friends in the propoſed congreſs.

‘'I Am tired out, my dear Mrs. Beaumont, with your kindly-meant importunities:’

‘'With the importunities, prayers, and entreaties of my brothers.’

‘'O my mamma, how well do you deſerve even im⯑plicit obedience, from a daughter who has over⯑clouded your happy days! You never knew diſ⯑comfort till your hapleſs Clementina gave it you! The ſacrifice of my life would be a poor atonement for what I have made you ſuffer.’

[89] ‘'But who can withſtand a kneeling Father? Indeed my pappa, ever good, ever indulgent, I dread to ſee you! Let me not again behold you as on Thurſday laſt.’

‘'I have denied to my ſelf, and ſuch the motive, that I muſt not, I do not repent it, the man I eſteemed. I never can be his.’

‘'Father Mareſcotti, tho' he now loves the man, ſuggeſts, that my late diſorder might be a judgment upon me for ſuffering my heart to be engaged by the Heretic.’

‘'I am abſolutely forbidden to think of atoning for my fault by the only meaſure that, in my opinion, could have done it.’

‘'You tell me, Mrs. Beamount, and all my friends, join with you, that honour, generoſity, and the eſteem which I avow for the Chevalier Grandiſon, as my friend, as my fourth brother, all join to oblige me to promote the happineſs of a man I myſelf have diſappointed. And you are of opinion, that there is one particular woman of his own country, who is capable of making him happy—But do you ſay, that I ought to give the example?—Impoſſible. Honour, and the punctilio of woman, will not permit me to do that!—’

‘'But thus preſſed; thus dreading again to ſee a kneeling Father; a weeping Mother; and having reaſon to think I may not live long; that a relapſe into my former malady, with the apprehenſions of which Father Mareſcotti terrifies me, may be the puniſhment of my diſobedience [Cruel Father Mare⯑ſcotti, to terrify me with an affliction I ſo much dread!]; and that it will be a conſolation to me, in my departing hour, to reflect that I have obeyed my parents, in an article on which their hearts are im⯑moveably fixed; and ſtill further being aſſured, that they will look upon my reſignation as a compenſation for all the troubles I have given them, for many [90] many months paſſed—God enable me, I pray, to reſign to their will. But if I cannot, ſhall I be ſtill entreated, ſtill perſuaded?—I hope not.—I will do my endeavour to prevail on myſelf to obey—But whatever be the event of my Self-contendings, Grandiſon muſt give the example.'’

How did we congratulate ourſelves, when we read this paper, faint as are the hopes it gives us!

Our whole endeavour is now, to treat her with tender obſervance, that ſhe may not think of receding. Nor will we aſk her to ſee the perſon ſhe knows we favour, till we can aſſure her, that you will ſet her the example. And if there be a Lady with whom you think you could be happy, may not this, my dear Grandiſon, pleaded by you, be a motive with her?

The Count of Belvedere has made overtures to us, which are too great for our acceptance, were this al⯑liance to take place. We have been told, but not by himſelf, the danger to which his diſpair had ſubjected him, in more than one viſit to you at Bologna, had you not borne with his raſhneſs. You know him to be a man of probity, of piety. He is a zealous Ca⯑tholic; and you muſt allow, that a religious zeal is a ſtrengthener, a confirmer, of all the ſocial ſanctions. He is learned; and, being a domeſtic man, he, con⯑trary to the Italian cuſtom, admires in a wife thoſe in⯑tellectual improvements which make a woman a fit companion for her huſband. You know how much the Marchioneſs excells almoſt all the women of qua⯑lity in Italy, in a taſte for polite literature: You know ſhe has encouraged the ſame taſte in her daughter; and the Count conſiders her as the only woman in Italy with whom he can be happy.

As you, my Grandiſon, cannot now be my bro⯑ther by marriage, the Count of Belvedere is the only man in the world I can wiſh to be ſo. He is of Italy. My ſiſter, always ſo dear to us, and he, will be ever [91] with us, or we with them. He knows the unhappy way ſhe has been in; and was ſo far from making that an objection, that when her malady was at the height (being ecouraged by phyſicians to hope that her recovery would be the probable conſequence) he would have thought himſelf the happieſt of men, could he have been honoured with her hand. He knows her Love of you. He adores her for her mo⯑tive of refuſing you. He loves you; and is confident of the inviolable honour of both: Whoſe alliance, on all theſe conſiderations, can be ſo deſirable to us as that with the Count of Belvedere?

Surely, my dear friend, it muſt be in your power to ſet the example: In yours, who could ſubdue a whole family of zealous Catholics, and keep your own religion; and who could engage the virgin heart of one of the moſt delicate women in the world. What woman, who has a heart to beſtow; what family, that has a daughter or ſiſter to give, can withſtand you? Religion and Country of both the ſame?

Give us hope, therefore, my dear Grandiſon, that you will make the effort. Aſſure us, that you will not ſcruple, if you can ſucceed, to ſet the example: and on this aſſurance we will claim from Clementina the effects of the hope ſhe has given us: And if we can prevail. will in England return you thanks for the numberleſs favours you have conferred upon us.

Thus earneſtly, as well from inclination, as in compliance with the preſſing entreaties of every one of a family which I hope are ſtill, and ever, will be, dear to you, do I, your Jeronymo, your Brother, your Friend, ſolicit you. Mrs. Beaumont joins with us. She ſcruples not, ſhe bids me tell you, to pro⯑nounce, that you and Clementina will both be more happy; ſhe, with the Count of Belvidere (your re⯑ſpective Countries ſo diſtant, your Religion ſo differ⯑ent); you, with an Engliſhwoman; than you could have been with each other. Mrs. Beaumont has [92] owned to me in private, that you often in converſa⯑tion with her, even while you had hope of calling Clementina yours, lamented, for her ſake, as well as your own, the unhappy ſituation, with reſpect to Re⯑ligion, you were both in; and that you had declared more than once to her, as indeed you did once to us, that in a beginning addreſs you would not have com⯑promiſed thus with a Princeſs. May we not expect every-thing, my Grandiſon, from your magnanimity? We hope it is in your power, and we doubt not your will, to contribute to our happineſs. But whatever be the event, I beſeech you, my dear friend, continue to love

LETTER XX. Lady G. To Miſs BYRON.

CAN I forgive your pride, your petulance?—No, Harriet; poſitively no! I write to ſcold you; and having ordered my Lord to ſup abroad, I ſhall perhaps oblige you with a long Letter. We honeſt folks, who have not abundance of Love-fooling upon our hands, find ourſelves happy in a good deal of quiet leiſure; and I love to chide and correct you wiſe ones.—Thus then I begin—

Ridiculous parade among you! I blame you all. Could he not have been Mrs. Shirley's gueſt, if he was not to be permitted to repoſe under the ſame roof with his ſovereign Lady and Miſtreſs? But muſt you let him go to an inn?—What for? Why to ſhew the world he was but on a foot, at preſent, with your other humble ſervants; and be thought no more, by the inſolent Greville, and affronted as an invader of his rights. Our Sex is a fooliſh Sex: Too little or too much parade. Lord help us! Were it not that [93] we muſt be afraid to appear over-forward to the man himſelf, the world is a contemptible thing, and we ſhould treat it as ſuch.

And yet, after all, what with Lady Clementina, what with the world, and what with our own puncti⯑lio, and palpitating hearts, and-ſo-forth, and all that, and more than all that; I own you are pretty nicely circumſtanced. But, my life for yours, you will be⯑have like a ſimpleton, on occaſion of his next addreſs to you: And why? Did you ever know that people did not, who are full of apprehenſions, who aimed at being very delicate, who were ſolicitous to take their meaſures from the judgment of thoſe without them; pragmatical ſouls, perhaps, who from their no⯑tions either on what they have read, or by the ad⯑dreſſes to them of their own ſilly fellows, aukward and unmeaning, and by no means to be compared, for integrity, underſtanding, politeneſs, to my bro⯑ther? Conſider, child, that he having ſeen, in differ⯑ent countries, perhaps a hundred women, equally ſpe⯑cious with the preſent miſtreſs of his deſtiny, were form and outward grace to be the attractives, is there—fore ſitter to give than take the example.

But, Harriet, I write to charge you not to increaſe your own difficulties by too much parade: Your frankneſs of heart is a prime conſideration with him. He expects not to meet with the girl, but the ſenſible woman, in his addreſs to you. He is purſuing a laud⯑able end—Don't teaze him with pug's tricks—‘'What, ſignifies aſking me now?'’ Did you not lay your heads together? And the wiſeſt which ever were ſet on wo⯑mens ſhoulders? But indeed I never knew conſulta⯑tions of any kind turn to account. It is only a parcel of people getting together, propoſing doubts, and puzzling one another, and ending as they began, if not worſe. Doctors differ. So many perſons, ſo many minds.

[94] And O how our petulant heart throbbed with indig⯑nation, becauſe he came not to breakfaſt with you! What benefit has a polite man over an unpolite one, where the latter ſhall have his ruſticity allowed for (O that is his way!) and when the other has expectations drawn upon him, which, if not critically anſwered, he is not to be forgiven!—He is a prudent man! He may have overſlept himſelf—Might dream of Clemen⯑tina. Then it was a fault in him, that he ſtayed to dine on the road—His horſes might want reſt, truly▪—Upon my word, Harriet, a woman in Love, is—a woman in Love. Wiſe or fooliſh before, we are all equally fooliſh then: The ſame froward, petulant, captious, babies!—I proteſt, we are very ſilly crea⯑tures, all of us, in theſe circumſtances; and did not Love make men as great fools as ourſelves, they would hardly think us worthy of their purſuit. Yet I am ſo true to the Free-maſonry myſelf, that I would think the man who ſhould dare to ſay half I have written, of our Dollſhips, ought not to go away with his life.

My ſiſter and I are troubled about this Greville. In⯑form us, the moment you can, of the particulars of what paſſed between my brother and him; pray do. We long alſo to ſee the Letter he has put into your hands, from Bologna. It is on the road, we hope.

Caroline and I are as much concerned for your ho⯑nour, your punctilio, as you, or any of you, can be. But by the account you give me of my brother's addreſs to you in preſence of your grandmother and aunt, as well as from our knowledge of his politeneſs, neither you nor we need to trouble our heads about it: It may be all left to him. He knows ſo well what be⯑comes the character of the woman whom he hopes to call his wife, that you will be ſure of your dignity being preſerved, if you place a confidence in him. And yet no man is ſo much above mere formal re⯑gards as he is. Let me enumerate inſtances, from your Letter before me.

[95] His own intention, in the firſt place, not to ſur⯑priſe you by his viſits, as you apprehended he would, which would have made him look like a man of ſelf⯑imagined conſequence to you—His providing himſelf with accommodations at an inn; and not giving way to the invitation, even of your ſagacious uncle Selby [I muſt raily him. Does he ſpare me?]—His ſingling you out on Friday from your men-friends, yet giving you the opportunity of your aunt's and grandmother's company, to make his perſonal application to you for your favour—His requeſting the intereſt of your other friends with you, as if he preſumed not on your for⯑mer acquaintance, and this after an application, not diſcouraged, made to your friends and you.

As to his equanimity in his firſt addreſs to you; his retaining your hand, forſooth, before all your friends, and ſo-forth; never find fault with that, Ha⯑riet. [Indeed you do make an excuſe for the very freedom you blame—So Lover-like!—] He is the very man, that a conſcious young woman, as you are, ſhould wiſh to be addreſſed by: So much courage, yet ſo much true modeſty—What, I warrant, you would have had a man chalked out for you▪ who ſhould have ſtood at diſtance, bowed, ſcraped, tremb⯑led; while you had nothing to do, but bridle, and make ſtiff courteſies to him, with your hands before you—Plagued with his doubts, and with your can diſſidences; afraid he would now, and now, and now, pop out the queſtion; which he had not the cour⯑age to put; and ſo running on, ſimpering, fretting, fearing, two parrallel lines, ſide by ſide, and never meeting; till ſome interpoſing friends, in pity to you both, put one's head pointing to the other's head, and ſtroking and clapping the ſhoulder of each, ſet you at each other, as men do by other dunghil-bred creatures.

You own, he took no notice of your emotion, when he firſt addreſſed himſelf to you; ſo gave you [96] an opportunity to look up, which otherwiſe you would have wanted. Now don't you think you know a man creature or two, who would on ſuch an occa⯑ſion, have grinned you quite out of countenance, and inſulted you with their pity for being modeſt?—But you own, that he had emotion too, when he firſt opened his mind to you—What a duce would the girl have?—Orme and Fowler in your head, no doubt! The tremblings of rejected men, and the phantaſies of romantic women, were to be a rule to my brother, I ſuppoſe with your mock-majeſty!—Ah, Harriet! Did I not ſay that we women are very ſilly creatures?—But my brother is a good man—So we muſt have ſome⯑thing to find fault with him for.—Hah, hah, hah, hah, What do you laugh at, Charlotte?—What do I laugh at, Harriet?—Why, at the idea of a couple of Love⯑yers, taken each with a violent ague-fit, at their firſt approach to each other—Hands ſhaking—Knees trem⯑bling—Lips quivering—Tongue faultering—Teeth chattering—I had a good mind to preſent you with an ague-dialogue between ſuch a trembling couple.—I, I, I, I, ſays the Lover—You, you, you, you, ſays the girl, if able to ſpeak at all. But, Harriet, you ſhall have the whole, on demand. Rave at me, if you will: But Love, as it is called by boys and girls, ſhall ever be the ſubject of my ridicule. Does it not lead us girls into all manner of abſurdities, inconvenien⯑cies, undutifulneſs, diſgrace?—Villainous Cupidity!—It does.

To be ſerious—Neither does my brother addreſs you in a ſtile that impeaches either his own under⯑ſtanding, or yours.—Another fault, Harriet, is it not?—But ſure you are not ſo very a girl!

The juſtice he does to Lady Clementina and her family [Let me be very ſerious, when I ſpeak of Cle⯑mentina] is a glorious inſtance as well of his greatneſs of mind, as of his ſincerity. He has no need to de⯑preciate one Lady, to help him to exalt (or do juſtice, [97] I ſhould rather ſay, to) another. By praiſing her, he makes noble court to you, in ſuppoſing you, as you are, one of the moſt generous of women. How great is his compliment to both Ladies, when he calls Cle⯑mentina the Miſs Byron of Italy! Who, my dear, ever courted woman as my brother courts you? In⯑deed there can be but very few men who have ſuch a woman to court.

He ſuffers you not to aſk for an account of the ſtate of his heart from the time he knew you firſt, till now. He gives it to you, unaſked. And how glorious is that account, both to you, and himſelf!

Let us look back upon his conduct when laſt in Italy, and when every ſtep ſeemed to lead to his being huſband of another woman.

The recovery of Clementina, and of her noble brother, ſeem to be the conſequence of his friendly goodneſs. The grateful family all join to reward him with their darling's hand; her heart ſuppoſed to be al⯑ready his. He, like the man of honour he is, con⯑cludes himſelf bound by his former offers. They ac⯑cept him upon thoſe terms. The Lady's merits thine out with tranſcendent luſtre in the eyes of every one, even of us his ſiſters, and of you, Harriet, and your beſt friends: Muſt they not in his, to whom Merit was ever the firſt, Beauty but the ſecond attractive? He had no tie to any other woman on earth: He had only the tenderneſs of his own heart, with regard to Miſs Byron, to contend with. Ought he not to have contended with it? He did; and ſo far conquered, as to enable himſelf to be juſt to the Lady, whoſe great qualities, and the concurrence of her friends in his favour, had converted Compaſſion for her into Love. And who, that hear her ſtory, can forbear to Love her? But with what tenderneſs, with what politeneſs, does he, in his Letter to his choſen correſpondent, ex⯑preſs himſelf of Miſs Byron! He declares, that if ſhe were not to be happy, it would be a great abatement [98] of his own felicity. You, however, remember how politely he recals his apprehenſions that you may not, on his account, be altogether ſo happy as he wiſhes, as the ſuggeſtions of his own preſumption; and cenſures himſelf for barely ſuppoſing, that he had been of con⯑ſequence enough with you to give you pain.

How much to your honour before he went over, does he account for your ſmiles, for yourfrankneſs of heart, in his company! He would not build upon them: Nor indeed could he know the ſtate of your heart, as we did: He had not the opportunity. How ſilly was your punctilio, that made you ſometimes fanſy it was out of mere compaſſion that he revealed to you the ſtate of his engagement abroad! You ſee he tells you, that ſuch was his opinion of your great⯑neſs of mind, that he thought he had no other way but to put it in your power to check him, if his Love for you ſhould ſtimulate him to an act of neglect to the Lady to whom (ſhe having never refuſed him, and not being then in a condition either to claim him or ſet him free) he thought himſelf under obligation. Don't you revere him for his honour to her, the na⯑ture of her malady conſidered? What muſt he have ſuffered, in this conflict!

Well, and now by a ſtrange turn in the Lady, but glorious to herſelf, as he obſerves, the obſtacle re⯑moved, he applies to Miſs Byron for her favour. How ſenſible is he of what delicacy requires from her! How juſtly (reſpecting his Love for you) does he ac⯑count for not poſtponing, for the ſake of cold and dull form, as he juſtly expreſſes it, his addreſs to you! How greatly does the Letter he delivered to you, fa⯑vour his argument! Ah the poor Clementina! Cruel perſuades her relations! I hate and pity them, in a breath. Never, before, did hatred and pity meet in the ſame boſom, as they do in mine, on this occaſion. His difficulties, my dear, and the uncommon ſituation he is in, as if he were offering you but a divided Love, [99] enhance your glory. You are reinſtated on the Fe⯑male throne, to the lowermoſt footſtep of which you once was afraid you had deſcended. You are offered a man, whoſe perplexities have not proceeded from the entanglements of intrigue, inconſtancy, perfidy; but from his own compaſſionate nature: And could you, by any other way in the world than by this ſup⯑poſed divided Love, have had it in your power, by accepting his humbly-offered hand, to lay him under obligation to you, which he thinks he never ſhall be able to diſcharge? Lay him—Who?—Sir CHARLES GRANDISON—For whom ſo many virgin hearts have ſighed in vain!—And what a triumph to our Sex is this, as well as to my Harriet!

And now, Harriet, let me tell you, that my ſiſter and I are both in great expectations of your next Let⯑ter. It is, it muſt be, written before you will have this. My brother is more than man: You have only to ſhew yourſelf to be ſuperior to the forms of woman. If you play the fool with him, now, that you have the power you and we have ſo long wiſhed you; if you give pain to his noble, becauſe ſincere heart, by any the leaſt ſhadow of Female affectation; you, who have hitherto been diſtinguiſhed for ſo amiable a frank⯑neſs of heart; you, who cannot doubt his honour—the honour of a man who ſolicits your favour in even a great manner, a manner in which no man before him ever courted a woman, becauſe few men before him have ever been ſo particularly circumſtanced; a manner that gives you an opportunity to outſhine, in your acceptance of him, even the noble Clementina in her refuſal; as bigotry muſt have been, in part, her motive; if, I ſay, you act fooliſhly, weakly, now—Look to it—You will depreciate, if not caſt away your own glory. Remember, you have a man to deal with, who, from our behaviour to Mrs. Oldham, at his firſt return to England, took meaſure of our minds, and, without loving us the leſs for it, looked [100] down upon us with pity; and made us, ever ſince, look upon ourſelves in a diminiſhing light, and as ſiſters who have greater reaſon to glory in their bro⯑ther, than he has in them. Would you not rather, you who are to ſtand in a ſtill nearer relation to him, invite his admiration, than his pity? Till Friday night laſt you had it: What Saturday has produced, we ſhall ſoon gueſs.

Not either Lord L. or Lord G. not Emily, not aunt Eleanor, now, either ſee or hear read what you write, except here-and-there a paſſage, which you yourſelf would not ſcruple to hear read to them. Are you not our third ſiſter? To each of us our next Self: And, what gives you ſtill more dignity, the elected wife of our brother!

Adieu, my love! In longing expectation of your next, we ſubſcribe

LETTER XXI. Miſs BYRON, To Lady G.

MR Fenwick has juſt now been telling us, from the account given him by that Greville, vile man, how the affair was between him and Sir Charles Grandiſon. Take it briefly, as follows:

About Eight yeſterday morning, that audacious wretch went to the George at Northampton; and, after making his enquiries, demanded an audience of Sir Charles Grandiſon. Sir Charles was near dreſſed, and had ordered his chariot to be ready, with in⯑tent to viſit us early.

He admitted of Mr. Greville's viſit. Mr. Greville confeſſes, that his own behaviour was peremptory (his [101] word for inſolent. I ſuppoſe). I hear, Sir, ſaid he, that y [...]u are come down into this country in order to carry off from u the richeſt jewel in it—I need not ſay whom. My name is Greville: I have long made my addreſſes to her, and have bound myſelf under a vow, that, were a Prince to be my competitor, I would diſpute his title to her.

You ſeem to be a princely man, Sir, ſaid Sir Charles, offended with his air and words, no doubt. You need not, Mr. Greville, have told me your name: I have heard of you. What your pretenſions are, I know not; your vow is nothing to me: I am maſter of my own actions; and ſhall not account to you, or any man living, for them.

I preſume, Sir, you came down with the intenti⯑on I have hinted at? I beg only your anſwer as to that. I beg it a favour, gentleman to gentleman?

The manner of your addreſs to me, Sir, is not ſuch as will intitle you to an anſwer for your own ſake. I will tell you, however, that I am come down to pay my devoirs to Miſs Byron. I hope for acceptance; and know not that I am to make allowance for the claim of any man on earth.

Sir Charles Grandiſon, I know your character: I know your bravery. It is from that knowlege that I conſider you as a ſit man for me to talk to. I am not a Sir Hargrave Pollexfen, Sir.

I make no account of who or what you are, Mr. Greville. Your viſit is not, at this time, a welcome one: I am going to breakfaſt with Miſs Byron. I ſhall be here in the evening, and at leiſure, then, to at⯑tend to any-thing you ſhall think yourſelf authorized to ſay to me, on this or any other ſubject.

We may be overheard, Sir—Shall I beg you to walk with me into the garden below? You are going to breakfaſt, you ſay, with Miſs Byron. Dear Sir Charles Grandiſon, oblige me with an audience, of five minutes only, in the back-yard, or garden.

[102] In the evening, Mr. Greville, command me any⯑where: But I will not be broken in upon now.

I will not leave you at liberty, Sir Charles, to make your viſit where you are going, till I am gratified with one five minutes conference with you below.

Excuſe me then, M. Greville, that I give orders, as if you were not here. Sir Charles ran. Up came one of his ſervants—Is the chariot ready?—Almoſt ready, was the anſwer.—Make haſte. Saunders may ſee his friends in this neighbourhood: He may ſtay with them till Monday. Frederick and you attend me.

He took out a Letter, and read in it, as he walked about the room, with great compoſure, not regarding Mr. Greville, who ſtood ſwelling, as he owned, at one of the windows, till the ſervant withdrew; and then he addreſſed himſelf to Sir Charles in language of reproach on this contemptuous treatment.—Mr. Greville, ſaid Sir Charles, you may be thankful, per⯑haps, that you are in my own apartment: This in⯑truſion is a very ungentlemanly one.

Sir Charles was angry, and expreſſed impatience to be gone. Mr. Greville owned, that he knew not how to contain himſelf, to ſee his rival, with ſo many advantages in his perſon and air, dreſſed avowedly to attend the woman he had ſo long—Shall I ſay been troubleſome to? For I am ſure he had never the ſha⯑dow of countenance from me.

I repeat my demand, Sir Charles, of a conference of five minutes below.

You have no right to make any demand upon me, Mr. Greville: If you think you have, the evening will be time enough. But, even then, you muſt be⯑have more like a gentleman, than you have done hi⯑therto, to intitle youſelf to be conſidered as on a foot with me.

Not on a foot with you, Sir!—And he put his hand upon his ſword. A gentleman is on a foot with a Prince, Sir, in a point of honour—

[103] Go, then, and find out your prince, Mr. Greville: I am no Prince. And you have as much reaſon to addreſs yourſelf to the man you never ſaw, as to me.

His ſervant juſt then ſhewing himſelf, and with⯑drawing; Mr. Greville, added he, I leave you in poſ⯑ſeſſion of this apartment. Your ſervant, Sir. In the evening I ſhall be at your command.

One word with you, Sir Charles—One word—

What would Mr. Greville? turning back.

Have you made propoſals? Are your propoſals ac⯑cepted?

I repeat, that you ought to have behaved differ⯑ently, Mr. Greville, to be intitled to an anſwer to theſe queſtions.

Anſwer me, however, Sir: I beg it as a favour.

Sir Charles took out his watch.—After Nine: I ſhall make them wait. But thus I anſwer you: I have made propoſals; and, as I told you before, I hope I ſhall he accepted.

Were you any other man in the world, Sir, the man before you might queſtion your ſucceſs with a woman whoſe difficulties are augmented by the obſe⯑quiouſneſs of her admirers. But ſuch a man as you, would not have come down on a fool's errand. I love Miſs Byron to diſtraction. I could not ſhew my face in the county, and ſuffer any man out of it to carry away ſuch a prize.

Out of the county, Mr. Greville! What narrow⯑neſs is this! But I pity you for your Love of Miſs Byron: And—

You pity me, Sir! interrupted he.—I bear not ſuch haughty tokens of ſuperiority. Either give up your pretenſions to Miſs Byron, or make me ſenſible of it, in the way of a gentleman.

Mr. Greville, your ſervant: And he went down.

The wretch followed him; and when they came to the yard, and Sir Charles was ſtepping into the cha⯑riot, he took his hand, ſeveral perſons preſent—We [104] are obſerved, Sir Charles, whiſpered he. Withdraw with me, for a few moments. By the great God of Heaven, you muſt not refuſe me. I cannot bear that you ſhould go thus triumphantly on the buſineſs you are going upon.

Sir Charles ſuffered himſelf to be led hy the wretch: And when they were come to a private ſpot, Mr. Gre⯑ville drew, and demanded Sir Charles to do the like, putting himſelf in a poſture of defence.

Sir Charles put his hand on his ſword, but drew it not. Mr. Greville, ſaid he, know your own ſafety; and was turning from him, when the wretch ſwore he would admit of no alternative, but his giving up his pretenſions to Miſs Byron.

His rage, as Mr. Fenwick deſcribes it from himſelf, making him dangerous, Sir Charles drew.—I only defend myſelf, ſaid he—Greville, you keep no guard—He put by his paſs with his ſword; and, without making a puſh, cloſed in with him, twiſted his ſword out of his hand; and, pointing his own to his breaſt, You ſee my power, Sir—Take your life, and your ſword.—But if you are either wiſe, or would be thought a man of honour, tempt not again your fate.

And am I again maſter of my ſword, and unhurt? 'Tis generous—The evening, you ſay?

Still I ſay, I will be yours in the evening, either at your own houſe, or at my inn; but not as a Duelliſt, Sir: You know my principles.

How can this be? and he ſwore—How was it done? Expoſe me not at Selby-houſe. How the devil could this be?—I expect you in the evening here.

And he went off a back-way. Sir Charles, inſtead of going directly into his chariot, went up to his a⯑partment; wrote his Billet to my aunt to excuſe himſelf, finding it full late to get hither in time, and being ſomewhat diſcompoſed in his temper, as he owned to us: And then he took an airing in his cha⯑riot, till he came hither to dine.

[105] But how ſhould we have been alarmed, had we known that Sir Charles declined ſupping here, in order to meet the violent man again at his inn! And how did we again blame ourſelves for taking amiſs his not ſupping with us!

Mr. Fenwick ſays, that Mr. Greville got him to ac⯑company him to the George.

Sir Charles apologized, with great civility, to Mr. Greville, for making him wait for him. Mr. Gre⯑ville, had he been diſpoſed for miſchief, had no uſe of his right-arm. It was ſprained by the twiſting of his ſword from it, and in a ſling.

Sir Charles behaved to them both with great po⯑liteneſs; and Mr. Greville owned, that he had acted nobly by him, in returning his ſword, even before his paſſion was calmed, and in not uſing his own. But it was ſome time, it ſeems, before he was brought into this temper. And what a good deal contributed to it, was, Sir Charles's acquainting him, that he had not given particulars at Selby-houſe, or to any-body, of the fray between them; but referred it to himſelf to give them, as he ſhould think proper. This forbear⯑ance he highly applauded, and was even thankful for it. Fenwick ſhall, in confidence, ſaid he, report this matter to your honour, and my own mortification, as the truth requires, at Selby-houſe. Let me not be hated by Miſs Byron, on this account. My paſſion gave me diſadvantage. I will try to honour you, Sir Charles: But I muſt hate you, if you ſucceed. One condition, however, I make: That you reconcile me to the Selbys, and Miſs Byron; and if you are likely to be ſucceſsful, let me have the credit of reporting, that it is by my conſent.

They parted with civility; but not, it ſeems, till a late hour. Sir Charles, as Mr. Beauchamp and Dr. Bartlett have told us, was always happy in making, by his equanimity, generoſity, and forgiveingneſs, faſt [106] friends of inveterate enemies. Thank God, the iſſue was not unhappy!

Mr. Fenwick ſays, that the rencounter is very little gueſſed at, or talked of [Thank God for that too!]; and to thoſe few, who have enquired of Mr. Greville or Mr. Fenwick about it, it has been denied; and now Greville, as Mr. Fenwick had done before, de⯑clares he will give out, that he yields up all his hopes of Miſs Byron; but ſays, that Sir Charles Grandiſon, of whoſe addreſs every-body already talks, is the only man in England to whom he could reſign his preten⯑ſions.

He inſiſts upon Sir Charles's dining with him to⯑morrow; Mr. Fenwick's alſo. Sir Charles is ſo de⯑ſirous that the neighbourhood ſhould conclude, that he and theſe gentlemen are on a foot of good under⯑ſtanding, that he made the leſs ſcruple, for every-one's ſake, to accept of his invitation.

I am very, very thankful, my deareſt Lady G. that the conſtant bluſterings of this violent man, for ſo many months paſt, are ſo happily overblown.

Mr. Fenwick, as I gueſſed he would, made pro⯑poſals to my aunt and me for my Lucy. Lucy has a fine fortune: But if ſhe had not, he ſhall not have her! Indeed he is not worthy of Lucy's mind. He muſt be related to me, he ſaid: But I anſwered, No man muſt call Lucy Selby his, who can have any other motive for his wiſhes but her merit.

We hourly expect your brother. The new danger he has been in, on my account, endears him ſtill more to us all. How, how will you forbear, ſaid my uncle, throwing yourſelf in his arms at once, when he de⯑mands the reſult of our deliberations? If I follow Mr. Deane's advice. I am to give him my hand at the firſt word: If Lucy's and Nancy's, he is not to aſk me twice: If my grandmamma's and aunt's (They are always good) I am to act as occaſion requires, and [107] as my own confided-in prudence will ſuggeſt at the time; but to be ſure not to be guilty of affectation. But ſtill, my dear Ladies, ſomething ſticks with me (and ought it not?) in relation to the noble Clemen⯑tina!

LETTER XXII. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

NOW, my dear Ladies L. and G. let me lay be⯑fore you, juſt as it happened, for your appro⯑bation, or cenſure, all that has paſſed between the beſt of men and your Harriet. Happy ſhall I be, If I can be acquitted by his ſiſters.

My grandmamma went home laſt night, but was here before Sir Charles; yet he came a little after Eleven. We were all in the great parlour when he came. He addreſſed us ſeverally with his uſual polite⯑neſs, and my grandmother, particularly, with ſuch an air of reverence, as did himſelf credit, becauſe of her years and wiſdom.

We all congratulated him on what we had heard from Mr. Fenwick.

Mr. Greville and I, ſaid he, are on every good terms. When I have the preſumption to think my⯑ſelf a welcome gueſt, I am to introduce him as my friend. Mr. Greville, tho' ſo long your neighbour, modeſtly doubts his own welcome.

Well he may, ſaid my aunt Selby, after—No af⯑ters, dear madam, if you mean any-thing that has paſſed between him and me.

He again addreſſed himſelf to me. I rejoice, Sir, ſaid I, that you have quieted ſo happily a ſpirit always thought uncontroulable.

You muſt tell me, madam, replyed he, when I can be allowed to introduce Mr. Greville to you?

[108] Shall I anſwer for my couſin, ſaid Lucy?—I did not, Sir Charles, think you ſuch a deſigner.—You were not, you know, to introduce Mr. Greville, till you were aſſured of being yourſelf a very welcome gueſt to my couſin.

I own my plot, replied he: I had an intent to ſur⯑priſe Miſs Byron into an implied favour to myſelf.

You need not, Sir Charles, thought I, take ſuch a method.

On his taking very kind notice of my couſin James; Do you know, Sir Charles, ſaid my uncle (whoſe joy, when it overflows, ſeldom ſuffers the dear man to conſult ſeaſonableneſs) that that boy is already in Love with your Emily?—The youth bluſhed—

I am obliged to every-body who loves my Emily. She is a favourite of Miſs Byron—Muſt ſhe not then be a good girl?

She is indeed a favourite, ſaid I; and ſo great a one, that I know not who can deſerve her.

I ſaid this, leſt Sir Charles ſhould think (on a ſup⯑poſition that my uncle meant ſomething) that my couſin had my countenance.

Sir Charles then addreſſed himſelf to my grand⯑mamma and aunt, ſpeaking low—I hope, Ladies, I may be allowed in your preſence to reſume the con⯑verſation of yeſterday with Miſs Byron?

No, Sir Charles, anſwered my grandmamma, af⯑fecting to look ſerious, that muſt not be.

Muſt not be, madam! and he ſeemed ſurpriſed, and affected too. My aunt was a little ſtartled; but not ſo much as ſhe would have been, had ſhe not known the lively turns which that excellent parent ſometimes gives to ſubjects of converſation.

Muſt not be, I repent, Sir Charles: But I will not ſuffer you to be long in ſuſpenſe. We have always, when propoſals of this kind have been made, referred ourſelves to our Harriet. She has prudence: She has gratitude. We will leave her and you together, when [109] ſhe is inclined to hear you on the intereſting ſubject. I know I am right. Harriet is above diſguiſes. She will be obliged to ſpeak for herſelf, when ſhe has not either her aunt or me to refer to. She and you are not acquaintance of yeſterday. You, Sir, I dare ſay, will not he diſpleaſed with the opportunity—

Neither Miſs Byron nor I, madam, could wiſh for the abſence of two ſuch parental relations. But this reference I will preſume to conſtrue as a hopeful prog⯑noſtic. May I now, through your mediation, madam (to my aunt) hope for the opportunity of addreſſing myſelf to Miſs Byron?

My aunt, taking me to the window, told me what had paſſed. I was a little ſurpriſed at my grand⯑mamma's reference to myſelf only. I expoſtulated with my aunt: It is plain▪ madam, that Sir Charles expected not this compliment.

Your grandmamma's motion ſurpriſed me a little my dear: It proceeded from the fulneſs of her joy: She meant a compliment to you both: There is now no receding. Let us withdraw together.

What, madam, at his propoſal? As if expecting to be followed?—See how my uncle looks at me! E⯑very one's eyes are upon me!—In the afternoon, if it muſt be—as by accident. But I had rather you and my grandmamma were to be preſent. I mean not to be guilty of affeciation to him:. I know my own heart, and will not diſguiſe it. I ſhall want to refer to you. I ſhall be ſilly: I dare not truſt myſelf.

I wiſh the compliment had not been made, replied my aunt. But, my dear, come along with me.

She went out. I followed her; a little reluctantly, however; and Lucy tells me, that I looked ſo ſilly, as was enough, of itſelf to inform every-body of the in⯑tent of my withdrawing, and that I expected Sir Charles would follow me.

She was very cruel, I told her; and in my caſe would have looked as ſilly as I; while I ſhould have pitied her.

[110] I led to my cloſet. My aunt ſeating me there, was going from me. Well. madam, and ſo I am to ſtay here quietly, I ſuppoſe, till Sir Charles vouchſafes to come? Would Clementina have done ſo?

No hint to him of Clementina in this way, I charge you: It would look ungrateful, and girliſh. I will introduce him to you—

And ſtay with me, I hope, madam, when he is in⯑troduced. I tell you, Lady G. all my foibles. Away went my aunt; but ſoon returned, and with her the man of men.

She but turned herſelf round, and ſaw him take my hand, which he did with a compliment that would have made me proud at another time, and left us to⯑gether.

I was reſolved then to aſſume all my courage, and, if poſſible, to be preſent to myſelf. He was to him⯑ſelf; yet had a modeſty and politeneſs in his manner, which ſoftened the dignity of his addreſs.

Some men, I fancy, would have begun with ad⯑miring, or pretending to admire, the pieces of my own workmanſhip, which you have ſeen hang here: But not he. After another compliment made (as I pre⯑ſume, to re-aſſure me) on my reſtored complexion (I did indeed feel my face glow); he ſpoke directly to his ſubject.

I need not, I am ſure, ſaid he, repeat to my dear Miſs Byron what I ſaid yeſterday, as to the delicacy of my ſituation, with regard to what ſome would deem a divided or double Love. I need not repeat to you the very great regard I have, and ever ſhall have, for the Lady abroad. Her merit, and your greatneſs of mind, render any apology for ſo juſt a regard needleſs. But it may be neceſſary to ſay, what I can with truth ſay, that I love not my own Soul better than I love Miſs Byron. You ſee, madam, I am wholly free, with regard to that Lady—free by her own choice, by her own will.—You ſee, that the whole family build [111] a part of their happineſs on the ſucceſs of my addreſs to a Lady of my own country. Clementina's wiſh always was, that I would marry; and only be careful, that my choice ſhould not diſgrace the regard ſhe vouchſafed to own for me. Clementina, when ſhe has the pleaſure of knowing the dear Lady before me, if that may be, by the name of Grandiſon, will con⯑feſs, that my choice has done the higheſt credit to the favour ſhe honoured me with.

And will you not, my dear Lady G. be ready to aſk, Could Sir Charles Grandiſon be really in earneſt in this humble court (as if he doubted her favour) to a creature, every wiſh of whoſe heart was devoted to him? Did he not rather for his own ſake, in order to give her the conſequence which a wife of his ought to have, reſolve to dignify the poor girl, who had ſo long been mortified by cruel ſuſpenſe, and who had ſo often deſpaired of ever being happy with the Lord of her heart? O no, my dear, your brother looked the humble, the modeſt Lover; yet the man of ſenſe, of dignity, in Love. I could not but be aſſured of his affection, notwithſtanding all that had paſſed. And what had paſſed, that he could poſſibly have helped?—His pleas of the day before, the contents of Signor Jeronymo's Letter, were all in my mind.

He ſeemed to expect my anſwer. He only, whoſe generouſly-doubting eye kept down mine, can tell how I looked, how I behaved—But heſitatingly, trem⯑blingly, both voice, and knees, as I ſat; thus broken⯑ly, as near as I remember, I anſwered, not withdraw⯑ing my hand, tho', as I ſpoke, he more than once preſſed it with his lips:—The honour of Sir Charles Grandiſon—Sir Charles Grandiſon's honour—no one ever did, or ever can, doubt.—I muſt own—I muſt confeſs—There I pauſed.

What does my dear Miſs Byron own?—What con⯑feſs?—Aſſure yourſelf, madam, of my honour, of my gratitude.—Should you have doubts, ſpeak them. I [112] deſire your favour but as I clear up your doubts. I would ſpeak them for you—I have ſpoken them for you. I own to you, madam, that there may be force in your doubts, which nothing but your generoſity, and affiance in the honour of the man before you, can induce you to get over. And thus far I will own againſt myſelf, that were the Lady, in whoſe heart I ſhould hope an intereſt, to have been circumſtanced as I was, my own delicacy would have been hurt; owing, indeed, to the high notion I have of the true Female delicacy.—Now ſay, now own, now confeſs, my dear Miſs Byron—what you were going to con⯑feſs.

This, Sir, is my confeſſion—and it is the confeſ⯑ſion of a heart which I hope is as ſincere as your own—That I am dazled, confounded, ſhall I ſay? at the ſuperior merits of the Lady you ſo nobly, ſo like your⯑ſelf, glory ſtill in eſteeming as ſhe well deſerves to be eſteemed.

Joy ſeemed to flaſh from his eyes—He bowed on my hand, and preſſed it with his lips; but was either ſilent by choice, or could not ſpeak.

I proceeded, tho' with a heſitating voice, a glowing cheek, and downcaſt eyes—I fear not, Sir, any more than ſhe did, your honour, your Juſtice, no nor your indulgent tenderneſs—Your character, your principles, Sir, are full ſecurity to the woman who ſhall endea⯑vour to deſerve from you that indulgence—But ſo juſtly high do I think of Lady Clementina, and her conduct, that I fear—ah, Sir, I fear—that it is im⯑poſſible—

I ſtopt—I am ſure I was in earneſt, and muſt look to be ſo, or my countenance and my heart were not allied.

What impoſſible!—What fears my dear Miſs Byron is impoſſible?

Why (thus kindly urged, and by a man of unqueſ⯑tionable honour) ſhall I not ſpeak all that is in my [113] mind? The poor Harrier Byron fears, ſhe juſtly fears, when ſhe contemplates the magnanimity of that ex⯑alted Lady, that with all her care, with all her en⯑deavours, ſhe never ſhall be able to make the figure to HERSELF, which is neceſſary for her own tranquil⯑lity (however you might generouſly endeavour to aſ⯑ſure her doubting mind). This, Sir, is my doubt—And—all my doubt.

Generous, kind, noble Miſs Byron! in a rapturous accent—And is this all your doubt? Then muſt yet the man before you be a happy man; for he queſtions not, if life be lent him, to make you one of the hap⯑pieſt of women. Clementina has acted gloriouſly in preferring to all other conſiderations her Religion and her Country: I can allow this in her favour, againſt myſelf: And ſhall I not be doubly bound in gratitude to her ſiſter-excellence, who, having not thoſe trials, yet the moſt delicate of human minds, ſhews in my favour a frankneſs of heart which ſets her above little forms and affectation, and at the ſame time a genero⯑ſity with regard to the merits of another Lady which has few examples?

He then on one knee, taking my paſſive hand be⯑tween both his, and kiſſing it, once, twice, thrice—Repeat, dear, and ever-dear, Miſs Byron, that this is all your doubt [I bowed aſſentingly: I could not ſpeak]—A happy, an eaſy taſk, is mine! Be aſſured, deareſt madam, that I will diſavow every action of my life, every thought of my heart, every word of my mouth, which tends not to diſſipate that doubt.

I took out my handkerchief—

My dear Miſs Byron, proceeded he, with an ardour that beſpoke his heart, you are goodneſs itſelf. I ap⯑proached you with diffidence, with more than diffi⯑dence, with apprehenſion, becauſe of your known de⯑licacy; which I was afraid, on this occaſion, would deſcend into punctiliouſneſs.—My bleſſings attend my future life, as my grateful heart ſhall acknowlege this goodneſs!—

[114] Again he kiſſed my hand, riſing with dignity. I could have received his vows on my knees; but I was motionleſs, yet I had joy to be enabled to give him joy.—Joy to your brother! to Sir Charles Gran⯑diſon!

He ſaw me greatly affected, and indeed my emotion increaſed on reflection. He conſiderately ſaid, I will leave you, my dear Miſs Byron, to intitle myſelf to the congratulations of all our friends below. From this moment, after a thouſand ſuſpences and ſtrange events, which, unſought for, have chequered my paſt life, I date my happineſs.

He moſt reſpectfully left me.

I was glad he did: Yet my eyes followed him. His very ſhadow was grateful to me, as he went down⯑ſtairs. And there, it ſeems, he congratulated himſelf, and called for the congratulations of every one preſent, in ſo noble a manner, that every eye run over with joy.

Was I not right, ſaid my grandmamma to my aunt (You half-blamed me, my dear) in leaving Sir Charles and my Harriet together? Harriet ever was above diſ⯑guiſe Sir Charles might have gueſſed at her heart; but he would not have known it from her own lips, had ſhe had you and me to refer to.

Whatever you do, madam, anſwered my aunt, muſt be right.

My aunt came up to me. She found me in a very thoughtful mood. I had ſometimes been accuſing myſelf of forwardneſs, and at others was acquitting myſelf or endeavouring to do ſo—yet mingling, tho' thus early, a hundred delightful circumſtances with my accuſations and acquittals, which were likely to bleſs my future lot. Such as, his relations and friends being mine, mine his; and I run them over all by name. But my Emily, my dear Emily! I conſidered as my ward, as well as his. In this way my aunt found me. She embraced me, applauded me, and [115] cleared up all my ſelf-doubtings, as to forwardneſs; and told me of their mutual congratulations below, and how happy I had made them all. What ſelf⯑confidence did her approbation give me!—And as ſhe aſſured me that my uncle would not railly, but extol me, I went down, with ſpirits much higher than I went up with.

Sir Charles and my grandmamma were talking to⯑gether, ſitting ſide by ſide, when I entered the room. All the company ſtood up at my entrance.—O my dear! what a Princeſs in every one's eye will the de⯑clared Love of ſuch a man make me! How will all the conſequence I had before, among my partial friends and favourers, be augmented!

My uncle ſaid, ſideling by me (kindly intending not to daſh me) My ſweet ſparkler! [That was the name he uſed to call me, before Sir Charles Grandiſon taught me a leſſon that made me thoughtful] You are now again my delight, and my joy. I thank you for not being—a fool—that's all. Egad, I was afraid of your Femality, when you came face to face.

Sir Charles came to me, and, with an air of the moſt reſpectful love, taking my hand, led me to a ſeat between himſelf and my grandmamma.

My ever-dear Harriet, ſaid ſhe, and condeſcended to lift up my hand to her lips, I will not abaſh you; but muſt juſt ſay, that you have acquitted yourſelf as I wiſhed you to do. I knew I could truſt to a heart that ever was above affectation or diſguiſe.

Sir Charles Grandiſon, madam, ſaid I, has the generoſity to diſtinguiſh and encourage a doubting mind.

Infinitely obliging Miſs Byron, replied he, preſſing one hand between both his, as my grandmamma held the other, your condeſcenſion attracts both my Love and Reverence. Permit me to ſay, That had not Heaven given a Miſs Byron for the object of my hope, I had hardly, after what had befallen me abroad, ever looked forward to a wedded Love.

[116] One favour I have to beg of you, Sir, reſumed my grandmamma: It is, that you will never uſe the word abroad or expreſs perſons by their countries; in fine, that you will never ſpeak with reſerve, when the ad⯑mirable Clementina is in your thoughts. Mention her name with freedom, my dear Sir, to my child, to me, and to my daughter Selby—you may—We always loved and reverenced her: Still we do ſo. She has given an example to all her Sex, of a paſſion properly ſubdued—Of temporal conſiderations yielding to eternal!

Sir, ſaid I, bowing as I ſat, I join in this requeſt.

His eyes gliſtened with grateful joy. He bowed low to each, but ſpoke not.

My aunt came to us, and ſat down by Sir Charles, refuſing his ſeat, becauſe it was next me. Let me, ſaid ſhe, enjoy your converſation: I have heard part of your ſubject, and ſubſcribe to it, with all my heart. Lady G. can teſtify for us all three, that we cannot be ſo mean, as to intend you a compliment, Sir, by what has been ſaid.

Nor can I, madam, as to imagine it. You exalt yourſelves even more than you do Clementina. I will let my Jeronymo know ſome of the particulars which have given joy to my heart. They will make him happy; and the excellent Clementina (I will not for⯑bear her name) will rejoice in the happy proſpects be⯑fore me. She wanted but to be aſſured that the friend ſhe ſo greatly honoured with her regard, was not likely (either in the qualities of the Lady's mind, or in her family-connections) to be a ſufferer by her declin⯑ing his addreſs.

May nothing now happen, my dear Lady G. to overcloud—But I will not be apprehenſive. I will thankfully enjoy the preſent moment, and leave the future to the All-wiſe Dipoſer of events. If Sir Charles Grandiſon be mine, and reward by his kind⯑neſs my Love, what can befal [...] me, that I ought not to bear with reſignation?

[117] But, my dear Ladies, let me here aſk you a que⯑ſtion, or two.

Tell me, Did I ever, as you remember, ſuffer by ſuſpenſes, by any -thing?—Was there ever really ſuch a man as Sir Hargrave Pollexfen?—Did I not tell you my dreams, when I told you of what I believed I had undergone from his perſecuting inſults? It is well, for the ſake of preſerving to me the grace of humility, and for the ſake of warning (for all my days preceding that inſult had been happy) that I wrote down at the time an account of thoſe ſufferings, thoſe ſufferings, or I ſhould have been apt to forget now, that I ever was unhappy.

And, pray, let me aſk, Ladies, Can you gueſs what is become of my illneſs? I was very ill, you know, when you, Lady G. did us the honour of a viſit; ſo ill, that I could not hide it from you, and my other dear friends, as fain I would have done. I did not think it was an illneſs of ſuch a nature, as that its cure depended on an eaſy heart. I wa ſo much convinced of the merits of Lady Clementina, and that no other woman in the world ought to be Lady Grandiſon, that I thought I had pretty tolerably quieted my heart in that expectation. I hope I brag not too ſoon. But, my dear, I now ſee! ſo eaſy, ſo light, ſo happy—that I hardly know what's the matter with me—But I hope nobody will find the malady I have loſt. May no diſappointed heart be invaded by it! Let it not tra⯑vel to Italy! The dear Lady there has ſuffered enough from a worſe malady! Nor, if it ſtay in the iſland, let it come near the ſighing heart of my Emily! That dear girl ſhall be happy, if it be in my power to make her ſo. Pray, Ladies, tell her ſhe ſhall.—No, but don't: I will tell her ſo myſelf by the next poſt. Nor let it, I pray God, attack Lady Anne S. or any of the half-ſcore Ladies, of whom once I was ſo unwil⯑ling to hear.

[118] Our diſcourſe at table was on various ſubjects. My couſin James was again very inquiſitive after the principal courts, and places of note, in Italy.

What pleaſure do I hope one day to receive from the peruſal (if I ſhall be favoured with it) of Sir Charles's LITERARY JOURNAL, mentioned to Dr. Bartlett, in ſome of his Letters from Italy: For it in⯑cludes, I preſume, a deſcription of palaces, cities, cabinets of the curious, diverſions, amuſements, cu⯑ſtoms, of different nations. How attentive were we all, to the anſwers he made to my couſin James's que⯑ſtions! My memory ſerves but for a few generals; and thoſe I will not trouble you with. Sir Charles told my couſin that if he were determined on an ex⯑curſion abroad, he would furniſh him with recom⯑mendatory Letters.

Mr. Greville and his inſult were one of our ſubjects after dinner, when the ſervants were withdrawn. Lucy expreſſed her wonder, that he was ſo ſoon re⯑conciled to Sir Charles, after the menaces he had for years paſt thrown out againſt any man who ſhould be likely to ſucceed with me.

My uncle obſerved, that Mr. Greville had not for a long time had any hopes; that he always was appre⯑henſive, that if Sir Charles Grandiſon were to make his addreſſes, he would ſucceed: That it had been his and Fenwick's cuſtom, to endeavour to bluſter away their competitors ^(a). He poſſibly, my uncle added, might hope to intimidate Sir Charles; or at leaſt, knowing his principles, might ſuppoſe he ran no riſque in the attempt.

Mr. Deane ſaid, Mr. Greville had told him, that the moment he knew Miſs Byron had choſen her man, he would give up his pretenſions; but that, as long as ſhe remained ſingle, he was determined to perſecute her, as he himſelf called it. Perſeverance he had [119] known do every-thing, after an admired woman had run through her circle of humble ſervants, and per⯑haps found herſelf diſappointed in her own choice; and for his part, but with her, he had no fondneſs for the married life; he cared not who knew it.

Sir Charles ſpoke of Mr. Greville with candour. He thought him a man of rough manners, but not ill-natured. He affected to be a joker, and often there⯑fore might be taken for a worſe man than he really was. He believed him to be careleſs of his reputation, and one who ſeemed to think there were wit and bravery in advancing free and uncommon things; and gloried in bold ſurprizes. For my part, continued he, I ſhould hardly have conſented to cultivate his ac⯑quaintance, much leſs to dine with him to-morrow, but as he inſiſted upon it, as a token of my for giving in him a behaviour that wa [...] really what a gentleman ſhould not have pardoned himſelf for. I conſidered him, proceed Sir Charles, as a neighbour to this family, with whom you had lived, and perhaps choſe to live, upon good terms. Bad neighbours are nui⯑ſances, eſpecially if they are people of fortune: It is in the power of ſuch to be very troubleſome in their own perſons; and they will often let looſe their ſer⯑vants to defy, provoke, inſult, and do miſchief to thoſe they love not. Mr. Greville I thought, added he, deſerved to be the more indulged, for the ſake of his Love to Miſs Byron. He is a proud man, and muſt be mortified enough in having it generally known that ſhe had conſtantly rejected his ſuit.

Why that's true, ſaid my uncle. Sir Charles, you conſider every-body. But I hope all's over between you.

I have no doubt but it is, Mr. Selby. Mr. Gre⯑ville's whole aim now, ſeems to be, to come off with as little abatement of his pride, as poſſible. He thinks, if he can paſs to the world as one who having no hope himſelf, is deſirous to pronounce the cauſe of his friend, [120] as he will acknowledge me to be, it will give him conſequence in the eye of the world, and be a gentle method of letting his pride down eaſy.

Very well, ſaid my uncle; and a very good con⯑trivance for a proud man, I think.

It is an expedient of his friend Fenwick, replied Sir Charles; and Mr. Greville is not a little fond of it. And what, Ladies and Gentlemen, will you ſay, if you ſhould ſee me come to church to-morrow with him, ſit with him in the ſame pew, and go with him to dinner in his coach? It is his requeſt that I will. He thinks this will put an end to the whiſpers which have paſſed, in ſpite of all his precaution, of a ren⯑counter between him and me: For he has given out, that he ſtrained his wriſt and arm by a fall from his horſe. Tell me, dear Ladies, ſhall I, or ſhall I not, oblige him in this requeſt? He is to be with me to⯑night, for an anſwer.

My grandmamma ſaid, that Mr. Greville was al⯑ways a very odd, a very particular man. She thought Sir Charles very kind to us in being ſo willing to con⯑ciliate with him. My uncle declared, that he was very deſirous to live on good terms with all his neigh⯑bours, particularly with Mr. Greville, a part of whoſe eſtate being intermixed with his, it might be in his power to be vexations, at leaſt to his tenants. Mr. Deane thought the compromiſe was a happy one; and he ſuppoſed entirely agreeable to Sir Charles's ge⯑nerous wiſhes to promote the good underſtanding of neighbours; and to the compaſſion it was in his na⯑ture to ſhew, to an unſucceſsful rival.

Sir Charles then turning to Lucy; May I, Miſs Selby, ſaid he, do you think, without being too deep a deſigner, aſk leave of Miſs Byron, on the preſum⯑ption of her goodneſs to me, to bring Mr. Greville to drink tea with her to-morrow in the afternoon?

Your ſervant, Sir Charles, anſwered Lucy, ſmiling. But what ſay you, couſin Byron, to this queſtion?

[121] This houſe is not mine, replied I; but I dare ſay. I may be allowed the liberty, in the names of my un⯑cle and aunt, to anſwer, that any perſon will be wel⯑come to Selby-houſe, whom Sir Charles Grandiſon ſhall think proper to bring with him.

Mr Greville, ſaid Sir Charles, profeſſes himſelf unable to ſee any of you (Miſs Byron, in particular) without an introductor. He makes a high compli⯑ment to me, when he ſuppoſes me to be a proper one. If you give me leave, bowing to my uncle and aunt, I will anſwer him to his wiſhes; and hope, when he comes, every-thing will be paſſed by in ſilence that happened between him and me.

Two or three lively things paſſed between Lucy and Sir Charles, on his repetition of her word deſigner. She began with advantage, but did not hold it; yet he gave her conſequence in the little debate, at his own expence.

My grandmamma will go to her own church; but will be here at dinner, and the reſt of the day. I have a thouſand things more to ſay, all agreeable; but it is now late, and a drowſy fit has come upon me. I will welcome it. Adieu, adieu, my dear Ladies! Felicitate, I am ſure you will,

LETTER XXIII. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

LETTER XXIV. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

WE have been very happy this day at my grand⯑mamma's. Your brother makes himſelf more and more beloved by all my friends; who yet declare, that they thought they could not have loved him bet⯑ter than they did before. My couſin Holles's ſay, they could ſooner lay open their hearts to him, than to any man they ever ſaw; yet their freedom would never make them loſe ſight of their reſpect.

He told me, that he had breakfaſted with Mr. Gre⯑ville. How does he conciliate the mind of every one to him! He ſaid kind and compaſſionate things of Mr. Greville; and ſo unaffectedly!—I was delighted with him. For, regardful as he would be, and is, of his own honour; no low, narrow jealouſy, I dare ſay, will ever have entrance into his heart. Charity think⯑eth no evil! Of what a charming text is that a part ^(a)!—What is there equal to it, in any of the writings of the philoſophers?

My dear Miſs Byron, ſaid he to me, Mr. Greville loves you more than you can poſſibly imagine. De⯑ſpairing of ſucceſs with you, he has aſſumed airs of bravery; but your name is written in large letters in his heart. He gave me continued he, the import⯑ance of aſking my leave to love you ſtill.—What ought I to have anſwered?—

What did you anſwer, Sir?

That ſo far as I might preſume to give it, I gave it. [133] Had I the honour, added I, of calling Miſs Byron mine, I would not barely allow your love of her; I would demand it.—Have I not aſſured you, Mr. Gre⯑ville, that I look upon you as my friend?

You will quite ſubdue Mr. Greville, Sir, ſaid I. You will, by the generoſity of your treatment of him, do more than any-body elſe ever could—You will make him a good man.

Mr. Greville, madam, deſerves pity, on more ac⯑counts than one. A wife, ſuch a one as his good An⯑gel led him to wiſh for, would have ſettled his prin⯑ciples. He wants ſteadineſs: But he is not, I hope, a bad man. I was not concerned for his cavalier treat⯑ment of you yeſterday, but on your own account; leſt his roughneſs ſhould give you pain. But his con⯑cluding wiſhes, and his preference of a rival to him⯑ſelf, together with the manner of his departure, un⯑able as he was to withſtand his own emotions, and the effect it had upon his ſpirits, ſo as to confine him to his chamber, had ſomething great in it—And I ſhall value him for it, as long as he will permit me.

Sir Charles and my grandmamma had a good deal of talk together. Dearly does ſhe love to ſingle him out. What a pretty picture would they make, could they be both drawn ſo as not to cauſe a profane jeſter to fall into miſtakes; as if it were an old Lady make⯑ing Love to a handſome young man.

Let me ſketch it out—See, then, the dear Lady, with a countenance full of benignity, years written by venerableneſs, rather than by wrinkles, in her face; dignity and familiarity in her manner; one hand on his, talking to him: His ſine countenance ſhining with modeſty and reverence, looking down, delighted, as admiring her wiſdom, and not a little regardful of her half-pointing finger (Let that be, for fear of miſ⯑takes) to a creature young enough to be her grand⯑daughter; who, to avoid ſhewing too much ſenſibi⯑lity, ſhall ſeem to be talking to two other young La⯑dies [134] (Nancy and Lucy, ſuppoſe); but, in order to diſtinguiſh the young creature, let her, with a bluſh⯑ing cheek, caſt a fly eye on the grandmamma and young gentleman, while the other two ſhall not be a⯑fraid to look more free and unconcerned.

See, my dear, how fanciful I am: But I had a mind to tell you, in a new manner, how my grand⯑mamma and Sir Charles ſeem to admire each other.

Mr. Deane and he had alſo ſome talk together; my uncle joined them: And I bluſhed in earneſt at the ſubject I only gueſſed at from the following words of Mr. Deane, at Sir Charles's riſing to come from them to my aunt and me, who both of us ſat in the bow-window. My dear Sir Charles Grandiſon, ſaid Mr. Deane, you love to give pleaſure: I never was ſo happy in my life, as I am in view of this long⯑wiſhed-for event. You muſt oblige me: I inſiſt upon it.

My aunt took it, as I did.—A generous contention▪ ſaid ſhe. O my dear! we ſhall all be too happy. God grant that nothing may fall out to diſconcert us! If there ſhould, how many broken hearts—

The firſt broken one, madam, interrupted I, would be the happieſt: I, in that caſe, ſhould have the ad⯑vantage of every-body.

Dear love! you are too ſerious (Tears were in my eyes): Sir Charles's unqueſtionable honour is our ſe⯑curity!—If Clementina be ſtedfaſt; if life and health be ſpared you and him—If—

Dear, dear madam, no more Ifs! Let there be but one If, and that on Lady Clementina's reſump⯑tion. In that caſe, I will ſubmit; and God only [as indeed He always ought] ſhall be my reliance for the reſt of my life.

Lucy, Nancy, and my two couſin Holles's came and ſpread, two and two, the other ſeats of the bow⯑window [there are but three] with their vaſt hoops: undoubtedly, becauſe they ſaw Sir Charles coming to [135] us. It is difficult, whiſpered I to my aunt [petulantly enough], to get him one moment to one's ſelf. My couſin James (Silly youth! thought I) ſtopt him in his way to me: but Sir Charles would not long be ſtopt: He led the interrupter towards us; and a ſeat not be⯑ing at hand, while the young Ladies were making a buſtle to give him a place between them [toſſing their hoops above their ſhoulders on one ſide] and my cou⯑ſin James was haſtening to bring him a chair; he threw himſelf at the ſeet of my aunt and me, making the floor his feat.

I don't know how it was; but I thought I never ſaw him look to more advantage. His attitude and behaviour had ſuch a Lover-like appearance—Don't you ſee him, my dear?—His amiable countenance, ſo artleſs, yet ſo obliging, caſt up to my aunt and me: His fine eyes meeting ours; mine, particularly, in their own way; for I could not help looking down, with a kind of proud baſhfulneſs, as Lucy told me afterwards. How affected muſt I have appeared, had I either turned my head aſide, or looked ſtiffly up, to avoid his!

I believe, my dear, we women in courtſhp don't love, that men, if ever ſo wiſe, ſhould keep up to us the dignity of wiſdom; much leſs that they ſhould be ſolemn, formal, grave—Yet are we fond of reſpect and obſervance too.—How is it?—Sir Charles Gran⯑diſon can tell.—Did you think of your brother, Lady G. when you once ſaid, that the man who would commend himſelf to the general favour of us young women, ſhould be a Rake in his addreſs, and a Saint in his heart? Yet might you not have choſen a better word than Rake? Are there not more clumſy and fooliſh Rakes, than polite ones; except we can be ſo miſtaken, as to give to impudence the name of agree⯑able freedom?

Sir Charles ſell immediately into the eaſieſt (ſhall I ſay the gallanteſt?) the moſt agreeable converſation, as [136] if he muſt be all of a piece with the freedom of his attitude; and mingled in his talk, two or three very pretty humourous ſtories; ſo that nobody thought of helping him again to a chair, or wiſhing him in one.

How did this little incident familiarize the amiable man, as a ſtill more amiable man than before, to my heart! In one of the little tales, which was of a gen⯑tleman in Spain ſerenading his miſtreſs; we aſked him, if he could not remember a ſonnet he ſpoke of, as a pretty one? He, without anſwering, ſung it in a moſt agreeable manner; and, at Lucy's requeſt, gave us the Engliſh of it.

It is a very pretty ſonnet, I will aſk him for a copy, and ſend it to you, who underſtand the language.

My grandmamma, on Sir Charles's ſinging, beck⯑oned to my couſin James who going to her, ſhe whiſpered him. He ſtept out, and preſently returned with a violin, and ſtruck up, as he entered, a minuet-tune Harriet, my love▪ called out my grandmama. Without any other intimation, the moſt agreeable of men, in an inſtant, was on his feet, reached his hat, and took me out.

How were we applauded! How was my grand⯑mamma delighted! The words charming couple, were whiſpered round, but loud enough to be heard. And when we had done, he led me to my ſeat with an air that had all the real fine gentleman in it. But then he ſat not down as before.—

I wonder if Lady Clementina ever danced with him.

My aunt, at Lucy's whiſpered requeſt, propoſed a dance between Sir Charles and her. You, Lady G. obſerved, more than once, that Lucy dances finely. Inſulter! [...] her, when ſhe had done, you know [...] me!—Harriet, replied ſhe, [...], when they ſpeak a⯑gainſt [...]

My [...] called upon me for on [...] [...] on [...] they made me ſing.

[137] An admirable converſation followed at tea, in which my grandmother, aunt, my Lucy, and Sir Charles, bore the chief parts; every other perſon delighting to be ſilent.

Had we not, Lady G. a charming day?

In my next I ſhall have an opportunity, perhaps, to tell you what kind of a travelling companion Sir Charles is. For, be pleaſed to know, that for ſome time paſt a change of air, and a little excurſion from place to place, have been preſcribed for the eſtabliſh⯑ment of my health, by one of the honeſteſt phyſicians in England. The day before Sir Charles came into theſe parts, it was fixed, that to-morrow we ſhould ſet out upon this tour. On his arrival, we had thoughts of poſtponing it; but, having underſtood our intention, he inſiſted upon its being proſecuted; and, offering his company, there was no declining the favour, you know, early days as they, however, are: And altho' every body abroad talks of the occaſion of his viſit to us; he has been ſo far from directing his ſervants to make a ſecret of it, that he has ordered his Saunders to anſwer to every curious queſtioner, that Sir Charles and I were of longer acquaintance than yeſterday. But, is not this, my dear, a cogent intimation that Sir Charles thinks ſome parade, ſome delay, neceſſary? Yet don't he and we know how little a while ago it is, that he made his firſt declara⯑tion? What, my dear (ſhould he be ſolicitous for an early day) is the inference? My uncle, too, ſo for⯑ward, that I am afraid of him.

We are to ſet out to-morrow morning. Peter⯑borough is to be our furtheſt ſtage, one way. Mr. Deane inſiſts, that we ſhall paſs two or three days with him. All of us, but my grandmamma, are to be of his party.

O MY dear Lady G. what a Letter is juſt brought me, by the hand that carried up mine on Saturday! [138] Bleſs me! what an anſwer!—This wicked wiſh!—But I have not time to enter into ſo large a field. Let me only ſay, That for ſome parts I moſt heartily thank you and dear Lady L.; for others, I do not; and imagine Lady L. would not have ſubſcribed her beloved name, had ſhe read the whole. What charm⯑ing ſpirits have you, my dear, dear Lady G.!—But, Adieu, my ever-amiable Ladies, both!

LETTER XXV. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

LETTER XXVI. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

I WAS all confuſion when he, looking as uncon⯑ſcious as he uſed to do, entred my dreſſing-room. I turned my face from him. He ſeemed ſurpriſed at my concern. Miſs Byron, I hope, is well. Has any⯑thing diſturbed you, madam?

My paper, my paper! You took it up—For the world I would not—The poor Emily!—Give it me; Give it me; and I burſt into tears.—

Was there ever ſuch a fool? What buſineſs had I to name Emily;

He took it out of his pocket. I came to give it to you; putting it into my hand. I ſaw it was your writing, madam: I folded it up immediately: It has not been unfolded ſince: Not a ſingle ſentence did I permit myſelf to read.

Are you ſure, Sir, you have not read it? nor any

Part of it!—

Upon my honour, I have not.

[155] I cleared up at once. A bleſſed reward, thought I, for denying my own curioſity, when preſſed by my Charlotte, to read a Letter clandeſtinely obtained!

A thouſand, thouſand thanks to you, Sir, for not giving way to your curioſity. I ſhould have been miſerable, perhaps, for months, had you read that paper.

You now indeed raiſe my curioſity, madam. Per⯑haps your generoſity will permit you to gratify it; tho' I ſhould not have forgiven myſelf, had I taken advantage of ſuch an accident.

I will tell you the contents of ſome parts of it, Sir.

Thoſe which relate to my Emily, if you pleaſe, madam. The poor Emily, you ſaid.—You have [...]amed me. Perhaps I am not to be quite happy!—What of poor Emily! Has the girl been imprudent?—Has ſhe already—What of the poor Emily?

And his face glowed, with impatience.

No harm, Sir, of Emily!—Only a requeſt of the dear girl! [What letter uſe could I have made of my fright, Lady G?] But the manner of my mentioning it, I would not for the world you ſhould have ſeen.

No harm, you ſay!—I was afraid, by your concern for her—But can you love her, as well as ever? If you can, Emily muſt ſtill be good.

I can: I do.

What then, dear madam, of poor Emily? Why poor Emily?—

I will tell you. The dear girl makes it her requeſt, that I will procure of you one favour for her: Her heart is ſet upon it.

If Emily continue good, ſhe ſhall only ſignify her wiſh, and I will comply. If I am not a Father to her, is ſhe not fatherleſs?

Allow me, Sir, to call you kind! good! hu⯑mane!

What I want of thoſe qualities, Miſs Byron will [156] teach me, by her example.—But what would my Emily?—

She would live with her guardian, Sir—

With me, madam?—And with you, madam—Tell me, own to me, madam, And with you?

That is her wiſh—

And does my beloved Miſs Byron think it a right wiſh to be granted; Will ſhe be the inſtructing friend, the examplary ſiſter, now in that time of the dear girl's life, when the eye, rather than the judgment, is uſually the director of a young woman's affections?

I love the ſweet Innocent: I could wiſh her to be always with me.

Obliging goodneſs! Then is one of my cares over. A young woman, from Fourteen to Twenty, is often a troubleſome charge upon a Friendly heart. I could not have aſked this favour of you. You rejoice me by mentioning it. Shall I write a Letter, in your name, to Emily?

There, Sir, is pen, ink, and paper.

In your name, madam?

I bowed aſſent; miſtruſting nothing.

He wrote; and doubling down, ſhewed me only theſe words—‘'My dear Miſs Jervois, I have ob⯑tained for you the deſired favour—Will you not continue to be as good as you have hitherto been?—That is all which is required of my Emily, by her ever affectionate'’—

I inſtantly wrote, 'Harriet Byron.'—But, Sir, what have you doubled down?

Charming confidence!—What muſt he be, who could attempt to abuſe it?—Read, madam, what you have ſigned.—

I did. How my heart throbbed.—And could Sir Charles Grandiſon, ſaid I, thus intend to deceive? Could Sir Charles Grandiſon be ſuch a plotter? Thank God you are not a bad man.

After the words, I have obtained for you the deſired favour, followed theſe:

[157] ‘'You muſt be very good. You muſt reſolve to give me nothing but joy; joy equal to the love I have for you, and to the ſacrifice I have made to oblige you. Go down, my love, as ſoon as you can, to Grandiſon-hall: I ſhall then have one of the ſiſters of my heart there to receive me. If you are there in leſs than a fortnight, I will endeavour to be with you in a fortnight after. I ſacrifice, at leaſt, another fortnight's punctilio to oblige you. And will you not continue to be as good as you have hitherto been? That is all which is required of my Emily, by, &c.'’

Give me the paper, Sir; holding out my hand for it.

Have I forfeited my character with you, madam?—holding it back, with an air of reſpectful gaiety.

I muſt conſider, Sir, before I give you an anſwer.

If I have, why ſhould I not ſend it away; and, as Miſs Byron cannot deny her hand-writing, hope to receive the benefit of the ſuppoſed deceit? Eſpecially as it will anſwer ſo many good ends: For inſtance, your own wiſhes in Emily's favour; as it will increaſe your own power of obliging; and be a means of ac⯑celerating the happineſs of a man whoſe principal joy will be in making you happy.

Was it not a pretty piece of deceit, Lady G? Shall I own, that my heart was more inclined to re⯑ward than puniſh him for it? And really, for a mo⯑ment, I thought of the impracticableneſs of complying with the requeſt, as if I was ſeriouſly pondering upon it, and was ſorry it was not practicable. To get away from my dear Mr. Deane, thought I, who will not be in haſte to part with us; ſome female buſtlings to be got over on our return to Selby-houſe; propoſal renewed, and a little paraded with [Why, Lady G. did you tell me that our Sex is a fooliſh Sex?]; the preparation; the ceremony; the awful ceremony! the parting with the deareſt and moſt indulgent [158] friends that ever young creaure was bleſſed with; and to be at Grandiſon-hall, all within one month!—Was there ever ſo precipitating a man?

I believe verily, that I appeared to him as if I were conſidering of it; for he took advantage of my ſilence, and urged me to permit him to ſend away to Emily what he had written; and offered to give reaſons for his urgency: Written as it is, ſaid he, by me, and ſigned by you, how will the dear girl rejoice at the conſent of both, under our hands! And will ſhe not take the caution given her in it from me, as kindly as ſhe will your mediation in her favour?

Sure, Sir, ſaid I, you expect not a ſerious anſwer!—Upon his honour, he did—How, Sir! Ought you not rather to be thankful, if I forgive you, for letting me ſee that Sir Charles Grandiſon was capable of ſuch an artifice, tho' but in jeſt; and for his reflection upon me, and perhaps meant on our Sex, as if decorum were but punctilio? I beg my Lucy's pardon, added I, for being half-angry with her when ſhe called you a deſigner.

My deareſt creature, ſaid he, I am a deſigner. Who, to accelerate a happineſs on which that of his whole life depends, would not be innocently ſo? I am, in this inſtance, ſelfiſh: But I glory in my ſelfiſhneſs; be⯑cauſe I am determined, if power be lent me, that every one, within the circle of our acquaintance, ſhall have reaſon to congratulate you as one of the happieſt of women.

Till this artifice, Sir, ſhewed me what you could do, were you not a man of the ſtricteſt honour, I had no⯑thing but affiance in you. Give me the paper, Sir; and, for your own ſake, I will deſtroy it, that it may not furniſh me with an argument, that there is not one man in the world who is to be implicitly confided in by a woman.

Take it, madam (preſenting it to me, with his uſual gracefulneſs); deſtroy it not, however, till you have [159] expoſed me as ſuch a breach of confidence deſerves, to your aunt, your Lucy—To your uncle Selby; and Mr. Deane, if you pleaſe.

Ah, Sir! you know your advantages! I will not, in this caſe, refer to them: I could ſooner rely, dearly as they love their Harriet, on Sir Charles Grandiſon's juſtice, than on their favour, in any debate that ſhould happen between him and me.

There never, madam, except in the caſe before us, can be room for a reference: Your prudence, and my gratitude, muſt ſecure us both. Even now, impatient as I am to call you mine, which makes me willing to lay hold of every opportunity to urge you for an early day, I will endeavour to ſubdue that impatience, and ſubmit to your will. Yet let me ſay, that if I did not think your heart one of the moſt laudably unreſerved, yet truly delicate, that woman ever boaſted, and your prudence equal, you would not have found me ſo ac⯑quieſcent a Lover, early as you ſuppoſe my urgency for the happy day.

And is it not early, Sir? Can Sir Charles Grandiſon think me punctilious?—But you will permit me to write to Miſs Jervois myſelf, and acquaint her with her granted wiſh, if—

If! No if, madam—Whatever you think right to be done, in this caſe, that do. Emily will be more particularly your ward than mine, if you condeſcend to take the truſt upon you.

You will be pleaſed, dear Lady G. to acquaint Emily with the grant of her wiſh: She will rejoice. God give the dear creature reaſon for joy; and then I ſhall have double pleaſure in having contributed to her obtaining of it. But, on ſecond thoughts, I will write to her myſelf; for I allow not that ſhe ſhall ſee or hear read every-thing I write to you. [Shall I own to you, that my grandmamma, and aunt, and Lucy, are of your mind? They all three wiſh]—But who can deny the dear Innocent the grant of a requeſt on which ſhe [160] has ſo long ſet her heart? And would it not be pity, methinks I hear the world ſay, ſome time hence, eſpe⯑cially if any miſhap [God forbid it!] ſhould befal her, that Sir Charles Grandiſon, the moſt honourable of men, ſhould ſo marry, as that a young Lady of in⯑nocence and merit, and miſtreſs of a fortune, which, it might be foreſeen, would encourage the attempts of deſigning men, could not have lived with his wife?—Poor child!—Then would the world have ſhaken its wiſe head (allow the expreſſion); and well for me if it had judged ſo mildly of me.

Our dear Mr. Deane, tho' reluctantly, has con⯑ſented that we ſhall leave him on Monday next. We ſhall ſet out directly for Selby-houſe, where we pro⯑poſe to be the ſame night. My aunt and I have been urgent with him to go back with us; but he is croſs, and will be excuſed.

Juſt now Lucy tells me, that Mr. Deane declared to my uncle, aunt, and her, that he will not viſit us at Selby-houſe till we ſend for him and the ſettlements together, which he will have ready in a week—Strange expedition! Sure they are afraid your brother will change his mind, and are willing to put it out of the poor man's power to recede! Lucy ſmiles at me, and is ſure, ſhe ſays, that ſhe may in confidence re⯑veal all theſe matters to me, without endangering my life. My next Letter will be from Selby-houſe.

While that life continues, my dear Ladies, look upon me as aſſuredly

LETTER XXVII. Lady G. To Miſs BYRON,

GO on, go on, with your narratives, my dear. Hitherto Caroline and I know not how either [161] much to blame you, or totally to acquit you of parade the man and his ſituation conſidered; and the ſtate of your heart for ſo many months paſt; every one of your friends—conſenting, ſhall I ſay?—more than conſenting—ardent, to be related to him. Hark ye, Harriet, let me whiſper you—My brother, whether he come honeſtly, or not, by his knowlege, I dare ſay, thinks not ſo highly of the Free-maſonry part of mar⯑riage as you do—You ſtart. O Charlotte! you cry—And, O Harriet! too—But, my dear girl, let my brother ſee, that you think (and no woman in the world does, if you don't) that the true modeſty, after hearts are united, is to think little of parade, and much of the ſocial happineſs that awaits two worthy minds united by Love, and conformity of ſentiment—After all, we are ſilly creatures, Harriet: We are afraid of wiſe men. No wonder that we ſeldom chooſe them, when a fool offers. I wiſh I knew the man, however, who dare to ſay this in my hearing.

Your grandmother Shirley is more than woman: My brother prodigiouſly admires her. I think you may truſt to her judgment, if you ſuppoſe him too precipitating. Your aunt is an excellent woman! But I never knew a woman or man, who valued them⯑ſelves on delicacy, and found themſelves conſulted upon it, but was apt to over-do the matter. Is not this a little, a very little, Mrs. Selby's caſe? Let her know, that I bid you aſk this queſtion of herſelf: She muſt be aſſured that I equally love and honour her; ſo won't be angry.

Your uncle is an odd, but a very honeſt Dunſtable ſoul! Tell him, I ſay ſo; but withal, that he ſhould leave women to act as women, in theſe matters. What a duce, what a pize, would he expect perfection from them? He, whoſe arguments always run in the de⯑preciating ſtrain? If he would, aſk him, Where ſhould they have it, converſing, as they are obliged to do, with men? Men for their fathers, for their brothers, [162] for their uncles—They muſt be a little ſilly, had they not a fund of ſillineſs in themſelves.—But I would not have them be moſt out in matters where they ſhould be moſt in.

I think, however, ſo does Lady L. that ſo far as you have proceeded, you are tolerable; tho' not, half ſo clever as he, conſidering ſituations. Upon my word, Harriet, allowing for every-thing, neither of Sir Charles Grandiſon's ſiſters expected that their bro⯑ther would have made ſo ardent, ſo polite, a Lover. He is ſo prudent a man, and that once had like to have been one of your, even your objections.—Yet ſo nobly ſincere—ſo manly. O that my ape—But come, Harriet, as men go in this age of monkeys and Sir Foplings, Lord G. (for all you ) is not to be deſpiſed. I, as a good wiſe ought, will take his part, whoever runs him down. Where much is not given, much, and-ſo-forth—

I have told Emily the good news: I could not help it, tho' you promiſe to write to her.

Poor thing! ſhe is all ecſtaſy! ſhe is not the only one who ſeeks, as her greateſt good, what may poſ⯑ſibly prove her greateſt misfortune. But, for her ſake for your ſake, and my brother's, I hope, under your directing eye, and by prudent management (the flame ſo young) a little cold water will do; and that if it will blaze, it may be directed towards Beauchamp's houſe.

Let me whiſper you again, Harriet—Young girls finding themſelves veſted with new powers, and a ſet of new inclinations, turn their ſtaring eyes out of themſelves; and the firſt man they ſee, they imagine, if he be a ſingle man, and but ſimpers at them, they muſt receive him as a Lover: Then they return downcaſt for ogle, that he may ogle on without inter⯑ruption. They are ſoon brought to write anſwers to Letters which confeſs flames the writer's heart never felt. The girl doubts not her own gifts, her own [163] conſequence; ſhe wonders that her father, mother, and other friends, never told her of theſe new-found excellencies: She is more and more beautiful in her own eyes, as he more and more flatters her. If her parents are a -verſe, the girl is per -verſe; and the more, the leſs diſcretion there is in her paſſion. She adopts the word conſtancy; ſhe declaims againſt perſe⯑cution; ſhe calls her idle flame, LOVE; which only was a Something ſhe knew not what to make of—and, like a wandering bee, had it not ſettled on this flower, would on the next, were it either bitter or ſweet.

And this generally, with the thoughtleſs, is the be⯑ginning and progreſs of that formidable invader, miſ⯑called Love; a word very happily at hand, to help giddy creatures to talk with, and look without confu⯑ſion of face on, a man telling them a thouſand lyes, and hoping, perhaps by illaudable means, to attain an end not in itſelf illaudable, when duty and diſcretion are, the one the guide, the other the gentle reſtraint.

But as to Emily—I depend on her principles, as well as on your affectionate diſcretion (when you will be pleaſed, among ye, to permit my brother to be actu⯑ally yours) for reſtraining her imagination. There never beat in Female boſom an honeſter heart. Poor thing! ſhe is but a girl! And who is the woman, or child, that looks on my brother without love and re⯑verence?

For Emily's ſake, you ſee, you muſt not have too many of your honeſt uncle's circum-roundabouts. He makes us laugh. I love to have him angry with his Dame Selby. Dear Harriet! when your heart's quite at caſe, give us the courtſhip of the odd ſoul to the light of his eyes; his oddneſs, and her delicay! A charming contraſt! You did help us to a little of it once ^(a), you know. Theirs, on the woman's ſide, could not be a match of Love at firſt: But who ſo happy as they? I am convinced, Harriet, that Love [164] on one ſide, and diſcretion on the other, is enough in conſcience; and, in ſhort, much better than Love on both: For what room can there be for diſcretion, in the latter caſe? The man is guilty of an heterodoxy in Love, you know, who is prudent, or but ſuſpected of being ſo!—Ah! Harriet, Harriet! once more I ſay, we women are fooliſh creatures in our Love-affairs; and know not what's beſt for ourſelves.—In your ſtile—‘'Don't you think ſo, Lucy?'’—Yet I admire Lucy—She got over an improperly-placed Love; and now, her mad fit over [We have all little or much of it; begun, as I told you how] ſhe is ſo cool, ſo quiet, ſo ſedate—Yet once I make no doubt, looking forward to her preſent happy quieſcence, would have thought it a ſtate of inſipidity. Dearly do we love racketing; and, another whiſper, ſome of us to be racketed—But not you! you are an exception. Yes, to be ſure!—But I believe you'll think me mad.

We like my brother's little trick upon you in the Billet he wrote, and which you ſigned, as if to Emily. You ſee how earneſt he is, my dear. I long for his next Letters from Italy. I think that is a lucky plea enough for you, if you ſuppoſe parade neceſſary.

We have got Everard among us again. The ſorry fellow—O Harriet! had you ſeen him, with his hat upon his two thumbs, bowing, cringing, bluſhing, confounded, when firſt he came into my royal pre⯑ſence—But I, from my throne, extended the golden ſceptre to him, as I knew I ſhould pleaſe my brother by it. He ſat down when I bid him, twiſted his lips, curdled his chin, hemm'd, ſtole a look of reve⯑rence at me, looked down when his eyes met mine; mine bold as innocence, his conſcious as guilt; hemm'd again, turned his hat about; then with one of his not quite-forgotten airs of pertneſs, putting it under his arm, ſhook his ears, tried to look up, then his eye ſunk again under my broader eye.—O my dear!—What a paltry creature is a man vice-bitten! and ſen⯑ſible of detected folly, and obligation!

[165] Sir Charles has made a man of him, once more. His dreſs is as gay as ever; and, I dare ſay, he ſtruts as much in it as ever, in company that knows not how he came by it. He reformed!—Bad habits are of the Jeruſalem artichoke-kind; once planted, there is no getting them out of the ground.

Our good Dr Bartlett is alſo with us, at preſent: He is in hopes of ſeeing my brother in town—‘'In town,'’ Harriet!—and the great affair un-ſolem⯑nized!—Woe be to you, if—But let's ſee how you act when left to yourſelf. Prudent people, in other's matters are not always prudent in their own; eſpe⯑cially in their Love-affairs. A little over-nicety at ſetting out, will carry them into a road they never intended to amble in; and then they are ſometimes obliged to the leſs prudent to put them in the path they ſet out from. Remember, my dear, I am at hand, if you bewilder yourſelf.

Dr. Bartlett tells us, that my brother has extricated this poor creature from his entanglements with his woman, by his interpoſition only by Letter: Some money, I ſuppoſe. The Doctor deſires to be ſilent, on the means; but hints, however, that Everard will ſoon be in circumſtances not unhappy.

I HAVE got the Doctor to explain himſelf. Every day produces ſome new inſtances of womens follies. What would poor battered rakes and younger bro⯑thers do, when on their laſt legs, were it not for good-natured widows?—Ay, and ſometimes for forward maids? This wretch, it ſeems, has acquitted himſelf ſo handſomely in the diſcharge of the 100l. which he owed to his wine-merchant's relict, and the Lady was ſo full of acknowlegements, and obligations, and all that, for being paid but her due, that he has ventured to make addreſſes to her (Love, as it is called): and is well received. He behaves with more ſpirit before her, I ſuppoſe, than he does before me.

[166] The widow had a plain, diligent, honeſt man, be⯑fore. She has what is called taſte, forſooth, or be⯑lieves ſhe has. She thinks Mr. Grandiſon a finer gentleman than him who left her in a condition to be thougbt worthy of the addreſs of a gayer man. She prides herſelf, it ſeems, in the relation that her mar⯑riage will give her to a man of Sir Charles Gran⯑diſon's character. Much worſe reaſons will have weight, when a woman finds herſelf inclined to change her condition. But Everard is very earneſt that my brother ſhould know nothing of the matter till all is over: So you (as I) have this piece of news in confidence. Lady L. has not been told it. His couſin, he ſays, who refuſed him his intereſt with Miſs Mansfield, Lady W's ſiſter, becauſe he thought a further time of probation, with regard to his avowed good reſolutions, neceſſary, would perhaps, for the widow's ſake, if applied to, put a ſpoke in his wheel.

Everard, I can hardly allow myſelf to call him Grandiſon, avows a vehement paſſion for the widow. She is rich.—When they are ſet out together in taſte, as ſhe calls it, trade, or buſineſs, her firſt riſe, quite forgot, what a gay, what a frolick dance will ſhe and her new huſband, in a little while, lead up, on the grave of her poor, plain, deſpiſed one!

'Tis well, 'tis well, my dear Harriet, that I have a multitude of faults myſelf [Witneſs, to go no fur⯑ther back, this Letter] or I ſhould deſpiſe nine parts of the world out of ten.

I find that Sir Charles, and Beauchamp, and Dr. Bartlett, correſpond. Light is hardly more active than my brother, nor lightning more quick, when he has any-thing to execute that muſt or ought to be done. I believe I told you early, that was a part of his character. You muſt not then wonder, or be of⯑fended [Shall I uſe the word offended, my dear?] that you, in your turn, now he has found himſelf at liberty to addreſs you, ſhould be affected by his adroitneſs [167] and vivacity in your Femalities, as uncle Selby calls them: Aptly enough, I think; tho' I do not love that men ſhould be ſo impudent, as either to find us out, or abuſe us. You cannot always, were you to think him too precipitating, ſeparate bad qualities from good in the ſame perſon; ſince, perhaps, the one is the conſtitutional occaſion of the other. Could he, for example, be half ſo uſeful a friend as he is, if he were to dream over a Love-affair, as you would ſeem to have him; in other words, gape over his ripened fruit till it dropt into his yaw-yaw-yawning mouth? He'll certainly get you, Harriet, within, or near, his pro⯑poſed time. Look about you: He'll have you, before you know where you are. By book, as the ſaying is, will he pull you to him, ſtruggle as you will (he has already got hold of you) or by crook; inviting, nay compelling you, by his generoſity, gentle ſhepherd⯑like, to nymph as gentle. What you do, therefore, do with ſuch a grace as may preſerve to you the ap⯑pearance of having it in your power to lay an obli⯑gation upon him. It is the opinion of both his ſiſters, that he values you more for your noble expanſion of heart, and not ignorant, but generous frankneſs of manners, yet mingled with dignity; than for—even—your Beauty, Harriet—Whether you, who are in ſuch full poſſeſſion of every grace of perſon, care, as a woman, to hear of that, or not. His gay parterre ſimilitude you remember, my dear. It is my firm belief, that thoſe are the greateſt admirers of fine flowers, who love to ſee them in their borders, and ſeldomeſt pluck the fading fragrance. The other wretches crop, put them in their boſoms, and in an hour or two, roſe, carnation, or whatever, after one parting ſmell, throw them away.

He is very buſy, where-ever he is. At his inn, I ſuppoſe, moſt. But he boaſts not to you, or any⯑body, of what he does.

He writes now-and-then a Letter to aunt Nell, and [168] ſhe is ſo proud of the favour—Look you here, niece; Look you here!—But I ſha'n't ſhew you all he writes.—On go the ſpectacles—for ſhe will not for the world part with the Letter out of her hands.—She reads one paragraph, one ſentence, then another—On and off go the ſpectacles, while ſhe conjectures, explains, animadverts, applauds; and ſo goes on till ſhe leaves not a line unread: Then folding it up carefully in its cover, puts it in her Letter or Ribband-caſe, which ſhall I call it? For having but few Letters to put in it, the caſe is filled with bits and ends of ribbands, pat⯑terns, and-ſo-forth, of all manner of colours, faded and freſh; with intermingledoms of gold-beaters ſkin, plaiſters for a cut finger, for a chopt lip, a kibe, per⯑haps for corns; which ſhe diſpenſes occaſionally very bountifully, and values herſelf, as we ſee at ſuch times by a double chin made triple, for being not unuſeful in her generation. Chide me, if you will; the hu⯑mour's upon me; hang me, if I care: You are only Harriet Byron, as yet. Change your name, and in⯑creaſe your conſequence.

I have written a long Letter already; and to what end? Only to expoſe myſelf, ſay you? True enough. But now, Harriet, to bribe you into paſſing a milder cenſure, let me tell you all I can pick up from the Doctor, relating to my brother's matters. Bribe ſhall I call this, or gratitude, for your free communica⯑tions.

Matters between the Mansfields and the Keelings are brought very forward. Hang particulars: No⯑body's affairs lie near my heart, but yours. The two families have already begun to viſit. When my bro⯑ther returns, all the gentry in the neighbourhood are to be invited, to rejoice with the parties on the occa⯑ſion.

Be ſo kind, my dear, as to diſmiſs the good man, as ſoon as your punctilio will admit. We are con⯑tented, that while he lays himſelf out ſo much in the [169] ſervice of others, he ſhould do ſomething for himſelf. You, my dear, we look upon as a high reward for his many great and good actions. But as he is a man who has a deep ſenſe of favours granted, and values not the bleſſing the more, when it ought to be within his reach, becauſe it is dear (as is the caſe of the ſorry fellows in general) I would have you conſider of it—that's all.

The Doctor tells me, alſo, that the wicked Bolton's ward is dead; and that every-thing is included, to Sir Charles's ſatisfaction, with him; and the Mans⯑fields (reinſtated in all their rights) are once more a happy family.

Sir Hargrave is in a lamentable way; Dr. Bartlett has great compaſſion for him. Would you have me pity him, Harriet?—You would, you ſay—Well, then, I'll try for it: As it was by his means you and we, and my brother, came acquainted, I think I may. He is to be brought to town.

Poor Sir Harry Beauchamp! He is paſt recovery. Had the phyſicians given him over when they firſt undertook him, he might, they ſay, have had a chance for it.

I told you, that Emily's mother was turned Me⯑thodiſt. She has converted her huſband. A ſtrange alteration! But it is natural for ſuch ſort of people to paſs from one extreme to another. Emily every now-and-then viſits them. They are ready to worſhip her for her duty and goodneſs. She is a lovely girl: She every day improves in her perſon, as well as in her mind. She is ſometimes with me; ſometimes with Lady L; ſometimes with aunt Eleanor; ſometimes with your Mrs. Reeves—We are ready to fight for her: But you will ſoon rob all of us. She is pre⯑paring for her journey to you. Poor girl! I pity her. Such a conflict in her mind, between her love of you, and tenderneſs for her guardian! Her Anne has con⯑feſſed to me, that ſhe weeps one half of the night; [170] yet forces herſelf to be lively in company—After the example of Miſs Byron, ſhe ſays, when ſhe viſited you at Selby houſe. I hope, my dear, all will be right. But to go to live with a beloved object—I don't underſtand it. You, Harriet, may. I never was in Love, God help me!

I am afraid the dear girl does too much for her mother. As they have ſo handſome an annuity, 400 l. a year, ſo much beyond their expectation; I think ſhe ſhould not give, nor ſhould they receive, any-thing conſiderable of her, without her guardian's knowlege. She is laying out a great deal of money in new cloaths, to do you and her guardian credit—on your nuptials, poor thing! ſhe ſays, with tears in her eyes—but whether of joy, or ſenſibility, it is hard to decide; but I believe of both.

What makes me imagine ſhe does more than ſhe ſhould, is, that a week ago ſhe borrowed fifty guineas of me; and but yeſterday came to me—I ſhould do a very wrong thing, ſaid ſhe, bluſhing up to the ears, ſhould I aſk Lady L. to lend me a ſum of money till my next quarter comes due, after I made myſelf your debtor ſo lately: But if you could lend me thirty or forty guineas more, you would do me a great fa⯑vour.

My dear! ſaid I; and ſtared at her!

Don't queſtion, don't chide me, this one time. I never will run in debt again: I hate to be in debt. But you have bid me tell you all my wants.

I will not, my love, ſay another word. I will fetch you fifty guineas more.

More, my dear Lady G! that is a pretty rub: But I will always, for the future, be within bounds: And don't let my guardian know it—He would kill me, by his generoſity; yet perhaps, in his own heart, wonder what I did with my money. If he thought ill of me, or that I was extravagant, it would break my heart.

Only, my dear, ſaid I, remember that 400 l. a [171] year—Mrs. O-Hara cannot want any-thing to be done for her now.

Don't call her Mrs. O-Hara! She is very good: Call her my mother.

I kiſſed the ſweet girl, and fetched her the other fifty guineas.

I thought it not amiſs to give you this hint, my dear, againſt ſhe goes down to you. But do you think it right, after all, to have her with my brother and you?

Lady L. keeps cloſe—She faſts, cries, prays, is vaſtly apprehenſive: She makes me uneaſy for her and myſelf. Theſe vile men! I believe I ſhall hate them all. Did they partake—But not half ſo grateful as the blackbirds: They rather look big with inſo⯑lence, than perch near, and ſing a ſong to confort the poor ſouls they have ſo dreadfully mortified. Other birds, as I have obſerved (ſparrows, in par⯑ticular) ſit hour and hour, he's and ſhe's, in turn; and I have ſeen the hen, when her rogue has ſtaid too long, rattle at him, while he circles about her with ſweeping wings, and diſplayed plumage, his head and breaſt of various dyes, ardently ſhining, peep, peep, peep; as much as to ſay, I beg your pardon, love—I was forced to go a great way off for my dinner.—Sirrah! I have thought ſhe has ſaid, in an unfor⯑giving accent—Do your duty now—Sit cloſe—Peep, peep, peep—I will, I will, I will—Away has ſhe ſkimmed, and returned to relieve him—when ſhe thought fit.

Don't Laugh at us, Harriet, in our mortified ſtate [Begone, wretch—What have I done, madam? ſtare⯑ing! What have you done!—My ſorry fellow came in, wheedling, courting, juſt as I was pitying two meek ſiſters: Was it not enough to vex one?] Don't laugh at us, I ſay—If you do!—May my brother, all in good time, avenge us on you, prays, in malice,

LETTER XXVIII. Miſs BYRON, To Lady G.

FIE upon you, Lady G! What a Letter have you written! There is no ſeparating the good from the bad in it. With what dangerous talents are you entruſted! and what uſe do you make of them! I have written two long Letters, continuing my nar⯑rative of our proceedings; but I muſt take you to ſevere taſk for this before me; and this and they ſhall go together.

Wicked wit! What a foe art thou to decent chear⯑fulneſs!—In a woman's hand ſuch a weapon! What might we not expect from it, were it in a man's? How you juſtify the very creatures of that Sex, whom you would be thought to deſpiſe!

But you ſay, you would not allow in a man, the li⯑berties you yourſelf take with your own Sex. How can you, my dear, be ſo partial to your faults, yet own them to be ſuch? Would you rank with the worſt of ſinners? They do juſt ſo.

I may be a fool: I may be inconſiſtent: I may not know how with a grace to give effect to my own wiſhes: I may be able to adviſe better than act—Moſt pragmatical creatures think they can be counſellors in another's caſe, while their own affairs, as my uncle would ſay, lie at ſixes and ſevens. But how does this excuſe your freedoms with your whole Sex—With the Innocents of it, more particularly?

Let me ſay, my dear, that you take odious, yes, odious, liberties; I won't recal the word: Liberties which I cannot, tho' to ſhame you, repeat. Fie upon you, Charlotte!

And yet you ſay, that neither you nor Lady L. know how to blame me much, tho', the man con⯑ſidered, [173] you will not totally acquit me of parade; and in another place, that ſo far as we have proceeded, we have behaved tolerably. Why, then, all this riot?—yes, riot, Charlotte! againſt us, and againſt our Sex? What, but for riot's ſake?

‘'The humour upon you!'’—The humour is upon you, with a witneſs! ‘'Hang you, if you care!'’—But, my dear, it would be more to your credit if you did care; and if you checked the wicked humour.—Do you think nobody but you has ſuch talents? Fain would I lower you, ſince, as it is evident, you take pride in your licence—Forgive me, my dear—Yet I will not ſay all I think of your wicked wit. Think you, that there are not many who could be as ſmart, as ſurpriſing, as you, were they to indulge a vein of what you call humour? Do you think your brother is not one? Would not he be too hard for you at your own weapons? Has he not convinced you that he could? But he, a man, can check the overflowing freedom.

But if I have ſet out wrong with your brother, I will do my endeavour to recover my path. You greatly oblige me with your conducting hand: But what neceſſity was there for you to lead me through briars and thorns, and to plunge me into two or three dirty puddles, in order to put me into the right path, when it lay before you in a direct line, without going a bow-ſhot about?

Be pleaſed, however, to conſider ſituation, on my ſide, as well as on your brother's: I might be a little excuſable for my aukwardneſs, perhaps, were it con⯑ſidered, that the notion of a double or divided Love, on the man's part, came often into my head; indeed could not be long out; the Lady ſo ſuperlatively ex⯑cellent! his affection for her, ſo allowably, as well as avowedly, ſtrong! Was it poſſible to avoid little jealouſies, little petulancies, when ſlights were ima⯑ginable? The more, for the excellency of the man; [174] the more for my paſt weakneſs of ſo many months? I pretend not, my deareſt Charlotte, to be got above nature: I know I am a weak ſilly girl: I am humbled in the ſenſe I have of his and Clementina's ſuperior merits. True Love will ever make a perſon think manly of himſelf, in proportion as ſhe thinks highly of the object. Pride will be up, ſometimes; but in the pull two ways, between that and mortification, a torn coat will be the conſequence: And muſt not the tatterdemallion (What a new language will my uncle teach me!) then look ſimply?

You bid me aſk my aunt—You bid me tell my uncle—Naughty Charlotte! I will aſk, I will tell, them, nothing. Pray write me a Letter next, that I can read to them. I ſkipt this paſſage—Read that—'um—'um—'um—Then ſkipt again—Hey-day! What's come to the girl, cried my uncle? Can Lady G. write what Harriet cannot read? [There was a rebuke for you, Charlotte!] For the love of God, let me read it!—He buſtled, laughed, ſhook his ſhoul⯑ders, rubbed his hands, at the imagination—Some pretty roguery, I warrant: Dearly do I love Lady G. If you love me, Harriet, let me read; and once he ſnatched one of the ſheets. I boldly ſtruggled with him for it—For ſhame, Mr. Selby, ſaid my aunt. My dear, ſaid my grandmother, if your uncle is ſo impetuous, you muſt ſhew him no more of your Let⯑ters.

He then gave it up—Conſider, Charlotte, what a fine piece of work we ſhould have had with my uncle, had he read it through!

But, let me ſee,—What are the parts of this wicked Letter, for which I can ſincerely thank you?—O my dear, I cannot, cannot, without ſoiling my fingers, pick them out—Your intelligences, however, are among thoſe which I hold for favours.

Poor Emily! that is a ſubject which delights, yet ſaddens, me—We are laudably fond of diſtinguiſhing [175] merit. But your brother's is ſo dazling—Every wo⯑man is one's rival. But no more of my Emily! Dear creature! the ſubject pains me!—Yet I cannot quit it.—You aſk, If, after all, I think it right that ſhe ſhould live with me?—What can I ſay? For her ſake, perhaps, it will not: Yet how is her heart ſet upon it! For my own ſake, as there is no perfect happineſs to be expected in this life, I could be content to bear a little pain, were that dear girl to be either benefited or pleaſured by it. Indeed I love her, at my heart—And, what is more—I love myſelf for ſo ſincerely loving her.

In the wicked part of your Letter, what you write of your aunt Eleanor—But I have no patience with you, ſinner as you are againſt light, and better know⯑lege! and derider of the infirmities, not of old maids, but of old age!—Don't you hope to live long, your⯑ſelf? That worthy Lady wears not ſpectacles, Char⯑lette, becauſe ſhe never was ſo happy as to be married. Wicked Charlotte! to owe ſuch obligation to the ge⯑neroſity of good Lord G. for taking pity of you in time [Were you Four or Five-and-twenty when he honoured you with his hand at St. George's church?] and yet to treat him as you do, in more places than one, in this very Letter!

But I will tell you what I will do with this ſame ſtrange Letter—I will tranſcribe all the good things in it. There are many which both delight and inſtruct; and ſome morning, before I dreſs for the day, I will [Sad taſk, Charlotte! But it ſhall be by way of pe⯑nance for ſome of my faults and ſollies!] tranſcribe the intolerable paſſages; ſo make two Letters of it. One I will keep to ſhew my friends here, in order to increaſe, if it be poſſible, their admiration of my Charlotte; the bad one I will preſent to you. I know I ſhall tranſcribe it in a violent hurry—Not much matter whether it be legible, or not—The hob⯑bling it will cauſe in the reading, will make it appear [176] worſe to you, than if you could read it as glibly as you write. If half of it be illegible, enough will be leſt to make you bluſh for the whole, and wonder what ſort of a pen it was that ſomebody, unknown to you, put into your ſtandiſh.

After all, ſpare me not, my ever-dear, my ever⯑charming friend! ſpare only your ſelf: Don't let Charlotte run away from both G's. You will then be always equally ſure of my admiration and love. For dearly do I love you, with all your faults; ſo dearly, that when I conſider your faults by themſelves, I am ready to arraign my heart, and to think there is more of the roguery of my Charlotte in it than I will allow of.

One puniſhment to you, I intend, my dear—In all my future Letters, I will write as if I had never ſeen this your naughty one. Indeed I am in a kind of way, faulty or not, that I cannot get out of, all at once; but as ſoon as I can, I will, that I may better juſtify my diſpleaſure at ſome parts of your Letter, by the obſervance I will pay to others. That is a ſweet ſentence of my Charlotte's: ‘'Change your name, and increaſe your conſequence.'’ Reflect, my dear—How naughty muſt you have been, that ſuch a charm⯑ing inſtance of goodneſs could not bribe to ſpare you

LETTER XXIX. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

MR. Deane would not go back with us. He laid a ſtrict charge upon me, at parting, not to be punctilious.

I am not, my dear Lady G. Do you think I am? The men are their own enemies, if they wiſh us to [177] be open-hearted and ſincere, and are not ſo themſelves. Let them enable us to depend on their candour, as much as we may on that of Sir Charles Grandiſon, and the women will be inexcuſable, who ſhall play either the prude or coquet with them. You will ſay, I am very cunning, perhaps, to form at the ſame time a rule from, and an excuſe for, my own con⯑duct to this excellent man: But be that as it will, it is truth.

We ſent our duty laſt night to Shirley-manor; and expect every moment the dear parent there with us.

She is come. I will go down; and if I get her by myſelf, or only with my aunt and Lucy, I will tell her a thouſand thouſand agreeable things, which have paſſed ſince laſt I had her tender bleſſing.

WE have had this Greville and this Fenwick here. I could very well have ſpared them. Miſs Orme came hither alſo, uninvited, to breakfaſt; a favour ſhe often does us. I knew not at firſt how to be⯑have to Sir Charles before her: She looked ſo jealous of him! ſo cold! Under her bent brow ſhe looked at him: Yes, and No, were all her anſwers, with an air ſo ſtiff!—But this reſerve laſted not above a quarter of an hour. Sir Charles addreſſed himſelf to me, with ſo much reſpect; to her, with ſo polite a freedom; that ſhe could not hold her ſhyneſs.

Her brow cleared up; her eyes looked larger, and more free: Her buttoned-up pretty mouth opened to a ſmile: She anſwered, ſhe aſked, queſtions; gave her required opinion on more topics than one, and was again all Miſs Orme.

Every-body took great notice of Sir Charles's fine addreſs to her, and were charmed with him; for we all eſteem Mr. Orme, and love his ſiſter. How plea⯑ſant it was to ſee the ſunſhine break out in her ami⯑able countenance, and the gloom vaniſhing, by de⯑grees!

[178] She took me out into the leſſer parlour—What a ſtrange variable creature am I! ſaid ſhe: How I hated this Sir Charles Grandiſon, before I ſaw him! I was vexed to find him, at firſt ſight, anſwer what I had heard of him; for I was reſolved to diſlike him, tho' he had been an angel! But, ah, my poor brother!—I am afraid, I myſelf ſhall be ready to give up his in⯑tereſt!—No wonder, my dear Miſs Byron, that no⯑body elſe would do, when you had ſeen this man!—But ſtill, let me beſpeak your pity for my brother!—Would to Heaven you had not gone to London!—What went you thither for?

Sir Charles kindly enquired of her after Mr. Orme's health; praiſed him for his character; wiſhed his re⯑covery; and to be allowed to cultivate the friendſhip of ſo worthy a man: And all this with an air ſo ſin⯑cere;—But good men muſt love one another.

SIR Charles has juſt now declared to my aunt, that he thinks of going up to town, or to Grandiſon-hall, I forget if they told me which, to-morrow or next day: Perhaps he knows not to which himſelf. I was ſurpriſed. Perhaps he is tired with us. Let me re⯑collect—Thurſday was Se'nnight; Why indeed he has been down with us twelve days!—No leſs!

But he has no doubts, no ſuſpences frum us, to keep Love awake: His path is plain and ſmooth be⯑fore him. He has demanded his day: We think we cannot immediately, and after ſo ſhort a time paſt ſince his declaring himſelf, give it him—And why ſhould he loſe his precious time among us? I ſuppoſe he will be ſo good as to hold himſelf in readineſs to obey our ſum⯑mons—He expects a ſummons from us, perhaps!—

O my dear Lady G! am I not perverſe? I believe I am. Yet where there is room, from paſt circum⯑ſtances, to dread a ſlight, tho' none may be intended, and truly as I honour and revere Lady Clementina, my mind is not always great enough (perhaps from con⯑ſciouſneſs [179] of demerit) to carry itſelf above apprehen⯑ſion and petulance, noble as is the man.

My uncle is a little down upon it; and why? Be⯑cauſe, truly, my grandmamma has told him, that it is really too early yet to fix the day; and he reve⯑rences, as every body does, her judgment.

But why, he aſks, cannot there be preparation making? Why may not ſomething be ſeen going for⯑ward?

What? before the day is named? my aunt aſks—As Harriet had deſired to have his next Letters arrive before ſhe directly anſwered his queſtion, ſhe could not recede.

He went from them both greatly diſſatisfied, and exclaiming againſt womens love of power, and never knowing how to make a right uſe of it.

A meſſage from Sir Charles. He deſires to attend me. I believe I ſhall be a little ſullen: I know my heart: It is all his own; and I am loth to diſoblige him—But he was far, far more attendant on Lady Clementina's motions: Don't you think ſo, Lady G? But ſhe was all excellence—Well—But huſh!—I ſay no more!—

I WILL give you an account of our converſation. I verily believe, that, had he not touched the poor ſnail with too haſty a ſinger, which made her ſhrink in again into her ſhell, I might have been brought to name the week, tho' not the day.

But I will not anticipate.

He entered with a very polite and affectionate air. He enquired after my health, and ſaid, I looked not well—Only vexed, thought I!

It is impoſſible, I believe, to hold diſpleaſure in the preſence of a beloved object, with whom we are not mortally offended. My deareſt Miſs Byron, ſaid he, taking my paſſive hand, I am come to aſk your advice on twenty ſubjects. In the firſt place, here is a Letter [180] from Lady G. recommending to me a houſe near her own [He gave it to me. I read it]. Should you, madam, approve of Groſvenor Square?

I was ſilent: You will gueſs how my captious folly appeared to him, by what he ſaid to me. He reſpect⯑fully took my hand—Why ſo ſolemn, dear madam? Why ſo ſilent? Has any-thing diſturbed you? Some little diſpleaſure ſeems to hang upon that open counte⯑nance. Not at me, I hope?

Yes it is, thought I! But I did not intend you ſhould ſee it.—I cleared up; and without anſwering his queſtion, ſaid, It is in the neighbourhood of Lady L. I hope?

Thank you, madam, for that hope—It is. Nor far from your couſin Reeves's.

I can have no objection, Sir.

I will refer myſelf, on this ſublect, if you pleaſe, to my ſiſters, and Lord G. He values himſelf on his taſte in houſes and furniture, and will be delighted to be put into commiſſion with my ſiſters on this occa⯑ſion: Or ſhall I ſtay till the happy day is over, and leave the choice wholly to yourſelf?

Lady G. Sir, ſeems pleaſed with the houſe. She writes, that there is ſomebody elſe about it. It may not, then, be to be had.

Shall I then commiſſion her to take it directly?

What you pleaſe, Sir.

He bowed to me, and ſaid, Then that matter is ſettled. And now, madam, let me own all my arts. You would penetrate into them, if I did not. You ſee that the great queſtion is never out of my view—I cannot but hope and believe, that you are above re⯑garding mere punctilio.—Have you, my deareſt Miſs Byron, thought, can you think, of ſome early weak, in which to fix my happy day?—Some preparation on your part, I preſume, will be thought neceſſary: As to mine, were you to bleſs me with your hand next week, I ſhould be aforehand in that particular.

[181] I was ſilent. I was conſidering how to find ſome middle way that ſhould make non-compliance appear neither diſobliging, nor affected.

He looked up at me with Love and Tenderneſs in his aſpect; but, having no anſwer, proceeded:

Your uncle, madam, and Mr. Deane, will inform you, that the ſettlements are ſuch as cannot be diſ⯑approved of. I expect every day ſome ſlight tokens of my affection for my dear Miſs Byron, which will be adorned by the lovely wearer: I have not been ſo ex⯑travagant in them, as ſhall make her think I build on toys for her approbation. She will allow me to give her my notions on this ſubject. In the article of per⯑ſonal appearance, I think that propriety and degree ſhould be conſulted, as well as fortune. Our degree, our fortune, madam, is not mean? but I, who always wiſhed for the revival of Sumptuary Laws, have not ſought, in this article, to emulate Princes. In my own dreſs, I am generally a conformiſt to the faſhion. Singularity is uſually the indication of ſomething wrong in judgment. I rather perhaps dreſs too ſhewy, tho' a young man, for one who builds nothing on outward appearance: But my father loved to be dreſſed. In matters which regard not morals, I chooſe to appear to his friends and tenants, as not doing diſcredit to his magnificent ſpirit ^(a). I could not think it becoming, as thoſe perhaps do, who have the direction of the royal ſtamp on the coin, to ſet my face the contrary way to that of my predeceſſor. In a word, all my father's ſteps, in which I could tread, I did; and have choſen rather to build upon, than demoliſh, his foun⯑dations.—But how does my vanity miſlead me! I have vanity, madam; I have pride, and ſome conſequen⯑tial failings, which I cannot always get above: But, [182] anxious as I ever ſhall be for your approbation, my whole heart ſhall be open to you; and every motive, every ſpring of action, ſo far as I can trace it, be it to my advantage or not, ſhall be made known to you. Happy the day that I became acquainted with Dr. Bartlett! He will tell you, madam, that I am corrigi⯑ble. You muſt perfect, by your ſweet converſation, un -coupled with fear, what Dr. Bartlett has ſo hap⯑pily begun; and I ſhall then be more worthy of you than at preſent I am.

O, Sir, you do me too much honour! You muſt be my monitor. As to the ornaments you ſpeak of, I hope I ſhall always look upon ſimplicity of manners a grateful return to the man I ſhall vow to honour, and a worthy behaviour to all around me, as my principal ornaments!

His eyes gliſtened. He bowed his face upon my hand, to hide, as I thought, his emotion. Excellent Miſs Byron! ſaid he: Then, after a pauſe, Now let me ſay, that I have the happineſs to find my humble application to you acceptable to every one of your friends. The only woman on earth whom, beſides yourſelf, I ever could have wiſhed to call mine, and all her ever-to-be reſpected family (pleading their own ſakes) join their wiſhes in my favour; and, were you to deſire it, would, I am ſure, ſignify as much to you under their own hands. I know not whether I could ſo far have overcome my own ſcruples in behalf of your delicay (placing myſelf, as perſons always ought when they hope for favour, in the granter's place) as to ſupplicate you ſo ſoon as I have done, but at the earneſt requeſt of a family, and for the ſake of a Lady, I muſt ever hold dear. The world about you expects a ſpeedy celebration. I have not, I own, been back⯑ward to encourage the expectation: It was impoſſible to conceal from it the motive of my coming down, as my abode was at an inn. I came with an equipage, becauſe my pride (How great is my pride! permitted [183] me not to own that I doubted. Have you, madam, a material objection to an early day? Be ſo good to in⯑form me, if you have. I wiſh to remove every ſha⯑dow of doubt from your heart.

I was ſilent. He proceeded:

Let me not pain you, madam!—lifting my hand to his lips—I would not pain you for the world. You have ſeen the unhappy Olivia! You have perhaps heard her ſtory from herſelf. What muſt be the cauſe upon which ſelf partiality cannot put a gloſs? Becauſe I knew not how (It was ſhocking to my nature) to repulſe a Lady, ſhe took my pity for encouragement. Pity from a Lady of a man, is noble—The declara⯑tion of pity from a man for a woman, may be thought a vanity bordering upon inſult. Of ſuch a nature is not mine—She has ſome noble qualities—from my heart, for her character's ſake, I pity Olivia! and the more, for that violence of temper which ſhe never was taught to reſtrain. If, madam, you have any ſcru⯑ples on her account, own them: I will, for I honeſtly can, remove them.

O Sir! None! None!—Not the leaſt, on that un⯑happy Lady's account—

Let me ſay, proceeded he, that Olivia reveres you, and wiſh [...]s you (I hope cordially, for ſhe is afraid ſtill of your ſiſter-excellence) to be mine. Give me leave to boaſt (It is my boaſt), that tho' I have had pain from individuals of your Sex, I can look back on my paſt life, and bleſs God that I never, from childhood to manhood, WILFULLY gave pain either to the MO⯑THERLY or SISTERLY heart ^(a); nor from manhood to the preſent hour, to any other woman.

O Sir! Sir!—What is it you call pain, if at this inſtant (and I ſaid it with tears) that which your good⯑neſs makes me feel, is not ſo?—The dear, the excel⯑lent Clementina! What a perverſeneſs is in her fate! She, and ſhe only, could have deſerved you!

[184] He bent his knee to the greatly-honoured Harriet—I acknowlege with tranſport, ſaid he, the joy you give me by your magnanimity; ſuch a more than ſiſterly magnanimity to that of Clementina. How nobly do you authorize my regard for her!—In you, madam, ſhall I have all her excellencies, without the abate⯑ments which muſt have been allowed, had ſhe been mine, from conſiderations of Religion and Country. Believe me, madam, that my Love of her, if I know my heart is of ſuch a nature, as never can abate the fervor of that I vow to you. To both of you, my principal attachment was to MIND: Yet let me ſay, that the perſonal union, to which you diſcourage me not to aſpire, and the duties of that moſt intimate of all connexions, will preſerve to you the due preference; as (allow me to ſay) it would have done to her, had ſhe accepted of my vows.

O Sir! believe me incapable of affectation, of pe⯑tulance, of diſguiſe! My heart (Why ſhould I not ſpeak freely to Sir Charles Grandiſon?) is wholly yours!—It never knew another Lord! I will flatter myſelf, that, had you never known Lady Clementina, and had ſhe not been a prior Love, you never would have had a divided heart!—What pain muſt you have had in the conflict! My regard for you, bids me ac⯑knowlege my own vanity, in my pity for you!

I guſhed into tears—You muſt leave me, Sir—I cannot bear the exaltation you have given me!

I turned away my face: I thought I ſhould have fainted.

He claſped me to his boſom: He put his cheek to mine: For a moment we neither of us could ſpeak.

He broke the ſhort ſilence. I dread the effects on your tender health, of the pain I, or rather your own greatneſs of mind, give you. Beloved of my heart! kiſſing my cheek, wet at that moment with the tears of both, forgive me!—And be aſſured, that Reverence will always accompany my Love. Will it be too [185] much, juſt now, to re-urge the day that ſhall anſwer the wiſhes of Clementina, of her noble brothers, of all our own friends, and make you wholly mine?

His air was ſo noble; his eyes ſhewed ſo much awe, yet ſuch manly dignity, that my heart gave way to its natural impulſe—Why, Sir, ſhould I not de⯑clare my reliance on your candour? My honour, in the world's eye, I entruſt to you: But bid men ot do an improper thing, left my deſire of obliging you ſhould make me forget myſelf.

Was not this a generous reſignation? Did it not deſerve a generous return? But he, even Sir Charles Grandiſon, endeavoured to make his advantage of it. Letters from Italy unreceived! as if he thought my reference to thoſe a punctilio alſo.

What a depoſit!—Your honour, madam, is ſafely entruſted. Can punctilio be honour?—It is but the ſhadow of it. What but that ſtands againſt your grant of an early day?—Do not think me miſled by my impatience to call you mine, to take an undue ad⯑vantage of your condeſcenſion. Is it not the happi⯑neſs of both that I wiſh to confirm? And ſhall I ſuffer falſe delicacy, falſe gratitude, to take place of the true?—Allow me, madam—But you ſeem uneaſy—I will prolong the time I had intended to beg you would permit me to limit you to. Let me requeſt from you the choice of ſome one happy day before the expira⯑tion of the next fourteen—

Conſider, Sir!—

Nothing, madam, happening in my behaviour to cauſe you to revoke the generous truſt: From abroad there cannot.

He looked to be in earneſt in his requeſt: Was it not almoſt an ungenerous return to my confidence in him? Twelve days only had elaſped ſince his perſonal declaration; the Letters from Italy which he had al⯑lowed me to wait for, unreceived; Lady D. one of the moſt delicate-minded of women, knowing too my [186] preferable regard for your brother: And muſt not the hurry have the worſe appearance for that? No prepa⯑ration yet thought of: My aunt thinking his former urgency, greatly as ſhe honours him, rather too preci⯑pitating—My ſpirits, hurried before, were really af⯑fected. Do not call me a ſilly girl, deareſt Lady G: I endeavoured to ſpeak; but, at the inſtant, could not diſtinctly.

I am ſorry, madam, that what I have ſaid has ſo much diſturbed you. Surely, ſome one day in the fourteen—

Indeed, indeed, Sir, interrupted I, you have ſur⯑priſed me: I did not think you could have wiſhed ſo to limit me—I did not expect—

What, lovelieſt of women! will you allow me to expect? The day is ſtill at your own choice. Revoke not, however, the generous conceſſion, till Mrs. Shir⯑ley, Mrs. Selby, and our Lucy, are conſulted. Will you, deareſt madam, be determined by them?

Say, not, Sir, to any of them, after ſuch an inſtance of my confidence in you—for the honour of your ac⯑cuſtomed generoſity, ſay it not—that you could ſo li⯑mit me; and I will endeavour to forget it.

Conſider, my deareſt Miſs Byron—

I believe my grandmamma is come, ſaid I—

They are all goodneſs: They will indulge me. I will tell you, madam, taking my hand, and ſeating me, what is my intention, if you approve of it. All the country ſuppoſe that my application for your fa⯑vour meets with encouragement: They expect, as I have told you, a ſpeedy ſolemnization. I took my lodgings at ſome little diſtance from you, at a place of public entertainment; perhaps (pardon me, ma⯑dam, for the ſake of my ingenuouſneſs) with ſome view, that the general talk [See, Lady G! it is well he is a good man!] would help to accelerate my happy day: But, madam, to continue my daily viſits from thence, when my happineſs is ſuppoſed to be [187] near, will not perhaps look ſo well [We are to be ſtudious of looks, it ſeems]—Indeed I would not be thought to deſpiſe the world's opinion: The world, when it will have patience to ſtay till it is maſter of facts, is not always wrong: It can judge of others, better than it can act itſelf—The change of my lodg⯑ings to others in this houſe, or in Shirley-manor, will not perhaps be allowed till I am bleſſed with the hand of the deareſt relation of both: I therefore think of going up to town, declaredly (Why not?) to prepare for our nuptials; and to return near the time agreed upon for the happy celebration. Then will either this houſe, or Shirley-manor, be allowed to receive the happieſt of men.

He ſtopt: I was ſilent. He proceeded, looking tenderly, yet ſmilingly, in my downcaſt face, ſtill holding my hand:—And now, dearer to me than life, let me aſk you—Can you think it an unpardonable in⯑truſion on your condeſcending goodneſs, that I make the time of my return to my Miſs Byron not over-tedious?—Fourteen days, were you to go to the ex⯑tent of them, would be an age to me, who have been for ſo many days paſt the happieſt man that a perſon in expectation can be. I do aſſure you, madam, that I had not the inſolence to ſuppoſe I was making you a requeſt that was rather expected to be forgiven, than complied with. I thought myſelf not ungenerous to the confidence you repoſed in me, that I gave you ſo much time. I thought of a week, and began apolo⯑gizing, leſt you ſhould think it too ſhort; but, when I ſaw you diſturbed, I concluded with the mention of a fortnight. My deareſt creature, think me not unrea⯑ſonable in my expectations of your compliance—

What, Sir! in a fortnight?—

As to preparations, madam, you know the pleaſure my ſiſters will have in executing any commiſſions you will favour them with on ſo joyful an occaſion. Char⯑lotte had not ſo much time for preparation. But were [188] not every-thing to be in readineſs by the choſen day, there will be time enough for all you wiſh, before you would perhaps chooſe to ſee company—Conſider, my deareſt life, that if you regard punctilio merely; punctilio has no determinate end: Punctilio begets punctilio. You may not half a year hence imagine that to be ſufficiently gratified. Again I ſay, Do you, madam, conſider: Let me adhere to the fourteen days, and within them crown the hope you gave me.

Within them!—Sir! I did not expect—

You tell me, my beloved Miſs Byron, interrupted he, what you did not expect—Tell me, I beſeech you, miſtreſs as you are of one of the nobleſt of fe⯑male hearts, what you did expect, when you con⯑deſcended to make me the compliment, that, were it to be carried into effect, would engage my utmoſt gratitude.

I had not thought of any particular time: But I could not have made you that compliment, had I thought of a day ſo very early.

You have, madam, you ought to have, the option: Yet I own, that your declared generous confidence in me had elated me. The temptation was too great for me, not to wiſh to make uſe of the power you had, as I thought, put into my hands: And allow me to ſay, that I cannot give up my hope till your grand⯑mamma and aunt decide that I ought.

How, Sir!—And can you thus adhere?—But I will allow of your reference—

And be determined by their advice, madam?

But I will not truſt you, Sir, with pleading your own cauſe.

Are you not arbitrary, madam?

In this point, if I am, ought I not to be ſo?

Yes, if you will reſume a power you had ſo gene⯑rouſly reſigned.

May I not, Sir, when I think it over-ſtrained in the hands of the perſon to whom, in better hopes, it was delegated?

[189] That, dear Lady, is the point to be tried. You conſent to refer the merits of it to your grandmamma and aunt?

If I do, Sir, you ought not to call me arbitrary.

It is gracious, bowing, in my ſovereign Lady, to ſubmit her abſolute will and pleaſure to arbitration.

Very well, Sir!—But will you not ſubmit to my own award?

Tell me dear Miſs Byron, tell me, if I do, how generous will you be?

I was far from intending—

Was, madam—I hope I may dwell upon that word, and repeat my queſtion?

Am, Sir. I am far from intending—

No more, dear madam. I appeal to another tri⯑bunal.

Well, Sir, I will endeavour to recollect the ſub⯑ſtance of this converſation, and lay it, in writing, be⯑fore the judges you have named. Lucy ſhall be one.

You will permit me, madam, to ſee your ſtate of the caſe, before you lay it before the judges?

No, Sir! None but they muſt ſee it, till it makes part of a Letter to Lady G. who then ſhall ſhew it only to Lady L.

It is the harder to be thus preſcribed to, my dear Miſs Byron, becauſe—

What, Sir, in my day?—

That was what I was going to urge, becauſe mine will never come. Every day, to the end of my life, will be yours [Dear man!]—Only, Sir, as I deſerve your kindneſs, I wiſh not for it on other terms. And you ſhall be then ſole judge of my deſerts. I will not appeal to any other tribunal.

He gracefully bowed. I think, ſaid he, ſmiling, I muſt withdraw my intended appeal: I am half-afraid of my judges; and perhaps ought to rely wholly on your goodneſs.

[190] No, no, Sir! Your intention is your act. In that ſenſe you have appealed to Caeſar ^(a)

I never before was in Love with deſpotiſm. You mention writing to my ſiſters: You correſpond with them, I preſume, as you formerly did with our Lucy. Let me tell you, madam, that you had not been Miſs Byron, FOURTEEN days after I was favoured with the ſight of thoſe Letters, had I been at liberty to offer you my heart, and could I have prevailed on you to accept it. Your diſtreſs, your noble frankneſs of heart—

And let me own, Sir, as an inſtance of the frank⯑neſs you are pleaſed to encourage, that gratitude for the deliverance you ſo nobly gave me, had as much power over my heart, as the openneſs of mine, and my diſtreſs, could have over yours.

Sweet excellence!—Complete your generous good⯑neſs to a grateful heart; it is a grateful one; and ſhorten the days of your ſingle power, in order to enlarge it!

Lucy appeared; but ſeeing us engaged in conver⯑ſation, was about to retire: But he, ſtepping to her, and taking both her hands—OUR Lucy, obligingly, ſaid he, you muſt come in—You are to be one judge of three in a certain cauſe, that will come before you—And I hope—

No prejudgings, Sir Charles, ſaid I—You are not to plead at all—

Yet deeply intereſted in the event, Miſs Selby! ſaid he.

A bad ſign, couſin Byron! ſaid Lucy. I begin al⯑ready to doubt the juſtice of your cauſe.

When you hear it, Lucy, make, as you uſually do, the golden rule yours, and I have nothing to fear.

I tell you, before-hand, I am inclined to favour Sir Charles. No three judges can be found, but will be⯑lieve, from his character, that he cannot be wrong.

[191] But from mine, that I may! O my Lucy! I did not expect this from my couſin. You muſt not, I think, be one of my judges.

To this place, I have ſhewn my three judges. The following is their determination, drawn up by the dear Lady preſident, my grandmamma:

To-morrow morning, when Sir Charles comes to breakfaſt, this paper will be preſented to him by my grandmamma.

I wonder whether Sir Charles writes to Dr. Bartlett an account of what paſſes here. If he does, what would I give to ſee his Letters! and particularly, what he thinks of the little delays he meets with▪ But do, dear Lady G. acquit me of affectation and parade. Indeed it is not that. I hope he himſelf acquits me, and cenſures himſelf; for, upon my word, he is unreaſonably haſty.

I could not but expreſs a little curioſity about his hint of Lady Olivia's favourable opinion of me, tho' not at the time; and he was ſo good as to ſhew me, and my grandmamma and aunt, a moſt extraordinary character which ſhe gave me in a long Letter. I ſaw it was a long Letter (I was very Eve-iſh, my dear). Lucy ſaid afterwards, that I did ſo leer at it: An ugly word, importing ſlineſs! and, after I was angry at myſelf for giving her the idea that put her upon ap⯑plying it, I chid her for uſing it.

Lady Olivia writes ſuch high things, my dear! I bluſhed—I did not, could not, deſerve them. I al⯑ways pitied her, you know; but now you cannot imagine how much more than ever I pitied her. Do all of us, indeed, as the men ſay, love flattery?—I did not think I did—I ſhall find out all the obliquities of my heart, in time. I was ſuppoſed once to be ſo good a creature—as if none other were half ſo good!—Ah, my partial friends! you ſtudied your Harriet in the dark; but here comes the ſun darting into all the [193] crooked and obſcure corners of my heart; and I ſhrink from his dazling eye; and, compared to Him (and Clementina, let me add) appear to myſelf ſuch a Nothing—

Nay, I have had the mortification, once or twice, to think myſelf leſs than the very Olivia, upon whom, but lately, ſecure of my mind's ſuperiority to her mind, I looked down with a kind of proud compaſ⯑ſion: And whence this exaltation of Olivia, and ſelf-humiliation?—Why, from her magnifying beyond meaſure the poor Harriet, and yielding up her own hopes, entreating him, as ſhe does, to addreſs me; and that with ſuch honourable diſtinction, as if my acceptance of him were doubtful, and a condeſcen⯑ſion.

I wiſh I could procure you a copy of what your brother read to me—Ah, my dear! it is very ſoothing to my pride!—But what is the foundation of that pride? Is it not my ambition to be thought worthily of by the beſt of men? And does not praiſe ſtimulate me to reſolve to deſerve praiſe? I will endeavour to deſerve it. But, my dear, this Olivia, a fine figure herſelf, and loving in ſpite of diſcouragement, can praiſe, to the object of her Love, the perſon, and ſtill more, the mind, of her rival!—Is not that great in Olivia? Could I be ſo great, if I thought myſelf in danger from her?

LETTER XXX. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

SIR Charles came not this morning till we were all aſſembled for breakfaſt. I had begun to think, whether, if I had been Sir Charles, and he had been Miſs Byron, I would not have been here an hour be⯑fore, expecting the deciſion of the judges to whom a [194] certain cauſe was referred. O my dear Lady G.! how narrow minded I am, with all my quondam he⯑roiſm! The knowlege of his paſt engagements with the excellent Clementina, and of his earneſt wiſhes then to be hers, makes me, on every occaſion that can be tortured into an appearance of neglect or coldneſs, ſo ſilly!—Indeed I am aſhamed of myſelf. But all my petulance was diſpelled, the inſtant he ſhone upon us.

Well, my dear Ladies, ſaid he, the moment he took his place, whiſperingly to my grandmamma (who ſat between my aunt and Lucy), Is ſentence given?

It is, Sir Charles—He took my hand, croſs my Nancy's lap, as ſhe ſat between him and me—I have hopes, my dear Miſs Byron [from the fooliſhneſs in my looks, I ſuppoſe] that you are caſt.

Have patience, Sir, ſaid I—It is well that the beſt of us are not always to be our own carvers.

He looked, Lucy ſaid afterwards, with eyes of love upon me, and of apprehenſion on his judges; and the diſcourſe turned upon different ſubjects.

I retired as ſoon as breakfaſt was over; and he de⯑manded his ſentence.

My uncle was, as he called it, turned out of door before my grandmamma gave your brother the paper.

Sir Charles read it—You are not ſerious upon it, Sir Charles, ſaid my grandmamma.—I am infinitely obliged to you, Ladies, replied he. I love to argue with my dear Miſs Byron: I muſt attend her, this moment.

He ſent up Sally before him, and came up. I was in my cloſet; and ſcrupled not to admit him.

Henceforth, my deareſt dear Miſs Byron, ſaid he, the moment he approached me (as I ſtood up to re⯑ceive him) I ſalute you undoubtedly mine—And he ſaluted me with ardor—I knew not which way to look—So polite a Lover as I thought him!—Yet never man was ſo gracefully free!—It remains now, [195] madam, proceeded he, ſtill holding my hand, to put to trial your goodneſs to me [You have done that al⯑ready, thought I!] in the greater queſtion, by which I am to conduct myſelf for the next week, or ten days.

Week or ten days, thought I! Surely, Sir, you are an incroacher.

You ſee, Sir, ſaid I, when a little recovered, what judges who, on ſuch points as theſe, cannot err, have determined.

Yes, they can, interrupted he: As Ladies, they are parties—But I ſubmit. Their judgment muſt be a law to me—I will go up to town, as they adviſe. I cannot, however, be long abſent from you. When I return, I will not put up at a public place. Either your uncle, or your grandmother, muſt allow me to be their gueſt. This will oblige you, I hope, even for dear punctilio ſake, to honour me with your hand very ſoon after my return.

He pauſed: I was ſilent. His firſt addreſs had put me out. Remember, madam, I ſaid, reſumed he, that I cannot be long abſent: You are above being governed by mere punctilio. Add to the obligations your gene⯑rous acceptance of me has laid me under—Why ſighs my Angel? [It was, my dear Lady G. an involuntary ſigh!]—For the world, I would not give you either ſenſible or laſting pain. But if the ſame circumſtances would make your nomination of a day as painful to you, ſome time hence, as now, then bleſs me with as early a day as you CAN give me, to expreſs myſelf in the words of my judges.

This, Sir, ſaid I (but I heſitated, and looked down) is one of the ſolemn points which precede one of the moſt ſolemn circumſtances of my life. You ſeem more in earneſt for an early day than I could have ex⯑pected. When I have declared that affectation has no part in the more diſtant compliance, I may be allowed, by the niceſt of my own Sex, to lay open to a man ſo generous, tho' ſo precipitating, my whole heart. In⯑deed, [196] Sir, it is wholly yours—I bluſhed, as I felt, and turned away my face. It was a free declaration: But I was reſolved to baniſh affectation. He bowed profoundly on my hand, and kiſſed it. Gratitude looked out in his eyes, and appeared in his graceful manner, tho' attentively ſilent.

You was my deliverer, proceeded I. An eſteem founded on gratitude, the object ſo meritorious, ought to ſet me above mere forms—Our judges ſay that you have the advantage in the argument.

I will lay no ſtreſs, madam, on this part of their judgment in my favour—To your goodneſs, and to that ſo nobly-acknowleged eſteem, I wholly refer my⯑ſelf.

I myſelf think, proceeded I, that you have the ad⯑vantage in the argument—All that is in my power, I would wiſh to do, to oblige you—

Condeſcending goodneſs!—Again he bowed on my hand.

Do you think, Sir—

Why heſitates my Love?

Do you think, ſix weeks—

Six ages, my deareſt, deareſt creature?—Six weeks! For Heaven's ſake, madam—He looked, he ſpoke, impatience.

What can a woman, who has owned your title to expect to be obliged, ſay?—let me, at leaſt, aſk (and I unaffectedly heſitated) a month, Sir—from this day—And that you will acknowlege yourſelf not perverſely or weakly treated.

He dropt on one knee, and kiſſing my hand, once, twice, thrice, with rapture, Within the month! then I hope—I cannot live a month from you—Allow me to return in the firſt fortnight of the month—

O Sir! and take up your reſidence with us, on your return.

Undoubtedly, madam.—Conſider, Sir—Do you alſo, deareſt madam, conſider; and baniſh me not from you for ſo very long a time.

[197] My heart wanted, I thought, to oblige him; but to allow him to return ſooner, as he was to take up his abode with us, what was that, but, in effect, com⯑plying with his firſt propoſal?

Permit me, Sir, to retire. Indeed you are too ur⯑gent.

He aſked my excuſe; but declared, that he would not give up his humble plea (humble he called it) un⯑leſs my grandmamma and aunt told him, that he ought.

On his leaving me to return to company below, he preſented me with four little boxes. Accept, my be⯑loved Miſs Byron, ſaid he, of theſe trifles. I received them not till this morning. While I had the Day to hope from you, my heart would not ſuffer me to offer them, leaſt you ſhould ſuſpect me mean enough to imagine an influence from them. I oblige myſelf by the tender, and I comply with cuſtom, which I am fond of doing, whenever I can innocently do it. But I know, that you, my dear Miſs Byron, value the heart more than a thouſand times the value of theſe—Mine, madam, is yours, and will be yours to the end of my life.

What could I ſay?—My heart, on recollection, re⯑proaches me for my ungraceful acceptance. I courte⯑ſied. I was ſilly. Sir Charles Grandiſon only can be preſent to every occaſion.

He looked as if my not refuſing them was a favour more than equivalent to the value of the preſents. My deareſt life! ſaid he, on my putting them on my toilette, how much you oblige me!—Shall I conduct you to our friends below? Will you acquaint your grandmamma and aunt with our debate, and my bold expectation?

I ſtood ſtill. He took my hand, preſſed it with his lips, and, with a reverence more than uſually pro⯑found, as if he had received inſtead of conferred a fa⯑vour, withdrew. Never was a preſent ſo gracefully [198] made! I cannot deſcribe the grace with which he made it.

My uncle, it ſeems, as ſoon as he went down, aſked him, How we had ſettled the great affair? My grandmamma and aunt in a breath, as he paid his compliments to them, aſked him, If their Harriet had been good?—or, as good as he expected?

Miſs Byron, ſaid he, has taken more time than I could have wiſhed ſhe had. A month, ſhe talks of.

Has ſhe complied ſo far? ſaid my grandmamma. I am glad of it. I was afraid ſhe would have inſiſted upon more time—So was I, ſaid my aunt. But who can withſtand Sir Charles Grandiſon? Has the dear girl given you the very day, Sir?

No, madam. If ſhe had, I ſhould have hoped it would have been conſiderably within the month. As yet, Ladies, I hope it will.

Nay, Sir Charles, if you are not pleaſed with a month, ſaid my aunt—Huſh, dear Ladies!—Here comes the Angel.—Not a word, I beſeech you, on that ſide of the queſtion—She will think, if you ap⯑plaud her, that ſhe has conſented to too ſhort a term—You muſt not make her uneaſy with herſelf.

Does not this look as if he imagined there was room for me to be ſo?—I almoſt wiſh—I do'nt know what I wiſh; except I could think but half ſo well of myſelf as I do of him: For then ſhould I look for⯑ward with leſs pain in my joy than now too often min⯑gles with it.

Your brother excuſed himſelf from dining with us: That Greville has engaged him. Why would he per⯑mit himſelf to be engaged by him? Greville cannot love him: He can only admire him, and that every⯑body does, who has been but once in his company. Miſs Orme, even Miſs Orme, is in Love with him. I received a note from her while your brother was with us. Theſe are the contents:

Lucy, acquainting Sir Charles with the invitation, aſked him, if he would oblige Miſs Orme. He was at our command, he ſaid—So we ſhall breakfaſt to⯑morrow at The Park.

But I am vexed at his dining with us to-day. So little time to ſtay with us! I wiſh him to be complai⯑ſant to Mr. Greville; but need he be ſo very obliging? There are plots laying for his company all over the county. We are told, there is to be a numerous aſſembly, all of gentlemen, at Mr. Greville's. Mr. [200] Greville humourouſly declares, that he hates all wo⯑men, for the ſake of one.

WE have juſt opened the boxes. O my dear Lady G! your brother is either very proud, or his fortune is very high! Does he not ſay, that he always con⯑ſults fortune, as well as degree, in matters of outward appearance? He has not, in theſe preſents, I am ſure, conſulted either the fortune or degree of your Harriet—Of your happy Harriet, I had like to have written: But the word happy, in this place, would have looked as if I thought theſe jewels an addition to my happi⯑neſs. How does his bounty inſult me, on my narrow fortune!—Narrow, unleſs he ſubmit to accept of the offered contributions of my dear friends—Contribu⯑tions!—Proud Harriet! how art thou, even in thy exaltation, humbled!—Trifles, he called them! The very ornamenting one's ſelf with ſuch toys, may, in his eye, be thought trifling, tho' he is not above com⯑plying with the faſhion, in things indifferent: But, the coſt and beauty of theſe jewels conſidered, they are not trifles. The jewel of jewels, however, is his heart! How would the noble Clementina—Hah, Pen! Heart, rather, Why, why, juſt now, this check of Clementina?—I know why—Not from want of ad⯑miration of her; but when I am allowing my heart to open, then does—Something here, in my inmoſt boſom [Is it Conſcience?] ſtrike me, as if it ſaid, Ah, Harriet!—Triumph not; rejoice not! Check the overflowings of thy grateful heart!—Art thou not an invader of another's right?

LETTER XXXI. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

LETTER XXXII. Miſs BYRON. In continuation.

LETTER XXXIII. Sir CHARLES GRANDISON, To Miſs BYRON.

YOUR humanity, my dear and ever-dear Miſs Byron, was ſo much engaged by the melan⯑choly Letter of Sir Hargrave to Dr. Bartlett, which I communicated to you; and by the diſtreſs of my Beauchamp, on the deſperate ſtate of his father's health; that I know you will be pleaſed to hear that I have been enabled to give ſome conſolation to both.

Sir Harry, who is in town, wanted to open his mind to me with regard (to ſome affairs which made him ex⯑tremely uneaſy; and which, he ſaid, he could not re⯑veal to any-body elſe. He ſhewed ſome reluctance to entruſt the ſecrets to my boſom. There ſhall they ever reſt. He has found himſelf eaſier ſince. He re⯑joiced to me on the good underſtanding ſubſiſting, and likely to ſubſiſt, between his Lady and Son. He de⯑ſired me to excuſe him for joining me with them, without aſking my leave, in the truſts created by his Will: And on this occaſion, ſending for his Lady, he put her hand in mine, and recommended her and her intereſts, as thoſe of the moſt obliging of wives, to my care.

I found Sir Hargrave at his houſe in Cavendiſh-Square. [226] He is exceſſively low-ſpirited. Dr. Bartlett viſited him at Windſor, ſeveral times. The Doctor prevailed on him to retain a worthy clergyman, as his chaplain.

The poor man aſked after you, madam. He had heard, he ſaid, that I was ſoon likely to be the hap⯑pieſt of men: Was it ſo? He wept at my anſwer; lamented the wretched hand, as he called it, that he had made of it, bleſſed as he was with ſuch proſperous circumſtances, in the prime of youth; and wiſhed he had his days to come over again, and his company to chooſe. Unhappy man! He was willing to remove from himſelf the load which lay upon him. No doubt but this was the recourſe of his companions, likewiſe, in extremity. He bleſſed my deareſt Miſs Byron, when I told him, ſhe pitied him. He called himſelf by harſh, and even ſhocking names, for having been capable of offending ſo much goodneſs.

What ſubjects are theſe, to entertain my Angel with!—But tho' we ſhould not ſeek, yet we ought not perhaps to ſhun them, when they naturally, as I may ſay, offer themſelves to our knowlege.

But another ſubject calls for the attention of my deareſt, lovelieſt of women: A ſubject that will lay a ſtill ſtronger claim to it than either of the ſolemn ones I have touched upon. I incloſe the Letter which con⯑tains it. You will be ſo good as to read it in Engliſh to ſuch of our friends as read not Italian.

This Letter was left to Mrs. Beaumont to diſpatch to me; whence its unwiſhed-for delay: For ſhe de⯑tained it, to ſend with it an equally-obliging one of her own. The contents of this welcome Letter, my dear⯑eſt Miſs Byron, will render it unneceſſary to wait for an anſwer to my laſt to Signor Jeronymo; in which I acquaint him with my actual addreſs, and the hopes I preſume to flatter myſelf with. I humbly hope you will think ſo.

I am not afraid that one of the moſt generous of [227] women will be affected with the paſſage in which Signor Jeronymo expreſſes his pity for her, becauſe of the affection, he ſays, I muſt ever retain for his noble ſiſter ^(a). He ſays right. And it is my hap⯑pineſs, that you, the ſiſter-excellence of the admirable Clementina, will allow me to glory in my gratitude to her. You will ſtill more readily allow me ſo to do, when you have peruſed this Letter. Shall not the man who hopes to be qualified for the Supreme Love, of which the pureſt Earthly is but a type, and who aims at an univerſal benevolence, be able to admire, in the mind of Clementina, the ſame great qualities which ſhine out with ſuch luſtre in that of Miſs Byron?

With what pride do I look forward to the viſit that ſeveral of this noble family intend to make us, becauſe of the unqueſtionable aſſurance that they will rejoice in my happineſs, and admire the Angel who is allowed to take place in my affections, of the Angel who would not have ſcrupled to accept of my vows, had it not been, as ſhe expreſſes herſelf ^(b), for the interven⯑tion of invincible obſtacles!

Mrs. Beaumont, in her Letter, gives me the parti⯑culars of the converſation between her and Clemen⯑tina, almoſt in the ſame words with thoſe of Jero⯑nymo, in the Letter incloſed. She makes no doubt that Lady Clementina will, in time, yield to the en⯑treaties of her friends in favour of a man againſt whom, if ſhe can be prevailed upon to forego her wiſhes to aſſume the veil, ſhe can have no one ob⯑jection. You will ſee madam, by the incloſed, what they hope for in Italy from us; what Clementina, what Jeronymo, what a whole excellent family, hope for. You know how ardently my own family wiſh you to accelerate the happy day: Yours refer them⯑ſelves wholly to you—Pardon me, my deareſt Miſs Byron, I will tell you what are my hopes—They are, [228] that, when I am permitted to return to Northampton⯑ſhire, the happy day ſhall not be poſtponed three.

And now, lovelieſt and deareſt of women! allow me to expect the honour of a line, to let me know how much of the tedious month, from laſt Thurſday you will be ſo good as to abate. Permit me to ſay, that I can have nothing that needs to detain me from the beloved of my heart, after Friday next.

If, madam, you inſiſt upon the whole month, I beg to know, out of what part of our nuptial life, the LAST or the FIRST (happy, as I hope it will be) you would be willing to deduct the week, the fort⯑night, that will be carried into the blank ſpace of courtſhip, by the delay? I hope, my dear Miſs Byron, that I ſhall be able to tell you, years and years after we are ONE, that there is not an hour of thoſe paſt, or of thoſe to come, that I would abate, or wiſh to throw into that blank. Permit me ſo to call it. The days of courtſhip cannot be our happieſt. Who cele⯑brates the day of their firſt acquaintance, tho' it may be remembred with pleaſure?—Do not the happy pair date their happineſs from the day of marriage? How juſtly then when hearts are aſſured, when minds can⯑not alter, are thoſe which precede it, to be deemed a blank!

After all, your chearful compliance with my wiſhes, is the great deſireable. Whatever ſhall be your plea⯑ſure, muſt determine me. My utmoſt gratitude will be engaged by the condeſcenſion, whenever you ſhall diſtinguiſh the day of the year, diſtinguiſhed as it will be to the end of my life, that ſhall give me the greateſt bleſſing of it, and confirm me

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

I Gave you, my dear Grandiſon, in mine of the 5th, the copy of a paper written by my ſiſter, which filled us with hopes of her compliance with the wiſhes of all her family. She took time for deliberation; time was given her; but ſtill ſhe inſiſted on receiving your next Letters before ſhe came to any reſolution. Mrs. Beaumont herſelf was of opinion, that the dear creature only meditated delay: That alſo was ours. What, invincibly determined, as ſhe is, to adhere to the reſolution ſhe has ſo greatly taken, can ſhe hope for, (ſaid we among ourſelves) from the expected Letters? For ſhe had declared herſelf to be ſo determined, to my brother Giacomo, who actually aſſured her of all our conſents to an alliance with you, if ſhe repented of that reſolution.

All this time we offered not to introduce, nor even to name, to her, the Count of Belvedere. Awed by her former calamity, and by an excurſiveneſs of ima⯑gination, which at times ſhewed itſelf in her words and behaviour, we avoided ſaying or doing any-thing that was likely to diſturb her. Giacomo himſelf, tho' he wanted to return to Naples, had patience with her pretty trifling, beyond our expectation. At laſt ar⯑rived yours of the 29th of September ^(a); kindly in⯑cloſing a copy of yours to her, of the ſame date ^(b). We queſtion not but your reply to mine of the 5th current, is on the road; not that the contents will be ſuch as we may hope for, from conſiderations of our happineſs and your own: But theſe, we thought, [230] without waiting for that, would anſwer the deſired end. I will tell you what was ſaid by every one, on the pe⯑ruſal of both.

Is this the man, ſaid the General, whom I ſome⯑times ſo rudely treated? I rejoice that we were recon⯑ciled before he left us. I had formed a notion to his diſadvantage; that he was capable of art, and hoped to keep his hold in my ſiſter's affections, in view of ſome turn in his favour: But he is the moſt ſingle⯑hearted of men. Theſe two Letters will ſtrengthen our arguments. Clementina, who has more than once declared that ſhe wiſhes him married to an Eng⯑liſh woman, cannot now, that ſhe will ſee there is a woman with whom he thinks he can be happy, wiſh to ſtand in his way. Theſe will furniſh us with means to attack her in her ſtrongeſt hold; in her generoſity, her delicacy; and will bring to the teſt her vera⯑city. The contents of theſe Letters will confirm her before half-taken reſolution, as in her paper, to oblige us ^(a). Let Laurana, as the Chevalier ſays, go into a nunnery: Clementina will marry, or ſhe is a falſe girl; and the Sforza woman will be diſappointed.

My mother applauded you, and rejoiced to hear that there is a woman of your own nation who is ca⯑pable of making you more happy than her daughter could.

What difficulties, ſaid the young Marchioneſs, (ever your friend) muſt a ſituation ſo critical have laid him under! A man ſo humane! And what further difficulties muſt he have to ſurmunt, in offering to a woman, whom even Olivia, as he ſays, admires, a hand that has been refuſed by another? May this ad⯑mired woman be propitious to his ſuit!

She muſt, ſhe muſt, ſaid the Biſhop. If ſhe has a heart diſengaged, ſhe cannot refuſe a man ſo ac⯑compliſhed. Jeronymo, haſten to be well. If ſhe favour him, we will all go over, and congratulate them both.

[231] I, for my part, ſaid I, would give up years of life to ſee my friend as happy in marriage as he deſerves to be.

We muſt tell Clementina, ſaid my father, as our Giacomo has hinted, that it will not become her ge⯑neroſity to ſtand in the way of the Chevalier's hap⯑pineſs.

We ſent up your Letter to our ſiſter, by Camilla. She was buſy (Mrs. Beaumont ſitting by her at work) in correcting the proportion which once you found fault with, in a figure in her piece of Noah's Ark, and the riſing Deluge. A Letter, madam, from the Che⯑valier—To me! ſaid ſhe; and overturned the table on which her materials lay, in haſte to take it.

When we thought ſhe had had time to conſider of the contents, we ſent up to requeſt the favour of ſpeaking with Mrs. Beaumont. We owned to her, that we had a copy of your Letter to Clementina; and aſked, What the dear creature ſaid to the con⯑tents of it?

She read it, anſwered Mrs. Beaumont, in her own cloſet. I thought ſhe was too long by herſelf. I went to her. She was in tears. O Mrs. Beaumont! as ſoon as ſhe ſaw me, holding out the Letter—See here!—The Chevalier is againſt me!—Cruel, I could almoſt ſay, cruel Grandiſon!—He turns my own words upon me. I have furniſhed him with argu⯑ments againſt myſelf—What ſhall I do?—I have for many days paſt repented that I gave, under my hand, reaſon to my friends to expect my compliance. I can⯑not, cannot, confirm the hopes I gave!—What ſhall I do?

I took it, read it, continued Mrs. Beaumont, and told her, that the Chevalier's arguments were un⯑anſwerable. I dwelt upon ſome of them. She wept, and was ſilent.

We then, my dear Grandiſon, ſhewed Mrs. Beau⯑mont your Letter to me. She read it—How, ſaid [232] ſhe, has this excellent young man been embaraſſed! I know, from ſome of my countrymen, the character of the Lady whom he mentions: She is an excellent woman!—May I take up this Letter, and read it to Lady Clementina?

By all means, anſwered the General; and ſupport, dear madam, the contents of both with your weight. It will be from perverſeneſs now, if ſhe withſtand us. Bid her remember, that ſhe has had once at her feet a kneeling father! Bid her remember the written hopes ſhe has given us!

Mrs. Beaumont went up with it. I will give you an account of what my ſiſter ſaid as ſhe read it. O Grandiſon! read it but curſorily: You will more and more admire and love the Clementina, who, before her malady, was always conſidered as one of the firſt of women; and the glory of our houſe!

She deſired to have it in her own hands: Mrs. Beaumont, to whoſe pen we owe the account, looked over her, and followed her eye, as ſhe read ^(a).

‘'And did he ſtill, ſaid ſhe, after he had got to England, hope for a change in my reſolution?'’—Heaven knows—She ſtopt; ſighed, and read on.

‘'He foreſaw that my friends would preſs me to marry!'’—I foreſaw it too!—I have indeed been preſſed; vehemently preſſed!

‘'Rather than any other'’—Ah, Chevalier!—Why, why, were the obſtacles Religion and Country! None leſs ſhould have—She ſtopt—Then, reading to her⯑ſelf, proceeded:

‘'It was not preſumptuous to hope'’—No, Gran⯑diſon; preſumptuous it could not be.

‘'It was juſtice to Clementina, to attend the event, and to wait for the promiſed Letter.'’ Kind, con⯑ſiderate Grandiſon!—You were all patience, all good⯑neſs!—O that—There ſhe ſtopt. Then proceed⯑ing:

[233] ‘'Fourth brother! Nor intereſted in the event.'’—Indeed I did write ſo—

‘'Give up all his hopes!'’—Dear Grandiſon!

‘'It could not be expected that he ſhould give the argument all its weight.'’—He has given it too much!

‘'Duty to yield to the entreaties of all my friends;'’ Ah, Grandiſon!

Difficult ſituations!—Difficult indeed! And here am I, who have more than any other in the world, enhanced his difficulties!—Unhappy Clementina!—Then reading on—

Good God! Mrs. Beaumont! ‘'There is an Eng⯑liſh Lady, with whom he was actually—Does he not hint in Love?'’—Nay, then—Take it, take it, Mrs. Beaumont!—I can read no further—Compaſſion only, I ſuppoſe, brought him over to me!—I cannot bear that!—Yet ſnatching it from her, and reading.

‘'Beauty her leaſt perfection'’—[Happy Engliſh Lady!] ‘'Either in my eyes, or her own!'’—Have I not wiſhed him ſuch a woman?—‘'Had I never known Clementina!'’—How could I be ſo captious!

‘'Loves her with a flame as pure as the heart of Clementina'’—Thank you, Chevalier! Indeed I have no impurity in my Love—My God only have I preferred to you: And I bleſs God for enabling me to give ſo due a preference!—‘'or, as her own heart can boaſt.'’—Juſt ſuch a wife did I wiſh him; and ſhall I not rejoice, if ſuch a one will hold out her hand to make him happy?

She ſighed often, as ſhe read on? but ſpoke not, till ſhe came to the words, ‘'That ſhe was to you, what you might truly call, a firſt Love;'’ A firſt Love, repeated ſhe: He was indeed mine! Permit me to ſay, my dear friends, a firſt and only one.

‘'It became him, he ſays, in honour, in gratitude, tho' the difficulties in his way ſeemed inſuperable (And ſo they muſt ſeem) to hold himſelf in ſuſpenſe, and not offer to make his addreſſes to any other [234] woman.'’—Generous, noble Grandiſon!—He did love me—Diſcouraged as he was; nay, inſulted by ſome of us [Giacomo hears me not, looking round her]; He, the generous Grandiſon, did love me. She wiped her eyes.

Recovering herſelf, and reading on—See here, Mrs. Beaumont—‘'He thought himſelf obliged, in honour to me, and to the perſons themſelves, to decline propoſals of advantage.'’ Surely he muſt think me an ingrateful creature.

But (reading on) did he ‘'balance in his mind be⯑tween this Lady and me?'’—He did. But it was becauſe of his uncertainty with me.

Reading to herſelf, to the words, ‘'Almoſt an equal intereſt,'’ How is that, ſaid ſhe, repeating them?—O, it is explained—‘'But when his dear Clementina'’ [Do I go too faſt for your eye, Mrs. Beaumont?] ‘'began to ſhew ſigns of recovery,'’ [She ſighed] ‘'and ſeemed to confirm the hopes I had given him of my partiallty for him,'’ [Modeſt, good man!] ‘'then did I content myſelf,'’ ſays he [Look, Mrs. Beaumont] ‘'with wiſhing another huſband to the Engliſh Lady, more worthy of her than my unhappy ſituation could have made me.'’—Ex⯑cellent Engliſh Lady! If it were in my power, I would make you amends for having ſhared a heart with you (ſo it ſeems) that ought, my circumſtances and your merit conſidered, to have been all your own!

‘'What a diſappointment was my rejection of him?'’—See, theſe are his words.—And theſe too; that ‘'he admires me, however, for my motives.'’

‘'Marriage, he ſays, is not in his power; for there is but one woman in the world, now I have refuſed him, that, he can think worthy of ſucceeding me.’—What honour he does me. Thank God ſhe is an Engliſh woman! O that I had any influence over her! Sweet Lady! amiable Engliſhwoman, let not punc⯑tilio [235] deprive you of ſuch a man as this!—Shew her this Letter, my good Grandiſon! Let me tranſcribe from it, rather, for your peruſal, happy Engliſh Lady! certain paſſages in it, ſo delicate, ſo worthy of him⯑ſelf, and of you.

‘'Thouſands, of whom he is not worthy,'’ he ſays. How, how can he ſay ſo?

‘'She has for an admirer every one who knows her.'’—She ſhall have me for an admirer, Mrs. Beau⯑mont, if ſhe will accept of my fourth brother. She will accept of him, if ſhe deſerves the character he gives her: Let me tell you, Lady, that your heart is narrower than that of Clementina, if you think it a diminution to your honour, that he has loved that Clementina. Why cannot you and I be ſiſters? My love ſhall be but a ſiſterly love. You may depend upon the honour of the Chevalier Grandiſon. He will do his duty in every relation of life! What can be your doubts?

‘'Even Olivia, he ſays, admires you!'’—And will ſuch a woman ſtand upon punctilious obſervances, like women of ordinary conſequence, having to deal with common men?—O that I knew this Lady! I would convince her, that he ‘'can do juſtice to her greater, and to my leſſer merits; and yet not appear to be divided by a double Love; altho' he ſhould own to all the world, as he ſays he will,'’ [See, ſee, Mrs. Beaumont, theſe are his very words] ‘'his affection for Clementina, and glory in it!'’

O Mrs. Beaumont! how my Soul, putting her hand to her forehead, then to her heart, loves his Soul! nor but for one obſtacle, that would have ſhaken my Faith, and endangered my Salvation (had I got over it) ſhould his Soul only have been the object of my Love.

Let me but continue ſingle, my dear friends; indulge me in the wiſh that has been ſo long next my heart; and take not advantage of the hopes I have given [236] you in writing; and I ſhall paſs happily through this ſhort life; a life that deſerves not the buſtle which we make about it. Aſk me not either to ‘'ſet or follow the example you propoſe to me:'’ I cannot, cannot, do either. Unkind Chevalier, why, why, would you ſtrengthen their hands, and weaken mine?—Yet, if it became your juſtice, what had I but juſtice to expect from a juſt man; who has ſo eminently performed all his own duties, and particularly the filial; which he here calls an article of Religion?

When ſhe came to the concluding part of this Let⯑ter, and your wiſhes for her perfect recovery, health and welfare, and for the happineſs of us all; May every bleſſing, ſaid ſhe, he wiſhes us, be his!

Then folding up the Letter, and putting it in her boſom; This Letter, and that which accompanied it, (meaning yours to her) I muſt read over and over!

Shall I ſay, my Grandiſon, that I half-pity the lovely Harriet Byron, tho' her name ſhould be changed to yours? You muſt love Clementina: Were a ſo⯑vereign Princeſs her rival, you muſt. Clementina! who ſo generouſly can give up a Love as fervent as ever glowed in a virgin heart, on ſuperior motives; motives which regard Eternity; and receive joy in the proſpect of your happineſs with another woman, on a perſuaſion that that woman can make you hap⯑pier than ſhe herſelf could, becauſe of a difference in Religion.

My ſiſter chooſing to retire to her cloſet, to re⯑peruſe the two Letters, Mrs. Beaumont, knowing our curioſity, put down what had paſſed; intending, as ſhe ſaid, to write a copy of it for you.

How were we all, on peruſing it, charmed with our Clementina!—I inſiſted, that nothing, at preſent, ſhould be ſaid to her of the Count of Belvedere, and of our wiſhes in his favour. My father gave into my opinion. He ſaid, he thought the propereſt time to [237] mention the Count to her was, when we had an an⯑ſwer to the Letter I wrote to you on the 5th current, if that could give us aſſurances that you had made your addreſſes to the charming Byron, and were encou⯑raged. The General was impatient; but he acqui⯑eſced, on finding every one come into my motion; but ſaid, that if all this lenity did not do, he muſt beg leave to have his own meaſures purſued.

SOME little particularity has appeared in the dear creature ſince I have written the above. She has been exceedingly earneſt with her mother, to uſe her in⯑tereſt with my father, and us, to be allowed to go to England: But deſires not the permiſſion till you are actually married. She pleads my health, becauſe of the ſalutary ſprings you mention to me.

Several other pleas ſhe offered; but, to ſay truth, they carried with them ſuch an air of flightineſs, that I am loth to mention them: Yet all of them were innocent, all of them were even laudable. But (ſhall I ſay?) that ſome of them appeared too romantic for a ſettled brain to be ſo earneſt, as ſhe was, in having them carried into execution.

We have no doubt, but all her view is, to avoid marriage, by ſuch a ſtrange excurſion. Dear creature, ſaid the Biſhop, ſpeaking of her juſt now, the veil de⯑nied her, ſhe muſt have ſome point to carry: I wiſh we ſaw leſs rapidity in her manner.

I, Grandiſon, for my part, remember how much ſhe and we all ſuffered by denying her the farewel-viſit from you, on your taking leave of Italy the time before the laſt.

But we think an expedient has offered, that will divert her from this wildneſs, as I muſt call it: Mrs. Beaumont has requeſted, that ſhe may be allowed to take her with her to Florence for ſome weeks. Cle⯑mentina is pleaſed with our readineſs to oblige them both; and they will ſoon go.

[238] But all this time ſhe is uniform and ſteady in her wiſhes for your marriage. She delights to hear Mrs. Beaumont talk of the perfections of the Lady to whom we are all deſirous of hearing you are united. You had written, it ſeems, to Mrs. Beaumont, a character given of this young Lady by Olivia, upon a perſonal knowlege of her. Mrs. Beaumont ſhewed it to Cle⯑mentina.

How generouſly did the dear creature rejoice in it! Juſt ſuch a woman, ſaid ſhe, did I wiſh for the Che⯑valier. Olivia has ſhewn greatneſs of mind in this inſtance. Perhaps I have thought too hardly of Oli⯑via. Little did I think, I ſhould ever have requeſted a copy of any-thing written by Olivia. Ill-will diſables us from ſeeing thoſe beauties in the perſon who is the object of it, which would otherwiſe ſtrike us to her advantage. You muſt oblige me, added ſhe, with a copy of this Extract.

The admirable creature gave this to Mrs. Beau⯑mont: Send this, madam, ſaid ſhe, if you think proper, to your friend and my friend, the Chevalier Grandiſon. Tell him, that I ſhall think myſelf very happy, if it may ſerve as a teſtimonial, to the Lady whoſe merits intitle her to his Love, of my ſincere wiſhes for their mutual happineſs: Tell him, that at preſent I wiſh for nothing more ardently, than to hear of his Nuptials being celebrated.

Dear Grandiſon! let your next give us an oppor⯑tunity to felicitate you on this deſirable event. In this wiſh joins every one of a family to whom you are, and ever will be dear. Witneſs, for them all,

LETTER XXXV. Miſs BYRON, To Sir CHARLES GRANDISON.

HOW, Sir, have the contents of your friend Je⯑ronymo's Letter affected me!—I am more and more convinced, that, however diſtinguiſhed my lot may be, Clementina only can deſerve you. What a vain creature muſt I be, if I did not think ſo! And [242] what a diſingenuous one, ſo thinking, if I did not ac⯑knowlege it!

I cannot, Sir, miſconſtrue your delicate ſenſibilities. My own teach me to allow for yours.

'Beſt of men,' I can, I do, with Clementina, think you: But Harriet's ambition will be gratified, in being accounted ſecond to HER.

And does Clementina ‘'wiſh us ONE!'’—Moſt no⯑ble, moſt generous of women!

'Grandiſon, you ſay, will make me happy.'

But ah, my lovely pattern! can Harriet he happy, even with her Grandiſon, if you are not ſo?

Believe me, LADY! your happineſs will be eſſen⯑tial to hers.

God give YOU happineſs! Harriet prays for it!

My next-to Divine Monitreſs, it ſhall be my ſtudy to make Him happy!

But, moſt excellent of women, have you regrets? Regrets, which can only be leſſened by the joy you will have in his happineſs!—And with another!

Superlative goodneſs!

Why, why, when he would allow to you the exer⯑ciſe of your Religion, and only inſiſts on the like liberty, are the obſtacles you hint at invincible!

O Sir! I can purſue this ſubject no further. Thus far an irreſiſtable impulſe carried me.

How ſhould I be able to ſtand before this Lady, were the viſit ſhe was ſo earneſt to be allowed to make to England to take place; yet in ſuch a caſe, with what pleaſure ſhould I pay my reverence to her mind in her perſon!

And does SHE, do her family, do YOU, Sir, wiſh us ſpeedily ONE?—Are you not▪ ſatisfied with the given month?—Is not a month, Sir, your declaration ſo lately made, a ſhort term? (And let me aſk you but within parentheſes, Do you not, on an occaſion ſo very delicate, in your limited three days after your re⯑turn to us, treat the not-inſenſible Harriet a little more [243] —Help me, Sir, to a word—than might have been ex⯑pected from a man ſo very polite?)—And can you ſo generouſly, yet ſo ſerouſly, aſk me, From which parts of the Nuptial Life, the LAST (What a dreadful idea do you raiſe in that ſolemn word!) or the FIRST, I would deduct the week's or fortnight's ſuppoſed delay?—O Sir! what a way of putting it is this!—Thus I anſwer—‘'From neither!'’ My honour is your honour. Determine YOU, moſt generous of men, for

LETTER XXXVI. Miſs JERVOIS, To Sir CHARLES GRANDISON.

YOU will think your ward very bold to addreſs you by Letter; eſpecially as ſhe is a very poor inditer, and as you are in town: But her heart is in trouble, and ſhe muſt write; and muſt beg the favour of you, the moſt indulgent guardian that ever poor Orphan had, to anſwer her by pen and ink. For whether you can forgive her or not, ſhe will be equally incapable of bearing your goodneſs, or your diſpleaſure▪ How weakly I expreſs myſelf! I find I ſhall write worſe to you, than to any-body elſe. And why? Becauſe I wiſh to write, beſt. But I have great awe, and no genius. I am a poor girl in every ſenſe, as you ſhall hear by-and-by. I hope you won't be very angry with me. If you are, I ſhall be worſe than poor—I ſhall be miſerable.

But to come before my guardian as a delinquent, when I have ambition enough to wiſh to ſhine in his eyes, if ſo it could have been!—It is a very great mortification indeed!—If you were to acquit me, I ſhall have had great puniſhment in that thought.

But to open my troubled heart to you—Yet how ſhall I; I thought to tell it you yeſterday; but for my [244] life I could not. Did you not obſerve me once, Sir, hanging upon the back of your chair, unable to ſtand in your ſight? O how I felt my face glow!—Then it was I thought to have ſpoken my mind; but you were ſo kind, ſo good to me, I could not, might I have had the world. You took my hand—I ſhall be very bold to repeat it; but am always ſo proud of your kind notice, that I can't help it: And you ſaid, drawing me gently to you, ‘'Why keeps my Emily behind me? What can I do for my Emily! Tell me, child; Is there any-thing I can do for my ward?'’ Yet, tho' the occaſion was ſo fair, I could not tell you. But I ſhall tire you, before I came to the point (to the fault, I ſhould ſay) that has emboldened me to write.

This then is the truth of the matter:

My poor mother, Sir, is very good now, you know. You have taken from her all her cares about this world: She and her huſband live together happily and elegantly: They want for nothing; and are grown quite religious: So that they have leiſure to think of their Souls good. They make me cry for joy, when⯑ever I go to them. They pray for you, and heap bleſſings upon you; and cry to think they ever of⯑fended you.

But, Sir, I took it into my head, knowing it was a vaſt way for them to go from Soho to ſomewhere in Moorfields to hear the preacher they admire ſo much, and coach-hire, and charities, and contributions, of one kind or other (for their miniſter has no eſtabliſhment) and old debts paying off, that at preſent, tho' I believe they are frugal enough, they can't be much afore⯑hand—So, thought I, ſhall I ride in my guardian's coach, at one time, in Lady G's at another, in Lady L's at another, tho' ſo much better able to walk than my poor mother; while ſhe is growing into years, and when infirmities are coming on; and my guar⯑dian's example before me, ſo opening to one's heart?—I ventured, therefore, unknown to my mother and [245] her huſband, unknown to any-body, by way of ſur⯑prize, to beſpeak a plain neat chariot, and agreed for a coachman, and a pair of horſes; for I had about 130 guineas by me when I beſpoke it. Out of this, thought I (which is my own money, without account) I ſhall be able to ſpare enough for the firſt half-year's expences; after which, they will be in circumſtances to keep it on: And as quarters come round, thought I, I will ſtint myſelf, and throw in ſomething towards it; and then my poor mother and her huſband can go to ſerve God, and take ſometimes an airing, or ſo, where they pleaſe; and make an appearance in the world, as the mother of the girl who is intitled to ſo large a fortune. And I don't grudge Mr. O-Hara; for he is vaſtly tender of my mother now: Which muſt be a great comfort to her, you know, Sir, now ſhe is come to be ſorry for paſt things, and apt to be very ſpiritleſs, when ſhe looks back—Poor dear wo⯑man!

But here, Sir, was the thing: Believing it became me, as Lady L. Lady G. and Mrs. Eleanor Gran⯑diſon, intended to ſhew their reſpect to you, on a cer⯑tain happy occaſion, by new cloaths, to ſhew mine the ſame way; I went to the mercer's, and was ſo tempted by two patterns, that, not knowing which to chooſe, I bought of both; not thinking, at the time, of the beſpoken chariot. To be ſure I ought to have conſulted Lady L. or Lady G.; but, fooliſh creature as I was, I muſt be for ſurpriſing them too, with my fine fancy.

Then I laid out a good deal more than I intended, in milanery matters: Not but I had my pennyworths for my penny: But the milaners are ſo very obliging; they ſhew one this pretty thing, and that faſhionable one; and are ſo apt to praiſe one's taſte; and one is ſo willing to believe them, and to be thought mighty clever; that there is no reſiſting the vanity they raiſe. I own all my folly: I ever will, Sir, when I am guilty [246] of any greater ſillineſs than ordinary; for I have no bad heart, I hope, tho' I am one of the flowers I once heard you compare ſome of us to, who are late before they blow into diſcretion.

But now, good Sir, came on my diſtreſs: For the beſpoken chariot was ready; ready ſooner by a fort⯑night, than I expected. I thought my quarter would be nearer ended; and I had made a vaſt hole in my money. I pulled up a courage; I had need of it; and borrowed fifty guineas of Lady G.; but, from this fooliſh love of ſurprizes, cared not to tell her for what. And having occaſion to pay two or three bills (I was a thoughtleſs creature, to be ſure) which un⯑luckily, tho' I had aſked for them before, were brought in juſt then, I borrowed another ſum, but yet told not Lady G. for what; and the dear Lady, I believe, thought me an extravagant girl; I ſaw ſhe did, by her looks.

But, however, I cauſed the new chariot to be brought privately to me. I went in it, and it car⯑ried me to Soho; and there, on my knees, made my preſent to my mother.

But do you think, Sir, that ſhe and Mr. O-Hara, when I confeſſed that I had not conſulted you upon it, and that neither Lady L. nor Lady G. nor yet Mrs. Eleanor Grandiſon, knew a ſyllable of the matter, would accept of it? They would not: But yet they both cried over me for joy, and bleſſed me.

It is put up ſomewhere And there it lies, till I have obtained your pardon firſt, and your direction after⯑wards. And what ſhall I do, if you are angry at your por ward, who has done ſo inconſiderate a thing, and run herſelf into debt?

Chide me, honoured Sir, if you pleaſe. Indeed you never yet did chide me. But yours will be chide⯑ings of Love; of paternal Love, Sir.

But if you are angry with me more than a day; if you give me reaſon to believe you think meanly of me, [247] tho', alas! I may deſerve it; and that this raſhneſs is but a prelude to other raſh or conceited ſteps (for that is the fear which moſt terrifies me) and is therefore to be reſented with ſeverity; then will I fly to my dear Miſs Byron, that now is!—And if ſhe cannot ſoften your diſpleaſure, and reſtore me to your good opinion—(Mere pardon will not be enough for your truly-pe⯑nitent ward) then will I ſay, Burſt, heart! Ingrateful, inconſiderate Emily! Thou haſt offended thy Guar⯑dian! What is there left in this life, that is worth thy cares!

And now, Sir, I have laid my troubled heart open before you. I know you will not ſo much blame the thing, even ſhould you not approve of it, as the manner; doing it (after you had been ſo extreme⯑ly generous and inconſiderate to my mother) with⯑out conſulting either you, or your ſiſters. O my vanity and conceit! They, they have miſled me. They never ſhall again, whether you forgive me, or not.

But good, indulgent, honoured Sir, my Guardian, my Protector, let not my puniſhment be the reverſing of the gracious grant which my heart has been ſo long wiſhing to obtain, and which you had conſented to, of being allowed to live immediately in your own eye, and in the preſence of my dear Miſs Byron, that now is. This raſh action ſhould rather induce you to con⯑firm, than reverſe it. And I promiſe to be very good. I ever loved her. I ſhall add filial honour, as I may ſay, to my love of her. I never will do any-thing without conſulting her; and but what you, the kindeſt Guardian that ever poor Orphan had, would wiſh me to do.

And now, Sir, honour me with a few lines from your own hand; were it but to ſhew me that this im⯑pertinence has not ſo far tired you, as (ſhould you think it juſt to baniſh me from your preſence for ſome time) [248] to make you diſcourage applications to you, by pen and ink, from, Sir,

LETTER XXXVII. Sir CHARLES GRANDISON, To Miſs JERVOIS.

I Write to the dear child of my tendereſt cares, be⯑cauſe ſhe requeſts me to write: Elſe, I had haſt⯑ened to her in perſon, to comfort her doubting heart; and to aſſure her, that nothing but a fault premedi⯑tated, and perſiſted in, that might have affected her preſent or future reputation, and conſequently her hap⯑pineſs, could make me, for half an hour, offended with her. Your good intentions, my dear child, will ever be your ſecurity with me. Men, as well as women, are often miſled by their love of ſurprizes: But the greateſt ſurprize my Emily could give me, would be, if ſhe could do any one thing that would ſhew a faulty heart.

Once more, my dear, pay your duty to your mo⯑ther in the chariot which has been the cauſleſs occa⯑ſion of ſo much concern to you; and tell her, and Mr. O-Hara, that they have greatly obliged me in declining the acceptance of the chariot, ſo dutifully preſented, till they knew my mind: But that, not ſo much in the compliment paid to me, as your guar⯑dian, as becauſe it has given me an opinion of their own generoſity and diſcretion. Tell them, that I greatly approve of this inſtance of your duty to your mother, and of your regard, for her ſake, to Mr. O-Hara: Tell them, that I join with my ever-amiable ward in requeſting their acceptance of it; and do you, [249] my dear, tell Miſs Jervois, that I greatly honour her for this new inſtance of her goodneſs of heart.

I incloſe a note, and will, to make you eaſy, carry it to its proper account, that will enable you to pay the debt which you with ſo dutiful an intention have contracted.—Forgive you, my dear! I love, I ad⯑mire, you for it. I will not have you ſtint yourſelf, as you call it, in order to contribute to the future ex⯑pence of the chariot. The preſent is but a handſome one, reſpecting your fortune. Be therefore, for your mother's life, the whole expence yours; and it may poſſibly contribute not a little to the eaſe of mind of both (as they now live together not unhappily) if you have the goodneſs to aſſure Mr. O-Hara, that you are ſo well ſatisfied with his kind treatment of your mo⯑ther, that you will, on ſuppoſition of the continuance of it, before you enter into engagements which may limit your own power, or make your will dependent on that of another perſon, ſecure a handſome provi⯑ſion for him, for his life, in caſe he ſurvive your mo⯑ther.

I thank you, my deareſt ward, for the affection you expreſs for my beloved Miſs Byron. She loves you ſo tenderly, that it would have been a concern to me, had ſhe not engaged your love and confidence. You highly oblige me by promiſing to conſult her on all material occaſions. The benefit you will receive from her prudent advice and example, and the delight ſhe will receive from your company, will be a happi⯑neſs to all three. My Emily may depend upon every⯑thing to make it completely ſo, that ſhall be in the power of

LETTER XXXVIII. Miſs JERVOIS, To Sir CHARLES GRANDISON.

A Few lines, Sir; a very few—Not to ſhew my va⯑nity, my pride, in being allowed to write to my Guardian; nor to preſume to draw him into an inter⯑courſe of Letters. No, Sir, I write only to thank you, which I do a thouſand thouſand times, for the eaſe, the joy, you have given to my heart. O how I dreaded to open your Letter! But I could not have expected it to be ſo very indulgent to a faulty girl. Not one rebuke! O Sir! how very good you are! And to ſend me the money to clear my debts! To bid me make my preſent! In ſo gracious a manner to bid me! And to put me upon promiſing a proviſion for life for Mr. O-Hara, if he ſurvive my mother; which will not oblige them to live a narrower life while they are together, in order to ſave, in view of ſuch an unhappy event—I flew to them, with the good news—I read the whole Letter to them. O how their hearts bleſſed you at their eyes, for they could not preſently ſpeak; and how my tears mingled with theirs! O Sir, you made us all infants!—I, for my part, am ſtill a baby!—Did I ever cry ſo much for grief, as you have made me cry for joy?—It is well ſomething now-and-then comes to check one's joy; there would be no bearing it, elſe. But I ſhall en⯑croach on your precious time. Thank you, thank you, Sir, a hundred thouſand times. My mother is happy! Mr. O-Hara is happy! My Miſs Byron will ſoon be the happieſt of all human beings, thank God!—You, my Guardian, muſt be one of the happieſt of men! May every-body elſe be happy that you wiſh to be ſo! And then how happy will be, good Sir,

[251] They ſay you ſet out for Northamptonſhire next Monday or Tueſday, at furtheſt. Lord bleſs me!—Lord bleſs you! I would ſay—And bleſs every⯑body you love!—Amen!—for ever and ever!

LETTER XXXIX. Miſs BYRON, To Lady G.

LETTER XL. Sir CHARLES GRANDISON, To Miſs BYRON.

REceive, deareſt, lovelieſt, of women, the thanks of a moſt grateful heart, for your invaluable fa⯑vour of Wedneſday laſt. Does my Harriet (Already, [256] methinks, I have ſunk the name of Byron into that of Grandiſon), do Mrs. Shirley, Mrs. Selby, think, that I have treated one of the moſt delicate of Female minds indelicately, in the wiſh (not the preſcription) I have preſumed to ſignify to the beloved of my heart; that within three days after my permitted return to Northamptonſhire, I may be allowed to receive, at the Altar, the greateſt bleſſing of my life? I would not be thought ungenerous. I ſignified my wiſhes; but I told you, in the ſame Letter, that your chearful compliance was to me the great deſirable. In every⯑thing, from the date of the condeſcending Letter be⯑fore me, to the laſt of my life, ſhall your wiſhes de⯑termine mine. I will have your whole heart in the grant of every requeſt I make to you, or you ſhall have the chearful acquieſcence of mine with your will. Permit me to ſay, that the family punctilio was not out of my thoughts, when I expreſſed my own ardent wiſhes to you. Does not the world about you expect, on the return of the happy man, a ſpeedy ſolemniza⯑tion? I imagined, that whether he be permitted to make the place of his abode Selby-houſe or Shirley⯑manor, you would not that the happy day ſhould be long deferred, which ſhould give him rank as one of the dear family.

Our Equipages, my deareſt life, are all in great for⯑wardneſs. In tenderneſs to you, I have forborne to conſult you upon ſome parts of them, as my regard for your judgment would othewiſe have obliged me to do. The Settlements are all ready. Our good Mr. Deane is ready to attend you with them. Allow me, then, to do myſelf the honour of preſenting myſelf before you at Selby-houſe, on Tueſday next. I will leave it to you to diſtinguiſh the happieſt day of my life, whether within the ſucceeding three, four, five, or even ſix, of my return.

If I have not your commands to the contrary, Tueſday morning then, if not Monday night, ſhall [257] preſent to you the moſt ardent and ſincere of men, pouring out on your hand his grateful vows for the in⯑valuable favour of Wedneſday's date, which I conſider in the ſacred light of a plighted Love; and, as ſuch, have given it a place next my heart.

My moſt reſpectful compliments to all whom we both ſo juſtly hold dear, conclude me, deareſt madam,

LETTER XLI. Miſs BYRON, To Lady G.

LETTER XLII. Miſs BYRON. In continuation.

LETTER XLIII. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

SIR Charles let my grandmother come hither by herſelf. He is gone to viſit that Greville. We are all in pain for him: But Mr. Deane comforts us.

After breakfaſt, thus began my uncle upon me.

Here, Dame Selby, are we ſtill at a fault. Har⯑riet knows not what ſhe would be at; and you uphold her in her nonſenſes. Delicacy! Delicacy! The duce take me, if I have any notion of it!—What a pize are you about?

Dear Sir! why am I blamed? ſaid I. What would you have me do, that I have not done?

Do! why I would have you give him his Day, and keep to it; that I would have you do: And not ſhilly⯑ſhally for ever—and ſubject the beſt of men to inſults. All your men will be eaſy and quiet, when the cere⯑mony is over, and they know there is no remedy.

My good Mr. Selby, ſaid my grandmamma, you [270] now blame without reaſon. Sir Charles was full haſty. Harriet was a little more nice, perhaps, her Lover conſidered, than ſhe needed to be. Yet I don't know, but I, in her caſe, ſhould have done as ſhe did; and expected as much time as ſhe was willing to take. It was not a very long one, Mr. Selby, from the decla⯑ration he made; and he is a man himſelf of great de⯑licacy. Harriet very readily acknowleged to him the preference ſhe gave him to all them; and when ſhe found him very earneſt for a ſhort day, ſhe, by her laſt Letter, threw herſelf generouſly into his power. He is full of acknowlegements upon it; and ſo he ought to be. To me he has ſaid all that a man ſhould ſay of his gratitude, upon the occaſion; and he de⯑clared to me laſt night, that it was with difficulty he forbore taking advantage of her goodneſs to him: But that he checked himſelf, and led to other ſubjects, ſeeing how much the dear creature was diſordered, and being apprehenſive, that if he had begun upon one ſo intereſting, or even wiſhed to talk with her alone, he ſhould have increaſed her diſorder.

Oy, Oy! Sir Charles is conſiderate; and Harriet ſhould be grateful: But indeed my Dame Selby is as ſilly, to the full, as Harriet. She is for having Har⯑riet keep her in countenance in the dance ſhe led me, ſo many years ago—Lady G. for my money. She finds you all out in your Maſonry.

Mr. Selby, ſaid my aunt, I only refer myſelf to what our venerable parent juſt ſaid.

And ſo don't think it worth while to hold an argu⯑ment with me, I ſuppoſe?

I did not know, my dear, that you wanted to hold an argument.

Your ſervant, madam—with that ſly leer—So like Harriet! and Harriet ſo like you!

But, Mr. Selby, ſaid my grandmamma, will you be pleaſed to tell the dear child, if you think her wrong, what is the next ſtep ſhe ſhould take?

[271] Think her wrong!—Next ſtep!—Why the next ſtep is, as ſhe has promiſed to oblige him, and to be directed by him, to keep her word; and not hum nor haw about the matter.

Mr. Deane, who had been ſhewn and told every⯑thing that had paſſed ſince we ſaw him laſt, ſaid, You don't know that my daughter Byron will make unne⯑ceſſary parade, Mr. Selby. Sir Charles you find, in tenderneſs to her, aſked no queſtions yeſterday; made no claim—She could not begin the ſubject.

But, ſaid Lucy, I cannot but ſay, that my couſin is in ſome fault.

Look you there, now! ſaid my uncle.

We all ſtared at Lucy; for ſhe ſpoke and looked very ſeriouſly.

Might ſhe not have ſaid, proceeded ſhe, when Sir Charles ſurprized her at his firſt arrival (what tho' her heart was divided between paſt terror, and preſent joy?) Here I am, Sir, at your ſervice: Are you prepared for to-morrow?—And then made him one of her beſt courteſies.

Sauce-box!—Well, well, I believe I have been a little haſty in my judgment (rapping under the table with his knuckles): But I am ſo afraid that ſomething will happen between the cup and the lip—Here, laſt night, I dreamt that Lady Clementina and he were going to be married—Give me your hand, my dear Harriet, and don't revoke the kindneſs in your laſt Letter to him, but whatever be the day he propoſes, comply; and you will win my heart for ever.

As Sir Charles leads, Harriet muſt follow, reſumed my grandmamma. You men are ſad preſcribers in theſe delicate caſes, Mr. Selby. You will be put to it, my dear love, taking my hand, before this day is over, now you ſeem ſo purely recovered. Sir Charles Grandiſon is not a dreaming Lover. Prepare your mind, my child: You'll be put to it, I do aſſure you.

[272] Why, oy; I can't but ſay, Sir Charles is a man—Don't you, my lovely Love, be too much a woman!—Too cloſe a copier of your aunt Selby here!—and, as I ſaid, you will have my heart for ever—Oy, and Sir Charles's too; for he is not one of your ſorry fellows that can't diſtinguiſh between a favour and a folly.

My uncle then went out with a flouriſh, and took Mr. Deane with him; leaving only my grandmamma, my aunt, my Lucy, and your Harriet, together.

We had a good deal of talk upon the important ſubject. The concluſion was, that I would refer Sir Charles to my grandmamma, if he were urgent for the day, and ſhe was veſted with a diſcretionary power to determine for her girl.

Such of my cloaths, then, as were near finiſhed, were ordered to be produced, with ſome of the nup⯑tial ornaments. They were all to ſit in judgment upon them.

Surely, Lady G. theſe are ſolemn circumſtances, lightly as my uncle thinks of them. Muſt not every thoughtful young creature, on ſo great a change, and for life, have conflicts in her mind, be her proſpects ever ſo happy, as the day approaches? Of what ma⯑terials muſt the hearts of runaways, and of fugitives, to men half-ſtrangers to them, be compounded?

My aunt has juſt left with me the following Billet, from Sir Charles, directed to my uncle, from Mr. Greville's:

Poor wicked Greville—May he go to Lady Frampton's, or where-ever elſe, ſo it be fifty miles diſtant from us. I ſhall be afraid of him, till I hear he has quitted, for a time, his ſeat in this neighbour⯑hood.

What a glorious quality is courage, when it is di⯑veſted of raſhneſs! When it is founded on integrity of heart, and innocence of life and manners! But, otherwiſe founded, Is it not rather to be called ſavage⯑neſs, and brutality?

How much trouble have I given your brother! What dangers have I involved him in! It cannot be poſſible for me evre to reward him.—But the proud⯑eſt heart may deem it a glory to owe obligation to Sir Charles Grandiſon.

LETTER XLIV. Miſs BYRON. In Continuation.

SIR Charles broke away, and came hither by our tea-time. I was in my cloſet writing. They all crouded about him. He avoided particulars: Only ſaid, that all was friendſhip between Mr. Greville and himſelf; and that Mr. Greville came with him part of the way; full of his reſumed ſcheme, of appearing to be upon a good underſtanding with him, and a friend to the alliance between him and us.

Sir Charles looked about him, as if for ſomebody he ſaw not. My aunt came up to me: My dear, do you know who is come? She then told me the above particulars. We had a ſummons to tea. Down we haſtened. He met us both at the parlour-door. O madam, ſaid he, what precious hours have I loſt!—I have been patience itſelf!

I congratulated him on what my aunt had told me. I found he intended, as he ſays in his Billet, that the particulars he gave in it ſhould anſwer our curioſity; and to have done with the ſubject. What a charming poſſeſſion of himſelf, that he could be in ſuch a brangle, as I may call it, and which might have had fatal conſequences; yet to be ſo wholly, and ſo ſoon, diveſted of the ſubject; and ſo infinitely agreeable upon half a ſcore others, as they offered from one or other as we ſat at tea!

Tea was no ſooner over, but he ſingled me out—May I, madam, beg the favour of a half-hour's au⯑dience?

Sir, Sir! heſitated the ſimpleton, and was going to betray my expectation, by expreſſing ſome little re⯑luctance; but, recollecting myſelf, I ſuffered him to lead me into the Cedar parlour. When there, ſeating [276] me—Now, madam, let me again thank you, a thou⯑ſand and a thouſand times, for the honour of your laſt condeſcending Letter.

He but juſt touched my hand, and appeared ſo en⯑couragingly reſpectful!—I muſt have loved him then, if I had not before.

You have, my deareſt Miſs Byron, a man before you, that never can be ungrateful. Believe me, my deareſt Life, tho' I have urged you as I have, you are abſolutely your own miſtreſs of the day, and of every day of my life, as far as it ſhall be in my power to make you ſo. You part with power, my lovely Miſs Byron, but to find it with an increaſe. Only let me beſeech you, now I have given it you back again, not to permit your heart to be ſwayed by mere motives of punctilio.

A charming glow had overſpread his cheek; and he looked as when I beheld him in his ſiſter's dreſſing⯑room, after he had reſcued me from the hands of the then cruel, now mortified, Sir Hargrave Pollexfen.

Punctilio, mere punctilio, Sir, ſhall not weigh with me. What I wrote to you, I intend to comply with. My heart, Sir, is—Yours!—I would have ſaid—Why would not my tongue ſpeak it?—My, my, I ſtam⯑mered—Why did I ſtammer?—Had I not owned it before to be ſo?—My grandmamma, Sir, and aunt—I could not at that inſtant, for my life, ſay another word.

Sweet confuſion! I urge you no more on this topic, juſt now: I joyfully take your reference. Then drawing a chair next me, he kiſſed his own hand, and held it out, as it were, courting mine. I yielded it to him, as by an involuntary motion—yet my heart was forwarder than my hand. He tenderly graſped it—retaining it—and inſtead of urging the approaching day, talked to me as if it were paſt.

I have a requeſt to make to your grandmother, your uncle and aunt, your Lucy, and our Mr. Deane; it [277] is a very bold one: That when I have been bleſſed with your hand, they will be ſo good as to accompany their beloved Harriet, then no more Byron, but Gran⯑diſon, to my family-ſeat, and ſee the beloved of every heart happily fixed, and in poſſeſſion of it. The houſe is venerable (I will not call it old); but large and convenient. Compaſſion for your neighbouring admirers, will induce you to ſupport me in this requeſt. You cannot bear, I imagine, without a leſſening of your own joy (if I prove the juſt, the grateful man to you, that, if I know myſelf, I ſhall be) either to ſee at church, or in your viſits, thoſe men who preferred you to all women; or, if they forbear the one or the other, to account with a gentle ſigh for their forbear⯑ance. Other women might triumph ſecretly on ſuch occaſions; but I, even I, the ſucceſsful, the diſtin⯑guiſhed man, ſhall not forbear ſome inward pity for them. Now, madam, an excurſion of a month or two, if no more, made by thoſe dear friends, who otherwiſe will be loth, ſo ſoon as I wiſh, to part with you; will wean, as I may ſay, theſe unhappy men from you. Mr. Orme, Mr. Greville, will not then be obliged to quit their own houſes, and this neigh⯑bourhood. I ſhall not, whenever I ſtep into com⯑pany, ſee dejected men, whoſe dejection is owing, as they will think, to my happineſs: All your new rela⯑tions will attend you, in turn, in the houſe that I al⯑ways loved, and wiſhed to ſettle in; your own rela⯑tions with you, and witneſſes of our mutual happi⯑neſs—Support me, generouſly ſupport me, in this pro⯑poſal, when I ſhall be intitled, by your goodneſs, to make it.—Silent, my deareſt Love!—If I have been too early in thus opening my heart to you, do me the juſtice to ſuppoſe that it is owing to my wiſhes to paſs over another intereſting ſubject which muſt take place before my propoſal can; and which, however, en⯑gages my whole heart.

I might well be ſilent: I could not find utterance [278] for the emotions of my heart. I withdrew my hand to take my handkerchief (You have often told me, Lady G. that I was born in an April morning); but putting it into my other hand, I gratefully (I hope not too fondly) laid it in his way to take it again. He did, with an air that had both veneration and gratitude in it—My deareſt Life, tenderly graſping it—how amiable this goodneſs!—You are not, I ſee, diſpleaſed.

Diſpleaſed!—O, Sir Charles!—But, alas! while I am too-too happy, the exalted Lady abroad!—She, ſhe, only! Your friend Jeronymo's laſt Letter—

Thus brokenly did I expreſs (what my heart was full of) her worthineſs, my inferiority.

Exalted creature!—Angelic goodneſs! You are Clementina and Harriet, both in one: One mind cer⯑tainly informs you both.

Juſt then came in my aunt Selby. I have, madam, ſaid he to her, been making a requeſt to your beloved niece: I am exceedingly earneſt in it. She will be ſo good as to break it to you; and I hope—

O Sir! interrupted my too eager aunt, ſuppoſing it had been for the Day, Mrs. Shirley has the power—

My dear aunt Selby! ſaid I.

What have I ſaid, Love?—

He caught eagerly at it—Happy miſtake! ſaid he. My dear Mrs. Selby, I thank you!

He bowed, kiſſed my hand, and left me to go to my grandmamma, to inform himſelf of what he had to hope for, as to the Day, from her.

I told my aunt what the requeſt was, and what a converſation we had had: And what, madam, ſaid I, have you done!

My aunt approved of his propoſal. It will be the pride of your uncle's heart and mine, to ſee you ſettled in Grandiſon-hall.

What ſhort work did my grandmamma make of it! In leſs than a quarter of an hour Sir Charles returned, overjoyed, with an open Billet in his hand, from the venerable parent. This is it:

Had you ſeen, my dear Charlotte, with what ten⯑der reſpect your brother approached me, and with what an inimitable grace he offered me the open Billet, how would you have been charmed with him! The excellent Mrs. Shirley, ſaid he, would not permit me to bring this ineſtimable paper folded. I have con⯑templated the propitious lines all the way. On my knee let me thank you, my dear Miſs Byron, for your acquieſcence with her determination. He kiſſed my hand on one knee.

He ſaw me diſturbed [Could I help it? There is ſomething awful in the fixing of the very Day, Lady G. but I tried to recover myſelf. I would fain avoid appearing guilty of affection in his eyes]. I will not add a word more, my Angel ſaid he, on the joy⯑ful ſubject. Only tell me, Shall we haſten to attend the condeſcending parent?

My duty to her, Sir, ſaid I (but with more heſi⯑tation than I wiſhed) ſhall be an earneſt of that which I am ſo ſoon, ſo very ſoon, to vow to you: And I gave him my hand.

There is no deſcribing to you, my dear Lady G. the looks, the manner, with which it was received, by the moſt ardent, and yet moſt reſpectful, of Lovers.

I had ſcare approaced my grandmamma, and be⯑gun to utter ſomething of the much my heart was filled with, when my Uncle and Mr. Deane (by miſtake, I believe) were admitted.

[280] Well, let us know every-thing about it, ſaid my uncle—I hope Sir Charles is pleaſed. I hope—

The Day was named to him.

Well, well, thank God! And he ſpoke in an ac⯑cent that expreſſed his joy.

Your niece has pleaſed you now, I hope, Mr. Selby, ſaid my grandmamma.

Pretty well! pretty well! God grant that we meet with no Put-offs! I hardly longed ſo much for my own Day with my Dame Selby there, as I have done, and do, to ſee my Harriet Lady Grandiſon—God, God, bleſs you, my deareſt love! and kiſſed my cheek—You have been very, very good, in the main—And, but for Dame Selby, would have been better, as far as I know.

You don't do me juſtice, my dear, replied my aunt.

Don't I?—Nor did I ever—taking kindly her hand—It was impoſſible, my dear Sir Charles Grandiſon, for ſuch a man as I to do juſtice to this excellent wo⯑man. You never, Sir, will be ſo froppiſh as I have been: It was in my nature: I could not help it: But I was always ſorry for it afterwards.—But if Harriet make you no worſe a wife than my Dame Selby has made me, you will not be unhappy—And yet I was led a tedious dance after her, before I knew what ſhe would be at—I had like to have forgot that. But one thing I have to requeſt, proceeded my uncle—Mr. Deane and I have been talking of it—God bleſs your dear ſouls, all of you, oblige me—It is, That we may have a joyful Day of it; and that all our neighbours and tenants may rejoice with us. I muſt make the village ſmoke. No hugger-mugger doings—Let pri⯑vate weddings be for doubtful happineſs—

O my uncle! ſaid I—

And O my niece, too! I muſt have it ſo. Sir Charles, what ſay you? Are you for chamber-mar⯑riages?—I ſay, that ſuch are neither decent, nor godly. [281] But you would not allow Lady G. to come off ſo—And in your own caſe—

Am for doing as in Lady G's. I muſt hope to pay my vows at the Altar to this excellent Lady. What ſays my Miſs Byron?

I, Sir, hope to return mine in the ſame ſacred place (my face, as I felt, in a glow); but yet I ſhall wiſh to have it as private as poſſible.

Why, oy, to be ſure—When a woman is to do any⯑thing ſhe is aſhamed of—I think ſhe is right to be pri⯑vate, for example -ſake. Shall you be aſhamed, Sir Charles?

Sir Charles has given it under his hand, this very day, ſaid Lucy, interrupting him, as he was going to ſpeak, that he ſhall glory in receiving my couſin's hand before ten thouſand witneſſes.

Make but my deareſt Miſs Byron eaſy on this head, ſaid Sir Charles (That taſk, Ladies, be yours); and, ſo the Church be the place, I ſhall be happy in the manner.

The ceremony, ſaid my grandmamma, cannot be a private one with us: Every-body's eyes are upon us. It would be an affectation in us, that would rather raiſe, than allay, curioſity.

And I have as good as promiſed the two pretty Nedhams, ſaid my uncle—and Miſs Watſon and her couſin are in expectation.

O my uncle!

Dear Harriet, forgive me! Theſe are your compa⯑nions from childhood! You can treat them but once in your life in this way. They would be glad at heart to return the favour.

I withdrew: Lucy followed me—You, Lucy, I ſee, ſaid I, are for theſe public doings—But you would not, if it were your own caſe.

Your caſe is my caſe, Harriet. I ſhould hardly bear being made a ſhew of with any other man: But with ſuch a man as yours, if I did not hold up my head, I [282] ſhould give leer for ſtare, to ſee how envy ſat upon the womens faces. You may leer at the men for the ſame reaſon. It will be a wicked day after all, Har⯑riet; for a general envy will poſſeſs the hearts of all beholders.

Lucy, you know, my dear Lady G. is a whimſical girl.

So, my dear, the ſolemn Day is fixed. If you could favour me with your ſupporting preſence—I know, if you come, you will be very good, now I have not, as I hope you will think, been guilty, of much, no not of any, parade—Lucy will write Let⯑ters for me to Lady D. to my couſin Reeves's, and will undertake all matters of ceremony for her Har⯑riet. May I but have the happineſs to know that Lady Clementina—What can I wiſh for Lady Cle⯑mentina?—But ſhould ſhe be unhappy—that would be an abatement of my felicity indeed!

There is no ſuch thing as thinking of the dear Emily. What a happineſs, could I have ſeen Lady L. here!—But that cannot be! May the Day that will in its anniverſary be the happieſt of my life, give to Lord and Lady L. their moſt earneſt wiſhes!

Sir Charles diſpatches Frederick to-morrow to town with Letters: He will bring you mine. I would not go to reſt till I had finiſhed it.

What have I more to ſay?—I ſeem to have a great deal. My head and my heart are full: Yet it is time to draw to a concluſion.

Let me, my deareſt Lady G. know, if I am to have any hopes of your preſence? Will you be ſo good as to manage with Emily?

My aunt bids me ſuppoſe to you, that ſince we are to have all the world of our acquaintance, you ſhould bring down your aunt Grandiſon with you.—We have at both houſes a great deal of room.

Sir Charles juſt now aſked my grandmamma, Whe⯑ther Dr. Curtis would be ſatisfied with a handſome [283] preſent, if every one's dear Dr. Bartlett were to per⯑form the ceremony? My grandmamma anſwered, That Dr. Curtis was one of my admiring friends. He had for years, even from my girlhood, prided himſelf with the hopes of joining my hand in marriage, eſpe⯑cially if the office were performed in Northampton⯑ſhire. She was afraid he would think himſelf ſlighted; and he was a worthy man.

Sir Charles acquieſced. But, greatly as I reſpect Dr. Curtis, I ſhould have preferred the venerable Dr. Bart⯑lett to any man in the world. A ſolemn, ſolemn ſub⯑ject, tho' a joyful one!

Adieu, adieu, my dear Lady G. Be ſure con⯑tinue to love me. I will, if poſſible, deſerve your Love.

LETTER XLV. Lady G. To Miſs BYRON,

EXpect a Letter of hurry, in anſwer to one, two, three, four, five, ſix, I don't know how many, of yours; ſome filled with tenderneſs, ſome with love, ſome with nicety, ſenſe, and nonſenſe. I ſhall reckon with you ſoon for one of them, in which you take intolerable liberties with me. O Harriet! tremble at my reſentment. You are downright ſcurrilous, my dear.

I imputed extravagance to Emily, in my laſt. The girl's a good girl. I was too haſty. I will ſhew you two Letters of hers, and one of my brother, which clears up the imputation. I love her more and more. Poor girl! Love peeps out in twenty places of hers: In his, he is the beſt of men: But that you knew before.

And ſo the honeſt man kiſſed you; kiſſed your lip! [284] O Lud! O Lud! how could you bear him afterwards in your ſight?—Forgiving creature!—And ſo you were friends with him before you had time to ſhew your anger.—Nothing like doing impudent things in a hurry.—Sometimes reſpectful, ſometimes free: Why this is the way of all the fellows, Harriet!—And ſo they go on till the reſpectfulneſs is drawn off, and nothing but the lees are left; and after two or three months are over, the once ſqueamiſh palate will be glad of them.

I like your uncle better than I like either your aunt or you—He likes me.

What a miſerable dog (Take the word for ſhortneſs, I am in haſte) is Sir Hargrave!

Your plea againſt Clementina being compelled, or over -perſuaded (the ſame thing) I much like. You are a good girl.

Betwixt her excellencies and yours, how muſt my brother's ſoul be divided!—I wonder he thinks of either of you. Aſs and two bundles of hay, Harriet. But my brother is a nobler animal: He won't ſtarve. But I think, in my conſcience, he ſhould have you both. There might be a law made, that the caſe ſhould not be brought into precedent till two ſuch wo⯑men ſhould be found, and ſuch a man; and all three in the like ſituation.

Bagenhall! a miſerable devil! Excellent warning-pieces!

Wicked Harriet! You infected me with your hor⯑rible inferences from Greville's temper, threatenings, and-ſo-forth. The concluſion of this Letter left me a wretch!—If theſe megrims are the effect of Love, thank Heaven, I never knew what it was.—Sufficient to the day, and-ſo-forth.

Deviliſh girl! to torment me with your dreams! If you ever tell me of any more of them, except they are of a different ſort, woe be to you!

I like your parting ſeene, and all that. Your [285] realities, thank Heaven, are more delightful than your reſveries. I hope you'll always find them ſo.

And ſo you were full of apprehenſions on the favour your aunt did me in employing me about your nuptial equipments. Long ago ‘'you gave affectation to the winds.'’ Good! But the winds would not accept of your preſent. They puffed it you back again, and your ſervants never told you it was brought home. I repeat, my dear, that my brother is much more clever, in theſe ſcenes of Love and Courtſhip, than his miſ⯑treſs. You are a pretty cow, my Love: You give good ſtore of milk, but you have a very careleſs heel. Yet when you bethink you, you are very good; but not always the ſame Harriet. Your nurſe in your in⯑fancy, ſee-ſawed you—Margery-dawn—and you can't put the pretty play out of your practice, tho' it is out of your memory. I can look back, and ſometimes by your frowardneſs, ſometimes by your crowing, know how it was with you eighteen years ago.

My brother's Letter to you, after he has mentioned his viſits to the two ſick Baronets, is that of a man who ſhews you genteelly, and politely, that he is ſenſible he has a pretty trifler to deal with. I wiſh you would ſquare your conduct, by what you muſt imagine a man of his ſenſe would think of you. I ſhould be too proud a minx, in your caſe, to owe obligation to my man for bearing with me—Spare me, ſpare me, Har⯑riet! I have hit myſelf a terrible box o' the ear. But we can find faults in others, which we will not allow to be ſuch in ourſelves—But here is the difference be⯑tween your conduct now, and what mine was. I knew I was wrong, and reſolved one day to amend. You think yourſelf right, and, while you ſo think, will hardly ever mend, till your man ties you down to good behaviour.

Jeronymo's Letter! O the next to divine Clemen⯑tina! Indeed, Harriet, I think ſhe out-ſoars you. I adore her. But will ſhe be prevailed upon to marry?— [286] She will!—If ſhe does—Then—But, dear Soul!—Preſſed as ſhe is—Having refuſed, inſtead of being re⯑fuſed, the beloved of her heart, ſhe will ſtill be greater than any of her Sex, if ſhe does; the man propoſed, ſo unexceptionable; ſo tenderly loving her, in the height of her calamity, as well as in her proſperity!—Gratitude to him, as well as Duty to her parents; parents ſo indulgent as they have always been to her; will incline her to marry. May ſhe be happy! I am pleaſed with your ſolicitude for her happineſs.

I like your anſwer to my brother: A good and well⯑deſerved reſignation. Let's ſee how you keep to it.

You do keep to it—as I expected—Ah, Harriet! you are quite a girl, ſometimes; tho', at others, more than woman! ‘'Will he not aſk leave to come down?'’ Fine reſignation!—‘'Will he not write, firſt?'’—Yes, yes, he will do every-thing he ought to do. Look to your own behaviour, child; don't fear but his will be all as it ſhould be. As to your finery, how now, Harriet! Are you to direct every-thing; yet pretend to aſk advice? Be contented that every-thing is done for you of this ſort, and learn to be humble. Sure we that have paſſed the Rubicon, are not to be directed by you, who never came in ſight of the river. But you, maid⯑ens, are poor, proud, pragmatical mortals. You pro⯑feſs ignorance; but in heart imagine you are at the tip-top of your wiſdom.

But here you come with your horrid fears again. Would to the Lord the Day were over; and you and my brother were—Upon my life—you are a—But I won't call you names.

Lucy thinks you ſhould go to Shirley-manor when my brother comes down. Egregious folly! I did not think Lucy could have been ſo ſilly.

Concerning our couſin Reeves's wanting to be pre⯑ſent at your nuptials—your invitation to me—and what you ſay of Emily—more anon.

Well, and ſo my brother has ſent you the expected [287] Letter. Does it pleaſe you, Harriet? The duce is in you, if it don't.

But you are not pleaſed with it, it ſeems. He is too haſty for you. Where's the boaſted-of reſignation, Harriet? True Female reſignation!

Tell Lucy, I am obliged to her, for her tranſcrip⯑tions. I ſhall be very proud of her correſpondence.

'Your aunt thinks he is full haſty.'—Your aunt's a ſimpleton, as well as you. My ſervice to her.

But is the D—I in the girl again? What would have become of Lady L. and me, had you not ſent both Letters together that relate to Greville's ſuppoſed malignance? I tremble, nevertheleſs, at the thought of what might have been. But I will not forgive Lucy for adviſing you to ſend to us your horribly-painted terrors. What could poſſeſs her to adviſe you to do ſo, and you, to follow her advice? I forgive not either of you. In revenge I will remind you, that you are one of the good women to whom he owes all the embarraſments of his paſt life.

But a caution, Harriet!—Never, never, let fooliſh dreams claim a moment of your attention—Immi⯑nent as ſeemed the danger, your ſuperſtition made more dreadful to you than otherwiſe it would have been. You have a mind ſuperior to ſuch foibles: Act up to its native dignity, and let not the follies of your nurſes, in your infantile ſtate, be carried into your ma⯑turer age, to depreciate your womanly reaſon. Do you think I don't dream, as well as you?

Well might ye all rejoice in his ſafety. ‘'Hang about his neck, for joy!'’ So you ought, if you thought it would do him honour. Huſh, huſh, proud girl! don't ſcold me! I think, were a king your man, he would have been honoured by the charming free⯑dom. ‘'Caſt himſelf at your feet!'’ And you ought to have caſt yourſelf at his. ‘'There can be no re⯑ſerve to him after this,'’ you ſay. Nor ought there, had it not been for this. Did you not ſignify to him, [288] by Letter, that you would reſign to his generoſity? Let me whiſper you, Harriet—Sure you proud maiden minxes think—But I did once—I wonder in my heart, oftentimes—But men and women are chears to one another. But we may, in a great meaſure, thank the poetical tribe for the faſcination. I hate them all. Are they not inflamers of the worſt paſſions? With regard to the Epics, would Alexander, madman as he was, have been ſo much a madman, had it not been for Homer? Of what violences, murders, depreda⯑tions, have not the Epic poets been the occaſion, by propagating falſe honour, falſe glory, and falſe reli⯑gion? Thoſe of the amorous claſs ought in all ages (could their future genius's for tinkling ſound and mea⯑ſure have been known) to have been ſtrangled in their cradles. Abuſers of talents given them for better pur⯑poſes (for all this time, I put Sacred poeſy out of the queſtion); and avowedly claiming a right to be licen⯑tious, and to overleap the bounds of decency, truth, and nature.

What a rant! How came theſe fellows into my rambling head? O, I remember—My whiſper to you led me into all this ſtuff.

Well, and you at laſt recollected the trouble you have given my brother about you. Good girl! Had I re⯑membered that, I would have ſpared you my reflexions upon the poets and poetaſters of all ages, the truly -inſpired ones excepted: And yet I think the others ſhould have been baniſhed our commonwealth, as well as Plato's.

Well, but, to ſhorten my nonſenſe, now you have ſhortened yours—The Day is at laſt fixed—Joy, joy, joy, to you, my lovely Harriet, and to my Brother! And it muſt be a public affair!—Why—that's right, ſince it would be impoſſible to make it a private one. My honeſt man is mad for joy. He fell down on his knees, to beg of me to accept of your invitation, and of his company. I made a merit of obliging him, [289] tho' I would have been as humble to him, rather than not be with you; and yet, by one ſaucy line, I ima⯑gine you had rather be without me.

Your couſin Reeves's are ready to ſet out.

God bleſs you, invite aunt Nell: She thinks herſelf neglected. A nephew whom ſhe ſo dearly loves! Very hard! ſhe ſays.—And ſhe never was but at one wedding, and has forgot how it was; and may never be at another—Pink and yellow, all is ready provided, go down or not—O but, if you chooſe not her com⯑pany, I will tell you how to come off—Give her your word and honour that ſhe ſhall be a perſon of prime account at your firſt Chriſtening. Yet ſhe would be glad to be preſent on both occaſions.

But ah, the poor Emily!—She has alſo been on her knees to me, to take her down with me—What ſhall I do?—Dear Soul! ſhe embarraſſes me! I have put her upon writing to her Guardian, for his leave: I be⯑lieve ſhe has written. If ſhe knew her own caſe, I think ſhe would not deſire it.

Poor Lady L!—She is robbed, ſhe ſays, of one of the greateſt pleaſures of her life. Ah, Charlotte! ſaid ſhe to me, wringing my hand, theſe huſbands owe us a great deal. This is an humbling circum⯑ſtance. Were not my Lord and yours the beſt of huſbands—

The beſt of huſbands! Wretches! ſaid I. You may forgive yours, Caroline—You are a good crea⯑ture; but not I mine. And ſomething elſe I ſaid, that made her laugh in the midſt of her lacrymals. But ſhe begs and prays of me, not to go down to you, unleſs all ſhould be over with her. I can do her no good; and only increaſe my own apprehenſions, if I am with her. A bleſſed way two poor ſouls of ſiſters of us are in. Sorry fellows!

And yet, Harriet, with ſuch proſpects as theſe be⯑fore them, ſome girls leap windows, ſwim rivers, climb walls—Duce take their folly: Their choice is [290] their puniſhment. Who can pity ſuch raſh ſouls as thoſe? Thanks be praiſed, you, Harriet, are going on to keep in countenance the two anxious ſiſters,

Says a good man, on a ſtill more ſerious occaſion.

Good news! joyful news!—I ſhall, I ſhall, go down to you. Nothing to hinder me! Lord L. proud as a peacock, is this moment come for me: I am hurrying away with him. A fine boy!—Siſter ſafe!—Harriet, Lucy, Nancy, for your own future encouragement! Huzzah, girls!—I am gone.

LETTER XLVI. Miſs BYRON, To Lady G.

LETTER XLVII. Lady G. To Miſs BYRON.

I Write a few lines, if, writing to you, I can write a few, by the ſpecial meſſenger that carries down all the remaining apparatus, which was committed to my care. We women are ſad creatures for delaying things to the laſt moment. We hurry the men: We hurry our workwomen, milaners, mantuamakers, friends, allies, confederates, and ourſelves. When once we have given the Day, night and day, we neither take reſt, nor give it: When, if we had the rare felicity of knowing our minds ſooner, all might go on fair and ſoftly. But then the gentle paſſion, I doubt, would glide into inſipidity. Well, and I have heard my brother ſay, ‘'That things in general are beſt as they are.'’ Why I believe ſo; for all theſe honeſt ſouls, as mantuamakers, attire-women, work-women, [294] enjoy a hurry that is occaſioned by a wedding, and are half as well pleaſed with it, as if it were their own. They ſimper, ſmirk, goſſip, over Bridal finery; ſpread this upon their arms or ſhoulders; admire that—Look you here—Look you there! And is not this?—Is not that?—And, Did you ever!—No, never, in my born days!—And is the Bride, do you ſay, ſuch a lovely creature?—And is the Bridegroom as handſome a man, as ſhe a woman!—O lud! O dear!—Would to Heaven Northamptonſhire were nearer, that one might ſee how charming, how graceful, how becoming! and ſo-forth.

And why ſhould not we women, after all, con⯑trive to make hurry-ſkurries [You ſee how I correct myſelf as I go along] and make the world think our affairs a great part of the buſineſs of it, and that no⯑thing can be done without us? Since, after a few months are over, new novelties take place, and we get into corners, ſigh, groan, look ſilly and meagre, and at laſt are thrown into ſtraw, as it is called; poor Caroline's caſe; who repines, that ſhe can't be pre⯑ſent on this new buſtle in the family. But I am to write her word of every-thing—Look to your beha⯑viour, Harriet, on the great occaſion.

But a word about Caroline—Were it not for her being deprived of this pleaſure, the good creature would be very happy. Lord L. and ſhe are as fond as apes. She has quite forgot all her ſufferings for him. He thanks her for his boy. She follows with her eye the little ſtranger, and is delighted with all that is done with him, to him, for him: Is pleaſed with every⯑body, even with the very ſervants, who croud in, by permiſſion to ſee his little Lordſhip, and already claim an intereſt in him. Upon my word, ſhe makes a very pretty fond mother. And aunt Nell, who, by the way, was at the Crying-out, and was then ſo frighted! ſo thankful to God! and ſo happy in her own ſitua⯑tion! [No, not for the world, would ſhe be other than ſhe was!] now grudges the nurſes half their cares.

[295] What good creatures are we women!

Well, but I don't know what to do about Emily. The firſt vice of the firſt woman was curioſity, and it runs through all her daughters. She has written to her Guardian, and nothing but an abſolute prohibition will hinder her from making one in your train. Did the dear girl know the ſtate of her own heart, ſhe would chooſe to be a thouſand miles off, rather than go. I have ſet her woman and mine to diſcourage her. I have reaſoned with her myſelf; but there is no ſuch thing as giving her one's true reaſons; nor would I, willingly: Becauſe ſhe herſelf, having not found out her Love to be Love, I hope the fire may be ſmothered in her own heart, by the aid of time and diſcretion, before diſcovery; whereas, if the doors of it were to be opened, and the air let in, it might ſet the whole tenement in a blaze. Her Guardian's de⯑nial or aſſent will come, perhaps, in time; yet hardly, neither; for we ſhall ſet out on Monday. Aunt Nell is ſo pleaſed with her nurſery of the little Peer, as ſhe primly calls him, that you are rid of even her wiſhes to be with you. Being ſure of this, I complimented her, that I knew your aunt Selby would have invited her, but that Lady L. would not be able to live with⯑out her company, all the world, and the world's wiſe, attentive and engroſſed by your affair. She, good creature! was pleaſed—So as ſhe could but be thought of importance by ſomebody, I knew ſhe would be happy. I told her, that you invited nobody, but left all to your friends—Ay, poor dear Soul, ſaid ſhe; ſhe has enough to think of, well as ſhe loves your brother—and ſighed for you—Worthy Ancient! The ſigh a little deeper, perhaps, for ſome of her own Recol⯑lections.

Mr. and Mrs. Reeves would not ſtay for us. What will you do with us all?—Croud you, I ſear. But diſpoſe of us, at Shirley-manor, or Selby-houſe, as you pleaſe. Yours, and aunt Selby's, and grand⯑mamma [296] Shirley's concern for us, is all we are ſolicit⯑ous about. But ſervants rooms, nay, cocklofts, hay⯑lofts, will do. We like to be put to our ſhifts now-and-then—Something to talk of—

But I can tell you, if you don't know it already, Lord W. and his Lady are reſolved to do you honour on this occaſion; but they will be but little trouble to you. My Lord's ſteward has a half-brother, a gen⯑tleman-farmer, in your neighbourhood—Sheldon—They will be there: But perhaps you know of this a better way. They will make a ſplendid part of your train. Gratitude is their inducement.

Lord L. has juſt now told me, that my ſiſter, in tenderneſs to him, and in honour to you, has beſought him to be preſent. O Harriet! what will you do with yourſelf?—Aunt Nell and I have the heart-burn for you. But Lord L. muſt be welcome: He is one of thoſe who ſo faithfully kept your ſecret.

So, in our equipages, will be Lord L. my honeſt man, Emily, and your Charlotte: Lord L's equipages will be at the ſervice of any of your gueſts; as will our ſpare one—I wiſh Beauchamp could permit him⯑ſelf to be preſent (I hope he will) on the nuptials of the friend ſo dear to him, with a Lady he ſo great⯑ly admires.

My woman and Emily's will be all our Female at⯑tendants: One nook will ſerve them both.

My poor man will be mad, before the day comes. He does love you, Harriet. My brother, he ſays, will be the happieſt man in the world—himſelf excepted—A hypocrite! He juſt popt this in, to ſave himſelf—Why doſt make this exception, friend? ſaid I—Thou knoweſt it to be a mere compliment—Indeed, indeed (two indeeds, which implied, that one might have been doubted) I am now (A ſarcaſm in his word now) as happy as mortal man can be—Ah, flatterer! and ſhook my head—A recognition of my ſovereignty, however, in his being afraid to ſpeak his conſcience. A little of [297] the old leaven, Harriet! I can't help it. It is got out of my heart, half out of my head; but, when I take the pen, it will tingle now-and-then, at my finger's end.

Adieu, my Love! God bleſs you;—I can enter into your joy. A Love ſo pure, and ſo fervent. The man Sir Charles Grandiſon.—And into your pain, alſo, in view of a ſolemnity ſo near, and to you ſo awful. With all my roguery, I ſympathize with you. I have not either a wicked or unfeeling heart. Such as yours, however, are the true ſpirits; ſuch as mine are only bully and flaſh.

Lucy, you are a good girl. I like the whim of your concluding for Harriet; I alſo like your tenants dining-room, and other managements, as the affair muſt unavoidably be a public one.

Neither of you ſay a word of good Mr. Deane: I hope he is with you. He cannot be a cypher where⯑ever be comes, except on the right-ſide of the figure, to increaſe its conſequence. Don't be afraid of your uncle; I, I, I, will manage him, never fear.

There are other paſſages, Harriet, in your laſt Let⯑ter, which I ought to have anſwered to—But forgive me, my dear; I had laid it by (tho' pleaſed with it in the main); and, having anſwered the moſt material part, by diſpatching your things, forgot it as much as if I had not received it, till the moment I came to conclude. Once more, Adieu, my deareſt Harriet.

LETTER XLVIII. Miſs JERVOIS, To Sir CHARLES GRANDISON.

NO ſooner, dear and honoured Sir, is one boon granted me, but I have another to beg; yet I bluſh as I write, for my troubleſomeneſs. I told you, [298] Sir, I had furniſhed myſelf with new cloaths, on a very joyful occaſion—Indeed it is on a very joyful oc⯑caſion. You would lay me under a new obligation to your goodneſs, if you would be pleaſed to allow me to attend Lady G. in her journey down. I ſhall know, by this freſh favour, that you have quite for⯑given your dutiful ward. I preſume not to add an⯑other word—But I dare ſay, dear Miſs Byron, that now is, will not be againſt it, if you are not.—God bleſs you, my honoured good Sir—But God, I hope, I am ſure, will bleſs you; and ſo ſhall I, as ſurely I ought, whether you grant this favour, or not, to

LETTER XLIX. Sir CHARLES GRANDISON, To Miſs JERVOIS.

LETTER L. Lady G. To Lady L.

WELL, my Siſter, my Friend, my dear Lady L. how do you? As well as can be expected, I hope: The anſwer of a thouſand years old, to every en⯑quirer, careful or ceremonious. And how does my dear little boy? As well as can be expected, too—I am glad of it.

Here we are!—Every-body well, and happy.

I was afraid my brother would have looked more polite upon us than familiar, as he invited us not: But, no!—He was all himſelf, as Harriet ſays. He [300] met us at our coach-door. He handed out his ward. She could not ſpeak. Tears were in her eyes. I could have beat her with my fan. He kiſſed her cheek. My dear child, I thank you moſt ſincerely for your good⯑neſs to your mother.

I was afraid that her joy would then have been too much for her. She expanded, ſhe collected, her plumes. Her ſpread arms (ſoon, however, cloſed) ſhewed me, that ſhe with difficulty reſtrained herſelf from falling at his feet. He turned from her to me. My beſt Charlotte, how do you? The journey, I hope, has not incommoded you. He led me out, and, taking each of the honeſt men by the hand, My dean Lords, you do me honour. He then congratu⯑lated Lord L. on the preſent you had made him, and the family, he ſaid.

At the inner-gate met us our ſweet Harriet, with joy upon one brow, half the cares of this mortal life on the other—She led us into the Cedar-parlour, my brother returning to welcome in the two honeſt men, and threw her arms about my neck—My deareſt Lady G. how much does your preſence rejoice me!—I hope (and looked at me) your journey—Be quiet, Harriet!—You muſt not think ſo much of theſe matters, my Love. She was a little abaſhed—Don't be afraid of me; I will be very good, ſaid I. Then will I be very thankful, replied ſhe.

My lovely Emily! turning to her: How does my ſweet friend! Welcome, once more, to Selby-houſe.

The girl's heart was full—She, thanking her only by a deep courteſy, abruptly withdrew to the window; and, trying for a third hem, in hopes to ſtifle her emo⯑tion, it broke into a half-ſob, and tears followed.

Harriet and I looked; ſhe compaſſionately, I vex⯑edly, I believe; and both ſhook our heads at each other.

Take no notice, ſaid I, ſeeing Harriet move to⯑wards the window to her—It will go off of itſelf. Her joy to ſee Harriet, that's all.

[301] But I muſt take notice (for ſhe found that Emily heard her) My dear Emily, my lovely young friend—why, why—

I will tell you, madam, interrupted ſhe, and threw her arms about Harriet's neck, as Harriet (ſitting in the window) claſped her's about her waiſt; and I will tell you truth, and nothing but the truth—You wrote ſo cool to me, about my coming—And yet I to come! But I could not help it—And I thought you now looked a little ſeverely upon me—But Love, and I, will ſay, Duty to you, my deareſt Miſs Byron, AND NOTHING ELSE, made me ſo earneſt to come. Say you forgive me.

Forgive you, my deareſt Emily!—I had only your ſake, my dear, in view. If I wrote with leſs warmth than you expected, forgive me. Conſider my ſitua⯑tion, my Love. You are, and ever will be, welcome to me. Your griefs, your joys, are mine—Give me which you pleaſe.

The girl! burſt into freſh tears—I, I, I am now as unable, ſobbed ſhe, to bear your goodneſs, as before I was your diſpleaſure—But hide, hide me! Here comes my Guardian!—What now, when he ſees me thus, will become of me?

She heard his voice at the door, leading in the two Lords; and they followed by Mr. Selby, Mrs. Selby, Lucy, and Nancy.

Sir Charles went to the two young Ladies. Har⯑riet kept her ſeat, her arms folded about Emily; Emi⯑ly's glowing face in her boſom.

Sweet emotion! ſaid he, my Emily in tears of joy!

—What a charming picture!—O my Miſs Byron, how does your tenderneſs to this amiable child oblige me! I ſever you not; claſping his generous arms a⯑bout them both.

I have afflicted my dear Emily, Sir, without intend⯑ing it. I wrote coldly, my precious young friend thinks; and her Love for me makes her ſweetly-ſen⯑ſible [302] of my ſuppoſed ingratitude. But believe me, my dear, I love you with a true ſiſterly tenderneſs.

I took the dear girl aſide, and gently expoſtulated with her, upon the childiſhneſs of her behaviour, and the uneaſineſs ſhe would give to Miſs Byron, as well as to herſelf, by repetitions of the like weakneſs of mind.

She promiſed fair; but, Lady L. I wiſh there were more of the child, and leſs of the woman, in this affair. Poor thing! ſhe was very thankful for my advice; and expreſſed how wrong ſhe was, becauſe it might diſcourage her Guardian and Miſs Byron, that now was, from letting her live with them: But for my life, ſaid ſhe, whatever was the matter with me, I could not help my fooliſhneſs.

Miſs Nancy Selby took Emily up with her; and uncle Selby and I had a little lively hit at each other, in the old ſtile. We drew my brother in. I had not tried his ſtrength a good while: But, as Harriet ſaid in one of the ſaucieſt Letters ſhe ever wrote, I ſoon found he was the wrong perſon to meddle with. Yet he is ſuch a charming raillier, that I wonder he can reſiſt his talent. No wonder, Harriet would ſay; be⯑cauſe he has talents ſo ſuperior to that which, ſhe ſays, runs away with his poor ſiſter.

Emily came down to us very compoſed, and be⯑haved prettily enough: But had my brother as much manniſh vanity as ſome of the ſorry fellows have, who have no pretence for it, he would diſcern the poor Emily's foible to have ſome little ſuſceptibility in it. I am glad he does not; for it would grieve him. I have already told him of the ſufferings of poor Lady Anne S. on her hearing he is near marriage; and he expreſſed great concern upon it for that really-worthy woman.

Mr. Reeves, his wife, and Mr. Deane, were abroad when we arrived. They came in to tea. Our mu⯑tual congratulations on the expected happy event, cheared our own hearts, and would have delighted [303] yours. Charming, charming, is the behaviour of my brother to his Bride-elect. You can have no notion of it; becauſe at Colnebrook we always ſaw him acting under a reſtraint; owing, as ſince we have found, to Honour, Conſcience, and a prior Love.

He diverts and turns the courſe of ſubjects that he thinks would be affecting to her; yet in ſuch a man⯑ner, as it is hardly perceivable to be his intention to do ſo: For he makes ſomething of the begun ones contribute to the new ones; ſo that, before uncle Selby is aware of it, he finds himſelf in one that he had not in his head when he ſat out.—And then he comes with his ‘'What a pize was I going to ſay? But this is not what I had in my head.'’ And then, as my brother knows he miſſes his ſcent, only becauſe it has not afforded the merry mortal ſomething to laugh at; he furniſhes him with ſome lively and in⯑nocent occaſion which produces that effect, and then Mr. Selby is ſatisfied. Mrs. Selby and Lucy ſee how my brother manages him; yet find it ſo delicately done, that ſomething ariſes from it that keeps the ho⯑neſt man in credit with himſelf and every-body elſe, for facetiouſneſs, good-humour, good heart, and thoſe qualities which really are his due, and make him in his worſt ſubjects tolerable, and in his beſt valuable.

Venerable Mrs. Shirley is to be here all to-morrow and next day. Mr. Deane has choſen Shirley-manor for his abode, for the time he ſtays; ſo has James Selby, in order to make more room at Selby-houſe for us women. There too Mr. and Mrs. Reeves take up, of choice, their lodgings, tho' here all day.

Poor Harriet! She told me once, that fear makes cowards loving. She is ſo fond of me and Lucy, and her aunt, at times, it would be a ſin not to pity her. Yet Lucy once toſſed up her head, upon my ſaying ſo—Pity her! why, yes, I think I do, now you have put me in the head of it: But I don't know whether ſhe is not more to be envied. Lucy is a polite girl. [304] She loves her Harriet. But ſhe knew I ſhould be pleaſed with the compliment to my brother.

Harriet has juſt now looked in upon me—Writing, Lady G. And of me?—To Lady L. I ſuppoſe?

She claſped her arms about me: Ah, madam! Thurſday! Thurſday!

What of Thurſday?

Is the day after to-morrow!

Every child can tell that, Harriet.

Ah but I, with ſuch happineſs before me, am ſil⯑lier than a child!

Well, but I can tell you ſomething, Harriet.

What is that?

That the next day to Thurſday, is Friday—The next to that is Saturday—The next—

Piſh! I'll ſtay no longer with you, giving me a gentle tap—I would not have anſwered you ſo.

Away ſhe tript, deſiring her affectionate compli⯑ments to dear Lady L.

Let me ſee! Have I any more to write? I think not. But a call for ſupper makes me leave my paper unſubſcribed.

EMILY behaved very prettily at ſupper; but it would have been as well, if ſhe had not thought ſo herſelf: For ſhe boaſted of her behaviour afterwards to me. That made it look like an extraordinary in her own account.

Mr. Selby ſung us a ſong, with a good Fox-hunter air. There is ſomething very agreeable in his fa⯑cetiouſneſs: But it would become nobody elſe. I think you and I agreed at Dunſtable, that he is a fine, jolly, hearty, handſome-iſh man—He looks ſhrewd, arch, open, a true country gentleman aſpect; what he ſays is ſo-ſo—What he means is better.—He is very fond of your Lord—But I think rather fonder of mine—A criterion, Lady L!

As for Lord G. he is in the ſituation of Harriet's [305] Singleton—He is prepared to laugh the moment Mr. Selby opens his mouth; eſpecially when he twiſts his neck about, turns a glaſs upſide-down, and looks under his bent brows, at the company round, yet the table always in his eye: For then we know, that ſomething is collected, and ready to burſt forth.

Well, good night! good night! good night!—Has my Godſon-elect done crying yet? What a duce has he to cry at? Unſwaddled, unpinioned, unſwathed, legs and arms at full liberty: But they ſay crying does good to the brats—opens their pipes—and-ſo-forth—But tell him, that if he does not learn to laugh, as well as cry, he ſhall not be related to

LETTER LI. Lady G. In Continuation.

WEdneſday is come, and, as Harriet ſays, to-mor⯑row is Thurſday. Ah, Harriet! rich as con⯑tent! poor as patience!

I have been talking to her: Half-comforting her, half-laughing at her. She ſays, I am but half-good.—All the world is come.—Lord W. and his ever-agree⯑able Lady. Beauchamp, as I am alive, with them! I wiſh I could ſee this rogue Emily in love with him. He is certainly in love with her.

‘'I know it—I know it!—Do you go down, about your buſineſs.'’

Only Lord G. come to tell me what I knew be⯑fore.

Harriet's gone down to be complimented. She has hardly ſpirits to compliment.

‘'Well, well, I'll only tell Lady L. who is come. Does not the poor ſoul keep her bed? And are we not to be as complaiſant to our ill friends, as our well?—I am coming, Child.'’

[306] Emily, with her pretty impertinence. Neither Lord G. nor Emily, can be any-thing, when ſtran⯑gers come, and I ſtand not by them to ſhew their ſignification.

Duce! a third meſſenger—O! Mrs. Selby herſelf. I'll tell you more by-and-by, Lady L. ‘'Your ſer⯑vant, Mrs. Selby. I attend you.’

THE two Miſs Nedhams, Miſs Watſon, Miſs Barclay, the two Miſs Holles's, Mr. Deane—‘'So, ſo, ſo, Harriet, ſaid I, what is the meaning of this?'’—My uncle's doings! I have no ſpirits. Sir Charles ſhould not have been ſo paſſive: He, and no-body elſe, could have prevailed upon my uncle. My aunt has held him in, till her arms aked. O the dear reſtiff man! She has now let go; and you ſee how he prances over the whole meadow, the reins upon his neck.

Dear girl! ſaid I, I am glad you are ſo fanciful.

I would fain be lively, if I could, ſaid ſhe. Never any creature had more reaſon, Lady G.—My heart is all Gratitude, and, I will ſay, Love.

Good girl! hold up your head, my dear, and all will be as it ſhould be.

Sir Charles ſtaid to attend hither the moſt vene⯑rable of women. Mr. and Mrs. Revees are to come with them. You muſt, as you expect me to be mi⯑nute, be content with bits and ſcraps, written by ſnatches of time. I pity you for your ſtill-life, my dear Lady L. and think your requeſt, that I will ſo write, as to make you ſuppoſe yourſelf on the ſpot, a reaſonable one.

Here is come the man of men!

WITH what reſpect (all his Reſpect has Love in it) did he attend Mrs. Shirley to her ſeat! And then haſtening to Lord and Lady W. he ſaluted them both, and acknowleged the honour done him by their pre⯑ſence; [307] an hour, he ſaid, that he could not have expected, nor therefore had the thought, the diſtance ſo great, of aſking for it.

He then paid his compliments, in the moſt affe⯑ctionate manner, to his amiable friend Beauchamp; who, on his thanking him for his uninvited preſence, ſaid, He could not deny himſelf being preſent at a ſo⯑lemnity that was to complete the happineſs of the beſt of men, and beſt of friends.

Sir Charles addreſſed himſelf to the young Ladies who were moſt ſtrangers to him; apologizing to them, as they were engaged with Mr. Selby, Mr. Deane and Lord G. that he did not at firſt. He ſat a few minutes with them: What he ſaid, I heard not; but they ſmiled, bluſhed, and looked delighted upon each other. Every-body followed him in his motions, with their eye. So much preſence of mind, never met with ſo much modeſty of behaviour, and ſo charming a vivacity.

The young Ladies came only intendedly to break⯑faſt, and that at Mr. Selby's odd invitation. They had the good ſenſe to apologize for their coming this day, as they were to make part of the cavalcade, as I may call it to-morrow. But the odd ſoul had met the four at a neighbouring Lady's, where he made a goſſiping viſit, and would make them come with him.

I obſerved, that nobody cared to find fault with him; ſo I began to rate him; and a very whimſical dialogue paſſed between us at one end of the room, while Sir Charles, Mrs. Shirley, Mrs. Selby, Lady W. and Harriet, were in cloſe talk at the other.

I made the honeſt man aſhamed of himſelf; and every-body in our circle was pleaſed with us. This miſled me to go on; and ſo, by attending to his non⯑ſenſe, and purſuing my own, I loſt the opportunity of hearing a converſation, which, I dare ſay, would have been worth repeating to you by pen and ink. Harriet ſhall write, and give it you.

[308] Mr. Orme and his Siſter, we are told, ſet out yeſter⯑day for London. Mrs. Selby and Harriet are yet afraid of Greville.

The gentlemen and ſome of the Ladies, myſelf (but not Harriet) among them, have been to look at the preparations made in the leſſer Park, for the recep⯑tion of the tenants. Mr. Selby prided himſelf not a little on his contrivances there. When we returned, we found Harriet at one end of the great parlour, ſitting with Emily; her grandmother, Mr. Selby, Lucy, in converſation at the other; the good girl's hand in hers, Emily bluſhing, looking down, but de⯑lighted, as it ſeemed; Harriet, with ſweetneſs, love, and compaſſion, intermingled in her aſpect, talking to her, and bending over her, her fine neck. I thought I never ſaw her look ſo lovely. Elder ſiſter like, and younger, one inſtructing in love, the other liſtening with pleaſure. They (unobſerved by themſelves) took every-body's attention, as the room filled with the company, who all crouded about Mrs. Shirley, affect⯑ing not to heed the two friends. What would I give, ſaid Lady W. to Sir Charles and her Lord, for a picture of thoſe two young Ladies (Emily juſt then kiſſed the hand of her lovely friend with emotion, and Harriet lifted up Emily's to her lips) if Love, Dignity, and ſuch Expreſſion, could be drawn in the face of one Lady; and that Reverence, Gratitude, and modeſt At⯑tention, in the other? I congratulate you, Sir Charles, with all my heart. I have obſerved with rapture, from every look, every word, and from the whole behaviour of Miſs Byron, that your goodneſs to hun⯑dreds will be greatly recompenſed. O my good Lord W. turning to him, Miſs Byron will pay all our debts.

Every attitude, every look, of Miſs Byron's, ſaid my Lord, would furniſh out a fine picture. I cannot keep my eye from her, where-ever ſhe is.

My brother bowed, delighted.

[309] How pleaſed was Mrs. Shirley, Mrs. Selby—Every⯑body! But what a different man is Lord W. to what he once was! lifted up from low keeping, to a wife, who, by her behaviour, good ſenſe, politeneſs, gives him conſequence. Once I thought him one of the loweſt of men. I denied him, in my heart, a relation to my mother, and thought him a ſavage.

The two young Ladies, finding themſelves ob⯑ſerved, ſtood up, in a parting poſture; but Emily ſeeming eager to detain her dear friend's attention, Harriet took a hand of Emily's in each of hers.

I had fidled that way—Yes, my dear, ſaid the lovely Harriet, friendſhip unalterable by time or fate, as you ſay. Deareſt Emily, command me ever.

Emily looked about her—O madam, I want to kneel to you. I will ever, ever—My good Lady G. ſaid Harriet, approaching me, one of Emily's hands in hers, we have promiſed a friendſhip that is to con⯑tinue to the end of our lives. We are to tell each the other all her faults. How cauſeleſly has my Emily been accuſing herſelf!—The moſt ingenuous of hu⯑man hearts is hers.

She left Emily's hand in mine, and bent towards Mrs. Shirley, and the whole circle of friends ſur⯑rounding her chair.

O my dear Lady G! ſaid Emily, whiſperingly, as we followed the meek-eyed Goodneſs of Wiſdom [Such her air, her manner, her amiableneſs, ſeemed in my thought, at that time, to make her], never, never was ſuch graciouſneſs! I cannot hear her goodneſs. What a happy creature ſhall I be, if I follow her ex⯑ample, and obſerve her precepts!—You cannot, my dear, ſaid I, have a better guide: But, Love, you muſt not be capricious, as you were at firſt coming. She profeſſed ſhe would not. I have been excuſing myſelf to her, madam, ſaid the dear girl, and am [...].

[310] My brother met the lovely creature. He took her hand, and, leading her towards her grandm ther, We have been attentive, my deareſt life, to you and Emily. You love her: She adores you. My Beau⯑champ, you know not the hundredth part of the ex⯑cellencies of this admirable woman.

You were born for each other. God preſerve you both, for an example to a world that wants it.

Harriet courteſied to Beauchamp. Her face was overſpread with a fine crimſon; but ſhe attempted not to ſpeak. She ſqueezed herſelf, as it were, between the chairs of her grandmamma and aunt; then turned about, and looked ſo charmingly! Miſs Jervois, Sir, ſaid ſhe, to my brother, has the beſt of hearts. She deſerves your kind care. How happy is ſhe, in ſuch protection!

And how much happier will ſhe be in yours, ma⯑dam! replied he. Of what a care, my Emily, turn⯑ing to her, has this admirable Lady already relieved my heart! the care the greater, as you deſerve it all. In every-thing take her direction: It will be the di⯑rection of love and prudence. What an amiable companion will you make her! and how happy will your love of each other make me!

Emily got behind me, as it were. Speak for me to my guardian, promiſe for me, madam—You never never, ſhall break your word through my fault.

Beauchamp was affected. Graciouſneſs, ſaid he, looking at Harriet, and Goodneſs, looking at Emily, how are they here united! What a happy man will he be, who can intitle himſelf to a Lady formed upon ſuch an example!

A ſun-beam from my brother's eye ſeemed to play upon his face, and dazle his eyes. The fine youth withdrew behind Lady W's chair. Mr. Selby, who had been ſo good as to give us his ſilent attention, then ſpoke, with a twang through his noſe. Adad, adad, ſaid he, I don't know what to make of myſelf—But go on, go on; I love to hear you.

[311] Your good Lord, my dear, enjoyed the pleaſure we all had: Mine toſſed up his head, and ſeemed to ſnuff the wind: And yet, my dear Lady L. there was no⯑thing ſo very extraordinary ſaid; but the manner was the thing, which ſhewed a meaning, that left language behind it.

My brother is abſolutely paſſive as to the oeconomy of the approaching ſolemnity. Mrs. Shirley, Mrs. Selby, Lady W. your Charlotte, and Lucy, are the council appointed; but uncle Selby will put in, to marſhal this happy proceeding. What a pize, he ſays, is not Harriet his daughter? Will it not be his Day?

Mrs Selby tries to ſmile off his oddity; but now-and-then we ſee her good-naturedly redden at it, as if for his ſake. Lucy looks at her uncle as if ſhe could hardly away with his particularities; but Mrs. Shirley has always ſomething to ſay for him. She enters into his character: She knows the honeſty, as well as ge⯑neroſity, of his heart: That it all proceeds from joy and love; and always allows for him—As I would have my friends allow for me: And, to ſay truth, I, for my own part, like him the better for wanting al⯑lowances; becauſe his caſe, in that reſpect, is mine. Ah, my dear! it is the thoughtful, half-aſleep, half-awake, blinking cat, that catches the mouſe. Such as your Charlotte, with their kitteniſh tricks, do but fright away the prey; and, if they could catch it, had rather play with it, than kill it.

Harriet is with her virgins: Her dreſs is left to her own choice. I ſtept in juſt now—She met me at her dreſſing-room door, and looked ſo lovely! ſo ſilly! and ſo full of unmeaning meaningneſs [Do you un⯑derſtand me, Lady L?] She ſighed—What would my Harriet ſay to me? ſaid I, taking her hand.—I don't know; again ſighed—But love me, Lady G.—Can I help it? ſaid I; and, putting my arms about her, kiſſed her cheek.

[312] Uncle Selby has provided ſeven gentlemen of the neighbourhood, to match the number of the Ladies; for there will be ſixteen of us: Mr. Godſrey, Mr. Steele, Mr. Falconbridge, three agreeable young men, ſons of gentlemen in the neighbourhood, Mr. Selby's choſen friends and companions in his field-ſports; his couſin Holles, brother to the Miſs Holles's, an admirer of Miſs Nedham; young Mr. Roberts, an admirer of Miſs Barclay; Mr. Alleſtree, a nephew of Sir John, a young man of ſine qualities engaged to Miſs Dolly Nedham: and Lord Reresby of Ireland (related to Mr. Selby's favourite Sir Thomas Falconbridge), a young nobleman of ſhining parts, great modeſty, good-nature, and, what is worth them all, Mrs. Shirley ſays, a man of virtue.

Lord W. was very deſirous of giving ſo rich a jewel as Harriet to his nephew, in return, as he ſaid, for as rich a jewel which he had preſented to him; but Mr. Selby would not admit of that. I told him, on his appeal to me, that he was right, once in his life.

Mr. Selby talks much of the muſic he has provided for to-morrow. He ſpeaks of it as a band, I aſſure you.

WE have had a moſt agreeable evening. My bro⯑ther was the Soul of the company. His addreſs to his Harriet was reſpectfully-affectionate, yet, for her ſake, not very peculiar. Every-body, in turn, had his kind⯑eſt notice, and were happy in it. The next day's ſolemnity was oſten hinted at by Mr. Selby, and even by my flippant Lord—But Sir Charles always inſen⯑ſibly led to more general ſubjects; and this ſupported the ſpirits of the too thoughtful Harriet, and ſhe be⯑haved, on the whole, very prettily. His joy viſibly was joy; but it ſeemed to be joy of ſo familiar and eaſy a nature, as if it would laſt.

He once occaſionally told the happy commencement [313] of his acquaintance with Miſs Byron; on purpoſe, I ſaw, to remind her, that he ought not to be thought of as a ſtranger to her, and to engage her in an eaſy familiarity. But there was a delicacy obſerved by him in the remembered commencement. He put it not from the time that he reſcued her from Sir Hargrave; but from the firſt viſit ſhe made me in St. James's Square; tho' ſhe, with great gratitude, carried it back to its real commencement.

Mrs. Shirley retired ſoon, as is her cuſtom, her Harriet attending her. The old Lady is lame, and infirm; but, as ſhe ſits, is a very fine woman; and every-body ſees that ſhe was once a beauty. I thought I never ſaw beauty in full bloom ſo beautiful as when it ſupported beauty in ruins, on the old Lady's retiring with a face ſo happy, leaning one arm on her lovely grandchild, a neat crutch-ſtick in the other, lightning her weight to the delicately-formed ſupporter of her old age. It was ſo ſtriking a picture, that every ſoul all ſtanding up, from reverence, or her retreating, ob⯑ſerved it; and no one knew which obſerved it firſt, when the door ſhurt out the graceful figures.

The old Lady's lameneſs is owing, it ſeems, to a ſprained ſinew, got in leading up a dance, not many years ago, propoſed by herſelf, in order to crown the reconciliation which ſhe had brought about, between a couple that had, till then been unhappy; and which her good-nature and joy made her not ſenſible of till ſhe ſat down. Pity, pity, that any-thing ſhould have hurt ſo benign, ſo chearful, ſo benevolent, a woman! Why did not Harriet tell us this circumſtance? It would have heightened our value for her: And the more, if ſhe had told us, as is the truth, that ſhe never conſiders it as a hurt (ſo honourably come by) but when ſhe thinks ſhe is troubleſome to thoſe about her.

Harriet returned to company more chearful than when ſhe left it, enriched with her grandmother's [314] bleſſings, and prayers for her and my brother (as ſhe whiſpered me) and in having been allowed to ſupport the tottering parent.

Harriet, ſaid I, aloud, you were a very naughty girl to accuſe me, as once you did, of reflecting upon age. You never, in my eyes, looked more lovely than you did half an hour ago, ſupporting the beſt of old Ladies.

We are of your Ladyſhip's mind, ſaid Lady W. A new grace, believe me, my dear, ſhone out in every graceful feature.

Your kind notice, Ladies, bowing to me and Lady W. does me honour; but more to your own hearts.

Moſt gracefully does the dear girl receive and return a compliment; but this, Lady L. I need not now ſay to you: We have both admired her on theſe occaſions. How happy will ſhe make a man, who can be ſo ſen⯑ſible of his happineſs! And how happy will he make her! He, who has the moſt grateful and enlarged of human hearts!

Mr. Deane, Sir Charles, Lord and Lady W. Mrs. Shirley, Mr. and Mrs. Selby, Lucy, Lord L. and I withdrew, to read, and ſee ſigned, the Marriage⯑articles, ſoon after tea (I tell you things out of courſe, Lady L. as they come into my head): When they were ready to ſign, the dear Harriet was ſent for in. She would not come before. She begged, ſhe prayed, ſhe might not. The firſt line of each clauſe, and the laſt for form ſake, were run over, by Mr. Deane, as faſt as he could read. How the dear creature trem⯑bled when ſhe came in, and all the time of the ſhort⯑ened reading! But when the pen was given her, to write her name, ſhe dropt it twice, on the parchment. Sir Charles ſaw her emotion with great concern; and held her up, as ſhe ſtood. My deareſt life, ſaid he, take time, take time—Do not hurry; putting the pen each time, with reverence, in her fingers. She tried to write, but twice her pen would not touch the [315] parchment, ſo as to mark it. She ſat down. Take time, take time, my Love, repeated he. She ſoon made another effort, his arm round her waiſt—She then ſigned them; but Sir Charles held her hand, and the parchments in them, when ſhe delivered them.—‘'As your act and deed, my deareſt Love?'’ ſaid Sir Charles.—'Yes, indeed,' ſaid the dear creature, and made him a courteſy; hardly knowing what ſhe did.

She muſt hear of this, when ſhe can bear it. You charged me to be very minute on the behaviour of our Harriet: You was ſure it would be a pattern. But, no! you ſee ſhe is too timid.

She accompanied me to my chamber when we re⯑tired for the night. She ſigned. I took notice of it.—O my Charlotte! ſaid ſhe, To-morrow! To-morrow!—

Will be the beginning of your happineſs, my Har⯑riet!—What virgin heart, ſaid I, but muſt have had joy, on her contemplating the man of ſenſe and polite⯑neſs, had his behaviour of this night only been the teſt of her judgment of him?

True! And I have joy: But the circumſtance be⯑fore me is a ſolemn one: And does not the obligation lie all on his ſide?

Does he behave to you, my Love, as if he thought any of it did?

O no, no! But the fact is otherwiſe; and as I know it, the obligation is heightened by his polite goodneſs to me.

Dearly does he love his Harriet (To-morrow will you be his Harriet for life). Are you not convinced that he loves you?

I am, I am! But—

But what, my dear?

I never can deſerve him. Hapleſs, hapleſs Clemen⯑tina! ſhe only could! Let a ſortnight after to-morrow be over, and ſhe be not un -happy, and what a thrice happy creature ſhall I be!

[316] I kiſſed her glowing cheek.—Support yourſelf like a heroine to-morrow, my dear. You will have a taſk, becauſe of the crouds which will attend you; but it is the tax you pay for being ſo excellent, and ſo much beloved.

Is it not ſtrange, Lady G. that my grandmamma ſhould join to ſupport my uncle in his vehemence for a public day? Had it been only his command, I would have rebelled!

The pride they take in the alliance with my bro⯑ther, not for his ſituation in life, but for his tranſcend⯑ent merit, is their motive; your grandmother's parti⯑cularly. She conſiders the day as one of the happieſt of her life: She has begged of me to ſupport you in undergoing it. She ſays, If there ſhould be a thou⯑ſand ſpectators, ſhe knows it will give pleaſure to as many hearts; and to hers the more, for that reaſon. And you will be, continued I, ſo lovely a Pair, when joined, that every beholder, man and woman, will give him to you; you to him.

You are very good, my dear Lady G. to encourage me thus: But I told my grandmother, this night, that ſhe knew not the hardſhip ſhe had impoſed on me, by inſiſting on a public day; but I would not begin ſo great a change, whatever it coſt me, by an act of op⯑poſition or diſobedience to the will of ſo dear a parent. But your brother, my dear Lady G. continued ſhe, who would have thought he would have given into it?

As your friends mean a compliment to my brother, replied I; ſo he, by his acquieſcence, means one to you, and to them. He is not a conſident man: He looks upon Marriage in as awful a light as you do; but he is not ſhy of making a public declaration of his Love to the woman he has choſen. He has told me, talking of this very ſubject, that a public ceremony is not what, for your delicacy-ſake, he would have pro⯑poſed: But being propoſed, he would not, by any means, decline it. He had no concern but for you; [317] and he took your acquieſcence as a noble inſtance of your duty and obligingneſs to one of the moſt affectio⯑nate and worthy of parents.

O my dear Lady G. how good was you to come down! Support me in the arduous taſk of To-mor⯑row!—You will not want my ſupport, my love; you will have Sir Charles Grandiſon, bound, both by Duty and Love, to ſupport you.

She threw her arms about me: I will endeavour to behave as I ought, in a circumſtance that ſhall intitle me to ſuch protection, and to ſuch a Siſter.

My fidgeting Lord thruſt in (unſent for) his ſharp face; and I chiding him for his intruſion, ſhe ſlipt away, or I had deſigned to a tend her to her chamber; and there, perhaps, ſhould we have ſtaid together moſt part of the night. If I had, I don't ſuppoſe that I ſhould have deprived her of any reſt. What makes my fooliſh heart throb for her? ſo happy as ſhe is likely to be!—But ſincerely do I love her.

I ſhould have told you, that Emily behaved very prettily. Mr. Beauchamp had a rich opportunity to engage her, while the ſettlements were executing.

On our return to them, the poor girl was wiping her eyes. How now, Emily? ſaid I ſoftly. O ma⯑dam, Mr. Beauchamp has been telling me how ill Sir Harry is! His own eyes ſet mine the example. How I pity him! And how good he is!—No wonder my Guardian loves him.

Beauchamp may poſſibly catch her in a weeping fit. The heart ſoftened by grief, will turn to a comforter. Our own grief produces pity for another: Pity, Love. They are next neighbours, and will call in to aſk kindly how a ſufferer does: And what a heart muſt that be, that will not adminiſter comfort when it makes a neigbourly call, if comfort be in its power?

‘'Lord G. you are very impertinent.'’ I am in the ſcribbling vein, my Caroline. And here this man—‘'Say another word, Lord G. and I'll ſit up all night— [318] Well, well, now you return not ſaucineſs for threat⯑ening, I will have done.'’

Good night—Good morrow, rather, Lady L.—O Lady L.! Good morrow may it be!

LETTER LII. Lady G., MiſsSELBY, To Lady L.

YOU ſhall find me, my dear Siſter, as minute as you wiſh. Lucy is a charming girl. For the humour's ſake, as well as to forward each other, on the joyful occaſion, we ſhall write by turns.

It would look as if we had determined upon a pub⯑lic day, in the very face of it, were we to appear in full dreſſes: The contrary, therefore, was agreed upon yeſterday. But every one, however, intends to be dreſſed as elegantly as Morning-dreſſes can make them. Harriet, as you ſhall hear, is the leaſt ſhewy. All in Virgin white. She looks, ſhe moves, an Angel! I muſt go to the dear girl. ‘'Lucy, where are you?'’

‘'Here, madam—But how can one write, when one's thoughts—'’

‘'Write as I bid you. Have I not given you your cue?'’

Lucy; taking up the pen.] Dear Lady L. I am in a vaſt hurry. Lord W. Lady W. and Mr. Beau⯑champ, are come in my Lord's coach. Sir Charles, Mr. Deane, Mr. and Mrs. Reeves, have been here this half-hour. Has Lady G. dated? No, I proteſt! We women are above ſuch little exactneſſes. Dear Lady L! the Gentlemen and Ladies are all come. They ſay the Church-yard is crouded with more of the living, than of the dead, and there is hardly room [319] for a ſpade. What an image, on ſuch a day! We are all out of our Wits between joy and hurry. My couſin is not well; her heart miſgives her! Fooliſh girl!—She is with her grandmamma and my grand⯑mamma Selby. One gives her hartſhorn, another ſalts. ‘'Lady G. Lady G. I muſt attend my dear Miſs Byron: In an hour's time that will be her name no longer.'’

Lady G.] Here, here, child!—Our Harriet's bet⯑ter, Lady L. and aſhamed of herſelf. Sir Charles was ſent for up, by her grandmother and aunt, to ſooth her. Charming man! Tenderneſs and Love are in⯑deed Tenderneſs and Love in the brave and manly heart. Emily will not be married, on any conſi⯑deration. There is a terror, and not joy, ſhe ſays, in the attending circumſtances. Good Emily, continue to harden thy heart againſt Love, and thoughts of Wedlock, for two years to come; and then change thy mind, for Beauchamp's ſake!

‘'Dear Lucy, a line or two more. Your uncle, I hear his voice, ſummoning—The man's mad! mad indeed, Lady L.—In ſuch a hurry!'’—Lucy, They are not yet all ready.

‘'Nor I, ſays the raptured ſaucy-face, to take up the pen—Not a line more can I, will I, write, till the knot is tied.’

Nor I, my dear Lady L. till I can give you joy upon it.

I fib: For this hurrying ſoul him [...]elf, in driving every body elſe, has forgot to be quite ready—But we are in very good time. Lucy has brought me up the Order of Proceſſion, as Earl-marſhal Selby has directed it.

Here I pin it on.

[320]

• Firſt Coach (Mr. Selby's).

  THE BRIDE,	Mr. SELBY.
  Mrs. SHIRLEY,	THE BRIDEGROOM.

• Bride-Men & Maids.
  • Second Coach (Mrs. Shirley's).

    Miſs EMILY JERVOIS,	Lord RERESBY.
    Miſs NEDHAM,	Mr. BEAUCHAMP.

  • Third Coach (Sir Charles's).

    Miſs BARCLAY,	Mr. FALCONBRIDGE.
    Miſs WATSON,	Mr. ALLESTREE.

• Fourth Coach (Lord W's).

  Mrs. SELBY,	Lord W.
  Lady W.	Lord L.

• Fifth Coach (old Mrs. Selby's).

  Old Mrs. SELBY,	Lord G.
  Lady G.	Mr. DEANE.

• Sixth Coach (Mr. Reeves's).

  Mrs. REEVES,	Mr. JAMES SELBY.
  Miſs LUCY SELBY,	Mr. REEVES.

• Seventh Coach (Sir John Holles's).

  Miſs NANCY SELBY,	Mr. HOLLES.
  Miſs KITTY HOLLES,	Mr. STEELE.

• Eighth Coach (Lord G's).

  Miſs PATTY HOLLES,	Mr. GODFREY.
  Miſs DOLLY NEDHAM,	Mr. ROBERTS.

Each coach four horſes. Sir Charles's ſtate-coach to be reſerved for the day of public appearance.

[321] [From Selby-houſe to the Church, Half a mile, in Coaches; Foot-way not ſo much.]

Emily was very earneſt to be Bride-maid, tho' ad⯑viſed to the contrary.

Mr. Beauchamp was a Brideman, at his own re⯑queſt alſo.

I will go back to the early part of the morning.

We are each of us ſerenaded, as I may ſay, by di⯑rection of this joyful man uncle Selby (awakened, as he called it, to muſic) by James Selby, playing at each perſon's door an air or two, the words from an Epitha⯑lamium (whoſe, I know not);

It is indeed a fine day. The ſun ſeemed to re⯑proach ſome of us; but Harriet ſlept not a wink. No wonder.

I haſtened up to ſalute her. She was ready dreſſed. Charming readineſs, my Love, ſaid I! I took the opportunity while I was able, anſwered ſhe.

Lucy, Nancy, were with her, both dreſſed, as ſhe, for the Day; that they might have nothing to do but attend her. What joy in their faces! What ſweet carefulneſs in the lovely Harriet's!—And will this Day, ſaid ſhe once, in a low voice, to me, give me to the Lord of my Heart?—Let not grief come near it; joy can be enough painful!

Her grandmamma was ſoon ready. Harriet hur⯑ried in to her grandmamma'a apartment, to crave her bleſſing.

Lucy.]My couſin, her ſpirits over-hurried, was ready to ſaint in her grandmother's arms; but, re⯑vived by the ſoothings, the bleſſings, of her venerable parent, ſoon recovered. Let nobody be frighted, ſaid [322] her grandmother: Affright not, by your hurryings, my lovely child! A little fatigued; her ſpirits are hur⯑ried: Her joy is too much for them.

What a charming preſence of mind has Mrs. Shir⯑ley! Lady G. bids me write any-thing to your La⯑dyſhip, ſo I will but write; and forbids me apolo⯑gizing either for manner or words.

Sir Charles was admitted. She ſtood up the mo⯑ment ſhe ſaw him, Love and Reverence in her ſweet aſpect. With a kind impatience he haſtened to her, and threw himſelf at her feet, taking her hand, and preſſing it with his lips—Reſume your magnanimity, my deareſt Life: With the man before you, by God's bleſſing, you will have more than a chance for happi⯑neſs.

Forgive me, Sir, ſaid ſhe, ſitting down (She could hardly ſtand): I can have no doubt of your goodneſs: But it is a great Day! The Solemnity is an awful one!

It is a great, a ſolemn, Day to me, my deareſt crea⯑ture! But encourage my joy by your ſmiles. It can ſuffer abatement only by giving you pain.

Generous goodneſs! But—

But what, my Love?—In compliment to the beſt of Parents, to the kindeſt of Uncles, reſume your uſual preſence of mind. I elſe, who ſhall glory before a thouſand witneſſes in receiving the honour of your hand, ſhall be ready to regret that I acquieſced ſo chearfully with the wiſhes of thoſe parental friends for a public celebration.

I have not been of late well, Sir: My mind is weakened. But it would be ungrateful, If I did not own to you, that my joy is as ſtrong as my fear: It overcame me. I hope I ſhall behave better. You ſhould not have been called to be a witneſs of my weakneſs—

This Day, my deareſt Love, we call upon the world to witneſs to our mutual vows. Let us ſhew that [323] world, that our Hearts are one; and that the Cere⯑mony, ſacred as it is, cannot make them more ſo. The engagement is a holy one: Let us ſhew the Multitude as well as our ſurrounding Friends, that we think it a laudable one. Once more I call upon you, my deareſt Life, to juſtify my joy by your ap⯑parent approbation. The world around you, lovelieſt of women, has been accuſtomed to ſee your Lovers; ſhew them now the huſband of your choice.

O Sir! you have given me a motive! I will think of it throughout the whole Sacred Tranſaction. She looked around her, as if to ſee if every-body were ready that moment to attend her to Church.

Lady G.] The Ceremony is happily over; and I am retired to oblige my Caroline. You have the form of the Proceſſion. When ever-thing was ready, Mr. Selby thought fit to call us down in order into the Great Hall, according to it, marſhalling his Fours; and great pride and pleaſure did he take in his office. At his firſt ſummons, down came the Angel, and the four young Ladies, and each of the four had her part⯑ner aſſigned her.

Emily ſeemed, between the novelty and the parade, to be wholly engaged.

Harriet, the moment ſhe came down, flew to her grandmamma, and kneeled to her, Sir Charles ſup⯑porting her as ſhe kneeled, and as ſhe aroſe. A tender and ſweet fight!

The old Lady threw her arms about her, and twice or thrice kiſſed her forehead; her voice faltring—God bleſs, bleſs, ſuſtain my child!—Her aunt kiſſing her cheek. Now, now, my deareſt Love, whiſpered ſhe, I call upon you for fortitude.

She viſibly ſtruggled for reſolution, but ſeemed, in all her motions, to be in a hurry, as if afraid ſhe ſhould not hold it. She paſſed me with ſuch a ſweet confuſion! Charming girl! ſaid I, taking her hand, [324] as ſhe paſſed, and giving way to her quick motions for fear reſtraint ſhould diſconcert her.

When her uncle gave the word for moving, and approached to take her hand, ſhe in her hurry, for⯑getting her cue, put it into Sir Charles's. Hold, hold ſaid her uncle, ſweeping his boſom with his chin, in his arch way, that muſt not yet be. My brother, kiſſing her hand, preſented it in a very gallant manner to her uncle. I yield it to you, Sir, ſaid he, as a pre⯑cious truſt; in an hour's time to be confimred mine by Divine, as well as human Sanctions.

Mr. Selby led the lovely creature to the coach, but ſtopt at the door with her, for Mrs. Shirley's going in firſt: The ſervants at diſtance all admiring, and bleſſ⯑ing, and praying, for their beloved young Lady.

Sir Charles took the good Mrs. Shirley's hand in one of his, and put the other arm round her waiſt, to ſupport her. What honour you do me, Sir! ſaid ſhe. I think I may throw away this (meaning her ebony crutch-ſtick): Do I ail any-thing? Her feet, however, ſeconded not her ſpirits. My brother lifted her into the coach. It was ſo natural to him to be po⯑lite, that he offered his hand to his beloved Harriet; but was checked by her uncle (in his uſual pleaſant manner): Stay your time, too ready Sir, ſaid he. Thank God it will not be ſo long before both hands will be yours.

We all followed, very exactly, the order that had been, with ſo much proud parade, preſcribed by Earl⯑marſhal Selby.

The coach-way was lined with ſpectators. Mr. Selby, it ſeems, bowed all the way, in return to the ſalutes of his acquaintance. Have you never, Lady L. called for the attention of your company in your coach, to ſomething that has paſſed in the ſtreets, or on the road, and at the ſame time thruſt your head through the windows ſo that nobody could ſee but yourſelf? So it was with Mr. Selby, I doubt not. [325] He wanted every one to look in at the Happy Pair; but took care that hardly any-body but himſelf ſhould be ſeen. I aſked him afterwards, If it were not ſo? He knew not, he ſaid, but it might. I told him, he had a very jolly comely face to ſhew, but no head. He does not ſpare me: But true jeſts are not always the moſt welcome. Tell a Lady of Forty, that ſhe is Sixty or Seventy, and ſhe will not be ſo angry as if ſhe were gueſſed to be Eight or Nine-and-thirty. The one nobody will believe; the other every-body. My Lord G. I can tell you, fares well in Mr. Selby's com⯑pany.

‘'Lucy, my dear girl, take the pen—You don't know you ſay, what I wrote laſt—Read it, my girl—You have it—Take the pen; I want to be among them.'’

Lucy.] Lady G. muſt have her jeſt, whether in the right place, or not. Excuſe me, both Siſters. How could ſhe, however, in a part ſo intereſting? She ſays, I muſt give an account of the Proceſſion, and ſhe will conduct them into the Church; I out of it. I cannot, ſhe ſays, after ſo many wiſhes, ſo many ſuſpenſes, ſo much expectation, before it came to this, be too mi⯑nute. Every woman's heart leaps, ſhe ſays, when a Wedding is deſcribed; and wiſhes to know all, how and about it. Your Ladyſhip will know, that theſe words are Lady G's own: But what can I ſay of the Proceſſion?

The poor Harriet—Fie upon me—The rich Har⯑riet, was not ſorry, I believe, that her uncle's head, now on this ſide, now on the other, in a manner, filled the Coach: but when it ſtopt at the Church⯑yard, an incloſed one, whoſe walls keep off coaches near a ſtone's throw from the Church-porch, then was my lovely couſin put to it; eſpecially as her grand⯑mother walked ſo ſlow. We were all out of our Coaches before the Father and the Bride entered the [326] Porch. I ſhould tell your Ladyſhip, that the paſſage from the entrance of the Church-yard to the Church is railed in. Every Sunday the croud (gathered to ſee the gentry go in and come out) are accuſtomed to be bounded by theſe rails and were the more content⯑edly ſo now: The whole Church-yard ſeemed one maſs (but for that ſeparating paſſage) of living matter, diſtinguiſhed only by ſeparate heads; not a hat on the mens; pulled off, perhaps, by general conſent, for the convenience of ſeeing, more than from deſigned regard in that particular. But, in the main, never was there ſuch ſilent reſpect ſhewn, on the like occaſion, by mortal mob. We all of us, Lady L. have the happineſs of being beloved by high and low.

But one pretty ſpectacle it is impoſſible to paſs by. Four girls, tenants daughters, the eldeſt not above Thirteen, appeared with neat wicker-baſkets in their hands, filled with flowers of the ſeaſon. Chearful way was made for them. As ſoon as the Bride, and Father, and Sir Charles, and Mrs. Shirley, alighted, theſe pretty little Flora's, all dreſſed in white, chap⯑lets of flowers for head-dreſſes, large noſegays in their boſoms, white ribbands adorning their ſtays and their baſkets; ſome ſtreaming down, others tied round the handles in true-lover's knots; attended the company, two going before, two other here and there, and every-where, all ſtrewing flowers: A pretty thought of the tenants among themſelves. Sir Charles ſeemed much pleaſed with them: Pretty dears he called them, to one of them.

God bleſs you, and God bleſs you, was echoed from many mouths. Your brother's attention was chiefly employed on Mrs. Shirley, becauſe of her age and lameneſs. Here my good Lady G. perhaps would ſtop to remark upon the worthy nature of the Engliſh populace, when good characters attract their admira⯑tion; for even the populace took notice, how right a thing it was for the fineſt young Gentleman their eyes [327] ever beheld, to take ſuch care of ſo good an old Lady. He deſerved to live to be old himſelf, one ſaid: They would warrant, others ſaid, that he was a ſweet⯑temper'd man; and others, that he had a good heart. In the Proceſſion one of us picked up one praiſe, an⯑other another. Tho' Lady G. Lady W. and the four Bride-maids, as well as the Lords, might have claimed high notice; yet not any of them received more than commendation: We were all conſidered but as Satel⯑lites to the Planetr that paſſed before us. What, in⯑deed, were more? But let me ſay, that Mrs. Shir⯑ley had her ſhare in Reverence, as the lovely Couple had theirs in Admiration. But O how my dear couſin was affected, when ſhe alighted from her uncle's coach!

The Churchwardens themſelves were ſo complai⯑ſant as to ſtand at the Church-door, and opened it, on the approach of the Bride, and her Nuptial Father. But all the pews near the Altar were, however, filled (one or two excepted, which ſeemed to be left for the company) with Ladies and well-dreſſed women of the neighbourhood: And tho' they ſeemed to intend to ſhut the doors after we had all got in, the Church was full of people. Mr. Selby was diſpleaſed, for his Niece's ſake; who trembling, could hardly walk up to the Altar. Sir Charles ſeated his venerable charge on a covered bench on the left-ſide of the Altar; and by her, and on another covered bench on the right⯑ſide, without the rails, we all, but the Bride-maids and their partners, took our ſeats. They ſtood, the Men on the Bridegroom's ſide; the Maids on Har⯑riet's—Never—

Lady G.] ‘'Are you within the Church, Lucy?—You are, I proteſt. Let me read what you have done. Come, pretty well, pretty well.—You were going to praiſe my brother: Leave that to me. I have an excellent knack at it.'’

[328] Never was man ſo much, and ſo deſervedly, ad⯑mired. He ſaw his Harriet wanted ſupport and en⯑couragement. The Miniſter ſtood ſuſpended, a few moments, as doubting whether ſhe would not faint. My deareſt Love, whiſpered Sir Charles, remember you are doing honour to the happy, thrice happy, man of your Choice: Shew he is your Choice, in the face of this Congregation. Pardon me, Sir! I will endea⯑vour to be all you wiſh me.

Sir Charles bowed to the Miniſter to begin the Sa⯑cred Office. Mr. Selby, with all his bravery, trem⯑bled, and, overcome by the Solemnity of the Prepa⯑ration, looked now pale, now red. The whole Con⯑gregation were huſhed and ſilent, as if nobody were in the Church but perſons immediately concerned to be there. Emily changed colour frequently. She had her handkerchief in her hand; and (pretty enough!) her ſiſter Bride-maids, little thinking that Emily had a reaſon for her emotion, which none of them had, pulled out their handkerchiefs too, and permitted a gentle tear or two to ſteal down their glowing cheeks. I fixed my eye on Emily, ſitting outward, to keep her in order. The Doctor began—‘'Dearly Beloved'’—Ah, Harriet! thought I; thou art much quieter now, than once thou wert at theſe words ^(a).

No impediments were confeſſed by either of the par⯑ties, when they were referred to by the Miniſter, on this head. I ſuppoſe this reference would have been omitted by Sir Hargrave's ſnuffling Parſon. To the queſtion, to my brother, ‘'Wilt thou have,'’ &c. he chearfully anſwered, ‘I will.’ Harriet did not ſay, I will not. ‘'Who giveth this woman,’ &c. I, I, I, ſaid uncle Selby; and he owns, that he had much ado to refrain ſaying—‘'With all my heart and ſoul!'’ Sir Charles ſeemed to have the office by heart; Harriet in her heart: For before the Miniſter could take the [329] Right-hand of the good girl to put it into that of my brother, his had knew its office; nor did her trem⯑bling hand decline the favour. Then followed the words of acceptance; ‘'I Charles, take thee, Harriet,'’ &c. on his part; which he audibly, and with apparent joy and reverence in his countenance, repeated after the Miniſter. But not quite ſo alert was Harriet, in her turn: Her hand was rather taken, than offered. Her lips, however, moved after the Miniſter; nor ſeemed to heſitate at the little piddling word obey, which, I remember, gave a qualm to my poor heart, on the like occaſion. The Ring was preſented. The Doctor gave it to Sir Charles; who, with his uſual grace, put it on the ſinger of the moſt charming woman in England; repeating after the Miniſter, audibly, ‘'With this Ring I thee wed,'’ &c. She brightened up; when the Miniſter, joining their Right-hands, read, ‘'Thoſe whom God hath joined together, let no man put aſunder.'’ And the Miniſter's addreſs to the com⯑pany, declaring the Marriage, and pronouncing them Man and Wife, in the name of the Holy Trinity; and his bleſſing them; ſwelled, ſhe owns, her grate⯑ful heart, ready to burſting. In the Reſponſes, I could not but obſerve, that the Congregation generally joined, as if they were intereſted in the celebration.

Sir Charles, with a joy that lighted up a more charming fluſh than uſual on his face, his lively Soul looking out at his fine eyes, yet with an air as modeſt as reſpectful, did credit to our Sex before the applaud⯑ing multitude, by bending his knee to his ſweet Bride, on taking her Hand, and ſaluting her, on the conclu⯑ſion of the ceremony—May God, my deareſt Life, ſaid he, audibly, be gracious to your Grandiſon, as he will be good to his Harriet, now no more Byron!—She courteſied low, and with ſo modeſt a grace, that every ſoul bleſſed her; and pronounced her the lovelieſt of women, and him the moſt graceful and polite of men.

[330] He invited Dr. Curtis to the Wedding-dinner, and led his Bride into the Veſtry; where already were her grandmother, her aunt, Lady W. her Lord, mine, and Lord L. She was followed by her Virgin train; they by their partners. She threw herſelf, the mo⯑ment ſhe beheld her grandmother, at her feet. Bleſs, bleſs madam, your happy, happy Child.

God for ever bleſs the Darling of my heart!

Sir Charles bent his knee to the venerable Lady, with ſuch a condeſcending dignity, if I may ſo ex⯑preſs myſelf; Receive and bleſs, alſo, your Son, my Harriet's reverend parent, and mine.

The dear Lady was affected. She ſlid off her ſeat on her knees, and with up-lifted hands and eyes, tears trickling on her cheeks; Thou, Almighty, bleſs the dear Son of my wiſhes!

He raiſed her, with pious tenderneſs, and ſaluted her. Excellent Lady!—He would have ſaid more, but was affected—Every-body was—And having ſeated the old Lady, he turned to Mrs. Selby—Words are poor, ſaid he; my actions, my behaviour, ſhall ſpeak the grateful ſenſe I have of your goodneſs, ſa⯑luting her; of yours, madam, to Mrs. Shirley; and of yours, my deareſt Life, addreſſing himſelf to his lovely Bride, who ſeemed hardly able to ſuſtain her joy, on ſo reſpectful a recognition of relation to perſons ſo dear to her. Let me once more, added he, bleſs the Hand that has bleſſed me!

She chearfully offered it: I give you, Sir, my Hand, ſaid ſhe, courteſying, and with it a poor Heart—A poor Heart, indeed! But it is a grateful one! It is all your own!

He bowed upon her Hand: He ſpoke not: He ſeemed as if he could not ſpeak.

Joy, Joy, Joy, was wiſhed the Happy Pair, from every mouth. See, my dear young Ladies,' ſaid the happy and inſtructing Mr. Shirley, addreſſing herſelf to them, ‘'the Reward of Duty, Virtue, and Obe⯑dience! [331] How unhappy muſt thoſe Parents and Re⯑lations be, whoſe Daughters, unlike our Harriet, have diſgraced themſelves, and their families, by a a ſhameful Choice—As my Harriet's is, ſuch, looking around her, be your Lot, my amiable Daughters!’

They every one beſought her Hand, and kiſſed it; and ſome by ſpeech, all by looks and courteſies, pro⯑miſed to cheriſh the memory of this happy tranſ⯑action, for their benefit.

Emily, when ſhe approached the venerable Lady, ſobbing, ſaid, Bleſs me, me alſo bleſs, my dear grand⯑mamma Shirley!—Let me be your own Grand⯑daughter.—She embraced and bleſſed the dear girl—Ah, my Love! ſaid ſhe, But will you ſupply the place of my Harriet to me? Will you be my Harriet? Will you live with me, and Mrs. Selby—as Harriet did?—Emily ſtarted. Ah, madam! you are all goodneſs! Let me try to make myſelf, in ſome little way, agree⯑able to my dear Miſs Byron that was, and live a little while in the ſun-ſhine of my Guardian's eye; and then how proud ſhall I be to be thought, in any the leaſt degree, like your Harriet!

This I thought a good hint of Mrs. Shirley. Our Harriet (my dear Caroline) ſhall not be made unhappy by the chit; nor ſhall the dear girl neither, if I can help it, be made ſo by her own foible. We will watch over both, for the good of both, and for the tranquillity of the beſt of men.

Beauchamp's joy ſhone through a cloud, becauſe of his Father's illneſs; but it did ſhine.

Mr. Selby and my Lord were vaſtly alive. Lord L. was fervent in his joy, and congratulations; but he was wiſer than both put together. Nothing was want⯑ing to ſhew that he was exceſſively pleaſed; but I was afraid the other two would not have conſidered the Veſtry as part of the Church; and would have ſtruck up a tune without muſic.

How ſincerely joyful, alſo, were Lord and Lady W▪ [332] My Lord's eyes burſt into tears more than once: Ne⯑phew, and dear Nephew, at every word, whether ſpeaking of or to my brother; as if he thought the Relation he ſtood in to him, a greater glory than his Peerage, or aught elſe that he valued himſelf upon, his excellent Lady excepted.

Upon my Honour, Caroline, I think, as I have often ſaid, that people may be very happy, if not moſt happy, who ſet out with a moderate ſtock of Love, and ſupply what they want in that, with Pru⯑dence. I really think, that my Brother and Harriet cannot be happier than are this now worthy Couple; times of life conſidered on both ſides, and my Lord's inferior capacity allowed for. For certainly, men of ſenſe are moſt capable of joyful ſenſations, and have their balances; ſince it is as certain, that they are alſo moſt ſuſceptible of painful ones. What, then, is the ſtuff, the nonſenſe, that romantic girls, their ro⯑mancing part of life not wholly elapſed, prate about, and din one's ears with, of firſt Love, firſt Flame, but firſt Folly? Do not moſt of ſuch give indication of gunpowder conſtitutions, that want but the match to be applied, to ſet them into a blaze? Souls of tinder, diſcretions of flimſy gauze, that conceal not their folly—One day they will think as I do; and perhaps before they have daughters who will convince them of the truth of my aſſertion.

But here comes Lucy.—‘'My dear girl, take the pen—I am too ſentimental. The French only are proud of ſentiments at this day; the Engliſh cannot bear them: Story, ſtory, ſtory, is what they hunt after, whether ſenſe or nonſenſe, probable or im⯑probable.'’

Lucy.]‘'Bleſs me, Lady G! you have written a great deal in a little. What am I to do?’

Lady G.] You brought the Happy Pair into Church. I have told Lady L. what was done there: You are to carry them out.

[333] Lucy.] ‘'And ſo I will.'’—My deareſt Love, ſaid her charming man to my couſin, who had a little panic on the thought of going back through ſo great a croud, imagine, as you walk, that you ſee nobody but the happy man whom you have honoured with your Hand: Every-body will praiſe and admire the lovelieſt of women. Nobody I hope, will blame your Choice. Remember at whoſe requeſt it was, that you are put upon this difficulty: Your Grand⯑mamma's and Uncle's. She, one of the beſt of wo⯑men, was ſo married to one the beſt of men: I was but acquieſcent in it. Shew, my deareſt Life, all your numerous admirers and well-wiſhers, that you are not aſhamed of your Choice.

O Sir! how charmingly do you ſtrengthen my mind! I will ſhew the world, that my Choice is my Glory.

Every-body being ready, ſhe gave her Hand to the Beloved of her Heart.

The Bells were ſet a ringing the moment the So⯑lemnity was concluded; and Sir Charles Grandiſon, the Son of our venerable Mrs. Shirley, the Nephew of my uncle and aunt Selby, Huſband of my dear and ever-dear Harriet, and the Eſteemed of every heart, led his graceful Bride through a lane of applauding and decent behaving ſpectators, down through the Church—and ſtill more thronging multitudes in the Church-yard; the four little Flora's again ſtrewing flowers at their feet, as they paſſed. My ſweet girls, ſaid he, to two of them, I charge you, complete the honour you have done us, by your preſence at Selby⯑houſe: You will bring your companions with you, my Loves.

My uncle looked around him as he led Mrs. Shir⯑ley: So proud! and ſo ſtately! By ſome undeſigned change, Mr. Beauchamp led Miſs Jervois. She ſeemed pleaſed, and happy; for he whiſpered to her, all the [334] way, praiſes of her Guardian. My Guardian, twice or thrice, occaſionally reported ſhe aloud, as if ſhe boaſted of ſtanding in ſome relation to him.

The Bride and Bridegroom ſtopt for Mrs. Shirley, a little while, at the Coach-ſide: A very grateful acci⯑dent to the ſpectators. He led them both in, with a politeneſs that attends him in all he does. The Coach wheeled off, to give way to the next; and we came back in the order we went.

‘'Now, my dear Lady G. you, who never were from the ſide of your dear new ſiſter for the reſt of the day, reſume the pen.'’

Lady G.] ‘'I will, my dear; but in a new Letter. This fourth ſheet is written down to the very edge. Caroline will be impatient: I will ſend away this.'’

Joy to my Siſter! Joy to my Aunt! Joy to the Earl! To Lady Gertrude! To our dear Dr. Bartlett! To every one, on an event ſo happy; and ſo long wiſhed for by us All!

‘'Sign, Lucy, ſign.'’

‘'After your Ladyſhip.'’

LETTER LIII. Lady G. To Lady L. In Continuation.

THIS happy event has been ſo long wiſned for by us all; were ſo much delighted with the Bride, as well as the Bridegroom; ſo many uncertainties, ſo many ſuſpenſes, have fallen in; ſo little likelihood once that it ever would have been; and you are ſo miſerably tied by the leg, poor Caroline! and ſo little to divert you, beſides the once ſmiling to the ten times ſqualling of your little ſtranger; that Compaſſion, Love, both, incite me to be minute; that ſo you may [335] be as much with us in idea, as we all wiſhed you could have been in perſon.

Crouds of people lined the way, in our return from Church, as well as in our way to it; and bleſſings were pronounced upon the Happy Pair, by hundreds, at their alighting at Selby-houſe.

When we were all aſſembled in the Great Hall, mutual congratulations flowed from every mouth: Then did every man ſalute the happy, happy Bride: Then did the equally-happy Bridegroom ſalute every Lady—There was among us the height of joy; joy becoming the awful Solemnity; and every one was full of the decency and delight which were given and ſhewn by the crouds of ſpectators of all ranks, and both Sexes; a delight and decency worthy of the cha⯑racters of the admirable Pair: And Miſs Nedham declared, and all the young Ladies joined with her, that if ſhe could be ſecure of the like good beha⯑viour and encouragement, ſhe would never think of a Private Wedding for herſelf. Mr. Selby himſelf was overjoyed too much, even to utter a jeſt! Now, now, he ſaid, he had attained the height of his ambition.

The dear Harriet could look up: She could ſmile around her. I led her, with Lucy, into the Cedar⯑parlour—Now, my dear Love, ſaid I, the moment we entered it, throwing my arms about her, juſt as her lips were joyfully opening to ſpeak to me, do I ſalute my real Siſter, my Siſter Grandiſon, in my dear Lady L's name, as well as in my own: God Al⯑mighty confirm and eſtabliſh your happineſs!

My deareſt, deareſt Lady G. how grateful, how encouraging, to my heart, is your kind Salutation! Your continued Love, and that of my dear Lady L. will be eſſential to my happineſs.

May our Hearts be ever united! replied I. But they muſt: For were not our Minds kindred Minds before?

But you muſt love my Lucy, ſaid ſhe, preſent⯑ing [336] her to me.—You muſt love my Grand-—Mamma, ſaid I, catching the word from her, your Aunt, your Uncle, your Couſins, and your Couſins Couſins, to the twentieth Generation—And ſo I will: Ours yours; Yours ours! We are all of one Family, and will be for ever.

What a happy creature am I! replied ſhe—How many people can one good man make ſo!—But where, where is my Emily, ſweet girl? Bring to me, Lucy, bring to me, my Emily!

Lucy went out, and led in the ſweet girl. With hands and eyes uplifted, My dear Miſs Byron, that was, now Lady Grandiſon, ſaid ſhe, love me; love your Emily. I am now your Emily, your Ward; love me as well as you did when Miſs Byron.

Harriet threw her arms about her neck; I do, I will, I muſt: You ſhall be my Siſter, my Friend; my Emily now, indeed! Love me, as I will love you; and you ſhall find your happineſs in mine.

Sir Charles entred; his Beauchamp in his hand. Quitting his, and taking hers, he kiſſed it. Once more, ſaid he, do I thank my deareſt Life for the ho⯑nour ſhe has done me: Then reſuming, with his other hand, his Beauchamp's, he preſented each to the other, as Brother and Siſter.

Beauchamp, in a graceful manner, bowed on her hand: She courtefied to him with an air of dignity and eſteem.

He then turning to Emily; Acknowlege, my dear, ſaid he, your elder Siſter: My Harriet will love her Emily. Receive, my deareſt Life, your Ward. Yet (to Emily) I acquit not myſelf of the power, any more than of the will, of obliging you at firſt hand.

O Sir! ſaid the ſobbing girl, you are all goodneſs! But I will make no requeſt to you, but through my deareſt Lady Grandiſon's mediation. If ſhe approve of it firſt, I ſhall not doubt of its fitneſs to be com⯑plied with.

[337] Was not that pretty, in Emily?—O how Beau⯑champ's eyes loved her!

But why, Ladies, ſaid Sir Charles, do you ſequeſter yourſelves from the company? Are we not all of a Family to-day? The four little Flora's, with their baſkets in their hands, were entering the gate, as I came in: Receive them, my Love, with your uſual graciouſneſs. We will join the company, and call them in. My Beauchamp, you are a Brideman; re⯑ſtore my Bride to her friends and admirers within.

He took Emily's hand. She looked ſo proud!—Harriet gave hers to Beauchamp. We followed them into the Great Hall: Mr. Selby had archneſs in his look, and ſeemed ready to blame us for withdraw⯑ing.—Sir Charles was aware of him. My dear Mr. Selby, ſaid he, Will you not allow us to ſee the pretty Flora's—By all means, ſaid Mr. Selby; and hurried out, and introduced them. Sweet pretty girls! We had more leiſure to conſider the elegant ruſticity of their dreſſes and appearance. They had their baſkets in their hands, and a courteſy and a bluſh ready for every one in company. Sir Charles ſeemed to expect that his Bride would take notice of them firſt; but obſerving that ſhe wanted preſence of mind, he ſtept to them, took each by the hand, the youngeſt firſt, called them pretty Loves; I wiſh, ſaid he, I could preſent you with as pretty flowers as you threw away in honour to this company; putting into each baſket, wrapped up in paper, five guineas: Then preſented them, two in each hand, to his Bride; who, by that time, was better prepared to receive them with that ſweet eaſe and familiarity which give grace to all ſhe ſays and does.

The children afterwards deſiring to go to their pa⯑rents, the polite Beauchamp him elf, accompanied by Lucy, led them to them, and returned, with a requeſt from all the tenants, that they might have the honour, ſome time in the day, to ſee the Bride and Bridegroom [338] among them, were it but for two minutes. What ſays my Love? ſaid Sir Charles. O, Sir! I cannot, cannot—Well, then, I will attend them, to make your excuſe, as well as I can. She bowed her thanks.

The time before dinner was devoted to conver⯑ſation. Sir Charles was nobody's; no, not very par⯑ticularly his Bride's: He put every one upon ſpeaking in turn. For about half an hour he ſat between the joyful Mrs. Shirley and Mrs. Selby; but even then, in talking to them, talked to the whole company: Yet, in his air and manner to both, ſhewed ſo much reſpect, as needed not the aid of a particular addreſs to them in words.

This was obſerved to me by good Lord L. For Harriet (uneaſy, every eye continually upon her, thoughtful, baſhful) withdrawing, a little before din⯑ner, with a caſt of her eye to me, I followed her to her dreſſing-room. There, with ſo much expreſſive⯑neſs of meaning, tho' not of language; ſo much tenderneſs of love; ſo much pious gratitude; ſo much true virgin ſenſibility; did ſhe open her heart to me; that I ſhall ever revolve what paſſed in that converſation, as the true criterion of Virgin Delicacy unmingled with Affectation. Nor was I diſpleaſed that, in the height of her grateful Self-congratulation, ſhe more than once acknowleged a ſigh for the ad⯑mirable Clementina. We juſt began to expreſs our pleaſure and our hopes in the good behaviour of our Emily, when we were called to dinner.

It was a ſumptuous one.

Mr. Selby was very orderly, upon the whole: But he remembred, he ſaid, that when he was married (and he called upon his Dame to confirm it) he was obliged to wait on his Bride, and the Company; and he inſiſted upon it, that Sir Charles ſhould.

No, no, no, every one ſaid; and the Bride looked a little ſerious upon it: But Sir Charles, with an air [339] of gaiety that infinitely became him, took a napkin from the butler; and putting it under his arm, I have only one requeſt to make you, my dear Mr. Selby—When I am more aukward than I ought to be, do you correct me: and I ſhall have both pride and pleaſure in the taſk.

Adad! ſaid Mr. Selby, looking at him with plea⯑ſure—You may be any-thing, do any-thing; you cannot conceal the Gentleman. Ads-heart, you muſt always be the firſt man in company—Pardon me, my Lords.

Sir Charles was the modeſteſt ſervitor that ever waited at table, while his napkin was under his arm: But he laid it down, While he addreſſed himſelf to the company, finding ſomething to ſay to each in his pithy, agreeable manner, as he went round the table. He made every one happy. With what delight did the elder Ladies look upon him, when he addreſſed himſelf to each of them! He ſtopt at the Bride's chair, and made her a compliment with an air of tenderneſs. I heard not what it was, ſitting at di⯑ſtance; but ſhe looked grateful, pleaſed; ſmiled, and bluſhed. He paſſed from her to the Bride-maids, and again complimented each of them. They alſo ſeemed delighted with what he ſaid. Then going to Mr. Selby; Why don't you bid me reſume the napkin, Sir?—No, no; we ſee what you can do: Your con⯑formity is enough for me. You may now ſit down, when you pleaſe. You make the waiters look auk⯑ward.

He took his ſeat, thanked Mr. Selby for having re⯑minded him of his duty, as he called it, and was all Himſelf, the moſt graceful and obliging of men.

You know, my dear Lady L. how much I love to praiſe my brother. Neither I, nor the young Ladies, not even thoſe who had humble ſervants preſent, re⯑garded any-body but him. My poor Lord!—I am glad, however, that he has a tolerable good ſet of [340] teeth—They were always viſible. A good honeſt ſort of man, tho', Lady L. whatever you may think of him.

After dinner, at Mr. Selby's reminding motion, Sir Charles and the men went to the tenants. They all wiſhed him joy; and, as they would not ſit down, while he ſtood, Sir Charles took a ſeat among them, and all the reſt followed his example.

One of the honeſt men, it ſeems, remembred the Nuptials of Mr. and Mrs. Byron, and praiſed them as the beſt and happieſt of the human race: Others confirmed his character of both: Another knew the late Mr. Shirley, and extolled him as much: Another remembred the birth, another the chriſtening, of the Bride; and others talked of what an excellent creature ſhe was from her infancy. Let me tell you, Sir, ſaid one grey-headed man, you will have much ado to deſerve her; and yet you are ſaid to be as good as you are handſome. The women took up the cauſe: They were ſure, by what they had heard, if any man in the world could deſerve the Bride, it was Sir Charles Grandiſon; and they would ſwear for him by his looks. One of the honeſt men ſaid, they ſhould all have taken it as an hugeous favour, were they allowed to wiſh the Bride joy, tho' at ever ſo great a diſtance.

Sir Charles ſaid, He was ſure the women would excuſe her this day; and then the men would, in complaiſance to them. We will hope, ſaid he, look⯑ing all round him, before we leave Northampton⯑ſhire, for one happy dinner together.

They all got up to bow and courteſy, and looked upon each other; and the men, who are moſt of them freeholders, wiſhed to the Lord for a new election, and that he would come among them. They had no great matter of fault to find, they ſaid, with their preſent repreſentatives: but any-body who would oppoſe Sir Charles Grandiſon, would ſtand no chance. The women joined in the declaration, as if [341] they thought highly, as Sir Charles pleaſantly ob⯑ſerved, of their own influence over their huſbands. They all wondered that he was not in Parliament, till they heard how little a while he had been in Eng⯑land.

He took leave of the good people (who, by their behaviour and appearance, did as much credit to their landlords as to themſelves) with his uſual affability and politeneſs; repeating his promiſe of a day of Ju⯑bilee, as ſome of them called it.

The Ball, at the requeſt of the whole company, was opened by the Bride and Bridegroom. She was very uneaſy at the general Call. Sir Charles ſaw ſhe was, and would have taken out Miſs Nedham; but it was not permitted. the dear creature, I believe, did her beſt at the time; but I have ſeen her perform better: Yet ſhe did exceedingly well. But ſuch a figure herſelf, and ſuch a partner; How could ſhe do amiſs?

Emily was taken out by Beauchamp. He did his beſt, I am ſure; and almoſt as much excelled his pretty partner, as his beloved friend did his.

Emily, ſitting down by me, aſked if ſhe did not perform very ill. Not very ill, my dear, ſaid I; but not ſo well as I have ſeen you dance. I don't know, ſaid ſhe, what ails me: My heart is very heavy. madam. What can be the meaning of it? But don't tell Lady Grandiſon ſo.—High-ho!—Lady Grandiſon! What a ſound is that? A charming ſound! But how ſhall I bring my lips to be famili⯑arized to it?

You are glad ſhe is married, my love, I dare ſay?

Glad! To be ſure I am! It is an event that I have long, long wiſhed for: But new names, and new ti⯑tles, one knows not how to frame one's mouth to preſently. It was ſome time before I could call you [342] Lady G. But don't you pity poor Lady Clementina, a little, madam?

A great deal, I do. But as ſhe refuſed my bro⯑ther—

Ah! dear! that's the thing! I wonder ſhe could—when he would have let her have the free exerciſe of her Religion.

Had you rather your Guardian had had Lady Cle⯑mentina, Emily?

O no! How can you aſk me ſuch a queſtion, madam? Of all the women in the world, I wiſhed him to have Miſs Byron. But ſhe is too happy for pity, you know, madam!—Bleſs me! What does ſhe look ſo thoughtful for? Why does ſhe ſigh ſo? Surely ſhe can't be ſorry!

Sorry! No, my Love! But a change of condition for life! New attachments! A new courſe of life! Her name ſunk, and loſt! The property, perſon and will, of another, excellent as the man is; obliged to go to a new houſe; to be ingrafted into a new fa⯑mily; to leave her own, who ſo dearly love her; an irrevocable deſtiny!—Do you think, Emily, new in her preſent circumſtances; every eye upon her: it is not enough to make a conſiderate mind, as hers is, thoughtful!

All theſe are mighty hardſhips, madam! putting up her lip—But, Lady G. can you ſuppoſe ſhe thinks them ſo? If ſhe does—But ſhe is a dear good Lady!—I ſhall ever love her! She is an ornament of our Sex! See, how lovely ſhe looks! Did your Ladyſhip ever ſee ſo ſweet a creature? I never did.

Not for Beauty, Dignity, Eaſe, Figure, Modeſty, good Senſe, did I ever.

She is my Guardianeſs, may I ſay? Is there ſuch a word?—I ſhall be as proud of her, as I am of my Guardian. Yet there is no cauſe of ſighing, I think!—See my Guardian! her Huſband? Unfaſhionable [343] as the word is, it is a pretty word. The Houſe-band, that ties all together. Is not that the meaning?—Look round! How does he ſurpaſs all men!—His Eaſe, talk of Eaſe! His Dignity, talk of Dignity! As handſome a man, as ſhe is a woman! See how every young Lady eyes him; every young Gentleman endeavours to imitate him. I wiſh he would take me out: I would do better.

This was the ſubſtance of the whiſpering Dialogue that paſſed between Emily and me—Poor girl!

Mr. Selby danced with Lucy, and got great ap⯑plauſe. He was reſolved, he ſaid, to have one dance with the Bride. She beſought him not to think of it. Her grandmamma, her aunt, intreated for her. She deſired Sir Charles to interpoſe—If, my deareſt Life, you could oblige your uncle—I cannot, cannot think of it, ſaid ſhe.

Lady G. ſaid Sir Charles, be ſo good as to chal⯑lenge Mr. Selby. I ſtood forth, and offered my hand to him. He could not refuſe it. He did not perform ſo well as he did with Lucy. Go, ſaid I, when we had d ne, ſit down by your Dame, and be quiet: You have loſt all your credit. You dance with a Bride!—Some people know not how to bear applauſe; nor to leave off when they are well. Lord L. took out Mrs. Selby. She dances very gracefully. My Lord, you know, is above praiſe. The young Lord Rereſby and Miſs Nedham diſtinguiſhed themſelves. My odd creature was in his element. He and Miſs Barclay, and another time he and Emily, did very handſomely; and the girl got up her reputation. Lord W. did hobble, and not ungracefully, with old Mrs. Selby; who had not danced, ſhe ſaid, for twenty years before; but on ſo joyful an occaſion, would not refuſe Lord W's challenge: And both were applauded; the time of life of the Lady, the limpingneſs of my Lord, con⯑ſidered.

[344] There was a very plentiful ſideboard, of rich wines, ſweetmeats, &c. We all diſclaimed formal ſupper.

We went afterwards into country dances. Mrs. Shirley retired about Ten. Harriet took the oppor⯑tunity of attending her; and it was a ſeaſonable relief to her. I had an intimation to attend her. I found her juſt dropt on her knees to her grandmamma; who, with her arms about her neck, was folding to her fond heart the darling of it. The ſweet girl was ſo apprehenſive! I was called upon to give my opi⯑nion, whether ſhe ſhould return to the company, or not: I gave it, that ſhe ſhould; and that ſhe ſhould only retire, for the night, about Eleven. As to the Bride-maids, I ſaid, I would manage, that they ſhould only attend her to her chamber, and leave her there, with her aunt, Lucy, and me. Lord L. undertook to make the gentlemen give up form; which, he ſaid, they would the more eaſily do, as they were ſet into dancing.

After all, Lady L. we women, dreſſed out in rib⯑bands, and gaudy trappings, and in Virgin-white, on our Wedding-days, ſeem but like milk-white heifers led to ſacrifice. We ought to be indulged, if we are not ſhameleſs things, and very wrong indeed, in our choice of the man we can love.

We returned to company. The Bridegroom was looking out for us. My deareſt Life, ſaid he, Are you returned?—I thought—There he ſtopt.

Mr. Selby broke from his partner, Miſs Barclay, to whiſk into the figure the Bride. Sir Charles joined the deſerted Lady, who ſeemed much better pleaſed with her new partner than with her old one. Lord W. who was ſitting down, took Mrs. Selby, and led her into the dance.

I drew Miſs Nedham to the ſideboard, and gave her her cue: She gave theirs to the three other Bride-maids.

[345] About Eleven, Mrs. Selby, unobſerved, withdrew with the Bride. The Bride-maids, one by one, waited on her to her chamber; ſaluted her, and re⯑turned to company.

The dear creature wanted preſence of mind. She fell into my reflexion above. O my dear Lady G! ſaid ſhe, was I not right when I declared, that I never would marry, were it not to the man I loved above all the men in the world?

She complimented me twenty times, with being very good. She prayed for me; but her prayers were meant for herſelf. You remember, that ſhe told me, on my apprehenſiveneſs on the like occaſion, that fear made me loving to her. On her bleſſing me, Ah, Harriet, ſaid I, you now find, that apprehenſion will make one pious, as well as loving.

My Siſter, my Friend, my own, my Caroline's, my Brother's, dear Lady Grandiſon! ſaid I, when I left her, near undreſſed, God bleſs you! And God be praiſed, that I can call you by theſe tender names! My Brother is the happieſt of men; You of women. May we never love each other leſs than we do now. Look forward to the ſerene happineſs of your future lot. If you are the Joy of our Brother, you muſt be our Joy; and the Jewel of our Family.

She anſwered me only by a fervent embrace, her eyes lifted up, ſurcharged, as I may ſay, with tears of joy, as in thankfulneſs.

I then ruſhed down-ſtairs, and into the company.

My brother inſtantly addreſſed me—My Har⯑riet, whiſpered he, with impatience, returns not this night.

You will ſee Mrs. Selby, I preſume, by-and-by, re⯑turned I.

He took his ſeat by old Mrs. Selby, and fell into talk with her, to avoid joining in the dances. His eye was continually turned to the door. Mrs. Selby, [346] at laſt, came in. Her eyes ſhewed the tender leave ſhe had taken of her Harriet.

My brother approached her. She went out: He followed her. In a quarter of an hour ſhe returned.

We ſaw my brother no more that night.

We continued our dancings till between Three and Four.

I have often obſerved, that we women, whether weakly or robuſt, are hardly ever tired with dancing. It was ſo with us. The men, poor ſouls! looked ſilly, and ſleepy, by two; all but my ape: He has a good many Femalities, as uncle Selby calls them. But he was brought up to be idle and uſeleſs, as women generally are. I muſt conclude my Letters whimſi⯑cally, my dear: If I did not, you would not know them to be written by

LETTER LIV. Lady G. In Continuation.

LETTER LV. Lady G. In Continuation.

THE debate I mentioned, began on Friday morn⯑ing at breakfaſt-time; brought on by ſome of uncle Selby's good-natured particularities; for he will always have ſomething to ſay againſt women. I be⯑ſpoke my brother's neutrality, and declared I would enter the liſts with Mr. Selby, and allow all the other men preſent to be of his ſide. I had a flow of ſpirits. Man's uſurpation, and woman's natural independency, was the topic. I carried on my argument very tri⯑umphantly: Now-and-then a ſly hint, popt out by my brother, half-diſconcerted me; but I called him to order, and he was ſilent: Yet once he had like to have put me out—Wrapping his arms about himſelf, with inimitable humour—O my Charlotte, ſaid he, how I love my country; ENGLAND is the only ſpot in the world, in which this argument can be properly de⯑bated!—Very ſly—Was it not?

I made nothing of Mr. Selby. I called him the tyrant of the family. And as little of Mr. Deane, [354] Lord L. and ſtill leſs of my own Lord, who was as eager in the debate as if it concerned him more than any-body to reſiſt me; and this before my brother; who by his eyes, more than once, ſeemed to challenge me, becauſe of the ſorry creature's earneſtneſs. All thoſe, however, were men of ſtraw with me; and I thought myſelf very near making Mr. Selby aſk par⯑don of his Dame for his thirty years uſurpation. In ſhort, I had half-eſtabliſhed our Sex's ſuperiority on the ruin of that of the ſorry fellows, when the debate was cloſed, and referred to Mrs. Shirley, as mode⯑ratrix; my brother ſtill excluded any ſhare in it.—She indeed obliged me to lower my topſails a little.

‘'I think, ſaid the venerable Lady, women are ge⯑nerally too much conſidered as a ſpecies apart. To be ſure, in the duties and affairs of life, where they have different or oppoſite ſhares allotted them by Providence, they ought not to go out of their own ſphere, or invade the mens province, any more than the men theirs. Nay, I am ſo much of this opinion, that tho' I think the confidence which ſome men place in their wives, in committing all their affairs to their care, very flattering to the opi⯑nion both of their integrity and capacity; yet I ſhould not chooſe (and that not out of lazineſs to avoid the trouble) to interfere with the management without doors, which I think more properly the man's province, unleſs in ſome particular caſes.’

‘'But in common intercourſe and converſation, why are we to be perpetually conſidering the Sex of the perſon we are talking to? Why muſt women always be addreſſed in an appropriated language; and not treated on the common footing of reaſon⯑able creatures? And why muſt they, from a falſe notion of modeſty, be afraid of ſhewing themſelves to be ſuch,and affect a childiſh ignorance?’

‘'I do not mean, that I would have women enter into learned diſputes, for which they are rarely qua⯑lified: [355] But I think there is a degree of knowlege very compatible with their duties; therefore not un⯑becoming them, and neceſſary to make them fit companions for men of ſenſe: A character in which they will always be found more uſeful than that of a plaything, the amuſement of an idle hour.’

‘'No perſon of ſenſe, man or woman, will ven⯑ture to launch out on a ſubject with which they are not well acquainted. The leſſer degree of know⯑lege will give place to the greater. This will ſecure ſubordination enough. For the advantages of edu⯑cation which men muſt neceſſarily have over wo⯑men, if they have made the proper uſe of them, will have ſet them ſo forward on the race, that we can never overtake them. But then don't let them deſpiſe us for this, as if their ſuperiority were en⯑tirely founded on a natural difference of capacity! Deſpiſe us as women, and value themſelves merely as men: For it is not the hat or cap which covers the head, that decides of the merit of it.’

‘'In the general courſe of the things of this world, women have not opportunities of ſounding the depths of ſcience, or of acquainting themſelves perfectly with polite literature: But this want of opportunity is not entirely confined to them. There are profeſſions among the men no more favourable to theſe ſtudies, than the common avocations of women. For example; merchants, whoſe atten⯑tion is (and perhaps more uſefully, as to public uti⯑lity) chained down to their accounts. Officers, both of land and ſea, are ſeldom much better in⯑ſtructed, tho' they may perhaps, paſs through a few more forms: And as for knowlege of the world, women of a certain rank have an equal title to it with ſome of them. A learned man, as he is called, who ſhould deſpiſe a ſenſible one of theſe profeſſions, and diſdain to converſe with him, would paſs for a pedant; and why not for deſpiſing [356] or undervaluing a woman of ſenſe, who may be put on the ſame footing? Men, in common converſa⯑tion, have laid it down for a rule of good breeding, not to talk before women of things they don't un⯑derſtand; by which means, an opportunity of im⯑provement is loſt; a very good one too; one that has been approved by the ableſt perſons who have written on the education of children, becauſe it is a means of learning inſenſibly, without the appearance of a taſk. Common ſubjects afford only common⯑place, and are ſoon exhauſted: Why, then, ſhould converſation be confined to ſuch narrow limits, and be liable to continual repetition; when, if people would ſtart leſs beaten ſubjects, many doubts and difficulties concerning them might be cleared up, and they would acquire a more ſettled opinion of things (which is what the generality much want, from an indolence that hinders them from examin⯑ing) at the ſame time that they would be better entertained, than with talking of the weather, and ſuch kind of inſipidities.'’

Lady W. applauding Mrs. Shirley's ſentiments, Apropos, ſaid ſhe; let me read you the ſpeech (taking it out of her Pocket-book) of an Eaſt-India officer, to a pedant, who had been diſplaying his talents, and running over with terms of art, and ſcraps of Latin, mingled with a profuſion of hard words, that hardly any of the company underſtood; and which, at the ſame time that it diverted all preſent, cured the pre⯑tended ſcholar of his affectation for ever after. My Lady read it as follows:

‘'I am charmed with this opportunity, ſaid the of⯑ficer, of diſcourſing with a gentleman of ſo much wit and learning; and hope I ſhall have his deci⯑ſion in a point which is pretty nice, and concerns ſome Eaſtern manufactures, of antient and reverend etymology. Modern critics are undetermined about them; but, for my part, I have always main⯑tained, [357] that Chints, Bullbulls, Morees, and Pona⯑baguzzy's, are of nobler and more generous uſes than Doorguzzees or Nourfurmannys: Not but I hold againſt Byrampauts in favour of Niccannees and Boralchauders. Only I wiſh, that ſo accurate 2 judge would inſtruct me, why Tapzils and Sallam⯑pores have given place to Neganepauts? And why Bejatapoutz ſhould be more eſteemed than the finer fabrick of Blue Chelloes ^(a)?’

A very good rebuke of affectation, ſaid Sir Charles (and your Ladyſhip hints it was an efficacious one). It ſerves to ſhew, that men, in their different attain⯑ments, may be equally uſeful; in other words, that the knowlege of polite literature leads not to every part of uſeful ſcience. I remember, that my Harriet diſtinguiſhes very properly, in ſome of her Letters to her Lucy, between Language and Science; and that poor Mr. Walden (that I think was his name) was pretty much diſconcerted, as a pedant may ſometimes be, when (and he bowed to his Harriet) he has a natural genius to contend with. She bluſhed, and bowed as ſhe ſat—And I remember, Sir, ſaid ſhe, you promiſed to give me your animadverſions on the Letters I conſented you ſhould ſee: Will you be pleaſed to correct me, now?

Correct you, my deareſt Life!—What a word is that? I remember, that, in the converſation in which you were obliged, againſt your will, to bear ſo con⯑ſiderable a part, you demonſtrated, that genius, with⯑out deep learning, made a much more ſhining figure in converſation, than learning without genius: But, upon the whole, I was a little apprehenſive, that true learning might ſuffer, if languages were too ſlightly treated. Mr. Walden made one good obſervation, or rather remembred it, for it was long ago made, and will be always of weight, that the knowlege of lan⯑guages, [358] any more than the advantage of birth, was never thought lightly of by thoſe who had pretenſions to either. The knowlege of the Latin language, in particular, let me ſay, is of ſingular uſe in the maſtery of every ſcience.

There are who aver, that men of parts have no occaſion for learning: But, ſurely, our Shakeſpeare himſelf, one of the greateſt genius's of any country or age (who, however, is an adept in the ſuperior learn⯑ing, the knowlege of nature) would not have been a ſufferer, had he had that greater ſhare of human learn⯑ing which is denied him by ſome critics.

But, Sir Charles, ſaid Mr. Deane, don't you think that Shakeſpeare, who lived before the great Milton, has an eaſier, pleaſanter, and more intelligible man⯑ner of writing, than Milton? If ſo, may it not be owing to Milton's greater learning, that Shakeſpeare has the advantage of that immortal poet in perſpi⯑cuity?

Is the fact certain, my dear Mr. Deane, that Mil⯑ton wants perſpicuity? I have been bold enough ſome⯑times to think, that he makes a greater diſplay of his reading, than was quite neceſſary to his unbounded ſub⯑ject. But the age in which Shakeſpeare flouriſhed, might be called, The age of Engliſh Learning, as well as of Engliſh Bravery. The Queen and her court, the very Ladies of it, were more learned than any court of our Engliſh Sovereigns was before, or hath been ſince. What a prodigy of learning, in the ſhort reign of Edward the VIth, was the Lady Jane Grey!—Greek, as well as Latin, was familiar to her: So it was to Queen Elizabeth. And can it be ſuppoſed, that the natural genius's of thoſe Ladies were more confined, or limited, for their knowlege of Latin and Greek? Milton, tho' a little nearer us, lived in harſher and more tumultuous times.

O, Sir! ſaid Harriet, then I find I was a very imperti⯑nent creature in the converſation to which you refer.

[359] Not ſo, my deareſt Love!—Mr. Walden, I re⯑member, ſays, that learning in that aſſembly was not brought before a fair tribunal. He ſhould have known, that it had not a competent advocate in him.

But, Sir Charles, ſaid Mr. Beachamp, I cannot but obſerve, that too much ſtreſs is laid upon Learning, as it is called, by thoſe who have pretenſions to it. You will not always find, that a ſcholar is a more happy man than an unlearned one. He has not gene⯑rally more prudence, more wiſdom, in the manage⯑ment of his affairs.

What, my dear Beauchamp, is this ſaying, but that there is great difference between theory and prac⯑tice? This obſervation comes very generouſly, and, with regard to the Ladies, very gallantly, from you, who are a learned man: But as you are alſo a very prudent man, let me aſk you, Do you think you have the leſs prudence for your learning? If not, Is not learning a valuable addition?

But pray, Sir Charles, ſaid Mrs. Selby, let me aſk your opinion: Do you think, that if women had the ſame opportunities, the ſame education, as men, they would not equal them, in their attain⯑ments?

Women, my dear Mrs. Selby, are women ſooner than men are men. They have not, therefore, gene⯑rally, the learning-time that men have, if they had equal genius's.

'If they had equal genius's,' brother. Very well. My dear Siſter Harriet, you ſee you have given your hand to one of the Lords of the creation!—Vaſſal! bow to your Sovereign.

Sir Ch. My deareſt Love, take not the advice without the example.

Lady G. Your ſervant, Sir. Well, but let me aſk you, Do you think that there is a natural inferiority in the faculties of the one Sex? A natural ſuperiority in thoſe of the other?

[360] Sir Ch. Who will anſwer this queſtion for me?

Not I, ſaid Lord L. Not I, ſaid Mr. Deane. Not I, ſaid Mr. Beauchamp.

Then I have fairly taken you in—You would, if you could, anſwer it in the Ladies favour: This is the ſame as a confeſſion. I may therefore the more boldly pronounce, that, generally ſpeaking, I have no doubt but there is.

Help me, dear Ladies, ſaid I, to fight this battle out. You ſay, Sr, you have no doubt that there is a natural inferiority in the faculties of us, poor wo⯑men; a natural ſuperiority in you, imperial men.

Generally ſpeaking, Charlotte. Not individually you Ladies, and us men: I believe all we who are preſent, ſhall be ready to ſubſcribe to your ſuperiority, Ladies.

I believe, brother, you fib: But let that paſs.

Thank you, madam. It is for my advantage that it ſhould; and perhaps for yours, ſmiling—There is a difference, pardon me, Ladies, we are ſpeaking gene⯑rally, in the conſtitution, in the temperament, of the two Sexes, that gives to the one advantages which it denies to the other: But we may not too cloſely pur⯑ſue this ſubject; tho' the reſult, I am apt to believe, would put the matter out of diſpute. Let us be more at large: Why has nature made a difference in the beauty, proportion, and ſymmetry, in the perſons of the two Sexes? Why gave it delicacy, ſoftneſs, grace, to that of the woman—as in the Ladies befor [...] me; ſtrength, firmneſs, to men; a capacity to bear labour and fatigue; and courage, to protect the other? Why gave it a diſtinction, both in qualities and plumage, to the different ſexes of the feathered race? Why in the courage of the male and female animals?—The ſurly bull, the meek, the beneficent, cow, for one inſtance?

We looked upon one another.

There are exceptions to general rules, proceeded he. [361] Mrs. Shirley ſurpaſſes all the men I ever knew, in wiſ⯑dom—Mrs. Selby and Lady G.—

What of us, brother! What of us—to the advan⯑tage of your argument?

Heroic Charlotte!—You are both very happily mar⯑ried—The men the women, the women the men, you can mutually aſſiſt and improve each other. But ſtill—

Your ſervant, brother, interrupted I.—Your ſer⯑vant, Sir Charles, ſaid Mrs. Selby—And I ſay, Your ſervant too, ſaid Mr. Selby.

Who ſees not that my ſiſter Charlotte is ready to diſclaim the competition in fact, tho' not in words? Can there be characters more odious than thoſe of a maſculine woman, and an effeminate man? What are the diſtinguiſhing characteriſtics of the two Sex⯑es? And whence this odiouſneſs? There are, in⯑deed, men, whoſe minds, if I may be allowed the ex⯑preſſion, ſeem to be caſt in a Female mould; whence the fops, foplings, and pretty fellows, who buz about your Sex at public places; women, whoſe minds ſeem to be caſt in a maſculine one; whence your Barne⯑velts, my dear, and moſt of the women who, at ſuch places, give the men ſtare for ſtare, ſwing their arms, look jolly; and thoſe married women who are ſo kind as to take the reins out of their huſbands hands, in order to ſave the honeſt men trouble.

Your ſervant, Sir—Your ſervant, Sir—And ſome of them looked as if they had ſaid, You cannot mean me, I hope; and thoſe who ſpoke not, bowed and ſmiled thanks for his compliment to one fourth of the Sex.

My Lord inſultingly rubbed his hands for joy; Mr. Selby crowed; the other men ſlily ſmiled, tho' they were afraid of giving a more open approbation.

O my Siſter! ſaid I, taking Harriet's hand, we women are mere Nothings—We are nothing at all!

[362] How, my Charlotte! Make you no difference be⯑tween being Every-thing and Nothing?

Were it not, my dear Ladies, proceeded he, for male protectors, to what inſults, to what outrages, would not your Sex be ſubject? Pardon me, my deareſt Love, if I ſtrengthen my argument by your excel⯑lencies, bowing to his Harriet. Is not the dear crea⯑ture our good Mrs. Shirley's own Daughter? All the feminine graces are here. She is, in my notion, what all women ſhould be—But wants ſhe not a protec⯑tor? Even a dream, a reſverie—

O Sir, ſpare me, ſpare me! ſweetly bluſhing, ſaid the lovely Harriet. I own I ſhould have made a very ſilly, a very puſilanimous man! It is not long ſince, you know, Lady G. that I brought this very argu⯑ment in favour of—

Huſh, Harriet! You will give up the Female cauſe.

That is not fair, Charlotte, rejoined my brother; you ſhould not intercept the convictions of an inge⯑nuous mind—But I will ſpare my Harriet, if ſhe will endeavour, for her own ſake, to let nothing diſturb her for the future but realities, and not any of theſe long, if they are inevitable ones.

But pray, Sir, ſaid I, proceed in your argument, if you have any more to ſay.

O Charlotte! I have enough to ſay, to ſilence all your oppoſition, were I to give this ſubject its due weight. But we are only, for pleaſantry-ſake, ſkim⯑ming over the ſurface of the argument. Weaker powers are given generally for weaker purpoſes, in the oeconomy of Providence. I, for my part, how⯑ever, diſapprove not of our venerable Mrs. Shirley's obſervation; That we are apt to conſider the Sex too much as a ſpecies apart: Yet it is my opinion that both God and Nature have deſigned a very app [...]rent difference in the minds of both, as well as in the pe⯑culiar [363] beauties of their perſons. Were it not ſo, their offices would be confounded, and the women would not perhaps ſo readily ſubmit to thoſe domeſtic ones in which it is their province to ſhine, and the men would be allotted the diſtaff, or the needle; and you your⯑ſelves, Ladies, would be the firſt to deſpiſe ſuch. I, for my part, would only contend, that we men ſhould have power and right given us to protect and ſerve your Sex; that we ſhould purchaſe and build for them; travel and toil for them; run through, at the call of Providence, or of our King and Country, dangers and difficulties; and, at laſt, lay all our tro⯑phies, all our acquirements, at your feet; enough re⯑warded in the conſcience of duty done, and your fa⯑vourable acceptance.

We were all of us again his humble ſervants. It was in vain to argue the tyranny of ſome huſbands, when he could turn upon us the follies of ſome wives; and that wives and daughters were never more faulty, more undomeſtic, than at preſent; and when we were before a judge, that, tho' he could not be abſolutely unpolite, would not flatter us, nor ſpare our foibles.

However, if ſtuck a little with Harriet, that ſhe had given Cauſe to Sir Charles, in the diſpute which ſhe formerly bore a part in, relating to learning and lan⯑guages, to think her more lively than ſhe ought to be, and had ſpoken too lightly of languages. She ſweetly bluſhing, like a young wife ſolicitous for the good opinion of the Beloved of her heart, revived that cauſe.

He ſpoke very highly in her praiſe, upon the occa⯑ſion; owned, that the Letters he had been favoured with the ſight of, had given him deeper impreſſions in her favour, than even her Beauty: Hoped for farther communications; applauded her for her principles, and her inoffenſive vivacity—That ſweet, that inno⯑cent vivacity, and noble frankneſs of heart, ſaid he, [364] taking her hand, which I hope you will never think of reſtraining.

As to the converſation you ſpeak of, proceeded he, I repeat, that I was apprehenſive, when I read it, that languages were ſpoken of in it ſlightly; and yet, perhaps, I am miſtaken. You, my Beauchamp, I think, if my deareſt Life will oblige us both by the communication, and chooſes to do ſo (for that muſt be the condition on which all her goodneſs to us muſt be expected) ſhall be judge between us: You know, bet⯑ter than I, what ſtories of unexhauſted knowledge lie in the works of thoſe great Antients, which ſuffered in the hands of poor Mr. Walden: You know what the paſt and preſent ages have owed, and what all future will owe, to Homer, Ariſtotle, Virgil, Cicero: You can take in the neceſſity there is of reſtraining inno⯑vation, and preſerving old rules and inſtitutions, and of employing the youth of our Sex, who would otherwiſe be much worſe employed (as we ſee in thoſe who neglect their ſtudies) in the attainment of lan⯑guages that can convey to them ſuch lights in every ſcience: Tho' it were to be wiſhed, that morals ſhould take up more of the learner's attention than they generally do. You know, that the trueſt parts of learning are to be found in the Roman and Greek writers; and you know, that tranſlation (were every⯑thing worthy our notice tranſlated) cannot convey thoſe beauties which ſcholars only can reliſh; and which learned foreigners, if a man travels, will expect ſhould not have eſcaped his obſervation. As to the Ladies, Mrs. Shirley, has admirably obſerved, that there is a degree of knowledge very compatible with their duties (Condeſcending excellence! bowing to Mrs. Shirley) and highly becoming them; ſuch as will make them rejoice, and, I will add, improve a man of ſenſe, ſweeten his manners, and render him a much more ſociable, a much more amiable crea⯑ture, [365] and, of conſequence, greatly more happy in himſelf, than otherwiſe he would be from books and ſolitude.

Well but, brother, you ſaid juſt now, that we were only, for pleaſantry-ſake, ſkimming over the ſurface of the argument; and that you had enough to ſay to ſilence all my oppoſition, were you to give the ſubject its due weight. I do aſſure you, that, to ſilence all my oppoſition, you muſt have a vaſt deal more to ſay, than you have ſaid hitherto; and yet you have thrown in ſome hints which ſtick with me, tho' you have concluded with ſome magnificent intimations of ſuperiority over us—Power and right to protect, tra⯑vel, toil for us, and lay your trophies at our feet, and-ſo-forth—Surely, ſurely, this is diminiſhing us, and exalting yourſelves, by laying us under high ob⯑ligations to your generoſity. Pray, Sir, let us have, if you pleaſe, one or two intimation▪ of thoſe weightier arguments, that could, as you fancy, ſilence your Charlotte's oppoſition. I ſay, that we women, were our education the ſame—You know what I would be at—Your weightier arguments, if you pleaſe—or a ſpecimen only on paſſant.

Suppoſing, my Charlotte, that all human ſouls are, in themſelves, equal; yet the very deſign of the dif⯑ferent machines in which they are incloſed, is to ſuper⯑induce a temporary difference on their original equa⯑lity; a difference adapted to the different purpoſes for which they are deſigned by Providence in the preſent tranſitory ſtate. When thoſe purpoſes are at an end, this difference will be at an end too. When Sex ceaſes, inequality of Souls will ceaſe; and women will certainly be on a foot with men, as to intellectu⯑als, in Heaven. There, indeed, will you no longer have Lords over you: neither will you have Admi⯑rers: Which, in your preſent eſtimate of things, will perhaps balance the account. In the mean time, if you can ſee any occaſions that may call for ſtronger [366] underſtandings in male life, than in your own; you, at the ſame time, fee an argument to acquieſce in a perſuaſion of a preſent inequality between the two Sexe. You know, I have allowed exceptions. Will you, Charlotte, compliment yourſelf with being one?

Now, brother, I feel, methinks, that you are a little hard upon Charlotte: But, Ladies, you ſee how the matter ſtands.—You are all ſilent.—But, Sir, you graciouſly allow, that there is a degree of knowledge which is very compatible with the DUTIES of us women, and highly becoming us: will you have the goodneſs to point out to us what this compatible learning is, that we may not miſtake—and ſo become excentric, as I may ſay, burſt out orb, and do more miſchief than ever we could do good?

Could I point out the boundaries, Charlotte, it might not to ſome ſpirits be ſo proper: The limit might be treated as the one prohibited tree in the garden. But let me ſay, That genius, whether in man or woman, will puſh itſelf into light. If it has a laudable tendency, let it, as a ray of the Divinity, be encouraged, as well in the one Sex as in the other: I would not, by any means, have it limited: A little knowledge leads to vanity and conceit. I would only, methinks, have a Parent, a Governor, a Preceptor, bend his ſtrength to reſtrain its foibles; but not throw ſo much cold water upon the ſacred flame as ſhould quench it; ſince, if he did, ſtupidity, at leaſt de⯑jection, might take place of the emanation, and the perſon might be miſerable for life.

Well, then, we muſt compromiſe, I think, ſaid I: But, on recollection, I thought I had injoined you, Sir Charles, to the obſervance of neutrality. Har⯑riet, whiſpered I, we are only, after all, to be al⯑lowed, as far as I can find, in this temporary ſtate, like tame doves, to go about houſe, and-ſe-forth, as Biddy ſays, in the play.

[367] Harriet, could ſhe have found time (But, by mu⯑tual conſent, they are hardly ever aſunder) would have given you a better account of this converſation than I have done; ſo would Lucy: But take it, as it offers, from

LETTER LVI. Miſs LUCY SELBY, To Lady L.

MY dear Lady G. inſiſts upon my writing to your Ladyſhip an account of the appearance which the lovelieſt Couple in England made this day at Church.

We all thought nothing could have added to the charms of our Harriet's perſon; but yet her dreſs and jewels did. I ſighed, from pride for the honour of Female Beauty, to think they did. Can my dear Har⯑riet, thought I, exquiſitely lovely as ſhe is in any dreſs, be ornamented by richer ſilks than common, by coſtly laces, by jewels? Can dreſs add grace to that admirable proportion, and th [...]ſe fine features, to which no painter yet has ever done juſtice, tho' every family related to her has a picture of her, drawn by a different hand of eminence?

We admired the Bridegroom as much as we did her, when, (before we could have thought he had been half ready) he joined Mrs. Shirley, my Aunt Selby, and me, in the great Parlour, completely dreſſed. But what we moſt admired in him was, that native dignity and eaſe, and that inattentiveneſs to his own figure and appearance, which demonſtrate the truly⯑fine gentleman, accuſtomed, as he is, to be always elegant.

When his Lady preſented herſelf to him, and to us, [368] in all her glory, how did the dear creature dazle us! We involuntarily aroſe, as if to pay our homage to her. Sir Charles approached her with rather an air of greater freedom than uſual, as if he conſidered not the dreſs, as having added to the value he has for her: Yet, Lovelieſt of women, he called her; and taking her hand, preſented her to her grandmamma: Re⯑ceive, and again bleſs, my Angel, ſaid he, beſt of Parents!—How lovely! But what is even all this a⯑mazing lovelineſs to the graces of her mind? They riſe upon me every hour. She hardly opens her lips, but I find reaſon to bleſs God, and bleſs you both, my dear Ladies: For God and you have given her goodneſs.—My deareſt Life, allow me to ſay, that this ſweet perſon, which will be your firſt perfection in every ſtranger's eye, is but a ſecond in mine.

Inſtruct me, Sir, ſaid ſhe, baſhfully, bowing her face upon his hand, as he held hers, to deſerve your Love, by improving the mind you have the goodneſs to prefer; and no creature was ever on earth ſo happy as I ſhall be.

My dear Daughter, ſaid her delighted grandmother, you ſee▪ can hardly bare your goodneſs, Sir. You muſt blame her for ſomething, to keep down her pride.

My Harriet, replied he, cannot be proud of what the ſilkworm can do for her, or of the jeweller's po⯑liſh: But now you call upon me, madam, I will tax her with a real fault. I open all my heart to her, as ſubjects occaſionally offer: I want her to have a will, and to let me know it. The frankeſt of all Female hearts will not treat me with that ſweet familiarity which baniſhes diſtance. You ſee, my deareſt Love, that I chide you before your parental friends, and your Lucy.

It is your own fault, Sir: Indeed it is. You pre⯑vent me in all my wiſhes. Awe will mingle with the Love of perſons who are under perpetual obligation. [369] My dear two mamma's, you muſt not blame me; you muſt blame Sir Charles: He takes away, by his goodneſs, even the power of making ſuitable acknow⯑legements, and then complains I do not ſpeak.

My uncle Selby came in. He ſtood looking upon my couſin, for a few moments, in ſilence; then broke out, Sir Charles Grandiſon, you may indeed boaſt, that you have for a Wife the Flower of the Britiſh world, as you once called her: And, let me tell you, Niece, you have for a Husband the nobleſt and gal⯑lanteſt of men. Happy, happy Pair! ſay I. My dear Mr. Deane, ſaid he, who juſt then entered, if you will keep me in countenance, I will venture to ſalute that charming creature.

Sir Charles preſented his Bride to them both. With a bent knee ſhe received their ſalutes. At that mo⯑ment came in the three Lords, who followed the ex⯑ample. Lord W. called her Angel—Sir Charles looked delighted with the praiſes of his Bride.

The reſt of the company being come, we proceed⯑ed to church.

We were early; but the Church was crouded. How were the charming Couple admired on their a⯑lighting, and as they walked to their pew! Never did my Couſin herſelf look ſo lovely! How charmingly looked the Bridegroom! But he forgot not that hum⯑ble deportment, full of reverence for the place, and the Divine Offices, which ſeemed to make him ab⯑ſent for the time to that ſplendor and beauty which took every eye out of our own pew. His example was enough to give a proper behaviour, had it been needful, to every one in it.

I ſhould have told your Ladyſhip, that Mr. Gre⯑ville had ſent, ever-night, a ſullenly-complaiſant re⯑queſt to my aunt, in writing, importing, that as he heard the Bride would make her appearance on the morrow, the Bride-men and maids, if it broke not into our Ceremonial, would accept of his pew, which [370] is over-againſt ours, for the look of the thing, he ſaid; tho' he could not promiſe but he ſhould all the day curſe the occaſion. By this we found, he was not gone to Lady Frampton's, as he had deſigned. His of⯑fer was thankfully accepted.

There was a great concourſe of the genteeleſt peo⯑ple there. Every-body, men and women, looked delighted on the occaſion. The humility of the Bride was tried, by the reſpects paid her between the offices, by all who had ever been in her company. They ſhould have reined in their own pride; for it was to that, as much as to reſpect to her, I doubt not, that their notice was owing. She looked conſcious, baſhful; ſly, I told her afterwards. She hates the word: But, as I ſaid, ſhe ſhould not have given the idea, that made no other word ſo proper to expreſs it, and which muſt be more obſervable in her generally open free countenance, than in that of any other. She more than once ſaw devoirs paid her by a leer, when her ſweet face was ſo diſpoſed, that, had ſhe not returned the compliment, it might have paſſed that ſhe had not ſeen them. But what an Inſenſible muſt have been my couſin, had ſhe not been proud of being Lady Grandiſon! She is not quite an Angel, yet: She has a few Femalities, as my uncle whimſically calls our little foibles. So, perhaps, ſhe ſhould. But nobody ſaw the leaſt defect in your brother. His dreſs moſt charmingly became him; and when he looked upon his Bride, his eyes were fixed on her eyes, with ſuch a ſweet benignity and complaiſance, as if he ſaw her mind through them, and could not ſpare a glance to her ornaments: Yet by his own dreſs he ſhewed, that he was not Stoical non-conformiſt to the faſhion of the world. But the politeneſs and reſpect with which he treated her, did them both credit, and cre⯑dit (as Lady G. obſerved) to the whole Sex, Such unaffected tenderneſs in his reſpect; and known to be ſo brave, ſo good a man!—O my dear Lady L. what [371] an admirable man is your brother! What a happy creature is my Harriet!

When Divine Service was over, I was afraid our Proceſſion, as I may call it, would have been inter⯑rupted by the compliments of ſome of the gentry of our acquaintance, whoſe opened pew-doors ſhewed their readineſs to addreſs them: But all paſſed in ſilent reſpects from Gentlemen and Ladie. My couſin, when ſhe came home, rejoiced that one of her pa⯑rading times was over: But when, my deareſt Love, ſaid Sir Charles, will the time be paſt, that all who ſee you will admire you?

The Church in the afternoon was ſtill more crouded than before. How were Sir Charles and my uncle bleſſed by the poor, and people of low degree, for their well-diſpenſed bounty to them!

My couſin has delighted Mrs. Shirly, by telling her, that Sir Charles had ſaid there would be a Rite wanting, till he and ſhe had communicated, accord⯑ing to the order of the Church, at the Altar, on this particular occaſion.

Juſt now is every-thing ſettled that Sir Charles wiſhed to be ſettled. Lady G. will acquaint you with particulars, I doubt not.

Permit me to commend myſelf to your Ladyſhip's favours, as one of the

P. S. Lady G. has half broke my heart.

On peruſal of what I have written, ſhe ſays, I have not done my beſt: I have not given half particulars enough.—In ſhort, ſhe finds a mul⯑titude of faults with me—Even calls me names, Sorry girl, lazy, and I can't tell what.

But do you, madam, acquit me, and I ſhall be eaſy.

[372] I told her, that I thought I had been very mi⯑nute.

What! to a lying-in-woman, ſhe ſays, who has no variety before her! All one dull chamber⯑ſcene, hourly acted over again—The ſubject ſo rich!

I anſwered, It ſhould then have had the richeſt pen!—Why did ſhe not write herſelf? If it was not for lazineſs-ſake, it was for ſelf-ſake, that ſhe did not. As I knew Lady L. would have been a gainer by the change of pen, I had much rather have been in the company for which ſhe quitted the task, than grubbing pens in my cloſet; and all to get nothing but diſcommendation.

I have ſhewn her this my Poſtcript. She raves: But I am hardened. She will ſoon have an opper⯑tunity to ſupply all my defects, in perſon.