for exposing him, as he called it, to his father, and for the check he was continually giving to his lawless appetites; and falling into acquaintance with a courtezan, who was infamous for ruining many young travellers by her subtle and dangerous contrivances, they joined in a resolution to revenge themselves on the Doctor, whom they considered as their greatest enemy.

"Several projects they fell upon; one in particular, was to accuse him, by a third hand, as concerning himself with affairs of state in Venice; a crime which, in that jealous republic, is never overlooked, and generally ends fatally for the accused; who, if seized, is hardly ever heard of afterwards. From this danger he narrowly escaped, by means of his general good character, and remarkable inoffensiveness, and the profligateness of his accusers; nor knew he his danger till Imany months afterwards. The Doctor believes, that he fared the better for being an Englishman, and a governor to the son of a British nobleman, who made so considerable a figure in England; because the Italians in general reap so much advantage from the travellers of this nation, that they are ready to favour and encourage them above those of any other.

"The Doctor had been very solicitous to be acquitted of his ungracious charge. In every letter he wrote to England, this was one of his prayers; but still the father, who knew not what to do with his son at home, had besought his patience; and wrote to his son in the strongest terms, after reproaching him for his ungraciousness, to pay an implicit obedience to the Doctor.

"The father was a learned man. Great pains had been taken with Lorimer, to make him know something of the ancient Greek and Ro man histories. The father was very desirous, that his son should see the famous places of old Greece, of which he himself had read so much; and, with great difficulty, the Doctor got the young man to leave Venice, where the vile woman, and the diversions of the place, had taken scandalous hold of him.

"Athens was the city at which the father had desired they would make some stay; and from thence visit other parts of the Morea; and there the young man found his woman got before him, according to private agreement between them.

"It was some time before the Doctor found out, that the very woman, who had acted so abandoned a part with Lorimer at Venice, was his mistress at Athens; and when he did, he applied, on some fresh enormities committed by Lorimer, to the tribunal which the Christians have there, consisting of eight venerable men chosen out of the eight quarters of the city, to determine causes among Christians; and they taking cognizance of the facts, the wicked woman suborned wretches to accuse the Doctor to the cadi, who is the Turkish judge of the place, as a dangerous and disaffected person; and the

cadi being, as it was supposed, corrupted by presents, got the vayvode, or governor, to interfere; and the Doctor was seized, and thrown into prison; his Christian friends in the place were forbidden to interpose in his favour; and pen and ink, and all access to him, were prohibited.

"The vile woman, having concerted measures with the persons she had suborned, for continuing the Doctor in his severe confinement, set out with her paramour for Venice; and there they rioted as before.

"Mr Beauchamp, a young man of learning and fine parts, happened to make an acquaintance with Mr Grandison in the island of Candia, where they met as countrymen, which, from a sympathy of mind, grew immediately into an intimacy that will hardly ever end. This young gentleman, in the course of his travels, visiting Athens about this time, was informed of the Doctor's misfortune, by one of the eight Christians, who constituted the tribunal above mentioned, and who was an affectionate friend of the Doctor, though forbidden to busy himself in his cause; and Mr Beauchamp (who had heard Mr Grandison speak of the Doctor with an uncommon affection) knowing that Mr Grandison was then at Constantinople, dispatched a man on purpose, to acquaint him with the affair, and with all the particulars he could get of the case, authenticated as much as the nature of the thing would admit.

"Mr Grandison was equally grieved and astonished at the information. He instantly applied to the English ambassador at the Porte, as also to the French minister there, with whom he had made an acquaintance; they to the grand vizier; and an order was issued for setting the Doctor at liberty. Mr Grandison, in order to urge the dispatch of the chiaux, who carried it, accompanied him, and arrived at Athens, just as the vayvode had determined to get rid of the whole affair in a private manner (the Doctor's finances being exhausted) by the bow-string. The danger endeared the Doctor to Mr Grandison; a relief so seasonable endeared Mr Grandison to the Doctor; to them both Mr Beauchamp, who would not stir from Athens, till he had seen him delivered; having busied himself, in the interim, in the best manner he could, (though he was obliged to use caution and secrecy,) to do him service, and to suspend the fatal blow.

"Here was a cement to a friendship (that had been begun between the young gentlemen from likeness of manners) between them and the Doc tor, whom they have had the goodness ever since to regard as their father; and to this day it is one of the Doctor's delights to write to his worthy son Beauchamp all that he can come at, relating to the life and actions of a man, whom the one regards as an example, the other as an honour to the human race.

"It was some time before the Doctor knew

for certain, that the ungracious Lorimer had been consenting to the shocking treatment he had met with; for the wretches, whom the vile woman had suborned, had made their escape from Athens before the arrival of Mr Grandison and the chiaux; the flagitious youth had written to his father, in terms of the deepest sorrow, an account of what had befallen his governor; and his father had taken the best measures that could be fallen upon, at so great a distance, for the Doctor's succour and liberty; but, in all probability, he would have been lost before those measures could have taken effect.

"Lorimer's father, little thinking that his son had connived at the plot formed against his governor, besought him, when he had obtained his liberty, not to leave his son to his own devices. The Doctor, as little thinking then, that Lorimer had been capable of a baseness so very villainous, in compassion both to father and son, went to Venice, and got him out of the hands of the vile woman; and then to Rome; but there, the unhappy wretch, continuing his profligate courses, became at last a sacrifice to his dissoluteness; and his death was a deliverance to his family, to the Doctor, and to the earth.

"On his death-bed he confessed the plot, which the infamous courtezan had meditated against the Doctor at Venice, as well as his connivance at that which she had carried into execution at Athens. He died in horror not to be described; begging for longer life, and promising reformation on that condition. The manner of his death, and the crimes he confessed himself guilty of, by the instigation of the most abandoned of women, besides those committed against his governor, so shocked and grieved the Doctor, that he fell ill, and his recovery was long doubted of.

"Meantime Mr Grandison visited some parts of Asia and Africa, Egypt particularly; corresponding all the time with Dr Bartlett, and allowing the correspondence to pass into the hands of Mr Beauchamp; as he did that which he held with Mr Beauchamp, to be communicated to the Doctor.

"When Mr Grandison returned to Italy, finding there his two friends, he engaged the Doctor to accompany Mr Beauchamp in that part of his tour into some of the eastern regions, which he himself had been particularly pleased with, and, as he said, wanted to be more particularly informed of; and therefore insisted, that it should be taken at his own expense. He knew that Mr Beauchamp had a step-mother, who had prevailed on his father to take off two-thirds of the allowance he made him on his travels.

"Mr Beauchamp very reluctantly complied with the condition so generously imposed on him by his beloved friend; another of whose arguments was, that such a tour would be the most likely means to establish the health of a man equally dear to both.

"Mr Grandison never was at a loss for arguments to keep in countenance the persons whom he benefited; and to make the acceptance of his favours appear not only to be their duty, but an obligation laid on himself.

Mr Grandison himself, when the two gentlemen set out on their tour, was engaged in some affairs at Bologna and Florence, which gave him great embarrassment.

"Dr Bartlett and Mr Beauchamp visited the principal islands of the Archipelago; after which the Doctor left the young gentleman pursuing his course to Constantinople, with intention to visit some parts of Asia, and took the opportunity of a vessel that was bound for Leghorn, to return thither.

"His health was happily established; and, knowing that Mr Grandison expected the longdesired call from his father to return to England, and that it was likely that he could be of use to his ward Miss Jervois, and her affairs, in her guardian's absence, he was the more desirous to return to Italy.

"Mr Grandison rejoiced at his arrival; and soon after set out for Paris, in order to attend there the expected call; leaving Emily, in the interim, to his care.

"Lorimer's father did not long survive his son. He expressed himself in his last hours highly sensible of the Doctor's care of his unhappy boy; and earnestly desired his lady to see him handsomely rewarded for his trouble. But not making a will, and the lady having, by her early over-indulgence, ruined the morals of her child, (never suffering him to be either corrected or chidden, were his enormities ever so flagrant,) she bore a secret grudge to the Doctor for his honest representations to her lord of the young man's immoralities; and not even the interposition of a Sir Charles Grandison has hitherto been able to procure the least acknowledgment to the Doctor; though the loss as well of his reputation as life, might have been the consequence of the faithful services he had endeavoured to render to the profligate youth, and in him to the whole family."

LETTER LXXXIII.

DR BARTLETT.

[In continuation.]

[Enclosing the preceding.]

THUS far, dear Miss Byron, (delight of every one who is so happy as to know you!) reach my kinsman's extracts from my papers. I will add some particulars, in answer to your inquiries about Mr Beauchamp, if, writing of a man I so greatly love, I can write but a few.

Mr Beauchamp is a fine young man in his person. When I call him a second Sir Charles Grandison, you and the ladies, and my Lord L-, will conceive a very high idea of his understanding, politeness, and other amiable qualities. He is of an ancient family. His father, Sir Harry Beauchamp, tenderly loves him, and keeps him abroad equally against both their wills, especially against Mr Beauchamp's, now his beloved friend is in England. This is done to humour an imperious, vindictive woman, who, when a widow, had cast her eye upon the young gentleman for a husband; imagining that her great wealth (her person not disagreeable) would have been a temptation to him. This, however, was unknown to the father; who made his addresses to her much about the time that Mr Beauchamp had given an absolute denial (perhaps with too little ceremony) to an overture made to him by a friend of hers. This enraged her. She was resolved to be revenged on him, and knowing him to be absolutely in his father's power, as to fortune, gave way to Sir Harry's addresses; and, on her obtaining such terms as in a great measure put both father and son in her power, she married Sir Harry.

She soon gained an absolute ascendant over her husband. The son, when his father first made his addresses to her, was allowed to set out on his travels with an appointment of 600l. ayear. She never rested till she had got 4007. ayear to be struck off; and the remaining 2007. were 'so ill remitted, that the young gentleman would have been put to the greatest difficulties, had it not been for the truly friendly assistance of Mr Grandison.

Yet it is said, that this lady is not destitute of some good qualities; and, in cases where the son is not the subject, behaves very commendably to Sir Harry; but being a managing woman, and Sir Harry loving his ease, she has made herself his receiver and treasurer; and, by that means, has put it out of his power to act as paternally by his son as he is inclined to do, without her knowing it.

The lady and Sir Harry both, however, profess to admire the character of Sir Charles Grandison, from the letters Mr Beauchamp has written from time to time to his father; and from .the general report in his favour: And on this, as well I, as Mr Beauchamp, found our hope, that if Sir Charles, by some unsuspected way, can make himself personally acquainted with the lady, he will be able to induce her to consent to her son-in-law's recal; and to be reconciled to him; the rather, as there is no issue by this marriage; whose interest might strengthen the lady's animosity.

Mr Beauchamp, in this hope, writes to Sir Charles, that he can, and will, pay all due respect to his father's wife, and, as such, treat her as his mother, if she will consent to his return to his native country; but declares, that

son.

SUBJOINED, IN A SEPARATE PAPER, BY MISS BYRON TO HER LUCY.

How is this, Lucy? Let me collect some of the contents of these letters. "If Sir Charles forbear, of his own accord, to acquaint his sis"Issue hidden ters with some certain affairs"from himself”—“ Engaged in some affairs at Bologna and Florence, that embarrass him [Is, or was so engaged, means the Doctor?"Sir Charles not reserved; yet reserved." How is all this, Lucy?

But does the Doctor say, " That I shall particularly admire Mr Beauchamp?"-What means the Doctor by that?-But he cannot affront me so much as to mean anything but to shew his own love to the worthy young man. The Doctor longs for us to see him. If I do see him, he must come quickly: For shall I not soon return to my last, my best refuge, the arms of my indulgent grandmamma and aunt?—I shall.

But, dear Lucy, have you any spite in you? Are you capable of malice-deadly malice?If you are, sit down, and wish the person you hate, to be in love with a man, (I must, it seems, speak out,) whom she thinks, and everybody

knows, to be superior to herself, in every quality, in every endowment, both of mind and fortune; and be doubtful, (far, far worse is doubtful than sure!) among some faint glimmerings of hope, whether his affections are engaged; and if they are not, whether he can return-Ah, Lucy! you know what I mean-Don't let me speak out.

But one word more-Don't you think the Doctor's compliment, at the beginning of this letter, a little particular ?-" Delight of EVERY ONE who is so happy as to know you." Charming words!-But are they, or are they not, officiously inserted?-Am I the delight of Sir Charles Grandison's heart? Does he not know me?-Weak, silly, vain, humble, low, yet proud Harriet Byron!-Begone, paper-mean confession of my conjecturing folly-Ah, Lucy, I tore the paper half through, as you'll see, in anger at myself; but I will stitch it to the Doctor's letter, to be taken off by you, and to be seen by nobody else.

LETTER LXXXIV.

MISS HARRIET BYRON TO MISS LUCY SELBY.

Saturday, March 18.

SELF, my dear Lucy, is a very wicked thing; a sanctifier, if one would give way to its partialities, of actions, which in others we should have no doubt to condemn. DELICACY, too, is often a misleader; an idol, at whose shrine we sometimes offer up our sincerity; but, in that case, it should be called indelicacy.

Nothing, surely, can be delicate, that is not true, or that gives birth to equivocation; yet how was I pleased with Lord and Lady Land Miss Grandison, for endeavouring to pass me off to good Dr Bartlett in the light I had no title to appear in !-As if my mind, in a certain point, remained to be known; and would so remain, till the gentleman had discovered his.

And are there some situations, in which a woman must conceal her true sentiments? in which it would be thought immodesty to speak out?-Why was I born with a heart so open and sincere? But why, indeed, as Sir Charles has said in his letter relating to the Danbys, should women be blamed, for owning modestly a passion for a worthy and suitable object? Is it, that they will not speak out, lest, if their wishes should not be crowned with success by one man, they should deprive themselves of the chance to succeed with another? Do they not propose to make the man they love, happy ?And is it a crime to acknowledge, that they are so well disposed to a worthy object? A worthy object, I repeat; for that is what will warrant the open heart. What a littleness is there in the custom that compels us to be insincere? And

suppose we do not succeed with a first object, shall we cheat a future lover with the notion that he was the first?

was.

Hitherto I had acted with some self-approbation. I told Mr Greville, Mr Fenwick, Mr Orme, Mr Fowler, that I had not seen the man to whom I could wish to give my hand at the altar; but when I found my heart engaged, I was desirous Lady D should know that it But yet, misled by this same notion of delicacy, I could think myself obliged to the two sisters, and my lord, that they endeavoured to throw a blind over the eyes of good Dr Bartlett; when the right measure, I now think, would have been, not to have endeavoured to obtain lights from him, that we all thought he was not commissioned to give; or, if we had, to have related to him the whole truth, and not to have put on disguises to him; but to have left him wholly a judge of the fit and the unfit.

And this is LOVE, is it? that puts an honest girl upon approving of such tricks?-Begone, love! I banish thee, if thou wouldst corrupt the simplicity of that heart, which was taught to glory in truth.

And yet, I had like to have been drawn into a greater fault; for, what do you think?-Miss Grandison had, (by some means or other; she would not tell me how,) in Dr Bartlett's absence, on a visit to one of the canons of Windsor, got at a letter brought early this morning from her brother to that good man, and which he had left opened on his desk.

Here, Harriet, said she, is the letter so lately brought, not perhaps quite honestly come at, from my brother to Dr Bartlett, (holding it out to me.) You are warmly mentioned in it. Shall I put it where I had it? Or will you so far partake of my fault, as to read it first?

O Miss Grandison! said I ; and am I warmly mentioned in it? Pray oblige me with the perusal of it. And held out my more than half guilty hand, and took it ; but (immediately recollecting myself) did you not hint that you came at it by means not honest ?-Take it again; I will not partake of your fault-But, cruel Charlotte! how could you tempt me so? And I laid it on a chair.

Read the first paragraph, Harriet. She took it up, unfolded it, and pointed to the first paragraph.

Tempter, said I, how can you wish me to imitate our first pattern! And down I sat, and put both my hands before my eyes. Take it away, take it away, while yet I am innocent!-Dear Miss Grandison, do not give me cause for self-reproach. I will not partake of your acknowledged fault.

She read a line or two; and then said, Shall I read farther, Harriet? The very next word is your name.

I will

--

No, no, no, said I, putting my fingers to my

ears.-Yet, had you come honestly by it, I should have longed to read it.-By what means

Why, if people will leave their closet-doors open, let them take the consequence.

If people will do so-But was it so? And yet, if it was, would you be willing to have your letters looked into? Well, then, I will carry it back-Shall I? (holding it out to me:) Shall I, Harriet ?—I will put it where I had it-Shall I? And twice or thrice went from me, and came back to me, with a provoking archness in her looks.

Only tell me, Miss Grandison, is there any thing in it that you think your brother would not have us see?-But I am sure there is, or the obliging Dr Bartlett, who has shewn us others, would have favoured us with communicating the contents of this.

I would not but have seen this letter for half I am worth! O Harriet! there are such things in it-Bologna! Paris! Grandison-Hall!

Begone, siren! Letters are sacred things. Replace it. Don't you own, that you came not honestly by it? And yet

Ah! Lucy, I was ready to yield to the curiosity she had raised; but, recollecting myself, Begone, said I; carry back the letter; I am afraid of myself.

Why, Harriet, here is one passage, the contents of which you must be acquainted with in a very little while

I will not be tempted, Miss Grandison. I will stay till it is communicated to me, be it what it will.

But you may be surprised, Harriet, at the time, and know not what answer to give it— You had as good read it-Here, take it-Was there ever such a scrupulous creature?—It is about you and Emily

About me and Emily!

O Miss Grandison! what can there be about me and Emily?

And where's the difference, Harriet, between asking me about the contents, and reading them? But I tell you—

No, you shall not; I will not hear the contents. I never will ask you. Can nobody act greatly but your brother? Let you and me, Charlotte, be the better for his example. You shall neither read them, nor tell me of them. I would not be so used myself.

Such praises did I never hear of woman!— Oh, Harriet !-Such praises-

Praises, Charlotte!-From your brother?O this curiosity! the first fault of our first parent! But I will not be tempted. If you provoke me to ask questions, laugh at me, and welcome; but, I beseech you, answer me not. Dear creature, if you love me, replace the letter, and do not seek to make me mean in my own eyes. How you reflect upon me, Harriet !-But let me ask you, Are you willing, as a third sister, to take Emily into your guardianship, and carry

her down with you into Northamptonshire ?— Answer me that.

Ah! Miss Grandison! And is there such a proposal as that mentioned?-But, answer me not, I beseech you. Whatever proposal is intended to be made me, let it be made; it will be too soon whenever that is, if it be a disagreeable one.

But let me say, madam, (and tears were in my eyes,) that I will not be treated with indignity by the best man on earth. And while I can refuse to yield to a thing that I think unworthy of myself, (you are a sister, madam, and have nothing either to hope or fear,) I have a title to act with spirit, when occasions call for it.

My dear, you are serious-Twice madam, in one breath! I will not forgive you. You ought now to hear that passage read which relates to you and Emily, if you will not read it yourself. And she was looking for it; I suppose intending to read it to me.

No, Miss Grandison, said I, laying my spread hand upon the letter; I will neither read it, nor hear it read. I begin to apprehend, that there will be occasion for me to exert all my fortitude; and while it is yet in my power to do a right or a wrong thing, I will not deprive myself of the consciousness of having merited well, whatever may be my lot-Excuse me, madam.

I went to the door, and was opening it—when she ran to me-Dear creature! you are angry with me; but how that pride becomes you! There is a dignity in it that awes me. O Harriet! how infinitely does it become the only woman in the world, that is worthy of the best man in it! Only say, you are not angry with me. Say that you can and do forgive me.

Forgive you, my Charlotte!-I do. But can you say, that you came not honestly by that letter, and yet forgive yourself? But, my dear Miss Grandison, instantly replace it; and do you watch over me, like a true friend, if in a future hour of weakness you should find me desirous to know any of the contents of a paper so naughtily come at. I own that I had like to have been overcome; and if I had, all the information it would have given me, could never have recompensed me for what I should have suffered in my own opinion, when I reflected on the means by which I had obtained it.

Superior creature! how you shame me! I will replace the letter. And I promise you, that if I cannot forget the contents of it myself, (and yet they are glorious to my brother,) I will never mention any of them to you; unless the letter be fairly communicated to you, and to us all.

I threw my arms about her neck. She fervently returned the sisterly embrace. We separated; she retiring at one door, in order to go up to replace the letter; I at the other, to reconsider all that had passed on the occasion. And I hope I shall love her the better for taking