He is a good man; but he can be severe upon our sex-It is not in woman to be unreservedYou'll find that one of the reflections upon us; he adds, and, to be impartial, perhaps they should not. Why so?-But is not this a piece of advice given to myself, to make me more reserved than I am? But he gives not himself opportunity to see whether I am or am not reserved. I won't be mean, Lucy, I repeat for the twentieth time. I won't deserve to be despised by him.-No! though he were the sovereign of the greatest empire on earth. In this believe your HARRIET BYRON.

LETTER LXXXVII.

SIR CHARLES GRANDISON TO DR BARTLETT.

[Enclosed in the preceding.]

March 18.

I HAVE had a visit, my dear and reverend friend, from Emily's mother. She will very probably make one also at Colnebrook, before I can be so happy as to get thither. I dispatch this, therefore, to apprize you and Lord Lof such a probability; which is the greater, as she knows Emily to be there, through the inadvertence of Saunders, and finds me to be in town. I will give you the particulars of what passed between us, for your better information, if she goes to Colnebrook.

I was preparing to attend Lord W—, as by appointment, when she sent in her name to

me.

I received her civilly. She had the assurance to make up to me with a full expectation that I would salute her; but I took, or rather received, her ready hand, and led her to a chair by the fire-side. You have never seen her. She thinks herself still handsome; and, did not her vices render her odious, and her whole aspect shew her heart, she would not be much mistaken.

How does Emily, sir? gallanting her fan; is the girl here? Bid her come to me. I will see

her.

She is not here, madam.

Where is she then? She has not been at Mrs Lane's for some time.

She is in the best protection; she is with my two sisters.

And pray, Sir Charles Grandison, what do you intend to do with her? The girl begins to be womanly.

She laughed; and her heart spoke out at her

eyes.

Tell me what you propose to do with her? You know, added she, affecting a serious air, that she is my child.

If, madam, you deserve to be thought her mother, you will be satisfied with the hands she is in.

Pish!-I never loved your good men ; where a fine girl comes in their way, I know what I know

She looked wantonly, and laughed again. I am not to talk seriously with you, Mrs Jervois! But what have you to say to my ward? Say! Why, you know, sir, I am her mother; and I have a mind to have the care of her person myself. You must (so her father directed) have the care of her fortune; but I have a mind, for her reputation's sake, to take the girl out of the hands of so young a guardian. I hope you would not oppose me?

If this be all your business, madam, I must be excused. I am preparing, as you see, to dress.

Where is Emily? I will see the girl.

If your motive be motherly love, little, madam, as you have acted the mother by her, you shall see her when she is in town. But her person, and reputation, as well as fortune, must be my care.

I am married, sir; and my husband is a man of honour.

Your marriage, madam, gives a new reason why Emily must not be in your care.

Let me tell you, sir, that my husband is a man of honour, and as brave a man as yourself; and he will see me righted.

Be he who he will, he can have no business with Emily. Did you come to tell me you are married, madam?

I did, sir. Don't you wish me joy?

Joy, madam! I wish you to deserve joy, and you will then, perhaps, have it. You'll excuse me-I shall make my friends wait.

I could not restrain my indignation. This woman marries, as she calls it, twice or thrice a-year. Well, sir, then you will find time, perhaps, to talk with Major O'Hara. He is of one of the best families in Ireland. And he will not let me be robbed of my daughter.

Major O'Hara, madam, has nothing to do with the daughter of my late unhappy friend. Nor have I anything to say to him. Emily is in my protection; and I am sorry to say, that she never had been so, were not the woman who calls herself her mother, the person least fit to be entrusted with her daughter. Permit me the favour of leading you to your chair.

She then broke out into the language in which she always concludes these visits. She threatened me with the resentments of Major O'Hara ; and told me, he had been a conqueror in half-adozen duels.

I offered my hand. She refused it not. I led her to her chair.

I will call again to-morrow afternoon, said she, (threatening with her head ;) perhaps with the Major, sir. And I expect you will produce the little harlotry.

I left her in silent contempt. Vile woman! But let nothing of this escape you to my Emily. I think she should not see her but in

my presence. The poor girl will be terrified into fits, as she was the last time she saw her, if she comes, and I am not there. But possibly I may hear no more of this wicked woman for a month or two. Having a power to make her annuity either one or two hundred pounds, according to her behaviour, at my own discretion, the man she has married, who could have no inducement but the annuity, if he has married her, will not suffer her to incur such a reduction of it; for you know, I have always hitherto paid her two hundred pounds a-year. Her threatening to see me to-morrow may be to amuse me while she goes. The woman is a foolish woman; but, being accustomed to intrigue, she aims at cunning and contrivance.

I am now hastening to Lord W. I hope his woman will not be admitted to his table, as she generally is, let who will be present; yet, it seems, knows not how to be silent, whatever be the subject. I have never chosen either to dine or sup with my lord, that I might not be under a necessity of objecting to her company; and were I not to object to it, as I am a near kinsman to my lord, and know the situation she is in with him, my complaisance might be imputed to motives altogether unworthy of a man of spirit.

Yours of this morning was brought me, just as I was concluding. I am greatly interested in one paragraph in it.

You hint to me, that my sisters, though my absences are short, would be glad to receive now and then a letter from me. You, my dear friend, have engaged me into a kind of habit, which makes me write to you with ease and pleasure. To you, and to our Beauchamp, methinks, I can write anything. Use, it is true, would make it equally agreeable to me to write to my sisters. I would not have them think that there is a brother in the world, that better loves his sisters than I do mine; and now, you know, I have three. But why have they not signified as much to me? Could I give pleasure to any whom I love, without giving great pain to myself, it would be unpardonable not to do

it.

I could easily carry on a correspondence with my sisters, were they to be very earnest about it; but then it must be a correspondence; the writing must not be all of one side. Do they think I should not be equally pleased to hear what they are about, from time to time; and what, occasionally, their sentiments are, upon persons and things? If it fall in your way, and you think it not a mere temporary wish, (for young ladies often wish, and think no more of the matter,) then propose the condition.-But caution them, that the moment I discover, that they are less frank, and more reserved, than I am, there will be an end of the correspondence. My three sisters are most amiably frank, for women-but, thus challenged, dare they enter

the lists, upon honour, with a man, a brother, upon equal terms?-O no! they dare not. It is not in woman to be unreserved in some points; and (to be impartial) perhaps they should not; yet, surely, there is now and then a man, a brother, to be met with, who would be the more grateful for the confidence reposed in him.

Were this proposal to be accepted, I could write to them many of the things that I communicate to you. I have but few secrets. I only wish to keep from relations so dear to me, things that could not possibly yield them pleasure. I am sure I could trust to your judgment, the passages that might be read to them from my letters to you.

Sometimes, indeed, I love to divert myself with Charlotte's humorous curiosity; for she seems, as I told her lately, to love to suppose secrets, where there are none, for a compliment to her own sagacity, when she thinks she has found them out; and I love at such times to see her puzzled, and at a fault, as a punishment for her declining to speak out.

You have told me heretofore, in excuse for the distance which my two elder sisters observe to their brother, when I have complained of it to you, that it proceeded from awe, from reverence for him. But why should there be that awe, that reverence? Surely, my dear friend, if this is spontaneous, and invincible, in them, there must be some fault in my behaviour, some seeming want of freedom in my manner, with which you will not acquaint me; it is otherwise impossible, that between brothers and sisters, where the love is not doubted on either side, such a distance should subsist. You must consult them upon it, and get them to explain themselves on this subject to you; and when they have done so, tell me of my fault, and I will endeavour to render myself more agreeable (more familiar, shall I say?) to them. will not by any means excuse them, if they give me cause to think, that the distance is owing to the will and the power I have been blessed with to do my duty by them. What would this be, but indirectly to declare, that once they expected not justice from their brother? But no more of this subject at present. I am impatient to be with you all at Colnebrook; you cannot think how impatient. Self-denial is a very hard doctrine to be learned, my good Dr Bartlett. So, in some cases, is it found to be, by your

But I

CHARLES GRANDISON.

LETTER LXXXVIII.

MISS BYRON TO MISS SELBY.

Colnebrook, Sunday Evening. POOR Emily! her heart is almost broken. This ignoble passion, what a mean-spirited crea

in a middle way between a French beau and a Dutch boor; aiming at gentility, with a person and shape uncommonly clumsy.

They both assumed military airs, which, not sitting naturally, gave them what Miss Grandison called the swagger of soldierly importance. Emily was in her own apartment, almost fainting with terror: for the servant to whom Mrs O'Hara had spoken, to bid her daughter come to her, had officiously carried up the message.

To what Mrs O'Hara had said in defence of her own character, my lord answered, Mr Jervois had a right, madam, to do what he pleased with a fortune acquired by his own industry. A disagreement in marriage is very unhappy; but in this case, as in a duel, the survivor is hardly ever in fault. I have nothing to do in this matter. Miss Jervois is very happy in Sir Charles Grandison's protection. She thinks so; and so does everybody that knows her. It is your misfortune if you do not.

Mrs O'Hara. My lord, I make no dispute of Sir Charles's being the guardian of her fortune; but no father can give away the authority a mother has, as well as himself, over a child.

Maj. That child a daughter too, my lord. Lord L. To all this I have nothing to say. You will not be able, I believe, to persuade my brother Grandison to give up his ward's person

to you,

madam.

Mrs O'Hara. Chancery may, my lordLord L. I have nothing to say to this, madam. No man in England knows better what is to be done, in this case, than Sir Charles Grandison; and no man will be readier to do what is just and fitting, without law: but I enter not into the case; you must not talk to me on this subject.

Miss Gr. Do you think, madam, that your marriage entitles you the rather to have the care of Miss Jervois ?

Maj. With great quickness. I hope, madam, that my honour and cha-ract-er

Miss Gr. Be they ever so unquestionable, will not entitle you, sir, to the guardianship of Miss Jervois's person.

Maj. I do not pretend to it, madam. But I hope that no father's will, no guardian's power, is to set aside the natural authority which a mother has over her child.

Lord L. This is not my affair. I am not inclined to enter into a dispute with you, madam, on this subject.

Mrs O'Hara. Let Emily be called down to her mother. I hope I may see my child. She is in this house, my lord. I hope I may see my

child.

ships. Your lordship will not refuse to let de daughter come to her moder?

Lord L. Her guardian perhaps will not deny it. You must apply to him. He is in town. Miss Jervois is here but as a guest. She will be soon in town. I must not have her alarmed. She has very weak spirits.

Mrs O'Hara. Weak spirits, my lord!—A child to have spirits too weak to see her mother!-And she felt for her handkerchief.

Miss Gr. It sounds a little harshly, I own, to deny to a mother the sight of her daughter: but unless my brother were present, I think, my lord, it cannot be allowed.

Maj. Not allowed, madam!

Capt. A moder to be denied to see her daughter! Jesu! And he crossed himself.

Mrs O'Hara. Putting her handkerchief to hide her eyes, for it seems she wept not.] I am a very unhappy mother indeed

Maj. Embracing her. My dearest life! My best love! I must not bear these tears-Would to God Sir Charles was here, and thought fitbut I came not here to threaten-you, my lord, are a man of the greatest honour; so is Sir Charles. -But whatever were the misunderstandings between husband and wife, they should not be kept up and propagated between mother and child. My wife, at present, desires only to see her child: that's all, my lord. Were your brother present, madam, he would not deny her this. Then again embracing his wife, My dear soul, be comforted. You will be allowed to see your daughter, no doubt of it. I am able to protect and right you. My dear soul, be comforted.

She sobbed, Miss Grandison says; and the good-natured Lord L- was moved.-Let Miss Jervois be asked, said he, if she chooses to come down.

I will go to her myself, said Miss Grandison. She came down presently againMiss Byron and Miss Jervois, said she, are gone out together in the chariot. Maj. Nay, madam

Capt. Upon my salvation this must not pass -And he swaggered about the room.

Mrs O'Hara looked with an air of incredulity. It was true, however: for the poor girl being ready to faint, I was called in to her. Lady L- had been making a visit in the chariot; and it had just brought her back. O save me, save me, dear madam! said Miss Emily to me, wringing her hands. I cannot, I cannot see my mother out of my guardian's presence: and she will make me own her new husband. I beseech you, save me; hide me!

I saw the chariot from the window, and, without asking any questions, I hurried Miss Emily down stairs, and conducted the trembling dear into it; and, whipping in after her, ordered the coachman to drive anywhere, except towards London: and then the poor girl threw her arms