We agreed upon a correspondence, and I took leave of one of the most grateful of men.

But how much was I afflicted when I received at Inspruck the expected letter, which acquainted me, that this sunshine lasted no longer than the next day! The young lady's malady returned with redoubled force. Shall I, madam, briefly relate to you the manner in which, as her brother wrote, it operated upon her?

She shut herself up in her chamber, not seeming to regard or know that her woman was in it; nor did she answer to two or three questions that her woman asked her; but, setting her chair with its back towards her, over against a closet in the room, after a profound silence, she bent forward, and, in a low voice, seemed to be communing with a person in the closet." And you say he is actually gone? Gone for ever? No, not for ever!"

Who gone, madam? said her woman. To whom do you direct your discourse?

"We were all obliged to him, no doubt. So bravely to rescue my brother, and to pursue the bravoes; and, as my brother says, to put him in his own chaise, and walk on foot by the side of it-Why, as you say, assassins might have murdered him; the horses might have trampled him under their feet." Still looking as if she were speaking to somebody in the closet.

Her woman stept to the closet, and opened the door, and left it open, to take off her attention to the place, and to turn the course of her ideas; but still she bent forward towards it, and talked calmly, as if to somebody in it: then breaking into a faint laugh, "In love! that is such a silly notion; and yet I love everybody better than I love myself."

Her mother came into the room just then. The young lady arose in haste, and shut the closet door, as if she had somebody hid there, and, throwing herself at her mother's fect, My dear, my ever-honoured mamma, said she, forgive me for all the trouble I have caused you! But I will, I must, you can't deny me; I will be God's child, as well as yours. I will go into

a nunnery.

It came out afterwards, that her confessor, taking advantage of confessions, extorted from her, of regard for her tutor, though only such as a sister might bear to a brother, but which he had suspected might come to be of consequence, had filled her tender mind with terrors, that had thus affected her head. She is, as I have told you, madam, a young lady of exemplary piety.

I will not dwell on a scene so melancholy. How I afflict your tender heart, my good Miss Byron !

Do you think, Lucy, I did not weep? Indeed I did-Poor young lady!-But my mind was fitted for the indulging of scenes of melancholy. Pray, sir, proceed, said I; what a heart must that be, which bleeds not for such a distress! Pray, sir, proceed.]

Be it Dr Bartlett's task to give you farther particulars. I will be briefer-I will not indulge my own grief.

All that medicine could do, was tried: but her confessor, who, however, is an honest, a worthy man, kept up her fears and terrors. He saw the favour her tutor was in with the whole family; he knew that the younger brother had declared for rewarding him in a very high manner; he had more than once put this favoured man upon an avowal of his principles; and, betwixt her piety and her gratitude, had raised such a conflict in her mind, as her tender nature could not bear.

At Florence lives a family of high rank and honour, the ladies of which have with them a friend noted for the excellency of her heart, and her genius; and who, having been robbed of her fortune early in life by an uncle to whose care she was committed by her dying father, was received both as a companion and a blessing, by the ladies of the family she has now for many years lived with. She is an English woman, and a Protestant; but so very discreet, that her being so, though at first they hoped to proselyte her, gives them not a less value for her; and yet they are all zealous Roman Catholics. These two ladies, and this their companion, were visiting one day at the Marchese della Porretta's; and there the distressed mother told them the mournful tale; the ladies, who think nothing that is within the compass of human prudence impossible to their Mrs BEAUMONT, wished that the young lady might be entrusted for a week to her care, at their own house at Florence.

It was consented to, as soon as proposed; and Signora Clementina was as willing to go; there having always been an intimacy between the families; and she (as everybody else) having a high opinion of Mrs Beaumont. They took her with them on the day they set out from Florence.

Here, again, for shortening my story, I will refer to Dr Bartlett. Mrs Beaumont went to the bottom of the malady; she gave her advice to the family upon it. They were resolved (Signor Jeronymo supported her advice) to be governed by it. The young lady was told, that she should be indulged in all her wishes. She then acknowledged what those were; and was the easier for the acknowledgment, and for the advice of such a prudent friend; and returned to Bologna much more composed than when she left it. The tutor was sent for, by common consent; for there had been a convention of the whole family; the Urbino branch, as well as the General, being present. In that, the terms to be proposed to the supposed happy man were settled; but they were not to be mentioned to him, till after he had seen the lady; a wrong policy, surely.

He was then at Vienna. Signor Jeronymo, in his letter, congratulated him in high terms;

as a man, whom he had it now, at last, in his power to reward; and he hinted, in general, that the conditions would be such, as it was impossible but he must find his very great advantage in them; as to fortune, to be sure, he

meant.

The friend so highly valued could not but be affected with the news; yet, knowing the lady and the family, he was afraid that the articles of residence and religion would not be easily compromised between them. He therefore summoned up all his prudence to keep his fears alive, and his hopes in suspense.

He arrived at Bologna. He was permitted to pay his compliments to Lady Clementina in her mother's presence. How agreeable, how nobly frank, was the reception both from mother and daughter! How high ran the congratulations of Jeronymo! He called the supposed happy man brother. The Marquis was ready to recognize the fourth son in him. A great fortune additional to an estate bequeathed her by her two grandfathers, was proposed. My father was to be invited over, to grace the nuptials by his presence.

But let me cut short the rest. The terms could not be complied with. For I was to make a formal renunciation of my religion, and to settle in Italy: only once, in two or three years, was allowed, if I pleased, for two or three months, to go to England; and, as a visit of curiosity, once in her life, if their daughter desired it, to carry her thither, for a time to be limited by them.

What must be my grief, to be obliged to disappoint such expectations as were raised by persons who had so sincere a value for me! You cannot, madam, imagine my distress: so little as could be expected to be allowed by them to the principles of a man whom they supposed to be in an error that would inevitably cast him into perdition! But when the friendly brother implored my compliance; when the excellent mother, in effect, besought me to have pity on her heart, and on her child's head; and when the tender, the amiable Clementina, putting herself out of the question, urged me, for my soul's sake, to embrace the doctrines of her holy mother, the church-What, madam-But how I grieve you!

[He stopt-His handkerchief was of use to him, as mine was to me-What a distress was here!

And what, and what, sir, (sobbing,) was the result? Could you, could you resist?

Satisfied in my own faith: entirely satisfied! Having insuperable objections to that I was wished to embrace!-A lover of my native country too-Were not my God and my country to be the sacrifice, if I complied! But I laboured, I studied, for a compromise. I must have been unjust to Clementina's merit, and to my own character, had she not been dear to me. And indeed I beheld graces in her then, that I had

before resolved to shut my eyes against; her rank next to princely; her fortune high as her rank; religion; country; all so many obstacles, that had appeared to me insuperable, removed by themselves; and no apprehension left of a breach of the laws of hospitality, which had, till now, made me struggle to behold one of the most amiable and noble-minded of women with indifference.-I offered to live one year in Italy, one in England, by turns, if their dear Clementina would live with me there; if not, I would content myself with passing only three months, in every year, in my native country. I proposed to leave her entirely at her liberty in the article of religion; and, in case of children by the marriage, the daughters to be educated by her, the sons by me; a condition to which his Holiness himself, it was presumed, would not refuse his sanction, as there were precedents for it. This, madam, was a great sacrifice to compassion, to love. What could I more!

And would not, sir, would not Clementina consent to this compromise?

Ah, the unhappy lady! It is this reflection that strengthens my grief. She would have consented; she was earnest to procure the consent of her friends upon these terms. This her earnestness in my favour, devoted as she was to her religion, excites my compassion, and calls for my gratitude.

What scenes, what distressful scenes, followed!-The noble father forgot his promised indulgence; the mother indeed seemed, in a manner, neutral; the youngest brother was still, however, firm in my cause; but the Marquis, the General, the Bishop, and the whole Urbino branch of the family, were not to be moved; and the less, because they considered the alliance as derogatory to their own honour, in the same proportion as they thought it honourable to me; a private, an obscure man, as now they began to call me. In short, I was allowed, I was desired, to depart from Bologna; and not suffered to take leave of the unhappy Clementina, though on her knees she begged to be allowed a parting interview-And what was the consequence?Dr Bartlett must tell the rest-Unhappy Clementina!-Now they wish me to make them one more visit at Bologna !-Unhappy Clementina! -To what purpose?

I saw his noble heart was too much affected to answer questions, had I had voice to ask any. But, O my friends! you see how it is! Can I be so unhappy as he is? As his Clementina is? Well might Dr Bartlett say, that this excellent man is not happy. Well might he himself say, that he has suffered greatly, even from good women. Well might he complain of sleepless nights. Unhappy Clementina! let me repeat after him; and not happy Sir Charles Grandison!-And who, my dear, is happy? Not I, I am sure, your

HARRIET BYRON.

LETTER CIV.

MISS BYRON.

[In continuation.]

I WAS forced to lay down my pen. I begin a new letter. I did not think of concluding my former where I did.

Sir Charles saw me in grief, and forgot his own, to applaud my humanity, as he called it, and sooth me. I have often, said he, referred you, in my narrative, to Dr Bartlett. I will beg of him to let you see anything you shall wish to see, in the free and unreserved correspondence we have held. You who love to entertain your friends with your narrations, will find something, perhaps, in a story like this, to engage their curiosity. On their honour and candour, I am sure, I may depend. Are they not your friends? Would to Heaven it were in my power to contribute to their pleasure and yours!

I only bowed. I could only bow.

I told you, madam, that my compassion was engaged; but that my honour was free; I think it is so. But when you have seen all that Dr Bartlett will shew you, you will be the better able to judge of me, and for me. I had rather be thought favourably of by Miss Byron, than by any woman in the world.

Who, sir, said I, knowing only so far as I know of the unhappy Clementina, but must wish her to be

Ah, Lucy! there I stopt-I had like to have been a false girl !—And yet ought I not, from my heart, to have been able to say what I was going to say?—I do aver, Lucy, upon repeated experience, that love is a narrower of the heart. Did I not use to be thought generous and benevolent, and to be above all selfishness? But am I so now?

And now, madam, said he, [and he was going to take my hand, but with an air, as if he thought the freedom would be too great-A tenderness so speaking in his eyes; a respectfulness so solemn in his countenance; he just touched it, and withdrew his hand, what shall I say?—I cannot tell what I should say-but you, I see, can pity me-you can pity the noble Clementina -honour forbids me !-Yet honour bids meyet I cannot be unjust, ungenerous-selfish!

He arose from his seat-Allow me, madam, to thank you for the favour of your ear-pardon me for the trouble I see I have given to a heart that is capable of a sympathy so tender

And, oowing low, he withdrew with precipitation, as if he would not let me see his emotion. He left me looking here, looking there, as if for my heart; and then, as giving it up for irrecoverable, I became for a few moments motionless, and a statue.

A violent burst of tears recovered me to sense and motion and just then Miss Grandison, (who, having heard her brother withdraw, forbore for a few minutes to enter, supposing he would return,) hearing me sob, rushed in.—O my Harriet! said she, clasping her arms about me, what is done?-Do I, or do I not, embrace my sister, my real sister, my sister Grandison?

Ah, my Charlotte! No flattering hope is now left me-no sister! It must not, it cannot be ! The lady is-but lead me, lead me out of this room!--I don't love it! spreading one hand before my eyes, my tears trickling between my fingers-tears that flowed not only for myself, but for Sir Charles Grandison and the unhappy Clementina: for, gather you not, from what he said, that something disastrous has befallen the poor lady? And then, supporting myself with her arm, I hurried out of Lord L's study, and up stairs into my own chamber; she following me-Leave me, leave me here, dear creature, said I, for six minutes; I will attend you then, in your own dressing-room.

She kindly retired; I threw myself into a chair, indulged my tears for a few moments, and was the fitter to receive the two sisters, who, hand in hand, came into my room to comfort

me.

But I could not relate what had passed immediately with any connection: I told them only, that all was over; that their brother was to be pitied, not blamed; and that if they would allow me to recollect some things that were most affecting, I would attend them; and they should have my narrative the more exactly, for the indulgence.

They staid no longer with me than to see me a little composed.

Sir Charles and Dr Bartlett went out together in his chariot: he inquired more than once of my health; saying to his sister Charlotte, that he was afraid he had affected me too much, by the melancholy tale he had been telling me.

He excused himself from dining with us. Poor man! What must be his distress!-Not able to see us, to sit with us!

I would have excused myself also, being not very fit to appear; but was not permitted.

I sat, however, but a very little while at table after dinner; yet how tedious did the dinnertime appear! The servants' eyes were irksome to me; so were Emily's, (dear girl!) glistening as they did, though she knew not for what, but sympathetically, as I may say; she supposing, that all was not as she would have it.

She came up soon after to me-One word, my dearest madam, (the door in her hand, and her head only within it:) tell me only that there is no misunderstanding between my guardian and you!-Tell me only thatNone, my dear!-None, none at all, my Emily!

Thank God! clasping her hands together;

and conscience?-What a fatality in a love so circumstanced!-To love against inclination! What a sound has that! But what an absurdity is this passion called love? Or, rather, of what absurd things does it make its votaries guilty? Let mine be evermore circumscribed by the laws of reason, of duty; and then my recollections, my reflections, will never give me a lasting disturbance!

Dr BARTLETT has desired me to let him know what the particular passages are, of which I more immediately wish to be informed, for our better understanding the unhappy Clementina's story, and has promised to transcribe them. I have given him a list in writing. I have been half guilty of affectation. I have asked for some particulars that Sir Charles referred to, which are not so immediately interesting; the history of Olivia, of Mrs Beaumont; the debates Sir Charles mentioned, between himself and Signor Jeronymo; but, Lucy, the particulars I am most impatient for, are these:

:

His first conference with Lady Clementina on the subject of the Count of Belvedere; which her father and mother overheard.

The conference he was desired to hold with her, on her being first seized with melancholy.

Whether her particularly cheerful behaviour, on his departure from Bologna, is anywhere accounted for.

By what means Mrs Beaumont prevailed on her to acknowledge a passion so studiously concealed from the tenderest of parents.

Sir Charles's reception, on his return from Vienna.

What regard his proposals of compromise, as to religion and residence, met with, as well from the family, as from Clementina.

The most important of all, Lucy-the last distressful parting: What made it necessary what happened at Bologna afterwards; and what the poor Clementina's situation now is.

If the Doctor is explicit, with regard to this article, we shall be able to account for their desiring him to revisit them at Bologna, after so long an absence, and for his seeming to think it will be to no purpose to oblige them. O, Lucy! what a great deal depends upon the answer to this article, as it may happen!-But no more suspense, I beseech you, Sir Charles Grandison-No more suspense, I pray you, Dr Bartlett! My heart sickens at the thought of farther suspense. I cannot bear it!

Adieu, Lucy! Lengthening my letter would be only dwelling longer (for I know not how to change my subject) on weaknesses and follies, that have already given you too much pain for

LETTER CV.

MISS BYRON.

[In continuation.]

Colnebrook, Monday, March 27. DR BARTLETT, seeing our impatience, asked leave to take the assistance of his nephew in transcribing from Sir Charles's letters the pas sages that will enable him to perform the task he has so kindly undertaken. By this means, he has already presented us with the following transcripts. We have eagerly perused them. When you have done so, be pleased to hasten them up, that my cousins Reeves may have the same opportunity. They are so good as to give cheerfully the preference to the venerable circle, as my cousin, who dined with us yesterday, bid me tell you. O, my Lucy! what a glorious young man is Sir Charles Grandison! But he had the happiness of a Dr Bartlett, as he is fond of owning, to improve upon a foundation that was so nobly laid by the best and wisest of mothers.

DR BARTLETT'S FIRST LETTER.

My task, my good Miss Byron, will be easy, by the assistance you have allowed me; for what is it, but to transcribe part of Sir Charles's letters, adding a few lines, here and there, by way of connection? And I am delighted with it, as it will make known the heart of my beloved patron in all the lights which the most interesting circumstances can throw upon it, to so many worthy persons as are permitted a share in this confidence.

The first of your commands runs thus

I should imagine, say you, that the debate Sir Charles mentions, between himself and Signor Jeronymo, and his companions, at their first acquaintance, must be not only curious, but edifying.

THEY are, my good Miss Byron ; but as I presume that you ladies are more intent upon being obeyed in the other articles, [See, Lucy, I had better not have dissembled !I will only at present transcribe for you, with some short connections, two letters; by which you will see how generously Mr Grandison sought to recover his friend to the paths of virtue and honour, when he had formed schemes, in conjunction with, and by the instigation of, other gay young men of rank, to draw him in to be a partaker in their guilt, and an abettor of their enterprizes.

You will judge from these letters, madam,