principal views he had in coming, was to do you honour, and to give his sister pleasure. Ah, sir! he came to be present at two solemn acts: The one your nuptials, in consequence of the other. You must not meet. It would go to my heart to have offence given you by any of my family, especially in our own house.

Come, however; I long to see you, and to comfort you, whether your hard heart (I did not use to think it a hard one) will allow you, or not, to give comfort to

Your ever affectionate

And faithful friend,

JERONYMO DELLA PORRetta.

I accepted of the invitation. My heart was in this family. I longed, before this letter came, to see and to hear from it. The face of the meanest servant belonging to it would have been more than welcome to me. What, however, were my hopes? Yet, do you think, Dr Bartlett, that I had not pain in going; a pain that took more than its turn, with the desire I had once more to enter doors that used to be opened to me with so much pleasure on both sides?

I see, said I, that I have lost my friend.
Impossible, said he. It cannot be.

Then speaking of his sister-Dear creature! said he. A very bad night. My poor mother has been up with her ever since three o'clock: nobody else has any influence with her. These talking fits are worse than her silent ones.

What could I say? My soul was vexed. My friend saw it, and was grieved for me. He talked of indifferent things. I could not follow him in them.

He then entered upon the subject that would not long allow of any other. I expect the General, said he. I will not, I think, have you see each other. I have ordered notice to be given me before any one of the family is admitted while you are with me. If you choose not to see the General, or my father or mother, should they step in to make their morning compliments, you can walk down the back stairs into the garden, or into the next chamber.

I am not the least sufferer in this distress, replied I. You have invited me. If on your own account you would have me withdraw, I will; but else I cannot conceal myself.

This is like you. It is you yourself. O Grandison! that we could be real brothers!-In soul we are so. But what is the compromise you hinted at?

I then told him that I would reside one year

in Italy, another in England, by turns, if the dear Clementina would accompany me; if not, but three months in England in every year. As to religion, she should keep her own; her confessor only to be a man of known discretion.

He shook his head. I'll propose it as from yourself, if you would have me to do so, chevalier. It would do with me, but will not with anybody else. I have undertaken for more than that already; but it will not be heard of. Would to God, chevalier, that you, for my sake, for all our sakes!-But I know you have a great deal to say on this subject, as you told my brother. New converts, added he, may be zealous; but you old Protestants, Protestants by descent, as

I

may say, 'tis strange you should be so very stedfast. You have not many young gentlemen, I believe, who would be so very tenacious; such offers, such advantages-and surely you must love my sister. All our family you surely love. I will presume to say they deserve your love; and they give the strongest proofs that can be given of their regard for you.

Signor Jeronymo expected not an argumentative answer to what he said. My stedfastness was best expressed, and surely it was sufficiently expressed (the circumstances of the case so interesting) by silence.

Just then came in Camilla. The Marchioness, sir, knows you are here. She desires you will not go till she sees you. She will attend you here, I believe.

She is persuading Lady Clementina to be blooded. She has an aversion to that operation. She begs it may not be done. She has been hitherto, on that account, bled by leeches. The Marquis and the Bishop are both gone out. They could not bear her solicitations to them to save her, as she called it.

The Marchioness soon after entered-Care, melancholy, yet tenderness, was in her aspect; grief for her daughter's malady seemed fixed in the lines of her fine face. Keep your seat, chevalier. She sat down, sighed, wept, but would not have had her tears seen.

Had I not been so deeply concerned in the cause of her grief, I could have endeavoured to comfort her. But what could I say? I turned my head aside. I would also have concealed my emotion, but Signor Jeronymo took notice of it.

The poor chevalier, kindly said he, with an accent of compassion

I don't doubt it, answered she as kindly, though he spoke not out what he had to say. He may be obdurate, but not ungrateful.

Excellent woman! How was I affected by her generosity! This was taking the direct road to my heart. You know that heart, Dr Bartlett, and what a task it had.

Jeronymo inquired after his sister's health; I was afraid to inquire.

Not worse, I hope; but so talkative! poor thing! She burst into tears.

I presumed to take her hand-O madam !— Will no compromise? Will no

It ought not, chevalier. I cannot urge it. We know your power, too well we know your power, over the dear creature. She will not be long a Catholic, if she be yours; and you know what we then should think of her precious soul!Better to part with her for ever-yet, how can a mother-her tears spoke what her lips could

not utter.

Recovering her voice; I have left her, said. she, contending with the doctors against being let blood. She was so earnest with me to prevent it, that I could not stay. It is over by this time. She rang.

At that moment, to the astonishment of all three, in ran the dear Clementina herself.-A happy escape! Thank God! said she-Her arm bound up.

She had felt the lancet; but did not bleed more than two or three drops.

O my mamma! And you would have run away from me too, would you?—You don't use to be cruel; and to leave me with these doctors. -See! see! and she held out her lovely arm a little bloody, regarding nobody but her mother; who, as well as we, was speechless with surprise -They did attempt to wound; but they could not obtain their cruel ends-and I ran for shelter to my mamma's arms, (throwing hers about her neck)—Dearest, dearest madam, don't let me be sacrificed! What has your poor child done, to be thus treated?

O my Clementina !

And O my mamma, too! Have I not suffered enough ?

The door opened. She cast her fearful eye to it, clinging faster to her mother-They are come to take me!-Begone, Camilla, [it was she; begone, when I bid you! They shan't take me -My mamma will save me from them-Won't you, my mamma? Clasping more fervently her arms about her neck, and hiding her face in her bosom. Then, lifting up her face, Begone, I tell you, Camilla! They shan't have me.-Camilla withdrew.

Brother! my dear brother! you will protect me; won't you?

I arose. I was unable to bear this affecting

scene-She saw me.

Good God! said she-Then in English breaking out into that line of Hamlet, which she had taken great notice of, when we read that play together,

Angels, and ministers of grace, defend us !

she left her mother, and stept gently towards me, looking earnestly with her face held out, as if she were doubtful whether it were I or not. I snatched her hand, and pressed it with my lips-O madam!-Dearest lady !-I could say

no more.

It is he! It is he, indeed, madam! turning her head to her mother; one hand held up, as in surprise, as I detained the other.

The son's arms supported the almost fainting mother; his tears mingling with hers.

For God's sake! for my sake, dear Grandison ! said he, and stopt.

I quitted Clementina's hand; Jeronymo's unhealed wounds had weakened him, and I hastened to support the Marchioness.

O chevalier! spare your concern for me, said she. My child's head is of more consequence to me, than my own heart.

What was it of distress that I did not at that moment feel!

The young lady turning to us-Well, sir, said she, here is sad work! Sad work, to be sure! Somebody is wrong; I won't say who.-But you will not let these doctors use me ill-Will you? See here! (shewing her bound-up arm to me) -what they would have done !-See, they did get a drop or two; but no more. And I sprung from them, and ran for it.

Her mother then taking her attention-My dearest mamma! how do you do?

O my child! and she clasped her arms about her Clementina.

Camilla came in. She added, by her grief, to the distressful scene. She threw her arms, kneeling, about the Marchioness: O my dearest lady! said she-[The Marchioness feeling for her salts, and taking them out of her pocket, and smelling to them]-Unclasp me, Camilla, said she: I am better. Are the doctors gone?

No, madam, whispered Camilla; but they say, it is highly proper; and they talk of blistering!

Not her head I hope-The dear creature, when she used to value herself upon anything, took pride, as well as she might, in her hair.

Now you are whispering, my mamma-And this impertinent Camilla is come.-Camilla, they shall not have me, I tell you!—See, barbarous wretches! what they have done to me already!-again holding up her arm, and then with indignation tearing off the fillet.

Her brother begged of her to submit to the operation. Her mother joined her gentle command.-Well, I won't love you, brother, said she; you are in the plot against me-But here is one who will protect me; laying her hand upon my arm, and looking earnestly in my face, with such a mixture of woe and tenderness in her eye, as pierced my very soul.

Persuade her, chevalier, said the Marchioness. My good young lady, will you not obey your mamma? You are not well. Will you not be well? See how you distress your noble brother!

She stroked her brother's cheek (it was wet with his tears) with a motion inimitably tender, her voice as inimitably soothing-Poor Jeronymo! My dearest brother! And have you not suf

fered enough from vile assassins? Poor dear brother!-and again stroked his cheek.-How was I affected!

A fresh gush of tears broke from his eyes. Ah, Grandison ! said he.

O! why, why, said I, did I accept of your kind invitation? This distress could not have been so deep, had not I been present.

See! see! chevalier! holding out her spread hand to me, Jeronymo weeps-He weeps for his sister, I believe. These-look, my hand is wet with them!-are the tears of my dear Jeronymo! My hand-see! is wet with a brother's tears! And you, madam, are affected too! turning to her mother. It is a grievous thing to see men weep! What ail they?-Yet I cannot weep-Have they softer hearts than mine? -Don't weep, chevalier.-See, Jeronymo has done!-I would stroke your cheek too, if it would stop your tears.-But what is all this for? It is because of these doctors, I believe-But, Camilla, bid them begone; they shan't have me. Dearest madam, said I, submit to your mamma's advice. Your mamma wishes you to suffer them to breathe a vein-it is no more-your Jeronymo also beseeches you to permit them.

And do you wish it too, chevalier ?—Do you wish to see me wounded?—To see my heart bleeding at my arm, I warrant. Say, can you be so hard-hearted?

Let me join with your mamma, with your brother, to entreat it; for your father's sake! For

For your sake, chevalier ?-Well, will it do you good to see me bleed?

I withdrew to the window. I could not stand this question; put with an air of tenderness for me, and in an accent equally tender.

The irresistible lady (O what eloquence in her disorder !) followed me; and laying her hand on my arm, looking earnestly after my averted face, as if she would not suffer me to hide it from her-Will it, will it comfort you to see me bleed?-Come then, be comforted; I will bleed; but you shall not leave me. You shall see that these doctors shall not kill me quite.

O Dr Bartlett! how did this address to me torture my very soul!

Camilla, proceeded she, I will bleed. Madam, to her mother, will it please you to have me bleed? Will it please you, my Jeronymo? turning to him—And, sir, sir, stepping to me with quickness, will it please you?-Why then, Camilla, bid the doctors come in.-What would I not do to please such kind friends! You grudge not your tears: and as I cannot give you tears for tears, from my eyes, shall not my arm weep? -But do you stand by me, chevalier, while it is done. You will: wont you ?-seeking again with her eye my averted face.

O that my life, thought I, would be an effectual offering for the restoring the peace of mind of this dear lady, and her family! and that it

might be taken by any hand but my own!But my conscience !-Prepossessed as I am in favour of my own religion, and in disfavour of that I am wished to embrace; how, thought can I make a sacrifice of my conscience!

The dear lady was then as earnest for the operation, as before she had been averse to it but she did and said everything in a hurry.

The Marchioness and my friend were comforted, in hopes that some relief would follow it. The doctors were invited in.

Do you stand by me, sir, said she to me.Come, make haste. But it shan't be the same arm.-Camilla, see, I can bare my own armIt will bleed at this arm, I warrant-I will bid it flow. Come, make haste- Are you always so tedious?—The preparation in all these things, I believe, is worse than the act.-Pray, pray, make haste.

They did; though she thought they did not.
Turn your face another way, madam, said

the doctor.

Now methinks I am Iphigenia, chevalier, going to be offered-Looking at me, and from the doctors.

And is this all?-The puncture being made, and she bleeding freely.

The doctors were not satisfied with a small

quantity. She fainted, however, before they had taken quite so much as they intended; and her woman carried her out of her brother's apartment into her own, in the chair she sat in.

Dear Clementina !-My compassion and my best wishes followed her.

You see your power over the dear girl, Grandison, said her brother.

The Marchioness sighed; and looking at me with kind and earnest meaning, withdrew to attend her daughter's recovery.

LETTER CX.

MISS BYRON.

[In continuation.]

RECEIVE, my Lucy, the Doctor's sixth letter. The fifth has almost broken the hearts of us all.

DR BARTLETT'S SIXTH LETTER.

A SCENE of another nature took place of this, proceeds Mr Grandison.

Camilla stept in, and said, the General was come; and was at that moment lamenting with the Marchioness the disordered state of mind of his beloved sister; who had again fainted away; but was quiet when Camilla came in.

The General will be here presently, said Jeronymo. Do you choose to see him?

As, perhaps, he has been told I am here, it would look too particular to depart instantly. If he comes not in soon, I will take my leave of

you.

I had hardly done speaking, when the General entered, drying his eyes.

Your servant, Mr Grandison, said he. Brother, how do you? Not the better, I dare say, for the present affliction. Who the devil would have thought the girl had been so deeply affected?Well, sir, you havea glorious triumph!-Clementina's heart is not a vulgar one. Her family

My lord, I hope I do not deserve this address!-Triumph, my lord!-Not a heart in this family can be more distressed than mine.

And is religion, is conscience, really of such force, chevalier?

Let me ask that question, my lord, of your own heart; let me ask it of your brother the Bishop; of the other principals of your noble family; and the answer given will be an answer for me.

He seemed displeased. Explain yourself, chevalier.

If, my lord, said I, you think there is so great, so essential, a difference in the two religions, that you cannot consent that I should keep my own; what must I be, who think as highly of my own as you can of yours, to give it up, though on the highest temporal consideration? Make the case your own, my lord.

I can. And were I in your situation, such a woman as my sister; such a family as ours; such a splendid fortune as she will have ; I believe, I should not make the scruples you do. My brother the Bishop, indeed, might not have given the same answer. He might have been

more tenacious.

The Bishop cannot be better satisfied with his religion than I am with mine. But I hope, my lord, from what you have said, that I may claim the honour of your friendship in this great article. It is proposed to me, that I renounce my religion: I make no such proposal to your family; on the contrary, I consent that Lady Clementina should keep hers; and I am ready to allow a very handsome provision for a discreet man, her confessor, to attend her, in order to secure her in it. As to residence; I will consent to reside one year in Italy, one in England; and even, if she choose not to go to England at all, I will acquiesce; and visit England myself but for three months in every year. As to the children, Mr Grandison? said Signor Jeronymo; desirous of promoting the compromise.

I will consent that daughters shall be the mother's care; the education of sons must be left

to me.

What will the poor daughters have done, che

valier, sneeringly spoke the General, that they should be left to perdition ? .

Your lordship, without my entering into the opinion of the professors of both religions on this subject, will consider my proposal as a com promise. I would not have begun an address upon these terms with a princess. I do assure you, that mere fortune has no bias with me. Prescribe not to me in the article of religion, and I will, with all my soul, give up every ducat of your sister's fortune.

Then what will you have to support

My lord, leave that to your sister and me. I will deal honourably with her. If she renounce me on that article, you will have reason to congratulate yourselves.

Your fortune, sir, by marriage, will be much more considerable than it can be by patrimony, if Clementina be yours; why then should you not look forward to your posterity as Italians? And in that case

He stopt there. It is easy to guess at his inference.

I would no more renounce my country than my religion: I would leave posterity free; but would not deprive them of an attachment that I value myself upon ; nor yet my country, of a family that never gave it cause to be ashamed of it.

The General took snuff, and looked on me and off me, with an air too supercilious. I could not but be sensible of it.

I have no small difficulty, my lord, said I, to bear the hardships of my situation, added to the distress which that situation gives me, to be looked upon in this family as a delinquent, without having done anything to reproach myself with, either in thought, word, or deed.My lord, it is extremely hard.

It is, my lord, said Signor Jeronymo. The great misfortune in the case before us, is, that the Chevalier Grandison has merit superior to that of most men ; and that our sister, who was not to be attached by common merit, could not be insensible to his.

Whatever were my sister's attachments, Signor Jeronymo, we know yours; and generous ones they are; but we all know how handsome men may attach young ladies, without needing to say a single word. The poison once taken in at the eye, it will soon diffuse itself through the whole mass.

My honour, yet, my lord, was never called in question, either by man or woman.

Your character is well known, chevalier-Had it not been unexceptionable, we should not have entered into treaty with you on this subject, I do assure you; and it piques us not a little to have a daughter of our house refused. You don't know the consequence, I can tell you, of such an indignity offered in this country. Refused! my lord !—To endeavour to obvi

ate this charge, would be to put an affront upon your lordship's justice, as well as an indignity offered to your truly noble house.

He arose in anger, and swore that he would not be treated with contempt.

I stood up too; And if I am, my lord, with indignity, it is not what I have been used to

bear.

Signor Jeronymo was disturbed. He said, he had opposed our seeing each other. He knew his brother's warmth; and I, he said, from the scenes that had before passed, ought perhaps to have shewn more pity than resentment.

It was owing to my regard for the delicacy of your sister, Signor Jeronymo, said I, (for whom I have the tenderest sentiments,) as well as to do justice to my own conduct towards her, that I could not help shewing myself affected by the word refused.

Affected by the word refused! sir, said the General-Yes, you have soft words for hard meanings. But I, who have not your choice of words, make use of those that are explained by actions.

I was in hopes, my lord, that I might rather have been favoured with your weight in the proposed compromise, than to have met with your displeasure.

Consider, chevalier, coolly consider this matter:- How shall we answer it to our country, (we are public people, sir,) to the church, to which we stand related; to our own character; to marry a daughter of our house to a Protestant? You say you are concerned for her honour; what must we, what can we say in her behalf, if she be reflected upon as a love-sick girl, who, though stedfast in her religion, could refuse men of the first consideration, all of her own religion and country, and let a foreigner, an Englishman, carry her off?

Preserving, nevertheless, by stipulation, you will remember, my lord, her religion.-If you shall have so much to answer for to the world with such a stipulation in the lady's favour, what shall I be thought of, who, though I am not, nor wish to be, a public man, am not of a low or inconsiderable family, if I, against my conscience, renounce my religion and my country, for a consideration, that, though the highest in private life, is a partial and selfish consideration?

No more, no more, sir-If you can despise worldly grandeur; if you can set light by riches, honours, love; my sister has this to be said in her praise, that she is the first woman, that ever I heard of, who fell in love with a philosopher; and she must, I think, take the consequence of such a peculiarity. Her example will not have many followers.

Yes, my lord, it will, said Jeronymo, if Mr Grandison be the philosopher. If women were to be regimented, he would carry an army into the field without beat of drum.

I was vexed to find an affair that had penetrated my heart go off so lightly; but the levity shewn by the General was followed by Jeronymo, in order to make the past warmth between us forgotten.

I left the brothers together. As I passed through the saloon, I had the pleasure of hearing, by a whisper from Camilla, that her young lady was somewhat more composed for the operation she had yielded to.

In the afternoon the General made me a visit at my lodgings. He told me he had taken amiss some things that had fallen from my mouth.

I owned that I was at one time warm; but excused myself by his example.

I urged him to promote my interest as to the proposed compromise. He gave me no encou ragement; but took down my proposals in writing.

He asked me, if my father were as tenacious in the article of religion as I was?

I told him, that I had forborne to write anything of the affair to my father.

That, he said, was surprising. He had always apprehended, that a man who pretended to be strict in religion, be it what religion it would, should be uniform. He who could dispense with one duty, might with another.

I answered, that having no view to address Lady Clementina, I had only given my father general accounts of the favour I had met with from a family so considerable; that it was but very lately that I had entertained any hopes at all, as he must know; that those hopes were allayed by my fears that the articles of religion and residence would be an insuperable obstacle; but that it was my resolution, in the same hour that I could have any prospect of succeeding, to lay all before him; and I was sure of his approbation and consent to an alliance so answerable to the magnificence of his own spirit.

The General, at parting, with a haughty air, said, I take my leave, chevalier: I suppose you will not be in haste to leave Bologna. I am extremely sensible of the indignity you have cast upon us all. I am-and swore-We shall not disgrace our sister and ourselves, by courting your acceptance of her. I understand, that Olivia is in love with you too. These contentions for you may give you consequence with yourself; but Olivia is not a Clementina. You are in a country jealous of family honour. Ours is a first family in it. You know not what you have done, sir.

What you have said, my lord, I have not deserved of you. It can not be answered, at least by me. I shall not leave Bologna till I apprize you of it, and till I have the misfortune to be assured, that I cannot have any hope of the honour once designed me. I will only add, that my principles were well known before I was written to at Vienna.

And do you reproach us with that step? It