was a base one. It had not my concurrence. He went from me in a passion.

I had enough at my heart, Dr Bartlett, had I been spared this insult from a brother of Clementina. It went very hard with me to be threatened. But, I thank God, I do not deserve the treatment.

LETTER CXI.

MISS BYRON.

[In continuation.]

London, Friday Morning, March 31. HERE, my Lucy, once more I am. We arrived yesterday in the afternoon.

Lady Betty Williams and Miss Clements have been already to welcome me on my return. My cousin says, they are inseparable. I am glad of it, for Lady Betty's sake.

Dr Bartlett is extremely obliging. One would think, that he and his kinsman gave up all their time in transcribing for us. I send you now his seventh, eighth, and ninth letters. In reading the two latter, we were struck (for the two sisters and my lord were with us) with the nobleness of Clementina. Her motive, through her whole delirium, is so apparently owing to her concern for the soul of the man she loved, (entirely regardless of any interest of her own,) that we all forgot what had been so long our wishes, and joined in giving preference to her.

DR BARTLETT'S SEVENTH LETTER.

I HAD another visit paid me, proceeds Mr Grandison, two hours after the General left me, by the kind-hearted Camilla, disguised as before.

I come now, chevalier, said she, with the Marchioness's connivance, and, I may say, by her command; and, at the same time, by the command of Signor Jeronymo, who knows of my last attendance upon you, though no one else does, not even the Marchioness. He gave me this letter for you.

But how does the noblest young lady in Italy, Camilla? How does Lady Clementina ?

More composed than we could have hoped for, from the height of her delirium. It was high; for she has but a very faint idea of having seen you this morning.

The Marchioness had bid her say, that although I had now given her despair instead of hope, yet that she owed it to my merit, and to the sense she had of the benefits they had actually received at my hands, to let me know,

that it was but too likely that resentments might be carried to an unhappy length; and that therefore she wished I would leave Bologna for the present. If happier prospects presented, she would be the first to congratulate me upon them.

I opened the letter of my kind Jeronymo. These were the contents:

I AM infinitely concerned, my dear Grandison, to find a man equally generous and brave as my brother is, hurried away by passion. You may have acted with your usual magnanimity in preferring your religion to your love, and to your glory. I, for my part, think you to be a distressed man. If you are not, you must be

very insensible to the merits of an excellent woman, and very ungrateful to the distinction she honours you with. I must write in this style, and think she does honour by it even to my Grandison. But should the consequences of this affair be unhappy for either of you; if, in particular, for my brother; what cause of regret would our family have, that a younger brother was saved by the hand which deprived them of a more worthy elder? If for you, how deplorable would be the reflection, that you saved one brother, and perished by the hand of another! Would to God that his passion, and your spirit, were more moderate! But let me request this favour of you; that you retire to Florence, for a few days, at least.

How unhappy am I, that I am disabled from taking part in a more active mediation !-Yet the General admires you. But how can we blame in him a zeal for the honour of his family, in which he would be glad at his soul to include a zeal for yours?

For God's sake, quit Bologna for a few days only. Clementina is more sedate. I have carried it, that her confessor shall not at present visit her; yet he is an honest and a pious man.

What a fatality! Every one to mean well, yet every one to be miserable! And can religion be the cause of so much unhappiness? I cannot act. I can only reflect. My dear friend, let me know by a line, that you will depart from Bologna to-morrow; and you will then a little lighten the heart of your

JERONYMO.

I SENT my grateful compliments to the Marchioness by Camilla. I besought her to believe, that my conduct on this occasion should be such as should merit her approbation. I expressed my grief for the apprehended resentments. I was sure that a man so noble, so generous, so brave, as was the man from whom the resentments might be supposed to arise, would better consider of everything; but it was impossible

for me, I bid Camilla say, to be far distant from Bologna; because I still presumed to hope for a happy turn in my favour.

I wrote to Signor Jeronymo to the same effect. I assured him of my high regard for his gallant brother; I deplored the occasion which had subjected me to the General's displeasure; bid him depend upon my moderation. I referred to my known resolution, of long standing, to avoid a meditated rencounter with any man; urging, that he might, for that reason, the more securely rely upon my care to shun any acts of offence, either to or from a son of the Marquis della Porretta; a brother of my dear friend Jeronymo, and of the most excellent and beloved of sisters!

the very recollection of which tears my heart in pieces.

The young lady's malady, after some favourable symptoms, which went off, returning in another shape, her talkativeness continued; but the hurry with which she spoke and acted, gave place to a sedateness that she seemed very fond of. They did not suffer her to go out of her chamber; which she took not well; but Camilla, being absent about an hour, on her return missed her, and alarmed the whole house upon it. Every part of it, and of the garden, was searched. From an apprehension, that they dared not so much as whisper to one another, they dreaded to find her whom they so carefully sought after.

The Marquis, the Bishop, and General, went 'to Urbino; and there, as I learnt from my Jeronymo, it was determined, in full assembly, that Grandison, as well from difference in religion, as from inferiority in degree and fortune, was unworthy of their alliance; and it was hinted to the General, that he was equally unworthy of his resentment.

While the father and two brothers were at Urbino, Lady Clementina gave hopes of a sedate mind. She desired her mother to allow her to see me ; but the Marchioness, believing there were no hopes of my complying with their terms, and being afraid of the consequences, and of incurring blame from the rest of her family, now especially that they were absent, and consulting together on what was proper to be done, desired she would not think of it.

This refusal made Clementina the more earnest for an interview. Signor Jeronymo gave his advice in favour of it. The misfortune he had met with, had added to his weight with the family. It is a family of harmony and love. They were hardly more particularly fond of Clementina than they were of one another, throughout the several branches of it; this harmony among them added greatly to the family consequence, as well in public as private. Till the attempt that was made upon their Jeronymo, they had not known calamity.

But the confessor strengthening the Marchioness's apprehensions of what the consequences of indulging the young lady might be, all Jeronymo's weight would have failed to carry this point, had it not been for an enterprize of Clementina, which extremely alarmed them, and made them give into her wishes.

Camilla has enabled me to give the following melancholy account of it, to the only man on earth to whom I could communicate particulars,

Don't be angry with me, Camilla, returned the supposed servant.

O my lady! my very Lady Clementina, in Laura's clothes! Whither are you going, madam?-But let the Marchioness know (said she, to one of the women-servants, who then appeared in sight,) that we have found my young lady. -What, dear madam, is the meaning of this? -Go, Martina, (to another woman-servant,) go this instant to my lady!-Dear Lady Clementina, what concern have you given us?

And thus she went on, asking questions of her young lady, and giving orders, almost in the same breath, till the Marchioness came to them in a joyful hurry, from one of the pavilions in the garden, into which she had thrown herself; tortured by her fears, and dreading the approach of every servant, with fatal tidings.

The young lady stood still, but with great composure. I will go, Camilla, said she; indeed I will. You disturb me by your frantic ways, Camilla. I wish you would be as sedate and calm as I am. What's the matter with the woman?

Her mother folding her arms about her-0, my sweet girl! said she, how could you terrify us thus? What's the meaning of this disguise? Whither were you going?

Why, madam, I was going on God's errand; not on my own-What is come to Camilla? poor creature is beside herself!

The

O my dear! said her mother, taking her hand, and leading her into her own apartment, (Camilla following, weeping with joy for having found her,) tell me, said she, tell me, has Laura furnished you with this dress?

Why no, madam; I'll tell you the whole truth. I went and hid myself in Laura's room, while she changed her clothes: I saw where she put those she took off; and when she had left her room, I put them on.

Don't weep then, my dear mamma, and I'll tell you. Do let me kiss away these tears.-And she tenderly embraced her mother.

Why, I have a great mind to talk to the Chevalier Grandison. I had many fine thoughts upon my pillow; and I believed I could say a great deal to the purpose to him; and you told me I must not see him; so I thought I would not. But then I had other notions came into my head; and I believed, if I could talk freely to him, I should convince him of his errors. Now, thought I, I know he will mind what I say to him, more than perhaps he will my brother the Bishop, or Father Marescotti. I am a simple girl, and can have no interest in his conversion; for he has refused me, you know; so there is an end of all matters between him and me. I never was refused before: Was I, my mamma? I never will be twice refused. Yet I owe him no ill-will. And if one can save a soul, you know, madam, there is no harm in that. So it is God's errand I go upon, and not my own. And shall I not go? Yes, I shall. I know you will give me leave. She curtseyed. Silence is permission. Thank you, madam-And seemed to be going.

Well might her mother be silent. She could not speak; but, rising, went after her to the door, and, taking her hand, sobbed over it her denial, (as Camilla described it ;) and brought her back, and motioned to her to sit down.

She whispered Camilla, What ails my mamma? Can you tell?-But see how calm, how composed I am! This world, Camilla! what a vain thing is this world! and she looked up. And so I shall tell the chevalier. I shall tell him not to refuse heaven, though he has refused a simple girl, who was no enemy to him, and might have been a faithful guide to him thither, for what he knew. Now all these things I wanted to say to him, and a vast deal more; and when I have told him my mind, I shall be easy. Will my precious girl be easy, broke out into speech her weeping mother, when you have told the chevalier your mind? You shall tell him your mind, my dear; and God restore my child to peace and to me!

Well now, my mamma, this is a good signFor if I have moved you to oblige me, why may I not move him to oblige himself? That's all I have in view. He has been my tutor, and I want, methinks, to return the favour, and be his tutoress; and so you will let me go-Won't you?

No, my dear, we will send for him.

Well, that may do as well, provided you will let us be alone together; for these proud men

may be ashamed, before company, to own themselves convinced by a simple girl.

But, my dearest love! whither would you have gone? Do you know where the chevalier's lodgings are?

She paused. She does not, surely, Camilla? Camilla repeated the question, that the young lady might herself answer it.

She looked as if considering-Then, Why no, truly, said she, I did not think of that; but everybody in Bologna knows where the Chevalier Grandison lives-Don't you think so?— But when shall he come? That will be better; much better.

You shall go, Camilla, disguised as before. Probably he has not quitted Bologna yet. And let him know, to a tittle, all that has passed, on this attempt of the dear soul. If he can bring his mind to comply with our terms, it may not yet be too late; though it will be so after my lord and my two sons return from Urbino. But small are my hopes from him. If the interview makes my poor child easy, that will be a blessed event; we shall all rejoice in that. Meantime, come with me, my dear-But first resume your own dress-And then we will tell Jeronymo what we were determined upon. He will be pleased with it, I know.

You tell me, my good Miss Byron, that I cannot be too particular; yet the melancholy tale, I see, affects you too sensibly; as it also does my Lord and Lady L, and Miss Grandison. No wonder, when the transcribing of them has the same effect upon me, as the reading had at my first being favoured with the letters that give the moving particulars.

DR BARTLETT'S EIGHTH LETTER.

I PROCEED now to give an account of Mr Grandison's interview with Lady Clementina. He had no sooner heard the preceding particulars, than he hastened to her, though with a tortured heart.

He was introduced to the Marchioness and Signor Jeronymo, in the apartment of the lat

ter.

I suppose, said the Marchioness, after first civilities, Camilla has told you the way we are now in. The dear creature has a great desire to talk with you. Who knows, but she may be easier after she has been humoured?-She is more composed than she was, since she knows she may expect to see you. Poor thing! she has hopes of converting you.

Would to Heaven, said Jeronymo, that compassion for her disordered mind may have that effect upon my Grandison, which argument has not had!-Poor Grandison! I can pity you at my heart. These are hard trials to your huma

nity! Your distress is written in your countenance!

It is deeper written in my heart, said I.
Indeed, Dr Bartlett, it was.

The Marchioness rang. Camilla came in. See, said she, if Clementina is disposed now to admit of the chevalier's visit; and ask her, if she will have her mamma introduce him to her.

By all means, was the answer returned. Clementina, at our entrance, was sitting at the window, a book in her hand. She stood up. A great, but solemn composure, appeared in her air and aspect.

The Marchioness went to the window, holding her handkerchief at her eyes. I approached with profound respect her Clementina; but my heart was too full to speak first-She could speak. She did, without hesitation

You are nothing to me now, chevalier: you have refused me, you know; and I thank you: you are in the right, I believe. I am a very proud creature. And you saw what trouble I gave to the best of parents and friends. You are certainly in the right. She that can give so much concern to them, must make any man afraid of her. But religion, it seems, is your pretence. Now I am sorry that you are an obstinate man. You know better, chevalier. I think you should know better. But you have been my tutor. Shall I be yours?

I shall attend to every instruction that you will honour me with.

But let me, sir, comfort my mamma.

She went to her, and kneeled. Why weeps my mamma? taking a hand in each of hers, and kissing first one, then the other. Be comforted, my mamma. You see I am quite well. You see I am sedate.-Bless your Clementina! God bless my child!

She arose from her knees; and stepping towards me-You are very silent, sir; and very sad-But I don't want you to be sad.-Silent I will allow you to be; because the tutored should be all ear. So I used to be to you.

She then turned her face from me, putting her hand to her forehead-I had a great deal to say to you; but I have forgot it all-Why do you look so melancholy, chevalier? You know your own mind; and you did what you thought just and fit-Did you not? Tell me, sir.

Then turning to her weeping mother-The poor chevalier cannot speak, madam-Yet had nobody to bid him do this, or bid him do that -He is sorry, to be sure !-Well, but, sir, turning to me, don't be sorry.-And yet the man who once refused me-Ah, chevalier! I thought that was very cruel of you; but I soon got over it. You see how sedate I am now. Cannot you be as sedate as I am?

What could I say? I could not sooth her: she boasted of her sedateness. I could not argue with her. Could I have been hers, could my compromise have been allowed of, I could have

But let me ask you, chevalier, How could you be so unreasonable as to expect that I should change my religion, when you were so very tenacious of yours? Were you not very unreasonable to expect this?-Upon my word, I believe you men think it is no matter for us women to have any consciences, so as we do but study your wills, and do our duty by you. Men look upon themselves as gods of the earth, and on us women but as their ministering servants!—But I did not expect that you would be so unreasonble. You used to speak highly of our sex. Good women, you used to say, were angels. And many a time have you made me proud that I was a woman. How could you, chevalier, be so unreasonable?

May I, madam, to her mother, acquaint her with the proposals I made?-She seems to think that I insisted upon her change of religion.

It was not designed she should think so; but I remember now, that she would not let me tell all I had to say, when I was making my report to her of what had passed between the Bishop and you. It was enough, she said, that she had been refused; she besought me to spare the rest; and since that, she has not been in such a way that we could talk to her on that part of the subject. We took it for granted, that she knew it all, because we did. Could we have yielded to your proposals, we should have enforced them upon her.-If you acquaint her with what you had proposed, it may make her think she has not been despised, as she calls it; the notion of which changed her temper from over-thoughtful to over-lively.

No need of speaking low to each other, said the young lady. After your slight, sir, you may let me hear anything.-Madam! you see how sedate I am. I have quite overcome myself. Don't be afraid of saying anything before me.

Slight, my dearest Lady Clementina! Heaven is my witness, your honoured mamma is my witness, that I have not slighted you!-The conditions I had proposed, could they have been complied with, would have made me the happiest of men!

Yes, and me the unhappiest of women. Why, you refused me, did you not? And putting both her hands spread before her face; don't let it be told abroad, that a daughter of that best of mothers was refused by any man less than a prince!

Fie upon that daughter! To be able to stand before the proud refuser! [She walked from me.] I am ashamed of myself!-O Mrs Beaumont! but for you, my secret had been buried

here! putting one hand on her bosom, holding still the other before her face.-But, sir, sir, coming towards me, don't speak! Let me have all my talk out—And then-everlasting silence be my portion !

How her mother wept! How was I affected! I had a great deal to say to you, I thought; I wanted to convince you of your errors. I wanted no favour of you, sir; mine was a pure, disinterested esteem. A voice from Heaven, I thought, bid me convert you. I was setting out to convert you. I should have been enabled to do it, I doubt not; Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings; Do you remember that text, sir?-Could I have gone, when I would have gone -I had it all in my head then-But now I have lost it-O that impertinent Camilla !--She must question me-The woman addressed me in a quite frantic way. She was vexed to see me so sedate.

I was going to speak-Hush, hush, when I bid you! and she put her hand before my mouth. With both my hands I held it there for a moment, and kissed it.

Ah, chevalier ! said she, not withdrawing it, I believe you are a flattering man! How can you, to a poor despised girl

Let me now speak, madam-Use not a word that I cannot repeat after you. Let me beg of you to hear the proposals I made

I mentioned them; and added, Heaven only knows the anguish of my soul-Hush, said she, interrupting, and turning to her mother-1 know nothing of these men, madam! Do you think, my mamma, I may believe him? He looks as if one might!-Do you think I may believe him?

Her mother was silent, through grief.

Ah, sir ! my mamma, though she is not your enemy, cannot vouch for you!-But I will have you bound by your own hand. She stept to her closet in a hurry, and brought out pen, ink, and paper.-Come, sir, you must not play tricks with me. Give me, under your hand, what you have now said-But I will write it, and you shall sign it.

She wrote, in an instant, as follows:-
The Chevalier Grandison solemnly declares,
that he did, in the most earnest manner, of
his own accord, propose, that he would al-
low a certain young creature, if she might
be allowed to be his wife, the free use of her
religion; and to have a discreet man, at her
choice, for her confessor; and that he
would never oblige her to go to England
with him; and that he would live in Italy
with her every other year.
Will you sign this, sir?-
Most willingly.—

Do then.

I did.

And you did propose this?-Did he, madam? My dear, he did. And I would have told you

so; but that you were affected at his supposed refusal.

Why, to be sure, madam, interrupted she, it was a shocking thing to be refused.

Would you have wished us, my dear, to comply with these terms? Would you have chosen to marry a Protestant? A daughter of the house of Porretta, and of the house I sprung from, to marry an English Protestant?

Clementina took her mother aside; but spoke loud enough to be heard.

To be sure, madam, that would have been wrong; but I am glad I was not refused with contempt; that my tutor, and the preserver of my Jeronymo, did not despise me. To say truth, I was afraid he liked Olivia ; and so made a pre

tence.

Don't you think, my dear, that you would have run too great a hazard of your own faith, had you complied with the chevalier's proposals?

Why no, surely, madam !-Might I not have had as great a chance of converting him, as he could have had of perverting me? I glory in my religion, madam.

So does he, my love, in his.

That is his fault, madam.-Chevalier, stepping towards me, I think you a very obstinate man. I hope you have not heard our discourse. Yes, my dear, he has; and I desire not but he should.

Would to God, madam, said I to the Marchioness, that I had yours and my lord's interest! From what the dear Lady Clementina has hinted, I might presume

But, sir, you are mistaken, perhaps, said the young lady. Though I answer for answering's sake, and to shew that I have no doubt of my stedfastness in an article in which my soul is concerned; yet that is no proof of my attachment to an obstinate-I know what!-Heretic was, no doubt, in her head.

I took her mother aside : For God's sake, madam, encourage my presumptuous hopes. Do you not observe already an alteration in the dear lady's mind? Is she not more unaffectedly sedate than she was before? Is not her mind quieter, now she knows that everything was yielded up, that honour and conscience would permit to be yielded up ? See that sweet serenity almost restored to those eyes, that within these few moments had a wilder turn!

Ah, chevalier, this depends not on me. And if it did, I cannot allow of my daughter's marrying a man so bigotted to his errors. Excuse me, sir! But if you were more indifferent in your religion, I should have more hopes of you, and less objection.

If, madam, I could be indifferent in my religion, the temptation would have been too great to be resisted. Lady Clementina, and an alliance with such a family

Ah, chevalier, I can give you no hope.