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soon released. Never could she be so much admired in her blooming youth, though she was then, it seems, deservedly celebrated, both for her mind and person, as she is now in her declining age.

You have seen and admired Mrs Selby. She rises upon me every hour. It gives one's heart joy, Lady L- to look forward, beyond the age of youth and flutter, when we see by these ladies, that women in their advanced years may, to express myself in the style of Sir Rowland Meredith, be good for something; or, still better, that the matronly time of female life, is by far the most estimable of all the stages of it; if they make good wives, good mistresses, and good mothers: and, let me say, good aunts; were it but to keep in countenance Aunt Gertrude and Aunt Nell; who, good souls! will now hardly ever be mothers.

Lucy is an excellent young creature. Nancy, when Lucy is not present, is as excellent. Her cousins, Kitty and Patty Holles, are agreeable young women.

James Selby is a good sort of blundering, well-meaning, great boy; who, when he has lived a few years longer, may make much such a good sort of man as my Lord G. There's for you, my once catechizing sister! Pray be as ready to praise, as you used to be to blame me. I find duty and love growing fast upon me. I shall get into a custom of bringing in Lord G on every occasion that will do him eredit: and then I shall be like Lady Betty Clemson; who is so perpetually dinning the ears of her guests with her domestic superlatives, that we are apt to suspect the truth of all she says.

But Harriet, our dear Harriet, is not at all well. She visibly falls away; and her fine complexion fades. Mr Deane was here a week ago; and, Lucy tells me, was so much startled at the alteration in her lovely countenance, that he broke from her, and shed tears to Lucy. This good girl and Nancy lament to each other the too visible change: but, when they are with the rest of the family, they all seem afraid to take notice of it to one another. She herself takes generous pains to be lively, cheerful, and unapprehensive, for fear of giving concern to her grandmother and aunt; who will sometimes sit and contemplate the alteration, sigh, and now and then drop a silent tear, which, however, they endeavour to smile off, to avoid notice. I have already observed, that, as these good ladies sit in her company, they watch in silent love every turn of her mild and patient eye, every change of her charming countenance; for they too well know to what to impute the inward malady, which has approached the best of hearts; and they know that the cure cannot be within the art of the physician. They, as we do, admire her voice, and her playing. They ask her for a song, for a lesson on her harpsichord. She plays, she sings, at the very first word. In no one act of

cheerfulness does she refuse to join. Her grandmother and her aunt Selby frequently give a private ball. The old lady delights to see young people cheerful and happy. She is always present, and directs the diversions; for she has a fine taste. We are often to have these balls for our entertainment. Miss Byron, her cousins say, knowing the delight her grandmother takes in these amusements, for the sake of the young people, to whom she considers it as a healthful exercise, as well as diversion, is one of the alertest in them. She excuses not herself, nor encourages that supineness that creeps on, and invades a heart ill at ease. Yet every one sees that solitude and retirement are her choice: though she is very careful to have it supposed otherwise; and, on the first summons, hastens into company, and joins in the conversation. O, she is a lovely and beloved young creature! I think verily that though she was the admiration of everybody, when she was with us, yet she is, if possible, more amiable at home, and among her own relations. Her uncle Selby rallies her sometimes. But respect, as well as love, are visible in his countenance, when he does: in her returns, sweetness and reverence are mingled. She never forgets that the rallier is her uncle; yet her delicacy is not more apparent, than that she is mistress of fine talents in that way; but often restrains them, because she has far more superior ones to value herself upon. And is not this the case with my brother also?-Not so, I am afraid, with your Charlotte.

All her friends, however, rejoice in 'our visit to them, for her sake. They compliment me on my lively turn; and hope for a happy effect on Miss Byron from it.

I cannot accuse her of reserve to me. She owns her love for our brother as frankly as she used to do, after we had torn the secret from her bo→ som at Colnebrook. She acknowledges to me, that she glories in it, and will not try to conquer it; because she is sure the trial will be to no purpose; an excuse, by the way, that if the conquest be necessary, would better become the mouth of your Charlotte than that of our Harriet; and so I have told her.

She prays for the restoration of Lady Clementina, and recovery of Signor Jeronymo. She loves to talk of the whole Italian family and yet seems fully assured that Clementina will be the happy woman. But, surely, Harriet must be our sister. She values herself upon my brother's so solemnly requesting and claiming her friendship. True friendship, she but this morning argued with me, being disinterested, and more intellectual than personal regard, is nobler than love. Love, she said, does not always ripen into friendship, as is too frequently seen in wedlock.

But does not the dear creature refine too much when she argues thus? A calm and easy kind of esteem is all I have to judge from in my matrimony, I know not what love is. At the very

highest, and when I was most a fool, my motive was supposed convenience; (in order to be freed from the apprehended tyranny of a father :) and that never carried me beyond liking. But you, Lady L, were an adept in the passion. Pray tell me, if there be a difference between love and friendship, which is the noblest? Upon my opposing you and Lord L- (so truly one mind) to her argument, she said, That yours is love mellowed into friendship, upon full proof of the merit of each; but, that there was a time, that the flame was love only, founded in hope of the merit and the proof might have been wanting; as it often is, when the hope has been as strong, and seemingly as well founded, as in your courtship.

Harriet, possibly, may argue from her own situation, in order to make her heart easy; and my brother is so unquestionably worthy, that love and friendship may be one thing, in the bosom of a woman admiring him; since he will not enter into any obligation, that he cannot, that he will not, religiously perform. And if this refinement will make her heart easier, and enable her to allow his love to be placed elsewhere, because of a prior claim, and of circumstances that call for generous compassion, while she can content herself with the offered friendship, I think we ought to indulge her in her delicate notions. Selby-House is a large, convenient, well-furnished habitation. To-morrow we are to make a visit, with Lucy and Nancy, to their branch of the Selby family. James is gone before. Those two girls are orphans; but their grandmother, by their mother's side, (a good old lady, motherin-law to Mr Selby,) lives with them, or, rather, they with her, and loves them.

On our return, we are to have our first private ball at Shirley-Manor; a fine old seat, which already the benevolent owner calls her Harriet's; with an estate of about 500l. a-year round it.

Adieu, my dear Lady L- My lord and you, I hope, will own me now. Yet are you not sometimes surprised at the suddenness of my reformation? Shall I tell you how it came about? To own the truth, I began to find the man could be stout. "Charlotte, thought I, what are you about? You mean not to continue for ever your playful folly. You have no malice, no wickedness, in your sauciness; only a little levity; it may grow into habit :-Make your retreat while you can with honour; before you harden the man's heart, and find your reformation a matter of indifference to him. You have a few good qualities; are not a modern woman; have neither wings to your shoulders, nor gad-fly in your cap; you love home. At present the honest man loves you. He has no vices. Every one loves you; but all your friends are busy upon your conduct. You will estrange

them from you. The man will not be a king Log -Be you a prudent frog, lest you turn him into a stork. A weak man, if you suppose him weak, made a tyrant, will be an insupportable thing. I shall make him appear weak in the eyes of everybody else, when I have so much grace left, as would make me rise against any one who should let me know they thought him so. My brother will be reflected upon for his solicitude to carry me to church with a man, whom I shall make the world think I despise. Harriet will renounce me. My wit will be thought folly. Does not the suckling Emily, does not the stale virgin, Aunt Eleanor, think they have a right to blame, entreat, instruct me? I will be good of choice, and make my duty received as a favour. I have travelled a great way in the road of perverseness. I see briers, thorns, and a pathless track, before me. I may be benighted; the day is far gone. Serpents may be in the brakes. I will get home as fast as I can ; and rejoice every one, who now only wonders what is become of

me.

These, Lady L, were some of my reasonings. Make your advantage of them against me, if you can. You see that your grave wisdom had some weight with my light folly. Allow a little for constitution now and then; and you shall not have cause to be ashamed of your sis

ter.

Let me conclude this subject, half one way, half t'other-that is to say, half serious, half roguish; if my lord would but be cured of his taste for trifles and nick-knacks, I should, possibly, be induced to consider him as a man of better understanding than I once thought him; but who can forbear, sometimes, to think slightly of a man, who, by effeminacies, and a shell and china taste, undervalues himself? I hope I shall cure him of those foibles; and, if I can, I shall consider him as a work of my own hands, and be proud of him, in compliment to myself.

Let my Aunt Eleanor (no more Nell, if I can help it) know how good I continue to be. And now I will relieve you and myself, with the assurance that I am, and ever will be, notwithstanding your and Lord L's past severity to me,

Your truly affectionate sister,
CHARLOTTE G.

LETTER CLXXI.

LADY G TO LADY L

Selby-House, Monday, July 24.

LORD bless me, my dear, what shall we do! My brother, in all probability, may, by this

• Several letters, written in the space between the last date, June 16, and the present, which give an account of their diversions, visits, entertainments, at Selby-House, Shirley-Manor, &c. are omitted.

time!-But I cannot tell how to suppose it! Ah, the poor Harriet! The three letters from my brother, which, by the permission of Dr Bartlett, I enclose, will shew you that the Italian affair is now at a crisis.

Read them in this place; and return them sealed up, and directed to the Doctor.

LETTER CLXXII.

SIR CHARLES GRANDISON TO DR BARTLETT.

Florence, Wednesday, July 5-16. THREE weeks have now past since the date of my last letter to my paternal friend. Nor has it, in the main, been a disagreeable space of time; since within it, I have had the pleasure of hearing from you and other of my friends in England; from those at Paris; and good news from Bologna, wherever I moved, as well from the Bishop and Father Marescotti, as from Mr Lowther.

The Bishop particularly tells me, that they ascribe to the amendment of the brother, the hopes they now have of the sister's recovery.

I passed near a fortnight of this time at Naples and Portici. The General, and his lady, who is one of the best of women, made it equally their study to oblige and amuse me.

The General, on my first arrival at Naples, entered into talk with me, on my expectations with regard to his sister. I answered him as I had done his mother; and he was satisfied with what I said.

When we parted, he embraced me as his brother and friend; and apologized for the animosity he once had to me. If it pleased God to restore his sister, no more from him, he said, should her mind be endangered; but her choice should determine him. His lady declared her esteem for me, without reserve; and said, That next to the recovery of Clementina and Jeronymo, her wish was, to be entitled to call me brother.

What, my dear Dr Bartlett, is, at last, to be my destiny! The greatest opposer of the alliance once in view, is overcome: but the Bishop, you will observe, by what I have told you, ascribes to another cause the merit which the General gives me; with a view, possibly, to abate my expectation. Be the event as it may, I will go on in the course I am in, and leave to Providence the issue.

Mrs Beaumont returned from Bologna but yesterday.

She confirms the favourable account I had before received of the great alteration for the better that there is in the health both of brother and sister; and, because of that, in the whole family. Mr Lowther, she says, is as highly, as deservedly, caressed by every one. Jeronymo

is able to sit up two hours in a day. He has tried his pen, and finds it will be again in his power to give his friends pleasure with it.

Mrs Beaumont tells me, that Clementina generally twice a-day visits her beloved Jeronymo. She has taken once more to her needle, and often sits and works in her brother's room. This amuses her, and delights him.

She converses generally without much rambling; and seems to be very soon sensible of her misfortune, when she begins to talk incoherently; for at such times she immediately stops; not seldom sheds a tear; and either withdraws to her own closet, or is silent.

She several times directed her discourse to Mr Lowther, when she met him in her brother's chamber. She observed great delicacy when she spoke of me to him; and dwelt not on the subject; but was very inquisitive about England, and the customs and manners of the people; particularly of the women.

Everybody has made it a rule (Jeronymo among the rest, and to which also Camilla strictly conforms) never to lead her to talk of me. She, however, asks often after me; and numbers the days of my absence.

At one time, seeking Mrs Beaumont in her dressing-room, she thus accosted her: I come, madam, to ask you, why everybody forbears to mention the Chevalier Grandison; and when I do, talks of somebody or something else? Camilla is as perverse in this way as anybody; nay, Jeronymo (I have tried him several times) does the very same. Can Jeronymo be ungrateful? Can Jeronymo be indifferent to his friend, who has done so much for him? I hope I am not. looked upon as a silly, or as a forward creature, that am not to be trusted with hearing the name of the man mentioned, for whom I profess a high esteem and gratitude. Tell me, madam, have I at any time, in my unhappy hours, behaved or spoken aught unworthy of iny character, of my family, of the modesty of woman ?-If I have, my heart renounces the guilt; I must, indeed, have been unhappy: I could not be Clementina della Porretta.

Mrs Beaumont set her heart at ease on this subject.

Well, said she, it shall be seen, I hope so, that true modesty, and high gratitude, may properly have a place together in this heart, putting her hand to her bosom. Let me but own, that I esteem him, for I really do; and I hope my sincerity shall never mislead or betray me into indecorum; and now, madam, let us talk of him for one quarter of an hour, and no more. Here is my watch; it is an English watch; nobody knows that I bought it for that very reason. Don't you tell. She then, suspecting her head, dropt a tear; and withdrew in silence.

Mrs Beaumont, my dear friend, knows the true state of my heart; and she pities me. She wishes that the lady's reason may be establish

ed;

she is afraid it should be risked by opposition; but there is a man whom she wishes to be Clementina's. There is a woman-But-do thou, Providence, direct us both! All that thou orderest must be best.

Mrs Beaumont thinks Lady Clementina is at times too solemn; and is the more apprehensive when she is so; and there is a greatness in her solemnity, which she is afraid will be too much for her. She has often her silent fits, in which she is regardless of what anybody but her mother says to her.

As she grows better, the fervour of her devotion, which, in her highest delirium, never went quite off, increases. Nor do they discourage, but indulge her in it, because in her, it seems, by the cheerfulness with which her ardent zeal is attended, to be owing to true piety, which, they justly observe, never makes a good mind sour, morose, and melancholy.

Mrs Beaumont says, That, for two days before she came away, she had shewn, on several occasions, that she began to expect my return. -She broke silence in one of her dumb fits "Twenty days, did he say, Camilla?" and was silent again.

The day before Mrs Beaumont set out, as she, the young lady, and Marchioness, were sitting at work together, Camilla entered with unusual precipitation, with a message from the Bishop, desiring leave to attend them-And the Marchioness saying, By all means, pray let him come in; the young lady, on hearing him approach, laid down her work, changed colour, and stood up with an air of dignity; but, on the Bishop's entrance, sat down with a look of dissatisfaction, as if disappointed.

Adieu, my dear friend! I shall reach Bologna, I hope, to-morrow night. You will soon have another letter from

Your truly affectionate
GRANDISON.

LETTER CLXXIII.

SIR CHARLES GRANDISON.

[In continuation.]

Bologna, July 7-18. It was late last night before I arrived at this place. I sent my compliments to the family. In the morning I went to their palace, and was immediately conducted to the chamber of Signor Jeronymo. He was disposing himself to rise, that he might receive me up, in order to rejoice me on his ability to do so. I sat down by him, and received the overflowings of his grateful heart. Everybody, he told me, was amended both in health and spirits.

Camilla came in soon after, congratulating me

on my arrival, in the name of her young lady. She let me know, that in less than a quarter of an hour she would be ready to receive my visit.

O sir, said the good woman, miracles! miracles! We are all joy and hope!

At going out, she whispered as she passed, (I was then at the window,) My young lady is dressing in colours, to receive you. She will no more appear to you, she says, in black-Now, sir, will you soon reap the reward of all your goodness; for the General has signified to my lord his entire acquiescence with his sister's choice, and their determination.

The Bishop came in: Chevalier, said he, you are welcome, thrice welcome, to Bologna. You have subdued us all. Clementina commands her own destiny. The man whom she chooses to call hers, be he who he will, will have a treasure in her, in every sense of the word.

The Marquis, the Count, Father Marescotti, all severally made me the highest compliments. The Count, particularly, taking my hand, said, From us, chevalier, nothing will be wanting to make you happy; from you, there can be but one thing wanting to make us so.

The Marchioness entering, saved me any other return, than by bowing to each. Before I could speak to her, Welcome, chevalier, said she; but you are not come before you were wished for. You will find we have kept a more exact account of the days of your absence, than we did before. I hope her joy to see you will not be too much for her. Clementina ever had a grateful heart.

The chevalier's prudence, said Father Marescotti, may be confided in. He knows how to moderate his own joy on his first address to her, on seeing her so greatly amended; and then Lady Clementina's natural delicacy will not have an example to carry her joy above her reason.

The chevalier, madam, said the Bishop, smiling, will, at this rate, be too secure. We leave him not room for professions. But he cannot be ungenerous.

The Chevalier Grandison, said the kind Jeronymo, speaks by action; it is his way. His head, his heart, his lips, his hands, are governed by one motion, and directed by one spring. When he leaves no room for doubt, professions would depreciate his service.

He then ascribed an extraordinary merit to me, on my leaving my native country and friends, to attend them in person.

We may, perhaps, my reverend friend, be allowed to repeat the commendations given us by grateful and benevolent spirits, when we cannot otherwise so well do justice to the generous warmth of their friendship. The noble Jeronymo, I am confident, were he in my place, and I in his, would put a more moderate value on the like services, done by himself. What is friendship, if, on the like calls, and blessed with it is not ready to exert itself in action?

power,

Grandison, replied the Bishop, were he one of us, might expect canonization. In a better religion, we have but few young men of quality and fortune so good as he; though, I think, none so bad, as many of the pretended reformed, who travel, as if to copy our vices, and not to imitate our virtues.

I was overwhelmed with gratitude, on a reception so very generous and unreserved. Camilla came in seasonably with a message from the young lady, inviting my attendance on her in her dressing-room.

The Marchioness withdrew just before. I followed Camilla. She told me, as we went, that she thought her not quite so sedate as she had been for some days past; which she supposed owing to her hurrying in dressing, and to her expectation of me.

The mother and daughter were together. They were talking when I entered.-Dear, fanciful girl! I heard the mother say, disposing otherwise some flowers that she had in her bosom.

Clementina, when her mind was sound, used to be all unaffected elegance. I never saw but one woman who equalled her in that respect. Miss Byron seems conscious that she may trust to her native charms; yet betrays no pride in her consciousness. Who ever spoke of her jewels, that beheld her face? For mingled dignity, and freedom of air and manner, these two ladies excel amongst women.

Clementina appeared exceedingly lovely. But her fancifulness in the disposition of her ornaments, and the unusual lustre of her eyes, which every one was wont to admire for their serene brightness, shewed an imagination more disordered than I hoped to see; and gave me pain at my entrance.

The chevalier, my love! said the Marchi oness, (turning round to me,) Clementina, receive your friend.

She stood up, dignity and sweetness in her air. I approached her; she refused not her hand. The General, madam, and his lady, salute you by me.

They received you, I am sure, as the friend of our family. But tell me, sir, smiling, have you not exceeded your promised time? Two or three days only.

Only, sir!-Well, I upbraid you not. No wonder that a man, so greatly valued, cannot always keep his time.

She hesitated, looked at her mother, at me, and on the floor, visibly at a loss. Then, as sensible of her wandering, turned aside her head, and took out her handkerchief.

Mrs Beaumont, madam, said I, to divert her chagrin, sends you her compliments.

Were you at Florence?-Mrs Beaumont, said you? Were you at Florence? Then running to her mother, she threw her arms about her neck, hiding her face in her bosom-O madam,

conceal me! conceal me from myself. I am not well.

Be comforted, my best love, wrapping her maternal arms about her, and kissing her forehead, you will be better presently.

I made a motion to withdraw. The Marchioness, by her head, approving, I went into the next apartment.

She soon inquired for me, and, on notice from Camilla, I returned.

She sat with her head leaning on her mother's shoulder. She raised it-Excuse me, sir, said she, I cannot be well, I see-But no matter! I am better, and I am worse, than I was; worse, because I am sensible of my calamity.

Her eyes had then lost all that lustre which had shewn a too raised imagination; but they were as much in the other extreme, overclouded with mistiness, dimness, vapours; swimming in tears.

I took her hand: Be not disheartened, madam. You will be soon well. These are usual turns of the malady you seem to be so sensible of, when it is changing to perfect health.

God grant it!-0 chevalier! what trouble have I given my friends!-My mamma here!— You, sir!-Everybody! O that naughty Laurana ! But for her!-But tell me-Is she dead? -Poor cruel creature! Is she no more?

Would you have her to be no more, my love? said her mother.

O no! no! I would have had her to live, and to repent. Was she not the companion of my childhood? She loved me once. I always loved her. Say, chevalier, is she living?

I looked at the Marchioness, as asking, if I should tell her she was; and receiving her approving nod, She is living, madam, answered I and I hope will repent.

Is she, is she, indeed, my mamma? interrupted she.

She is, my dear.

Thank God! rising from her seat, clasping her hands, and standing more erect than usual: then have I a triumph to come! said the noble creature. Excuse my pride! I will shew her that I can forgive her!-But I will talk of her when I am better. You say, sir, I shall be better! You say that my malady is changingWhat comfort you give me!

Then dropping down against her mother's chair, on her knees, her eyes and hands lifted up, Great and good God Almighty, heal, heal, I beseech thee, my wounded mind, that I may be enabled to restore to the most indulgent of parents, the happiness I have robbed them of! Join your prayers with mine, sir! You are a good man-But you, madam, are a Catholic. The chevalier is not-Do you pray for me. I shall be restored to your prayers. And may I be restored, as I shall never more do anything wilfully, to offend or disturb your tender heart!

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