Lady Beauchamp for me.-You will be of another mind, perhaps, some time hence, said Lucy. When I am, replied Emily, tell me of

it.

Sir Charles, when he was in town, visited his two sisters. We shall be favoured with the company of Lord and Lady L- as soon as her visits and visitings are over. With what delight do I expect them!

Mind, my dear Lady G, what follows: Lady Lsaid he, is all joy, that her great event is happily over; she and my lord rewarded with a dear pledge of their mutual love. But is not Lady G- a little unaccountable, my dear?

As how, sir?

She hardly seems to receive pleasure in her happy prospects. She appears to me peevish, even childishly so, to her lord. I see it the more for her endeavours to check herself before me. She submits but ungraciously to the requisites of the circumstances, that lays him and me, and our several united families, under obligation to her. I was unwilling to take notice of her particular behaviour, for two reasons; first, because she wants not understanding, and would see her own error before she went too far; and next, because she tacitly confessed herself to be wrong, by being evidently desirous to hide her fault from me. But is not our Charlotte a little unaccountable, my dear?

What, my dear Lady G- -, should I have answered? I hope you will allow me to be just. I should have been most sincerely glad to have spoken a good word for you: But to attempt to excuse or palliate an evident fault, looks like a claim put in for allowances for one's

own.

Indeed, sir, she is a very unaccountable creature! She is afraid of you, and of nobody but you. You should, as she could not conceal from you her odd behaviour to one of the best of husbands, and sweet-tempered of men, who loves her more than he loves himself; and who is but too solicitous to oblige so unthankful a thing; have taken notice of it, and chidden her severely: I, for my part, take liberties of this kind with her in every letter I write; but to no purpose. I wanted you, sir, to find her out yourself; she will get a habit of doing wrong things; and make herself more unhappy than she will make anybody else; since it is possible for her to tire out her lord. How insupportable to her, of all women, would it be, were the tables to be turned; and were the man she treats so ungraciously, to be brought to slight her! The more insupportable, as she has a higher opinion of her own understanding than she has of his !

Can't you form to yourself, my dear Lady G, the attitude of astonishment, that your brother threw himself into ?

But, ah, my dear grandmamma, do you think

I said this to Sir Charles?-No, indeed! for the world, I would not have said one syllable of it. But let Lady G―, for a moment, as she reads my letter, think I did. She loves to surprise; why should she not be surprised in turn? Her displeasure would affect me greatly: But if by incurring it I could do her good, and put her in a right train of thinking, I would incur it, and on my knees afterwards beg her to forgive

me.

He did make the above observation. A thousand excellent qualities has my Charlotte. I particularized to her brother half a dozen, and those are more than fall to the share of most of our modern people of quality; and he was willing to be satisfied with them-Why? Because he loves her. But as she now and then whispers her Harriet, in her letters, let me whisper her, that she is under great obligation to her brother, and still greater to her lord, for passing over so lately her petulancies.

LET me, madam, acquaint you with something generously particular of this worthy man.

He desired Sir Charles to let him have me by himself for a quarter of an hour. So fine a young gentleman would not, he hoped, be jealous of such a poor old man as he.

We were in the dining-room; and he rising to attend me, I led him to my drawing-room, adjoining. He looked round him, and was struck with the elegance of the room and furniture; disregarding me for a few moments—Why, ay said he, at last; this is noble! this is fine! stately, by mercy! And he bowed to me, poor man, the more respectfully, as I thought, for what he saw. And will you, madam, bowing again, and again, allow me to call you Daugh ter? I can't part with my Daughter: Nor would I, were you a queen.

You do me honour, Sir Rowland. Call me still your daughter.

Why then, you must allow me-Forgive me, madam!--And he saluted me. Joy, joy, tenfold joy, attend my daughter! I don't know what to make of the present fashions. Would Sir Charles have been affronted, had I taken this liberty before him? The deuce is in the present age; they reserve themselves to holes and corners, I suppose. But I am sure no crea

ture breathing could mean more respect than I do. I think only of myself as of your father. You are a good man, Sir Rowland. Sir Charles Grandison was prepared to love you; he was prepared to value Mr Fowler.

Prepared by your own respect for us, madam! -God love you, say yes.

Yes indeed, I ever shall respect you both. Have I not claimed a father in you? Have I not claimed a brother in your nephew? I never forget my relations.

Charming, charming, by mercy! And he walked to the other end of the room, wiping his eyes: The very same good young lady that you ever were! But, but, but, putting his hand in his pocket, and pulling out a little box, if you are my daughter, you shall wear these for your father's sake !-How now, madam! Refuse me! I command you on your obedience to accept of this-I will not be a jack-straw father

Indeed, indeed, Sir Rowland, you must excuse me: I thought I might have trusted myself with you alone. Your generosity, sir, is painful to me.

I curtseyed, begged his excuse; and, too much abashed to consider what I did, withdrew to the company in the dining-room. The good man followed me, tears upon his cheeks, the box in his hand: My face glowed.

She calls me father, Sir Charles, and refuses her obedience! Here I have brought a toy or two, to shew my fatherly love to my daughter. Not a soul, not my nephew there, know a syllable of the matter; it was that made me call her aside.

Sir Charles rose from his seat. My dearest life is not used, said he, to make light of a duty; taking my hand. You will excuse her from accepting the present, Sir Rowland; that would look as if you thought it necessary to bribe her to do her duty. She will always acknowledge her father: So will I mine. But you do us honour enough in the relation.

What, Sir Charles! not of a present from her father to his daughter, on her nuptials, and as a small token of his joy on the occasion; when I know not the man living, out of my own family-There he stopt.

My dearest love, there is no resisting this plea: Your duty, your gratitude, is engaged. Look you there now! Look you there now! God love you both everlastingly, Amen !—And there is the blessing of a father!

I took the box, curtseying low; but looked silly, I believe.

Forgive me, Sir Charles, said the Knight; but I must-He took my hand, and kissed it—and looked as if he wished to salute me.-Fathers, my dear, must be reverenced, said Sir Charles, by their children.

I bent my knee, and, in compliance with a motion of Sir Charles, leaned forward my cheek.

VOL. VIII.

He saluted me; and again he blessed us bothMy dear nephew, said he, hastening to Mr Fowler, if you envy such a man as this his good fortune, by mercy, I will renounce you!

I may envy you, Sir Charles, said Mr Fowler, addressing himself to him in an agreeable manner; I don't know how it is possible to avoid it; but at the same time I revere you for your character and accomplishments. You are the only man in the world whom I could cordially congratulate, as I do you, on your happi

ness.

True, nephew, true: I, any more than you, should never have enjoyed myself, had any of the feather-headed creatures I saw formerly endeavouring to make an interest in my daughter's favour, succeeded with her. But you, madam, have chosen a man that everybody must prefer to himself.

The Knight, after tea, moved to have the box opened.

When Sir Charles saw the jewels, he was a little uneasy, because of the value of them. A costly diamond necklace and ear-rings, a ring of price, a repeating watch, finely chased; the chain of which is richly ornamented; one of the appendages is a picture of Sir Rowland in enamel, adorned with brilliants; an admirable likeness: This I told him was more valuable to me than all the rest. I spoke truth; for so rich a present has made me uneasy. He saw I was. He knew, he said, that I could not want any of these things: But he could not think of any other way to shew his love to his daughter. It was nothing to what he had intended to do in his will; had I not intimated to him, that what he left me, should be given among his relations. I am rich, madam, I can tell you: and what, on your nuptials, could I do less for my daughter?

Sir Charles said, This must not end so, Sir Rowland: But I see you are an invincible man. Mr Fowler, I wish you as happily married as you deserve to be: Your lady will be entitled to a return of equal value.

Sir Rowland begged, that he might try on the ring himself.

He was allowed to do so, and was pleased it was not much too big. He said, I should not pull it off this night. I kept it on to humour the worthy man.

SUPPER Over, and a cheerful glass going round, with my uncle, Mr Deane, and the Knight, Sir Rowland made it his odd request, that I would permit Sir Charles to put on the necklace for me. By no means, I said. But the Knight being very earnest, and my uncle seconding him, (for there was particularity enough in the motion, to engage the dear old man,) and Sir Charles not discouraging it, my aunt and Lucy smiling all the time, I thought I had better comply. Yet I was 2 Y

the more reluctant, on poor Mr Fowler's account; for his smiles were but essays to smile. Sir Charles, in his own graceful manner, put it on: bowing low to me when he had done.

Friday Noon.

'SIR ROWLAND and Mr Fowler have left us. They would not stay to dinner. They have business to dispatch in town, which will take them up some days: But they were so well pleased with their reception, that they promise to see us before they set out for Caermarthen.

At parting, Sir Rowland drew me aside: Your cousin Lucy, as you call her, is a fine young lady. They tell me, that she has a great fortune: But I matter not that a straw-Would to God my boy knew how to submit to his destiny like a man-Hem! You understand me, madam-Mercy! I want to be akin to you— You take me, madam?

We are akin. Sir Rowland Meredith is my father.

God bless you, madam! I love you dearly for. that. And so we are: But you understand me: A word to the wise: She is not engaged; is she?-I love your uncle of all men-except the king of all men; your lord and master-God bless him! With what good humour he eyes us-Sir Charles, one word with you, if you please.

I thought the Knight had his fingers ready to take hold of Sir Charles's button; for his hand was extended; but suddenly, as if from recollection, withdrawn.

He led Sir Charles to me-And put the same question to him, as he had done to me.

Let me ask you, my dear Sir Rowland, Was this in your thought before you came hither?

No, by mercy!-It just now struck me. My nephew knew not a syllable of the matter. But why, you know, Sir Charles, should a man pine and die, because he cannot have the she that he loves?-Suppose, you know, six men love one woman, as has been the case here, for aught I know; what a deuce, are five of them to hang, drown, or pistol themselves? Or are they to out-stay their time, as I have done, till they are fit for nobody?

Women must be treated with delicacy, Sir Rowland. Miss Selby is a young lady of great merit. When questions are properly asked, you hardly need to doubt of a proper answer.

But, Sir Charles, is Miss Selby, bona fide, engaged, or is she not? that's the question I ask: If she be, I shall not say a word of the matter. My dear! said Sir Charles to me.

I don't know that she is, answered I. But Lucy will never think of a man, be his qualifications ever so great, if he cannot give her proofs of loving her above all women.

I understand you, madam-Well, well, and I should be nice too, I can tell you, for my boy.

But I'll sound him. I must have him married before I die, if possible. But no more of that for the present. And now God Almighty bless, preserve, and keep you both!-I will pray for the continuance of your happiness.

He saluted me: wrung Sir Charles's hand: wiped his eyes: made his bow and stept into the chariot to his nephew, who had taken leave of us all before.

Lucy, with an air so like some of dear Lady G- 's, put up her saucy lip, when I told her of this; and bid me not write it to you: But I thought, were nothing to come of it, it would divert my grandmamma, as I am sure it will Lady G

God preserve the most indulgent and pious of parents, and my two sisters and their lords, (including the honoured lord and lady, you, Lady G- are with,) prays Her ever dutiful,

And their ever affectionate,
HARRIET GRANDISON.

LETTER CCLXX.

LADY GRANDISON.

[In continuation.]

Tuesday, Jan. 9. I HAVE been obliged, by the just demands, made upon us by the equally solemn and joyful season, to be silent for many days. You, madam, and you, Ladies L and G, have, I doubt not, been engaged in consequence of the same demand;-so will excuse me; especially as Lucy and my aunt have both written, and that very minutely, in the interim.

Mr Deane, to our great joy, has signified to us his intention to live near us; and to present his house at Peterborough to one of his two nephews.

Sir Charles has besought him to consider Grandison-Hall as his own house. He promises that he will. I hope, by my care of him, to be an humble means of prolonging his life; at least of making his latter days cheerful.

What a happy season has this been to scores of people in our neighbourhood! but most to ourselves, as the giver is more blessed than the receiver: Such admirable management! Such good order!-But I told you that all was left to Dr Bartlett's direction: What a blessing is he to us, and all around him!

Sir Charles has a letter from Mr Lowther, who is on his return from Bologna. By the date, it should have arrived a fortnight ago: So that he may be every day expected.

Mr Lowther lets him know, that the family at Bologna are all in spirits, on the prospect they have of carrying their point with Lady Clementina; who, however, for the present, declines the

visits of the Count of Belvedere; and they humour her in that particular.

Mr Lowther is afraid, he says, that all is not quite right as to her mind. Poor lady! he judges so, from the very great earnestness she continues to express to visit England.

She received, he says, with great intrepidity the news of Sir Charles's marriage. She besought a blessing upon him and his bride; but, since, has been thoughtful, reserved, and sometimes is found in tears. When challenged, she once ascribed her grief to her apprehensions that her malady may possibly return.

The physicians have absolutely given their opinion, that she should marry.

The General is expected from Naples to urge the solemnity; and vows that he will not return till she is actually Countess of Belvedere.

She begs that she may be allowed again to pass the Apennines, and visit Mrs Beaumont at Florence, in order to settle her mind.

She dreads to see the General.

How am I grieved for her!-Sir Charles must be afflicted too. Why will they not leave to time, the pacifier of every woe, the issue of the event upon which they have set their hearts?

Mr Lowther writes, that Signor Jeronymo is in a fine way.

In this letter he acquits Sir Charles of all obligation to himself. He returns him bills for the sum he had advanced; and declares, that he never will enter into his presence, if he refuses to accept of his acquittance. The family, he says, have nobly rewarded him.

Dr Bartlett applauds Mr Lowther's spirit on this occasion. As Sir Charles, he says, is not an ostentatious man, but judges of everything according to the rules of right and prudence, he has no doubt (though he might not expect this handsome treatment) but he will acquiesce with it. This, however, lessens not the comparative merit of Mr Lowther. There are men, I believe, who, having succeeded so well, would have accepted of a reward from both parties. Yet, on recollection, Sir Charles stipulated with Mr Lowther, that he should receive no fee, but from himself: and his present to the worthy man was the ampler on that account.

I have two charming letters from the Countess of D-. By her permission, I have shewn to Sir Charles the correspondence between that good lady and me. He greatly admires her. She desires that he will be acquainted with her son; and declares she will always look upon me as her daughter, and call me so. Sir Charles bids me tell her, that he cannot consent to her calling me so, unless she will look upon him as her son, and unless my lord will allow him to call him brother. He bid me express his wishes of a friendship with both, answerable to that desirable relation.

My uncle says, he knows not such a place as Selby-House. Shirley-Manor, indeed, he loves,

for the sake of the dear mistress of it: but, as long as he has with him his dame, his Harriet, Mr Deane, and Sir Charles, he is happy. Yet my aunt now and then gets upon a rising ground in the park, and asks, pointing, Does not Northamptonshire lie off there?

Emily is very good in the main. Dear girl! I do pity her. Her young heart so early to be tied and tormented by the stings of hopeless love!-Her eyes just now were fixed for several minutes, so much love in them! on the face of her guardian, that his modest eye fell under them.

I will give you, on this occasion, the particulars of a conversation that passed between us; which, at the conclusion, let in a little dawn of hope, that the dear girl may be happy in time.

I had more than once been apprehensive, that her eyes would betray her to her guardian; who at present imputes all her reverence for him to gratitude: and, as soon as he was withdrawn, with a true sisterly tenderness, Come hither, my love, said I. I was busy with my needle. She

came.

My dearest Emily, if you were to look with so much earnestness in the face of any other man, as you sometimes do, and just now did, in that of your guardian, and the man a single man, he would have hope of a wife.

Heigh-ho! sighed she. Did my guardian mind me?—I hope he did not so much, madam, as you do.

So much as I do, my love!

Yes, madam. When my guardian is present, you do look very hard at me: but I hope I am not a confident girl.

You are serious, my Emily!

And so is my dear Lady Grandison!

I was a little surprised. She abashed me. Her love, thought I will make the dear girl hardy, without intending to be so.

She was too innocent even for consciousness of having disconcerted me. She looked upon my work. What would I give, madam, to be so fine a work woman as you!-But why that sigh, madam?

The poor Lady Clementina! said I. I was really thinking of her.

Do you sigh for everybody, madam, that loves my guardian?

There are different sorts of love, Emily. Why, so I think. Nobody loves my guardian better than I myself do: but it is not the love that Lady Clementina bears him. I love his goodness.

And does not Clementina?

Yes, yes; but still the love is different.
Explain, my dear, your kind of love.
Impossible!

Why, now, sighs my Emily? You asked me why I sighed. I have answered, it was from pity.

Why, madam, I can pity Lady Clementina,

and I do but I sigh not for her; because she might have had my guardian, and would not. I sigh for her the more, for that very reason, Emily; her motive so great!

Pho, pho, her motive! When he would have allowed her to be of her own religion !

Then you sigh not for Clementina, Emily? I believe not.

For whom then?

and nothing else.

Again sighs my Emily?

You must not mind me, madam. A habit, I tell you. But, believe me, Lady Grandison, (hiding her blushing face in my bosom, her arms about my neck,) I believe, if the truth were known

She stopt, but continued there her glowing cheek

What, my dear, if the truth were known?
I dare not tell you. You will be angry with

me.

1

Indeed, my love, I will not.

O yes, but you will.

I thought we had been sisters, my dear. I thought we were to have no secrets. Tell me, what, if the truth were known?

Why, madam, for a trial of your forgiveness, tell me, Are you not apt to be a little jealous? Jealous, my Emily! You surprise me! Why, of whom, of what, jealous? Jealousy is doubt; of whom should I doubt?

People have not always cause, I suppose, madam.

Explain yourself, my dear.

Are you not angry with me, madam ?

I am not. But why do you think me jealous? You need not, indeed! My guardian adores you. You deserve to be adored.-But you should allow a poor girl to look upon her guardian, now and then, with eyes of gratitude. Your charming eye is so ready to take mine to task! -I am, if I know myself, a poor innocent girl. I do love my guardian, that's certain: so I ever did, you know, madam: and let me say, before he knew there was such a lady in the world as yourself, madam.

I threw aside my work, and clasping my arms about her, And love him still, my Emily! You cannot love him so well as he deserves. You are indeed a dear innocent, but not a poor, girl. You are rich in the return of his love. Í will ever, ever, be a promoter of an affection so innocent, so pure on both sides. But jealousy, my dear! do you charge me with jealousy? Impossible I should deserve it! My only concern is, lest, as the heart is guessed at by the eyes, (the hearts of young creatures especially, whose good minds are incapable of art or design,) you should give room for the censorious, who know not, as I do, that your love is reverence, next to filial, to attribute it to a beginning of the other sort of love; which yet in you, were

what an affectionate husband he makes my dear Lady Grandison. Yet, let me tell you truth, madam, I should, I am afraid, be such a little minded, poor creature, that if I were married, and had not a husband that was very like him, I should envy you. I should be at least unhappy.

If you could be envious, my dear, you would be unhappy but you must never encourage the addresses of a man, who you think loves you not better than any other woman; who is not a good man upon principle; who is not a man of sense; and that has seen something of the world.

And where, madam, can such a man be found?

Leave it to your guardian, my dear. He, if anybody, will find you a man that you may be happy with, if your eye be not aforehand with your judgment.

That, madam, I hope it will not be: First, because the reverence I have for my guardian, and his great qualities, will make all other men look little in my eye; and next, as I have such a confidence in his judgment, that if he points his finger, and says, That's the man, Emily! I will endeavour to like him. But I believe I never now shall like any man on earth.

It is early days, my love; but is there not some one man, that, were you of age to marry, you would think better of than of any other?

I don't know what to say to that. It is early days, as you say. I am but a girl: but girls have thoughts. I will tell you, madam, that the man who has passed some years in the company of Sir Charles Grandison; who is beloved by him, on proof, on experience (as I may say) of his good heart-She stopt.

Beauchamp, my dear?

Why, yes-Him, I mean: he is the most to be liked of any man but my guardian: but he now is a great man; and I suppose may have seen the woman he could love.

I

I fancy not, my dear.

Why do you fancy not, madam?

Because, if I must speak as freely to you, as would have you do always to me, I think he shews great and uncommon respect to you, though you are so young a creature.

That's for my guardian's sake. But be that as it will; let me be secure of my guardian's love and yours, and I shall have nothing to wish

for.