How soothing! How kind!-You say there is another expedient. What, excepting marriage, is it?

Were it that, and that could be an acceptable expedient-We are only reasoning, madam; not resolving

Do you, chevalier, (with a look of impatience,) propose that to me?

I do not, madam-I said we were reasoning only. But surely you may be very happy in the single life. You may have thought of plans, which, on consideration, may not please you: but it is yet early. Lady Clementina has too much greatness of mind to permit anything that may be said by malevolent people to affect her. She knows her heart; and has reason to be satisfied with it. Were your former wishes to take place, will not ill-will and slander follow you into the most sacred retirements? There are several tender points to be considered in your past situation. These are considered by your parents. They have no view but to your happiness. You and they, indeed, have different notions of the means. They think marriage with a worthy man of your own faith, would tend to establish it. You think assuming the veil the only expedient. This subject has been much canvassed. They are determined not to urge you: yet their judgments are not changed. Shall they not be allowed to wish? Especially when they urge not, speak not, their wishes? Your father was earnest with the Count of Belvedere, in my hearing, when last in town, to give up all expectations from you. God preserve their lives till they see you happy! You must be convinced, that your happiness is their end, by whatsoever means it may be obtained.

My father, my mother, are all goodness! God preserve their precious lives!-Tears trickled down her cheeks.

I am sure, my dear Lady Clementina, you cannot be happy in any state of life, if your choice, pursued, would make your parents unhappy. Could Lady Clementina, were she even professed, divest herself of all filial, of all family regards? Would not that very contemplative life, of which she is at present so fond, make her, when it was too late to retrieve the step, (and with the more regret, perhaps, because it was too late,) carry her thoughts, her affections, with greater force, back to parents, if living, so deservedly dear, to brothers so disinterestedly kind to her; and who have all shared so largely in her distresses?

She sighed. She wept. O chevalier! was all she said.

You cannot, madam, live only to yourself, for yourself: and you may live to your God in the world, perhaps more efficaciously than in the convent, with regard to your soul's health, as you have such large ability to do good: for, wants not the world, as I have heretofore pleaded, such an example as you can give it?—The heart, madam, not the profession, is the truly acceptable. Your maternal grandfather, though a sound Catholic, would have it, that there were many sighing hearts in convents; and on this supposition, (confirmed to him by a singular instance, which affected him,) he inserted in his will the clauses which he thought would oblige you to marry. Your other grandfather joined in the enforcement of them.

And what, sir, was the penalty? Only the forfeiture of an estate, which I wish not for; which none of us want. We are all rich. It

is a purchased, not a paternal estate. And purchased with what view, madam? And for whom?

I would have my family superior to such mo

tives.

Must they not, my dear Clementina, be judges for themselves?

I do not believe, proceeded she, that there are many sighing hearts in convents: but if there were, and my friends would be satisfied, (for that, I own, is an essential point with me,) I should not, I am sure, add to the number of such. As to what you say of the world wanting such an example as I could set it, I have not vanity enough to be convinced by that argument. Whether my soul's peace could be best promoted in the world, or in the convent, must be left to me to judge who know, that in the turmoils and disturbances I have met with, both of mind and body, the retired, the sequestered life, is most likely to recompose my shattered spirits.

Those turmoils, those disturbances, madam, thank God! are over.

I pity, I can forgive, I do forgive, the poor Laurana. Ah, sir! you know not, perhaps, that LOVE, a passion which is often the cause of guilty meanness, as sometimes indeed of laudable greatness, was the secret cause of Laurana's cruelty to me. She hated me not, till that passion invaded her bosom. Shall I remember the evil of her behaviour, and not the good?

Admirable Clementina! said Sir Charles: Admirable lady! said his Harriet: both in a breath.

She was the companion of my childhood, proceeded the exalted lady. We had our education together. I was the sufferer; thank God! not the aggressor. She has made me great, by putting it into my power to forgive her. Let all my revenge be in her compunction from my forgiveness, and from my wishes to promote her welfare!

And a revenge indeed would that be, said Sir Charles, were she, who had acted by an excellent creature, as she has done by you, capable of generous compunction. But, dear madam, can it be expected, if you can forgive her, that your family should join, by giving up their reversionary expectance, to reward her for her cruelty to their child, who was entrusted to her kindest care and protection? Can you, madam, treat lightly those instances of your parents' and brothers' love, which have made them resent her barbarity to you?-My dear Lady Clementina, you must not aim at being above nature. Remember that your grandfather never designed this estate for Laurana. It was only to be provisionally hers, in order to secure it the more effectually to you; and, on failure of descendants from you, to your elder brother, who, however, wishes not for it. His heart is in your marriage. He only wishes that it may not be the cruel Laurana's. If you can defeat the design of your grandfathers, with regard to your own interest, ought you to do injustice to your brother's claim?

O chevalier!

Ought you to think of disposing of your brother's right? Has he not much better reason to be considered by you for his affection, than Laurana has for her cruelty ?-Abhorred be that sort of LOVE, which is pleaded in excuse of barbarity, or of any extravagant, undutiful, or unnatural action!

She sighed. Tears again stole down her cheeks. After a short silence-O spare me, chevalier! Despise me not, Lady Grandison!-My enfeebled reason may lead me into error; but when I know it is error, I will not continue in it. I see that, with regard to my brother's interest in this estate, I reasoned wrong. I was guilty, my dear Lady Grandison, I doubt, in your eye, of a false piece of heroism. I was for doing less than justice to a brother, that I might do more than justice to an unnatural relation.

All that Lauran'a can hope from you, madam, said Sir Charles, is, that you will entitle her to the receipt of the considerable legacy your grandfather bequeathed to her

And how is that to be done, interrupted she, but by marriage?-Ah, chevalier!

Such, indeed, is the state of the case. Such was it designed to be. I, madam, but state it. I advise nothing.

Still, sir, the motive which may allowably have weight with my friends, ought not to have principal weight with me. Consider, sir: Is it not setting an earthly state against my immortal soul?

Far otherwise, madam. Can you so far doubt of the divine grace, can you so far disparage your own virtues, as to suppose they want the security of a convent? Do justice, my dear Lady Clementina, to yourself. You have virtues which cannot be exerted in a convent; and you have

Did not your grandfathers, madam, in effect, argue as I argue, when they made their wills? Did not your father, mother, uncle, brothers, thus argue, when they wished you to relinquish all thoughts of the veil? And are not the one, were not the others, all zealous Catholics? Does not your brother the Bishop, does not your truly pious Confessor, acquiesce in their reasonings, and concur with (at least not oppose) the family-reasons?

She looked down, sweetly conscious. Sir Charles proceeded:

Has not your mother, madam, who gave you and your three brothers to the world, a merit both with God and man, one of you dedicated, as he is, to God, (you see, madam, I address myself to you in the Catholic style,) which the cloistered life could not have given her? Are not the conjugal and maternal duties (performed as she has performed them) of higher account, than any of those can be, which may be exerted in the sequestered life? Clementina could not wish to be a better woman in the convent, than her mother has always been out of it.

She hesitated, sighed, looked down: At last, what can I say? said she. I have signed to the waving of my wishes after the veil ; and must, I see, abide by my signing. It is, however, generous in you, sir, not to plead against me that my act; and to hear me with patience want to be absolved from it. But I am not happy-She stopt; and turned away her face to conceal her emotion.

Sir Charles was affected, as well as I.

She recovered her speech. I am, at times, said she, too sensible of running into flight and absurdity. My late unhappy malady has weakened my reasoning powers. You both can, I see, you both do, pity me. Let me say, chevalier, that when I came into your proposed compromise, (which, after so grievous a fault committed, as the flying from my native country, and indulgent parents, I could the less refuse,) I promised myself happiness in a situation, in which, I now see, it is not to be found. Your friendship, your united friendship for me, happy pair! I thought, (as I knew I deserved it by my disinterested affection for you both,) would contribute to it; I was therefore desirous to cultivate it. My wounded reason allowed me not to consider, that there were improprieties in my scheme, of which the world would think otherwise than I did: and when I heard of vile and undeserved reflections cast upon me; but most when that sudden indisposition seized you, my

dear Lady Grandison, and seemed to my fright ened imagination to threaten a life so preci

ous

She paused: then proceeded-I have told you, madam, my reflections.-Before you, chevalier, I have said enough.-And now advise me what to do. To say truth, I almost as much long to quit England, as I did to fly to it. I am unhappy. O my fluctuating heart! When, when, shall I be settled?

What, madam, can I say? answered Sir Charles: What can I advise? You say you are not happy. You think your parents are not so. We all believe you can make them so. But God forbid it should be to your own unhappiness, who have already been so great a sufferer, though hardly a greater than every one of your friends has been, from your sufferings. I plead not, madam, the cause of any one man. I have told you, that your father himself advises a certain nobleman to give over all hopes of you: and that person himself says, that he will endeavour to do so; first, because he promised you that he would; and next, because he is now too well assured, that you have an aversion to him.

An aversion, chevalier! God forbid that I should have an aversion to any human creature! I thought my behaviour to that gentleman had been such-She stopt.

It was great; it was worthy of you. But this is his apprehension: and if it be just, God forbid that Lady Clementina should think of him! My dear Lady Grandison, do you advise me upon all that has passed in this conference. You assured me at the beginning of it, that my peace of mind was necessary to your happiness.

From my affection for you, my dear Lady Clementina, and from my affection only, it is necessary. You cannot have a distress, which will not, if I know it, be a distress to me. You know best what you can do. God give you happiness, and make yours the foundation of that of your indulgent parents! They are of opinion, that a settled life with some worthy man of your own country and faith, will greatly contribute to it. Your mamma is firmly of opinion it will: so is Mrs Beaumont. But you see that you cannot, in justice to your brother, and to his children yet unborn, as well as in duty to your deceased grandfathers, assume the veil: You see that the unnatural Laurana, whom you still are so great as to love, cannot enjoy a considerable legacy bequeathed to her, but on your marriage. If you have a dislike to the nobleman who has so large a share in the affections of all your family, by no means think of him. Rejoice, madam, in a single life, if you think you can be happy in it, till some man offer whom you can favour with your esteem. Let me be honoured meantime with the continuance of your love, as I shall be found to deserve it. We are already sisters. In presence, we will be one; in absence, we will

not be divided; for we will mingle souls and sentiments on paper

I was proceeding; but she wrapt her arms about my neck. She bathed my cheek with her tears. -O how generously did she extol me! How delighted, how affected, was the dearest of men! How delicate was his behaviour to both! The tender friend in her, the beloved wife, were, with the nicest propriety, distinguished by him.

The dear lady was too much disordered by her own grateful rapture, to recover a train of reasoning. She told me, however, that she would ponder, weigh, consider everything that had passed.

God give her happiness! prays with her whole heart, your HARRIET GRANDISON.

LETTER CCCVIII.

LADY GRANDISON.

[In continuation.]

Thursday, May 17. LADY CLEMENTINA is thoughtful, solemn, and shuns company. Not one word will anybody say to her of the Count of Belvedere: but as he is expected here every day to take his leave, Sir Charles thinks she ought not to be surprised by his coming at unawares. She neither dined nor supped in company yesterday; nor breakfasted with us this morning. She loves, as you have heard, to walk in the garden. She diverts herself often with feeding the deer, which gather about her, as soon as she enters the park. Sir Charles just now passed her in the garden. He asked after her health.-My mind is not well, chevalier!-God Almighty heal it! said he, taking her hand, and bowing upon it.-Thank you, sir! Continue your prayers for me. That last conversation, chevalier-But, adieu.

She took a path that led to the park. He looked after her. She turned once to see if he did. He bowed, and motioned with his hand, as for leave to follow her. She understood his motion, and by hers forbid him-Poor lady!

Thursday Evening, six o'clock.

MR LOWTHER returned from London about an hour ago. He has always been of opinion, with the physicians of Italy, that a disorder of mind not hereditary, but circumstanced as Lady Clementina's was, will be in no danger of returning, or of becoming hereditary, unless on some new distress like the former. He expressed his wonder more than once, at her relations' acquiescence with her plea, as she made that the principal against marriage; though he allowed it to be a noble and generous one in her. And now, in order to justify his opinion, he has taken, of