casion me to be often absent. But still, while Grandison-Hall, and St James's Square, are the visible places of residence equally of the guardian and ward, Emily's mother will tell the world, that we live together.

Miss Jervois does not choose to return to Mrs Lane; and indeed I don't think she would be safe there in a family of women, though very worthy ones, from the attempts of one of the sex, who having brought her into the world, calls herself her mother; and especially now that the unhappy woman has begun to be troublesome there. I beg of you, therefore, my dear Dr Bartlett, who know more of my heart and situation than any one living, (my dear Beauchamp excepted,) to consider what I have written, and give me your opinion of that part of it, which relates to Miss Byron and Emily.

I was insensibly drawing myself in to enumerate the engagements, which at present press most upon me. Let me add to the subject.I must soon go to Paris, in order finally to settle such of the affairs of my late worthy friend, as cannot be so well done by any other hand. The three thousand pounds, which he has directed to be disposed of to charitable uses, in France as well as in England, at the discretion of his executor, is one of them.

Perhaps equity will allow me to add to this limited sum from what will remain in my hands after the establishment of the nephews and niece. As they are young, and brought up with the hope, that they will make a figure in the world by their diligence, I would not, by any means, make them independent on that. The whole estate, divided among them, would not be sufficient to answer that purpose happily, though it might be enough to abate the edge of their industry.

The charity that I am most intent upon promoting, in France and in England too, is, that of giving little fortunes to young maidens in marriage with honest men of their own degree, who might, from such an outsetting, begin the world, as it is called, with some hopes of suc

cess.

By this time, my dear Dr Bartlett, you will guess that I have a design upon you. It is, that you will assist me in executing the will of my late friend. Make inquiries after, and recommend to me, objects worthy of relief. You were very desirous, some time ago, to retire to the Hall; but I knew not how to spare you; and I hoped to attend you thither. You shall now set out for that place as soon as you please. And that neither may be (or as little as possible) losers by the separation, everything that we would say to each other, were we together, that, as we used to do, we will say by pen and ink. We will be joint executors, in the first place, for this sum of 3000l.

Make inquiries, then, as soon as you get down, for worthy objects-The industrious poor, of all

persuasions, reduced either by age, infirmity, or accident; those who labour under incurable maladies; youth, of either sex, capable of beginning the world to advantage, but destitute of the means; these, in particular, are the objects we both think worthy of assistance. You shall take 500l. down with you, for a beginning.

It is my pride, it is my glory, that I can say, Dr Bartlett and Charles Grandison, on all benevolent occasions, are actuated by one soul. My dear friend, adieu.

LETTER LXXXVI.

MISS BYRON TO MISS SELBY.

Saturday Night, March 18. I HAVE furnished the ladies, and my lord, with more letters. And so they have all my heart before them!-I don't care, the man is Sir Charles Grandison; and they rally me not so much as before, while they thought I affected reserves to them. Indeed it would be cruel, if they did; and I should have run away from them.

I am glad you all think, that the two sisters used me severely. They really did. But I have this gratification of my pride in reflecting upon their treatment of me-I would not have done so by them, had situations been exchanged; and I think myself nearer an equality with them, than I had thought myself before.-But they are good women, and my sincere friends and well-wishers; and I forgive them; and so must my grandmamma.

I am sorry, methinks, that her delicacy has been offended on the occasion. And did she weep at the hearing read my account of that attack made upon her girl by the over-lively Charlotte ?-O the dear, the indulgent parent! -How tender was it of my aunt too, to be concerned for the poor Harriet's delicacy, so hard put to it as she was! It did indeed (as she distinguishes in her usual charming manner) look, as if they put a great price upon their intended friendship to me, with regard to my interest in their brother's heart; as if the favour done to the humbled girl, if they could jointly procure for her their brother's countenance, might well allow of their raillery.-Don't, pray don't, my dear grandmamma, call it by a severer name. They did not, I am sure they did not, mean to hurt me so much, as I really was hurt. So let it pass. Humour and raillery are very difficult things to rein in. They are ever curvetting like a prancing horse; and they will often throw the rider who depends more upon his skill in managing than he has reason to do.

My uncle was charmed with the scene; and thinks the two ladies did just as he would have

the greatest fortune is but a woman, and is to be attacked, and prevailed upon, by the same methods which succeed with a person of the slenderest; and, perhaps, is won with equal, if not with greater ease; since, if the lady has a little romance in her head, and her lover a great deal of art and flattery, she will call that romantic turn generosity, and, thinking she can lay the man who has obtained her attention under obligation, she will meet him her full half way. . Emily is desirous to be constantly with us. My sister is very obliging. I know she will comply with whatever I shall request of her in relation to Emily. But where the reputation of a lady is concerned, a man should not depend too much upon his own character, especially a young man, be it ever so unexceptionable. Her mother has already given out foolish hints. She demands her daughter. The unhappy woman has no regard to truth. Her own character lost, and so deservedly, will she have any tenderness for that of Emily? Who will scruple to believe what a mother, though ever so wicked, will report of her daughter under twenty, and her guardian under thirty, if they live constantly together? Her guardian, at the same time, carrying his heart in his countenance, and loving the girl; though with as much innocence, as if she were his sister. Once I had thoughts of craving the assistance of the Court of Chancery, for the protection of her person and fortune; but a hint of this nature distressed her for many days, unknown to me. Had I been acquainted that she took it so heavily, I would not have made her unhappy for one day.

I have looked out among the quality for a future husband for her; but where can I find one with whom I think she will be happy? There are many who would be glad of her fortune. As I said, her fortune is too large. It is enough to render every man's address to her suspected; and to make a guardian apprehensive, that her person, agreeable as it is, and every day improving, and her mind opening to advantage every hour of her life, would be but the second, if the second, view of a man professing to love her. And were she to marry, what a damp would the slights of a husband give to the genius of a young woman, whose native modesty would always make her want encouragement!

I have also cast an eye over the gentry within my knowledge; but have not met with one whom I could wish to be the husband of my Emily. So tender, so gentle, so ductile, as she is; a fierce, a rash, an indelicate, even a careless or indifferent man, would either harden her heart, or shorten her life; and as the latter would be much more easy to be effected than the former, what must she suffer before she could return indifference for disrespect; and reach the quiet end of it!

See what a man Sir Walter Watkyns is! sister only could deal with such a one.

My

A su

periority in her so visible, he must fear her ; yet a generosity so great, and a dignity so conspicuous, in her whole behaviour, as well as countenance, he must love her: everybody's respect to her, would oblige love and reverence from him. But my weak-hearted, diffident Emily, what would she do with such a man?

What would she do with a Sir Hargrave Pollexfen? What with such a man as Mr Greville, as Sir Hargrave describes him? I mention these men, for are there not many such?

I am not apt to run into grave declamations against the times; and yet, by what I have seen abroad, and now lately, since my arrival, at home, and have heard from men of greater observation, and who have lived longer in the world than I have, I cannot but think that Englishmen are not what they were. A wretched effeminacy seems to prevails among them. Marriage itself is every day more and more out of fashion; and even virtuous women give not the institution so much of their countenance, as to discourage, by their contempt, the free-livers. A good woman, as such, has therefore but few chances for happiness in marriage. Yet shall I not endeavour, the more endeavour, to save and serve my Emily? I have one encouragement, since my happy acquaintance with Miss Byron, to think that the age is not entirely lost to a sense of virtue and goodness. See we not how everybody reveres her? Even a Sir Hargrave Pollexfen, a Greville, a Fenwick, men of free lives, adore her. And at the same time she meets with the love of all good men, and the respect of women, whether gay or serious. But I am afraid, that the first attraction with men is her beauty. I am afraid, that few see in that admirable young lady what I see in her; a mind great and noble; a sincerity beyond that of women; a goodness unaffected, and which shews itself in action, and not merely in words, and outward appearance; a wit lively and inoffensive; and an understanding solid and useful; all which render her a fit companion, either in the social or contemplative hour; and yet she thinks herself not above the knowledge of those duties, the performance of which makes an essential of the female character.

But I am not giving a character of Miss Byron to you, my good Dr Bartlett, who admire her as much as I do.

Do you think it impossible for me to procure for my Emily such a guardian and companion as Miss Byron, on her return to Northamptonshire, would make her?-Such worthy relations as she would introduce her to, would be a farther happiness to my ward.

I am far from undervaluing my sister's good qualities; but if Emily lives with her, she must live also with me. Indeed the affairs in which I am engaged for other people, (if I may call those who have a claim upon me for every instance of my friendship, other people,) will oc

casion me to be often absent. But still, while Grandison-Hall, and St James's Square, are the visible places of residence equally of the guardian and ward, Emily's mother will tell the world, that we live together.

Miss Jervois does not choose to return to Mrs Lane; and indeed I don't think she would be safe there in a family of women, though very worthy ones, from the attempts of one of the sex, who having brought her into the world, calls herself her mother; and especially now that the unhappy woman has begun to be troublesome there. I beg of you, therefore, my dear Dr Bartlett, who know more of my heart and situation than any one living, (my dear Beauchamp excepted,) to consider what I have written, and give me your opinion of that part of it, which relates to Miss Byron and Emily.

I was insensibly drawing myself in to enumerate the engagements, which at present press most upon me. Let me add to the subject.I must soon go to Paris, in order finally to settle such of the affairs of my late worthy friend, as cannot be so well done by any other hand. The three thousand pounds, which he has directed to be disposed of to charitable uses, in France as well as in England, at the discretion of his executor, is one of them.

Perhaps equity will allow me to add to this limited sum from what will remain in my hands after the establishment of the nephews and niece. As they are young, and brought up with the hope, that they will make a figure in the world by their diligence, I would not, by any means, make them independent on that. The whole estate, divided among them, would not be sufficient to answer that purpose happily, though it might be enough to abate the edge of their industry.

The charity that I am most intent upon promoting, in France and in England too, is, that of giving little fortunes to young maidens in marriage with honest men of their own degree, who might, from such an outsetting, begin the world, as it is called, with some hopes of suc

cess.

By this time, my dear Dr Bartlett, you will guess that I have a design upon you. It is, that you will assist me in executing the will of my late friend. Make inquiries after, and recommend to me, objects worthy of relief. You were very desirous, some time ago, to retire to the Hall; but I knew not how to spare you; and I hoped to attend you thither. You shall now set out for that place as soon as you please. And that neither may be (or as little as possible) losers by the separation, everything that we would say to each other, were we together, that, as we used to do, we will say by pen and ink. We will be joint executors, in the first place, for this sum of 3000l.

Make inquiries, then, as soon as you get down, for worthy objects-The industrious poor, of all

persuasions, reduced either by age, infirmity, or accident; those who labour under incurable maladies; youth, of either sex, capable of beginning the world to advantage, but destitute of the means; these, in particular, are the objects we both think worthy of assistance. You shall take 500l. down with you, for a beginning.

It is my pride, it is my glory, that I can say, Dr Bartlett and Charles Grandison, on all benevolent occasions, are actuated by one soul. My dear friend, adieu.

LETTER LXXXVI.

MISS BYRON TO MISS SELBY.

Saturday Night, March 18. I HAVE furnished the ladies, and my lord, with more letters. And so they have all my heart before them!-I don't care, the man is Sir Charles Grandison; and they rally me not so much as before, while they thought I affected reserves to them. Indeed it would be cruel, if they did; and I should have run away from them.

I am glad you all think, that the two sisters used me severely. They really did. But I have this gratification of my pride in reflecting upon their treatment of me I would not have done so by them, had situations been exchanged; and I think myself nearer an equality with them, than I had thought myself before.-But they are good women, and my sincere friends and well-wishers; and I forgive them; and so must my grandmamma.

I am sorry, methinks, that her delicacy has been offended on the occasion. And did she weep at the hearing read my account of that attack made upon her girl by the over-lively Charlotte?-O the dear, the indulgent parent! -How tender was it of my aunt too, to be concerned for the poor Harriet's delicacy, so hard put to it as she was! It did indeed (as she distinguishes in her usual charming manner) look, as if they put a great price upon their intended friendship to me, with regard to my interest in their brother's heart; as if the favour done to the humbled girl, if they could jointly procure for her their brother's countenance, might well allow of their raillery.-Don't, pray don't, my dear grandmamma, call it by a severer name. They did not, I am sure they did not, mean to hurt me so much, as I really was hurt. So let it pass. Humour and raillery are very difficult things to rein in. They are ever curvetting like a prancing horse; and they will often throw the rider who depends more upon his skill in managing than he has reason to do.

My uncle was charmed with the scene; and thinks the two ladies did just as he would have

done. He means it a compliment to their delicacy, I presume; but I am of my aunt Selby's opinion, that their generous brother would not have given them thanks for their raillery to the poor frightened Harriet. I am very happy, however, that my behaviour and frankness on the occasion are not disapproved at Selby-House, and Shirley-Manor, and by you, my Lucy. And here let that matter rest.

Should I not begin to think of going back to you all, my Lucy? I believe I blush ten times a-day, when alone, to find myself waiting and waiting as if for the gracious motion; yet apprehending that it never will, never can, be made; and all you, my friends, indulging an absence, that your goodness makes painful to you, in the same hope. It looks-Don't it, Lucy?-so like a design upon-I don't know how it looks!-But, at times, I can't endure myself. And yet while the love of virtue (perhaps a little too personal) is the foundation of these designs, these waitings, these emotions, I think I am not wholly inexcusable.

I am sure I should not esteem him, were he not the good man he is.-Pray let me ask you —Do you think he can always go on thus triumphantly?-So young a man-So admired, so applauded-Will he never be led into doing something unworthy of his character?-If he could, do you think I should then be partial to him?-O no! I am sure I should not!-I should disdain him-I might grieve, I might pity-But what a multitude of foolish notions comes into the head of a silly girl, who, little as she knows, knows more of anything, or of anybody, than she knows of herself. 269

I WISH my godfather had not put it in my head, that Emily is cherishing (perhaps unknown to herself) a flame that will devour her peace. For, to be sure, this young creature can have no hope that-Yet 50,000l. is a vast fortune. But it can never buy her guardian. Do you think such a man as Sir Charles Grandison has a price?—I am sure he has not.

I watch the countenance, the words, the air of the girl, when he is spoken of; and with pity I see, that he cannot be named, but her eyes sparkle. Her eye is taken off her work or book, as she happens to be engaged in either, and she seems as if she would look the person through who is praising her guardian. For the life of her she cannot work and hear. And then she sighs-Upon my word, Lucy, there is no such thing as proceeding with his praises before her -the girl so sighs-So young a creature!-Yet how can one caution the poor thing?

But what makes me a little more observant of her, than I should otherwise perhaps have been, (additional to my godfather's observation,) is a hint given me by Lady L-, which

perhaps she has from Miss Grandison, and she, not unlikely, from the stolen letter; for Miss Grandison hinted at it, but I thought it was only to excite my curiosity: [When one is not in good humour, how one's very style is encumbered!-The hint is this, that it is more than probable, it will actually be proposed to me, to take down with me to Northamptonshire this young lady-I, who want a governess myself, to be-But let it be proposed.

In a conversation that passed just now be tween us women, on the subject of love, (a favourite topic with all girls,) this poor thing gave her opinion unasked; and, for a young girl, was quite alert, I thought. She used to be more attentive than talkative.

I whispered Miss Grandison once, Don't you think Miss Jervois talks more than she used to do, madam?

I think she does, madam, re-whispered the arch lady.

I beg your pardon,-Charlotte, then. You have it, Harriet, then.-But let her prate. She is not often in the humour.

Nay, with all my heart; I love Miss Jervois ; but I can't but watch when habits begin to change. And I am always afraid of young creatures exposing themselves when they are between girls and women.

I don't love whispering, said Miss Jervois, more pertly than ever; but my guardian loves me; and you, ladies, love me, and so my heart is easy.

Her heart easy!-Who thought of her heart? Her guardian loves her!-Emily shan't go down with me, Lucy.

Sunday Morning, March 19. OBUT, Lucy, we are alarmed here on Miss Jervois's account, by a letter which Dr Bartlett received a little late last night from Sir Charles ; so shewed it us not till this morning as we were at breakfast. The unhappy woman, her mcther, has made him a visit. Poor Emily! Dear child! what a mother she has !

I have so much obliged the Doctor by delivering into his hands the papers that our other friends have just perused, (and, let me say, with high approbation,) that he made no scruple of allowing me to send this letter to you. I asked the favour, as I know you will all now be very attentive to whatever relates to Emily. Return everything the Doctor shall entrust me with by the first opportunity.

By the latter part of this letter you will find, that the Doctor has acquainted Sir Charles with his sisters' wishes of a correspondence with him by letter. He consents to it, you will all see; but upon terms that are not likely to be complied with by any of his three sisters; for he puts me in. Three sisters! His third sister!The repetition has such an officiousness in it.

He is a good man; but he can be severe upon our sex-It is not in woman to be unreservedYou'll find that one of the reflections upon us; he adds, and, to be impartial, perhaps they should not. Why so?-But is not this a piece of advice given to myself, to make me more reserved than I am? But he gives not himself opportunity to see whether I am or am not reserved. I won't be mean, Lucy, I repeat for the twentieth time. I won't deserve to be despised by him.-No! though he were the sovereign of the greatest empire on earth. In this believe your HARRIET BYRON.

LETTER LXXXVII.

SIR CHARLES GRANDISON TO DR BARTLETT.

[Enclosed in the preceding.]

March 18.

I HAVE had a visit, my dear and reverend friend, from Emily's mother. She will very probably make one also at Colnebrook, before I can be so happy as to get thither. I dispatch this, therefore, to apprize you and Lord Lof such a probability; which is the greater, as she knows Emily to be there, through the inadvertence of Saunders, and finds me to be in town. I will give you the particulars of what passed between us, for your better information, if she goes to Colnebrook.

as

I was preparing to attend Lord W by appointment, when she sent in her name to

me.

I received her civilly. She had the assurance to make up to me with a full expectation that I would salute her; but I took, or rather received, her ready hand, and led her to a chair by the fire-side. You have never seen her. She thinks herself still handsome; and, did not her vices render her odious, and her whole aspect shew her heart, she would not be much mistaken.

How does Emily, sir? gallanting her fan; is the girl here? Bid her come to me. I will see

her.

She is not here, madam.

Where is she then? She has not been at Mrs Lane's for some time.

She is in the best protection; she is with my two sisters.

And pray, Sir Charles Grandison, what do you intend to do with her? The girl begins to be womanly.

She laughed; and her heart spoke out at her eyes.

Tell me what you propose to do with her? You know, added she, affecting a serious air, that she is my child.

If, madam, you deserve to be thought her mother, you will be satisfied with the hands she is in.

Pish!-I never loved your good men ; where a fine girl comes in their way, I know what I know-

She looked wantonly, and laughed again. I am not to talk seriously with you, Mrs Jervois! But what have you to say to my ward? Say! Why, you know, sir, I am her mother; and I have a mind to have the care of her person myself. You must (so her father directed) have the care of her fortune; but I have a mind, for her reputation's sake, to take the girl out of the hands of so young a guardian. I hope you would not oppose me?

If this be all your business, madam, I must be excused. I am preparing, as you see, to dress.

Where is Emily? I will see the girl.

If your motive be motherly love, little, madam, as you have acted the mother by her, you shall see her when she is in town. But her person, and reputation, as well as fortune, must be my care.

I am married, sir; and my husband is a man of honour.

Your marriage, madam, gives a new reason why Emily must not be in your care.

Let me tell you, sir, that my husband is a man of honour, and as brave a man as yourself; and he will see me righted.

Be he who he will, he can have no business with Emily. Did you come to tell me you are married, madam ?

I did, sir. Don't you wish me joy?

Joy, madam! I wish you to deserve joy, and you will then, perhaps, have it. You'll excuse me-I shall make my friends wait.

I could not restrain my indignation. This woman marries, as she calls it, twice or thrice a-year. Well, sir, then you will find time, perhaps, to talk with Major O'Hara. He is of one of the best families in Ireland. And he will not let me be robbed of my daughter.

Major O'Hara, madam, has nothing to do with the daughter of my late unhappy friend. Nor have I anything to say to him. Emily is in my protection; and I am sorry to say, that she never had been so, were not the woman who calls herself her mother, the person least fit to be entrusted with her daughter. Permit me the favour of leading you to your chair.

She then broke out into the language in which she always concludes these visits. She threatened me with the resentments of Major O'Hara ; and told me, he had been a conqueror in half-adozen duels.

I offered my hand. She refused it not. I led her to her chair.

I will call again to-morrow afternoon, said she, (threatening with her head ;) perhaps with the Major, sir. And I expect you will produce the little harlotry.

I left her in silent contempt. Vile woman! But let nothing of this escape you to my Emily. I think she should not see her but in