Pray, madam, may I ask, if you know what she could mean by the questions she put in relation to Mr Beauchamp? I think she has never seen him. Does she suppose, from his character, that she could prefer him to Lord G-? Í believe, sir, what she said in relation to that gentleman, was purely the effect of her vivacity, and which she never thought of before, and, probably, never will again. Had she meant anything by it, I dare say she would not have put the questions about him in the manner she

did.

I believe so. I love my sister, and I love my friend. Mr Beauchamp has delicacy. I could not bear, for her sake, that were she to behold him in the light hinted at, he should imagine he had reason to think slightly of my sister, for the correspondence she carried on, in so private a manner, with a man absolutely unworthy of her. But I hope she meant nothing, but to give way to that vein of raillery, which, when opened, she knows not always how to stop.

My spirits were not high: I was forced to take out my handkerchief-O my dear Miss Grandison! said I; I was afraid she had forfeited, partly, at least, what she holds most dear, the good opinion of her brother!

Forgive me, madam, it is a generous pain that I have made you suffer: I adore you for it. But I think I can reveal all the secrets of my heart to you. Your noble frankness calls for equal frankness: you would inspire it, where it is not. My sister, as I told her more than once in your hearing, has not lost any of my love. I love her, with all her faults, but must not be blind to them. Shall not praise and dispraise be justly given? I have faults, great faults, myself: What should I think of the man who called them virtues? How dangerous would it be to me, in that case, were my opinion of his judgment, joined to self-partiality, to lead me to believe him, and acquit myself!

This, sir, is a manner of thinking worthy of Sir Charles Grandison.

It is worthy of every man, my good Miss By

ron.

But, sir, it would be very hard that an indiscretion (I must own it to be such) should fasten reproach upon a woman who recovered herself so soon, and whose virtue was never sullied, or in danger.

Indeed it would: and therefore it was in tenderness to her that I intimated, that I never could think of promoting an alliance with a man of Mr Beauchamp's nice notions, were both to incline to it.

I hope, sir, that my dear Miss Grandison will run no risk of being slighted, by any other man, from a step which has cost her so dear in her peace of mind I hesitated, and looked down.

I know, madam, what you mean. Although I love my friend Beauchamp above all men, yet would I do Lord G, or any other man, as

much justice, as I would do him. I was so apprehensive of my sister's indifference to Lord G -, and of the difference in their tempers, though both good, that I did my utmost to dissuade him from thinking of her: and when I found that his love was fixed beyond the power of dissuasion, I told him of the affair between her and Captain Anderson; and how lately I had put an end to it. He flattered himself that the indifference, with which she had hitherto received his addresses, was principally owing to the difficulty of her situation; which being now so happily removed, he had hopes of meeting with encouragement; and doubted not, if he did, of making a merit with her by his affection and gratitude. And now, madam, give me your opinion-Do you think Charlotte can be won (I hope she can) by indulgence, by love? Let me caution her by you, madam, that it is fit she should still be more careful to restrain her vivacity, if she marry a man to whom she thinks she has superior talents, than she need to be if the difference were in his favour.

Permit me to add, that if she should shew herself capable of returning slight for tenderness; of taking such liberties with a man who loves her, after she had given him her vows, as should depreciate him, and, of consequence, herself, in the eye of the world; I should be apt to forget that I had more than one sister: for, in cases of right and wrong, we ought not to know either relation or friend.

Does not this man, Lucy, shew us, that goodness and greatness are synonimous words?

I think, sir, replied I, that if Lord Gprove the good-natured man he seems to be; if he dislike not that brilliancy of temper in his lady, which he seems not to value himself upon, though he may have qualities at least equally valuable; I have no doubt but Miss Grandison will make him very happy. For has she not great and good qualities? Is she not generous, and perfectly good-natured? You know, sir, that she is; and can it be supposed, that her charming vivacity will ever carry her so far beyond the bounds of prudence and discretion, as to make her forget what the nature of the obligation she will have entered into requires of her?

Well, madam, then I may rejoice the heart of Lord G, by telling him, that he is at liberty to visit my sister, at her coming to town; or, if she come not soon, (for he will be impatient to wait on her,) at Colnebrook ?

I dare say, you may, sir.

As to articles and settlements, I will undertake for all those things; but be pleased to tell her, that she is absolutely at her own liberty, for me. If she shall think, when she sees farther of Lord G―'s temper and behaviour, that she cannot esteem him as a wife ought to esteem her husband; I shall not be concerned if she dismiss him; provided that she keeps him not in suspense, after she knows her own mind; but

behaves to him according to the example set her by the best of women.

I could not but know to whom he designed this compliment; and had like to have bowed; but was glad I did not.

Well, madam, and now I think this subject is concluded. I have already written a letter to Sir Walter, as at the request of my sister, to put an end, in the civillest terms, to his hopes. My Lord G will be impatient for my return to town. I shall go with the more pleasure, because of the joy I shall be able to give him.

You must be very happy, sir; since, besides the pleasure you take in doing good for its own sake, you are entitled to partake, in a very high manner, of the pleasures of every one you know.

He was so nobly modest, Lucy, that I could talk to him with more confidence than I believed, at my entrance into my lord's study, would fall to my share: and I had, besides, been led into a presence of mind, by being made a person of some consequence in the love case of another. But I was soon to have my whole attention engaged in a subject still nearer to my heart; as you shall hear.

Indeed, madam, said he, I am not very happy in myself. Is it not right, then, to endeavour, by promoting the happiness of others, to entitle myself to a share of theirs?

If you are not happy, sir-and I stopt: I be lieve I sighed; I looked down: I took out my handkerchief, for fear I should want it.

There seems, said he, to be a mixture of generous concern, and kind curiosity, in one of the loveliest and most intelligent faces in the world. My sisters have, in your presence, expressed a great deal of the latter. Had I not been myself in a manner uncertain as to the event, that must, in some measure, govern my future destiny, I would have gratified it; especially as my Lord Lhas of late joined in it. The crisis, I told them, however, as perhaps you remember, was at hand.

I do remember you said so, sir. And indeed, Lucy, it was more than perhaps. I had not thought of any words half so often, since he spoke them.

The crisis, madam, is at hand ; and I had not intended to open my lips upon the subject till it was over, except to Dr Bartlett, who knows the whole affair, and indeed every affair of my life; but, as I hinted before, my heart is opened by the frankness of yours. If you will be so good as to indulge me, I will briefly lay before you a few of the difficulties of my situation; and leave it to you to communicate or not, at your pleasure, what I shall relate, to my two sisters and Lord L. You four seem to be animated by one soul.

I am extremely concerned, sir-1 am very much concerned-repeated the trembling simpleton, Lone cheek feeling to myself very cold, the other glowingly warm, by turns; and now

pale, now crimson, perhaps to the eye,] that anything should make you unhappy. But, sir, I shall think myself favoured by your confi

dence.

I am interrupted in my recital of his affecting narration. Don't be impatient, Lucy; I almost wish I had not heard it myself.

LETTER CIII.

MISS BYRON.

[In continuation.]

I Do not intend, madam, to trouble you with a history of all that part of my life which I was obliged to pass abroad from about the seventeenth to near the twenty-fifth year of my age; though, perhaps, it has been as busy a period as could well be, in the life of a man so young, and who never sought to tread in oblique or crooked paths. After this entrance into it, Dr Bartlett shall be at liberty to satisfy your curiosity in a more particular manner; for he and I have corresponded for years, with an intimacy that has few examples between a youth and a man in advanced life. And here let me own the advantages I have received from his condescension; for I found the following questions often occur to me, and to be of the highest service in the conduct of my life-" What account shall I give of this to Dr Bartlett ?"-" How, were I to give way to this temptation, shall I report it to Dr Bartlett?"-Or, "Shall I be a hypocrite, and only inform him of the best, and meanly conceal from him the worst ?"

Thus, madam, was Dr Bartlett in the place of a second conscience to me. And many a good thing did I do, many a bad one did I avoid, for having set up such a monitor over my conduct. And it was the more necessary that I should, as I am naturally passionate, proud, ambitious; and as I had the honour of being early distinguished (pardon, madam, the seeming vanity) by a sex, of which no man was ever a greater admirer; and possibly the more distinguished, as, for my safety sake, I was as studious to decline intimacy with the gay ones of it, however dignified by rank, or celebrated for beauty, as most young men are to cultivate their favour.

Nor is it so much to be wondered at that I had advantages which every one who travels has not. Residing for some time at the principal courts, and often visiting the same places, in the length of time I was abroad, I was considered, in a manner, as a native, at the same time that I was treated with the respect that is generally paid to travellers of figure, as well in France as Italy. I was very genteelly supported: I stood in high credit with my countrymen, to whom I had many ways of being serviceable. They

made known to everybody my father's affection for me; his magnificent spirit; the ancient families, on both sides, from which I was descended. I kept the best company; avoided intrigues; made not myself obnoxious to serious or pious people, though I scrupled not to avow, when called upon, my own principles. From all these advantages, I was respected beyond my degree.

I should not, madam, have been thus lavish in my own praise, but to account to you for the favour I stood in with several families of the first rank; and to suggest an excuse for more than one of them, which thought it no disgrace to wish me to be allied with them.

Lord L mentioned to you, madam, and my sisters, a Florentine lady, by the name of OLIVIA. She is, indeed, a woman of high qualities, nobly born, generous, amiable in her features, genteel in her person, and mistress of a great fortune in possession, which is entirely at her own disposal; having not father, mother, brother, or other near relations. The first time I saw her was at the opera. An opportunity offered in her sight, where a lady, insulted by a lover made desperate by her just refusal of him, claimed and received my protection. What I did, on the occasion, was generally applauded: Olivia, in particular, spoke highly of it. Twice, afterwards, I saw her in company where I was a visitor. I had not the presumption to look up to her with hope; but my countryman, Mr Jervois, gave me to understand, that I might be master of my own fortune with Lady Olivia. I pleaded difference of religion; he believed, he said, that matter might be made easy-But could I be pleased with the change, would she have made it, when passion, not conviction, was likely to be the motive ?-There could be no objection to her person; nobody questioned her virtue; but she was violent and imperious in her temper. I had never left MIND out of my notions of love: I could not have been happy with her, had she been queen of the globe. I had the mortification of being obliged to declare myself to the lady's face. It was a mortification to me, as much for her sake as my own. I was obliged to leave Florence upon it, for some time; having been apprized, that the spirit of revenge had taken place of a gentler passion, and that I was in danger from it.

How often did I lament the want of that refuge in a father's arms, and in my native country, which subjected me to evils that were more than a match for my tender years, and to all the inconveniences that can attend a banished man! Indeed I often considered myself in this light; and, as the inconveniences happened, was ready to repine; and the more ready, as I could not afflict myself with the thought of having forfeited my father's love: on the contrary, as the constant instances which I received of his paterVOL. VIII.

nal goodness, made me still more earnest to acknowledge it at his feet.

Ought I to have forborne, Lucy, shewing a sensibility at my eyes on this affecting instance of filial gratitude? If I ought, I wish I had more command of myself; but consider, my dear, the affecting subject we were upon. I was going to apologize for the trickling tear, and to have said, as I truly might, Your filial goodness, sir, affects me: but, with the consciousness that must have accompanied the words, would not that, to so nice a discerner, have been to own, that I thought the tender emotion wanted an apology? These little tricks of ours, Lucy, may satisfy our own punctilio, and serve to keep us in countenance with ourselves; (and that, indeed, is doing something;) but, to a penetrating eye, they tend only to shew, that we imagined a cover, a veil, wanting; and what is that veil, but a veil of gauze ?

What makes me so much afraid of this man's discernment? Am I not an honest girl, Lucy? He proceeded.

From this violent lady I had great trouble; and to this day-But this part of my story I leave to Dr Bartlett to acquaint you with. I mention it as a matter that yet gives me concern, for her sake, and as what I find has given some amusement to my sister Charlotte's curiosity.

But I hasten to the affair which, of all others, has most embarrassed me ; and which, engaging my compassion, though my honour is free, gives torture to my very soul.

I found myself not well-I thought I should have fainted. The apprehensions of his taking it as I wished him not to take it, (for indeed, Lucy, I don't think it was that,) made me worse. Had I been by myself, this faintishness might have come over my heart. I am sure it was not that; but it seized me at a very unlucky moment, you'll say.

With a countenance full of tender concern, he caught my hand, and rang. In ran his Emily. My dear Miss Jervois, said I, leaning upon her -Excuse me, sir-And I withdrew to the door; and, when there, finding my faintishness going off, I turned to him, who attended me thither: I am better, sir, already; I will return instantly. I must beg of you to proceed with your interesting story.

I was well the moment I was out of the study. It was kept too warm, I believe; and I sat too near the fire; that was it, to be sure; and I said so, on my return; which was the moment I had drank a glass of cold water.

How tender was his regard for me! He did not abash me by causelessly laying my disorder on his story, and by offering to discontinue or postpone it. Indeed, Lucy, it was not owing to that; I should easily have distinguished it, if it had. On the contrary, as I am not generally so much affected at the moment when anything

T

unhappy befals me, as I am upon reflection, when I extend, compare, and weigh consequences, I was quite brave in my heart. Anything, thought I, is better than suspense. Now will my fortitude have a call to exert itself; and I warrant I bear, as well as he, an evil that is inevitable. At this instant, this trying instant, however, I found myself thus brave; so, my dear, it was nothing but the too great warmth of the room which overcame me.

I endeavoured to assume all my courage; and desired him to proceed; but held by the arm of my chair, to steady me, lest my little tremblings should increase. The faintness had left some little tremblings upon me, Lucy; and one would not care, you know, to be thought affected by anything in his story. He proceeded.

AT Bologna, and in the neighbourhood of Urbino, are seated two branches of a noble family, Marquises and Counts of Porretta, which boasts its pedigree from Roman princes, and has given to the church two cardinals; one in the latter age, the other in the beginning of this.

The Marchese della Porretta, who resides in Bologna, is a nobleman of great merit: his lady is illustrious by descent, and still more so for her goodness of heart, sweetness of temper, and prudence. They have three sons and a daugh

ter

[Ah, that daughter! thought I.]

The eldest of the sons is a general officer, in the service of the King of the Two Sicilies; a man of equal honour and bravery, but passionate and haughty, valuing himself on his descent. The second is devoted to the church, and is already a Bishop. The interest of his family, and his own merits, it is not doubted, will one day, if he lives, give him a place in the Sacred College. The third, Signor Jeronymo (or, as he is sometimes called, the Barone) della Porretta, has a regiment in the service of the King of Sardinia. The sister is the favourite of them all. She is lovely in her person, gentle in her manners, and has high, but just, notions of the nobility of her descent, of the honour of her sex, and of what is due to her own character. She is pious, charitable, beneficent. Her three brothers preferred her interests to their own. Her father used to call her, The pride of his life; her mother, Her other self; her own Clementina. [CLEMENTINA-Ah! Lucy, what a pretty name is Clementina!

I became intimate with Signor Jeronymo at Rome, near two years before I had the honour to be known to the rest of his family, except by his report, which he made run very high in my favour. He was master of many fine qualities; but had contracted friendship with a set of dissolute young men of rank, with whom he was very earnest to make me acquainted. I allowed myself to be often in their company; but, as they were totally abandoned in their morals, it

was in hopes, by degrees, to draw him from them; but a love of pleasure had got fast hold of him, and his other companions prevailed over his good nature. He had courage, but not enough to resist their libertine attacks upon his morals.

Such a friendship could not hold, while each stood his ground; and neither would advance to meet the other. In short, we parted, nor held a correspondence in absence; but afterwards meeting, by accident, at Padua, and Jeronymo having, in the interim, been led into inconveniencies, he avowed a change of principles, and the friendship was renewed.

It however held not many months: A lady, less celebrated for virtue than beauty, obtained an influence over him, against warning, against promise.

On being expostulated with, and his promise claimed, he resented the friendly freedom. He was passionate; and, on this occasion, less polite than it was natural for him to be; he even defied his friend. My dear Jeronymo! how generously has he acknowledged since, the part his friend, at that time, acted! But the result was, they parted, resolving never more to see each other.

Jeronymo pursued the adventure which had occasioned the difference; and one of the lady's admirers, envying him his supposed success, hired Brescian bravoes to assassinate him.

The attempt was made in the Cremonese. They had got him into their toils in a little thicket at some distance from the road. I, attended by two servants, happened to be passing, when a frightened horse ran across the way, his bridle broken, and his saddle bloody. This making me apprehend some mischief to the rider, I drove down the opening he came from, and soon beheld a man struggling on the ground with two ruffians; one of whom was just stopping his mouth, the other stabbing him. I leapt out of the post chaise, and drew my sword, running towards them as fast as I could; and calling to my servants to follow me, indeed calling as if I had a number with me, in order to alarm them. On this, they fled; and I heard them say, Let us make off; we have done his business. Incensed at the villainy, I pursued them, and came up with one of them, who turned upon me. I beat down his trombone, a kind of blunderbuss, just as he presented it at me, and had wounded and thrown him on the ground; but seeing the other ruffian turning back to help his fellow, and on a sudden two others appearing with their horses, I thought it best to retreat, though I would fain have secured one of them. My servants then seeing my danger, hastened, shouting, towards me. The bravoes (perhaps apprehending there were more than two) seemed as glad to get off with their rescued companion, as I was to retire. I hastened then to the unhappy man ; but how much was I surprised,

when I found him to be the Barone della Porretta, who, in disguise, had been actually pursuing his amour!

He gave signs of life. I instantly dispatched one of my servants to Cremona, for a surgeon. I bound up, meantime, as well as I could, two of his wounds, one in his shoulder, the other in his breast. He had one in his hip-joint, which disabled him from helping himself, and which I found beyond my skill to do anything with; only endeavouring, with my handkerchief, to stop its bleeding. I helped him into my chaise, stepped in with him, and held him up in it, till one of my men told me, they had, in another part of the thicket, found his servant bound and wounded, his horse lying dead by his side. I then alighted, and put the poor fellow into the chaise, he being stiff with his hurts, and unable to stand.

I walked by the side of it; and in this manner moved towards Cremona, in order to shorten the way of the expected surgeon.

My servant soon returned with one. Jeronymo had fainted away. The surgeon dressed him, and proceeded with him to Cremona. Then it was, that, opening his eyes, he beheld, and knew me; and being told by the surgeon, that he owed his preservation to me, O Grandison! said he, that I had followed your advice! that I had kept my promise with you !-How did I insult you! -Can my deliverer forgive me? You shall be the director of my future life, if it please God

to restore me.

His wounds proved not mortal; but he never will be the man he was; partly from his having been unskilfully treated by this his first surgeon, and partly from his own impatience, and the difficulty of curing the wound in his hipjoint. Excuse this particularity, madam. The subject requires it; and Signor Jeronymo now deserves it, and all your pity.

I attended him at Cremona, till he was fit to remove. He was visited there by his whole family from Bologna. There never was a family more affectionate to one another. The suffering of one is the suffering of every one. The Barone was exceedingly beloved by his father, mother, sister, for the sweetness of his manners, his affectionate heart, and a wit so delightfully gay and lively, that his company was sought by everybody.

You will easily believe, madam, from what I have said, how acceptable to the whole family the service was which I had been so happy as to render their Jeronymo. They all joined to bless me; and the more, when they came to know that I was the person whom their Jeronymo, in the days of our intimacy, had highly extolled in his letters to his sister, and to both brothers; and who now related to them, by word of mouth, the occasion of the coolness that had passed between us, with circumstances as honourable for me, as the contrary for himself; such were his

penitential confessions, in the desperate condition to which he found himself reduced.

He now, as I attended by his bed or his couchside, frequently called for a repetition of those arguments which he had, till now, derided. He besought me to forgive him for treating them before with levity, and me with disrespect, next, as he said, to insult; and he begged his family to consider me not only as the preserver of his life, but as the restorer of his morals. This gave the whole family the highest opinion of mine; and, still more to strengthen it, the generous youth produced to them, though, as I may say, at his own expense, (for his reformation was sincere,) a letter which I wrote to lie by him, in hopes to enforce his temporary convictions; for he had a noble nature, and a lively sense of what was due to his character, and to the love and piety of his parents, the Bishop, and his sister; though he was loath to think he could be wrong in those pursuits in which he was willing to indulge himself.

Never was there a more grateful family. The noble father was uneasy, because he knew not how to acknowledge, according to the largeness of his heart, to a man in genteel circumstances, the obligation laid upon them all. The mother, with a freedom more amiably great than the Italian ladies are accustomed to express, bid her Clementina regard, as her fourth brother, the preserver of the third. The Barone declared, that he should never rest, nor recover, till he had got me rewarded in such manner as all the world should think I had honour done me in it.

When the Barone was removed to Bologna, the whole family were studious to make occasions to get me among them. The General made me promise, when my relations, as he was pleased to express himself, at Bologna, could part with me, to give him my company at Naples. The Bishop, who passed all the time he had to spare from his diocese, at Bologna, and who is a learned man, in compliment to his fourth brother, would have me initiate him into the knowledge of the English tongue.

Our lec

Our Milton has deservedly a name among them. The friendship that there was between him and a learned nobleman of their country, endeared his memory to them. Milton, therefore, was a principal author with us. tures were usually held in the chamber of the wounded brother, in order to divert him: he also became my scholar. The father and mother were often present; and at such times their Clementina was seldom absent. She also called me her tutor; and, though she was not half so often present at the lectures as her brothers were, made a greater proficiency than either of them. [Do you doubt it, Lucy?

The father, as well as the Bishop, is learned; the mother well read. She had had the benefit of a French education; being brought up by her uncle, who resided many years at Paris in a pub