In the evening, Camilla, in disguise, made me a visit. On my servant's withdrawing, revealing herself, O sir! said she, what a distracted family have I left! They know not of my coming hither; but I could not forbear this officiousness. I cannot stay. But let me just tell you how unhappy we are, and your own generosity will suggest to you what is best to be done.

As soon as you were gone, my Lord Bishop acquainted my Lady Marchioness with what had passed between you. O sir! you have an affectionate friend in Signor Jeronymo. He endeavoured to soften everything. My Lady Marchioness acquainted my Lord with the Bishop's report. I never saw that good nobleman in such a passion. It is not necessary to tell you what he said

In a passion with me, Camilla!

Yes. He thought the whole family dishonoured, sir.

The Marquis della Porretta is the worthiest of men, Camilla, said I. I honour him. But proceed.

The Marchioness, in the tenderest manner, broke the matter to my young lady; I was present. She apprehended that there might be occasion for my attendance, and commanded me to stay.

Before she could speak all she had to say, my young lady threw herself on her knees to her mamma, and blessing her for her goodness to her, begged her to spare the rest. I see, said she, that I, a daughter of the Porretta family, your daughter, madam, am refused. Palliate not, I beseech you, the indignity. You need not; it is enough that I am refused. Surely, madam, your Clementina is not so base in spirit as to need your maternal consolation on such a contempt as this. I feel for my papa; for you, madam; and for my brothers. I feel the indig nity. Blessings follow the man wherever he goes! It would be mean to be angry with him. He is his own master; and now he has made me my own mistress. Never fear, madam, but this affair now will sit as light upon me as it ought. His humility will allow him to be satisfied with a meaner wife. You, madam, my papa, my brothers, shall not find me mean.

The Marchioness embraced, with tears of joy, her beloved daughter. She brought my lord to her, and reported what her daughter had said; he also tenderly embraced the dear young lady, and rejoiced in her assurances that now the cure was effected.

But, unseasonably, as the event shewed, Father Marescotti, being talked with, was earnest

to be allowed to visit her. Then, he said, was the proper time, the very crisis, to urge her to accept of the Count of Belvedere.

I was bid to tell her, that his reverence desired to attend her.

O, let me go, said she, to Florence, to my dear Mrs Beaumont !-To-morrow morning let me go, and not see Father Marescotti till I can see him as I wish to see him!

But the good father prevailed: he meant the best.

He was with her half an hour. He left her in a melancholy way. When her mamma went to her, she found her spiritless, her eyes fixed, and as gloomy as ever. She was silent to two or three of her mother's questions; and when she did speak, it was with wildness; but declaring, without being solicited in the Count of Belvedere's favour, against marrying him, or any man in the world.

Her mother told her she should go to Florence, as soon as she pleased, but then the humour was off. Would to Heaven she had gone before she saw his reverence! So they all now wish.

Camilla, said she to me, when we were alone, was it necessary to load the Chevalier Grandison? Was it necessary to inveigh against him? It was ungenerous to do so. Was the man obliged to have the creature whose forwardness had rendered her contemptible in his eyes? I could not bear to hear him inveighed against. But never, never let me hear his name mentioned. Yet, Camilla, I cannot bear being despised, neither.

She arose from her seat, and from that moment her humour took a different turn. She now talks-she raves-she starts. She neither sits nor stands with quietness. She walks up and down her room, at other times, with passion and hurry, yet weeps not, though she makes everybody else weep. She speaks to herself, and answers herself, and, as I guess, repeats part of the talk that passed between Father Marescotti and her; but still, to be despised! are the words she often repeats.-Jesu! once, said she-to be despised!-And by an English Protestant !— Who can bear that?

In this way, sir, is Lady Clementina. The sweetest creature! I see, I see you have compassion, sir! You never wanted humanity!— Generosity is a part of your nature!-I am sure you love her!I see you love her!-I pain your noble heart!-Indeed, indeed, sir, Lady Clementina's love extended beyond the limits of this world. She hoped to be yours to all eternity.

Well might Camilla, the sensible, the faithful, the affectionate Camilla, the attendant from infant years of her beloved Clementina, thus run on, without interruption. I could not speak. And had I been able, to what purpose should I have pleaded to Camilla the superior attach

ment which occasioned an anguish that words cannot describe ?

What can I say but thank you, my good Camilla, for your intention? I hope you have eased your own heart, but you have loaded mine. Nevertheless, I thank you. Would to Heaven that your lady's own wishes had been complied with; that she had been encouraged to go to the excellent Mrs Beaumont! The first natural impulses of the distressed heart often point out the best alleviation. Would to Heaven they had been pursued! I have great dependence on the generous friendship of Signor Jeronymo. All that is in my power to do, I will do. I honour, I venerate, every one of the truly noble family: I never can deserve their favour. On all occasions, Camilla, let them know my devotion to them.

I beg of God, said she, to put it into your heart to restore the tranquillity of a family, which was, till lately, the happiest in Bologna. It may not be yet too late. I beg of you to excuse my officiousness. Pray take no notice that I have waited on you. I shall be wanted.

She was hastening away. Good Camilla, said I, taking a ring of some value from my finger, and forcing it upon hers, (she is above accepting of pecuniary presents, and struggled against this,) accept this as a remembrance, not acknowledgment. I may be forbid the palace of the Marquis della Porretta, and so have no opportunity again to see the equally faithful and obliging Camilla.

What other conditions could have been prescribed, Dr Bartlett, that I should have refused to comply with? How was I anew distressed, at the account Camilla gave me! But my great consolation in the whole transaction is, that my own heart, on the maturest deliberation, acquits me, and the rather, as it is impossible for me to practise a greater piece of self-denial; for can there be on earth a nobler woman than Clementina?

The next morning, early, Mr Grandison received the following letter from his friend, Signor Jeronymo. I translated it, my good Miss Byron, at the time I received it. I will send you the translation only.

MY DEAR CHEVALIER! SHALL I blame you?-I cannot. Shall I blame my father, my mother?-They blame themselves for the free access you were allowed to have to their Clementina; yet they own that you acted nobly. But they had forgot that Clementina had eyes. Yet who knew not her discernment? Who knew not her regard for merit, wherever she found it? Can I therefore blame my sister?-Indeed, no. Has she a brother whom I can blame?-No. But ought I not to blame myself? The dear creature owned, it seems, to Mrs Beaumont, that my declaration in your favour, which was made long before

you knew it, was one of her influences. Must I therefore accuse myself?—If I regard my intention, gratitude for a life preserved by you, and for a sense of my social duties, (soul as well as body indebted to you, though a Protestant yourself,) will not suffer it. Is there then nobody whom we can blame for the calamity befallen us? How strangely is that calamity circumstanced!

But is there so irreconcileable a difference between the two religions ?-There is: the Bishop says there is: Clementina thinks there is: my father, my mother, think there is.

But does your father think so? Will you put the whole matter on that issue, chevalier? O no, you will not. You are as determined as we are; yet, surely, with less reason. But I debate not the matter with you. I know you are a master of the question.

But what is to be done? Shall Clementina perish? Will not the gallant youth, who ventured his life so successfully to save a brother, exert himself to preserve a sister?

Come, and see the way she is in-Yet they will not admit you into her presence while she is in that way.

The sense she has of her dignity debased, and the perpetual expostulations and apprehensions of her zealous confessor-Can the good man think it his duty to wound and tear in pieces a mind tenacious of its honour, and of that of her sex? At last, you see, I have found somebody to accuse. But I come to my motive for giving you this trouble.

It is to request you to make me a visit.Breakfast with me, my dear chevalier, this morning. You will, perhaps, see nobody else.

Camilla has told me, and only me, that she attended you last night: She tells me how greatly you are grieved. I should renounce your friendship, were you not. At my soul, I pity you, because I knew, long since, your firm attachment to your religion, and because you love Clementina.

I wish I were able to attend you, I would save you the pain of this visit; for I know it must pain you; but come, nevertheless.

You hinted to my brother, that you thought, as your principles were so well known, a compromise would be accepted-Explain yourself to me upon this compromise-If I can smooth the way between you-Yet I despair that anything will do but your conversion. They love your soul; they think they love it better than you do yourself. Is there not a merit in them, which you cannot boast in return?

The General, I hear, came to town last night; we have not seen him yet. He had business with the Gonfaloniere. I think you must not meet. He is warm. He adores Clementina. He knew not, till last night, that the Bishop broke to him, at that magistrate's, our unhappy situation. What a disappointment! One of the

principal views he had in coming, was to do you honour, and to give his sister pleasure. Ah, sir! he came to be present at two solemn acts: The one your nuptials, in consequence of the other. You must not meet. It would go to my heart to have offence given you by any of my family, especially in our own house.

Come, however; I long to see you, and to comfort you, whether your hard heart (I did not use to think it a hard one) will allow you, or not, to give comfort to

Your ever affectionate

And faithful friend,

JERONYMO DELLA PORREtta.

I accepted of the invitation. My heart was in this family. I longed, before this letter came, to see and to hear from it. The face of the meanest servant belonging to it would have been more than welcome to me. What, however, were my hopes? Yet, do you think, Dr Bartlett, that I had not pain in going; a pain that took more than its turn, with the desire I had once more to enter doors that used to be opened to me with so much pleasure on both sides?

DR BARTLETT'S FIFTH LETTER.

MR GRANDISON thus proceeds.-I was introduced to Signor Jeronymo. He sat expecting He bowed more stiffly than usual, in return to my compliment.

me.

I see, said I, that I have lost my friend.
Impossible, said he. It cannot be.

Then speaking of his sister-Dear creature! said he. A very bad night. My poor mother has been up with her ever since three o'clock: nobody else has any influence with her. These talking fits are worse than her silent ones.

What could I say? My soul was vexed. My friend saw it, and was grieved for me. He talked of indifferent things. I could not follow him in them.

He then entered upon the subject that would not long allow of any other. I expect the General, said he. I will not, I think, have you see each other. I have ordered notice to be given me before any one of the family is admitted while you are with me. If you choose not to see the General, or my father or mother, should they step in to make their morning compliments, you can walk down the back stairs into the garden, or into the next chamber.

I am not the least sufferer in this distress, replied I. You have invited me. If on your own account you would have me withdraw, I will; but else I cannot conceal myself.

This is like you. It is you yourself. O Grandison! that we could be real brothers !-In soul we are so. But what is the compromise you hinted at?

I then told him that I would reside one year

in Italy, another in England, by turns, if the dear Clementina would accompany me; if not, but three months in England in every year. As to religion, she should keep her own; her confessor only to be a man of known discretion.

He shook his head. I'll propose it as from yourself, if you would have me to do so, chevalier. It would do with me, but will not with anybody else. I have undertaken for more than that already; but it will not be heard of. Would to God, chevalier, that you, for my sake, for all our sakes!-But I know you have a great deal to say on this subject, as you told my brother. New converts, added he, may be zealous; but you old Protestants, Protestants by descent, as I may say, 'tis strange you should be so very stedfast. You have not many young gentlemen, I believe, who would be so very tenacious; such offers, such advantages-and surely you must love my sister. All our family you surely love. I will presume to say they deserve your love; and they give the strongest proofs that can be given of their regard for you.

Signor Jeronymo expected not an argumentative answer to what he said. My stedfastness was best expressed, and surely it was sufficiently expressed (the circumstances of the case so inte- . resting) by silence.

Just then came in Camilla. The Marchioness, sir, knows you are here. She desires you will not go till she sees you. She will attend you here, I believe.

She is persuading Lady Clementina to be blooded. She has an aversion to that operation. She begs it may not be done. She has been hitherto, on that account, bled by leeches. The Marquis and the Bishop are both gone out. They could not bear her solicitations to them to save her, as she called it.

The Marchioness soon after entered-Care, melancholy, yet tenderness, was in her aspect; grief for her daughter's malady seemed fixed in the lines of her fine face. Keep your seat, chevalier. She sat down, sighed, wept, but would not have had her tears seen.

Had I not been so deeply concerned in the cause of her grief, I could have endeavoured to comfort her. But what could I say? I turned my head aside. I would also have concealed my emotion, but Signor Jeronymo took notice of it.

The poor chevalier, kindly said he, with an accent of compassion

I don't doubt it, answered she as kindly, though he spoke not out what he had to say. He may be obdurate, but not ungrateful.

Excellent woman! How was I affected by her generosity! This was taking the direct road to my heart. You know that heart, Dr Bartlett, and what a task it had.

Jeronymo inquired after his sister's health; I was afraid to inquire.

Not worse, I hope; but so talkative! poor thing! She burst into tears.

I presumed to take her hand-O madam !— Will no compromise? Will no

It ought not, chevalier. I cannot urge it. We know your power, too well we know your power, over the dear creature. She will not be long a Catholic, if she be yours; and you know what we then should think of her precious soul! Better to part with her for ever-yet, how can a mother-her tears spoke what her lips could

not utter.

Recovering her voice; I have left her, said she, contending with the doctors against being let blood. She was so earnest with me to prevent it, that I could not stay. It is over by this time. She rang.

At that moment, to the astonishment of all three, in ran the dear Clementina herself.-A happy escape! Thank God! said she-Her arm bound up.

She had felt the lancet; but did not bleed more than two or three drops.

O my mamma! And you would have run away from me too, would you ?-You don't use to be cruel; and to leave me with these doctors. -See! see! and she held out her lovely arm a little bloody, regarding nobody but her mother; who, as well as we, was speechless with surprise -They did attempt to wound; but they could not obtain their cruel ends-and I ran for shelter to my mamma's arms, (throwing hers about her neck)-Dearest, dearest madam, don't let me be sacrificed! What has your poor child done, to be thus treated?

O my Clementina !

And O my mamma, too! Have I not suffered enough?—

The door opened. She cast her fearful eye to it, clinging faster to her mother-They are come to take me!-Begone, Camilla, [it was she ;] begone, when I bid you! They shan't take me -My mamma will save me from them-Won't you, my mamma? Clasping more fervently her arms about her neck, and hiding her face in her bosom. Then, lifting up her face, Begone, I tell you, Camilla! They shan't have me.-Camilla withdrew.

Brother! my dear brother! you will protect me; won't you?

I arose. I was unable to bear this affecting scene-She saw me.

Good God! said she―Then in English break ing out into that line of Hamlet, which she had taken great notice of, when we read that play together,

Angels, and ministers of grace, defend us!

she left her mother, and stept gently towards me, looking earnestly with her face held out, as if she were doubtful whether it were I or not. I snatched her hand, and pressed it with my lips—O madam !-Dearest lady !-I could say

no more.

It is he! It is he, indeed, madam! turning her head to her mother; one hand held up, as in surprise, as I detained the other.

The son's arms supported the almost fainting mother; his tears mingling with hers.

For God's sake! for my sake, dear Grandison! said he, and stopt.

I quitted Clementina's hand; Jeronymo's unhealed wounds had weakened him, and I hastened to support the Marchioness.

O chevalier! spare your concern for me, said she. My child's head is of more consequence to me, than my own heart.

What was it of distress that I did not at that moment feel!

The young lady turning to us-Well, sir, said she, here is sad work! Sad work, to be sure! Somebody is wrong; I won't say who. But you will not let these doctors use me ill-Will you? See here! (shewing her bound-up arm to me) -what they would have done !-See, they did get a drop or two; but no more. And I sprung from them, and ran for it.

Her mother then taking her attention-My dearest mamma! how do you do?

O my child! and she clasped her arms about her Clementina.

Camilla came in. She added, by her grief, to the distressful scene. She threw her arms, kneeling, about the Marchioness: O my dearest lady! said she-[The Marchioness feeling for her salts, and taking them out of her pocket, and smelling to them]-Unclasp me, Camilla, said she: I am better. Are the doctors gone?

No, madam, whispered Camilla; but they say, it is highly proper; and they talk of blistering!

Not her head I hope-The dear creature, when she used to value herself upon anything, took pride, as well as she might, in her hair.

Now you are whispering, my mamma-And this impertinent Camilla is come.-Camilla, they shall not have me, I tell you !-See, barbarous wretches! what they have done to me already!-again holding up her arm, and then with indignation tearing off the fillet.

Her brother begged of her to submit to the operation. Her mother joined her gentle command.-Well, I won't love you, brother, said she; you are in the plot against me— -But here is one who will protect me; laying her hand upon my arm, and looking earnestly in my face, with such a mixture of woe and tenderness in her eye, as pierced my very soul.

Persuade her, chevalier, said the Marchioness. My good young lady, will you not obey your mamma? You are not well. Will you not be well? See how you distress your noble brother!

She stroked her brother's cheek (it was wet with his tears) with a motion inimitably tender, her voice as inimitably soothing-Poor Jeronymo! My dearest brother! And have you not suf

fered enough from vile assassins? Poor dear brother!—and again stroked his cheek.-How was I affected!

A fresh gush of tears broke from his eyes.Ah, Grandison! said he.

O! why, why, said I, did I accept of your kind invitation? This distress could not have been so deep, had not I been present.

See! see! chevalier! holding out her spread hand to me, Jeronymo weeps-He weeps for his sister, I believe. These-look, my hand is wet with them!-are the tears of my dear Jeronymo ! My hand-see! is wet with a brother's tears! And you, madam, are affected too! turning to her mother. It is a grievous thing to see men weep! What ail they?-Yet I cannot weep-Have they softer hearts than mine? -Don't weep, chevalier.-See, Jeronymo has done!—I would stroke your cheek too, if it would stop your tears.-But what is all this for? It is because of these doctors, I believe-But, Camilla, bid them begone; they shan't have me. Dearest madam, said I, submit to your mamma's advice. Your mamma wishes you to suffer them to breathe a vein-it is no more-your Jeronymo also beseeches you to permit them.

And do you wish it too, chevalier ?-Do you wish to see me wounded?-To see my heart bleeding at my arm, I warrant. Say, can you be so hard-hearted?

Let me join with your mamma, with your brother, to entreat it; for your father's sake! For

For your sake, chevalier ?-Well, will it do you good to see me bleed?

I withdrew to the window. I could not stand this question; put with an air of tenderness for me, and in an accent equally tender.

The irresistible lady (O what eloquence in her disorder!) followed me; and laying her hand on my arm, looking earnestly after my averted face, as if she would not suffer me to hide it from her-Will it, will it comfort you to see me bleed?-Come then, be comforted; I will bleed; but you shall not leave me. You shall see that these doctors shall not kill me quite.

O Dr Bartlett! how did this address to me torture my very soul!

Camilla, proceeded she, I will bleed. Madam,

might be taken by any hand but my own!— But my conscience !-Prepossessed as I am in favour of my own religion, and in disfavour of that I am wished to embrace; how, thought can I make a sacrifice of my conscience!

The dear lady was then as earnest for the operation, as before she had been averse to it but she did and said everything in a hurry.

The Marchioness and my friend were comforted, in hopes that some relief would follow it. The doctors were invited in.

Do you stand by me, sir, said she to me.Come, make haste. But it shan't be the same arm.-Camilla, see, I can bare my own armIt will bleed at this arm, I warrant—I will bid it flow.-Come, make haste-Are you always so tedious?-The preparation in all these things, I believe, is worse than the act.-Pray, pray, make haste.

They did; though she thought they did not. Turn your face another way, madam, said the doctor.

Now methinks I am Iphigenia, chevalier, going to be offered-Looking at me, and from the doctors.

And is this all?-The puncture being made, and she bleeding freely.

The doctors were not satisfied with a small quantity. She fainted, however, before they had taken quite so much as they intended; and her woman carried her out of her brother's apartment into her own, in the chair she sat in.

Dear Clementina !-My compassion and my best wishes followed her.

You see your power over the dear girl, Grandison, said her brother.

The Marchioness sighed; and looking at me with kind and earnest meaning, withdrew to attend her daughter's recovery.

LETTER CX.

MISS BYRON.

[In continuation.]

RECEIVE, my Lucy, the Doctor's sixth let

bleed? Will it please you, my Jeronymo? turning to him—And, sir, sir, stepping to me with quickness, will it please you?Why then, Camilla, bid the doctors come in.-What would I not do to please such kind friends! You grudge not your tears and as I cannot give you tears for tears, from my eyes, shall not my arm weep? -But do you stand by me, chevalier, while it is done. You will: wont you ?-seeking again with her eye my averted face.

:

O that my life, thought I, would be an effectual offering for the restoring the peace of mind of this dear lady, and her family! and that it

us all.

DR BARTLETT'S SIXTH LETTER.

A SCENE of another nature took place of this, proceeds Mr Grandison.

Camilla stept in, and said, the General was come; and was at that moment lamenting with the Marchioness the disordered state of mind of his beloved sister; who had again fainted away; but was quiet when Camilla came in.