But poor Bagenhall! sunk as he is, almost beneath pity, what can be said of him?

We see, Dr Bartlett, in the behaviour, and sordid acquiescence with insults, of these three men, that offensive spirits cannot be true ones.

If you have any call or inclination to go to London, I am sure you will look in upon the little Oldhams and their mother.

My compliments to the young officer. I am glad he is pleased with what has been done for him.

I have letters from Paris. I am greatly pleased with what is done, and doing there, in pursuance of my directions, relating to good Mr Danby's legacy.

As he gained a great part of his considerable fortune in France, I think it would have been agreeable to him, to find out there half of the objects of his benevolence; why else named he France in his will?

The intention of the bequeather, in doubtful cases, ought always to be considered; and another case has offered, which, I think, as there is a large surplus in my hands, after having done by his relations more than they expected, and full as much as is necessary to put them in a flourishing way, I ought to consider in that light.

Mr Danby, at his setting out in life, owed great obligations to a particular family, then in affluent circumstances. This family fell, by unavoidable accidents, into indigence. Its descendants were numerous. Mr Danby used to confer on no less than six grand-daughters, and four grandsons, of this family, an annual bounty, which kept them just above want. And he had put them in hopes that he would cause it to be continued to them, as long as they were unprovided for the elder girls were in services; the younger were brought up to be qualified for the same useful way of life; the sons were neither idle nor vicious. I cannot but think, that it was his intention to continue his bounty to them by his last will, had he not forgot them when he gave orders for drawing it up; which was not till he thought himself in a dying way.

Proper inquiries have been made; and this affair is settled. The numerous family think themselves happy. And the supposed intention of my deceased friend is fully answered; and no legatee a sufferer.

You kindly, my dear Dr Bartlett, regret the distance we are at from each other. I am the loser by it, and not you; since I give you, by pên and ink, almost as minute an account of my proceedings, as I could do were we conversing together; such are your expectations upon, and such is the obedience of, your ever affectionate and filial friend,

CHARLES GRANDISON.

LETTER CLX.

SIR CHARLES GRANDISON.

[In continuation.]

June 12-23.

We have now, thank God, some hopes of our Jeronymo. The opening made below the great wound answers happily its intention; and that in the shoulder is once more in a fine way.

Lady Clementina has been made to understand, that he is getting better; and this good news, and the method she is treated with, partly in pursuance of the advice of the English physicians, leave us not without hopes of her recovery.

The General and his lady are gone to Naples, in much higher spirits than when they left that city. His lady seconding his earnest invitation, I was not able to deny them the promise of a visit there.

Every one endeavours to sooth and humour Lady Clementina; and the whole family is now satisfied, that this was the method which always ought to have been taken with her; and lay to the charge of Lady Sforza and Laurana, perhaps much deeper views than they had at first; though they might enlarge them afterwards, and certainly did extend them, when the poor lady was deemed irrecoverable.

Let me account to you, my dear friend, for my silence of near a month since the date of my last.

For a fortnight together, I was every day once with Lady Clementina. She took no small pleasure in seeing me. She was very various all that time in her absences; sometimes she had sensible intervals, but they were not durable. She generally rambled much; and was very incoherent. Sometimes she fell into her silent fits; but they seldom lasted long when I came. Sometimes she aimed to speak to me in English; but her ideas were too much unfixed, and her memory too much shattered, to make herself understood for a sentence together, in the tongue she had so lately learned, and for some time disused. Yet, on the whole, her reason seemed to gather strength. It was a heavy fortnight to me; and the heavier, as I was not very well myself --Yet I was loath to forbear my daily visits.

Mrs Beaumont, at the fortnight's end, made the family and me a visit of three days. In that space, Lady Clementina's absences were stronger, but less frequent, than before.

I had, by letter, been all this time preparing the persons who had the management of Mr Jervois's affairs, to adjust, finally, the account relating to his estate, which remained unsettled;

and they let me know, that they were quite ready to put the last hand to them. It was necessary for me to attend those gentlemen in person: And as Mrs Beaumont could not conveniently stay any longer than the three days, I acquainted the Marchioness, that I should do myself the honour of attending her to Florence.

As well Mrs Beaumont, as the Marchioness, and the Bishop, thought I should communicate my intention, and the necessity of pursuing it, to Lady Clementina; lest, on her missing me, she should be impatient, and we should lose the ground we had gained.

I laid before the young lady, in presence of her mother and Mrs Beaumont, in a plain and simple manner, my obligation to leave her for a few days, and the reason for it. To Florence? said she; Does not Lady Olivia live at Florence? -She does, usually, answered Mrs Beaumont ; but she is abroad on her travels.

Well, sir, it is not for me to detain you, if you have business; but what will become of my poor Jeronymo in the meantime?-But, before I could answer, What a silly question is that! -I will be his comforter.

Father Marescotti just then entered-O Father! rambled the poor lady, you have not prayed with me for a long time. O sir, I am an undone creature! I am a lost soul!-She fell on her knees, and with tears bemoaned herself.

She endeavoured, after this, to recollect what she had been talking of before. We make it a rule not to suffer her, if we can help it, to puzzle and perplex herself, by aiming at recollection; and, therefore, I told her what was our subject. She fell into it again with cheerfulness-Well, sir, and when may Jeronymo expect you again? -In about ten days, I told her. And, taking her hint, I added, that I doubted not but she would comfort Signor Jeronymo in my absence. She promised she would; and wished me happy.

I attended Mrs Beaumont accordingly. I concluded to my satisfaction all that remained unadjusted of my Emily's affairs, in two days after my arrival at Florence. I had a happy two days more with Mrs Beaumont, and the ladies her friends; and I stole a visit out of the ten days to the Count of Belvedere, at Parma.

This excursion was of benefit to my health; and having had a letter from Mr Lowther, as I had desired, at Modena, in my way to Parma, with very favourable news, in relation both to the sister and brother, I returned to Bologna, and met with a joyful reception from the Marquis, his lady, the Bishop, and Jeronymo; who all joined to give me a share in the merit that was principally due to Mr Lowther, and his assistants, with regard to the brother's amendment, and to their own soothing methods of treating the beloved sister; who followed strictly the prescriptions of her physicians.

I was introduced to Lady Clementina by her mother, attended only by Camilla. The young

lady met me at the entrance of her anti-chamber, with a dignity like that which used to distinguish her in her happier days. You are welcome, chevalier, said she: but you kept not your time. I have set it down; pulling out her pocket-book-Ten days, madam: I told you ten days. I am exactly to my time.-You shall see that I cannot be mistaken, smiling. But her smiles were not quite her own. She referred me to her book. You have reckoned two days twice over, madam. See here

Is it possible?—I once, sir, was a better accomptant. Well, but we will not stand upon two days in so many. I have taken great care of Jeronymo in your absence. I have attended him several times; and would have seen him oftener; but they told me there was no need. I thanked her for her care of my friendThat's good enough, said she, to thank me for the care of myself. Jeronymo is myself. Signor Jeronymo, replied I, cannot be dearer to his sister than he is to me.

You are a good man, returned she; and laid her hand upon my arm; I always said so. But, chevalier, I have quite forgot my English. Í shall never recover it. What happy times were those, when I was innocent, and was learning English!

My beloved young lady, said Camilla, was always innocent.

No, Camilla!-No!-And then she began to ramble-And, taking Camilla under the arm, whispering, Let us go together, to that corner of the room, and pray to God to forgive us. You, Camilla, have been wicked as well as I.

She went and kneeled down, and held up her hands in silence: then rising, she came to her mother, and kneeled to her, her hands lifted up-Forgive me, forgive your poor child, my

mamma!

God bless my child!-Rise, my love!-I do forgive you !-But do you forgive me, tears trickling down her cheeks, for ever suffering you to go out of my own sight? for delivering you into the management of less kind, and less indulgent relations?

And God forgive them, too, rising. Some of them made me crazy, and then upbraided me with being so. God forgive them! I do.

She then came to me; and, to my great surprise, dropt down on one knee. I could not, for a few moments, tell what to do, or what to say to her. Her hands held up, her fine eyes supplicating-Pray, sir, forgive me!

Humour, humour the dear creature, chevalier, said her mother, sobbing.

Forgive you, madam!-Forgive you, dear lady! for what?--You have not offended! You could not offend.

I raised her; and, taking her hand, pressed it with my lips. Now, madam, forgive me— For this freedom, forgive me!

O sir, I have given you, I have given everybody, trouble!-I am an unhappy creature; and God and you are angry with me- -And you will not say you forgive me? Humour her, chevalier.

I do, I do forgive you, most excellent of women!

She hesitated a little; then turned round to Camilla, who stood at a distance, weeping; and running to her, cast herself into her arms, hiding her face in her bosom-Hide me, hide me, Camilla !-What have I done!-I have kneeled to a man!--She put her arm under Camilla's, and hurried out of the room with her.

Her mother seeing me in some confusion; Rejoice with me, chevalier, said she, yet weeping, that we see, though her reason is imperfect, such happy symptoms. Our child will, I trust in God, be once more our own. And you will be the happy instrument of restoring her to us. The Marquis and the Bishop were informed of what had passed. They also rejoiced in these farther day-breaks, as they called them, of their Clementina's reason.

You will observe, my dear Dr Bartlett, that I only aim to give you an account of the greater and more visible changes that happen in the mind of this unhappy lady; omitting those conversations between her and her friends, in which her situation varied but little from those before described. By this means, you will be able to trace the steps to that recovery of her reason, which we presume to hope, will be the return to our fervent prayers, and humble endeavours.

LETTER CLXI.

SIR CHARLES GRANDISON.

[In continuation.]

Bologna, June 13-24. THE Conte della Porretta, and his two sons, came hither yesterday to rejoice on the hopeful prospects before us.

I thought I saw a little shyness and reserve sit upon the brow of the Marchioness, which I had not observed till the arrival of the Count. A complaisance that was too civil for friendship; for our friendship. I never permit a cloud to hang for one hour upon the brow of a friend, without examining into the reason of it, in hopes it may be in my power to dispel it. An abatement in the freedom of one I love, is a charge of unworthiness upon me, that I must endeavour to obviate the moment I suspect it. I desired a private audience of the good lady.

She favoured me with it at the first word. But as soon as I had opened my heart to her, she asked, If Father Marescotti, who loved me, she said, as if I were his own son, might be al

lowed to be present at our conversation? I was a little startled at the question; but answered, by all means.

The Father was sent to, and came. Tender concern and reserve were both apparent in his countenance. This shewed that he was apprized of the occasion of the Marchioness's reserve; and expected to be called upon, or employed in the explanation, had I not demanded it.

I repeated, before him, what I had said to the Marchioness, of the reserve that I had thought I saw since yesterday in one of the most benign countenances in the world.

Chevalier, said she, if you think that every one of our family, as well those of Urbino and Naples, as those of this place, do not love you as one of their own family, you do not do us justice.

She then enumerated and exaggerated their obligations to me. I truly told her, that I could not do less than I had done, and answer it to my own heart.

Leave us, replied she, to judge for ourselves on this subject. And, for God's sake, do not think us capable of ingratitude. We begin with pleasure to see the poor child, after a course of sufferings and distresses, that few young creatures have gone through, reviving to our hopes. She must in gratitude, in honour, in justice, be yours, if you require her of us, and upon the terms you have formerly proposed.

I think so, said the Father.

What can I say? proceeded she; we are all distressed, I am put upon a task that grieves me. Ease my heart, chevalier, by sparing my speech.

Explain yourself no farther, madam: I fully understand you. I will not impute ingratitude to any heart in this family. Tell me, Father Marescotti, if you can allow for me, as I could for you, were you in my circumstances; (and you cannot be better satisfied in your religion, than I am in mine ;) tell me, by what you could do, what I ought.

There is no answering a case so strongly put, replied the Father. But can a false religion, an heresy, persuade an ingenuous mind as strongly as the true?

Dear Father Marescotti, you know you have said nothing; it would sound harshly to repeat your own question to you; yet that is all I need to do. But let us continue our prayers, that the desirable work may be perfected; that Lady Clementina may be quite recovered. You have seen, madam, that I have not offered to give myself consequence with her. You see the distance I have observed to her; you see nothing in her, not even in her most afflicting reveries, that can induce you to think she has marriage in view. As I told your ladyship at first, I have but one wish at present; and that is, her perfect recovery.

What, Father, can we say? resumed the Mar

chioness. Advise us, chevalier. You know our situation. But do not, do not impute ingratitude to us. Our child's salvation, in our own opinion, is at stake-If she be yours, she will not be long a Catholic-Once more, advise us. You generously, I know, madam, think you speak in time, both for the young lady's sake and mine. You say she shall be mine upon the terms I formerly offered, if I insist upon it. I have told the General, that I will have the consent of all three brothers, as well as yours, madam, and your good lord's, or I will not hope for the honour of your alliance; and I have declared to you, that I look upon myself as bound; upon you all, as free. If you think that the sense of supposed obligation, as Lady Clementina advances in her health, may engage her farther than you wish, let me decline my visits by degrees, in order to leave her as disengaged as possible in her own mind; and that I may not be thought of consequence to her recovery. In the first place, I will make my promised visit to the General. You see she was not the worse, but perhaps the better, for my absence of ten days. I will pass twenty, if you please, at Rome, and at Naples; holding myself in readiness to return post, at the first call. Let us determine nothing in the interim. Depend upon the honour of a man, who once more assures you, that he looks upon himself as bound, and the lady free; and who will act accordingly by her, and all your family.

They were both silent, and looked upon each

other.

What say you, madam, to this proposal? What say you, Father Marescotti. Could I think of a more disinterested one, I would make it.

I say, you are a wonderful man.

I have not words, resumed the lady. She wept. Hard, hard fate! The man, that of all

men

There she stopt. The Father was present, or, perhaps, she had said more.

Shall we, said she, acquaint Jeronymo with this conversation?

It may disturb him, replied I. You know, madam, his generous attachment to me. I have promised the General a visit. Signor Jeronymo was as much pleased with the promise, as with the invitation. The performance will add to his pleasure. He may get more strength: Lady Clementina may be still better: and you will, from events so happy, be able to resolve. Still be pleased to remember, that I hold myself bound, yourselves to be free.

Yet I thought at the time, with a concern, that, perhaps, was too visible, When shall I meet with the returns, which my proud heart challenges as its due? But then my pride (shall call it?) came in to my relief.-Great God! I thank thee, thought I, that thou enablest me to

I

do what my conscience, what humanity, tells me, is fit and right to be done, without taking my measures of right and wrong from any other standard.

Father Marescotti saw me affected. Tears stood in his eyes. The Marchioness was still more concerned. She called me the most generous of men, took a respectful leave, and withdrew to Jeronymo.

As I was intending to return to my lodgings, in order to try to calm there my disturbed mind, the Marquis and his brother, and the Bishop, sent for me into the Marchioness's drawingroom, where were she and Father Marescotti who had acquainted them with what had passed between her, himself, and me.

The Bishop arose, and embraced me.-Dear Grandison, said he, how I admire you!—Why, why will you not let me call you brother? Were a prince your competitor, and you would be a Catholic

O that you would! said the Marchioness; her hands and eyes lifted up.

And will you not? Can you not, my dear chevalier? said the Count.

That, my lord, is a question kindly put, as it shews your regard for me—But it is not to be answered now.

The Marquis took my hand. He applauded the disinterestedness of my behaviour to his family. He approved of my proposal of absence; but said, that I must myself undertake to manage that part, not only with their Clementina, but with Jeronymo ; whose grateful heart would otherwise be uneasy, on a surmise, that the motion came not from myself, but them.

We will not resolve upon any measures, said he. God continue and improve our prospects; and the result we will leave to his providence. I went from them directly to Jeronymo, and told him of my intended journey.

He asked me, what would become of Clementina in the meantime? Was there not too great a danger that she would go back again?

I told him I would not go, but with her approbation.

I pleaded my last absence of ten days, in favour of my intention. Her recovery, said I, must be a work of time. If I am of the consequence your friendship for me supposes, her attention will probably be more engaged by short absences, and the expectations raised by them, than by daily visits. I remember not, my dear Jeronymo, continued I, a single instance, that could induce any one to imagine, that your Clementina's regard for the man you favour was a personal one. Friendship never lighted up a purer flame in a human heart, than in that of your sister. Was not the future happiness of the man she esteemed, the constant, I may say the