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about her to make herself look young, on comparison. But a piece of bad news, Harriet: our Aunt Nell has lost two more of her upper foreteeth. A vile bit of bone, (O how she execrates it!) which lurked in a fricassee, did the irreparable mischief: and the good old soul is teaching her upper lip, when she speaks, to resign all motion to the under one, that it may as little as possible make the defect visible. What poor wretches are we, Harriet, men as well as women! We pray for long life; and what is the issue of our prayers, but leave to outlive our teeth and our friends; to stand in the way of our elbowing relations; and to change our swanskins for skins of buff; which nevertheless will keep out neither cold nor infirmity? But I shall be serious by and by. And what is the design of my pen-prattle, but to make my sweet Harriet smile?

The Earl and Lady Gertrude made up differences with me at first sight. The lady is a little upon the fallal; a little Aunt Nellish; but I protest I love her, and reverence her brother. Beauchamp is certainly in love with Emily. When he first addressed her at St Alban's, his hands trembled, his cheeks glowed, his tongue faltered-So young a gipsy to make a conquest of such importance! We women are powerful creatures, Harriet. As they say of horses, if we knew our own strength, and could have a little more patience than we generally have, we might do what we would with the powerless lords of the creation. In my conscience, Harriet, look all my acquaintance through, of both sexes, I think there are three silly fellows to one silly woman: Don't you think so in yours? Are your Grevilles, your Fenwicks, your Fowlers, your Pollexfens, your Bagenhalls, and half a score more I could name, to be put in competition with Mrs Shirley, Mrs Selby, Lady D our Lucy, Nancy, Miss Orme, the two Misses Holles? Let uncle Selby and cousin James de termine on the question.

I am half in hopes, that the little rogue Emily will draw herself in. Beauchamp is modest, yet not sheepish; he is prudent, manly, lively; has address: he will certainly draw her in, before she knows where she is: And how?-Why by praising sincerely, and loving cordially, the man at present most dear to her. When he first addressed her at St Alban's, O Mr Beauchamp! said she, with an innocent freedom, not regarding his tremblings, his glow, and his falterings, I am glad to see you: I long to have you entertain me with stories of my guardian. But, ah! sir, (speaking lower, and with a fallen countenance, tears ready to start,) whose is he by this time? Yet, if you know it, don't tell me; it must not, must not be.

The praises given to those we really love, I believe, are more grateful to us than those conferred on ourselves. I will tell you how I ac

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count for this, in general cases, my brother out of the question.-We doubt not our own merits; but may be afraid, that the favoured object will not be considered by others as we are willing to consider him; but if he is, we take the praise given him as a compliment to our own judgment. Self-love, self-love, at the bottom of all we say and do: I am convinced it is, notwithstanding all you have urged to the contrary. Generally, you know, I said. Do you think I will allow you to judge of the generality of the world, by what you find in one of the best hearts in it?

An instance in point.-I remember a Miss Hurste; a sweet pretty creature, and very sensible: she had from her chamber-window been shot through the heart by the blind archer, who took his stand on the feather of a military man, marching at the head of his company through the market-town in which she lived. Yet was her susceptibility her only inducement; for the man was neither handsome in his person, nor genteel in his appearance; nor could she be in love with the sense of a man, had he been a Solomon, whose mouth she had then never seen opened, and to whose character she was as much a stranger, as he was to hers, or her person, till she contrived to have him made acquainted with his good fortune. Constant, however, to her first foolish impression, she, in opposition to all advice, and the expostulations of a tender and indulgent mother, married him. A Solomon he was not. And when he at any time, by virtue of his relation to her, was introduced into her family, how would she blush, whenever he opened his mouth! And how did her eyes sparkle with gratitude upon any one who took the least respectful notice of him! Compliments to herself were unheeded; but she seemed ready to throw herself at the feet of those who smiled upon, and directed themselves to, her captain. Poor girl! she wanted to give credit to the motive by which she had been actuated.

Now, Harriet, I charge you, that you think not that this man's name was Anderson. Somebody met with an escape! Yet now and then I blush for somebody. Yet between this somebody and Miss Hurste's cases, there was this difference:-A father's apprehended-Tyranny

(shall I call it ?) impressing the one; a tindery fit the other. In the one, a timely recovery; in the other, the first folly deliberately confirmed.

Dear, dear Harriet ! let me make you smile! I protest, if you won't, I will talk of Lord D and then I know you will frown.

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The excellent lady of that name has already been to welcome us to town. She absolutely dotes upon you; so, she says, does the young Earl. She prays day and night, she tells me, that my brother may soon come to England, his Italian bride in his hand. She expects every

post to hear from Sir Arthur Brandon, who has carried a letter from her, and another from the Earl of N—, recommending that promising young gentleman to my brother's favour, on his visiting Italy. She hopes my brother will not take amiss her freedom, at so short an acquaintance. If Sir Arthur sends her such news as she wishes, and we dread to hear, away drives she to Northamptonshire And should she, I don't know who will scruple to wish her success; for her young man rises every day in his character. My dear creature, you must, you shall, be in our row; and Lady D's last letter to you is unanswerable. Forgive me for touching upon this subject; but we have no hopes. You have nothing to fear; since you expect what the next mails will bring. And who of us, after all, have our first love? Aunt Nell would not have descended sola into her greys, nor Cicely Badger neither, if they might have obtained their choice. -Poor Aunt Nell! she has been telling me (her taken-off spectacles in her fingers) of a disappointment of this kind in her youth, with such woeful earnestness, that it made me ready to cry for her. She lays it at the door of her brother, my poor father; and now will you wonder, that, to this hour, she cannot speak of him with patience?-Poor Aunt Nell!

Well, but how do you, my love? For Heaven's sake, be well. Could I make you speak out, could I make you complain, I should have some hope of you; but so sorrowful when alone, as we plainly see, yet aiming to be so cheerful in company-O my dear! you must be gluttonous of grief in your solitary hours. But what though the man be Sir Charles Grandison: Is not the woman Harriet Byron?

Lady L― tells me, that Olivia behaved like a distracted woman, when she took leave of her on her setting out to return to Italy. She sometimes wept, sometimes raved and threatened. Wretched woman! Surely she will not attempt the life of the man she ungovernably loves! Our case, Harriet, is not so hard as hers; but she will sooner get over her talkative, than you will your silent love. When a person can rave, the passion is not dangerous. If the head be safe, pride and supposed slight will in time harden the heart of such a one; and her love will be swallowed up by resentment.

You complimented me on my civility to my good man, all the time we were with you. Indeed I was very civil to him. It is now become a habit, and I verily think that it looks well in man and wife to behave prettily to each other before company. I now and then, however, sit down with a full design to make him look about him; but he is so obliging, that I am constrained, against my intention, to let the fit go off, without making him very serious.

Am I conceited, Harriet? Which of the two silly folks, do you think, has most (not witWit is a foolish thing, but) understanding? I think the woman has it, all to nothing.-Now don't mortify me. If you pretend to doubt, I will be sure. Upon my word, my dear, I am an excellent creature, so thinking, so assured, to behave so obligingly as I do to Lord G Never, unless a woman has as much prudence as your Charlotte, let her wed a man who has less understanding than herself. But women marry not so much now-a-days for love, or fitness of tempers, as for the liberty of gadding abroad with less censure, and less control-And yet, now I think of it, we need only take a survey of the flocks of single women which crowd to Ranelagh and Vauxhall markets, dressed out to be cheapened, not purchased, to be convinced that the maids are as much above either shame or control, as the wives. But were not fathers desirous to get the drugs off their hands, (to express myself in young Danby's saucy style,) these freedoms would not be permitted. As for mothers, many of them are for escorting their daughters to public places, because they themselves like racketting.

But how, Charlotte, methinks you ask, do these reflections on your own sex square with what you said above of the preference of women to men?-How! I'll tell you. The men who frequent those places are still more silly than we. Is it their interest to join in this almost universal dissipation? And would the women crowd to market, if there were not men?

We are entered into our new house. It is furnished in taste. Lord G has wanted but very little of my correction, I do assure you, in the disposition of everything; he begins to want employment. Have you, Harriet, anything to busy him in ?-I am not willing to teach him to knot. Poor man! He has already knit one that he cannot untie.

God bless the honest soul! He came to me, just now, so prim, and so pleased-A parrot and parroquet-The parrot is the finest talker! He had great difficulty, he said, in getting them. He had observed, that I was much taken with Lady Finlay's parrot. Lady Finlay had a marmouset too. I wonder the poor man did not bring me a monkey. O! but you'll say, that was needless

You are very smart, Harriet, upon my man. I won't allow anybody but myself to abuse him.

Intolerable levity, Charlotte!—And so it is. But to whom? Only to you. I love the man better every day than the former. When I write of him thus saucily, it is in the gaiety of my heart; but if, instead of a smile, I have drawn upon myself your contempt, what a mortification, however deserved, will that be to your CHARLOTTE G!

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To say the truth, they spoke not; they only shook their heads. I saw, my dear, greatly as they love and admire you, that if they had smiled, it would have been at, not with, the poor Charlotte, (let me pity you, my dear !) who, in some places of her letter, could sport with the infirmities of age, to which we are all advancing, and even wish to arrive at ; and in others, treat lightly a man, to whom she owes respect, and has vowed duty; and who almost adores her.

You ask, my dear, which of a certain pair has most understanding? And you bid me not mortify you with giving it on the man's side. I will not. Lord G— - is far from being wanting in understanding; but Lady G- - has undoubt edly more than thousands, even of sensible women; but in her treatment of certain subjects, she by no means shews it. There's for you, my dear! I hope you will not be displeased with your Harriet. You ought to take one of us to task. Methinks I would not have you be angry with yourself.

But, my dear, I am not well: this therefore may make me the less capable of relishing your raillery. These men vex me. Greville's obstinate perseverance, and so near a neighbour, that I cannot avoid seeing him often: Poor Mr Orme's ill health: Those things afflict me.-Lady D -, urging me with such strength of reason, (I am afraid I must say,) and with an affection so truly maternal, that I know not how to answer her: and just now I have received a letter, unknown to that good lady, from the Earl of D-, laying in a claim, on a certain supposition, that-O, my dear! how cruel is all this to your Harriet! My grandmamma, by her eyes, I see, wishes me to think of marriage, and with Lord D, as all thoughts-I need not say of what-are over-My aunt Selby's eyes are ready to second my grandmamma's-My uncle speaks out on the same side of the question: So do you: So does Lucy. Nancy is silent; she sees my disturbance when I am looked at, and talked to, on this subject-So ought Lucy, I think.-My soul, my dear, is fretted. I have begged leave to pass a fortnight or three weeks with my good Mr Deane, who rejoiced at the motion; but my

grandmamma heard my request with tears: She could not spare her Harriet, she told me. My aunt also dried her eyes-How, my Charlotte, could I think of leaving them?-Yet could they have parted with me, I should surely have been more composed with Mr Deane than at present I can be anywhere else. He is more delicate, (shall I be excused to say?) than my uncle.

Were but the news come that the solemnity is over, I am greatly mistaken in myself, if I should not be more easy than I am at present; but then I should be more teazed, more importuned, than before. You tell me, the Countess of D- would come down: the very thought of that visit hurts me.

I have no doubt but by this time the knot is tied. God Almighty shower on the heads of both the choicest of his blessings! I should be quite out of humour with myself, if I were not able to offer up this prayer as often as I pray for myself.

I beg of you, my dear, to speed to me the next letters from Italy, be the contents what they will. You know I am armed. Shall the event I wish to be over, either surprise or grieve me? I hope not.

I will not pity Lady Olivia, because she threatened and raved. True love rages not; threatens not. Yet a disappointment in love is a dreadful thing; and may operate, in different minds, different ways; as I have read somewhere.

I shall write to all my friends in town, and at Colnebrook. I trouble you not, therefore, with particular compliments to them.

How could you mention the names of Mr and Mrs Reeves, and say no more of them? I thought you loved them both. They are deserving of your love, and love you.

Never, I believe, did any young creature suffer in her mind by suspense, as I have done for some months past. In the present situation of things, I know not what farther to write. What can I, my Charlotte ?-Conjectural topics are reserved for my closet and pillow.

Adieu, and adieu, my beloved friend, my dear Lady G- ! Be good, and be happy! What a blessing, that both are in your power! May they ever be so! And may you make a good use of that power, prays your HARRIET BYRON.

LETTER CLXXX.

SIR CHARLES GRANDISON TO DR BARTLETT.

Bologna, July 8-19. My heart is unusually sad. How imperfect is that happiness which we cannot enjoy without giving pain to another!

The Count of Belvedere has been made acquainted with the hopeful turn in the mind of

Clementina; and that, in all probability, she will be given as a reward to the man to whose friendly cares for her, and her brother, the whole family attribute the happy alteration; and late last night he gave me notice of his arrival in this city, and of his intention to pay me an early visit this morning.

I have just now had a message from Clementina, by Camilla, with a request that I will suspend my intended visit till the afternoon.

I asked Camilla, if she knew the reason of this; and of her being so early dispatched with it? She said, It was her young lady's own or der, without consulting anybody. The Marchioness, she said, told her yesterday in the afternoon, that everything was now absolutely determined upon between them and me; and she would be mistress of her own wishes; and that I should be allowed to attend her in the morning at breakfast, to know what those were. Her young lady, on this happy communication, (so Camilla called it,) threw herself at her mother's feet, and in a very graceful manner acknowledged her father's and her indulgence to her; and from that hour her temper took a turn different from what it had been before. For, ever since, said Camilla, she has been silent, solemn, and reserved; yet busy at her pen, transcribing fair from her pocket-book what she had written in it. To-morrow, Camilla !-To-morrow! said she, breaking once her solemn silence, her complexion varying, will be a day indeed! O that it were come! and I dread it. How shall I, face to face, converse with this exalted man! What shall I do to appear as great as he? His goodness fires me with emulation!-O that tomorrow were come, and gone!

This was over night. I believe, proceeded Camilla, that the dear lady is drawing up some conditions of her own for you to sign; but, sir, I dare say, by the hint she has thrown out, they will be generous ones, and what will have more of fancy than hardship in them.

I had much ado to prevail upon her, continued her faithful woman, to go to rest at midnight; yet at four in the morning she arose, and went to her pen and ink; and about six commanded me to call Laura to attend her, while I went to you with the message I have brought. I expostulated with her, and begged she would delay it till the Marchioness arose; but she began to be impatient: I have reason in my request, Camilla, said she. I must not be contradicted or expostulated with: My head will not bear opposition, at this time. Is it a slight thing for such a poor creature as I have been, and am, to be put out of her course? Am I not to have a meeting with the Chevalier Grandison, on the most important act of my life? My mamma tells me, that I am to be now mistress of my own will: Don't you, Camilla, seek to control me. I shall not be prepared enough for the subject he will possibly talk to me upon,

till the afternoon; and if I know he is in the house with an expectation of seeing me, I shall want the presence of mind I am struggling to obtain.

So, sir, concluded Camilla, I have performed my duty. The dear lady, I see, will be in too much confusion, if the important subject be not begun with precaution; but who shall instruct you in such delicate points as these? One thing, however, permit me, sir, to observe: I have often known young ladies go on courageously with a lover, while the end in view has been distant, or there have been difficulties to encounter with; but when these difficulties are overcome, and they have ascended the hill they toiled up, they have turned round, and looked about them, with fear as strong as their hope. What the conditions may be

But the Count of Belvedere is come.

Ten o'clock.

THE Count accosted me, in return for the kindest reception I could give him, with an air of coldness and displeasure. I was surprised at a behaviour so different from his usual politeness, and the kindness he had ever shewn me. I took notice to him of it. He asked me, if I would tell him faithfully what my present situation was with Lady Clementina?

I will, my lord, if I tell you anything of it; but the temper of mind you seem to be in, may not, perhaps, for your own sake, any more than mine, make it prudent for me to comply with your expectations.

You need not give me any other answer, replied he. You seem to be sure of the lady; but she must not, shall not, be yours, while I am living.

It is not for me, my lord, who have met with many amazing turns and incidents which I have not either invited or provoked, to be surprised at anything; but if your lordship has any expectations, any demands, to make on this subject, it must be from the family of the Marchese della Porretta, and not from me.

Do you think, sir, that I feel not the sting of this reference? And yet all the family, but one, are in my interest in their hearts; every consideration is on my side; not one, but the plausibility of your generosity, and the speciousness of your person and manners, on yours.

A man, my lord, should not be reproached for qualities, upon which, whether he has them or not, he values not himself. But, let me ask you, Were my pretensions out of the question, has your lordship any hope of an interest in the affections of Lady Clementina?

While she is unmarried, I may hope. Had you not come over to us, I make no doubt but I might, in time, have called her mine. You cannot but know, that her absence of mind was no obstacle with me.

I am wholly satisfied in my own conduct, replied I: That, my lord, is a great point with me: I am not accountable for it to any man on earth. Yet, if you have any doubts about it, propose them. I have a high opinion of the Count of Belvedere, and wish to have him think well of

me.

Tell me, chevalier, what your present situation is with Lady Clementina? What is concluded upon between the family and you? And whether Clementina herself has declared for you?

She has not yet declared herself to me. I repeat, that I have a value for the Count of Belvedere, and will therefore acquaint him with more than he has reason to expect from the humour which seems to have governed him in this visit. I am to attend her this afternoon, by appointment: Her family and I understand one another. I have been willing to consider the natural impulses of a spirit so pure, though disturbed, as the finger of Providence. I have hitherto been absolutely passive: In honour I cannot now be so. This afternoon, my lord

This afternoon! trembling: What! this afternoon!

Will my destiny, as to Lady Clementina, be determined.

I am distracted! If her friends are determined in your favour, it is from necessity, rather than choice: but if the lady is left to her own determination, I am a lost man.

You have given a reason, my lord, for your acquiescence, should Lady Clementina determine in my favour-but it cannot be a happy circumstance for me, if, as you hint, I am to enter into the family of Porretta as an unwelcome relation to any of them; and still less, if my good fortune shall make a man, justly valued by all who know him, unhappy.

And are you, this afternoon, chevalier, to see Clementina for the purpose you intimate? This very afternoon?—And are you then to change your passive conduct towards her? And will you court, will you urge her to consent to be yours? Religion, country-Let me tell you, sir I must take resolutions. With infinite regret I tell you, that I must. You will not refuse to meet me. The consent is not yet given: You shall not rob Italy of such a prize. Favour me, sir, this moment, without the city gates.

Unhappy man! How much I pity you! You know my principles. It is hard, acting as I have done, to be thus invited. Acquaint yourself with my whole conduct in this affair, from the Bishop, from Father Marescotti, from the General himself, so much always your friend, and once so little mine. What has influenced them (so much as you seem to think against their inclinations) cannot want its influence upon a mind so noble as that of the Count of Belvedere. But whatever be your resolutions upon the inquiries I wish you to make, I tell you before

hand, that I never will meet you but as my friend.

He turned from me with emotion: He walked about the room as a man irresolute; and at last, with a wildness in his air, approached me -I will go this instant, said he, to the family: I will see Father Marescotti, and the Bishop; and I will let them know my despair. And if I cannot have hope given me-O chevalier! once more I say, that Lady Clementina shall not be yours, while I live.

He looked round him, as if he would not have anybody hear what he was going to say, but me, though no one was near; and whispering, It is better, said he, to die by your hand, than-He stopt; and in disorder hurried from me; and was out of sight when I got down to the door.

The Count, when he came up to me, left his valet below, who told Saunders that Lady Sforza had made his lord a visit at Parma; and, by something she related to him, had stimulated him to make this to me. He added, that he was very apprehensive of the humour he came in, and which he had held ever since he saw Lady Sforza.

How, my dear Dr Bartlett, do the rash escape as they do; when I, who endeavour to avoid embarrassments, and am not ready either to give or take offence, am hardly able to extricate myself from one difficulty, but I find myself involved in another? What cannot a woman do, when she resolves to make mischief among friends? Lady Sforza is a high-spirited and contriving woman. It is not for her interest that Clementina should marry at all; but yet, as the Count of Belvedere is a cool, a dispassionate man, and knows the views of that lady, I cannot but wonder what those arts must be, by which she has been able to excite, in so calm a breast, a

flame so vehement.

I am now hastening to the palace of Porretta; my heart not a little affected with the apprehensions given me by Camilla's account of her young lady's solemn, yet active turn, on the expected visit. For does it not indicate an imagination too much raised for the occasion, (important as that is;) and that her disorder is far from subsiding?

LETTER CLXXXI.

SIR CHARLES GRANDISON TO DR BARTLETT.

Bologna, Saturday Evening.

I SIT down now, my dear and reverend friend, to write to you particulars which will surprise you. Clementina is the noblest woman on earth. What, at last-but I find I must have a quieter heart, and fingers too, before I can proceed.

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