he be guilty of a diffidence and reserve to his generous sister, which she is above shewing to him.

If I am allowed to be so happy, as to cultivate this desirable acquaintance, and I hope it is not their way to leave those whom they have relieved and raised, in order to shine upon, and bless, only new objects of compassion, then will I closely watch every step of this excellent man; in hope, however, to find him as perfect as report declares him, that I may fearlessly make him my theme, as I shall delight to make his sister my example. And if I were to find any considerable faults in him, never fear, my dear, but my gratitude will enlarge my charity in his favour. But I shall, at the same time, arm my heart with those remembered failings, lest my gratitude should endanger it, and make me a hopeless fool.

Now, my uncle, do not be very hard on your niece. I am sure, very sure, that I am not in danger as yet; and, indeed, I will tell you, by my Lucy, whenever I find out that I am. Spare, therefore, my dear uncle Selby, all your conjectural constructions.

And, indeed, you should in pity spare me, my dear sir, at present; for my spirits are still weak; I have not yet forgiven myself for the masquerade affair; especially since Mr Reeves has hinted to me, that Sir Charles Grandison, (as he judges from what he dropt about that foolish amusement,) approves not of masquerades. And yet self-partiality has suggested several strong pleas in my favour; indeed, by way of extenuation only. How my judge, CONSCIENCE, will determine upon those pleas, when counsel has been heard on both sides, I cannot say; yet I think, that an acquittal from this brother and sister would go a great way to make my conscience easy.

I have not said one half of what I intended to say of this extraordinary man. But having imagined, from the equal love I have to his admirable sister, that I had found something to blame him for, my impartiality has carried me out of my path; and I know not how to recover it, without going a great way back. Let, therefore, what I have farther to say, mingle in with my future narratives, as new occasions call it forth.

But yet I will not suffer any other subject to interfere with that which fills my heart with the praises, the due praises, of this worthy brother and sister; to which I intended to consecrate this rambling and very imperfect letter; and which here I will conclude, with assurances (however needless I hope they are) of duty, love, and gratitude, where so much is due from

your

HARRIET BYRON.

LETTER XXXVII.

MISS BYRON.

[In continuation.]

Feb. 24, and 25.

Now have I near a week to go back, my Lucy, with my current narrative, having been thrown behindhand by the long letters I have been obliged to write, to give you an account of my distress, of my deliverance, of the characters of this noble brother and sister, and a multitude of coincidences and reflections, which all my dear friends expect, as they fall in, from the pen of their Harriet. And this letter shall therefore be a kind of diary of that week; only that I will not repeat what my cousin Reeves has told me he has written.

On Monday I was conducted home in safety, by my kind protector, and his amiable sister. Mrs Reeves, Lady Betty, and Miss Clements, are in love with them both.

My cousin has told you, how much they disappointed us, in declining to stay dinner. What shall we do, if they are not as fond of our company as we are of theirs? We are not used to be slighted, you know; and to be slighted by those we love, there can be no bearing of that; but I hope this will not be the case.

At tea, the name of Sir Rowland Meredith carried me instantly down.

Mr Reeves had told the good Knight, on his calling on the Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and on this day, before we returned from Colnebrook, that I had been over-fatigued at the masquerade on Thursday night, and so I was ;] and was gone a little way out of town. Carried he should have said; I was carried with a witness!

Sir Rowland took notice, that I must have had a smart illness for the time, by my altered countenance. You are, and must be, ever lovely, Miss Byron; but I think you look not quite so serene, you don't look so composed, as you used to do. But I was afraid you were denied to my longing sight. I was afraid you would let your papa go down to Caermarthen, without giving him an opportunity to bless his cross girl. It is in vain, I fear, to urge you-He stopt, and looked full in my face.-Pray, Sir Rowland, said I, how does my brother Fowler?

Why, ay, that's the deuce of it. Your brother Fowler. But as the honest man says, so say I; I will not teaze you. But never, never, will you have-But no more of that-I come to take my leave of you. I should have set out this very morning, could I have seen you on Saturday, or yesterday; but I shall go to-morrow morning

early. You are glad of that, madam, I am

sure.

Indeed, Sir Rowland, I shall always respect and value you; and I hope I shall have your good wishes, sir

Yes, yes, madam, you need not doubt it. And I will humble all the proud women in Wales, by telling them of Miss Byron.

You tell me, my Lucy, that you were all moved at one of the conversations I gave you between the Knight, Mr Fowler, and myself.

Were I to be as particular in my account of what passed on Sir Rowland's taking leave of me, as I was on that other occasion, and were you to judge by the effect his honest tenderness had on me, as I craved his blessing, and as he blessed me, (the big tears unheeded by himself, straying down his reverend cheeks,) I think you would have been in like manner affected.

Mr Fowler is to go down after him-If-if -if, said the Knight, looking fervently in my face

I should be glad, I said, to see, and to wish my brother a good journey.

Tuesday morning early I had a kind inquiry after my rest from Miss Grandison, in her brother's name, as well as in her own. And about eleven o'clock came the dear lady herself. She would run up stairs to me, following Sally-in her dressing-room, say you?-She shall not come down.

She entered with the maid-Writing, my dear! said she. I one day hope, my Harriet, you will shew me all you write-There, there, (sitting down by me,) no bustle. And how does my fair friend?-Well-I see very well-To a lover-or of a lover-that's the same thing.

Thus, sweetly familiar, ran she on.

Mrs Reeves entered; excuse me, madam, said Miss Grandison; this is but one of my flying visits, as I call them; my next shall be to you. But perhaps I may not make it in form neither; we are relations, you know. How does Mr Reeves? He is a good man. At home?

He is, madam, and will be rejoiced

I know he will-Why, madam, this our Byron, our Harriet, I should say, looks charmingly! -You had best lock her up. There are many more Sir Hargraves in the world, than there are Miss Byrons.

She told me, that Sir Charles had set out that morning early for Canterbury. He will be absent two or three days, said she. He charged me with his compliments. He did nothing but talk of his new-found sister, from the time he parted with you. I shall promote your interest with him, in order to strengthen my own. I want to find him out.

Some love-engagements, I suppose, madam? said Mrs Reeves-It is impossible but the ladies

The ladies! Ay, that's the thing! The deuce

is in them! They will not stay to be asked. These men, the best of them, love nothing but what is attended with difficulty. But all his love-matters he keeps to himself; yet knows all mine-Except one little entanglement-Mr Reeves hears not what we say, (looking about her;) but you, my dear, shall reveal to me your sneaking passion, if you have one, and I will discover mine-But not to you, Mrs Reeves. No married women shall I trust with what lies in the innermost fold of my heart. Your husbands are always the wiser for what you know; though they can keep their own counsel; and then, Harriet, Satan-like, the ungenerous wretches, becoming both tempters and accusers, laugh at us, and make it wonderful for a woman to keep a secret.

The ladies will not stay to be asked, Lucy!— An odd hint!-These men, the best of them, love nothing but what comes to them with difficulty.— He keeps all his love-matters to himself.—ALL! my Lucy!-But, indeed, she had said before, that if Sir Charles married, half-a-dozen hearts would be broken !

This is nothing to me, indeed. But, once more, I wonder why a man of a turn so laudable, should have any secrets? The more a good man permits any one to know of his heart, the more good he might do, by way of example.And has he, can he have, so many love-secrets, and yet will he not let them transpire to such a sister?-whom (and so she once hinted) it imported to know something of them. But he knows best. I am very impertinent to be more concerned for his sister, than she is for herself. But I do love her. And one can no more bear to have those slighted whom we love, than one's self.

It is very difficult, Lucy, to know one's self. I am afraid I have a little spice of censoriousness in my temper, which I knew nothing of till now; but, no, it is not censoriousness neither; I cannot be so mean as to be censorious; and yet I can now, methinks, (for the first time,) a little account for those dark spirits who may be too much obliged: and who, despairing to be able ever to return the obligation, are ready to quarrel with the obliger.

Spiteful men say, that we women know not ourselves; know not our own hearts. I believe there is something of truth in the aspersion; but as men and women are brothers and sisters, as I may say, are not the men equally censurable? and should not we women say so, were we to be as spiteful as they? Must it needs be, that a daughter of the same father and mother must be more silly, more unsteady, more absurd, more impertinent, than her brother? I hope not.

Mrs Reeves, not knowing, as she said afterwards, but Miss Grandison might have something to say to me, withdrew.

I believe I told you last Sunday, said Miss Grandison, of a cousin that we have; a goodnatured young fellow; he supped with us last night. Sir Charles was so full of your praises, yet not letting him into your history, that he is half wild to see you.

God forbid, thought I, when she had gone only thus far, that this cousin should be proposed!—What an easy thing is it, my Lucy, to alarm a woman on the side of her vanity!

He breakfasted with me this morning, continued she, after Sir Charles had set out; and knowing that I intended to make you a flying visit, he besought me to take him with me; but I would not, my dear, bring an inundation of new admirers upon you; he has a great acquaintance; and is very bold, though not indecent; he is thought to be a modern wit, you must know; and, to speak after an admirable writer, a minute philosopher; and thinks he has something to say for himself when his cousin is not present. Before Sir Charles arrived, and when we were in expectation of his coming, being apprized that Sir Charles had a serious turn, he threatened to play upon him, and as he phrased it, to bamboozle him; for these wits and witlings have a language peculiar to themselves. But on Sir Charles's arrival, in two conversations, he drew in his horns, as we say; and now reverences those good qualities which he has not, however, the grace to imitate. Now, I will not answer, but you may have a visit from him, to see the loveliest woman in England. If he comes, see him, or not, as you please; and think not yourself under any civil obligation to my brother, or me, to go out of your own way; but I hope he will not be so impertinent. I don't wish you to see him out of my brother's company; because you will see him then to his own advantage. And yet he has such a notion that we women love to be admired and to have handsome things said to us, that he imagines the visit of a man, made for that purpose, will give him as free a welcome to the finest woman in the world, as painters give to those who come to see their pictures, and for the like reason. But no more of Mr Grandison. Yet I thought proper to prepare you, if he should take so confident a liberty.

I thanked her.

Well but, my dear, you seem to have a long parcel of writing before you; one, two, three, four-eight leaves-Upon my word!-But Mr Reeves told me you are a writer; and that you gave an account of all that befel you, to our grandmother Shirley, to our uncle and aunt Selby, to our cousins Lucy and Nancy-You see I remember every name; and will you one day let me see what you write?

Most willingly, madam

With all my heart, my ever-amiable, my ever-kind Charlotte.

So, so-Well may the men say, we love flattery, when, rather than want it, we will flatter one another.

I was going to disclaim flattery; hush, hush, hush, my dear! I doubt not your sincerity. You are a grateful and good girl; but dare you, will you, shew me all and everything about that Greville, that Orme, that Fowler, that Fenwick?-You see, I forget none of the names that your cousin Reeves told me of on Saturday last, and which I made you talk of last Sunday.

All and everything, Miss Grandison; but will you tell me of your gentleman ?

Will I! No doubt of it. How can young women be together one quarter of an hour, and not lead one another into talk of their lovers? Lord, my dear, those secrets, Sir Charles once said, are the cement of young women's friendships.

And could Sir Charles

Could Sir Charles!-Yes, yes, yes. Do you think a man can be a judge of human nature, and leave women out of the question? Why, my dear, he finds us out in a minute. Take care of yourself, Harriet-If

I shall be afraid of him

What, if you have a good conscience, my dear?

She then looked very archly. She made me blush.

She looked more archly. I blushed, I believe, a deeper dye.

Did I not tell you, Lucy, that she could do what she pleased with her eyes?-But what did she mean by this?

In my conscience, my Harriet, little or much, I believe we women are all rogues in our hearts.

And does Miss Grandison say that from her own conscience?

I believe I do; but I must fly; I have ten more visits to pay before I go home to dress. You will tell me all about your fellows, you say?

And you will tell me about your entanglement, as you called it.

Why, that's a difficulty upon me; but you must encourage me by your freedom, and we will take up our wretches, and lay them down again, one by one, as we run them over, and bid them lie still and be quiet till we recal them to our memory.

But I have not one lover, my Charlotte, to tell you of; I always gave them their dismis

sion

And I have but two, that at present I care to own; and they won't be dismissed; but then I

travagant things to me; and we must look upon

early. You are glad of that, madam, I am

sure.

Indeed, Sir Rowland, I shall always respect and value you; and I hope I shall have your good wishes, sir

Yes, yes, madam, you need not doubt it. And I will humble all the proud women in Wales, by telling them of Miss Byron.

You tell me, my Lucy, that you were all moved at one of the conversations I gave you between the Knight, Mr Fowler, and myself.

Were I to be as particular in my account of what passed on Sir Rowland's taking leave of me, as I was on that other occasion, and were you to judge by the effect his honest tenderness had on me, as I craved his blessing, and as he blessed me, (the big tears unheeded by himself, straying down his reverend cheeks,) I think you would have been in like manner affected.

Mr Fowler is to go down after him-If-if -if, said the Knight, looking fervently in my face

I should be glad, I said, to see, and to wish my brother a good journey.

Tuesday morning early I had a kind inquiry after my rest from Miss Grandison, in her brother's name, as well as in her own. And about eleven o'clock came the dear lady herself. She would run up stairs to me, following Sally-in her dressing-room, say you?-She shall not come down.

She entered with the maid-Writing, my dear! said she. I one day hope, my Harriet, you will shew me all you write-There, there, (sitting down by me,) no bustle. And how does my fair friend?-Well-I see very well-To a lover-or of a lover-that's the same thing.

Thus, sweetly familiar, ran she on.

Mrs Reeves entered; excuse me, madam, said Miss Grandison; this is but one of my flying visits, as I call them; my next shall be to you. But perhaps I may not make it in form neither; we are relations, you know. How does Mr Reeves? He is a good man. At home?

He is, madam, and will be rejoiced

I know he will-Why, madam, this our Byron, our Harriet, I should say, looks charmingly! -You had best lock her up. There are many more Sir Hargraves in the world, than there are Miss Byrons.

She told me, that Sir Charles had set out that morning early for Canterbury. He will be absent two or three days, said she. He charged me with his compliments. He did nothing but talk of his new-found sister, from the time he parted with you. I shall promote your interest with him, in order to strengthen my own. I want to find him out.

Some love-engagements, I suppose, madam? said Mrs Reeves-It is impossible but the ladies

The ladies! Ay, that's the thing! The deuce

is in them! They will not stay to be asked. These men, the best of them, love nothing but what is attended with difficulty. But all his love-matters he keeps to himself; yet knows all mine-Except one little entanglement-Mr Reeves hears not what we say, (looking about her ;) but you, my dear, shall reveal to me your sneaking passion, if you have one, and I will discover mine-But not to you, Mrs Reeves. No married women shall I trust with what lies in the innermost fold of my heart. Your husbands are always the wiser for what you know; though they can keep their own counsel; and then, Harriet, Satan-like, the ungenerous wretches, becoming both tempters and accusers, laugh at us, and make it wonderful for a woman to keep a secret.

The ladies will not stay to be asked, Lucy!— An odd hint!-These men, the best of them, love nothing but what comes to them with difficulty.— He keeps all his love-matters to himself.—ALL! my Lucy!-But, indeed, she had said before, that if Sir Charles married, half-a-dozen hearts would be broken!

This is nothing to me, indeed. But, once more, I wonder why a man of a turn so laudable, should have any secrets? The more a good man permits any one to know of his heart, the more good he might do, by way of example.— And has he, can he have, so many love-secrets, and yet will he not let them transpire to such a sister?-whom (and so she once hinted) it imported to know something of them. But he knows best. I am very impertinent to be more concerned for his sister, than she is for herself. But I do love her. And one can no more bear to have those slighted whom we love, than one's self.

It is very difficult, Lucy, to know one's self. I am afraid I have a little spice of censoriousness in my temper, which I knew nothing of till now; but, no, it is not censoriousness neither; I cannot be so mean as to be censorious; and yet I can now, methinks, (for the first time,) a little account for those dark spirits who may be too much obliged: and who, despairing to be able ever to return the obligation, are ready to quarrel with the obliger.

Spiteful men say, that we women know not ourselves; know not our own hearts. I believe there is something of truth in the aspersion; but as men and women are brothers and sisters, as I may say, are not the men equally censurable? and should not we women say so, were we to be as spiteful as they? Must it needs be, that a daughter of the same father and mother must be more silly, more unsteady, more absurd, more impertinent, than her brother? I hope not.

Mrs Reeves, not knowing, as she said afterwards, but Miss Grandison might have something to say to me, withdrew.