son to rejoice in a living mother, as we had to remember affectionately the departed.

What I have written, and shall farther write, to the disadvantage of Sir Thomas Grandison, I gathered from what was dropt by one lady, and by the other, at different times; for it was beautiful to observe with what hesitation and reluctance they mentioned any of his failings, with what pleasure his good qualities; heightening the one, and extenuating the other. O, my Lucy! how would their hearts have overflowed in his praises, had they had such a faultless father, and excellent man, as was my father! Sweet is the remembrance of good parents to good children!

Lady Grandison brought a great fortune to Sir Thomas. He had a fine poetical vein, which he was fond of cultivating. Though his fortune was so ample, it was his person, and his verses, that won the lady from several competitors. He had not, however, her judgment. He was a poet; and I have heard my grandfather say, that to be a poet, requires a heated imagination, which often runs away with the judgment.

This lady took the consent of all her friends in her choice; but there seemed a hint to drop from Lady L-, that they consented, because it was her choice; for Sir Thomas, from the day he entered upon his estate, set out in a way that everybody concluded would diminish it.

He made, however, a kind husband, as it is called. His good sense and his politeness, and the pride he took to be thought one of the best bred men in England, secured her complaisant treatment. But Lady Grandison had qualities that deserved one of the best and tenderest of men. Her eye and her ear had certainly misled her. I believe a woman, who chooses a man whom everybody admires, if the man be not good, must expect that he will have calls and inclinations that will make him think the character of a domestic man beneath him.

She endeavoured, at setting out, to engage his -companionableness-shall I call it? She was fond of her husband. He had reason to be, and was, proud of his wife. But when he had shewed her everywhere, and she began to find herself in circumstances, which ought to domesticate a wife of a much gayer turn than Lady Grandison pretended to have, he gave way to his predominant bias; and, after a while, leaving the whole family care to her, for her excellence in every branch of which he was continually praising her, (he did her that justice,) he was but little at home in the summer; and, in the winter, was generally engaged four months in the diversions of this great town; and was the common patron of all the performers, whether at plays, operas, or concerts.

At first setting out in this way, he was solicitous to carry his lady with him to town. She always cheerfully accepted of his invitation, when she saw he was urgent with her to go. She

would not give a pretence for so gay a man to throw off that regard to appearances, which pride made him willing to keep up. But afterwards his invitations growing fainter and fainter, and she finding that her presence lengthened the time of his stay in town, and added greatly to his expenses, (for he never would abate, when they were together, of that magnificence in which he delighted to live in the country,) she declined going up; and having by this time her three children, she found it was as agreeable to Sir Thomas, as to herself, that she should turn her thoughts wholly to the domestic duties. Lady Grandison, when she found that she could not bring Sir Thomas to lessen his great expenses, supposed it to be wisdom to endeavour, to the utmost of her power, to enable him to support them without discredit to himself, or visible hurt to his family. The children were young, and were not likely to make demands upon him for many years to come.

Here was a mother, my dear! Who will say, that mothers may not be the most useful persons in the family, when they do their duty, and their husbands are defective in theirs? Sir Thomas Grandison's delights centred in himself; Lady Grandison's in her husband and children. What a superiority! what an inferiority!

Yet had this lady, with the best economy, no narrowness in her heart. She was beloved for her generosity and benevolence. Her poor neighbours adored her. Her table was plenteous. She was hospitable, as well from the largeness of her own heart, as to give credit to her husband; and so far to accommodate herself to his taste, as that too great a difference might not be seen between his absence and presence. As occasions offered, she would confer benefits in the name of a husband, whom, perhaps, she had not seen of months, and knew not whether she might see for months to the come. She was satisfied, though hers was first merit, with the second merit reflected from that she gave him: "I am but Sir Thomas's almoner; I know I shall please Sir Thomas by doing this; Sir Thomas would have done thus. Perhaps he would have been more bountiful had he been present."

He had been once absent from this admirable wife six whole months, when he left her but for one; he designed only an excursion to Paris, when he set out; but when in company as gay as himself, while he was there, he extended his tour; and, what was still more inexcusable, he let his lady hear from him by second-hand only. He never wrote one line to her with his own; yet, on his return, affected to surprise her by a sudden appearance, when she knew not that he was in England.

Was not this intolerably vain in him? The moment he appeared, so secure was he of his lady's unmerited love, that he supposed the joy she would break out into, would banish from

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[it was at tea, and Lord Lhistories as she should call for of my own fa present such mily. On this condition only, said she, will we shall, if I do not steal away your pen and ink, consent to be made fully known, as I find we to our grandmother Shirley, our aunt Selby, and even to our Lucy.

Do not you think, Lucy, I ran on with pleasure in describing the persons and tempers of my father and mother, and relating their forand aunt had enabled me to do, from what they tunes, loves, difficulties; as my grandmamma and in many a winter-evening, as we girls sat used to recount in many a long summer-day, at work-Happy memorials!—Ay, but do you believe she did not question me about later other histories. events? She did, indeed, call upon me for two

And of whom? methinks I won't tell you, Lucy; but if my aunt should ask. you be solicitous to know, and should guess that my tive) was one of them; and if you, Lucy, should uncle's and hers (so entertaining and instrucguess that the history of a young lady, whose discretion got the better of her love, and who cannot be dearer to herself than she is to me, is the other-Why, perhaps, neither my aunt, nor you, my dear, may be much mistaken.

Methinks I would fain rise now and then to my former serene-pertness; [allow you of the words so connected? but my heart is heavy.

They were delighted with a certain gentleman's humorous character and courtship; with story; and, in the other, with the young lady's his lady's prudence and goodness, in the one sonally acquainted with each, and with my victorious discretion. They wish to be pergrandmamma. All the worthies in the world, my dear, are not in the Grandison family!

Who can bear this goodness? said my father I have not deserved

Dear sir, no more-Were you not the husband of my choice?-And now your grief affects me Leave me, sir. You bring me back again to earth-God preserve you, watch over you, heal you, support you! Your hand, Sir Thomas Grandison, the name that ever was so pleasant in my ears! Your hand, sir! Your heart was my treasure: I have now, and only now, a better treasure, a diviner love, in view. Adieu! and in this world for ever adieu, my husband, my friend, my Grandison!

She turned her head from him, sunk upon her pillows, and fainted; and so saw not, had not the grief to see, the stronger heart of my father overcome; for he fainted away, and was carried out in his chair by the servants who brought him in. He was in a strong convulsion fit, between his not half-cured wounds and his grief; and recovered not till all was over with my blessed mother.

After my father was carried out, she came to herself. Her chaplain was once more admitted. The fatal moment approached. She was asked, if she would see her children again? No, she said: but bid her last blessing be repeated to them, and her charge, of loving one another, in the words of our Saviour, as she had loved us; and when the chaplain came to read a text which she had imperfectly pointed to, but so as to be understood, she repeated, in faltering accents, but with more strength of voice than she had had for an hour before, "I have fought a good fight; I have finished my course; I have kept the faith-There is laid up for me a crown of righteousness." And then her voice failing, she gave signs of satisfaction, in the hope of being entitled to that crown; and expired in an ejaculation that her ebbing life could not support.

O, my Lucy! may my latter end, and the latter end of all I love, be like hers! The two ladies were in speechless tears, so was Miss Jervois, so was I, for some minutes. And for an hour or two, all the joys of life were as nothing to me. Even the regard I had entertained for the excellent son of a lady so excellent, my protector, my deliverer, had, for some hours, subsided, and was as nothing to me. Even now, that I have concluded this moving recapitulation, it seems as nothing; and the whole world, my dear, is as a bit of dirt under my feet.

LETTER LVIII.

MISS BYRON.

[In continuation.]

THE SON was inconsolable upon his mother's death. He loved his father, but next to adored his mother. His father, though he had given

so little attention to his education, was excessively fond of him; and no doubt but he the more easily satisfied himself on this head, as he knew his remissness was so well supplied by his lady's care, which mingled with the cares of the masters of the several sciences, who came home to him, at her desire.

A deep melancholy having seized the young gentleman on a loss so irreparable, his father, who himself was greatly grieved, and the more, as he could not but reproach himself as having at least hastened that loss, was alarmed for his son; and yielded to the entreaties of General W-, brother of Lord W-, to permit him to travel. The general recommended for a governor to the young gentleman, an officer under him, who had been wounded, and obliged to quit the military service. Sir Thomas allowed his son 800l. a-year, from the day of his setting out on his travels, which he augmented afterwards to 1000l. Sir Charles was about seventeen when his mother died.

The two daughters were taken by Lady W. But she dying in about twelve months after Lady Grandison, they returned to their father; who, by that time, had pretty well got over his gri grief for the loss of his lady, and was quite recovered of the wounds which he received in the duel that cost her her life.

He placed over his daughters, as governess, (though they both took exceptions at that title, supposing themselves of age to manage for themselves,) the widow of one of his gay friends, Oldham by name, whose fortune had not held out as Sir Thomas's had done. Men of strong health, I have heard my grandfather say, and of a riotous turn, should not, in mere compassion, keep company with men of feebler constitutions, and make them the companions of their riots. So may one say, I believe, that extravagant men, of great and small fortunes, are equally illsuited; since the expenses which will but shake the one, will quite demolish the other.

Mrs Oldham had fine qualities, and was an economist. She deserved a better husband than had fallen to her lot; and the young ladies, having had a foundation laid by a still more excellent manager, received no small advantage from her skill in family-affairs. But it was related to me with reluctance, and as what I must know on a farther acquaintance with their family, if they did not tell it to me, that Sir Thomas was grateful to this lady in a way that cost her her reputation. She was obliged, in short, in little more than a twelvemonth, to quit the country, and to come up to town. She had an indisposition, which kept her from going abroad for a month or two.

Lady L being then about nineteen, and Miss Grandison about sixteen, they had spirit enough to oppose the return of this lady to her charge. They undertook themselves to manage everything at the capital seat in Hampshire.

Sir Thomas had another seat in Essex. Thither, on the reluctance of the young ladies to receive again Mrs Oldham, he carried her; and they, as well as everybody else, for some time, apprehended they were actually married. She was handsome; well-descended; and though she became so unhappily sensible of the favours and presents by which Sir Thomas made way to her heart, she had an untainted character when he took her as a governess to the young ladies.

Was not Sir Thomas very, very faulty, with regard to this poor woman? She had already suffered enough from a bad husband, to whom she remarkably well performed her duty.-Poor woman!-The example to his own daughters was an abominable one. She was the relict of his friend: she was under his protection: thrown into it by her unhappy circumstances.-Were not these great aggravations to his crime?Happy for those parents who live not to see such catastrophes as attended this child! This darling, it seems: not undeservedly so: and whom they thought they had not unhappily married to Mr Oldham-And he, poor man! thought himself not unhappy in Sir Thomas Grandison's acquaintance; though it ended in his emulating him in his expenses, with a much less estate; in the ruin of his fortune, which indeed was his own fault; and in the ruin of his wife's virtue, which was more Sir Thomas's than hers. - May I say so?- If I may not, (since women, whose glory is their chastity, must not yield to temptation,) had not the husband, however, something to answer for, who, with his eyes open, lived at such a rate, against his wife's dutiful remonstrances, and better example, as reduced her (after his death) to the necessity of dependence on another's favour, and such another!

Sir Thomas was greatly displeased with his daughters, for resisting him in the return of their governess. He had thought the reason of her withdrawing a secret, because he wished it to be one: and yet her disgrace was, at the time, everywhere talked of, but in his presence.

This woman is still living. She has two children by Sir Thomas, who are also living: and one by Mr Oldham. I shall be told more of her history when the ladies come to give me some account of their brother's.

Sir Thomas went on in the same gay, fluttering way, that he had done all his life. The love of pleasure, as it is called, was wrought into his habit. He was a slave to it, and to what he called freedom. He was deemed one of the best companions among men, and one of the gallantest men among women. His advantages of person and mind were snares to him. Mrs Oldham was not the only one of her sex with whom he was intimate: he had another mistress in town, who had a taste for all its gaieties, and who even assumed his name.