brotherly character which he passes under, to her! How officiously he sisters her!

Ah, Lucy! your Harriet is his sister too, you know! He has been used to this dialect, and to check the passions of us forward girls; and yet I have gone on confessing mine to the whole venerable circle, and have almost gloried in it to them. Have not also his sisters detected me! While the noble Clementina, as in that admirable passage cited by her,

Never told her love;

But let concealment, like a worm i' th' bud, Feed on her damask cheek.

How do I admire her for her silence! But yet, had she been circumstanced as your Harriet was, would Clementina have been so very reserved ?

Shall I run a parallel between our two cases?

Clementina's relations were all solicitous for her marrying the Count of Belvedere, a man of unexceptionable character, of family, of fortune; and who is said to be a gallant and a handsome man, and who adores her, and is of her own faith and country.

What difficulties had Clementina to contend with! It was great in her to endeavour to conquer a love, which she could not, either in duty, or with her judgment and conscience, acknowledge.

No wonder, then, that so excellent a young lady suffered Concealment, like a worm in the bud, to feed on her damask cheek.

Harriet's relations were all solicitous, from the first, for an alliance with their child's deliverer. They never had encouraged any man's address; nor had she: and all his nearest and dearest friends were partial to her, and soon grew ardent in her favour.

Harriet, not knowing of any engagement he had, could have no difficulties to contend with; except inferiority of fortune were one. She had therefore no reason to endeavour to conquer a passion not ignobly founded; and of which duty, judgment, and conscience, approved.

Suspense, therefore, only, and not concealment, (since every one called upon Harriet to acknowledge her love,) could feed on her cheek.

And is not suspense enough to make it pale, though it has not yet given it a green and yellow cast? O what tortures has suspense given me! But certainty is now taking place.

What a right method, Lucy, did Clementina, so much in earnest in her own persuasion, take, in this second conference, could she have succeeded, in her solicitude for his change of religion! Could that have been effected, I dare

say she would have been less reserved, as to the cause of her melancholy; especially as her friends were all as indulgent to her as mine are

to me.

But my pity for the noble Clementina begins to take great hold of my heart. I long to have the whole before me.

Adieu, Lucy: if I write more, it will be all a recapitulation of the Doctor's letter. I can think of nothing else.

́ LETTER CVI.

MISS BYRON.

[In continuation.]

Tuesday, March 28. LET me now give you brief account of what we are doing here. Sir Charles so much rejoiced the heart of Lord G, who waited on him the moment he knew he was in town, that he could not defer his attendance on Miss Grandison, till she left Colnebrook; and got hither by our breakfast-time this morning.

He met with a very kind reception from Lord and Lady L, and a civil one from Miss Grandison; but she is already beginning to play her tricks with him.

O, Lucy! where is the sense of parading it with a worthy man, of whose affection we have no reason to doubt, and whose visits we allow?

Silly men in love, or pretending to be in love, generally say hyperbolical things; all, in short, that could be said to a creature of superior order, (to an angel ;) because they know not how to say polite, proper, or sensible things. In like manner, from the same defects in understanding, some of us women act as if we thought coyness and modesty the same thing; and others, as if they were sensible, that if they were not insolent, they must drop into the arms of a lover upon his first question.

But Miss Grandison, in her behaviour to Lord G- is governed by motives of archness, and, I may say, downright roguery of temper. Courtship is play to her. She has a talent for raillery, and in no instance is so successful, yet so improper, as on that subject. She could not spare her brother upon it, though she suffered by it.

Yet had she a respect for Lord G―, she could not treat him ludicrously. Cannot a witty woman find her own consequence, but by putting a fool's coat on the back of a friend?Sterling wit, I imagine, requires not a foil to set it off.

She is, indeed, good-natured; and this is all Lord G has to depend upon-saving a little reliance that he may make upon the influence her brother has over her. I told her, just now,

that were I Lord G, I would not wish to have her mine, on any consideration. She called me silly creature, and asked me, if it were not one of the truest signs of love, when men were most fond of the women who were least fit for them, and used them worst? These men, my dear, said she, are very sorry creatures, and know no medium. They will either, spaniellike, fawn at your feet, or be ready to leap into your lap.

She has charming spirits: I wish I could borrow some of them. But I tell her, that I would not have a single drachm of those overlively ones which I see she will play off upon Lord G. Yet he will be pleased, at present, with any treatment from her; though he wants not feeling, as I can see already.-Don't, Charlotte, said I to her, within this half hour, let him find his own weight in your levity. He admires your wit; but don't let it wound him.

But perhaps she is the sprightlier, in order to give me and Lord and Lady L- spirits. They are very good to me, and greatly apprehensive of the story, which takes up, in a manner, my whole attention: so is Miss Grandison and my sweet Emily, as often as she may, comes up to me when I am alone, and hangs upon my arm, my shoulder; and watches, with looks of love, every turn of my eyes.

I have opened my whole heart to her, for the better guarding of hers; and this history of Clementina affords an excellent lesson for the good girl. She blesses me for the lectures I read her on this subject, and says, that she sees love is a very subtle thing, and, like water, will work its way through the banks that are set up to confine it, if it be not watched, and dammed out in time.

She pities Clementina; and prettily asked my leave to do so. I think, said she, my heart loves her; but not so well as it does you. I long to know what my guardian will do about her. How good is it in her father and mother to love her so dearly! Her two elder brothers one cannot dislike; but Jeronymo is my favourite. He is a man worth saving; i'n't he, madam? But I pity her father and mother, as well as Clementina.

Charming young creature! What an excellent heart she has!

Sir Charles is to dine with Sir Hargrave and his friends to-morrow, on the forest, in his way to Grandison-Hall. The Doctor says, he expects to hear from him, when there. What! will he go by this house, and not call in?With all my heart-we are only sisters! Miss Grandison says, she'll be hanged (that is her word) if he is not afraid of me. Afraid of me! A sign, if he is, he knows not what a poor forward creature I am. But, as he seems to be preengaged-Well, but I shall soon know everything, as to that. But sure he might call in as he went by.

The Doctor says, he longs to know how he approves of the decorations of his church, and of the alterations that are made and making, by his direction, at the Hall. It is a wonder, methinks, that he takes not Dr Bartlett with him: upon my word, I think he is a little unaccountable, such sisters as he has. Should you like it, Lucy, were he your brother? I really think his sisters are too acquiescent.

He has a great taste, the Doctor tells us, yet not an expensive one; for he studies situation and convenience, and pretends not to level hills, or to force and distort nature; but to help it, as he finds it, without letting art be seen in his works, where he can possibly avoid it. For he says, he would rather let a stranger be pleased with what he sees, as if it were always so; than to obtain comparative praise by informing him what it was in its former situation.

As he is to be a suitor for Lord W-, before he returns, he will not, perhaps, be with us, while I am here. He may court for others: he has had very little trouble of that sort for himself, I find.

A very disturbing thought is just come into my head: Sir Charles, being himself in suspense, as to the catastrophe of this knotty affair, did not intend to let us know it till all was over. As sure as you are alive, Lucy, he had seen my regard for him through the thin veil that covered it; and began to be apprehensive (generously apprehensive) for the heart of the poor fool; and so has suffered Dr Bartlett to transcribe the particulars of the story, that they may serve for a check to the over-forward passion of your Harriet.

This thought excites my pride; and that my contempt of myself: near borderers, Lucy! What a little creature does it make me, in my own eyes!-0 Dr Bartlett! your kindly intended transcripts shall cure me: indeed they shall.

But now this subject is got uppermost again. What, Lucy, can I do with it?"

Miss Grandison says, that I shall be with her every day when I go to town: I can have no exception, she says, when her brother is absent nor when he is present, I begin now to think.

Lord help me, my dear! I must be so very careful of my punctilio !—No, thought I, in the true spirit of prudery, I will not go to Sir Charles's house for the world: and why? Because he is a single man; and because I think of something that he, perhaps, has no notion of. But now I may go and visit his sister without scruple, may I not? For he, perhaps, thinks only of his Clementina-and is not this a charming difficulty got over, Lucy?—But, as I said, I will soon be with you.

I told Miss Grandison that I would, just now. -Lovers, said she, are the weakest people in the world; and people of punctilio the most un

Wednesday, March 29. SIR CHARLES came hither this morning, time enough to breakfast with us.

Lady L is not an early riser. I am sure this brother of hers is: so is Miss Grandison. If I say I am, my Lucy, I will not allow you to call it boasting, because you will, by so calling it, acknowledge early rising to be a virtue; and if you thought it such, I am sure you would distinguish it by your practice. Forgive me, my dear: this is the only point in which you and I have differed-And why have I in the main so patiently suffered this difference, and not tried to teaze you out of it? Because my Lucy always 80 well employs her time when she is alive. But would not one the more wish that well employed life to be made as long as possible?

I endeavoured to be very cheerful at breakfast; but I believe my behaviour was awkward and affected. After Sir Charles was gone, on my putting the question to the two sisters, whether it was not so they acquitted me-Yet my heart, when in his company, laboured with a sense of constraint.

My pride made me want to find out pity for me in his looks and behaviour, on purpose to quarrel with him in my mind; for I could not get out of my head that degrading surmise, that he had permitted Dr Bartlett to hasten to me the history of Clementina, in order generously to check any hopes that I might entertain, before they had too strongly taken hold of my foolish heart.

But nothing of this was discoverable. Respect, tender respect, appeared, as the ladies afterwards took notice, in every word, when he addressed himself to me; in every look that he cast upon me.

He studiously avoided speaking of the Bologna family. We were not, indeed, any of us fond of leading to the subject.

I am sure I pitied him.

Pity, my dear, is a softer passion, I dare say, in the bosom of a woman, than in that of a man. There is, there must be, I should fancy, more generosity, more tenderness, in the pity of the one, than in that of the other. In a man's pity, [I write in the first case from my own sensibilities, in the other from my apprehensions, there is, too probably, a mixture of insult or contempt. Unhappy, indeed, must the woman be, who has drawn upon her the helpless pity of the man she loves!

The ladies and Lord L- will have it, that Sir Charles's love, however, is not so much engaged for Clementina, as his compassion. They are my sincere friends: they see that I am pretty delicate in my notions of a first love; and they generously endeavour to inculcate this distinction upon me: but to what purpose, when we evidently see, from what we already know of this story, that his engagements, be the motive what it will, are of such a nature, that they cannot be dispensed with while this lady's destiny is undetermined?

Poor Lady Clementina! From my heart I pity her: and tenderness, I am sure, is the sole motive of my compassion for this fair unfortu

WITH this, I send the Doctor's second packet. O my dear, what a noble young lady is Clementina! What a purity is there in her passion! A letter of Mrs Beaumont (Mrs Beaumont herself an excellent woman) will shew you, that Clementina deserves every good wish. Such a noble struggle did I never hear of, between religion and love. O, Lucy! you will be delighted with Clementina! You will even, for a while, forget your Harriet; or, if you are just, will think of her but next after Clementina! Never did a young lady do more honour to her sex than is done it by Clementina! A flame, the most vehement, suppressed from motives of piety, till, poor lady! it has devoured her intellects!

Read the letter, and be lost, as I was, for half an hour after I had read it, in silent admiration of her fortitude! O, my dear! she must be rewarded with a Sir Charles Grandison! My reason, my justice, compels from me my vote in her favour.

My Lord L- and the two ladies admire her as much as I do. They look at me with eyes of tender concern. They say little. What can they say?-But they kindly applaud me for my unfeigned admiration of this extraordinary young lady. But where is my merit? Who can forbear admiring her?

DR BARTLETT'S SECOND LETTER. YOUR fourth inquiry, madam, is,

Whether the particularly cheerful behaviour of the young lady, on the departure of Mr Grandison from Bologna, after a course of melancholy, is anywhere accounted for?

And your fifth is, What were the particulars of Mrs Beaumont's management of the lady, at Florence, by which she brought her to own her love, after she had so long kept it a secret from her mother, and all her family?

WHAT I shall transcribe, in order to satisfy you, madam, with regard to the fifth article, will include all that you can wish to be informed of, respecting the fourth.

But let me premise, that Mrs Beaumont, at the request of the Marchioness, undertook to give an account of the health of the young lady, and what effect the change of air, of place, and her advice, had upon her mind, after she had been at Florence for two or three days. She, on the fourth day of their being together, wrote to that lady the desired particulars. The following is a translation of her letter:

YOUR ladyship will excuse me for not writing till now, when you are acquainted, that it was not before last night that I could give you any tolerable satisfaction on the subject upon which I had engaged to do myself that honour.

I have made myself mistress of the dear young lady's secret. Your ladyship guessed it, perhaps, too well. Love, but a pure and laudable love, is the malady that has robbed her of her tranquillity for so long a space, and your splendid family of all comfort: but such a magnanimity shewn, or endeavoured at, that she deserves to be equally pitied and admired. What is it that the dear young lady has not suffered in a conflict between her duty, her religion, and her love!

The discovery, I am afraid, will not give pleasure to your family; yet certainty, in what must be, is better than suspense. You will think me a managing person, perhaps, from the relation I have to give you: but it was the task prescribed me; and you commanded me to be very minute in the account of all my dealings with her, that you might know how to conduct yourselves to her for the cure of the unhappy malady. I obey.

The first and second days, after our return to Florence, were passed in endeavouring to divert her, as our guest, in all the ways we could think of: but finding, that company was irksome to her, and that she only bore with it for polite

ness-sake; I told the ladies, that I would take her entirely into my own care, and devote my whole time to her service. They acquiesced: and when I told Lady Clementina of my intention, she rejoiced at it, and did me the honour to assure me, that my conversation would be balm to her heart, if she could enjoy it without mixed company.

Your ladyship will see, however, from what I have mentioned of her regard for me, that I had made use of my time in the two past days to ingratiate myself into the favour of your Clementina. She will have me call her nothing but Clementina: excuse, therefore, madam, the freedom of my style.

She engaged me last night to give her a lesson, as she called it, in an English author. I was surprised at her proficiency in my native tongue. Ah, my dear! said I, what an admirable manner of teaching must your tutor have had, if I am to judge by the great progress you have made in so short time, in the acquiring a tongue that has not the sweetness of your own, though it has a force and expressiveness, that is more than equal, I think, to any of the modern languages!

She blushed-Do you think so? said she→ And I saw, by the turn of her eye, and her consciousness, that I had no need to hint to her Count Marulli, nor any other man.

I took upon me, without pushing her, just then, upon the supposed light dropt in from this little incident, to mention the Count of Belvedere with distinction, as the Marquis had desired I would.

She said, she could not by any means think of him.

I told her, that, as all her family approved highly of the Count, I thought they were entitled to know her objections; and to judge of the reasonableness or unreasonableness of them. Indeed, my dear, said I, you do not, in this point, treat your father and mother with the duti fulness that their indulgence deserves.

She started. That is severely said; is it not, madam?

Consider of it, my dear; and if you pronounce it so, after an hour's reflection, I will call it so, and ask your pardon.

I am afraid, said she, I am in fault. I have the best and most indulgent of parents. There are some things, some secrets, that one cannot be forward to divulge. One should, perhaps, be commanded out of them with a high hand.

Your acknowledgment, my dear, said I, is more generous than the occasion given for it; but if you will not think me impertinent

Don't, don't ask me too close questions, madam, interrupted she; I am afraid I can deny you nothing.

I am persuaded, my dear Clementina, that the mutual unbosoming of secrets, is the cement of faithful friendship, and true love. Whenever

any new turn in one's affairs happens, whenever any new lights open, the friendly heart rests not, till it has communicated to its fellow-heart the new lights, the interesting events; and this communicativeness knits the true lover's knot still closer. But what a solitariness, what a gloom, what a darkness, must possess that mind, which can trust no friend with its inmost thoughts! The big secret, when it is of an interesting na ture, will swell the heart till it is ready to burst. Deep melancholy must follow-I would not for the world have it so much as thought, that I had not a soul large enough for friendship. And is not the essence of friendship communication, mingling of hearts, and emptying our very soul into that of a true friend?

Why, that's true. But, madam, a young creature may be so circumstanced, as not to have a true friend; or, if she has near her a person to whom she might communicate her whole mind without doubt of her fidelity, yet there may be a forbiddingness in the person; a difference in years; in degree; as in my Camilla, who is, however, a very good woman-We people of condition, madam, have more courtiers about us than friends: but Camilla's fault is teazing, and always harping upon one string, and that by my friends' commands: it would be, therefore, more laudable to open my mind to my mother, than to her; as it would be the same thing.

Very true, my dear: and as you have a mother, who is less of the mother than she would be of the sister, the friend; it is amazing to me, that you have kept such a mother in the dark so long.

What can I say?—Ah, madam !—There she stopped. At last said, But my mother is in the interest of the man I cannot love.

The question recurs-Are not your parents entitled to know your objections to the man whose interest they so warmly espouse?

I have no particular objections. The Count of Belvedere deserves a better wife than I can make him. I should respect him very much, had I a sister, and he made his addresses to her.

Well, then, my dear Clementina, if I guess the reason why you cannot approve of the Count of Belvedere, will you tell me, with that candour, with that friendship, of the requisites of which we have been speaking, whether I am right or not?

She hesitated. I was silent in expectation. She then spoke, I am afraid of you, madam. You have reason to be so, if you think me unworthy of your friendship.

What is your guess, Mrs Beaumont ? That you are prejudiced in favour of some other man; or you could not, if you had a sister, wish her a husband that you thought unworthy of yourself.

me!

If impertinently, say so; and I have done. No, no, not impertinently, neither; yet you distress me.

That could not be, if I were not right; and if the person were not too unworthy of you, to be acknowledged.

O Mrs Beaumont! How closely you urge me! What can I say?

If you have any confidence in me-If you think me capable of advising you———

I have confidence: your known prudenceAnd then she made me compliments, that I could not deserve.

Come, my dear Clementina, I will guess again
Shall I?

What would you guess?

That there is a man of low degree-Of low fortunes-Of inferior sense

Hold, hold, hold!—And do you think that the Clementina before you is sunk so low ?-If you do, why don't you cast the abject creature from you?

Well, then, I will guess again-That there is a man of a royal house; of superior understanding; of whom you can have no hope.

O Mrs Beaumont! And cannot you guess that this prince is a Mahometan, when your hand is in?

Then, madam, and from the hints your ladyship had given, I had little doubt that Clementina was in love; and that religion was the apprehended difficulty. Zealous Catholics think not better of Protestants, than of Mahometans: nor, indeed, are zealous Protestants without their prejudices. Zeal will be zeal, in persons of whatever denomination.

I would not, however, madam, like a sudden frost, nip the opening bud.

There is, said I, a young soldier of fortune, who has breathed forth passionate wishes for Clementina.

A soldier of fortune, madam! with an air of disdain. There cannot be such a man living, that can have his wishes answered.

Well, then, to say nothing of him; there is a Roman nobleman-a younger brother-of the Borghese house-Permit me to suppose him the

man.

With all my heart, madam.

She was easy, while I was at a distance. But if the Chevalier Grandison-[she coloured at his name]-has done him ill officesThe Chevalier Grandison, madam, is incapable of doing any man ill offices.

Are you sure, madam, that the Chevalier has not art?-He has great abilities. Men of great