Look at the sweet lady, madam ! Behold her, as now, perhaps, balancing in my favour! Think of what she was, the joy of every heart; and what she may be! Which, whatever becomes of me, Heaven avert!-And shall not the noble Clementina have her mother for her advocate?

God is my witness, that your Clementina's happiness is, more than my own, the object of my vows! Once more, for your Clementina's sake, [what, alas, is my sake to that ! on my knee let me request your interest; that, joined to my Jeronymo's, and, if the dear lady recede not, if she blast not these budding hopes, will, I doubt not, succeed.

The young lady ran to me, and offering to help me up with both her hands, Rise, chevalier !— Shall I raise the chevalier, madam ?—I don't love to see him kneel. Poor chevalier !-See his tears!-What is the matter with everybody? Why do you weep?-My mamma weeps too! -What ails everybody?

Rise, chevalier, said the Marchioness. O, this sweet prattler! She will burst my heart asunder!-You cannot, sir, prevail, (I cannot wish that you should,) but upon our own terms. And will not this sweet soul move you?-Hardhearted Grandison!

What a fate is mine! (rising,) with a soul penetrated by the disorder of this most excellent of women, and by the distress given by it to a family, every single person of which I both love and reverence, to be called hard-hearted! What is it I desire, but that I may not renounce a religion in which my conscience is satisfied, and be obliged to embrace for it, one, about which, though I can love and honour every worthy member of it, I have scruples, more than scruples, that my heart can justify, and my reason defend! You have not, madam, yourself, with a heart all mother and friend, a deeper affliction than mine.

Clementina, all this time, looked with great earnestness, now on me, now on her weeping mother-And at last, breaking silence, her mother could not speak, 1 and taking her hand, and kissing it; I don't, said she, comprehend the reason of all this. This house is not the house it was: Who, but I, is the same person in it? My father is not the same; my brothers neither; my mamma never has a dry eye, I think; but I don't weep. I am to be the comforter of you all ! And I will. Don't weep! Why now you weep the more for my comfortings !-0 my mamma ! what would you say to your girl, if she refused comfort ? Then, kneeling down, and kissing her hand with eagerness; I beseech you, my dear mamma, I beseech you to be comfort ed; or lend me some of your tears-What ails me that I cannot weep for you?-But, turning to me; See the chevalier weeps too!-Then rising, and coming to me, her hand pressing my arm-Don't weep, chevalier, my tutor, my friend, my brother's preserver! What ails you?-Be

comforted !-Then taking her handkerchief out of her pocket with one hand, still pressing my arm with the other, and putting it to her eyes, and looking upon it-No!-I thought I could have wept for you!-But why is all this?You see what an example I, a silly girl, can set you-Affecting a still sedater countenance.

O chevalier! said the weeping mother, and do you say your heart is penetrated ?—Sweet creature ! wrapping her arms about her; my own Clementina! Would to Heaven it were given me to restore my child!-0 chevalier! if complying with your terms would do it—But you are immoveable!

How can that be said, madam, when I have made concessions, that a princely family should not, on a beginning address, have brought me to make? May I repeat before Lady Clementina

What would he repeat to me? interrupted she. Do, madam, let him say all he has a mind to say. If it will make his poor heart easy, why let him say all he would say.-Chevalier, speak. Can I be any comfort to you? I would make you all happy, if I could.

This, madam, said I to her mother, is too much! Excellent young lady !-Who can bear such transcendent goodness of heart, shining through intellects so disturbed !-And think you, madam, that on earth there can be a man more unhappily circumstanced than I am?

O my Clementina! said the mother, dear child of my heart! And could you consent to be the wife of a man of a contrary religion to your own? A man of another country?-You see, chevalier, I will put your questions to her.—A man that is an enemy to the faith of his own ancestors, as well as to your faith?

Why, no, madam!—I hope he does not expect that I would.

May I presume, madam, to put the question in my own way?-But yet I think it may distress the dear lady, and not answer the desirable end, if I may not have hope of your interest in my favour; and of the acquiescence of the Marquis and your sons with my proposals.

They will never comply.

Let me then be made to appear insolent, unreasonable, and even ungrateful, in the eyes of your Clementina, if her mind can be made the easier by such a representation. If I have no hopes of your favour, madam, I must, indeed, despair.

Had I any hope of carrying your cause, I know not what might be done: but I must not separate myself from my family, in this great article.-My dear ! (to Clementina, you said you should be easier in your mind, if you were to talk to the chevalier alone. This is the only time you can have for it. Your father and brothers will be here to-morrow-And then, chevalier, all will be over.

Why, madam, I did think I had a great deal

Ought I, sir, (you have been my tutor, and many excellent lessons have you taught methough I don't know what is become of them! -Ought I,) to wish my mamma to withdraw? Ought I to have anything to say to you, that I could not say before her?-I think not.

The Marchioness was retiring. I beg of you, madam, said I, to slip unobserved into that closet. You must hear all that passes. The occasion may be critical. Let me have the opportunity of being either approved or censured, as I shall appear to deserve, in the conversation that may pass between the dear lady and me, if you do withdraw.

O chevalier! you are equally prudent and generous! Why won't you be one of us? Why won't you be a Catholic?

She went out at the door. Clementina curtseyed to her. I led her eye from the door, and the Marchioness re-entered and slipt into the closet.

I conducted the young lady to a chair, which I placed with its back to the closet door, that her mother might hear all that passed.-She sat down and bid me sit by her.

I was willing she should lead the subject, that the Marchioness might observe I intended not to prepossess her.

We were silent for a few moments. She seemed perplexed; looked up, looked down; then on the one side, then on the other-At last; O chevalier! said she, they were happy times when I was your pupil, and you were teaching me English!

They were, indeed, happy times, madam. Mrs Beaumont was too hard for me, chevalier!-Do you know Mrs Beaumont ?

I do. She is one of the best of women. Why, so I think. But she turned and winded me about most strangely. I think I was in a great fault.

How so, madam?

How so! Why to let her get out of me a secret, that I had kept from my mother. And yet there never was a more indulgent mother. Now you look, chevalier: but I shan't tell you what the secret was.

I do not ask you, madam.

that, I do assure you: that did me good. At first it vexed me-You cannot think how much. I have a great deal of pride, sir-But well, I got over that; and I grew sedate-You see how sedate I am. Yet this poor man, thought I, whether he thinks so or not-(I will tell you all my thoughts, sir,)-But don't be grieved. You see how sedate I am. Yet I am a silly girl; you are thought to be a wise man: Don't disgrace your wisdom. Fie! a wise man to be weaker than a simple girl!-Don't let it be said.—What was I saying?

Yet this poor man, whether he thinks so or not, you said, madam.

True!-has a soul to be saved. He has taken great pains with me, to teach me the language of England: shall I not take some with him, to teach him the language of Heaven?-No heretic can learn that, sir!And I had collected abundance of fine thoughts in my mind, and many pertinent things from the Fathers; and they were all in my head-But that impertinent Camilla -And so they are all gone-But this one thing I have to say-I designed to say something like it, at the conclusion of my discourse with you

So it is premeditated, you will say: and so it is. But let me whisper it-No, I won't neither

But turn your face another way—I find my blushes come already-But, (and she put her spread hand before her face, as if to hide her blushes,) don't look at me I tell you-Look at the window. I did.] Why, chevalier, I did intend to say-But stay--I have wrote it down somewhere: [She pulled out her pocket-book:] Here it is. Look another way, when I bid you. -She read-" Let me beseech you, sir, (I was very earnest, you see,) to hate, to despise, to detest, (now don't look this way,) the unhappy Clementina, with all your heart; but, for the sake of your immortal soul, let me conjure you to be reconciled to our holy mother church!"-Will you, sir?-following my indeed averted face with her sweet face; for I could not look towards her. Say you will. I heard you once called an angel of a man: and is it not better to be an angel in Heaven?-Tender-hearted man! I always thought you had sensibility-Say you will-Not for my sake-I told you that I would content myself to be still despised. It shall not be said that you did this for a wife !—No, sir, your conscience shall have all the merit of it!And I'll tell you what; I will lay me down in peace-She stood up with a dignity that was augmented by her piety; and I will say, "Now do thou, O beckoning angel! (for an angel will be on the other side of the river-The river shall be death, sir!-Now do thou) reach out thy divine hand, O minister of peace! I will wade through these separating waters; and I will bespeak a place for the man, who, many, many years hence, may fill it! And I will sit next you for ever and ever!"-And this, sir, shall satisfy the poor Clementina; who will then be richer than the

richest! So you see, sir, as I told my mother, I was setting out on God's errand; and not on my own!

For hours might the dear lady have talked on, without interruption from me!-My dear Dr Bartlett! what did I not suffer!

The Marchioness was too near for herself: she could not bear this speech of her pious, generous, noble daughter. She sobbed; she groaned.

Clementina started-She looked at me. She looked round her. Whence came these groans? Did you groan, sir?-You are not a hard hearted man, though they say you are. But will you be a Catholic, sir? Say you will. I won't be denied. And I will tell you what-If I don't resign to my destiny in a few, a very few weeks, why then I will go into a nunnery; and then I shall be God's child, you know, even in this life. What could I say to the dear lady? Her mind was raised above an earthly love. Circumstanced as we were, how could I express the tenderness for her which overflowed my heart? Compassion is a motive that a woman of spirit will reject: and how could love be here pleaded, when the parties believed it to be in my own power to exert it? Could I endeavour to replace myself in her affection, when I refused to comply with their terms, and they with mine? To have argued against her religion, and in defence of my own, her mind so disturbed, could not be done: and ought I, in generosity, in justice to her family, to have attempted to unsettle her in her faith, in which she, and all her family, were so well satisfied?

I could only, when I could speak, applaud her piety, and pronounce her an angel of a woman, an ornament of her sex, and an honour to her religion; and endeavour to waive the subject.

Ah, chevalier! said she, after a silence of some minutes, you are an obstinate man! Indeed you are-Yet, I think, you do not despise me.-But what says your paper?

She took it out of her bosom, and read it: She seemed affected by it, as if she had not before considered it: And you really proposed these terms, sir? And would you have allowed me the full exercise of my religion? And should I have had my confessor? And would you have allowed me to convert you, if I could? And would you have treated my confessor kindly? And would you have been dutiful to my papa and mamma? And would you have loved my two other brothers as well as you do Jeronymo? And would you have let me live at Bologna ?—You don't say, Yes.— But do you say, No?

To these terms, madam, most willingly would I have subscribed: and if, my dearest lady, they could have had the wished-for effect, how happy had I been !

Well!-She then paused; and resuming, What shall we say to all these things?

I thought her mother would take it well, to have an opportunity given her to quit the closet, now

her Clementina had changed her subject to one so concerning to the whole family. I favoured her doing so. She slipt out, her face bathed in tears, and soon after came in at the drawingroom door.

Ah, madam! said Clementina, paying obeisance to her, I have been arguing and pleading with the chevalier.

Then, speaking low, I believe he may, in time, be convinced: he has a tender heart. But hush, putting her finger to her mouth, and then speaking louder: I have been reading this paper again

She was going on too favourably for me, as it was evident the Marchioness apprehended: (the first time that I had reason to think she was disinclined to the alliance :) for she stopt her: My love, said she, you and I will talk of this matter by ourselves.

She rang. Camilla came in. She made a motion for Camilla to attend her daughter; and withdrew, inviting me out with her.

When we were in another room, Ah, chevalier! said she, how was it possible that you could withstand such a heavenly pleader? You cannot love her as she deserves to be loved: you cannot but act nobly, generously; but, indeed, you are an invincible man.

Not love her, madam! Your ladyship adds distress to my very great distress!-Am I, in your opinion, an ungrateful man ?-But must I lose your favour, your interest? On that, and on my dear Jeronymo's, did I build my hopes, and all my hopes.

I know your terms can never be accepted, chevalier; and I have now no hopes of you. After this last conversation between you and the dear girl, I can have no hopes of you. Poor soul! she began to waver. O, how she loves you! I see you are not to be united: it is impossible. And I did not care to permit a daughter of mine farther to expose herself, as it must have been to no manner of purpose.-You are concerned.-I should pity you, sir, if you had it not in your power to make yourself happy, and us, and ours too.

Little did I expect such a turn in my disfavour from the Marchioness.

May I, madam, be permitted to take leave of the dear lady, to whose piety and admirable heart I am so much indebted?

I believe it may as well be deferred, chevalier.

Deferred, madam!—The Marquis and the General come; and my heart tells me, that I may never be allowed to see her again.

At this time it had better be deferred, sir.

If it must, I submit-God for ever bless you, madam, for all your goodness! God restore to you your Clementina! May you all be happy! -Time may do much for me! Time, and my own not disapproving conscience, may-But a more unhappy man never passed your gates! I took the liberty to kiss her hand, and withdrew, with great emotion.

Camilla hastened after me. Chevalier, says she, my lady asks, if you will not visit Signor Jeronymo?

Blessings attend my ever-valued friend! I cannot see him. I shall complain to him. My heart will burst before him. Commend me to that true friend. Blessings attend every one of this excellent family! Camilla, obliging Camilla, adieu !

O Dr Bartlett!-But the mother was right. She was to account for her conduct in the ab

sence of her lord. She knew the determination of the family; and her Clementina was on the point of shewing more favour to me, than, as things were circumstanced, it was proper she should shew me: yet they had found out that Clementina, in the way she was in, was not easily diverted from anything she took strongly into her head; and they never had accustomed her to contradiction.

Well, Lucy, now you have read this letter, do you not own, that this man, and this woman, can only deserve each other ?--Your Harriet, my dear, is not worthy to be the handmaid of either. This is not an affectation of humility. You will be all of the same opinion, I am sure: and this letter will convince you, that more than his compassion, that his love for Clementina, was engaged. And so it ought. And what is the inference but this-That your Harriet, were this great difficulty to be vincible, could pretend to hope but for half a heart? There cannot be that fervour, my dear, in a second love, that was in a first. Do you think there can ?

DR BARTLETT'S NINTH LETTER.

THE young lady, proceeds Mr Grandison, after I had left her, went to her brother Jeronymo. There I should have found her, had I, as her mother motioned by Camilla, visited my friend; but when I found he was likely to stand alone in his favour to me; when the Marchioness had so unexpectedly declared herself against the compromise; I was afraid of disturbing his worthy heart, by the grief which at the instant overwhelmed mine.

The following particulars Jeronymo sent me, within three hours after I left their palace :

His sister, making Camilla retire, shewed him the paper which she had written, and made me sign, and asked him what he knew of the contents.

He knew not what had passed between his mother and me; nor did Clementina.

He told her that I had actually made those proposals. He assured her, that I loved her above all women. He acquainted her with my distress.

She pitied me. She thought, she said, that I had not made any overtures, any concessions;

VOL. VIII.

that I despised her; and sensibly asked, Why the chevalier was sent for from Vienna ? We all knew his mind, as to religion, said she.

Then, after a pause, He never could have perverted me, proceeded she: he would have allowed me a confessor, would he not? He would, answered Jeronymo.

And he would have left me among my friends in Italy?—

He would, replied he.

Well, brother, and I should have been glad, perhaps, to have seen England once; and he would, perhaps, have brought over his sisters and his father to visit us: and he praises them highly, you know. And if I were their sister, I could have gone over with them, you know. Do you think, if I had loved them, they would not have loved me? I am not an ill-natured creature, you know; and they must be courteous: are they not his sisters? And don't you think his father would love me? I should have brought no dishonour into his family, you know.-Well, but I'll tell you what, Jeronymo: he is really a tender-hearted man. I talked to him of his soul; and, upon my honour, I believe I could have prevailed, in time. Father Marescotti is a severe man, you know; and he has always been so much consulted, and don't love the chevalier, I believe: so that I fancy, if I were to have a venerable sweet-tempered man for my confessor, between my love, and my confessor's prudence, we should gain a soul -Don't you think so, Jeronymo ?-And that would cover a great many sins. And all his family might be converted too, you know!

He encouraged her in this way of thinking. She believed, she said, that I was not yet gone. He is so tender-hearted, brother! that is my de pendence: And you say, he loves me. Are you sure of that?-But I have reason to think he does. He shed tears, as I talked to him, more than once; while my eyes were as dry as they are now. I did not shed one tear. Well, I'll go to him, and talk with him.

She went to the door; but came back on tiptoe; and in a whispering accent-My mamma is coming: Hush, Jeronymo! Let hush be the word!

The door opened-Here, madam, is your girl! -But it is not my mamma: the impertinent Camilla. She follows me as my shadow !

My lady desires to see you, Lady Clementina, in her dressing-room.

I obey. But where is the chevalier? Gone, madam. Gone some time. Ah, brother! said she, and her countenance fell.

What, gone! said Jeronymo, without seeing me! Unkind Grandison! He did not use to be so unkind.

This was the substance of the advices sent me by my friend Jeronymo.

I acquainted him in return, by pen and ink, with all that had passed between the Marchio

Y