of a rescuer-Shall I, my child, save you from being run away with by these tyrannous overrefinements? Yes, you will say, could I do it disinterestedly. Well, I will, if I can, imagine myself quite disinterested; suppose my son out of the case. And since I have told you, more than once, that I cannot allow the sacredness young people are apt to imagine in a first love; I must, you know, take it for granted, that even his to you is not absolutely unconquerable.

**

Let us then consider a little the bright fairy schemes, for so I must call them, which you have formed in the letter which lies before me.* Do not your excellent grandmamma and aunt see them in the same light? I dare say they do: but to one I love so dearly, how can I omit to offer my hand to extricate her out of a maze of bewildering fancy, in which she may else tread many a weary step, that ought to be advancing forward in the paths of happiness and duty?

Think but, my dear child, what fortitude of soul, what strength even of constitution, you answer for, when you talk of living happy in a friendship with two persons, when they are united by indissoluble ties, the very thought of whose union makes your cheek fade, and your health languish. Ah, my beloved Harriet! is not this a fairy scheme?

Mistake me not, my love; I suspect not that your sentiments would want anything of the purity, the generosity, the true heroism, required in the idea of a friendship like that you talk of. I suspect not in the noble pair, [Does that phrase hurt you, my Miss Byron? Think then how your heart would suffer in the lasting conflict that must accompany the situation which you have proposed to yourself? I suspect not, in either of them, sentiments or behaviour unsuitable to your excellence: Yet let me ask one thing: Would not the example of such an attachment subsisting between persons known to have once had different views, and tenderer affections, mislead less delicate and less guarded minds into allowances dangerous to them and subject souls, less great than Clementina's, to jealousies, whether warrantable or not, of friendships that should plead yours for a precedent?

you

Do not be impatient, my dear; I have a great deal more to say. This friendship, what is it to be? Not more than friendship, disguised under the name of it: For how can that consist with your peace of mind, your submission to the dictates of reason, your resignation to the will of Providence? If then it be only friendship, how is it inconsistent with your forming an attachment of a nearer kind with a person of merit, who approves of, and will join in it? What think you, my dear, is that love which we vow at the altar? Surely, not adoration: not a pre

ference of that object absolutely, as in excellence superior to every other imaginable being. No more, surely, in most cases, than such a preferable choice (all circumstances considered) as shall make us with satisfaction of mind, and with an affectionate and faithful heart, unite ourselves for life with a man whom we esteem; who we think is no disagreeable companion, but deserves our grateful regard; that his interest from henceforth should be our own, and his happiness our study. And is not this very consistent, my dear, with admiring and loving the excellence of angels; and even with seeing and pitying, in this partner of our lives, such imperfections as make him evidently their inferior? Inferior even to such human angels, as you and I have in our heads at this moment.

Observe, my dear, I say only that such friendship is very consistent with being more nearly united to one who knows and approves it: for concealment of any thought, that much affects the heart, is, I think, in such a case, (with very few exceptions from very particular circumstances,) utterly unallowable, and blameably indelicate.

You are, my dear, (I will not offend you, by saying to what degree,) a reasonable and prudent young woman; pious, dutiful, and benevolent. Consider then, how much better you would account for the talents committed to you; how much more joy you would give to the best of friends; how much more good you would do to your fellow-creatures, by permitting yourself to be called out into active life, with all its variety of relations, than you can while you continue obstinately in a single state, on purpose to indulge a remediless sorrow. The domestic connections would engage you in a thousand, not unpleasing, new cares and attentions, that must inevitably wear out, in time, impressions which you would feel unfit to indulge. All that is generous, grateful, reasonable, in your very just attachment, would remain; everything that passion and imagination have added, every unreasonable, every painful emotion, would be banished; and the friendship between the two families become a source of lasting happiness to both.

Adieu, my Harriet ! I am afraid of being tedious on an unpleasing subject. If I have omitted anything material in this argument, the excellent parents you are with can abundantly supply it from their own reason and experience of the world. Assure them of my unfeigned regard; and believe me, my dear child, with a degree of esteem, that no young creature ever merited half so well,

Your truly affectionate

M. D

PINNED ON BY LADY G

"DON'T you think, Lady L—, that the contents of this letter ought to have the more weight with Harriet, as, were she to be Lady Grandison, they would suit her own case and Emily's, were Emily to make the same pretensions to a perpetual single life, on the improbability of marrying her first love? I shall freely speak my mind upon this subject, when Harriet can better bear the argument."

LETTER CLXXVI.

FROM THE EARL OF G TO LADY G

Tuesday, Aug. 1.

MY DEAR Daughter, LET me be excused for asking you a question by pen and ink: When do you think of returning from Northamptonshire? Lady Gertrude and I are out of all patience with you; not with Lord G. We know, that wherever you are, there will he wish to be: his treasure and his heart must be together. But to me, who always loved my son; to Lady Gertrude, who always loved her nephew; and who equally rejoiced in the happy event that gave me a daughther, and her a niece; what can you say in excuse for robbing us of both? It is true, Miss Byron is a lady that ought to be half the world to you: But must the other half have no manner of regard paid to it? I have inquired of Lord and Lady L-, but they say you are so very far from setting your time for return, that you are pressing them to go down to you. What can my daughter mean by this? Have you taken a house in Northamptonshire? Have you forgot that you have taken one in Grosvenor-Square? Everything is done there, that you had ordered to be done; and all at a stand for farther directions. Let me tell you, Lady G that my sister and I love you both too well, to bear to be thus slighted. Love us but half as well, and you will tell us the day of your return. You don't consider that we are both in years; and that, in all probability, you may often rejoice in the company you are with, when you cannot have ours. Excuse this serious conclusion. I am serious upon the subject-And why? Because I love you with a tenderness truly paternal. Pray make mine and my sister's compliments acceptable to the loveliest woman in England, and to every one whom she loves, who are now in Northamptonshire.

I am, my dearest daughter,
Your ever affectionate

G—

LETTER CLXXVII.

LADY GTO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF G

Selby House, August 4. O, My dear lord! what do you mean? Are you and Lady Gertrude really angry with me? I cannot bear the serious conclusion of your letter. May you both live long, and be happy! If my affectionate duty to you both will contribute to your felicity, it shall not be wanting. I was so happy here, that I know not when I should have returned to town, had you not, so kindly as to your intention, yet so severely in your expressions, admonished me. I will soon throw myself at your feet; and by the next post will fix the day on which I hope to be forgiven by you both. Let Lord G- answer for himself. Upon my word he is as much to be blamed as I am; nay, more, for he dotes upon Miss Byron.

Duty I avow: Pardon I beg: Never more, my dear and honoured lord, shall you have like

reason to chide

Your ever dutiful daughter, Nor you, my dear Lady Gertrude, Your most obedient kinswoman, CHARLOTTE G

LETTER CLXXVIII.

LADY G TO MISS BYRON.

London, Saturday, August 5. THANK YOU, my reverend and dear Mrs Shirley, Mrs Selby, and Harriet the lovely and beloved. Thank you, my dear Lucy and Nancy Selby, and Kitty and Patty Holles; and good Miss Orme; and you, my dear disputatious uncle Selby, and honest cousin James, and all the rest of you; for your particular graces, favours, civilities, and goodness superabundant, to my bustling lord, and his lively dame, Let the good Doctor and Emily thank you for themselves.

And who do you think met us at St Alban's? -Why, Beauchamp, Sir Harry and my lady, and Mr and Mrs Reeves!

Poor Sir Harry! He is in a very bad way ; and Lady Beauchamp and his son (who peradventure had a reason he gave not) prevailed upon him to make this little excursion, in hopes it would divert him. They had not for some weeks past seen him so cheerful as we made him.

Aunt Nell met us at Barnet, with Cicely Badger, her still older woman, whom she keeps

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 Fowl ers, your Pollexfens, your Bagenhalls, and half a score more I could name, to be put in competition with Mrs Shirley, Mrs Selby, Lady Dour Lucy, Nancy, Miss Orme, the two Misses Holles? Let uncle Selby and cousin James determine 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

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.

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 Hea ven'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 glut tonous 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 wit— Wit 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 GNever, 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!

LETTER CLXXIX.

MISS BYRON TO LADY G

Selby-House, July 24. You write, my dear Lady G―, with intent to make me smile. I thank you for your intention; it is not wholly lost. My friends and I are one; and my uncle and cousin James laughed out at several places in your lively letter. Lucy smiled; but shall I tell you what my grandmamma and aunt said?

ted.

I will not. Now will your curiosity be exci

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 undoubtedly 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 Dwould 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