"What a disappointment was my rejection of him!"-See, these are his words. And these too; that " he admires me, however, for my motives." 66 Marriage, he says, is not in his power; for there is but one woman in the world, now I have refused him, that he can think worthy of succeeding me."-What honour he does me! Thank God she is an Englishwoman! O that I had any influence over her! Sweet lady, amiable Englishwoman, let not punctilio deprive you of such a man as this!-Shew her this letter, my good Grandison! Let me transcribe from it, rather for your perusal, happy English lady! certain passages in it, so delicate, so worthy of himself, and of you. "Thousands, of whom he is not worthy," he says. How can he say so? "She has for an admirer every one who knows her." She shall have me for an admirer, Mrs Beaumont, if she will accept of my fourth brother. She will accept of him, if she deserves the character he gives her; let me tell you, lady, that your heart is narrower than that of Clementina, if you think it a diminution to your honour, that he has loved that Clementina. Why cannot you and I be sisters? My love shall be but a sisterly love. You may depend upon the honour of the Chevalier Grandison. He will do his duty in every relation of life. What can be your doubts? 66 "Even Olivia, he says, admires you!"-And will such a woman stand upon punctilious observances, like women of ordinary consequence, having to deal with common men?-O that I knew this lady! I would convince her, that he can do justice to her greater, and to my lesser merits; and yet not appear to be divided by a double love; although he should own to all the world, as he says he will," [See, see, Mrs Beaumont, these are his very words, "his affection for Clementina, and glory in it?" O Mrs Beaumont, how my soul, putting her hand to her forehead, then to her heart, loves his soul! nor but for one obstacle, that would have shaken my faith, and endangered my salvation, (hadI got over it,) should his soul only have been the object of my love. Let me but continue single, my dear friends; indulge me in the wish that has been so long next my heart; and take not advantage of the hopes I have given you in writing; and I shall pass happily through this short life; a life that deserves not the bustle which we make about it. Ask me not either to "set or follow the example you propose to me;" I cannot do either. Unkind chevalier, why would you strengthen their hands, and weaken mine?-Yet, if it be came your justice, what had I but justice to expect from a just man; who has so eminently performed all his own duties, and particularly the filial: which he here calls an article of religion ? When she came to the concluding part of this letter, and your wishes for her perfect recovery, health, and welfare, and for the happiness of us all: May every blessing, said she, he wishes us, be his! Then folding up the letter, and putting it in her bosom; This letter, and that which accompanied it, (meaning yours to her,) I must read over and over. Shall I say, my Grandison, that I half-pity the lovely Harriet Byron, though her name should be changed to yours? You must love Clementina; were a sovereign princess her rival, you must. Clementina! who so generously can give up a love as fervent as ever glowed in a virgin heart, on superior motives; motives which regard eternity; and receive joy in the prospect of your happiness with another woman, on a persuasion that that woman can make you happier than she herself could, because of a difference in religion. My sister choosing to retire to her closet, to reperuse the two letters, Mrs Beaumont, knowing our curiosity, put down what had passed; intending, as she said, to write a copy of it for you. How were we all, on perusing it, charmed with our Clementina! I insisted, that nothing, at present, should be said to her of the Count of Belvedere, and of our wishes in his favour. My father gave into my opinion. He said, he thought the properest time to mention the Count to her, was, when we had an answer to the letter I wrote to you on the 5th current, if that could give us assurances that you had made your addresses to the charming Byron, and were encouraged. The General was impatient; but he acquiesced, on finding every one come into my motion; but said, that if all this lenity did not do, he must beg leave to have his own measures pursued. SOME little particularity has appeared in the dear creature since I have written the above. She has been exceedingly earnest with her mother, to use her interest with my father, and us, to be allowed to go to England; but desires not the permission, till you are actually married. She pleads my health, because of the salutary springs you mentioned to me. Several other pleas she offered; but, to say truth, they carried with them such an air of flightiness, that I am loath to mention them; yet all of them were innocent, all of them were even laudable. But (shall I say?) that some of them appeared too romantic for a settled brain to be so earnest, as she is, for having them carried into execution. We have no doubt, but all her view is, to avoid marriage, by such a strange excursion. Dear creature, said the Bishop, speaking of her THE HISTORY OF ust now, the veil denied her, she must have some point to carry; I wish we saw less rapidity in her manner. I, Grandison, for my part, remember how much she and we all suffered by denying her the farewell visit from you, on your taking leave of Italy the time before the last. and disarms one's heart, and makes one wish to oblige them; and so renders one miserable, wheronymo, there is great cruelty in persuasion, and ther we do or do not comply. Believe me, Jestill more to a soft and gentle temper, than to a stubborn one: persuaders know not what they make such a person suffer. My dearest Clementina, said I, you have shewn juring you to suppose you are not equal to every glorious a magnanimity, that it would be inbranch of duty. God forbid that you should be reasonable one, you must be victorious. called to sustain an unreasonable trial-In a But we think an expedient has offered, that will divert her from this wildness, as I must call it: Mrs Beaumont has requested, that she may so be allowed to take her with her to Florence for some weeks. Clementina is pleased with our readiness to oblige them both; and they will soon go. But all this time she is uniform and steady in her wishes for your marriage. She delights to hear Mrs Beaumont talk of the perfections of the lady to whom we are all desirous of hearing you are united. You had written, it seems, to Mrs Beaumont, a character given of this young lady by Olivia, upon a personal knowledge of her. Mrs Beaumont shewed it to Cle mentina. How generously did the dear creature rejoice in it. Just such a woman, said she, did I wish for the chevalier. Olivia has shewn greatness of mind in this instance. Perhaps I have thought too hardly of Olivia. Little did I think, I should ever have requested a copy of anything written by Olivia. Ill-will disables us from seeing those beauties in the person who is the object of it, which would otherwise strike us to her advantage. You must oblige me, added she, with a copy of this extract. Oct. 20, N. S. You will be pleased, I know, my Grandison, with every particular that shall tend to demonstrate the pleasure the dear Clementina takes in hoping you will be soon the happy man we all wish you to be. This morning she came down with her work into my chamber. I invite myself, Jeronymo, said she. I will sit down by you, till you are disposed to rise. She then, of her own motion, began to talk of you; and I, putting it to her, (as her mother did yesterday,) whether she would be really glad to hear of your nuptials, received the same answer she then made; she sincerely should; she hoped the next letters would bring an account that it was so. But then, Jeronymo, continued she, I shall be teazed, persecuted. Let me not, my brother, be persecuted. I don't know, whether downright compulsion is not more tolerable than over-earnest entreaty. A child, in the first instance, may contract herself, as I may say, within her own compass; may be hardened; but the entreaty of such friends as undoubtedly mean one's good, dilates fine compliment !-Magnanimity, my brother! Ah Jeronymo! How little do I deserve this You know not what I yet, at times, suffer!And have you not seen my reason vanquished in the unequal conflict! She wept. But let the che ed of; and let me comfort myself, that he is not valier be married, and to the angel that is talkthen let me be indulged in a single life, in a place a sufferer by my withholding my hand-And and we shall both be happy. consecrated to retirement from the vain world; on her to sit down, and my sister to stay a little Mrs Beaumont came to seek her. I prevailed longer. I extolled my sister to her; she joined in the just praise. But one act of magnanimity, said Mrs Beaumont, seems wanting to complete the greatness of your character, my love, in this particular case of the expected marriage of the Chevalier Grandison. What is that, Mrs Beaumont ?-all attention. You see his doubts, his apprehensions of appearing worthy of the lady so highly spoken of, because of that delicacy of situation (which, as you observe, Olivia also hints at) from what may well imagine, as his love of you commenced bebe called a divided love: Miss Byron may very fore he knew her, that she may injure you if she receive his addresses ; you had the generosity to wish, when you were reading those his appreto influence her in his favour. hensions, that you knew the lady, and were able Well, Mrs Beaumont set her name to the noble sentiments, that so Can I doubt that Lady Clementina is able to lately, in reading his letter, flowed from her lips? What would Mrs Beaumont have me do? and paper, are always before you there. Assume Let me lead you to your own closet. Pen, ink, your whole noble self, and we shall see what that assumption will produce. the happiness of a man who has suffered so much All that is in my power, said she, to promote through my means, it is my duty to do. led her to her closet, and left her there. The folShe gave her hand to Mrs Beaumont; who lowing is the result. Generous, noble creature! -But does it not shew a raised imagination! especially in the disposition of the lines? The admirable creature gave this to Mrs Beaumont: Send this, madam, said she, if you think proper, to your friend and my friend, the Chevalier Grandison. Tell him, that I shall think myself very happy, if it may serve as a testimonial, to the lady whose merits entitle her to his love, of my sincere wishes for their mutual happiness: tell him, that at present I wish for nothing more ardently, than to hear of his nuptials being celebrated. Dear Grandison ! let your next give us an opportunity to felicitate you on this desirable event. In this wish joins every one of a family to whom you are, and ever will be, dear. Witness, for them all, The Marquis and Marchioness DELLA I. T. R. Bishop of Nocera. LETTER CCXXXVII. MISS BYRON TO SIR CHARLES GRANDISON. Wednesday, November 1. How, sir, have the contents of your friend Jeronymo's letter affected me !--I am more and more convinced, that, however distinguished my lot may be, Clementina only can deserve you. What a vain creature must I be, if I did not think so! And what a disingenuous one, so thinking, if I did not acknowledge it! I cannot, sir, misconstrue your delicate sensibilities. My own teach me to allow for yours. "Best of men," I can, I do, with Clementina, VOL. VIII. "Believe me, LADY, your happiness will be essential to hers!" "God give you happiness! Harriet prays for it! My next to divine monitress, it shall be my study to make him happy!" "But, most excellent of women, have you regrets? Regrets, which can only be lessened by the joy you will have in his happiness!—And with another! "Superlative goodness! Why, why, when he would allow to you the exercise of your religion, and only insists on the like liberty, are the obstacles you hint at invincible?" O sir! I can pursue this subject no farther. Thus far an irresistible impulse carried me. How should I be able to stand before this lady, were the visit she was so earnest to be allowed to make to England to take place! yet, in such a case, with what pleasure should I pay my reverence to her mind in her person! And does SHE, do her family, do You, sir, wish us speedily ONE?—Are you not satisfied with the given month?-Is not a month, sir, your declaration so lately made, a short term? (and let me ask you, but within parentheses, Do you not, on an occasion so very delicate, in your limited three days after your return to us, treat the not-insensible Harriet a little more-Help me, sir, to a word—than might have been expected from a man so very polite?)-And can you so generously, yet so seriously, ask me, From which parts of the Nuptial Life, the LAST (What a dreadful idea do you raise in that solemn word!) or the FIRST, I would deduct the week's or fortnight's supposed delay?—O sir, what a way of putting it is this!-Thus I answer-" From neither!" My honour is your honour. Determine You, most generous of men, for your HARRIET BYRON. heart is in trouble, and she must write; and must beg the favour of you, the most indulgent guardian that ever poor orphan had, to answer her by pen and ink. For whether you can forgive her or not, she will be equally incapable of bearing your goodness, or your displeasure. How weakly I express myself! I find I shall write worse to you than to anybody else: And why? Because I wish to write best. But I have great awe, and no genius. I am a poor girl in every sense; as you shall hear by and by. I hope you won't be very angry with me. If you are, I shall be worse than poor-I shall be miserable. But to come before my guardian as a delinquent, when I have ambition enough to wish to shine in his eyes, if so it could have been !—It is a very great mortification indeed! If you were to acquit me, I shall have had great punishment in that thought. But to open my troubled heart to you-Yet how shall I? I thought to tell it you yesterday; but for my life I could not. Did you not observe me once, sir, hanging upon the back of your chair, unable to stand in your sight? O how I felt my face glow! Then it was I thought to have spoken my mind; but you were so kind, so good to me, I could not, might I have had the world. You took my hand-I shall be very bold to repeat it; but am always so proud of your kind notice, that I can't help it: And you said, drawing me gently to you, "Why keeps my Emily behind me? What can I do for my Emily? Tell me, child: Is there anything I can do for my ward?" Yet, though the occasion was so fair, I could not tell you. But I shall tire you before I come to the point (to the fault, I should say) that has emboldened me to write. This, then, is the truth of the matter :My poor mother, sir, is very good now, you know. You have taken from her all her cares about this world. She and her husband live together happily and elegantly: They want for nothing; and are grown quite religious: So that they have leisure to think of their souls' good. They make me cry for joy, whenever I go to them. They pray for you, and heap blessings upon you; and cry, to think they ever offended you. But, sir, I took it into my head, knowing it was a vast way for them to go from Soho to somewhere in Moorfields, to hear the preacher they admire so much, and coach-hire, and charities, and contributions, of one kind or other, (for their minister has no establishment,) and old debts paying off, that at present, though I believe they are frugal enough, they can't be much aforehand-So, thought I, shall I ride in my guardian's coach at one time, in Lady G- -'s at another, in Lady L- 's at another; though so much better able to walk than my poor mother; while she is growing into years, and when infirmities are coming on; and my guardian's example before me, so opening to one's heart?— I ventured, therefore, unknown to my mother and her husband, unknown to anybody, by way of surprise, to bespeak a plain neat chariot, and agreed for a coachman and a pair of horses; for I had about one hundred and thirty guineas by me when I bespoke it. Out of this, thought I, (which is my own money, without account,) I shall be able to spare enough for the first half year's expenses; after which they will be in circumstances to keep it on: And as quarters comé round, thought I, I will stint myself, and throw in something towards it; and then my poor mother and her husband can go to serve God, and take sometimes an airing, or so, where they please; and make an appearance in the world, as the mother of the girl who is entitled to so large a fortune. And I don't grudge Mr O'Hara; for he is vastly tender of my mother now: which must be a great comfort to her, you know, sir, now she is come to be sorry for past things, and apt to be very spiritless, when she looks backPoor dear woman! But here, sir, was the thing: Believing it became me, as Lady L, Lady G―, and Mrs Eleanor Grandison, intended to shew their respect to you, on a certain happy occasion, by new clothes, to shew mine the same way; went to the mercer's, and was so tempted by two patterns, that, not knowing which to choose, I bought of both; not thinking, at the time, of the bespoken chariot. To be sure, I ought to have consulted Lady L, or Lady G―; but, foolish creature as I was, I must be for surprising them too with my fine fancy. Then I laid out a good deal more than I intended, in millinery matters; not but I had my pennyworths for my penny: But the milliners are so very obliging; they shew one this pretty thing, and that fashionable one, and are so apt to praise one's taste; and one is so willing to believe them, and be thought mighty clever; that there is no resisting the vanity they raise. I own all my folly: I ever will, sir, when I am guilty of any greater silliness than ordinary; for I have no bad heart, I hope, though I am one of the flowers I once heard you compare some of us to, who are late before they blow into discretion. But now, good sir, came on my distress: For the bespoken chariot was ready; ready sooner by a fortnight than I expected. I thought my quarter would be nearer ended: and I had made a vast hole in my money. I pulled up a courage; I had need of it: and borrowed fifty guineas of Lady G: but, from this foolish love of surprises, cared not to tell her for what. And having occasion to pay two or three bills, (I was a thoughtless creature, to be sure,) which, unluckily, though I had asked for them before, were brought in just then, I borrowed another sum, but yet told not Lady G-for what; and the dear lady, I believe, thought me an extravagant girl: I saw she did, by her looks. But, however, I caused the new chariot to be brought privately to me. I went in it, and it carried me to Soho; and there, on my knees, made my present to my mother. Butdo you think, sir, that she and Mr O'Hara, when I confessed that I had not consulted you upon it, and that neither Lady L—, nor Lady G-, nor yet Mrs Eleanor Grandison, knew a syllable of the matter, would accept of it? They would not: But yet they both cried over me for joy, and blessed me. It is put up somewhere-And there it lies, till I have obtained your pardon first, and your direction afterwards. And what shall I do, if you are angry at your poor ward, who has done so inconsiderate a thing, and run herself into debt? Chide me, honoured sir, if you please. Indeed you never yet did chide me. But yours will be chidings of love; of paternal love, sir. But if you are angry with me more than a day; if you give me reason to believe you think meanly of me, though, alas! I may deserve it; and that this rashness is but a prelude to other rash or conceited steps, (for that is the fear which most terrifies me,) and is therefore to be resented with severity; then will I fly to my dear Miss Byron, that now is !-And if she cannot soften your displeasure, and restore me to your good opinion—(Mere pardon will not be enough for your truly penitent ward)-then will I say, Burst, heart! Ungrateful, inconsiderate Emily, thou hast offended thy guardian! What is there left in this life, that is worthy thy cares? And now, sir, I have laid my troubled heart open before you. I know you will not so much blame the thing, even should you not approve of it, as the manner; doing it (after you had been so extremely generous and considerate to my mother) without consulting either you or sisters. O my vanity and conceit! They, they, have misled me. They never shall again, whether you forgive me, or not. your But, good, indulgent, honoured sir, my guardian, my protector, let not my punishment be the reversing of the gracious grant which my heart has been so long wishing to obtain, and which you had consented to, of being allowed to live immediately in your own eye, and in the presence of my dear Miss Byron, that now is. This rash action should rather induce you to confirm than reverse it. And I promise to be very good. I ever loved her. I shall add filial honour, as I may say, to my love of her. I never will do anything without consulting her; and but what you, the kindest guardian that ever poor orphan had, would wish me to do. And now, sir, honour me with a few lines from your own hand; were it but to shew me that this impertinence has not so far tried you, as (should you think it just to banish me from your presence for some time) to make you dis courage applications to you, by pen and ink, from, sir, Your truly sorrowful ward, LETTER CCXXXIX. SIR CHARLES GRANDISON TO MISS JERVOIS. Wednesday, Nov. 1. I WRITE to the dear child of my tenderest cares, because she requests me to write: else I had hastened to her in person, to comfort her doubting heart; and to assure her, that nothing but a fault premeditated, and persisted in, that might have affected her present or future reputation, and consequently her happiness, could make me, for half an hour, offended with her. Your good intentions, my dear child, will ever be your security with me. Men, as well as women, are often misled by their love of surprises: But the greatest surprise my Emily could give me, would be, if she could do any one thing that would shew a faulty heart. Once more, my dear, pay your duty to your mother, in the chariot which has been the causeless occasion of so much concern to you; and tell her, and Mr O'Hara, that they have greatly obliged me in declining the acceptance of the chariot, so dutifully presented, till they knew my mind: But that, not so much in the compliment paid to me as your guardian, as because it has given me an opinion of their own generoTell them, that I greatly sity and discretion. approve of this instance of your duty to your mother, and of your regard, for her sake, to Mr O'Hara Tell them, that I join with my everamiable ward in requesting their acceptance of it; and do you, my dear, tell Miss Jervois, that I greatly honour her for this new instance of the goodness of her heart. I enclose a note, and will, to make you easy, carry it to its proper account, that will enable you to pay the debt which you, with so dutiful an intention, have contracted. Forgive you, my dear! I love, I admire you for it. I will not have you stint yourself, as you call it, in order to contribute to the future expense of the chariot. The present is but a handsome one, refor your specting your fortune. Be therefore, mother's life, the whole expense yours; and it may possibly contribute not a little to the ease of mind of both, (as they now live together not unhappily,) if you have the goodness to assure Mr O'Hara, that you are so well satisfied with his kind treatment of your mother, that you will, on supposition of the continuance of it, before you enter into engagements, which may |