ing emotion; any great discompo-He was about to retire before.

Well, ladies, I will only say, that the best thing I can do, is to borrow a chariot and six, and drive away to Northamptonshire.

But why so, Harriet?

Because it is impossible but I must suffer in your brother's opinion, every time he sees me, and that whether I am silent or speaking.

They made me fine compliments: but they would indeed have been fine ones, could they have made them from their brother.

Well, but, Lucy, don't you think, that had Sir Charles Grandison meant any thing, he would have expressed himself to his sisters in such high terms, before he had said one very distinguishing thing to me? Let me judge by myself -Men and women, I believe, are so much alike, that, put custom, tyrant custom, out of the question, the meaning of the one may be generally guessed at by that of the other, in cases where the heart is concerned. What civil, what polite things, could I allow myself to say to and of Mr. Orme, and Mr. Fowler! How could I praise the honesty and goodness of their hearts, and declare my pity for them! And why? Because I meant nothing more by it all, than a warmer kind of civility; that I was not afraid to let go, as their merits pulled-And now, methinks, I can better guess, than I could till now, at what Mr. Greville meant, when he wished me to declare, that I hated him-Sly wretch!— since the woman who uses a man insolently in courtship, certainly makes that man of more importance to her than she would wish him to think himself.

But why am I studious to torment myself? What will be, must. 'Who knows what Providence has designed for

Sir Charles Grandison?'-May he be happy!-But indeed, my Lucy, your Harriet is much otherwise at this

time.

LETTER XXXII.

MISS BYRON, TO MISS SELBY.

I WILL not let you lose the substance of a very agreeable conversation, which we had on Tuesday night after supper. You may be sure, Lucy, I thought it the more agreeable, as Sir Charles was drawn in to bear a considerable part in it. It would be impossible to give you more than passages, because the subjects were various, and the transitions so quick, by one person asking this question, another that, that I could not, were I to try, connect them as I endeavour generally to do.

Of one subject, Lucy, I particularly owe you some ac

count.

Miss Grandison, in her lively way, (and lively she was, notwithstanding her trial so lately over,) led me into talking of the detested masquerade. She put me upon recollecting the giddy scene, which those dreadfully interesting. ones that followed it, had made me wish to blot out of my memory.

I spared you at the time, Harriet, said she. I asked you no questions about the masquerade, when you flew to us first, poor frighted bird! with all your gay plumage about you.

I coloured a deep crimson, I believe. What were Sir Charles's first thoughts of me, Lucy, in that fantastic, that hated dress? The simile of the bird too, was his, you know; and Charlotte looked very archly.

My dear Miss Grandison, spare me still. that ever I presumptuously ventured into folly.

Let me forget, such a scene of

Do not call it by harsh names, Miss Byron, said Sir Charles. We are too much obliged to it.

Can I, Sir Charles, call it by too harsh a name, when I think, how fatal, in numberless ways, the event might have proved! But I do not speak only with reference to that. Don't think, my dear Miss Grandison, that my dislike to myself, and to this foolish diversion, springs altogether from what befell me. I had on the spot the same contempts, the same disdain of myself, the same dislike of all those who seemed capable of joy on the light, the foolish occasion.

My good Charlotte, said Sir Charles, smiling, is less timorous than her younger sister. She might be persuaded, I fancy, to venture

Under your conduct, Sir Charles, smiling. Lady L—— and I, who have not yet had an opportunity of this sort, were trying to engage you against the next subscription-ball. Indeed, said Lady L- our Harriet's distress has led me into reflections I never made before on this kind of diversion; and I fancy her account of it will perfectly satisfy my curiosity.

SIR CH. Proceed, good Miss Byron. I am as curious as your sisters, to hear what you say of it. The scene was quite new to you. You probably expected entertainment from it. Forget for a while the accidental consequences, and tell us how you were at the time amused.

Amused, Sir Charles!—Indeed I had no opinion of the diversion, even before I went. I knew I should despise it. I knew I should often wish myself at home before the evening were over. And so indeed I did; I whispered my cousin Reeves more than once, O madam! this is sad, this is intolerable, stuff! This place is one great Bedlam! Good Heaven! Could there be in this one town so many creatures devoid of reason, as are here got together? I hope we are all here.

Yet you see, said Miss Grandison, however Lady L is, or seems to be, instantaneously reformed, there were two, who would gladly have been there: the more, you may be sure, for its having been a diversion prohibited to us, at our first coming to town. Sir Charles lived long in the land of masquerades—O my dear! we used to please ourselves with hopes, that when he was permitted to come over to England, we should see golden days under his auspices.

SIR CH. [Smiling.] Will you accompany us to the next subscription-ball, Miss Byron ?

I, Sir Charles, should be inexcusable, if I thought-— MISS GR. [Interrupting, and looking archly.] Not under our brother's conduct, Harriet?

Indeed, my dear Miss Grandison, had the diversion not been prohibited, had you once seen the wild, the senseless confusion, you would think just as I do: and you will have one stronger reason against countenancing it by your presence; for who, at this rate, shall make the stand of virtue and decorum, if such ladies as Miss Grandison and Lady L- do not?-But I speak of the common masquerades, which I believe are more disorderly. I was disgusted at the freedoms taken with me, though but common freedoms of the place, by persons who singled me from the throng,

hurried me round the rooms, and engaged me in fifty idle conversations; and to whom, by the privilege of the place, I was obliged to be bold, pert, saucy, and to aim at repartee and smartness; the current wit of that witless place. They once got me into a country dance. No prude could come, or if she came, could be a prude there.

SIR CH. Were you not pleased, Miss Byron, with the first coup d'œil of that gay apartment?

A momentary pleasure; but when I came to reflect, the bright light, striking on my tinsel dress, made me seem to myself the more conspicuous fool. Let me be kept in countenance as I might, by scores of still more ridiculous figures, what, thought I, are other people's foilies to me? Am I to make an appearance that shall want the countenance of the vainest, if not the silliest, part of the creation? What would my good grandfather have thought, could he have seen his Harriet, the girl (excuse me; they were my thoughts at the time) whose mind he took pains to form and enlarge, mingling, in a habit so preposterously rich and gaudy, with a crowd of satyrs, harlequins, scaramouches, fawns, and dryads: nay, of witches and devils; the graver habits striving which should most disgrace the characters they assumed, and every one endeavouring to be thought the direct contrary of what he or she appeared to be?

Miss GR. Well then, the devils, at least, must have been charming creatures!

LADY L. But, Sir Charles, might not a masquerade, if decorum were observed, and every one would support with wit and spirit the assumed character

MR. GR. Devils and all, Lady L

?

LADY L. It is contrary to decorum for such shocking characters to be assumed at all: but might it not, Sir