events, without looking into causes: but the access you had to her; such a man! and who became known to us from circumstances so much in his favour, both as a man of principle and bravery This, my lord, interrupted I, is still judging from events. You have seen Mrs Beaumont's letter. Surely you cannot have a nobler monument of magnanimity in woman! And to that I refer, for a proof of my own integrity. I have that letter: Jeronymo gave it me, at my taking leave of him; and with these words: "Grandison will certainly visit you at Naples. I am afraid of your warmth. His spirit is well known. All my dependence is upon his principles. He will not draw but in his own defence. Cherish the noble visitor. Surely, brother, I may depend upon your hospitable temper. Read over again this letter, before you see him."-I have not yet read it, proceeded the General; but I will, and that, if you will allow me, now. He took it out of his pocket, walked from me, and read it; and then came to me, and took my hand—I am half-ashamed of myself, my dear Grandison: I own I wanted magnanimity. All the distresses of our family, on this unhappy girl's account, were before my eyes, and I received you, I behaved to you, as the author of them. I was contriving to be dissatisfied with you: Forgive me, and command my best services. I will let our Jeronymo know how greatly you subdued me before I had recourse to the letter; but that I have since read that part of it which accounts for my sister's passion, and wish I had read it with equal attention before. I acquit you: I am proud of my sister. Yet I observe from this very letter, that Jeronymo's gratitude has contributed to the evil we deplore. But Let us not say one word more of the unhappy girl: It is painful to me to talk of her. Not ask a question, my lord ? Don't, Grandison, don't!-Jeronymo and Clementina are my soul's woe-But they are not worse than might be apprehended. You go to court with me to-morrow: I will present you to the king. I have had that honour formerly. I must depart to-morrow morning early. I have already taken leave of several of my friends here: I have some to make my compliments to at Rome, which I reserved for my return. You stay with me to-night ?—I intend it, my lord. Well, we will return to company. I must make my excuses to my friends. Your departure to-morrow must be one. They all admire you. They are acquainted with your character. They will join with me to engage you, if possible, to stay longer.-We returned to the com pany. LETTER CXV. MISS BYRON TO MISS SELBY. RECEIVE now, my dear, the Doctor's thirteenth letter, and the last he intends to favour us with, till he entertains us with the histories of Mrs Beaumont and Lady Olivia. DR BARTLETT'S THIRTEENTH LETTER. MR GRANDISON set out next morning. The General's behaviour to him at his departure, was much more open and free than it was at receiving him. Mr Grandison, on his return to Florence, entered into the affairs of his late friend Mr Jervois, with the spirit, and yet with the temper, for which he is noted, when he engages in any business. He put everything in a happy train in fewer days than it would have cost some other persons months; for he was present himself on every occasion, and in every business, where his presence would accelerate it: yet he had embarrassments from Olivia. He found, before he set out for Naples, that Mrs Beaumont, at the earnest request of the Marchioness, was gone to Bologna. At his return, and not hearing anything from Signor Jeronymo, he wrote to Mrs Beaumont, requesting her to inform him of the state of things in that family, as far as she thought proper; and, particularly, of the health of that dear friend, on whose silence to three letters he had written, he had the most melancholy apprehensions. He let that lady know, that he should set out in a very few days for Paris, if he had no probability of being of service to the family she favoured with her company. To this letter Mrs Beaumont returned the following answer : SIR, I HAVE the favour of yours. We are very miserable here. The servants are forbidden to answer any inquiries, but generally; and that not truly. Your friend, Jeronymo, has gone through a severe operation. He has been given over; but hopes are now entertained, not of his absolute recovery, but that he will be no worse than he was before the necessity for the operation arose. Poor man! He forgot not, however, his sister and you, when he was out of the power of the opiates that were administered to him. On my coming hither, I found Lady Clementina in a deplorable way: Sometimes raving, sometimes gloomy; and in bonds-Twice had she given them apprehensions of fatal attempts: they, therefore, confined her hands. They have been excessively wrong in their management of her: Now soothing, now severe; observing no method. She was extremely earnest to see you before you left Bologna. On her knees repeatedly she besought this favour, and promised to be easy if they would comply; but they imagined that their compliance would aggravate the symptoms. I very freely blamed them for not complying at the time when she was so desirous of seeing you. told them that soothing her would probably then have done good. When they knew you were actually gone from Bologna, they told her so. Camilla shocked me with the description of her rage and despair, on the communication. This was followed by fits of silence, and the deepest melancholy. They had hopes, on my arrival, that my company would have been of service to her: but for two days together she regarded me not, nor anything I could say to her. On the third of my arrival, finding her confinement extremely uneasy to her, I prevailed, but with great difficulty to have her restored to the use of her hands; and to be allowed to walk with me in the garden. They had hinted to me their apprehensions about a piece of water. Her woman being near us, if there had been occasion for assistance, I insensibly led that way. She sat down on a seat over-against the great cascade; but she made no motion that gave me apprehensions. From this time she has been fonder of me than before. The day I obtained this liberty for her, she often clasped her arms about me, and laid her face in my bosom ; and I could plainly see, it was in gratitude for restoring to her the use of her arms: but she cared not to speak. Indeed she generally affects deep silence: yet, at times, I see her very soul is fretted. She moves to one place; is tired of that; shifts to another, and another, all round the room. I am grieved at my heart for her: I never knew a more excellent young creature. She is very fervent in her devotions, and as constant in them as she used to be: Every good habit she preserves; yet, at other times, rambles much. She is often for writing letters to you; but when what she writes is privately taken from her, she makes no inquiry about it, but takes a new sheet, and begins again. Sometimes she draws; but her subjects are generally angels and saints. She often meditates in a map of the British dominions, and now and then wishes she were in England. Lady Juliana de Sforza is earnest to have her with her at Urbino, or at Milan, where she has also a noble palace; but I hope it will not be granted. That lady professes to love her; but she cannot be persuaded out of her notion of harsh methods; which will never do with Cle mentina. I shall not be able to stay long with her. The discomposure of so excellent a young creature affects me deeply. Could I do her either good or pleasure, I should be willing to deny myself the society of my dear friends at Florence: but I am persuaded, and have hinted as much, that one interview with you would do more to settle her mind, than all the methods they have taken. I hope, sir, to see you before I leave Italy. It must be at Florence, not at Bologna, I believe. It is generous of you to propose the latter. I have now been here a week, without hope. The doctors they have consulted are all for severe methods, and low diet. The first, I think, is in compliment to some of the family. She is so loath to take nourishment, and, when she does, is so very abstemious, that the regimen is hardly necessary. She never, or but very seldom, used to drink anything but water. She took it into her poor head several times this day, and perhaps it will hold, to sit in particular places, to put on attentive looks, as if she were listening to somebody. She sometimes smiled, and seemed pleased; looked up, as if to somebody, and spoke English. I have no doubt, though I was not present when she assumed these airs, and talked English, but her disordered imagination brought before her her tutor instructing her in that tongue. You desired me, sir, to be very particular. I have been so; but at the expense of my eyes: and I shall not wonder if your humane heart should be affected by my sad tale. God preserve you, and prosper you in whatsoever you undertake! HORTENSIA BEAUMONT. MRS BEAUMONT staid at Bologna twelve days, and then left the unhappy young lady. At taking leave, she asked her, what commands she had for her?-Love me, said she, and pity me; that is one. Another is, (whispering her,) you will see the chevalier, perhaps, though I must not. Tell him, that his poor friend Clementina is sometimes very unhappy!--Tell him, that she shall rejoice to sit next him in Heaven!Tell him, that I say he cannot go thither, good man as he is, while he shuts his eyes to the truth. Tell him, that I shall take it very kindly of him, if he will not think of marrying till he acquaints me with it; and can give me assurance, that the lady will love him as well as somebody else would have done.-O Mrs Beaumont! should the Chevalier Grandison marry a woman unworthy of him, what a disgrace would that be to me! Mr Grandison by this time had prepared everything for his journey to Paris. The friend he honoured with his love, was arrived from the Levant, and the Archipelago. Thither, at his patron's request, he had accompanied Mr Beau champ, the amiable friend of both; and at parting, engaged to continue by letter what had been the subject of their daily conversations, and transmit to him as many particulars as he could obtain of Mr Grandison's sentiments and behaviour, on every occasion; Mr Beauchamp proposing him as a pattern to himself, that he might be worthy of the credential letters he had furnished him with to every one whom he had thought deserving of his own acquaintance, when he was in the parts which Mr Beauchamp intended to visit. To the care of the person so much honoured by his confidence, Mr Grandison left his agreeable ward, Miss Jervois; requesting the assistance of Mrs Beaumont, who kindly promised her inspection: and, with the goodness for which she is so eminently noted, performed her proImise in his absence. He then made an offer to the Bishop to visit Bologna once more; but that not being accepted, he set out for Paris. It was not long, before his father's death called him to England; and when he had been there a few weeks, he sent for his ward and his friend. But, my good Miss Byron, you will say, That I have not yet fully answered your last inquiry, relating to the present situation of the unhappy Clementina. I will briefly inform you of it. When it was known, for certain, that Mr Grandison had actually left Italy, the family at Bologna began to wish that they had permitted the interview so much desired by the poor lady: and when they afterwards understood that he was sent for to England, to take possession of his paternal estate, that farther distance, (the notion likewise of the seas between them appearing formidable,) added to their regrets. The poor lady was kept in travelling motion to quiet her mind: for still an interview with Mr Grandison having never been granted, it was her first wish. They carried her to Urbino, to Rome, to Naples, then back to Florence, then to Milan, to Turin. Whether they made her hope that it was to meet with Mr Grandison, I know not; but it is certain, she herself expected to see him at the end of every journey; and, while she was moving, was easier, and more composed; perhaps in that hope. The Marchioness was sometimes of the party. The air and exercise were thought proper for her health as well as for that of her daughter. Her cousin Laurana was always with her in these excursions, and sometimes Lady Sforza; and their escort was, generally, Signors Sebastiano and Juliano. But, within these four months past, these journeyings have been discontinued. The young lady accuses them of deluding her with vain hopes. She is impatient, and has made two attempts to escape from them. She is, for this reason, closely confined and watched. They put her once into a nunnery, at the motion of Lady Sforza, as for a trial only. She was not uneasy in it: but this being done unknown to the General, when he was apprized of it, he, for reasons I cannot comprehend, was displeased, and had her taken out directly. Her head runs more than ever upon seeing her tutor, her friend, her chevalier, once more. They have certainly been to blame, if they have let her travel with such hopes; because they have thereby kept up her ardour for an interview. Could she but once more see him, she says, and let him know the cruelty she has been treated with, she should be satisfied. He would pity her, she is sure, though nobody else will. The Bishop has written to beg, that Sir Charles would pay them one more visit at Bologna. I will refer to my patron himself the communicating to you, ladies, his resolution on this subject. I had but a moment's sight of the letters which so greatly affected him. It is but within these few days past that this new request has been made to him in a direct manner. The question was before put, If such a request should be made, would he comply? And once Camilla wrote, as having heard Sir Charles's presence wished for. Meantime the poor lady is hastening, they are afraid, into a consumptive malady. The Count of Belvedere, however, still adores her. The disorder in her mind being imputed chiefly to religious melancholy, and some of her particular flights not being generally known, he, who is a pious man himself, pities her; and declares, that he would run all risks of her recovery, would the family give her to him: and yet he knows that she would choose to be the wife of the Chevalier Grandison, rather than that of any other man, were the article of religion to be got over; and generously applauds her for preferring her faith to her love. Signor Jeronymo is in a very bad way. Sir Charles often writes to him, and with an affection worthy of the merits of that dear friend. He was to undergo another severe operation on the next day after the letters came from Bologna; the success of which was very doubtful. How nobly does Sir Charles appear to support himself under such heavy afflictions! For those of his friends were ever his. But his heart bleeds in secret for them. A feeling heart is a blessing that no one, who has it, would be without; and it is a moral security of innocence; since the heart that is able to partake of the distress of another, cannot wilfully give it. I think, my good Miss Byron, that I have now, as far as I am at present able, obeyed all your commands that concern the unhappy Clementina, and her family. I will defer, if you please, those which relate to Olivia and Mrs Beaumont, (ladies of very different characters from each other,) having several letters to write. Permit me, my good ladies, and my lord, after contributing so much to afflict your worthy hearts, to refer you, for relief under all the distresses of life, whether they affect ourselves or others, to those motives that can alone give support to a rational mind. This mortal scene, however perplexing, is yet a short one; and the hour is hastening when all the intricacies of human affairs shall be cleared up; and all the sorrows that have had their foundation in virtue be changed into the highest joy: when all worthy minds shall be united in the same interests, the same happiness. Allow me to be, my good Miss Byron, and you, my Lord and Lady L- -, and Miss Grandison, Your most faithful and obedient servant, AMBROSE BARTLETT. EXCELLENT Dr Bartlett!-How worthy of himself is this advice! But think you not, my Lucy, that the Doctor has in it a particular view to your poor Harriet? A generous one, meaning consolation and instruction to her? I will endeavour to profit by it. Let me have your prayers, my dear friends, that I may be enabled to succeed in my humble endeavours. It will be no wonder to us now, that Sir Charles was not solicitous to make known a situation so embarrassing to himself, and so much involved in clouds and uncertainty: But, whatever may be the event of this affair, you, Lucy, and all my friends, will hardly ever know me by any other name than that of HARRIET BYRON. LETTER CXVI. MISS HARRIET BYRON TO MISS LUCY SELBY. Friday, March 31. You now, my dear friends, have before you this affecting story, as far as Dr Bartlett can give it. My cousins express a good deal of concern for your Harriet: so does Miss Grandison: so do my Lord and Lady L: and the more, as I seem to carry off the matter with assumed bravery. This their kind concern for me looks, however, as if they thought me a hypocrite; and I suppose, therefore, that I act my part very awkwardly. But, my dear, as this case is one of those few in which a woman can shew a bravery of spirit, I think an endeavour after it is laudable; and the rather as in my conduct I aim at giving a tacit example to Miss Jervois. The Doctor has whispered to me, that Lady Olivia is actually on her way to England; and that the intelligence Sir Charles received of her intention, was one of the things that disturbed him, as the news of his beloved Signor Jeronymo's dangerous condition was another. Lady Anne S, it seems, has not yet given up her hopes of Sir Charles. The two sisters, who once favoured her above all the women they knew, have not been able to bring themselves to acquaint a lady of her rank and merit, that there can be no hopes; and they are still more loath to say, that their brother thinks himself under some obligations to a foreign lady. Yet you know that this was always what we were afraid of: But who, now, will say afraid, that knows the merit of Clementina? I wish, methinks, that this man were proud, vain, arrogant, and a boaster. How easy then might one throw off one's shackles ! Lord G is very diligent in his court to Miss Grandison. His father and aunt are to visit her this afternoon. She behaves whimsically to my lord: yet I cannot think that she greatly dislikes him. The Earl of D- and the Countess Dowager are both in town. The Countess made a visit to my cousin Reeves last Tuesday: she spoke of me very kindly: she says my lord has heard so much of me, that he is very desirous of seeing me: but she was pleased to say, that, since my heart was not disengaged, she should be afraid of the consequences of his visit to himself. My grandmamma, though she was so kindly fond of me, would not suffer me to live with her; because she thought that her contemplative temper might influence mine, and make me grave, at a time of life, when she is always saying that cheerfulness is most becoming: she would therefore turn over her girl to the best of aunts. But now, I fancy, she will allow me to be more than two days in a week her attendant. My uncle Selby would be glad to spare me. I shall not be able to bear a jest: and then what shall I be good for? me. I have made a fine hand of coming to town, he says: and so I have: but if my heart is not quite so easy as it was, it is, I hope, a better, at least, not a worse heart than I brought up with Could I only have admired this man, my excursion would not have been unhappy. But this gratitude, this entangling, with all its painful consequences-But let me say, with my grandmamma, the man is Sir Charles Grandison ! The very man by whose virtues a Clementina was attracted. Upon my word, my dear, unhappy as she is, I rank her with the first of wo men. I have not had a great deal of Sir Charles Grandison's company; but yet more, I am afraid, than I shall ever have again. Very true.-0 heart! the most way ward of hearts, sigh if thou wilt! You have seen how seldom he was with us, when we were absolutely in his reach, and when he, as we thought, was in ours. But such a man cannot, ought not to be, engrossed by one family. Bless me, Lucy! when he comes into public life, (for has not his country a superior claim to him beyond every private one?) what moment can he have at liberty? Let me enumerate some of his present engagements that we know of. The Danby family must have some farther portion of his time. The executorship in the disposal of the 30007. in charity, in France as well as in England, will take up a good deal more. My Lord W-may be said to be under his tutelage, as to the future happiness of his life. Miss Jervois's affairs, and the care he has for her person, engage much of his attention. He is his own steward. He is making alterations at Grandison-Hall; and has a large genteel neighbourhood there, who long to have him reside among them; and he himself is fond of that seat. His estate in Ireland is in a prosperous way, from the works he set on foot there, when he was on the spot; and he talks, as Dr Bartlett has hinted to us, of making another visit to it. His sister's match with Lord G is one of his cares. He has services to perform for his friend Beauchamp, with his father and mother-in-law, for the facilitating his coming over. The apprehended visit of Olivia gives him disturbance. And the Bologna family in its various branches, and more especially Signor Jeronymo's dangerous state of health, and Signora Clementina's disordered mind-O Lucy!-What leisure has this man to be in love!-Yet how can I say so, when he is in love already? And with Clementina. And don't you think, when he goes to France on the executorship account, he will make a visit to Bologna ?-Ah, my dear! to be sure he will. After he has left England, therefore, which I suppose he will quickly do, and when I am in Northamptonshire, what opportunities will your Harriet have to see him, except she can obtain, as a favour, the power of obliging his Emily, in her request to be with her? Then, Lucy, he may, on his return to England, once a-year, or so, on his visiting his ward, see, and thank for her care and love of his Emily, his half estranged Harriet! Perhaps Lady Clementina Grandison will be with him! God restore her! Surely I shall be capable, if she be Lady Grandison, of rejoicing in her recovery! Fie upon it!-Why this involuntary tear? You would see it by the large blot it has made, if I did not mention it. Excellent man!-Dr Bartlett has just been telling me of a morning visit he received, before he went out of town, from the two sons of Mrs Oldham One of them is about seven years old; the other about five; very fine children. He embraced them, the Doctor says, with as much tenderness as if they were children of his own mother. He inquired into their inclinations, behaviour, and diversions; and engaged equally their love and reverence. He told them, that, if they were good, he would love them; and said, he had a dear friend, whom he reverenced as his father, a man with white curling locks, he told the children, that they might know him at first sight, who would now and then, as he happened to be in town, make inquiries after their good behaviour, and reward them, as they give him cause. Accor dingly he had desired Dr Bartlett to give them occasionally his countenance; as also to let their mother know, that he should be glad of a visit from her, and her three children, on his return to town. The Doctor had been to see her when he came to me. He found all three with her. The two younger, impressed by the venerable description Sir Charles had given of him, of their own accord, the younger, by the elder's example, fell down on their knees before him, and begged his blessing. Mr Oldham is about eighteen years of age; a well-inclined, well-educated youth. He was full of acknowledgments of the favour done him in this invitation. The grateful mother could not contain herself. Blessings without number she invoked on her benefactor, for his goodness in taking such kind notice of her two sons, as he had done; and said, he had been, ever since his gracious behaviour to her in Essex, the first and last in her prayers to Heaven. But the invitation to herself, she declared, was too great an honour for her to accept of: she should not be able to stand in his presence. Alas! sir, said she, can the severest, truest penitence recal the guilty past? The Doctor said, that Sir Charles Grandison ever made it a rule with him to raise the dejected and humble spirit. Your birth and education, madam, entitle you to a place in the first company: and where there are two lights in which the behaviour of any person may be set, though there has been unhappiness, he always remembers the most favourable, and forgets the other. I would advise you, madam, (as he has invited you,) by all means to come. He speaks with pleasure of your humility and good sense. The Doctor told me, that Sir Charles had made inquiries after the marriage of Major O'Hara with Mrs Jervois, and had satisfied himself that they were actually man and wife. Methinks I am glad, for Miss Jervois's sake, that her mother has changed her name. They lived not happily together since their last enterprize: for the man, who had long been a sufferer from poverty, was in fear of losing one half, at least, of his wife's annuity, by what passed on that |