happy man were settled; but they were not to be mentioned to him, till after he had seen the lady: a wrong policy, surely.

He was then at Vienna. Signor Jeronymo, in his letter, congratulated him in high terms; as a man, whom he had it now, at last, in his power to reward: and he hinted, in general, that the conditions would be such, as it was impossible but he must find his very great advantage in them; as to fortune, to be sure, he meant.

The friend so highly valued could not but be affected with the news yet, knowing the lady and the family, he was afraid that the articles of residence and religion would not be easily compromised between them. He therefore summoned up all his prudence to keep his fears alive, and his hope in suspense.

He arrived at Bologna. He was permitted to pay his compliments to Lady Clementina in her mother's presence. How agreeable, how nobly frank, was the reception both from mother and daughter! How high ran the congratu lations of Jeronymo! He called the supposed happy man brother. The marquis was ready to recognise the fourth son in him. A great fortune additional to an estate bequeathed her by her two grandfathers, was proposed. My father was to be invited over, to grace the nuptials by his presence.

But let me cut short the rest. The terms could not be complied with. For I was to make a formal renunciation of my religion, and to settle in Italy: only once, in two or three years, was allowed, if I pleased, for two or three months, to go to England; and, as a visit of curiosity, once in her life, if their daughter desired it, to carry her thither, for a time to be limited by them,

What must be my grief, to be obliged to disappoint such expectations as were raised by persons who had so sincere a value for me! You cannot, madam, imagine my distress: so little as could be expected to be allowed by them to the principles of a man whom they supposed to be in an error that would inevitably cast him into perdition! But when the friendly brother implored my compliance; when the excellent mother, in effect, besought me to have pity on her heart, and on her child's head; and when the tender, the amiable Clementina, putting herself out of the question, urged me, for my soul's sake, to embrace the doctrines of her holy mother, the church-What, madamBut how I grieve you!

[He stopt-His handkerchief was of use to him, as mine was to me- -What a distress was here!]

And what, and what, sir, (sobbing,) was the result? Could you, could you resist?

Satisfied in my own faith: entirely satisfied! Having insuperable objections to that I was wished to embrace!A lover of my native country too--Were not my God and my country to be the sacrifice, if I complied! But I laboured, I studied, for a compromise. I must have been unjust to Clementina's merit, and to my own character, had she not been dear to me. And indeed I beheld graces in her then, that I had before resolved to shut my eyes against; her rank next to princely; her fortune high as her rank; religion; country; all so many obstacles, that had appeared to me insuperable, removed by themselves; and no apprehension left of a breach of the laws of hospitality, which had, till now, made me struggle to behold one of the most amiable and noble-minded of women with indifference.-I offered to live one year in Italy, one in England,

by turns, if their dear Clementina would live with me there; if not, I would content myself with passing only three months, in every year, in my native country. I proposed to leave her entirely at her liberty in the article of religion; and, in case of children by the marriage, the daughters to be educated by her, the sons by me; a condition to which his holiness himself, it was presumed, would not refuse his sanction, as there were precedents for it. This, madam, was a great sacrifice to compassion, to love. What could I more!

And would not, sir, would not Clementina consent to this compromise ?

Ah, the unhappy lady! It is this reflection that strengthens my grief. She would have consented: she was earnest to procure the consent of her friends upon these terms. This her earnestness in my favour, devoted as she was to her religion, excites my compassion, and calls for my gratitude.

What scenes, what distressful scenes, followed !—The noble father forgot his promised indulgence; the mother indeed seemed, in a manner, neutral; the youngest brother was still, however, firm in my cause; but the marquis, the general, the bishop, and the whole Urbino branch of the family, were not to be moved; and the less, because they considered the alliance as derogatory to their own honour, in the same proportion as they thought it honourable to me; a private, an obscure man, as now they began to call me. In short, I was allowed, I was desired, to depart from Bologna; and not suffered to take leave of the unhappy Clementina, though on her knees she begged to be allowed a parting interview-And what was the consequence ?– Dr. Bartlett must tell the rest-Unhappy Clementina !

Now they wish me to make them one more visit at Bologna!--Unhappy Clementina!-To what purpose?

I saw his noble heart was too much affected to answer questions, had I had voice to ask any.

But, O my friends! you see how it is! Can I be so unhappy as he is? As his Clementina is? Well might Dr. Bartlett say, that this excellent man is not happy. Well might he himself say, that he has suffered greatly, even from good women. Well might he complain of sleepless nights. Unhappy Clementina! let me repeat after him; and not happy Sir Charles Grandison!—And who, my dear, is happy? Not, I am sure, your

HARRIET BYRON.

LETTER XXI.

MISS BYRON.-IN CONTINUATION.

I was forced to lay down my pen. I begin a new letter. I did not think of concluding my former where I did.

Sir Charles saw me in grief, and forgot his own, to applaud my humanity, as he called it, and sooth me. I have often, said he, referred you, in my narrative, to Dr. Bartlett. I will beg of him to let you see any thing you shall wish to see, in the free and unreserved correspondence we have held. You that love to entertain your friends with your narrations, will find something, perhaps, in a story like this, to engage their curiosity. On their honour and candour, I am sure, I may depend. Are they not your

friends? Would to Heaven it were in my power to contribute to their pleasure and yours!

I only bowed. I could only bow.

I told you, madam, that my compassion was engaged; but that my honour was free; I think it is so. But when you have seen all that Dr. Bartlett will shew you, you will be the better able to judge of me, and for me. I had rather be thought favourably of by Miss Byron, than by any woman in the world.

Who, sir, said I, knowing only so far as I know of the unhappy Clementina, but must wish her to be

Ah, Lucy! there I stopt-I had like to have been a false girl! And yet ought I not, from my heart, to have been able to say what I was going to say?—I do aver, Lucy, upon repeated experience, that love is a narrower of the heart. Did I not use to be thought generous and benevolent, and to be above all selfishness? But am I so now?

And now, madam, said he, [and he was going to take my hand, but with an air, as if he thought the freedom would be too great-A tenderness so speaking in his eyes; a respectfulness so solemn in his countenance; he just touched it, and withdrew his hand,] what shall I say ?-I cannot tell what I should say-but you, I see, can pity me-you can pity the noble Clementina-honour forbids me !-Yet honour bids me-yet I cannot be unjust, ungenerous— selfish ;

He arose from his seat-Allow me, madam, to thank you for the favour of your ear-pardon me for the trouble I see I have given to a heart that is capable of a sympathy so tender

And, bowing low, he withdrew with precipitation, as if he would not let me see his emotion. He left me looking here, looking there, as if for my heart; and then, as giving