as for her life she could be.
Such an archness in every motion! Such a turn of the eye to me on my Lord G–'s assiduities! Such a fear in him of her correcting glance! Such a half-timid, half-free parade when he had done any thing that he intended to be obliging, and now and then an aiming at raillery, as if he was not very much afraid of her, and dared to speak his mind even to her! On her part, on those occasions, such an air, as if she had a learner before her; and was ready to rap his knuckles, had nobody been present to mediate for him; that though I could not but love her for her very archness, yet in my mind, I could, for their sakes, but more for her own, have severely chidden her.
She is a charming woman; and every thing she says and does becomes her. But I am so much afraid of what may be the case, when the lover is changed into the husband, that I wish to myself now and then, when I see her so lively, that she would remember that there was once such a man as Captain Anderson. But she makes it a rule, she says, to remember nothing that will vex her.
Is not my memory (said she once) given me for my benefit, and shall I make it my torment? No, Harriet, I will leave that to be done by you wise ones, and see what you will get by it.
Why this, Charlotte, replied I, the wise ones may have a chance to get by it—They will, very probably, by remembering past mistakes, avoid many inconveniencies into which forgetfulness will run you lively ones.
Well, well, returned she, we are not all of us born to equal honour. Some of us are to be set up for warnings, some for examples: and the first are generally of greater use to the world than the other.
Now, Charlotte, said I, do you destroy the force of your own argument. Can the person who is singled out for the warning, be near so happy, as she that is set up for the example?
You are right as far as I know, Harriet: but I obey the present impulse, and try to find an excuse afterwards for what that puts me upon: and all the difference is this, as to the reward, I have a joy: you a comfort: but comfort is a poor word; and I can't bear it.
So Biddy, in 'The Tender Husband,' would have said, Charlotte. But poor as the word is with you and her, give me comfort rather than joy, if they must be separated. But I see not but that a woman of my Charlotte's happy turn may have both.
She tapped my cheek—Take that, Harriet, for making a Biddy of me. I believe, if you have not joy, you have comfort, in your severity.
My heart as well as my cheek glowed at the praises the earl and the lady both joined in (with a fervor that was creditable to their own hearts) of Sir Charles Grandison, while they told us what this man, and that woman of quality or consideration said of him. Who would not be good? What is life without reputation? Do we not wish to be remembered with honour after death? And what a share of it has this excellent man in his life! —May nothing, for the honour-sake of human nature, to which he is so great an ornament, ever happen to tarnish it!
They made me a hundred fine compliments. I could not but be pleased at standing well in their opinion: but, believe me, my dear, I did not enjoy their praises of me, as I did those they gave him. Indeed, I had the presumption, from the approbation given to what they said of him by my own heart, to imagine myself a sharer in them, though not in his merits. Oh, Lucy! ought there not to have been a relation between us, since what I have said, from what I found in myself on hearing him praised, is a demonstration of a regard for him superior to the love of self?
Adieu, my Lucy. I know I have all your prayers.
Adieu, my dear!
LETTER VI
MISS BYRON.—IN CONTINUATION SATURDAY, APRIL 1
Dr. Bartlett is one of the kindest as well as best of men. I believe he loves me as if I were his own child: but good men must be affectionate men. He received but this morning a letter from Sir Charles, and hastened to communicate some of its contents to me, though I could pretend to no other motive but curiosity for wishing to be acquainted with the proceedings of his patron.
Sir Charles dined, as he had intended, with Sir Hargrave and his friends. He complains in his letter of a riotous day: yet I think, adds he, it has led me into some useful reflections. It is not indeed agreeable to be the spectator of riot; but how easy to shun being a partaker in it! Ho easy to avoid the too freely circling glass, if a man is known to have established a rule to himself, from which he will not depart; and if it be not refused sullenly; but mirth and good humour the more studiously kept up, by the person; who would else indeed be looked upon as a spy on unguarded folly! I heartily pitied a young man, who, I dare say, has a good heart, but from false shame durst not assert the freedom that every Englishman would claim a right to, in almost every other instance! He had once put by the glass, and excused himself on account of his health; but on being laughed at for a sober dog, as they phrased it, and asked, if his spouse had not lectured him before he came out, he gave way to the wretched raillery: nor could I interfere at such a noisy moment with effect: they had laughed him out of his caution before I could be heard; and I left him there at nine o'clock trying with Bagenhall which should drink the deepest.
I wish, my good Dr. Bartlett, you would throw together some serious considerations on this subject. You could touch it delicately, and such a discourse would not be unuseful to some few of our neighbours even at Grandison-hall. What is it, that, in this single article, men sacrifice to false shame and false glory! Reason, health, fortune, personal elegance, the peace and order of their families; and all the comfort and honour of their after-years. How peevish, how wretched, is the decline of a man worn out with intemperance! In a cool hour, resolutions might be formed, that should stand the attack of a boisterous jest.
I obtained leave from Dr. Bartlett, to transcribe this part of the letter. I thought my uncle would be pleased with it.
It was near ten at night, before Sir Charles got to Lord W–'s, though but three miles from Sir Hargrave's. My lord rejoiced to see him; and, after first compliments, asked him, if he had thought of what he had undertaken for him. Sir Charles told him, that he was the more desirous of seeing him in his way to the Hall, because he wanted to know if his lordship held his mind as to marriage. He assured him he did, and would sign and seal to whatever he should stipulate for him.
I wished for a copy of this part of Sir Charles's letter, for the sake of my aunt, whose delicacy would, I thought, be charmed with it. He has been so good as to say, he would transcribe it for me. I will enclose it, Lucy; and you will read it here:
I cannot, my lord, said Sir Charles, engage, that the lady will comply with the proposal I shall take the liberty to make to her mother and her. She is not more than three or four and thirty: she is handsome: she has a fine understanding: she is brought up an economist: she is a woman of good family: she has not, however, though born to happier prospects, a fortune worthy of your lordship's acceptance. Whatever that is, you will, perhaps, choose to give it to her family.
With all my heart and soul, nephew: but do you say, she is handsome? Do you say, she is of family? And has she so many good qualities?—Ah, nephew! She won't have me, I doubt.—And is she not too young, Sir Charles, to think of such a poor decrepit soul as I am?
All I can say to this, my lord, is, that the proposals on your part must be the more generous—
I will leave all those matters to you, kinsman—
This, my lord, I will take upon me to answer for, that she is a woman of principle: she will not give your lordship her hand, if she thinks she cannot make you a wife worthy of your utmost kindness: and now, my lord, I will tell you who she is, that you may make what other inquiries you think proper.
And then I named her to him, and gave him pretty near the account of the family, and the circumstances and affairs of it,
