Still, Sir, the motive v,bich may allowably have weight with my friends, ought not to have principal Aveight with me. Consider, Sir; Is it not setting an earthly estate again.st niy immortal soul?

Far otherwise, madam. Can you so far doubt of the divine grace, can you so far disparage your own virtues, as to suppose they want the security of a convent? Do justice, my dear Lady Clementina, to yourself. You have virtues which cannot be exerted in a convent; and you have means to display them for the good of hundreds 1 argue not as a Pro-testant, when I address myself to you. The most zealous Catholic, if unprejudiced, circumstanced as i/oit are, must allow of what 1 say.

Ah, chevalier! how you anticipate me! I was going to charge you with arguing like a Protestant.

Did not yoLu — grandfathers, madam, in effect, argue as I argue, when tluy made their wills? Did not your father, mother, uncle, brothers, thus argue, when they wished a ou to relinquish all thoughts of the Veil? And are not the one, were not the others, all zealous Catholics? Does not your brother the bishop, docs not your truly ])ious confessor, accjuisce in their reasonings, and concur with (at least not oppose) the family-reasons?

She looked down, sweetly conscious. Sir Charles proceeded.

Has not your mother, madam, who gave you and your three brothers to the world, a merit both with God and man, one of you dedicated, as he is, to God (you see, madam, I address myself to you in the catholic stile) which the cloistered life could not have given her? Are not the conjugal and maternal duties (performed as she has performed them) of higher account, than any of those can be, which may be exerted in the sequestered life? Clementina would not wish to be a better woman in the cunventy than her mother has always been out of it.

She hesitated, sighed, looked down: at last, What can I say? said she. 1 have signed to the waving of my wishes after the veil; and must, I see, abide by my signing. It is, however, generous in you, Sir, not to plead against me that my act! and to hear me with patience want to be absolved from it. But I am not happy She stopt; and turned away her face to conceal her emotion.

Sir Charles was atfected as well as I,

She recovered her speech. I am, at times, said she, too sensible of running into flight and absurdity. My late unhappy malady has weakened my reasoning powers. You both can, I see you both do, pity me. Let me say, chevalier, that when 1 came into your proposed compromise (which, after so grievous a fault coniniitted, as the flying from my native country, and indulgent parents, I could the less re-fuse) I promised myself happiness in a situation, in which, 1 woit’see, it is not to he found. Your friend-ship, your united friendship for me, happy pair! I thought (as 1 knew I deserved it by my disinterested aii’ect:on for vou both) would contribute to it; I was therulbre desirous to cultivaie it. 3Iy wounded reason allowed me not to consider, that there were improprieties in my scheme, of which the world would judge otherwise than I did; and when I heard of vile and undeserved reflections cast upon me; but most when that sudden indisposition seized you, my dear Lady Grandison, and seemed to my frighted imagination to threaten a life so precious