SIR CHARLES GRANDISON

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PREFACE.

The Editor of the following Letters takes leave to observe, that he has now, in this publication, completed the plan, that was the object of his wishes, rather than of his hopes, to accomplish.

The first collection which he published, intituled PAMELA, exhibited the beauty and superiority of virtue in an innocent and unpolished mind, with the reward which often, even in this life, a protecting Providence bestows on goodness. A young woman of low degree, relating to her honest parents the severe trials she met with from a master who ought to have been the protector, not the assailer of her honour, shews the character of a libertine in its truly contemptible light. This libertine, how-ever, from the foundation of good principles laid in his early years by an excellent mother; by his pas-sion for a virtuous young woman; and by her ami — able example, and unwearied patience, when she became his wife; is, after a length of time, perfectly reclaimed.

The second collection, published under the title of CLARISSA, displayed a more melancholy scene. A young lady of higher fortune, and born to happier hopes, is seen involved in such variety of deep distresses, as lead her to an untimely death; affording a warning to parents against forcing the inclinations of their children in the most important article of their lives; and to children against hoping too far from the fairest assurances of a man void of princi-ple. The heroine, however, as a truly Christian heroine, proves superior to her trials; and her heart, always excellent, refined and exalted by every one of them, rejoices in the approach of a happy eternity. Her cruel destroyer appears wretched and disappointed, even in the boasted success of his vile machinations: but still (buoyed up with self-conceit and vain presumption) he goes on, after every short fit of imperfect, yet terrifying conviction, hardening himself more and more; till, unreclaimed by the most affecting warnings, and repeated admo-nitions, he perishes miserably in the bloom of life, and sinks into the grave oppressed with guilt, re-morse, and horror. His letters, it is hoped, afford many useful lessons to the gay part of mankind against that misuse of wit and youth, of rank and fortune, and of every outward accomplishment, which turns them into a curse to the miserable pos-sessor, as well as to all around him.

Here the editor apprehended he should be obliged to stop, by reason of his precarious state of health, and a variety of avocations which claimed his first attention: but it was insisted on by several of his friends, who were well assured he had the materials in his power, that he should produce into public view the character and actions of a man of true honour.

He has been enabled to obey these his friends, and to complete his first design: and now, therefore, presents to the public, in Sir Charles Grandison, the example of a man acting uniformly well through a variety of trying scenes, because all his actions are regulated by one steady principle: a man of religion and virtue; of liveliness and spirit; accom-plished and agreeable; happy in himself, and a bless — ing to others.

From what has been premised, it may be supposed, that the present collection is not published ulti-mately, nor even principally, any more than the other two, for the sake of entertainment only. A much nobler end is in view. Yet it is hoped the variety of characters and conversations necessarily introduced into so large a correspondence as these volumes contain, will enliven as well as instruct: the rather, as the principal correspondents are young ladies of polite education, and of lively spirits.

The nature of familiar letters, written, as it were, to the moment, while the heart is agitated by hopes and fears, on events undecided, must plead an excuse for the bulk of a collection of this kind. Mere facts and characters might be comprised in a much smaller compass: but, would they be equally inter-esting? It happens fortunately, that an account of the juvenile years of the principal person is narra-tively given in some of the letters. As many, how — ever, as could be spared, have been omitted. There is not one episode in the whole; nor, after Sir Charles Grandison is introduced, one letter inserted but what tends to illustrate the principal design. Those which precede his introduction, will not, it is hoped, be judged unnecessary on the whole, as they tend to make the reader acquainted with persons, the history of most of whom is closely interwoven with that of Sir Charles.

NAMES OF THE PRINCIPAL PERSONS.

Men.

George Selby, Esq.

John Greville, Esq.

Richard Fenwick, Esq.

Robert Orme, Esq.

Archibald Reeves, Esq.

Sir Rowland Meredith, Knt.

James Fowler, Esq.

Sir Hargrave Pollexfen, Bart.

The Earl of L. a Scottish nobleman.

Thomas Deane, Esq.

Sir Charles Grandison, Bart.

James Bagenhall, Esq.

Mr. Solomon Merceda.

John Jordan, Esq.

Sir Harry Beauchamp, Bart.

Edward Beauchamp, Esq. his son.

Everard Grandison, Esq.

The Rev. Dr. Bartlett.

Lord W. uncle to Sir Charles Grandison.

Lord G. son of the Earl of L.

Italians.

Marchese della Porretta, the father.

Marchese della Porretta, his eldest son.

The Bishop of Nocera, his second son.

Signor Jeronymo della Porretta, third son.

Coute della Porretta, their uncle.

Count of Belvedere.

Father Marescotti.

Women.

Miss Harriet Byron.

Mrs. Shirley, her grandmother, by the mother’s side.

Mrs. Selby, sister to Miss Byron’s father, and wife of Mr. Selby.

Mrs. Nana i Selby, niece to Mr Selby

Miss Orme, sister of Mr. Orme.

Mrs. Reeves wife of Mr. Reeves, cousin of Miss Byron,

Lady Betty Williams.

The Countess of L. wife of Lord L. eldest sister of Sir Charles Grandison.

Miss Grandison, younger sister of Sir Charles.

Mrs. Eleanor Grandison, aunt to Sir Charles.

Miss Emily Jervois, his ward.

Lady Mansfield.

Lady Beauchamp.

The Countess Dowager of D.

Mrs. Hortensia Beaumont.

Italians.

Marchese della Porretta.

Signora Clementina, her daughter.

Signora Juliana Sforza, sister to the Marchese della Porretta.

Signora Laurana, her daughter.

Signora Olivia.

Camilla, Lady Clementina’s governess.

Laura, her maid.

VOLUME I.

Letter I.

Miss Lucy Selby to — Miss Harriet Byron.

Ashby–Canons, January 10.

Your resolution to accompany Mrs. Reeves to London, has greatly alarmed your three lovers: and two of them, at least, will let you know that it has. Such a lovely girl as my Harriet, must expect to be more accountable for her steps than one less excellent and less attractive.

Mr. Greville, in his usual resolute way, threatens to follow you to London; and there, he says, he will watch the motions of every man who approaches you; and, if he find reason for it, will early let such man know his pretensions, and the danger he may run into, if he pretend to be his competitor. But let me not do him injustice; though he talks of a rival thus harshly, he speaks of you more highly than man ever spoke of woman. Angel and goddess are phrases you have been used to from him; and though spoken in his humorous way, yet I am sure he most sincerely admires you.

Mr. Fenwick, in a less determined manner, declares, that he will follow you to town, if you stay there above one fortnight.

The gentle Orme sighs his apprehensions, and w hes you would change your purpose. Though hopeless, he says, it is some pleasure to him that he can think himself in the same county with you; and much more, that he can tread in your footsteps to and from church every Sunday, and behold you there. He wonders how your grandmamma, your aunt, your uncle, can spare you. Your cousin Reeves’s surely, he says, are very happy in their influences over us all.

Each of the gentlemen is afraid, that by increasing the number of your admirers, you will increase his difficulties: but what is that to them, I asked, when they already know, that you are not inclined to favour any of the three?

If you hold your resolution, and my cousin Reeves’s their time of setting out, pray let me know, and 1 will attend you at my uncle Selby’s, to wish you a good journey, much pleasure in town, and a return with a safe and sound heart. My sister, who, poor dear girl, continues extremely weak and low, will spare me for a purpose so indispensable. I will not have you come to us. I know it will grieve you to see her in the way she is in. You too much take to heart the infirmities of your friends which you cannot cure; and as your grandmamma lives upon your smiles, and you rejoice all your friends by your cheerfulness, it would be cruel to make you sad.

Mr. Greville has just left us. He dropt in upon us as we were going to dinner. My grandmother Selby you know is always pleased with his rattling. She prevailed on him to alight, and sit down with us. All his talk was of you. He repeated his for-mer threatenings (as I called them to him) on your going to town. After dinner, he read us a letter from Lady Frampton relating to you. He read us also some passages from the copy of his answer, with design, I believe, that I should ask him to leave it behind him. He is a vain creature, you know, and seemed fond of what he had written. I did ask him. He pretended to make a scruple oi’t your seeing it; but it was a faint one. However, he called for pen and ink; and when it was brought him, scratched over two passages, and that with so many little flou-rishes (as you will see) that he thought they could not be read. But the ink I furnished him with, happening to be paler than his, you will find he was not cunning enough. I promised to return it.

Send me a line by the bearer, to tell me if your resolution holds as to the day.

Adieu, my dearest Harriet. May angels protect and guide you whithersoever you go!

LUCY SELBY.

Letter II.

Mr. Greville to Lady Frampton. [Inclosed in the preceding.]

Northampton, January 6. Your ladyship demands a description of the person of the celebrated Miss Byron in our neighbour-hood; and to know, whether, as report tells you, love has listed me in the number of her particular admirers? — Particular admirers you well distin-guish; since every one who beholds her admires her.

Your ladyship confines your enquiries to her per-son, you tell me: and you own, that women are much more solicitous about the beauties of that, than of the mind. Perhaps it may be so; and that their envy is much sooner excited by the one than the other. But who, madam, can describe the per-son of Miss Harriet Byron, and her person only; animated as every feature is by a mind that bespeaks all human excellence, and dignifies her in every air, in every look, in every motion?

No man living has a greater passion for beauty than I have. Till I knew Miss Byron, I was one of those who regarded nothing else in the sex. Indeed, I considered all intellectual attainments as either useless or impertinent in women. Your ladyship knows what were my free notions on this head, and has rebuked me for them. A wise, a learned lady, I considered as a very unnatural character. I wanted women to be all love, and nothing else. A very little prudence allowed I to enter into their composition; just enough to distinguish the man of sense from the fool; and that for my own sake. You know I have vanit}^ madam: but lovely as Miss Byron’s person is, I defy the greatest sensualist on earth not to admire her mind more than her person. What a triumph would the devil have, as I have often thought, when I have stood contemplating her per-fections, especially at church, were he able to raise up a man that could lower this angel into woman? — Pardon me! — Your ladyship knows my mad way of saying every thing that rises to my thoughts.

Sweetness of temper must make plain features glow: what an effect must it then have upon fine ones? Never was there a sweeter-tempered woman. Indeed from sixteen to twenty, all the sex (kept in humour by their hopes, and by their attractions) are said to be good-tempered; but she is remarka-bly so. She is just turned of twenty, but looks not more than seventeen. Her beauty hardly yet in its full blow, will last longer, I imagine, than in an ear-lier blossom. Yet the prudence visible in her whole aspect, gave her a distinction, even at twelve, that promised what she would be at a riper age.

Yet with all this reigning good-nature visible in her face and manner, there is such a native dignity in all she says, in all she does (though mingled with a frankness that shews her mind’s superiority to the minds of almost all other women) that it damps and suppresses, in the most audacious, all imaginations of bold familiarity.

I know not, by my soul, how she does this nei-ther: yet so it is. She jests; she raillies: but I cannot railly her again. Love, it is said, dignifies the adored object. Perhaps it is that which awes me.

And now will your ladyship doubt of an affirma-tive answer to your second question, Whether love has listed me in the number of her particular ad-mirers?

He has: and the devil take me if I can help my-self: and yet I have no encouragement — nor any — body else; that’s my consolation. Fenwick is deeper in, if possible, than I. We had at our first acquaintance, as you have heard, a tilting-bout on the occasion: but are sworn friends now; each having agreed to try his fortune by patience and perseverance; and being assured that the one has no more of her favour to boast of, than the other*. “ We have indeed blustered away between us half a score more of her admirers. Poor whining Orme, however, perseveres. But of him we make no account: he has a watery head, and though he finds a way, by his sister, who visits at Mr Selby’s, and is much esteemed there, to let Miss Byron know his passion for her, notwithstanding the negative he has received; yet doubt we not that she is safe from a flame that he will quench with his tears, before it can rise to a head to disturb us.

“You ladies love men should whine after you; but never yet did I find, that where a blustering fellow was a competitor, the lady married the milksop.”

* The passages in this letter thus marked (") are those which in the preceding one are said to be scratched out; but yet were legible by holding up the letter to the light.

But let me in this particular do Miss Byron justice: how she manages it I cannot tell; but she is cour-teous to all; nor could ever any man charge her either with pride or cruelty. All I fear, is, that she has such an equality in her temper, that she can hard-ly find room in her heart for a particular love: Nor will, till she meets with one whose mind is nearly as faultless as her own; and the general tenor of whose life and actions calls upon her discretion to give her leave to love. “ This apprehension I owe to a conversation I had with her grandmother Shirley; a lady that is an ornament to old age; and who hint-ed to me, that her grand-daughter had exceptions both to Fenwick and me, on the score of a few indulgencies that perhaps have been too public; but which all men of fashion and spirit give themselves, and all women, but this, allow of, or hate not men the worse for. But then what is her objection to ‘Jrme? lie is a sober dog.”

She was but eight years old when her mother died She also was an excellent woman. Her death •was brought on by grief for that of her husband; which happened but six months before — a rare instance!

The grandmother and aunt, to whom the girl is dutiful to a proverb, will not interfere with her choice. If they are applied to for their interest, the answer is constantly this: the approbation of their Harriet must be first gained, and then their consent is ready.

There is a Mr. Deane, a man of an excellent character for a lawyer; but indeed he left off prac-tice on coming into possession of a handsome estate. He was the girl’s godfather. He is allowed to have great influence over them all. Harriet calls him papa. To him I have applied; but his answer is the very same: his daughter Harriet must choose for herself: all motions of this kind must come first from her.

And ought I to despair of succeedingwith the girl herself? I, her Greville; not contemptible in person; an air — free and easy, at least; having a good estate in possession; fine expectances besides; dressing well, singing well, dancing well, and blest with a mo-derate share of confidence; which makes other women think me a clever fellow: she, a girl of twenty; her fortune between ten and fifteen thousand pounds only; for her father’s considerable estate, on his demise, for want of male heirs, went with the name; her grandmother’s jointure not more than 5001. a year. — And what though her uncle Selby has no children, and loves her, yet has he nephews “and nieces of his own, whom he also loves; for this Harriet is his wife’s niece.

I will not despair. If resolution, if perseverance will do, and if she be a woman, she shall be mine — and so I have told her aunt Selby, and her uncle too; and so I have told Miss Lucy Selby, her cousin, as she calls her, who is highly and deservedly in her favour; and so indeed have I more than once told the girl herself.

But now to the description of her person — Let me die, if I know where to begin. She is all over love-liness. Does not every — body else who has seen her tell you so? Her stature; shall I begin with her stature? She cannot be said to be tall; but yet is some — thing above the middling. Her shape-^-But what care I for her shape? I, who hope to love her still more, though possession may make me admire her less, when she has not that to boast of? We young fellows who have been abroad, are above regarding English shapes, and prefer to them the French neg-ligence. By the way, I think the foreign ladies in the right, that they aim not at what they cannot at-tain. Whether we are so much in the right to come into their taste, is another thing. But be this as it will, there is so much ease and dignity in the per-son, in the dress, and in every air and motion, of Miss Harriet Byron, that fine shapes will ever be in fashion where she is, be either native or fo-reigner the judge.

Her complexion is admirably fair and clear. I have sat admiring her complexion, till I have ima-gined I have seen the life-blood flowing with equal course through her translucent veins.

Her forehead, so nobly free and open, shews dig-nity and modesty, and strikes into one a kind of awe, singly contemplated, that (from the delight which accompanies the awe) I know not how to describe. Every single feature, in short, will bear the nicest examination; and her whole face, and her neck, so admirably set on her finely-proportioned shoulders — let me perish, if, taking her altogether, I do not hold her to be the most unexceptionable beauty I ever beheld. But what still is her particular excel-lence, and distinguishes her from all other English women (for it must be acknowledged to be a charac-teristic of the French women of quality) is the grace which that people call plii/siogjiomi/, and we may call expression: had not her features and her complexion been so fine as they are, that grace alone, that soul shining out in her lovely aspect, joined with the ease and gracefulness of her motion, would have made her as many admirers as beholders.

After this, shall I descend to a more particular description? — I will.

Her cheek — I never saiv a cheek so beautifully turned; illustrated as it is by a charming carmine flush, which denotes sound health. A most bewitching dimple takes place in each when she smiles; and she has so much reason to be pleased with her-self, and with all about her (for she is the idol of her relations) that I believe from infancy she never frowned; nor can a frown, it is my opinion, sit upon her face for a minute. Would to Heaven I were considerable enough with her to prove the contrary!

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