Dr. Bartlett is favourable to every body, sinners as well as saints--He
began with praising the modesty of her dress, the humility of her
behaviour: he said, that she trembled and looked down, till she was
reassured by Sir Charles. Such creatures have all their tricks, Harriet.
You, Charlotte, are not favourable to sinners, and hardly to saints. But
pray proceed.
Why, he re-assured the woman, as I told you. And then proceeded to ask
many questions of the elder Oldham--I pitied that young fellow--to have a
mother in his eye, whose very tenderness to the young ones kept alive the
sense of her guilt. And yet what would she have been, had she not been
doubly tender to the innocents, who were born to shame from her fault?
The young man acknowledged a military genius; and Sir Charles told him,
that he would, on his return from a journey he was going to take,
consider whether he could not do him service in the way he chose. He
gave him, it seems, a brief lecture on what he should aim to be, and what
avoid, to qualify himself for a man of true honour; and spoke very
handsomely of such gentlemen of the army as are real gentlemen. The
young fellow, continued Miss Grandison, may look upon himself to be as
good as provided for, since my brother never gives the most distant hope
that is not followed by absolute certainty, the first opportunity, not
that offers, but which he can make.
He took great notice of the little boys. He dilated their hearts, and
set them a prating; and was pleased with their prate. The doctor, who
had never seen him before in the company of children, applauded him for
his vivacity, and condescending talk to them. The tenderest father in
the world, he said, could not have behaved more tenderly, or shewed
himself more delighted with his own children, than he did with those
brats of Mrs. Oldham.
Ah, Charlotte! And is it out of doubt, that you are the daughter of Lady
Grandison, and sister of Sir Charles Grandison?--Well, but I believe you
are--Some children take after the father, some after the mother!--Forgive
me, my dear.
But I won't. I have a great mind to quarrel with you, Harriet.
Pray don't; because I could neither help, nor can be sorry for, what I
said. But pray proceed.
Why, he made presents to the children. I don't know what they were; nor
could the doctor tell me. I suppose very handsome ones; for he has the
spirit of a prince. He inquired very particularly after the circumstances
of the mother; and was more kind to her than many people would be to
their own mothers.--He can account for this, I suppose--though I cannot.
The woman, it is true, is of a good family, and so forth: but that
enhances her crime. Natural children abound in the present age. Keeping
is fashionable. Good men should not countenance such wretches.--But my
brother and you are charitable creatures!--With all my heart, child.
Virtue, however, has at least as much to say on one side of the question
as on the other.
When the poor children are in the world, as your brother said--When the
poor women are penitents, true penitents--Your brother's treatment of
Mrs. Giffard was different. He is in both instances an imitator of the
Almighty; a humbler of the impenitent, and an encourager of those who
repent.
Well, well; he is undoubtedly a good sort of young man; and, Harriet, you
are a good sort of young woman. Where much is given, much is required:
but I have not given me such a large quantity of charity, as either of
you may boast: and how can I help it?--But, however, the woman went away
blessing and praising him; and that, the doctor says, more with her eyes
than she was able to do in words. The elder youth departed in rapturous
reverence: the children hung about his knees, on theirs. The doctor will
have it, that it was without bidding--Perhaps so--He raised them by turns
to his arms, and kissed them.--Why, Harriet! your eyes glisten, child.
They would have run over, I suppose, had you been there! Is it, that
your heart is weakened with your present situation? I hope not. No, you
are a good creature! And I see that the mention of a behaviour greatly
generous, however slightly made, will have its force upon a heart so
truly benevolent as yours. You must be Lady Grandison, my dear: indeed
you must.--Well, but I must be gone. You dine with us to-morrow, my
brother says?
He did ask me; and desired me to engage my cousins. But he repeated not
the invitation when he went away.
He depends upon your coming: and so do we. He is to talk to me before
you, it seems: I can't tell about what: but by his hurrying on every
thing, it is plain he is preparing to leave us.
He is, madam.
'He is, madam!' And with that dejected air, and mendicant voice--Speak
up like a woman!--The sooner he sets out, if he must go, the sooner he
will return. Come, come, Harriet, you shall be Lady Grandison still--Ah!
and that sigh too! These love-sick folks have a language that nobody
else can talk to them in: and then she affectedly sighed--Is that right,
Harriet?--She sighed again--No, it is not: I never knew what a sigh was,
but when my father vexed my sister; and that was more for fear he should
one day be as cruel to me, than for her sake. We can be very generous
for others, Harriet, when we apprehend that one day we may want the same
pity ourselves. Our best passions, my dear, have their mixtures of
self-love.
You have drawn a picture of human nature, Charlotte, that I don't like.
It is a likeness for all that.
She arose, snatched my hand, hurried to the door--Be with us, Harriet,
and cousin Reeves, and cousin Reeves, as soon as you can to-morrow. I
want to talk to you, my dear (to me) of an hundred thousand things before
dinner. Remember we dine early.
Away she fluttered--Happy Miss Grandison! What charming spirits she has!