Miss Grandison made me one of her flying visits, as she calls them, soon after the countess and my lord went away.

Mr. and Mrs. Reeves told her all that had been said before them by the earl and countess, as well before I went down to them, as after.  They could not tell her what passed between that lady and me, when she took me aside.  I had not had time to tell them.  They referred to me for that:  but besides that I was not in spirits, and cared not to say much, I was not willing to be thought by my refusal of so great an offer, to seem to fasten myself upon her brother.

She pitied (who but must?) Lady Clementina.  She pitied her brother also:  and, seeing me dejected, she clasped her arms about me, and wet my cheek with a sisterly tear.

Is it not very strange, Lucy, that his father should keep him so long abroad?  These free-living men! of what absurdities are they not guilty!  What misfortunes to others do they not occasion?  One might, with the excellent Clementina, ask, What had Mr. Grandison to do in Italy!  Or why, if he must go abroad, did he stay so long?

Travelling!  Young men travelling!  I cannot, my dear, but think it a very nonsensical thing!  What can they see, but the ruins of the gay, once busy world, of which they have read?

To see a parcel of giddy boys under the direction of tutors or governors hunting after—­What?—­Nothing:  or, at best, but ruins of ruins; for the imagination, aided by reflection, must be left, after all, to make out the greater glories, which the grave-digger Time has buried too deep for discovery.

And when this grand tour is completed, the travelled youth returns:  And, what is his boast?  Why to be able to tell, perhaps his better taught friend, who has never been out of his native country, that he has seen in ruins, what the other has a juster idea of from reading; and of which, it is more than probable, he can give a much better account than the traveller.

And are these, petulant Harriet, (methinks, Lucy, you demand,) all the benefits that you will suppose Sir Charles Grandison has reaped from his travelling?

Why, no.  But then, in turn, I ask, Is every traveller a Sir Charles Grandison?—­And does not even he confess to Dr. Bartlett, that he wished he had never seen Italy?  And may not the poor Clementina, and all her family, for her sake, wish he never had?

If an opportunity offers, I don’t know, but I may ask Sir Charles, whether, in his conscience, he thinks, that, taking in every consideration, relating to time, expense, risques of life, health, morals, this part of the fashionable education of youth of condition is such an indispensable one, as some seem to suppose it?  If Sir Charles Grandison give it not in favour of travelling, I believe it will be concluded, that six parts out of eight of the little masters who are sent abroad for improvement, might as well be kept at home; if, especially, they would be orderly, and let their fathers and mothers know what to do with them.