CLARISSA HARLOWE

or the

HISTORY OF A YOUNG LADY

By Samuel Richardson

Nine Volumes

Volume II. 

LETTERS OF VOLUME II

LETTER I. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Another visit from her aunt andsister. The latter spitefully insults her with the patterns. A tenderscene between her aunt and her in Arabella's absence. She endeavours toaccount for the inflexibility of her parents and uncles. 

LETTER II. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Humourous description of Mr. Hickman. Imagines, from what Lovelace, Hickman, and Solmes, are now, what figuresthey made when boys at school. 

LETTER III. From the same. --Useful observations on general life. Severecensures of the Harlowe family, for their pride, formality, and otherbad qualities. 

LETTER IV. From the same. --Mr. Hickman's conversation with two ofLovelace's libertine companions. 

LETTER V. From the same. --An unexpected visit from Mr. Lovelace. Whatpasses in it. Repeats her advice to her to resume her estate. 

LETTER VI. VII. VIII. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Farther particulars of thepersecutions she receives from her violent brother. 

LETTER IX. From the same. --Impertinence of Betty Barnes. Overhears herbrother and sister encourage Solmes to persevere in his address. Shewrites warmly to her brother upon it. 

LETTER X. From the same. --Receives a provoking letter from her sister. Writes to her mother. Her mother's severe reply. Is impatient. DesiresMiss Howe's advice what course to pursue. Tries to compose her angrypassions at her harpsichord. An Ode to Wisdom, by a Lady. 

LETTER XI. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Chides her for misrepresenting Mr. Hickman. Fully answers her arguments about resuming her estate. Herimpartiality with regard to what Miss Howe says of Lovelace, Solmes, andher brother. Reflections on revenge and duelling. 

LETTER XII. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Sir Harry Downeton's account of whatpassed between himself and Solmes. She wishes her to avoid both men. Admires her for her manifold excellencies. 

LETTER XIII. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Why she cannot overcome heraversion to Solmes. Sharp letter to Lovelace. On what occasion. All hisdifficulties, she tells him, owning to his faulty morals; which levelall distinction. Insists upon his laying aside all thoughts of her. Herimpartial and dutiful reasonings on her difficult situation. 

LETTER XIV. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --A notable debate between her and hermother on her case. Those who marry for love seldom so happy as thosewho marry for convenience. Picture of a modern marriage. A lesson bothto parents and children in love-cases. Handsome men seldom make goodhusbands. Miss Howe reflects on the Harlowe family, as not famous forstrictness in religion or piety. Her mother's partiality for Hickman. 

LETTER XV. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Her increased apprehensions. Warmly defends her own mother. Extenuates her father's feelings; andexpostulates with her on her undeserved treatment of Mr. Hickman. Aletter to her from Solmes. Her spirited answer. All in an uproar aboutit. Her aunt Hervey's angry letter to her. She writes to her mother. Herletter returned unopened. To her father. He tears her letter in pieces, and sends it back to her. She then writes a pathetic letter to her uncleHarlowe. 

LETTER XVI. From the same. --Receives a gentler answer than she expectedfrom her uncle Harlowe. Makes a new proposal in a letter to him, whichshe thinks must be accepted. Her relations assembled upon it. Heropinion of the sacrifice which a child ought to make to her parents. 

LETTER XVII. From the same. --She tells her that the proposal she hadmade to her relations, on which she had built so much, is rejected. Betty's saucy report upon it. Her brother's provoking letter to her. Her letter to her uncle Harlowe on the occasion. Substance of a letterexcusatory from Mr. Lovelace. He presses for an interview with her inthe garden. 

LETTER XVIII. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Her uncle's angry answer. Substance of a humble letter from Mr. Lovelace. He has got a violentcold and hoarseness, by his fruitless attendance all night in thecoppice. She is sorry he is not well. Makes a conditional appointmentwith him for the next night, in the garden. Hates tyranny in all shapes. 

LETTER XIX. From the same. --A characteristic dialogue with the pertBetty Barnes. Women have great advantage over men in all the powers thatrelate to the imagination. Makes a request to her uncle Harlowe, whichis granted, on condition that she will admit of a visit from Solmes. Shecomplies; and appoints that day sevennight. Then writes to Lovelaceto suspend the intended interview. Desires Miss Howe to inquire intoLovelace's behaviour at the little inn he puts up at in his way toHarlowe-Place. 

LETTER XX. From the same. --Receives a letter from Lovelace, writtenin very high terms, on her suspending the interview. Her angry answer. Resolves against any farther correspondence with him. 

LETTER XXI. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Humourous account of her mother andMr. Hickman in their little journey to visit her dying cousin. Ralliesher on her present displeasure with Lovelace. 

LETTER XXII. Mr. Hickman to Mrs. Howe. --Resenting Miss Howe's treatmentof him. 

LETTER XXIII. Mrs. Howe. In answer. 

LETTER XXIV. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Observes upon the contents of herseven last letters. Advises her to send all the letters and papers shewould not have her relations see; also a parcel of clothes, linen, &c. Is in hopes of procuring an asylum for her with her mother, if thingscome to extremity. 

LETTER XXV. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Requisites of true satire. Rejoicesin the hopes she gives of her mother's protection. Deposits a parcelof linen, and all Lovelace's letters. Useful observations relating tofamily management, and to neatness of person and dress. Her contrivancesto amuse Betty Barnes. 

LETTER XXVI. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Result of her inquiry afterLovelace's behaviour at the inn. Doubts not but he has ruined theinnkeeper's daughter. Passionately inveighs against him. 

LETTER XXVII. Clarissa. In answer. --Is extremely alarmed at Lovelace'ssupposed baseness. Declares her abhorrence of him. 

LETTER XXVIII. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Lovelace, on inquiry, comes outto be not only innocent with regard to his Rosebud, but generous. MissHowe rallies her on the effects this intelligence must have upon hergenerosity. 

LETTER XXIX. Clarissa. In reply. --Acknowledges her generosity engagedin his favour. Frankly expresses tenderness and regard for him; and ownsthat the intelligence of his supposed baseness had affected her morethan she thinks it ought. Contents of a letter she has received fromhim. Pities him. Writes to him that her rejection of Solmes is not infavour to himself; for that she is determined to hold herself freeto obey her parents, (as she had offered to them, ) of their giving upSolmes. Reproaches him for his libertine declarations in all companiesagainst matrimony. Her notions of filial duty, notwithstanding thepersecutions she meets with. 

LETTER XXX. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Her treatment of Mr. Hickman on hisintrusion into her company. Applauds Clarissa for the generosity of herspirit, and the greatness of her mind. 

LETTER XXXI. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Dr. Lewen makes her a formal visit. Affected civility of her brother and sister to her. Is visited by heruncle Harlowe: and by her sister. She penetrates the low art designed inthis change of their outward behaviour. Substance of Lovelace's replyto her last. He acknowledges his folly for having ever spoken lightly ofmatrimony. 

LETTER XXXII. From the same. --Another letter from Mr. Lovelace, inwhich he expresses himself extremely apprehensive of the issue ofher interview with Solmes. Presses her to escape; proposes means foreffecting it; and threatens to rescue her by violence, if they attemptto carry her to her uncle Antony's against her will. Her terror on theoccasion. She insists, in her answer, on his forbearing to take any rashstep; and expresses herself highly dissatisfied that he should thinkhimself entitled to dispute her father's authority in removing her toher uncle's. She relies on Mrs. Howe's protection till her cousin Mordenarrives. 

LETTER XXXIII. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --A visit from her aunt Hervey, preparative to the approaching interview with Solmes. Her aunt tells herwhat is expected on her having consented to that interview. 

LETTER XXXIV. XXXV. From the same. --A particular account of what passedin the interview with Solmes; and of the parts occasionally taken init by her boisterous uncle, by her brutal brother, by her implacablesister, and by her qualifying aunt. Her perseverance and distress. Hercousin Dolly's tenderness for her. Her closet searched for papers. Allthe pens and ink they find taken from her. 

LETTER XXXVI. From the same. --Substance of a letter from Lovelace. Hisproposals, promises, and declarations. All her present wish is, to beable to escape Solmes, on one hand, and to avoid incurring the disgraceof refuging with the family of a man at enmity with her own, on theother. Her emotions behind the yew-hedge on seeing her father going intothe garden. Grieved at what she hears him say. Dutiful message toher mother. Harshly answered. She censures Mr. Lovelace for his rashthreatenings to rescue her. Justifies her friends for resenting them;and condemns herself for corresponding with him at first. 

LETTER XXXVII. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Is vexed at the heart to beobliged to tell her that her mother refuses to receive and protect her. Offers to go away privately with her. 

LETTER XXXVIII. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Her disinterested arguments inMrs. Howe's favour, on her refusal to receive her. All her consolationis, that her unhappy situation is not owing to her own inadvertence offolly. Is afraid she is singled out, either for her own faults, or forthose of her family, or perhaps for the faults of both, to be a veryunhappy creature. Justifies the ways of Providence, let what will befalher: and argues with exemplary greatness of mind on this subject. Warmlydiscourages Miss Howe's motion to accompany her in her flight. 

LETTER XXXIX. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Further instances of herimpartiality in condemning Lovelace, and reasoning for her parents. Overhears her brother and sister exulting in the success of theirschemes; and undertaking, the one to keep his father up to hisresentment on occasion of Lovelace's menaces, the other her mother. Exasperated at this, and at what her aunt Hervey tells her, she writesto Lovelace, that she will meet him the following Monday, and throwherself into the protection of the ladies of his family. 

LETTER XL. From the same. --Her frightful dream. Now that Lovelace hasgot her letter, she repents her appointment. 

LETTER XLI. From the same. --Receives a letter from Mr. Lovelace, fullof transport, vows, and promises. He presumes upon her being his on hergetting away, though she has not given him room for such hopes. In heranswer she tells him, 'that she looks not upon herself as absolutelybound by her appointment: that there are many points to be adjustedbetween them (were she to leave her father's house) before she can givehim particular encouragement: that he must expect she will do her utmostto procure a reconciliation with her father, and his approbation ofher future steps. ' All her friends are to be assembled on the followingWednesday: she is to be brought before them. How to be proceeded with. Lovelace, in his reply, asks pardon for writing to her with so muchassurance; and declares his entire acquiescence with her will andpleasure. 

LETTER XLII. From the same. --Confirms her appointment; but tells himwhat he is not to expect. Promises, that if she should change her mindas to withdrawing, she will take the first opportunity to see him, andacquaint him with her reasons. Reflections on what she has done. Herdeep regret to be thus driven. 

LETTER XLIII. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Reasons why she ought to allow herto accompany her in her flight. Punctilio at an end, the moment she isout of her father's house. Requisites of friendship. Questions whethershe will not rather choose to go off with one of her own sex thanwith Lovelace? And if not, whether she should not marry him as soon aspossible?

LETTER XLIV. Clarissa to Miss Howe, (Miss Howe's last not received. )Lovelace promises compliance, in every article, with her pleasure. Her heart misgives her notwithstanding. She knows not but she may yetrecede. 

LETTER XLV. From the same. In answer to Letter XLIII. --Reflectionsworthy of herself on some of the passages in Miss Howe's last letter. Gives her home-put questions a full consideration; and determines NOT towithdraw with Lovelace. 

LETTER XLVI. XLVII. From the same. --Substance of her letter to Lovelace, revoking her appointment. Thinks herself obliged (her letter being nottaken away) as well by promise as in order to prevent mischief, to meethim, and to give him her reason for revoking. --The hour of meeting nowat hand, she is apprehensive of the contest she shall have with him, ashe will come with a different expectation. 

LETTER XLVIII. From the same. --Dated from St. Alban's. Writes in theutmost anguish of mind for the little parcel of linen she had sent toher with better hopes. Condemns her own rashness in meeting Lovelace. Begs her pity and her prayers. 

THE HISTORY OF CLARISSA HARLOWE

LETTER I

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE

My heart fluttered with the hope and the fear of seeing my mother, andwith the shame and grief of having given her so much uneasiness. But itneeded not: she was not permitted to come. But my aunt was so good as toreturn, yet not without my sister; and, taking my hand, made me sit downby her. 

She came, she must own, officiously, she said, this once more, though against the opinion of my father: but knowing and dreading theconsequence of my opposition, she could not but come. 

She then set forth to my friends' expectation from me; Mr. Solmes'sriches (three times as rich he came out to be, as any body had thoughthim); the settlements proposed; Mr. Lovelace's bad character; theiraversions to him; all in a very strong light; not in a stronger thanmy mother had before placed them in. My mother, surely, could not havegiven the particulars of what had passed between herself and me: if shehad, my aunt would not have repeated many of the same sentiments, asyou will find she did, that had been still more strongly urged, withouteffect by her venerable sister. 

She said it would break the heart of my father to have it imagined thathe had not a power over his own child; and that, as he thought, formy own good: a child too, whom they had always doated upon!--Dearest, dearest Miss, concluded she, clasping her fingers, with the mostcondescending earnestness, let me beg of you, for my sake, for your ownsake, for a hundred sakes, to get over this averseness, to give up yourprejudices, and make every one happy and easy once more. --I would kneelto you, my dearest Niece--nay, I will kneel to you--!

And down she dropt, and I with her, kneeling to her, and beseeching hernot to kneel; clasping my arms about her, and bathing her worthy bosomwith my tears. 

O rise! rise! my beloved Aunt, said I: you cut me to the heart with thiscondescending goodness. 

Say then, my dearest Niece, say then, that you will oblige all yourfriends!--If you love us, I beseech you do--

How can I perform what I can sooner choose to die than to perform--!

Say then, my dear, that you will consider of it. Say you will butreason with yourself. Give us but hopes. Don't let me entreat, and thusentreat, in vain--[for still she kneeled, and I by her]. 

What a hard case is mine!--Could I but doubt, I know I couldconquer. --That which is an inducement to my friends, is none at all tome--How often, my dearest Aunt, must I repeat the same thing?--Let mebut be single--Cannot I live single? Let me be sent, as I have proposed, to Scotland, to Florence, any where: let me be sent a slave to theIndies, any where--any of these I will consent to. But I cannot, cannotthink of giving my vows to man I cannot endure!

Well then, rising, (Bella silently, with uplifted hands, reproaching mysupposed perverseness, ) I see nothing can prevail with you to oblige us. 

What can I do, my dearest Aunt Hervey? What can I do? Were I capable ofgiving a hope I meant not to enlarge, then could I say, I would considerof your kind advice. But I would rather be thought perverse thaninsincere. Is there, however, no medium? Can nothing be thought of? Willnothing do, but to have a man who is the more disgustful to me, becausehe is unjust in the very articles he offers?

Whom now, Clary, said my sister, do you reflect upon? Consider that. 

Make not invidious applications of what I say, Bella. It may not belooked upon in the same light by every one. The giver and the accepterare principally answerable in an unjust donation. While I think of it inthis light, I should be inexcusable to be the latter. But why do I enterupon a supposition of this nature?--My heart, as I have often, oftensaid, recoils, at the thought of the man, in every light. --Whose father, but mine, agrees upon articles where there is no prospect of a liking?Where the direct contrary is avowed, all along avowed, without theleast variation, or shadow of a change of sentiment?--But it is not myfather's doing originally. O my cruel, cruel brother, to cause a measureto be forced upon me, which he would not behave tolerably under, werethe like to be offered to him!

The girl is got into her altitudes, Aunt Hervey, said my sister. Yousee, Madam, she spares nobody. Be pleased to let her know what she hasto trust to. Nothing is to be done with her. Pray, Madam, pronounce herdoom. 

My aunt retired to the window, weeping, with my sister in her hand:I cannot, indeed I cannot, Miss Harlowe, said she, softly, (but yet Iheard every word she said): there is great hardship in her case. Sheis a noble child after all. What pity things are gone so far!--But Mr. Solmes ought to be told to desist. 

O Madam, said my sister, in a kind of loud whisper, are you caught tooby the little siren?--My mother did well not to come up!--I questionwhether my father himself, after his first indignation, would not beturned round by her. Nobody but my brother can do any thing with her, Iam sure. 

Don't think of your brother's coming up, said my aunt, still in a lowvoice--He is too furious. I see no obstinacy, no perverseness, inher manner! If your brother comes, I will not be answerable for theconsequences: for I thought twice or thrice she would have gone intofits. 

O Madam, she has a strong heart!--And you see there is no prevailingwith her, though you were upon your knees to her. 

My sister left my aunt musing at the window, with her back towards us, and took that opportunity to insult me still more barbarously; for, stepping to my closet, she took up the patterns which my mother had sentme up, and bringing them to me, she spread them upon the chair by me;and offering one, and then another, upon her sleeve and shoulder, thusshe ran on, with great seeming tranquility, but whisperingly, that myaunt might not hear her. This, Clary, is a pretty pattern enough: butthis is quite charming! I would advise you to make your appearance init. And this, were I you, should be my wedding night-gown--And thismy second dressed suit! Won't you give orders, love, to have yourgrandmother's jewels new set?--Or will you thing to shew away in the newones Mr. Solmes intends to present to you? He talks of laying out twoor three thousand pounds in presents, child! Dear heart!--How gorgeouslywill you be array'd! What! silent still?--But, Clary, won't you have avelvet suit? It would cut a great figure in a country church, you know:and the weather may bear it for a month yet to come. Crimson velvet, suppose! Such a fine complexion as yours, how it would be set off by it!What an agreeable blush would it give you!--Heigh-ho! (mocking me, for Isighed to be thus fooled with, ) and do you sigh, love?--Well then, as itwill be a solemn wedding, what think you of black velvet, child?--Silentstill, Clary?--Black velvet, so fair as you are, with those charmingeyes, gleaming through a wintry cloud, like an April sun!--Does notLovelace tell you they are charming eyes?--How lovely will you appear toevery one!--What! silent still, love?--But about your laces, Clary?--

She would have gone on still further, had not my aunt advance towardsme, wiping her eyes--What! whispering ladies! You seem so easy and sopleased, Miss Harlowe, with your private conference, that I hope I shallcarry down good news. 

I am only giving her my opinion of her patterns, here. --Unasked indeed;but she seems, by her silence, to approve of my judgment. 

O Bella! said I, that Mr. Lovelace had not taken you at your word!--Youhad before now been exercising your judgment on your own account: and Ihad been happy as well as you! Was it my fault, I pray you, that it wasnot so?--

O how she raved!

To be so ready to give, Bella, and so loth to take, is not very fair inyou. 

The poor Bella descended to call names. 

Why, Sister, said I, you are as angry, as if there were more in thehint than possibly might be designed. My wish is sincere, for both oursakes!--for the whole family's sake!--And what (good now) is there init?--Do not, do not, dear Bella, give me cause to suspect, that I havefound a reason for your behaviour to me, and which till now was whollyunaccountable from sister to sister--

Fie, fie, Clary! said my aunt. 

My sister was more and more outrageous. 

O how much fitter, said I, to be a jest, than a jester!--But now, Bella, turn the glass to you, and see how poorly sits the robe upon your ownshoulders, which you have been so unmercifully fixing upon mine!

Fie, fie, Miss Clary! repeated my aunt. 

And fie, fie, likewise, good Madam, to Miss Harlowe, you would say, wereyou to have heard her barbarous insults!

Let us go, Madam, said my sister, with great violence; let us leave thecreature to swell till she bursts with her own poison. --The last time Iwill ever come near her, in the mind I am in!

It is so easy a thing, returned I, were I to be mean enough to followan example that is so censurable in the setter of it, to vanquish sucha teasing spirit as your's with its own blunt weapons, that I am amazedyou will provoke me!--Yet, Bella, since you will go, (for she hadhurried to the door, ) forgive me. I forgive you. And you have a doublereason to do so, both from eldership and from the offence so studiouslygiven to one in affliction. But may you be happy, though I never shall!May you never have half the trials I have had! Be this your comfort, that you cannot have a sister to treat you as you have treated me!--Andso God bless you!

O thou art a--And down she flung without saying what. 

Permit me, Madam, said I to my aunt, sinking down, and clasping herknees with my arms, to detain you one moment--not to say any thing aboutmy poor sister--she is her own punisher--only to thank you for allyour condescending goodness to me. I only beg of you not to impute toobstinacy the immovableness I have shown to so tender a friend; and toforgive me every thing I have said or done amiss in your presence, forit has not proceeded from inward rancour to the poor Bella. But I willbe bold to say, that neither she, nor my brother, nor even my fatherhimself, knows what a heart they have set a bleeding. 

I saw, to my comfort, what effect my sister's absence wrought forme. --Rise, my noble-minded Niece!--Charming creature! [those were herkind words] kneel not to me!--Keep to yourself what I now say to you. --Iadmire you more than I can express--and if you can forbear claiming yourestate, and can resolve to avoid Lovelace, you will continue to be thegreatest miracle I ever knew at your years--but I must hasten down afteryour sister. --These are my last words to you: 'Conform to your father'swill, if you possibly can. How meritorious will it be in you if you doso! Pray to God to enable you to conform. You don't know what may bedone. '

Only, my dear Aunt, one word, one word more (for she was going)--Speakall you can for my dear Mrs. Norton. She is but low in the world: shouldill health overtake her, she may not know how to live without my mamma'sfavour. I shall have no means to help her; for I will want necessariesbefore I will assert my right: and I do assure you, she has said so manythings to me in behalf of my submitting to my father's will, that herarguments have not a little contributed to make me resolve to avoid theextremities, which nevertheless I pray to God they do not at last forceme upon. And yet they deprive me of her advice, and think unjustly ofone of the most excellent of women. 

I am glad to hear you say this: and take this, and this, and this, mycharming Niece! (for so she called me almost at every word, kissing meearnestly, and clasping her arms about my neck:) and God protect you, and direct you! But you must submit: indeed you must. Some one day in amonth from this is all the choice that is left you. 

And this, I suppose, was the doom my sister called for; and yet no worsethan what had been pronounced upon me before. 

She repeated these last sentences louder than the former. 'And remember, Miss, ' added she, 'it is your duty to comply. '--And down she went, leaving me with my heart full, and my eyes running over. 

The very repetition of this fills me with almost equal concern to thatwhich I felt at the time. 

I must lay down my pen. Mistiness, which give to the deluged eye theappearance of all the colours in the rainbow, will not permit me towrite on. 

WEDNESDAY, FIVE O'CLOCK

I will now add a few lines--My aunt, as she went down from me, was metat the foot of the stairs by my sister, who seemed to think she hadstaid a good while after her; and hearing her last words prescribingto me implicit duty, praised her for it, and exclaimed against myobstinacy. Did you ever hear of such perverseness, Madam? said she:Could you have thought that your Clarissa and every body's Clarissa, wassuch a girl?--And who, as you said, is to submit, her father or she?

My aunt said something in answer to her, compassionating me, as Ithought, by her accent: but I heard not the words. 

Such a strange perseverance in a measure so unreasonable!--But mybrother and sister are continually misrepresenting all I say and do; andI am deprived of the opportunity of defending myself!--My sister says, *that had they thought me such a championess, they you not have engagedwith me: and now, not knowing how to reconcile my supposed obstinacywith my general character and natural temper, they seem to hope to tireme out, and resolve to vary their measures accordingly. My brother, yousee, ** is determined to carry this point, or to abandon Harlowe-place, and never to see it more. So they are to lose a son, or to conquera daughter--the perversest and most ungrateful that ever parentshad!--This is the light he places things in: and has undertaken, itseems, to subdue me, if his advice should be followed. It will befarther tried; of that I am convinced; and what will be their nextmeasure, who can divine?

 * See Letter XLII. Of Vol. I. 

 ** Ibid. 

I shall dispatch, with this, my answer to your's of Sunday last, begunon Monday;* but which is not yet quite finished. It is too long to copy:I have not time for it. In it I have been very free with you, my dear, in more places than one. I cannot say that I am pleased with all I havewritten--yet will not now alter it. My mind is not at ease enough forthe subject. Don't be angry with me. Yet, if you can excuse one or twopassages, it will be because they were written by

Your CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

 * See Letter XL, ibid. 

LETTER II

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE WEDNESDAY NIGHT, MARCH 22. 

ANGRY!--What should I be angry for? I am mightily pleased with yourfreedom, as you call it. I only wonder at your patience with me; that'sall. I am sorry I gave you the trouble of so long a letter upon theoccasion, * notwithstanding the pleasure I received in reading it. 

 * See Vol. I, Letter XXXVII, for the occasion; and Letters XXXVIII. And XL. Of the same volume, for the freedom Clarissa apologizes for. 

I believe you did not intend reserves to me: for two reasons I believeyou did not: First, because you say you did not: Next, because you havenot as yet been able to convince yourself how it is to be with you; andpersecuted as you are, how so to separate the effects that spring fromthe two causes [persecution and love] as to give to each its particulardue. But this I believe I hinted to you once before; and so will say nomore upon this subject at present. 

Robin says, you had but just deposited your last parcel when he took it:for he was there but half an hour before, and found nothing. He had seenmy impatience, and loitered about, being willing to bring me somethingfrom you, if possible. 

My cousin Jenny Fynnett is here, and desires to be my bedfellowto-night. So I shall not have an opportunity to sit down with thatseriousness and attention which the subjects of yours require. For sheis all prate, you know, and loves to set me a prating; yet comes upona very grave occasion--to procure my mother to go with her to hergrandmother Larking, who has long been bed-ridden; and at last has takenit into her head that she is mortal, and therefore will make her will; awork she was till now extremely averse to; but it must be upon conditionthat my mother, who is her distant relation, will go to her, and adviseher as to the particulars of it: for she has a high opinion, as everyone else has, of my mother's judgment in all matters relating to wills, settlements, and such-like notable affairs. 

Mrs. Larking lives about seventeen miles off; and as my mother cannotendure to lie out of her own house, she proposes to set out early inthe morning, that she might be able to get back again at night. So, to-morrow I shall be at your devotion from day-light to day-light; norwill I be at home to any body. 

I have hinted before, that I could almost wish my mother and Mr. Hickmanwould make a match of it: and I here repeat my wishes. What signifiesa difference of fifteen or twenty years; especially when the lady hasspirits that will make her young a long time, and the lover is a mightysober man?--I think, verily, I could like him better for a papa, thanfor a nearer relation: and they are strange admirers of one another. 

But allow me a perhaps still better (and, as to years, more suitable andhappier) disposal; for the man at least. --What think you, my dear, ofcompromising with your friends, by rejecting both men, and encouragingmy parader?--If your liking one of the two go no farther thanconditional, I believe it will do. A rich thought, if it obtain yourapprobation! In this light, I should have a prodigious respect forMr. Hickman; more by half than I can have in the other. The vein isopened--Shall I let it flow? How difficult to withstand constitutionalfoibles!

Hickman is certainly a man more in your taste than any of those who havehitherto been brought to address you. He is mighty sober, mighty grave, and all that. Then you have told me, that he is your favourite. But thatis because he is my mother's perhaps. The man would certainly rejoice atthe transfer; or he must be a greater fool than I take him to be. 

O but your fierce lover would knock him o' the head--I forgotthat!--What makes me incapable of seriousness when I write aboutHickman?--Yet the man so good a sort of man in the main!--But who isperfect? This is one of my foibles: and it is something for you to chideme for. 

You believe me to be very happy in my prospect in relation to him:because you are so very unhappy in the foolish usage you meet with, youare apt (as I suspect) to think that tolerable which otherwise would befar from being so. I dare say, you would not, with all your grave airs, like him for yourself; except, being addressed by Solmes and him, youwere obliged to have one of them. --I have given you a test. Let me seewhat you will say to it. 

For my own part, I confess to you, that I have great exceptions toHickman. He and wedlock never yet once entered into my head at one time. Shall I give you my free thoughts of him?--Of his best and his worst;and that as if I were writing to one who knows him not?--I think I will. Yet it is impossible I should do it gravely. The subject won't bear tobe so treated in my opinion. We are not come so far as that yet, if everwe shall: and to do it in another strain, ill becomes my present realconcern for you. 

*****

Here I was interrupted on the honest man's account. He has been herethese two hours--courting the mother for the daughter, I suppose--yetshe wants no courting neither: 'Tis well one of us does; else the manwould have nothing but halcyon; and be remiss, and saucy of course. 

He was going. His horses at the door. My mother sent for me down, pretending to want to say something to me. 

Something she said when I came that signified nothing--Evidently, for noreason called me, but to give me an opportunity to see what a fine bowher man could make; and that she might wish me a good night. She knowsI am not over ready to oblige him with my company, if I happen to beotherwise engaged. I could not help an air a little upon the fretful, when I found she had nothing of moment to say to me, and when I saw herintention. 

She smiled off the visible fretfulness, that the man might go away ingood humour with himself. 

He bowed to the ground, and would have taken my hand, his whip in theother. I did not like to be so companioned: I withdrew my hand, buttouched his elbow with a motion, as if from his low bow I had supposedhim falling, and would have helped him up--A sad slip, it might havebeen! said I. 

A mad girl! smiled it off my mother. 

He was quite put out; took his horse-bridle, stumped back, back, back, bowing, till he run against his servant. I laughed. He mounted hishorse. I mounted up stairs, after a little lecture; and my head is sofilled with him, that I must resume my intention, in hopes to divert youfor a few moments. 

Take it then--his best, and his worst, as I said before. 

Hickman is a sort of fiddling, busy, yet, to borrow a word from you, unbusy man: has a great deal to do, and seems to me to dispatch nothing. Irresolute and changeable in every thing, but in teasing me with hisnonsense; which yet, it is evident, he must continue upon my mother'sinterest more than upon his own hopes; for none have I given him. 

Then I have a quarrel against his face, though in his person, fora well-thriven man, tolerably genteel--Not to his features so muchneither; for what, as you have often observed, are features in aman?--But Hickman, with strong lines, and big cheek and chin bones, has not the manliness in his aspect, which Lovelace has with the mostregular and agreeable features. 

Then what a set and formal mortal he is in some things!--I have not beenable yet to laugh him out of his long bid and beads. Indeed, that is, because my mother thinks they become him; and I would not be so freewith him, as to own I should choose to have him leave it off. If he did, so particular is the man, he would certainly, if left to himself, fallinto a King-William's cravat, or some such antique chin-cushion, as bythe pictures of that prince one sees was then the fashion. 

As to his dress in general, he cannot indeed be called a sloven, butsometimes he is too gaudy, at other times too plain, to be uniformlyelegant. And for his manners, he makes such a bustle with them, andabout them, as would induce one to suspect that they are more strangersthan familiars to him. You, I know, lay this to his fearfulness ofdisobliging or offending. Indeed your over-doers generally give theoffence they endeavour to avoid. 

The man however is honest: is of family: has a clear and good estate;and may one day be a baronet, an't please you. He is humane andbenevolent, tolerably generous, as people say; and as I might say too, if I would accept of his bribes; which he offers in hopes of having themall back again, and the bribed into the bargain. A method taken by allcorrupters, from old Satan, to the lowest of his servants. Yet, to speakin the language of a person I am bound to honour, he is deemed a prudentman; that is to say a good manager. 

Then I cannot but confess, that now I like not anybody better, whateverI did once. 

He is no fox-hunter: he keeps a pack indeed; but prefers not his houndsto his fellow-creatures. No bad sign for a wife, I own. He loves hishorse; but dislikes racing in a gaming way, as well as all sorts ofgaming. Then he is sober; modest; they say, virtuous; in short, has qualities that mothers would be fond of in a husband for theirdaughters; and for which perhaps their daughters would be the happiercould they judge as well for themselves, as experience possibly mayteach them to judge for their future daughters. 

Nevertheless, to own the truth, I cannot say I love the man: nor, Ibelieve, ever shall. 

Strange! that these sober fellows cannot have a decent sprightliness, a modest assurance with them! Something debonnaire; which need not beseparated from that awe and reverence, when they address a woman, whichshould shew the ardour of their passion, rather than the sheepishnessof their nature; for who knows not that love delights in taming thelion-hearted? That those of the sex, who are most conscious of theirown defect in point of courage, naturally require, and therefore asnaturally prefer, the man who has most of it, as the most able to givethem the requisite protection? That the greater their own cowardice, asit would be called in a man, the greater is their delight in subjectsof heroism? As may be observed in their reading; which turns upondifficulties encountered, battles fought, and enemies overcome, four orfive hundred by the prowess of one single hero, the more improbable thebetter: in short, that their man should be a hero to every one livingbut themselves; and to them know no bound to his humility. A woman hassome glory in subduing a heart no man living can appall; and hence toooften the bravo, assuming the hero, and making himself pass for one, succeeds as only a hero should. 

But as for honest Hickman, the good man is so generally meek, as Iimagine, that I know not whether I have any preference paid me in hisobsequiousness. And then, when I rate him, he seems to be so naturallyfitted for rebuke, and so much expects it, that I know not how todisappoint him, whether he just then deserve it, or not. I am sure, hehas puzzled me many a time when I have seen him look penitent for faultshe has not committed, whether to pity or laugh at him. 

You and I have often retrospected the faces and minds of grown people;that is to say, have formed images for their present appearances, outside and in, (as far as the manners of the persons would justify usin the latter) what sort of figures they made when boys and girls. AndI'll tell you the lights in which HICKMAN, SOLMES, and LOVELACE, ourthree heroes, have appeared to me, supposing them boys at school. 

Solmes I have imagined to be a little sordid, pilfering rogue, who wouldpurloin from every body, and beg every body's bread and butter from him;while, as I have heard a reptile brag, he would in a winter-morning spitupon his thumbs, and spread his own with it, that he might keep it allto himself. 

Hickman, a great overgrown, lank-haired, chubby boy, who would behunched and punched by every body; and go home with his finger in hiseye, and tell his mother. 

While Lovelace I have supposed a curl-pated villain, full of fire, fancy, and mischief; an orchard-robber, a wall-climber, a horse-riderwithout saddle or bridle, neck or nothing: a sturdy rogue, in short, who would kick and cuff, and do no right, and take no wrong of anybody; would get his head broke, then a plaster for it, or let it healof itself; while he went on to do more mischief, and if not to get, to deserve, broken bones. And the same dispositions have grown up withthem, and distinguish them as me, with no very material alteration. 

Only that all men are monkeys more or less, or else that you and Ishould have such baboons as these to choose out of, is a mortifyingthing, my dear. 

I am sensible that I am a little out of season in treating thusludicrously the subject I am upon, while you are so unhappy; and ifmy manner does not divert you, as my flightiness used to do, I aminexcusable both to you, and to my own heart: which, I do assure you, notwithstanding my seeming levity, is wholly in your case. 

As this letter is extremely whimsical, I will not send it until I canaccompany it with something more solid and better suited to yourunhappy circumstances; that is to say, to the present subject of ourcorrespondence. To-morrow, as I told you, will be wholly my own, and ofconsequence yours. Adieu, therefore, till then. 

LETTER III

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TUESDAY MORN. 7 O'CLOCK

My mother and cousin are already gone off in our chariot and four, attended by their doughty 'squire on horseback, and he by two of hisown servants, and one of my mother's. They both love parade when theygo abroad, at least in compliment to one another; which shews, thateach thinks the other does. Robin is your servant and mine, and nobody'selse--and the day is all my own. 

I must begin with blaming you, my dear, for your resolution not tolitigate for your right, if occasion were to be given you. Justice isdue to ourselves, as well as to every body else. Still more must I blameyou for declaring to your aunt and sister, that you will not: since (asthey will tell it to your father and brother) the declaration must needsgive advantage to spirits who have so little of that generosity forwhich you are so much distinguished. 

There never was a spirit in the world that would insult where it dared, but it would creep and cringe where it dared not. Let me remind you ofa sentence of your own, the occasion for which I have forgotten: 'Thatlittle spirits will always accommodate themselves to the temper of thosethey would work upon: will fawn upon a sturdy-tempered person: willinsult the meek:'--And another given to Miss Biddulph, upon an occasionyou cannot forget:--'If we assume a dignity in what we say and do, andtake care not to disgrace by arrogance our own assumption, every bodywill treat us with respect and deference. '

I remember that you once made an observation, which you said, you wasobliged to Mrs. Norton for, and she to her father, upon an excellentpreacher, who was but an indifferent liver: 'That to excel in theory, and to excel in practice, generally required different talents; whichdid not always meet in the same person. ' Do you, my dear (to whom theoryand practice are the same thing in almost every laudable quality), applythe observation to yourself, in this particular case, where resolutionis required; and where the performance of the will of the defunct is thequestion--no more to be dispensed with by you, in whose favour it wasmade, than by any body else who have only themselves in view by breakingthrough it. 

I know how much you despise riches in the main: but yet it behovesyou to remember, that in one instance you yourself have judged themvaluable--'In that they put it into our power to lay obligations; whilethe want of that power puts a person under a necessity of receivingfavours--receiving them perhaps from grudging and narrow spirits, whoknow not how to confer them with that grace, which gives the principalmerit to a beneficent action. '--Reflect upon this, my dear, and see howit agrees with the declaration you have made to your aunt and sister, that you would not resume your estate, were you to be turned out ofdoors, and reduced to indigence and want. Their very fears that you willresume, point out to you the necessity of resuming upon the treatmentyou meet with. 

I own, that (at first reading) I was much affected with your mother'sletter sent with the patterns. A strange measure however from a mother;for she did not intend to insult you; and I cannot but lament that sosensible and so fine a woman should stoop to so much art as that letteris written with: and which also appears in some of the conversationsyou have given me an account of. See you not in her passiveness, whatboisterous spirits can obtain from gentler, merely by teasing andill-nature?

I know the pride they have always taken in calling you aHarlowe--Clarissa Harlowe, so formal and so set, at every word, when they are grave or proudly solemn. --Your mother has learnt it ofthem--and as in marriage, so in will, has been taught to bury her ownsuperior name and family in theirs. I have often thought that the samespirit governed them, in this piece of affectation, and others ofthe like nature (as Harlowe-Place, and so-forth, though not the elderbrother's or paternal seat), as governed the tyrant Tudor, * who marryingElizabeth, the heiress of the house of York, made himself a title toa throne, which he would not otherwise have had (being but a basedescendant of the Lancaster line); and proved a gloomy and vilehusband to her; for no other cause, than because she had laid him underobligations which his pride would not permit him to own. --Nor would theunprincely wretch marry her till he was in possession of the crown, thathe might not be supposed to owe it to her claim. 

 * Henry VII. 

You have chidden me, and again will, I doubt not, for the liberties Itake with some of your relations. But my dear, need I tell you, thatpride in ourselves must, and for ever will, provoke contempt, and bringdown upon us abasement from others?--Have we not, in the case of acelebrated bard, observed, that those who aim at more than their due, will be refused the honours they may justly claim?--I am very much lothto offend you; yet I cannot help speaking of your relations, as well asof others, as I think they deserve. Praise or dispraise, is the rewardor punishment which the world confers or inflicts on merit ordemerit; and, for my part, I neither can nor will confound them in theapplication. I despise them all, but your mother: indeed I do: and asfor her--but I will spare the good lady for your sake--and oneargument, indeed, I think may be pleaded in her favour, in the presentcontention--she who has for so many years, and with such absoluteresignation, borne what she has borne to the sacrifice of her own will, may think it an easier task than another person can imagine it, for herdaughter to give up hers. But to think to whose instigation all this isoriginally owing--God forgive me; but with such usage I should have beenwith Lovelace before now! Yet remember, my dear, that the step whichwould not be wondered at from such a hasty-tempered creatures as me, would be inexcusable in such a considerate person as you. 

After your mother has been thus drawn in against her judgment, I am theless surprised, that your aunt Hervey should go along with her; sincethe two sisters never separate. I have inquired into the nature of theobligation which Mr. Hervey's indifferent conduct in his affairs haslaid him under--it is only, it seems, that your brother has paid offfor him a mortgage upon one part of his estate, which the mortgagee wasabout to foreclose; and taken it upon himself. A small favour (as he hasample security in his hands) from kindred to kindred: but such a one, itis plain, as has laid the whole family of the Herveys under obligationto the ungenerous lender, who has treated him, and his aunt too (asMiss Dolly Hervey has privately complained), with the less ceremony eversince. 

Must I, my dear, call such a creature your brother?--I believe Imust--Because he is your father's son. There is no harm, I hope, insaying that. 

I am concerned, that you ever wrote at all to him. It was taking toomuch notice of him: it was adding to his self-significance; and a callupon him to treat you with insolence. A call which you might have beenassured he would not fail to answer. 

But such a pretty master as this, to run riot against such a man asLovelace; who had taught him to put his sword into his scabbard, whenhe had pulled it out by accident!--These in-door insolents, who, turningthemselves into bugbears, frighten women, children, and servants, aregenerally cravens among men. Were he to come fairly across me, and sayto my face some of the free things which I am told he has said of mebehind my back, or that (as by your account) he has said of our sex, Iwould take upon myself to ask him two or three questions; although hewere to send me a challenge likewise. 

I repeat, you know that I will speak my mind, and write it too. He isnot my brother. Can you say, he is yours?--So, for your life, if youare just, you can't be angry with me: For would you side with a falsebrother against a true friend? A brother may not be a friend: but afriend will always be a brother--mind that, as your uncle Tony says!

I cannot descend so low, as to take very particular notice of theepistles of these poor souls, whom you call uncles. Yet I love to divertmyself with such grotesque characters too. But I know them and love you;and so cannot make the jest of them which their absurdities call for. 

You chide me, my dear, * for my freedoms with relations still nearer anddearer to you, than either uncles or brother or sister. You had betterhave permitted me (uncorrected) to have taken my own way. Do not usethose freedoms naturally arise from the subject before us? And from whomarises that subject, I pray you? Can you for one quarter of an hourput yourself in my place, or in the place of those who are still moreindifferent to the case than I can be?--If you can--But although I haveyou not often at advantage, I will not push you. 

 * See Vol. I. Letter XXVIII. 

Permit me, however, to subjoin, that well may your father love yourmother, as you say he does. A wife who has no will but his! But werethere not, think you, some struggles between them at first, gout out ofthe question?--Your mother, when a maiden, had, as I have heard (and itis very likely) a good share of those lively spirits which she likedin your father. She has none of them now. How came they to bedissipated?--Ah! my dear!--she has been too long resident inTrophonius's cave, I doubt. *

 * Spectator, Vol. VIII. No. 599. 

Let me add one reflection upon this subject, and so entitle myself toyour correction for all at once. --It is upon the conduct of those wives(for you and I know more than one such) who can suffer themselves tobe out-blustered and out-gloomed of their own wills, instead of beingfooled out of them by acts of tenderness and complaisance. --I wish, that it does not demonstrate too evidently, that, with some of thesex, insolent controul is a more efficacious subduer than kindness orconcession. Upon my life, my dear, I have often thought, that many of usare mere babies in matrimony: perverse fools when too much indulged andhumoured; creeping slaves, when treated harshly. But shall it be said, that fear makes us more gentle obligers than love?--Forbid it, Honour!Forbid it, Gratitude! Forbid it, Justice! that any woman of sense shouldgive occasion to have this said of her!

Did I think you would have any manner of doubt, from the style orcontents of this letter, whose saucy pen it is that has run on at thisrate, I would write my name at length; since it comes too much from myheart to disavow it: but at present the initials shall serve; and I willgo on again directly. 

A. H. 

LETTER IV

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE THURSDAY MORN. 10 O'CLOCK (MAR. 23). 

I will postpone, or perhaps pass by, several observations which I had tomake on other parts of your letters; to acquaint you, that Mr. Hickman, when in London, found an opportunity to inquire after Mr. Lovelace'stown life and conversation. 

At the Cocoa-tree, in Pall-mall, he fell in with two of his intimates, the one named Belton, the other Mowbray; both very free of speech, and probably as free in their lives: but the waiters paid them greatrespect, and on Mr. Hickman's inquiry after their characters, calledthem men of fortune and honour. 

They began to talk of Mr. Lovelace of their own accord; and upon somegentlemen in the room asking, when they expected him in town, answered, that very day. Mr. Hickman (as they both went on praising Lovelace)said, he had indeed heard, that Mr. Lovelace was a very finegentleman--and was proceeding, when one of them, interrupting him, said, --Only, Sir, the finest gentleman in the world; that's all. 

And so he led them on to expatiate more particularly on his qualities;which they were very fond of doing: but said not one single word inbehalf of his morals--Mind that also, in your uncle's style. 

Mr. Hickman said, that Mr. Lovelace was very happy, as he understood, inthe esteem of the ladies; and smiling, to make them believe he did notthink amiss of it, that he pushed his good fortune as far as it wouldgo. 

Well put, Mr. Hickman! thought I; equally grave and sage--thou seemestnot to be a stranger to their dialect, as I suppose this is. But I saidnothing; for I have often tried to find out this might sober man of mymother's: but hitherto have only to say, that he is either very moral, or very cunning. 

No doubt of it, replied one of them; and out came an oath, with a Whowould not?--That he did as every young fellow would do. 

Very true! said my mother's puritan--but I hear he is in treaty with afine lady--

So he was, Mr. Belton said--The devil fetch her! [vile brute!] forshe engrossed all his time--but that the lady's family ought tobe--something--[Mr. Hickman desired to be excused repeating what--thoughhe had repeated what was worse] and might dearly repent their usage of aman of his family and merit. 

Perhaps they may think him too wild, cries Hickman: and theirs is, Ihear, a very sober family--

SOBER! said one of them: A good honest word, Dick!--Where the devil hasit lain all this time?--D---- me if I have heard of it in this senseever since I was at college! and then, said he, we bandied it aboutamong twenty of us as an obsolete. 

These, my dear, are Mr. Lovelace's companions: you'll be pleased to takenotice of that!

Mr. Hickman said, this put him out of countenance. 

I stared at him, and with such a meaning in my eyes, as he knew how totake; and so was out of countenance again. 

Don't you remember, my dear, who it was that told a young gentlemandesigned for the gown, who owned that he was apt to be too easily putout of countenance when he came into free company, 'That it was a badsign; that it looked as if his morals were not proof; but that his gooddisposition seemed rather the effect of accident and education, thanof such a choice as was founded upon principle?' And don't you knowthe lesson the very same young lady gave him, 'To endeavour to stem anddiscountenance vice, and to glory in being an advocate in all companiesfor virtue;' particularly observing, 'That it was natural for a man toshun or to give up what he was ashamed of?' Which she should be sorryto think his case on this occasion: adding, 'That vice was a coward, andwould hide its head, when opposed by such a virtue as had presence ofmind, and a full persuasion of its own rectitude to support it. ' Thelady, you may remember, modestly put her doctrine into the mouth of aworthy preacher, Dr. Lewen, as she used to do, when she has a mind notto be thought what she is at so early an age; and that it may give moreweight to any thing she hit upon, that might appear tolerable, was hermodest manner of speech. 

Mr. Hickman, upon the whole, professed to me, upon his second recovery, that he had no reason to think well of Mr. Lovelace's morals, from whathe heard of him in town; yet his two intimates talked of his being moreregular than he used to be. That he had made a very good resolution, that of old Tom Wharton, was the expression, That he would never givea challenge, nor refuse one; which they praised in him highly: that, inshort, he was a very brave fellow, and the most agreeable companion inthe world: and would one day make a great figure in his country; sincethere was nothing he was not capable of--

I am afraid that his last assertion is too true. And this, my dear, isall that Mr. Hickman could pick up about him: And is it not enough todetermine such a mind as yours, if not already determined?

Yet it must be said too, that if there be a woman in the world that canreclaim him, it is you. And, by your account of his behaviour in theinterview between you, I own I have some hope of him. At least, thisI will say, that all the arguments he then used with you, seemed tobe just and right. And if you are to be his--But no more of that: hecannot, after all, deserve you. 

LETTER V

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE THURSDAY AFTERNOON, MARCH 23. 

An unexpected visitor has turned the course of my thoughts, and changedthe subject I had intended to pursue. The only one for whom I would havedispensed with my resolution not to see any body all the dedicated day:a visiter, whom, according to Mr. Hickman's report from the expectationsof his libertine friends, I supposed to be in town. --Now, my dear, haveI saved myself the trouble of telling you, that it was you too-agreeablerake. Our sex is said to love to trade in surprises: yet have I, bymy promptitude, surprised myself out of mine. I had intended, you mustknow, to run twice the length, before I had suffered you to know so muchas to guess who, and whether man or woman, my visiter was: but since youhave the discovery at so cheap a rate, you are welcome to it. 

The end of his coming was, to engage my interest with my charmingfriend; and he was sure that I knew all your mind, to acquaint him whathe had to trust to. 

He mentioned what had passed in the interview between you: but could notbe satisfied with the result of it, and with the little satisfaction hehad obtained from you: the malice of your family to him increasing, andtheir cruelty to you not abating. His heart, he told me, was in tumults, for fear you should be prevailed upon in favour of a man despised byevery body. 

He gave me fresh instance of indignities cast upon himself by youruncles and brother; and declared, that if you suffered yourself tobe forced into the arms of the man for whose sake he was loaded withundeserved abuses, you should be one of the youngest, as you would beone of the loveliest widows in England. And that he would moreover callyour brother to account for the liberties he takes with his character toevery one he meets with. 

He proposed several schemes, for you to choose some one of them, inorder to enable you to avoid the persecutions you labour under: OneI will mention--That you will resume your estate; and if you finddifficulties that can be no otherwise surmounted, that you will, eitheravowedly or privately, as he had proposed to you, accept of Lady BettyLawrance's or Lord M. 's assistance to instate you in it. He declared, that if you did, he would leave absolutely to your own pleasureafterwards, and to the advice which your cousin Morden on his arrivalshould give you, whether to encourage his address, or not, as you shouldbe convinced of the sincerity of the reformation which his enemies makehim so much want. 

I had now a good opportunity to sound him, as you wished Mr. Hickmanwould Lord M. As to the continued or diminished favour of the ladies, and of his Lordship, towards you, upon their being acquainted with theanimosity of your relations to them, as well as to their kinsman. I laidhold of the opportunity, and he satisfied me, by reading some passagesof a letter he had about him, from Lord M. That an alliance withyou, and that on the foot of your own single merit, would be the mostdesirable event to them that could happen: and so far to the purpose ofyour wished inquiry does his Lordship go in this letter, that he assureshim, that whatever you suffer in fortune from the violence of yourrelations on his account, he and Lady Sarah and Lady Betty will join tomake it up to him. And yet that the reputation of a family so splendid, would, no doubt, in a case of such importance to the honour of both, make them prefer a general consent. 

I told him, as you yourself I knew had done, that you were extremelyaverse to Mr. Solmes; and that, might you be left to your own choice, it would be the single life. As to himself, I plainly said, That you hadgreat and just objections to him on the score of his careless morals:that it was surprising, that men who gave themselves the liberties hewas said to take, should presume to think, that whenever they took itinto their heads to marry, the most virtuous and worthy of the sexwere to fall to their lot. That as to the resumption, it had been verystrongly urged by myself, and would be still further urged; though youhad been hitherto averse to that measure: that your chief reliance andhopes were upon your cousin Morden; and that to suspend or gain timetill he arrived, was, as I believed, your principal aim. 

I told him, That with regard to the mischief he threatened, neither theact nor the menace could serve any end but theirs who persecuted you; asit would give them a pretence for carrying into effect their compulsoryprojects; and that with the approbation of all the world; since he mustnot think the public would give its voice in favour of a violent youngman, of no extraordinary character as to morals, who should seek to roba family of eminence of a child so valuable; and who threatened, if hecould not obtain her in preference to a man chosen by themselves, thathe would avenge himself upon them all by acts of violence. 

I added, That he was very much mistaken, if he thought to intimidate youby such menaces: for that, though your disposition was all sweetness, yet I knew not a steadier temper in the world than yours; nor one moreinflexible, (as your friends had found, and would still further find, ifthey continued to give occasion for its exertion, ) whenever you thoughtyourself in the right; and that you were ungenerously dealt with inmatters of too much moment to be indifferent about. Miss ClarissaHarlowe, Mr. Lovelace, let me tell you, said I, timid as her foresightand prudence may make her in some cases, where she apprehends dangers tothose she loves, is above fear, in points where her honour, and the truedignity of her sex, are concerned. --In short, Sir, you must not think tofrighten Miss Clarissa Harlowe into such a mean or unworthy conduct asonly a weak or unsteady mind can be guilty of. 

He was so very far from intending to intimidate you, he said, that hebesought me not to mention one word to you of what had passed betweenus: that what he had hinted at, which carried the air of menace, wasowing to the fervour of his spirits, raised by his apprehensions oflosing all hope of you for ever; and on a supposition, that you were tobe actually forced into the arms of a man you hated: that were this tobe the case, he must own, that he should pay very little regard to theworld, or its censures: especially as the menaces of some of your familynow, and their triumph over him afterwards, would both provoke andwarrant all the vengeance he could take. 

He added, that all the countries in the world were alike to him, but onyour account: so that, whatever he should think fit to do, were you lostto him, he should have noting to apprehend from the laws of this. 

I did not like the determined air he spoke this with: he is certainlycapable of great rashness. 

He palliated a little this fierceness (which by the way I warmlycensured) by saying, That while you remain single, he will bear all theindignities that shall be cast upon him by your family. But wouldyou throw yourself, if you were still farther driven, into any otherprotection, if not Lord M. 's, or that of the ladies of his family, intomy mother's, * suppose; or would you go to London to private lodgings, where he would never visit you, unless he had your leave (and fromwhence you might make your own terms with your relations); he would beentirely satisfied; and would, as he had said before, wait the effect ofyour cousin's arrival, and your free determination as to his own fate. Adding, that he knew the family so well, and how much fixed they wereupon their measures, as well as the absolute dependence they had uponyour temper and principles, that he could not but apprehend the worst, while you remained in their power, and under the influence of theirpersuasions and menaces. 

 * Perhaps it will be unnecessary to remind the reader, that although Mr. Lovelace proposes (as above) to Miss Howe, that her fair friend should have recourse to the protection of Mrs. Howe, if farther driven; yet he had artfully taken care, by means of his agent in the Harlowe family, not only to inflame the family against her, but to deprive her of Mrs. Howe's, and of every other protection, being from the first resolved to reduce her to an absolute dependence upon himself. See Vol. I. Letter XXXI. 

We had a great deal of other discourse: but as the reciting of the restwould be but a repetition of many of the things that passed between youand him in the interview between you in the wood-house, I refer myselfto your memory on that occasion. *

 * See Vol. I. Letter XXXVI. 

And now, my dear, upon the whole, I think it behoves you to makeyourself independent: all then will fall right. This man is a violentman. I should wish, methinks, that you should not have either him orSolmes. You will find, if you get out of your brother's and sister'sway, what you can or cannot do, with regard to either. 

If your relations persist in their foolish scheme, I think I will takehis hint, and, at a proper opportunity, sound my mother. Mean time, letme have your clear opinion of the resumption, which I join with Lovelacein advising. You can but see how your demand will work. To demand, isnot to litigate. But be your resolution what it will, do not by anymeans repeat to them, that you will not assert your right. If they go onto give you provocation, you may have sufficient reason to change yourmind: and let them expect that you will change it. They have not thegenerosity to treat you the better for disclaiming the power they knowyou have. That, I think, need not now be told you. I am, my dearestfriend, and ever will be, Your most affectionate and faithful ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER VI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE WEDN. NIGHT, MARCH 22. 

On the report made by my aunt and sister of my obstinacy, my assembledrelations have taken an unanimous resolution (as Betty tells me itis) against me. This resolution you will find signified to me in theinclosed letter from my brother, just now brought me. Be pleased toreturn it, when perused. I may have occasion for it, in the altercationsbetween my relations and me. 

*****

MISS CLARY, I am commanded to let you know, that my father and uncles having heardyour aunt Hervey's account of all that has passed between her and you:having heard from your sister what sort of treatment she has had fromyou: having recollected all that has passed between your mother andyou: having weighed all your pleas and proposals: having taken intoconsideration their engagements with Mr. Solmes; that gentleman'spatience, and great affection for you; and the little opportunity youhave given yourself to be acquainted either with his merit, or hisproposals: having considered two points more; to wit, the woundedauthority of a father; and Mr. Solmes's continued entreaties (littleas you have deserved regard from him) that you may be freed from aconfinement to which he is desirous to attribute your perverseness tohim [averseness I should have said, but let it go], he being unable toaccount otherwise for so strong a one, supposing you told truth to yourmother, when you asserted that your heart was free; and which Mr. Solmesis willing to believe, though nobody else does--For all these reasons, it is resolved, that you shall go to your uncle Antony's: and you mustaccordingly prepare yourself to do so. You will have but short notice ofthe day, for obvious reasons. 

I will honestly tell you the motive for your going: it is a double one;first, That they may be sure, that you shall not correspond with anybody they do not like (for they find from Mrs. Howe, that, by some meansor other, you do correspond with her daughter; and, through her, perhapswith somebody else): and next, That you may receive the visits of Mr. Solmes; which you have thought fit to refuse to do here; by which meansyou have deprived yourself of the opportunity of knowing whom and whatyou have hitherto refused. 

If after one fortnight's conversation with Mr. Solmes, and afteryou have heard what your friends shall further urge in his behalf, unhardened by clandestine correspondencies, you shall convince them, that Virgil's amor omnibus idem (for the application of which I referyou to the Georgic as translated by Dryden) is verified in you, as wellas in the rest of the animal creation; and that you cannot, or willnot forego your prepossession in favour of the moral, the virtuous, the pious Lovelace, [I would please you if I could!] it will then beconsidered, whether to humour you, or to renounce you for ever. 

It is hoped, that as you must go, you will go cheerfully. Your uncleAntony will make ever thing at his house agreeable to you. But indeed hewon't promise, that he will not, at proper times, draw up the bridge. 

Your visiters, besides Mr. Solmes, will be myself, if you permit me thathonour, Miss Clary; your sister; and, as you behave to Mr. Solmes, youraunt Hervey, and your uncle Harlowe; and yet the two latter willhardly come neither, if they think it will be to hear your whiningvocatives. --Betty Barnes will be your attendant: and I must needs tellyou, Miss, that we none of us think the worse of the faithful maid foryour dislike of her: although Betty, who would be glad to oblige you, laments it as a misfortune. 

Your answer is required, whether you cheerfully consent to go? And yourindulgent mother bids me remind you from her, that a fortnight's visitfrom Mr. Solmes, are all that is meant at present. 

I am, as you shall be pleased to deserve, Yours, &c. JAMES HARLOWE, JUN. 

So here is the master-stroke of my brother's policy! Called upon toconsent to go to my uncle Antony's avowedly to receive Mr. Solmes'svisits!--A chapel! A moated-house!--Deprived of the opportunity ofcorresponding with you!--or of any possibility of escape, shouldviolence be used to compel me to be that odious man's!*

 * These violent measures, and the obstinate perseverance of the whole family in them, will be the less wondered at, when it is considered, that all the time they were but as so many puppets danced upon Mr. Lovelace's wires, as he boasts, Vol. I. Letter XXXI. 

Late as it was when I received this insolent letter, I wrote an answerto it directly, that it might be ready for the writer's time of rising. I inclose the rough draught of it. You will see by it how much his vilehint from the Georgic; and his rude one of my whining vocatives, haveset me up. Besides, as the command to get ready to go to my uncle's isin the name of my father and uncles, it is but to shew a piece of theart they accuse me of, to resent the vile hint I have so much reason toresent in order to palliate my refusal of preparing to go to my uncle's;which refusal would otherwise be interpreted an act of rebellion by mybrother and sister: for it seems plain to me, that they will work buthalf their ends, if they do not deprive me of my father's and uncles'favour, even although it were possible for me to comply with their ownterms. 

You might have told me, Brother, in three lines, what the determinationof my friends was; only, that then you would not have had room todisplay your pedantry by so detestable an allusion or reference to theGeorgic. Give me leave to tell you, Sir, that if humanity were a branchof your studies at the university, it has not found a genius in you formastering it. Nor is either my sex or myself, though a sister, I seeentitled to the least decency from a brother, who has studied, as itseems, rather to cultivate the malevolence of his natural temper, than any tendency which one might have hoped his parentage, if not hiseducation, might have given him to a tolerable politeness. 

I doubt not, that you will take amiss my freedom: but as you havedeserved it from me, I shall be less and less concerned on that score, as I see you are more and more intent to shew your wit at the expense ofjustice and compassion. 

The time is indeed come that I can no longer bear those contempts andreflections which a brother, least of all men, is entitled to give. Andlet me beg of you one favour, Sir:--It is this, That you will not giveyourself any concern about a husband for me, till I shall have theforwardness to propose a wife to you. Pardon me, Sir; but I cannothelp thinking, that could I have the art to get my father of my side, Ishould have as much right to prescribe for you, as you have for me. 

As to the communication you make me, I must take upon me to say, Thatalthough I will receive, as becomes me, any of my father's commands;yet, as this signification is made by a brother, who has shewn of lateso much of an unbrotherly animosity to me, (for no reason in the worldthat I know if, but that he believes he has, in me, one sister too muchfor his interest, ) I think myself entitled to conclude, that such aletter as you have sent me, is all your own: and of course to declare, that, while I so think it, I will not willingly, nor even withoutviolence, go to any place, avowedly to receive Mr. Solmes's visits. 

I think myself so much entitled to resent your infamous hint, and thisas well for the sake of my sex, as for my own, that I ought to declare, as I do, that I will not receive any more of your letters, unlesscommanded to do so by an authority I never will dispute; except in acase where I think my future as well as present happiness concerned: andwere such a case to happen, I am sure my father's harshness will be lessowing to himself than to you; and to the specious absurdities of yourambitious and selfish schemes. --Very true, Sir!

One word more, provoked as I am, I will add: That had I been thought asreally obstinate and perverse as of late I am said to be, I should nothave been so disgracefully treated as I have been--Lay your hand uponyour heart, Brother, and say, By whose instigations?--And examine what Ihave done to deserve to be made thus unhappy, and to be obliged to stylemyself

Your injured sister, CL. HARLOWE. 

When, my dear, you have read my answer to my brother's letter, tell mewhat you think of me?--It shall go!

LETTER VII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE THURSDAY MORNING, MARCH 23. 

My letter has set them all in tumults: for, it seems, none of them wenthome last night; and they all were desired to be present to givetheir advice, if I should refuse compliance with a command thought soreasonable as it seems this is. 

Betty tells me, that at first my father, in a rage, was for coming upto me himself, and for turning me out of his doors directly. Nor was herestrained, till it was hinted to him, that that was no doubt my wish, and would answer all my perverse views. But the result was, that mybrother (having really, as my mother and aunt insisted, taken wrongmeasures with me) should write again in a more moderate manner: fornobody else was permitted or cared to write to such a ready scribbler. And, I having declared, that I would not receive any more of hisletters, without command from a superior authority, my mother wasto give it hers: and accordingly has done so in the following lines, written on the superscription of his letter to me: which letter alsofollows; together with my reply. 

CLARY HARLOWE, Receive and read this, with the temper that becomes your sex, yourcharacter, your education, and your duty: and return an answer to it, directed to your brother. 

CHARLOTTE HARLOWE. 

TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE THURSDAY MORNING. 

Once more I write, although imperiously prohibited by a younger sister. Your mother will have me do so, that you may be destitute of alldefence, if you persist in your pervicacy. Shall I be a pedant, Miss, for this word? She is willing to indulge in you the least appearance ofthat delicacy for which she once, as well as every body else, admiredyou--before you knew Lovelace; I cannot, however, help saying that: andshe, and your aunt Hervey, will have it--[they would fain favour you, if they could] that I may have provoked from you the answer theynevertheless own to be so exceedingly unbecoming. I am now learning, yousee, to take up the softer language, where you have laid it down. Thisthen is the case:

They entreat, they pray, they beg, they supplicate (will either ofthese do, Miss Clary?) that you will make no scruple to go to your uncleAntony's: and fairly I am to tell you, for the very purpose mentionedin my last--or, 'tis presumable, they need not entreat, beg, pray, supplicate. Thus much is promised to Mr. Solmes, who is your advocate, and very uneasy that you should be under constraint, supposing that yourdislike to him arises from that. And, if he finds that you are not to bemoved in his favour, when you are absolutely freed from what you calla controul, he will forbear thinking of you, whatever it costs him. He loves you too well: and in this, I really think, his understanding, which you have reflected upon, is to be questioned. 

Only for one fornight [sic], therefore, permit his visits. Youreducation (you tell me of mine, you know) ought to make you incapableof rudeness to any body. He will not, I hope, be the first man, myselfexcepted, whom you ever treated rudely, purely because he is esteemedby us all. I am, what you have a mind to make me, friend, brother, or servant--I wish I could be still more polite, to so polite, to sodelicate, a sister. 

JA. HARLOWE. 

You must still write to me, if you condescend to reply. Your motherwill not be permitted to be disturbed with your nothing-meaningvocatives!--Vocatives, once more, Madam Clary, repeats the pedant yourbrother!

*****

TO JAMES HARLOWE, JUNIOR, ESQ. 

Permit me, my ever-dear and honoured Papa and Mamma, in this manner tosurprise you into an audience, (presuming this will be read to you, )since I am denied the honour of writing to you directly. Let me beg ofyou to believe, that nothing but the most unconquerable dislikecould make me stand against your pleasure. What are riches, what aresettlements, to happiness? Let me not thus cruelly be given up to a manmy very soul is averse to. Permit me to repeat, that I cannot honestlybe his. Had I a slighter notion of the matrimonial duty than I have, perhaps I might. But when I am to bear all the misery, and that forlife; when my heart is less concerned in this matter, than my soul;my temporary, perhaps, than my future good; why should I be denied theliberty of refusing? That liberty is all I ask. 

It were easy for me to give way to hear Mr. Solmes talk for thementioned fortnight, although it is impossible for me, say what hewould, to get over my dislike to him. But the moated-house, the chapelthere, and the little mercy my brother and sister, who are to be there, have hitherto shewn me, are what I am extremely apprehensive of. And whydoes my brother say, my restraint is to be taken off, (and that tooat Mr. Solmes's desire, ) when I am to be a still closer prisoner thanbefore; the bridge threatened to be drawn up; and no dear papa and mammanear me, to appeal to, in the last resort?

Transfer not, I beseech you, to a brother and sister your own authorityover your child--to a brother and sister, who treat me with unkindnessand reproach; and, as I have too much reason to apprehend, misrepresentmy words and behaviour; or, greatly favoured as I used to be, it isimpossible I should be sunk so low in your opinions, as I unhappily am!

Let but this my hard, my disgraceful confinement be put an end to. Permit me, my dear Mamma, to pursue my needleworks in your presence, as one of your maidens; and you shall be witness, that it is not eitherwilfulness or prepossession that governs me. Let me not, however, be putout of your own house. Let Mr. Solmes come and go, as my papa pleases:let me but stay or retire when he comes, as I can; and leave the rest toProvidence. 

Forgive me, Brother, that thus, with an appearance of art, I addressmyself to my father and mother, to whom I am forbidden to approach, or to write. Hard it is to be reduced to such a contrivance! Forgivelikewise the plain dealing I have used in the above, with the noblenessof a gentleman, and the gentleness due from a brother to a sister. Although of late you have given me but little room to hope either foryour favour or compassion; yet, having not deserved to forfeit either, Ipresume to claim both: for I am confident it is at present much in yourpower, although but my brother (my honoured parents both, I bless God, in being), to give peace to the greatly disturbed mind of

Your unhappy sister, CL. HARLOWE. 

Betty tells me, my brother has taken my letter all in pieces; and hasundertaken to write such an answer to it, as shall confirm the wavering. So, it is plain, that I should have moved somebody by it, but for thishard-hearted brother--God forgive him!

LETTER VIII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE THURSDAY NIGHT, MARCH 23. 

I send you the boasted confutation-letter, just now put into myhands. My brother and sister, my uncle Antony and Mr. Solmes, are, I understand, exulting over the copy of it below, as an unanswerableperformance. 

TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE

Once again, my inflexible Sister, I write to you. It is to let you know, that the pretty piece of art you found out to make me the vehicleof your whining pathetics to your father and mother, has not had theexpected effect. 

I do assure you, that your behaviour has not been misrepresented--norneed it. Your mother, who is solicitous to take all opportunities ofputting the most favourable constructions upon all you do, has beenforced, as you well know, to give you up, upon full trial. No need thenof the expedient of pursuing your needleworks in her sight. She cannotbear your whining pranks: and it is for her sake, that you are notpermitted to come into her presence--nor will be, but upon her ownterms. 

You had like to have made a simpleton of your aunt Hervey yesterday:she came down from you, pleading in your favour. But when she was asked, What concession she had brought you to? she looked about her, and knewnot what to answer. So your mother, when surprised into the beginningof your cunning address to her and to your father, under my name, (forI had begun to read it, little suspecting such an ingenioussubterfuge, )and would then make me read it through, wrung her hands, Oh!her dear child, her dear child, must not be so compelled!--But when shewas asked, Whether she would be willing to have for her son-in-law theman who bids defiance to her whole family; and who had like to havemurdered her son? And what concession she had gained from her dear childto merit this tenderness? And that for one who had apparently deceivedher in assuring her that her heart was free?--Then could she lookabout her, as her sister had done before: then was she again brought toherself, and to a resolution to assert her authority [not to transferit, witty presumer!] over the rebel, who of late has so ungratefullystruggled to throw it off. 

You seem, child, to have a high notion of the matrimonial duty; and I'llwarrant, like the rest of your sex, (one or two, whom I have the honourto know, excepted, ) that you will go to church to promise what you willnever think of afterwards. But, sweet child! as your worthy Mamma Nortoncalls you, think a little less of the matrimonial, (at least, till youcome into that state, ) and a little more of the filial duty. 

How can you say, you are to bear all the misery, when you give so largea share of it to your parents, to your uncles, to your aunt, to myself, and to your sister; who all, for eighteen years of your life, loved youso well?

If of late I have not given you room to hope for my favour orcompassion, it is because of late you have not deserved either. I knowwhat you mean, little reflecting fool, by saying, it is much in mypower, although but your brother, (a very slight degree of relationshipwith you, ) to give you that peace which you can give yourself wheneveryou please. 

The liberty of refusing, pretty Miss, is denied you, because we are allsensible, that the liberty of choosing, to every one's dislike, mustfollow. The vile wretch you have set your heart upon speaks this plainlyto every body, though you won't. He says you are his, and shall be his, and he will be the death of any man who robs him of his PROPERTY. So, Miss, we have a mind to try this point with him. My father, supposing hehas the right of a father in his child, is absolutely determined not tobe bullied out of that right. And what must that child be, who prefersthe rake to a father?

This is the light in which this whole debate ought to be taken. Blush, then, Delicacy, that cannot bear the poet's amor omnibus idem!--Blush, then, Purity! Be ashamed, Virgin Modesty! And, if capable of conviction, surrender your whole will to the will of the honoured pair, to whom youowe your being: and beg of all your friends to forgive and forget thepart you have of late acted. 

I have written a longer letter than ever I designed to write to you, after the insolent treatment and prohibition you have given me: and, now I am commissioned to tell you, that your friends are as weary ofconfining you, as you are of being confined. And therefore you mustprepare yourself to go in a very few days, as you have been told before, to your uncle Antony's; who, notwithstanding you apprehensions, willdraw up his bridge when he pleases; will see what company he pleasesin his own house; nor will he demolish his chapel to cure you of yourfoolish late-commenced antipathy to a place of divine worship. --The morefoolish, as, if we intended to use force, we could have the ceremonypass in your chamber, as well as any where else. 

Prejudice against Mr. Solmes has evidently blinded you, and there is acharitable necessity to open your eyes: since no one but you thinksthe gentleman so contemptible in his person; nor, for a plain countrygentleman, who has too much solid sense to appear like a coxcomb, justlyblamable in his manners. --And as to his temper, it is necessary youshould speak upon fuller knowledge, than at present it is plain you canhave of him. 

Upon the whole, it will not be amiss, that you prepare for your speedyremoval, as well for the sake of your own conveniency, as to shew yourreadiness, in one point, at least, to oblige your friends; one of whomyou may, if you please to deserve it, reckon, though but a brother, JAMES HARLOWE. 

P. S. If you are disposed to see Mr. Solmes, and to make some excusesto him for past conduct, in order to be able to meet him somewhere elsewith the less concern to yourself for your freedoms with him, he shallattend you where you please. 

If you have a mind to read the settlements, before they are read to youfor your signing, they shall be sent you up--Who knows, but they willhelp you to some fresh objections?--Your heart is free, you know--Itmust--For, did you not tell your mother it was? And will the piousClarissa fib to her mamma?

I desire no reply. The case requires none. Yet I will ask you, Have you, Miss, no more proposals to make?

*****

I was so vexed when I came to the end of this letter, (the postscript towhich, perhaps, might be written after the others had seen the letter, )that I took up my pen, with an intent to write to my uncle Harlowe aboutresuming my own estate, in pursuance of your advice. But my heart failedme, when I recollected, that I had not one friend to stand by orsupport me in my claim; and it would but the more incense them, withoutanswering any good end. Oh! that my cousin were but come!

Is it not a sad thing, beloved as I thought myself so lately by everyone, that now I have not one person in the world to plead for me, tostand by me, or who would afford me refuge, were I to be under thenecessity of asking for it!--I who had the vanity to think I had asmany friends as I saw faces, and flattered myself too, that it was notaltogether unmerited, because I saw not my Maker's image, either in man, woman, or child, high or low, rich or poor, whom, comparatively, Iloved not as myself. --Would to heaven, my dear, that you were married!Perhaps, then, you could have induced Mr. Hickman to afford meprotection, till these storms were over-blown. But then this might haveinvolved him in difficulties and dangers; and that I would not have donefor the world. 

I don't know what to do, not I!--God forgive me, but I am veryimpatient! I wish--But I don't know what to wish, without a sin!--Yet Iwish it would please God to take me to his mercy!--I can meet with nonehere--What a world is this!--What is there in it desirable? The good wehope for, so strangely mixed, that one knows not what to wish for! Andone half of mankind tormenting the other, and being tormented themselvesin tormenting!--For here is this my particular case, my relations cannotbe happy, though they make me unhappy!--Except my brother and sister, indeed--and they seem to take delight in and enjoy the mischief theymake. 

But it is time to lay down my pen, since my ink runs nothing but gall. 

LETTER IX

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE FRIDAY MORNING, SIX O'CLOCK

Mrs. Betty tells me, there is now nothing talked of but of my goingto my uncle Antony's. She has been ordered, she says, to get ready toattend me thither: and, upon my expressing my averseness to go, had theconfidence to say, That having heard me often praise the romanticnessof the place, she was astonished (her hands and eyes lifted up) that Ishould set myself against going to a house so much in my taste. 

I asked if this was her own insolence, or her young mistress'sobservation?

She half-astonished me by her answer: That it was hard she could not saya good thing, without being robbed of the merit of it. 

As the wench looked as if she really thought she had said a good thing, without knowing the boldness of it, I let it pass. But, to say thetruth, this creature has surprised me on many occasions with hersmartness: for, since she has been employed in this controuling office, I have discovered a great deal of wit in her assurance, which I neversuspected before. This shews, that insolence is her talent: and thatFortune, in placing her as a servant to my sister, had not done sokindly by her as Nature; for that she would make a better figure as hercompanion. And indeed I can't help thinking sometimes, that I myself wasbetter fitted by Nature to be the servant of both, than the mistress ofthe one, or the servant of the other. And within these few months past, Fortune has acted by me, as if she were of the same mind. 

FRIDAY, TEN O'CLOCK

Going down to my poultry-yard, just now, I heard my brother and sisterand that Solmes laughing and triumphing together. The high yew-hedgebetween us, which divides the yard from the garden, hindered them fromseeing me. 

My brother, as I found, has been reading part, or the whole perhaps, ofthe copy of his last letter--Mighty prudent, and consistent, you'll say, with their views to make me the wife of a man from whom they concealnot what, were I to be such, it would be kind in them to endeavour toconceal, out of regard to my future peace!--But I have no doubt, thatthey hate me heartily. 

Indeed, you was up with her there, brother, said my sister. You need nothave bid her not to write to you. I'll engage, with all her wit, she'llnever pretend to answer it. 

Why, indeed, said my brother, with an air of college-sufficiency, withwhich he abounds, (for he thinks nobody writes like himself, ) I believeI have given her a choke-pear. What say you, Mr. Solmes?

Why, Sir, said he, I think it is unanswerable. But will it notexasperate he more against me?

Never fear, Mr. Solmes, said my brother, but we'll carry our point, ifshe do not tire you out first. We have gone too far in this method torecede. Her cousin Morden will soon be here: so all must be over beforethat time, or she'll be made independent of us all. 

There, Miss Howe, is the reason given for their jehu-driving. 

Mr. Solmes declared, that he was determined to persevere while mybrother gave him any hopes, and while my father stood firm. 

My sister told my brother, that he hit me charmingly on the reason whyI ought to converse with Mr. Solmes: but that he should not be so smartupon the sex, for the faults of this perverse girl. 

Some lively, and, I suppose, witty answer, my brother returned; for heand Mr. Solmes laughed outrageously upon it, and Bella, laughing too, called him a naughty man: but I heard no more of what they said; theywalked on into the garden. 

If you think, my dear, that what I have related did not again fire me, you will find yourself mistaken when you read at this place the enclosedcopy of my letter to my brother; struck off while the iron was red hot. 

No more call me meek and gentle, I beseech you. 

TO MR. JAMES HARLOWE

FRIDAY MORNING. 

SIR, If, notwithstanding your prohibition, I should be silent, on occasion ofyour last, you would, perhaps, conclude, that I was consenting to go tomy uncle Antony's upon the condition you mention. My father must do ashe pleases with his child. He may turn me out of his doors, if he thinksfit, or give you leave to do it; but (loth as I am to say it) I shouldthink it very hard to be carried by force to any body's house, when Ihave one of my own to go to. 

Far be it from me, notwithstanding yours and my sister's provocations, to think of my taking my estate into my own hands, without my father'sleave: But why, if I must not stay any longer here, may I not bepermitted to go thither? I will engage to see nobody they would not haveme see, if this favour be permitted. Favour I call it, and am ready toreceive and acknowledge it as such, although my grandfather's will hasmade it a matter of right. 

You ask me, in a very unbrotherly manner, in the postscript to yourletter, if I have not some new proposals to make? I HAVE (since you putthe question) three or four; new ones all, I think; though I will bebold to say, that, submitting the case to any one person whom you havenot set against me, my old ones ought not to have been rejected. I thinkthis; why then should I not write it?--Nor have you any more reason tostorm at your sister for telling it you, (since you seem in your letterto make it your boast how you turned my mother and my aunt Herveyagainst me, ) than I have to be angry with my brother, for treating me asno brother ought to treat a sister. 

These, then, are my new proposals. 

That, as above, I may not be hindered from going to reside (under suchconditions as shall be prescribed to me, which I will most religiouslyobserve) at my grandfather's late house. I will not again in this placecall it mine. I have reason to think it a great misfortune that ever itwas so--indeed I have. 

If this be not permitted, I desire leave to go for a month, or for whattime shall be thought fit, to Miss Howe's. I dare say my mother willconsent to it, if I have my father's permission to go. 

If this, neither, be allowed, and I am to be turned out of my father'shouse, I beg I may be suffered to go to my aunt Hervey's, where I willinviolably observe her commands, and those of my father and mother. 

But if this, neither, is to be granted, it is my humble request, that Imay be sent to my uncle Harlowe's, instead of my uncle Antony's. I meannot by this any disrespect to my uncle Antony: but his moat, with hisbridge threatened to be drawn up, and perhaps the chapel there, terrifyme beyond expression, notwithstanding your witty ridicule upon me forthat apprehension. 

If this likewise be refused, and if I must be carried to themoated-house, which used to be a delightful one to me, let it bepromised me, that I shall not be compelled to receive Mr. Solmes'svisits there; and then I will as cheerfully go, as ever I did. 

So here, Sir, are your new proposals. And if none of them answeryour end, as each of them tends to the exclusion of that ungenerouspersister's visits, be pleased to know, that there is no misfortune Iwill not submit to, rather than yield to give my hand to the man to whomI can allow no share in my heart. 

If I write in a style different from my usual, and different from whatI wished to have occasion to write, an impartial person, who knew what Ihave accidentally, within this hour past, heard from your mouth, and mysister's, and a third person's, (particularly the reason you givefor driving on at this violent rate, to wit, my cousin Morden'ssoon-expected arrival, ) would think I have but too much reason for it. Then be pleased to remember, Sir, that when my whining vocatives havesubjected me to so much scorn and ridicule, it is time, were it but toimitate examples so excellent as you and my sister set me, that I shouldendeavour to assert my character, in order to be thought less an alien, and nearer of kin to you both, than either of you have of late seemed tosuppose me. 

Give me leave, in order to empty my female quiver at once, to add, thatI know no other reason which you can have for forbidding me to reply toyou, after you have written what you pleased to me, than that you areconscious you cannot answer to reason and to justice the treatment youhave given me. 

If it be otherwise, I, an unlearned, an unlogical girl, younger by neara third than yourself, will venture (so assured am I of the justice ofmy cause) to put my fate upon an issue with you: with you, Sir, who havehad the advantage of an academical education; whose mind must have beenstrengthened by observation, and learned conversation, and who, pardonmy going so low, have been accustomed to give choke-pears to those youvouchsafe to write against. 

Any impartial person, your late tutor, for instance, or the pious andworthy Dr. Lewen, may be judge between us: and if either give it againstme, I will promise to resign to my destiny: provided, if it be givenagainst you, that my father will be pleased only to allow of my negativeto the person so violently sought to be imposed upon me. 

I flatter myself, Brother, that you will the readier come into thisproposal, as you seem to have a high opinion of your talents forargumentation; and not a low one of the cogency of the argumentscontained in your last letter. And if I can possibly have no advantagein a contention with you, if the justice of my cause affords me not any(as you have no opinion it will, ) it behoves you, methinks, to shew toan impartial moderator that I am wrong, and you not so. 

If this be accepted, there is a necessity for its being carried onby the pen; the facts being stated, and agreed upon by both; and thedecision to be given, according to the force of the arguments each shallproduce in support of their side of the question: for give me leaveto say, I know too well the manliness of your temper, to offer at apersonal debate with you. 

If it be not accepted, I shall conclude, that you cannot defend yourconduct towards me; and shall only beg of you, that, for the future, youwill treat me with the respect due to a sister from a brother who wouldbe thought as polite as learned. 

And now, Sir, if I have seemed to shew some spirit, not foreign to therelation I have the honour to be to you, and to my sister; and which maybe deemed not altogether of a piece with that part of my character whichonce, it seems, gained me every one's love; be pleased to consider towhom, and to what it is owing; and that this part of that character wasnot dispensed with, till it subjected me to that scorn, and to thoseinsults, which a brother, who has been so tenacious of an independencevoluntarily given up by me, and who has appeared so exalted upon it, ought not to have shewn to any body, much less to a weak and defencelesssister; who is, notwithstanding, an affectionate and respectful one, andwould be glad to shew herself to be so upon all future occasions; as shehas in every action of her past life, although of late she has met withsuch unkind returns. 

CL. HARLOWE

*****

See, my dear, the force, and volubility, as I may say, of passion; forthe letter I send you is my first draught, struck off without a blot orerasure. 

*****

FRIDAY, THREE O'CLOCK

As soon as I had transcribed it, I sent it down to my brother by Mrs. Betty. 

The wench came up soon after, all aghast, with a Laud, Miss! What haveyou done?--What have you written? For you have set them all in a joyfuluproar!

*****

My sister is but this moment gone from me. She came up all in a flame;which obliged me abruptly to lay down my pen: she ran to me--

O Spirit! said she; tapping my neck a little too hard. And is it come tothis at last--!

Do you beat me, Bella?

Do you call this beating you? only tapping you shoulder thus, saidshe; tapping again more gently--This is what we expected it would cometo--You want to be independent--My father has lived too long for you--!

I was going to speak with vehemence; but she put her handkerchiefbefore my mouth, very rudely--You have done enough with your pen, meanlistener, as you are!--But know that neither your independent scheme, nor any of your visiting ones, will be granted you. Take your course, perverse one! Call in your rake to help you to an independence uponyour parents, and a dependence upon him!--Do so!--Prepare thismoment--resolve what you will take with you--to-morrow you go--dependupon it to-morrow you go!--No longer shall you stay here, watchingand creeping about to hearken to what people say--'Tis determined, child!--You go to-morrow--my brother would have come up to tell you so;but I persuaded him to the contrary--for I know not what had becomeof you, if he had--Such a letter! such an insolent, such aconceited challenger!--O thou vain creature! But prepare yourself, Isay--to-morrow you go--my brother will accept of your bold challenge;but it must be personal; and at my uncle Antony's--or perhaps at Mr. Solmes's--

Thus she ran on, almost foaming with passion; till, quite out ofpatience, I said, No more of your violence, Bella--Had I known in whatway you designed to come up, you should not have found my chamber-dooropen--talk to your servant in this manner. Unlike you, as I bless God Iam, I am nevertheless your sister--and let me tell you, that I won't goto-morrow, nor next day, nor next day to that--except I am dragged awayby violence. 

What! not if your father or mother command it--Girl? said she, intendinganother word, by her pause and manner before it came out. 

Let it come to that, Bella; then I shall know what to say. But it shallbe from their own mouths, if I do--not from yours, nor you Betty's--Andsay another word to me, in this manner, and be the consequence what itmay, I will force myself into their presence; and demand what I havedone to be used thus!

Come along, Child! Come along, Meekness--taking my hand, and leading metowards the door--Demand it of them now--you'll find both your despisedparents together!--What! does your heart fail you?--for I resisted, being thus insolently offered to be led, and pulled my hand from her. 

I want not to be led, said I; and since I can plead your invitation, Iwill go: and was posting to the stairs accordingly in my passion--butshe got between me and the door, and shut it--

Let me first, Bold one, said she, apprize them of your visit--for yourown sake let me--for my brother is with them. But yet opening it again, seeing me shrink back--Go, if you will!--Why don't you go?--Why don'tyou go, Miss?--following me to my closet, whither I retired, with myheart full, and pulled the sash-door after me; and could no longer holdin my tears. 

Nor would I answer one word to her repeated aggravations, nor to herdemands upon me to open my door (for the key was on the inside); nor somuch as turn my head towards her, as she looked through the glass at me. And at last, which vexed her to the heart, I drew the silk curtain, thatshe should not see me, and down she went muttering all the way. 

Is not this usage enough to provoke a rashness never before thought of?

As it is but too probable that I may be hurried away to my uncle'swithout being able to give you previous notice of it; I beg that as soonas you shall hear of such a violence, you would send to the usual place, to take back such of your letters as may not have reached my hands, orto fetch any of mine that may be there. 

May you, my dear, be always happy, prays you CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

I have received your four letters. But am in such a ferment, that Icannot at present write to them. 

LETTER X

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE FRIDAY NIGHT, MARCH 24. 

I have a most provoking letter from my sister. I might have supposed shewould resent the contempt she brought upon herself in my chamber. Herconduct surely can only be accounted for by the rage instigate by asupposed rivalry. 

TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE

I am to tell you, that your mother has begged you off for the morrow:but that you have effectually done your business with her, as well aswith every body else. 

In your proposals and letter to your brother, you have shewn yourself sosilly, and so wise; so young, and so old; so gentle, and so obstinate;so meek, and so violent; that never was there so mixed a character. 

We all know of whom you have borrowed this new spirit. And yet the seedsof it must be in your heart, or it could not all at once shew itself sorampant. It would be doing Mr. Solmes a spite to wish him such a shy, un-shy girl; another of your contradictory qualities--I leave you tomake out what I mean by it. 

Here, Miss, your mother will not let you remain: she cannot have anypeace of mind while such a rebel of a child is so near her. Your auntHervey will not take a charge which all the family put together cannotmanage. Your uncle Harlowe will not see you at his house, till you aremarried. So, thanks to your own stubbornness, you have nobody that willreceive you but your uncle Antony. Thither you must go in a veryfew days; and, when there, your brother will settle with you, in mypresence, all that relates to your modest challenge; for it is accepted, I assure you. Dr. Lewen will possibly be there, since you make choice ofhim. Another gentleman likewise, were it but to convince you, that he isanother sort of man than you have taken him to be. Your two uncleswill possibly be there too, to see that the poor, weak, and defencelesssister has fair play. So, you see, Miss, what company your smartchallenge will draw together. 

Prepare for the day. You'll soon be called upon. Adieu, Mamma Norton'ssweet child!

ARAB. HARLOWE. 

*****

I transcribed this letter, and sent it to my mother, with these lines:

A very few words, my ever-honoured Mamma!

If my sister wrote the enclosed by my father's direction, or yours, Imust submit to the usage she gave me in it, with this only observation, That it is short of the personal treatment I have received from her. If it be of her own head--why then, Madam--But I knew that when I wasbanished from your presence--Yet, till I know if she has or has notauthority for this usage, I will only write further, that I am

Your very unhappy child, CL. HARLOWE. 

*****

This answer I received in an open slip of paper; but it was wet in oneplace. I kissed the place; for I am sure it was blistered, as I maysay, by a mother's tear!--She must (I hope she must) have written itreluctantly. 

To apply for protection, where authority is defied, is bold. Yoursister, who would not in your circumstances have been guilty of yourperverseness, may allowably be angry at you for it. However, we havetold her to moderate her zeal for our insulted authority. See, if youcan deserve another behaviour, than that you complain of: which cannot, however be so grievous to you, as the cause of it is to

Your more unhappy Mother. 

How often must I forbid you any address to me!

*****

Give me, my dearest Miss Howe, your opinion, what I can, what I oughtto do. Not what you would do (pushed as I am pushed) in resentment orpassion--since, so instigated, you tell me, that you should have beenwith somebody before now--and steps taken in passion hardly ever failof giving cause for repentance: but acquaint me with what you thinkcool judgment, and after-reflection, whatever were to be the event, willjustify. 

I doubt not your sympathizing love: but yet you cannot possibly feelindignity and persecution so very sensibly as the immediate suffererfeels them--are fitter therefore to advise me, than I am myself. 

I will here rest my cause. Have I, or have I not, suffered or borneenough? And if they will still persevere; if that strange persisteragainst an antipathy so strongly avowed, will still persist; say, Whatcan I do?--What course pursue?--Shall I fly to London, and endeavour tohide myself from Lovelace, as well as from all my own relations, tillmy cousin Morden arrives? Or shall I embark for Leghorn in my way to mycousin? Yet, my sex, my youth, considered, how full of danger is thislast measure!--And may not my cousin be set out for England, while Iam getting thither?--What can I do?--Tell me, tell me, my dearest MissHowe, [for I dare not trust myself, ] tell me, what I can do. 

ELEVEN O'CLOCK AT NIGHT. 

I have been forced to try to compose my angry passions at myharpsichord; having first shut close my doors and windows, that I mightnot be heard below. As I was closing the shutters of the windows, thedistant whooting of the bird of Minerva, as from the often-visitedwoodhouse, gave the subject in that charming Ode to Wisdom, which doeshonour to our sex, as it was written by one of it. I made an essay, aweek ago, to set the three last stanzas of it, as not unsuitable to myunhappy situation; and after I had re-perused the Ode, those weremy lesson; and, I am sure, in the solemn address they contain to theAll-Wise and All-powerful Deity, my heart went with my fingers. 

I enclose the Ode, and my effort with it. The subject is solemn; mycircumstances are affecting; and I flatter myself, that I have not beenquite unhappy in the performance. If it obtain your approbation, I shallbe out of doubt, and should be still more assured, could I hear it triedby your voice and finger. 

ODE TO WISDOM BY A LADY

 I. The solitary bird of night Thro' thick shades now wings his flight, And quits his time-shook tow'r; Where, shelter'd from the blaze of day, In philosophic gloom he lay, Beneath his ivy bow'r. 

 II. With joy I hear the solemn sound, Which midnight echoes waft around, And sighing gales repeat. Fav'rite of Pallas! I attend, And, faithful to thy summons, bend At Wisdom's awful seat. 

 III. She loves the cool, the silent eve, Where no false shows of life deceive, Beneath the lunar ray. Here folly drops each vain disguise; Nor sport her gaily colour'd dyes, As in the beam of day. 

 IV. O Pallas! queen of ev'ry art, That glads the sense, and mends the heart, Blest source of purer joys! In ev'ry form of beauty bright, That captivates the mental sight With pleasure and surprise;

 V. To thy unspotted shrine I bow: Attend thy modest suppliant's vow, That breathes no wild desires; But, taught by thy unerring rules, To shun the fruitless wish of fools, To nobler views aspires. 

 VI. Not Fortune's gem, Ambition's plume, Nor Cytherea's fading bloom, Be objects of my prayer: Let av'rice, vanity, and pride, Those envy'd glitt'ring toys divide, The dull rewards of care. 

 VII. To me thy better gifts impart, Each moral beauty of the heart, By studious thought refin'd; For wealth, the smile of glad content; For pow'r, its amplest, best extent, An empire o'er my mind. 

 VIII. When Fortune drops her gay parade. When Pleasure's transient roses fade, And wither in the tomb, Unchang'd is thy immortal prize; Thy ever-verdant laurels rise In undecaying bloom. 

 IX. By thee protected, I defy The coxcomb's sneer, the stupid lie Of ignorance and spite: Alike contemn the leaden fool, And all the pointed ridicule Of undiscerning wit. 

 X. From envy, hurry, noise, and strife, The dull impertinence of life, In thy retreat I rest: Pursue thee to the peaceful groves, Where Plato's sacred spirit roves, In all thy beauties drest. 

 XI. He bad Ilyssus' tuneful stream Convey thy philosophic theme Of perfect, fair, and good: Attentive Athens caught the sound, And all her list'ning sons around In awful silence stood. 

 XII. Reclaim'd her wild licentious youth, Confess'd the potent voice of Truth, And felt its just controul. The Passions ceas'd their loud alarms, And Virtue's soft persuasive charms O'er all their senses stole. 

 XIII. Thy breath inspires the Poet's song The Patriot's free, unbiass'd tongue, The Hero's gen'rous strife; Thine are retirement's silent joys, And all the sweet engaging ties Of still, domestic life. 

 XIV. No more to fabled names confin'd; To Thee supreme, all perfect mind, My thought direct their flight. Wisdom's thy gift, and all her force From thee deriv'd, Eternal source Of Intellectual Light!

 XV. O send her sure, her steady ray, To regulate my doubtful way, Thro' life's perplexing road: The mists of error to controul, And thro' its gloom direct my soul To happiness and good. 

 XVI. Beneath her clear discerning eye The visionary shadows fly Of Folly's painted show. She sees thro' ev'ry fair disguise, That all but Virtue's solid joys, Is vanity and woe. 

[Facsimile of the music to "The Ode to Wisdom" (verse 14). ]

LETTER XI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE FRIDAY MIDNIGHT. 

I have now a calmer moment. Envy, ambition, high and selfish resentment, and all the violent passions, are now, most probably, asleep all aroundme; and shall now my own angry ones give way to the silent hour, andsubside likewise?--They have given way to it; and I have made use ofthe gentler space to re-peruse your last letters. I will touch uponsome passages in them. And that I may the less endanger the but-justrecovered calm, I will begin with what you write about Mr. Hickman. 

Give me leave to say, That I am sorry you cannot yet persuade yourselfto think better, that is to say, more justly, of that gentleman, thanyour whimsical picture of him shews you so; or, at least, than thehumourousness of your natural vein would make one think you do. 

I do not imagine, that you yourself will say, he sat for the pictureyou have drawn. And yet, upon the whole, it is not greatly to hisdisadvantage. Were I at ease in my mind, I would venture to draw a muchmore amiable and just likeness. 

If Mr. Hickman has not that assurance which some men have, he has thathumility and gentleness which many want: and which, with the infinitevalue he has for you, will make him one of the fittest husbands in theworld for a person of your vivacity and spirit. 

Although you say I would not like him myself, I do assure you, if Mr. Solmes were such a man as Mr. Hickman, in person, mind, and behaviour, my friends and I had never disagreed about him, if they would not havepermitted me to live single; Mr. Lovelace (having such a character ashe has) would have stood no chance with me. This I can the more boldlyaver, because I plainly perceive, that of the two passions, loveand fear, this man will be able to inspire one with a much greaterproportion of the latter, than I imagine is compatible with the former, to make a happy marriage. 

I am glad you own, that you like no one better than Mr. Hickman. In alittle while, I make no doubt, you will be able, if you challengeyour heart upon it, to acknowledge, that you like not any man so well:especially, when you come to consider, that the very faults you find inMr. Hickman, admirably fit him to make you happy: that is to say, if itbe necessary to your happiness, that you should have your own will inevery thing. 

But let me add one thing: and that is this:--You have such a sprightlyturn, that, with your admirable talents, you would make any man in theworld, who loved you, look like a fool, except he were such a one asLovelace. 

Forgive me, my dear, for my frankness: and forgive me, also, for so soonreturning to subject so immediately relative to myself, as those I nowmust touch upon. 

You again insist (strengthened by Mr. Lovelace's opinion) upon myassuming my own estate [I cannot call it resuming, having never beenin possession of it]: and I have given you room to expect, that I willconsider this subject more closely than I have done before. I musthowever own, that the reasons which I had to offer against takingyour advice were so obvious, that I thought you would have seenthem yourself, and been determined by them, against your own hastiercounsel. --But since this has not been so, and that both you and Mr. Lovelace call upon me to assume my own estate, I will enter briefly intothe subject. 

In the first place, let me ask you, my dear, supposing I were inclinedto follow your advice, Whom have I to support me in my demand? My uncleHarlowe is one of my trustees--he is against me. My cousin Morden is theother--he is in Italy, and very probably may be set against me too. My brother has declared, that they are resolved to carry their pointsbefore he arrives: so that, as they drive on, all will probably bedecided before I can have an answer from him, were I to write: and, confined as I am, were the answer to come in time, and they did not likeit, they would keep it from me. 

In the next place, parents have great advantages in every eye over thechild, if she dispute their pleasure in the disposing of her: and sothey ought; since out of twenty instances, perhaps two could not beproduced, when they were not in the right, the child in the wrong. 

You would not, I am sure, have me accept of Mr. Lovelace's offeredassistance in such a claim. If I would embrace any other person's, whoelse would care to appear for a child against parents, ever, till oflate, so affectionate?==But were such a protector to be found, what alength of time would it take up in a course of litigation! The will andthe deeds have flaws in them, they say. My brother sometimes talksof going to reside at The Grove: I suppose, with a design to makeejectments necessary, were I to offer at assuming; or, were I to marryMr. Lovelace, in order to give him all the opposition and difficulty thelaw would help him to give. 

These cases I have put to myself, for argument-sake: but they areall out of the question, although any body were to be found who wouldespouse my cause: for I do assure you, I would sooner beg my bread, thanlitigate for my right with my father: since I am convinced, that whetherthe parent do his duty by the child or not, the child cannot be excusedfrom doing hers to him. And to go to law with my father, what asound has that! You will see, that I have mentioned my wish (as analternative, and as a favour) to be permitted, if I must be put out ofhis house, to go thither: but not one step further can I go. And you seehow this is resented. 

Upon the whole, then, what have I to hope for, but a change in myfather's resolution?--And is there any probability of that; such anascendancy as my brother and sister have obtained over every body;and such an interest to pursue the enmity they have now openly avowedagainst me?

As to Mr. Lovelace's approbation of your assumption-scheme, I wonder notat. He very probably penetrates the difficulties I should have to bringit to effect, without his assistance. Were I to find myself as free as Iwould wish myself to be, perhaps Mr. Lovelace would stand a worse chancewith me than his vanity may permit him to imagine; notwithstanding thepleasure you take in rallying me on his account. How know you, butall that appears to be specious and reasonable in his offers; such as, standing his chance for my favour, after I became independent, as I maycall it [by which I mean no more, than to have the liberty of refusingfor my husband a man whom it hurts me but to think of in that light];and such as his not visiting me but by my leave; and till Mr. Mordencome; and till I am satisfied of his reformation;--How know you, I say, that he gives not himself these airs purely to stand better in yourgraces as well as mine, by offering of his own accord conditions whichhe must needs think would be insisted on, were the case to happen?

Then am I utterly displeased with him. To threaten as he threatens; yetto pretend, that it is not to intimidate me; and to beg of you not totell me, when he must know you would, and no doubt intended that youshould, is so meanly artful!--The man must think he has a frightenedfool to deal with. --I, to join hands with such a man of violence! myown brother the man whom he threatens!--And what has Mr. Solmes done tohim?--Is he to be blamed, if he thinks a person would make a wife worthhaving, to endeavour to obtain her?--Oh that my friends would butleave me to my own way in this one point! For have I given the manencouragement sufficient to ground these threats upon? Were Mr. Solmes aman to whom I could but be indifferent, it might be found, that to havespirit, would very little answer the views of that spirit. It is myfortune to be treated as a fool by my brother: but Mr. Lovelace shallfind--Yet I will let him know my mind; and then it will come with abetter grace to your knowledge. 

Mean time, give me leave to tell you, that it goes against me, in mycooler moments, unnatural as my brother is to me, to have you, my dear, who are my other self, write such very severe reflections upon him, inrelation to the advantage Lovelace had over him. He is not indeed yourbrother: but remember, that you write to his sister. --Upon my word, mydear Miss Howe, you dip your pen in gall whenever you are offended: andI am almost ready to question, whether I read some of your expressionsagainst others of my relations as well as him, (although in my favour, )whether you are so thoroughly warranted to call other people to accountfor their warmth. Should we not be particularly careful to keep clearof the faults we censure?--And yet I am so angry both at my brother andsister, that I should not have taken this liberty with my dear friend, notwithstanding I know you never loved them, had you not made so lightof so shocking a transaction where a brother's life was at stake: whenhis credit in the eye of the mischievous sex has received a still deeperwound than he personally sustained; and when a revival of the samewicked resentments (which may end more fatally) is threatened. 

His credit, I say, in the eye of the mischievous sex: Who is notwarranted to call it so; when it is re (as the two libertines hiscompanions gloried) to resolve never to give a challenge; and among whomduelling is so fashionable a part of brutal bravery, that the man oftemper, who is, mostly, I believe, the truly brave man, is often ata loss so to behave as to avoid incurring either a mortal guilt, or ageneral contempt?

To enlarge a little upon this subject, May we not infer, that those whowould be guilty of throwing these contempts upon a man of temper, whowould rather pass by a verbal injury, than to imbrue his hands in blood, know not the measure of true magnanimity? nor how much nobler it is toforgive, and even how much more manly to despise, than to resent, aninjury? Were I a man, methinks, I should have too much scorn for aperson, who could wilfully do me a mean wrong, to put a value upon hislife, equal to what I put upon my own. What an absurdity, because a manhad done me a small injury, that I should put it in his power (at least, to an equal risque) to do me, and those who love me, an irreparableone!--Were it not a wilful injury, nor avowed to be so, there could notbe room for resentment. 

How willingly would I run away from myself, and what most concernsmyself, if I could! This digression brings me back again to the occasionof it--and that to the impatience I was in, when I ended my lastletter, for my situation is not altered. I renew, therefore, my formerearnestness, as the new day approaches, and will bring with it perhapsnew trials, that you will (as undivestedly as possible of favour orresentment) tell me what you would have me do:--for, if I am obliged togo to my uncle Antony's, all, I doubt, will be over with me. Yet how toavoid it--that's the difficulty!

I shall deposit this the first thing. When you have it, lose no time, Ipray you, to advise (lest it be too late)

Your ever obliged CL. HARLOWE. 

LETTER XII

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE SATURDAY, MARCH 25. 

What can I advise you to do, my noble creature? Your merit is yourcrime. You can no more change your nature, than your persecutors cantheirs. Your distress is owing to the vast disparity between you andthem. What would you have of them? Do they not act in character?--And towhom? To an alien. You are not one of them. They have two dependenciesin their hope to move you to compliance. --Upon their impenetrablenessone [I'd give it a more proper name, if I dared]; the other, on theregard you have always had for your character, [Have they not heretoforeowned as much?] and upon your apprehensions from that of Lovelace, whichwould discredit you, should you take any step by his means to extricateyourself. Then they know, that resentment and unpersuadableness are notnatural to you; and that the anger they have wrought you up to, willsubside, as all extraordinaries soon do; and that once married, you willmake the best of it. 

But surely your father's son and eldest daughter have a view (bycommunicating to so narrow a soul all they know of your just aversion tohim) to entail unhappiness for life upon you, were you to have the manwho is already more nearly related to them, than ever he can be to you, although the shocking compulsion should take place. 

As to that wretch's perseverance, those only, who know not the man, will wonder at it. He has not the least delicacy. His principal view inmarriage is not to the mind. How shall those beauties be valued, whichcannot be comprehended? Were you to be his, and shew a visible want oftenderness to him, it is my opinion, he would not be much concerned atit. I have heard you well observe, from your Mrs. Norton, That a personwho has any over-ruling passion, will compound by giving up twentysecondary or under-satisfactions, though more laudable ones, in order tohave that gratified. 

I'll give you the substance of a conversation [no fear you can be madeto like him worse than you do already] that passed between Sir HarryDowneton and this Solmes, but three days ago, as Sir Harry told it butyesterday to my mother and me. It will confirm to you that what yoursister's insolent Betty reported he should say, of governing by fear, was not of her own head. 

Sir Harry told her, he wondered he should wish to obtain you so muchagainst you inclination as every body knew it would be, if he did. 

He matter'd not that, he said: coy maids made the fondest wives: [Asorry fellow!] It would not at all grieve him to see a pretty woman makewry faces, if she gave him cause to vex her. And your estate, by theconvenience of its situation, would richly pay him for all he could bearwith your shyness. 

He should be sure, he said, after a while, of your complaisance, if notof your love: and in that should be happier than nine parts in ten ofhis married acquaintance. 

What a wretch is this!

For the rest, your known virtue would be as great a security to him, ashe could wish for. 

She will look upon you, said Sir Harry, if she be forced to marry you, as Elizabeth of France did upon Philip II. Of Spain, when he receivedher on his frontiers as her husband, who was to have been but herfather-in-law: that is, with fear and terror, rather than withcomplaisance and love: and you will perhaps be as surly to her, as thatold monarch was to his young bride. 

Fear and terror, the wretch, the horrid wretch! said, looked pretty ina bride as well as in a wife: and, laughing, [yes, my dear, the hideousfellow laughed immoderately, as Sir Harry told us, when he said it, ] itshould be his care to perpetuate the occasion for that fear, if he couldnot think he had the love. And, truly, he was of opinion, that ifLOVE and FEAR must be separated in matrimony, the man who made himselffeared, fared best. 

If my eyes would carry with them the execution which the eyes of thebasilisk are said to do, I would make it my first business to see thiscreature. 

My mother, however, says, it would be a prodigious merit in you, if youcould get over your aversion to him. Where, asks she [as you have beenasked before], is the praise-worthiness of obedience, if it be only paidin instance where we give up nothing?

What a fatality, that you have no better an option--either a Scylla or aCharybdis. 

Were it not you, I should know how (barbarously as you are used) toadvise you in a moment. But such a noble character to suffer from a(supposed) rashness and indiscretion of such a nature, would, as I haveheretofore observed, be a wound to the sex. 

While I was in hope, that the asserting of your own independence wouldhave helped you, I was pleased that you had one resource, as I thought. But now, that you have so well proved, that such a step would not availyou, I am entirely at a loss what to say. 

I will lay down my pen, and think. 

*****

I have considered, and considered again; but, I protest, I know no morewhat to say now, than before. Only this: That I am young, like yourself;and have a much weaker judgment, and stronger passions, than you have. 

I have heretofore said, that you have offered as much as you ought, inoffering to live single. If you were never to marry, the estate they areso loth should go out of their name, would, in time, I suppose, revertto your brother: and he or his would have it, perhaps, much morecertainly this way, than by the precarious reversions which Solmes makesthem hope for. Have you put this into their odd heads, my dear?--Thetyrant word AUTHORITY, as they use it, can be the only objection againstthis offer. 

One thing you must consider, that, if you leave your parents, your dutyand love will not suffer you to justify yourself by an appeal againstthem; and so you'll have the world against you. And should Lovelacecontinue his wild life, and behave ungratefully to you, will not hisbaseness seem to justify their cruel treatment of you, as well as theirdislike of him?

May heaven direct you for the best!--I can only say, that for my ownpart, I would do any thing, go any where, rather than be compelled tomarry the man I hate; and (were he such a man as Solmes) must alwayshate. Nor could I have borne what you have borne, if from father anduncles, not from brother and sister. 

My mother will have it, that after they have tried their utmost effortsto bring you into their measures, and find them ineffectual, they willrecede. But I cannot say I am of her mind. She does not own, she hasany authority for this, but her own conjecture. I should otherwise havehoped, that your uncle Antony and she had been in on one secret, andthat favourable to you. Woe be to one of them at least [to you uncle tobe sure I mean] if they should be in any other!

You must, if possible, avoid being carried to that uncle's. The man, theparson, your brother and sister present!--They'll certainly there marryyou to the wretch. Nor will your newly-raised spirit support you in yourresistance on such an occasion. Your meekness will return; and youwill have nothing for it but tears [tears despised by them all] andineffectual appeals and lamentations: and these tears when the ceremonyis profaned, you must suddenly dry up; and endeavour to dispose ofyourself to such a humble frame of mind, as may induce your new-madelord to forgive all your past declarations of aversion. 

In short, my dear, you must then blandish him over with a confession, that all your past behaviour was maidenly reserve only: and it will beyour part to convince him of the truth of his imprudent sarcasm, thatthe coyest maids make the fondest wives. Thus will you enter the statewith a high sense of obligation to his forgiving goodness: and if youwill not be kept to it by that fear, by which he proposes to govern, Iam much mistaken. 

Yet, after all, I must leave the point undetermined, and only to bedetermined, as you find they recede from their avowed purpose, orresolve to remove you to your uncle Antony's. But I must repeat mywishes, that something may fall out, that neither of these men may callyou his!--And may you live single, my dearest friend, till some manshall offer, that may be as worthy of you, as man can be!

But yet, methinks, I would not, that you, who are so admirably qualifiedto adorn the married state, should be always single. You know I amincapable of flattery; and that I always speak and write the sincerestdictates of my heart. Nor can you, from what you must know of yourown merit (taken only in a comparative light with others) doubt mysincerity. For why should a person who delight to find out and admireevery thing that is praise-worthy in another, be supposed ignorant oflike perfections in herself, when she could not so much admire them inanother, if she had them not herself? And why may not I give her thosepraises, which she would give to any other, who had but half of herexcellencies?--Especially when she is incapable of pride and vain-glory;and neither despises others for the want of her fine qualities, norovervalues herself upon them?--Over-values, did I say!--How can that be?

Forgive me, my beloved friend. My admiration of you (increased, as itis, by every letter you write) will not always be held down in silence;although, in order to avoid offending you, I generally endeavour to keepit from flowing to my pen, when I write to you, or to my lips, wheneverI have the happiness to be in your company. 

I will add nothing (though I could add a hundred things on account ofyour latest communications) but that I am

Your ever affectionate and faithful ANNA HOWE. 

I hope I have pleased you with my dispatch. I wish I had been able toplease you with my requested advice. 

You have given new beauties to the charming Ode which you havetransmitted to me. What pity that the wretches you have to deal with, put you out of your admirable course; in the pursuit of which, like thesun, you was wont to cheer and illuminate all you shone upon!

LETTER XIII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE SUNDAY MORNING, MARCH 26. 

How soothing a thing is praise from those we love!--Whether consciousor not of deserving it, it cannot but give us great delight, to seeourselves stand high in the opinion of those whose favour we areambitious to cultivate. An ingenuous mind will make this farther use ofit, that if he be sensible that it does not already deserve the charmingattributes, it will hasten (before its friend finds herself mistaken) toobtain the graces it is complimented for: and this it will do, as wellin honour to itself, as to preserve its friend's opinion, and justifyher judgment. May this be always my aim!--And then you will not onlygive the praise, but the merit; and I shall be more worthy of thatfriendship, which is the only pleasure I have to boast of. 

Most heartily I thank you for the kind dispatch of your last favour. Howmuch am I indebted to you! and even to your honest servant!--Under whatobligations does my unhappy situation lay me!

But let me answer the kind contents of it, as well as I may. 

As to getting over my disgusts to Mr. Solmes, it is impossible tobe done; while he wants generosity, frankness of heart, benevolence, manners and every qualification that distinguishes the worthy man. O mydear! what a degree of patience, what a greatness of soul, is requiredin the wife, not to despise a husband who is more ignorant, moreilliterate, more low-minded than herself!--The wretch, vested withprerogatives, who will claim rule in virtue of them (and not to permitwhose claim, will be as disgraceful to the prescribing wife as to thegoverned husband); How shall such a husband as this be borne, were he, for reasons of convenience and interest, even to be our CHOICE? But, to be compelled to have such a one, and that compulsion to arise frommotives as unworthy of the prescribers as of the prescribed, who canthink of getting over an aversion so justly founded? How much easier tobear the temporary persecutions I labour under, because temporary, thanto resolve to be such a man's for life? Were I to comply, must I notleave my relations, and go to him? A month will decide the one, perhaps:But what a duration of woe will the other be!--Every day, it is likely, rising to witness to some new breach of an altar-vowed duty!

Then, my dear, the man seems already to be meditating vengeance againstme for an aversion I cannot help: for yesterday my saucy gaoleressassured me, that all my oppositions would not signify that pinch ofsnuff, holding out her genteel finger and thumb: that I must have Mr. Solmes: that therefore I had not best carry my jest too far; for thatMr. Solmes was a man of spirit, and had told HER, that as I shouldsurely be his, I acted very unpolitely; since, if he had not more mercy[that was her word, I know not if it were his] than I had, I might havecause to repent the usage I gave him to the last day of my life. Butenough of this man; who, by what you repeat from Sir Harry Downeton, has all the insolence of his sex, without any one quality to make thatinsolence tolerable. 

I have receive two letters from Mr. Lovelace, since his visit to you;which make three that I have not answered. I doubt not his being veryuneasy; but in his last he complains in high terms of my silence; notin the still small voice, or rather style of an humble lover, but in astyle like that which would probably be used by a slighted protector. And his pride is again touched, that like a thief, or eves-dropper, heis forced to dodge about in hopes of a letter, and returns five miles(and then to an inconvenient lodging) without any. 

His letters and the copy of mine to him, shall soon attend you. Tillwhen, I will give you the substance of what I wrote him yesterday. 

I take him severely to task for his freedom in threatening me, throughyou, with a visit to Mr. Solmes, or to my brother. I say, 'That, surely, I must be thought to be a creature fit to bear any thing; that violenceand menaces from some of my own family are not enough for me to bear, inorder to make me avoid him; but that I must have them from him too, ifI oblige those to whom it is both my inclination and duty to oblige inevery thing that is reasonable, and in my power. 

'Very extraordinary, I tell him, that a violent spirit shall threaten todo a rash and unjustifiable thing, which concerns me but a little, andhimself a great deal, if I do not something as rash, my character andsex considered, to divert him from it. 

'I even hint, that, however it would affect me, were any mischief tohappen on my own account, yet there are persons, as far as I know, whoin my case would not think there would be reason for much regret, weresuch a committed rashness as he threatens Mr. Solmes with, to rid her oftwo persons whom, had she never known, she had never been unhappy. '

This is plain-dealing, my dear: and I suppose he will put it into stillplainer English for me. 

I take his pride to task, on his disdaining to watch for my letters; andfor his eves-dropping language: and say, 'That, surely, he has the lessreason to think so hardly of his situation; since his faulty moralsare the cause of all; and since faulty morals deservedly level alldistinction, and bring down rank and birth to the canaille, and to thenecessity which he so much regrets, of appearing (if I must descent tohis language) as an eves-dropper and a thief. And then I forbid himever to expect another letter from me that is to subject him to suchdisgraceful hardships. 

'As to the solemn vows and protestations he is so ready, upon alloccasions, to make, they have the less weight with me, I tell him, as they give a kind of demonstration, that he himself, from his owncharacter, thinks there is reason to make them. Deeds are to me theonly evidence of intentions. And I am more and more convinced ofthe necessity of breaking off a correspondence with a person, whoseaddresses I see it is impossible either to expect my friends toencourage, or him to appear to wish that they should think him worthy ofencouragement. 

'What therefore I repeatedly desire is, That since his birth, alliances, and expectations, are such as will at any time, if his immoral characterbe not an objection, procure him at least equal advantages in a womanwhose taste and inclinations moreover might be better adapted tohis own; I insist upon it, as well as advise it, that he give up allthoughts of me: and the rather, as he has all along (by his threateningand unpolite behaviour to my friends, and whenever he speaks of them)given me reason to conclude, that there is more malice in them, thanregard to me, in his perseverance. '

This is the substance of the letter I have written to him. 

The man, to be sure, must have the penetration to observe, that mycorrespondence with him hitherto is owing more to the severity I meetwith, than to a very high value for him. And so I would have him think. What a worse than moloch deity is that, which expects an offering ofreason, duty, and discretion, to be made to its shrine!

Your mother is of opinion, you say, that at last my friends will relent. Heaven grant that they may!--But my brother and sister have such aninfluence over every body, and are so determined; so pique themselvesupon subduing me, and carrying their point; that I despair that theywill. And yet, if they do not, I frankly own, I would not scruple tothrow myself upon any not disreputable protection, by which I mightavoid my present persecutions, on one hand, and not give Mr. Lovelaceadvantage over me, on the other--that is to say, were there manifestlyno other way left me: for, if there were, I should think the leaving myfather's house, without his consent, one of the most inexcusable actionsI could be guilty of, were the protection to be ever so unexceptionable;and this notwithstanding the independent fortune willed me by mygrandfather. And indeed I have often reflected with a degree ofindignation and disdain, upon the thoughts of what a low, selfishcreature that child must be, who is to be reined in only by the hopes ofwhat a parent can or will do for her. 

But notwithstanding all this, I owe it to the sincerity of friendship toconfess, that I know not what I should have done, had your advice beenconclusive any way. Had you, my dear, been witness to my differentemotions, as I read your letter, when, in one place, you advise me ofmy danger, if I am carried to my uncle's; in another, when you own youcould not bear what I bear, and would do any thing rather than marrythe man you hate; yet, in another, to represent to me my reputationsuffering in the world's eye; and the necessity I should be under tojustify my conduct, at the expense of my friends, were I to take a rashstep; in another, insinuate the dishonest figure I should be forced tomake, in so compelled a matrimony; endeavouring to cajole, fawn upon, and play the hypocrite with a man to whom I have an aversion; who wouldhave reason to believe me an hypocrite, as well from my former avowals, as from the sense he must have (if common sense he has) of his owndemerits; the necessity you think there would be for me, the more averse(were I capable of so much dissimulation) that would be imputable todisgraceful motives; as it would be too visible, that love, either ofperson or mind, could be neither of them: then his undoubted, his evenconstitutional narrowness: his too probably jealousy, and unforgiveness, bearing in my mind my declared aversion, and the unfeigned despights Itook all opportunities to do him, in order to discourage his address:a preference avowed against him from the same motive; with the pride heprofesses to take in curbing and sinking the spirits of a woman he hadacquired a right to tyrannize over: had you, I say, been witness ofmy different emotions as I read; now leaning this way, now that; nowperplexed; now apprehensive; now angry at one, then at another; nowresolving; now doubting; you would have seen the power you have over me;and would have had reason to believe, that, had you given your advicein any determined or positive manner, I had been ready to havebeen concluded by it. So, my dear, you will find, from theseacknowledgements, that you must justify me to those laws of friendship, which require undisguised frankness of heart; although you justificationof me in that particular, will perhaps be at the expense of my prudence. 

But, upon the whole, this I do repeat--That nothing but the lastextremity shall make me abandon my father's house, if they will permitme to stay; and if I can, by any means, by any honest pretences, butkeep off my evil destiny in it till my cousin Morden arrives. As oneof my trustees, his is a protection, into which I may without discreditthrow myself, if my other friends should remain determined. And this(although they seem too well aware of it) is all my hope: for, asto Lovelace, were I to be sure of his tenderness, and even of hisreformation, must not the thought of embracing the offered protection ofhis family, be the same thing, in the world's eye, as accepting of hisown?--Could I avoid receiving his visits at his own relations'? Must Inot be his, whatever, (on seeing him in a nearer light, ) I should findhim out to be? For you know, it has always been my observation, thatvery few people in courtship see each other as they are. Oh! my dear!how wise have I endeavoured to be! How anxious to choose, and to avoidevery thing, precautiously, as I may say, that might make me happy, or unhappy; yet all my wisdom now, by a strange fatality, is likely tobecome foolishness!

Then you tell me, in your usual kindly-partial manner, what is expectedof me, more than would be of some others. This should be a lesson to me. What ever my motives were, the world would not know them. To complainof a brother's unkindness, that, indeed, I might do. Differences betweenbrothers and sisters, where interests clash, but too commonly arise:but, where the severe father cannot be separated from the faultybrother, who could bear to lighten herself, by loading a father?--Then, in this particular case, must not the hatred Mr. Lovelace expressesto every one of my family (although in return for their hatred ofhim) shock one extremely? Must it not shew, that there is somethingimplacable, as well as highly unpolite in his temper?--And what creaturecan think of marrying so as to be out of all hopes ever to be well withher own nearest and tenderest relations?

But here, having tired myself, and I dare say you, I will lay down mypen. 

*****

Mr. Solmes is almost continually here: so is my aunt Hervey: so are mytwo uncles. Something is working against me, I doubt. What an uneasystate is suspense!--When a naked sword, too, seems hanging over one'shead!

I hear nothing but what this confident creature Betty throws out inthe wantonness of office. Now it is, Why, Miss, don't you look up yourthings? You'll be called upon, depend upon it, before you are aware. Another time she intimates darkly, and in broken sentences, (as if onpurpose to tease me, ) what one says, what another; with their inquirieshow I dispose of my time? And my brother's insolent question comesfrequently in, Whether I am not writing a history of my sufferings?

But I am now used to her pertness: and as it is only through that thatI can hear of any thing intended against me, before it is to be put inexecution; and as, when she is most impertinent, she pleads a commissionfor it; I bear with her: yet, now-and-then, not without a little of theheart-burn. 

I will deposit thus far. Adieu, my dear. CL. HARLOWE. 

Written on the cover, after she went down, with a pencil:

On coming down, I found your second letter of yesterday's date. * Ihave read it; and am in hopes that the enclosed will in a great measureanswer your mother's expectations of me. 

 * See the next letter. 

My most respectful acknowledgements to her for it, and for her very kindadmonitions. 

You'll read to her what you please of the enclosed. 

LETTER XIV

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE SAT. MARCH 25. 

I follow my last of this date by command. I mentioned in my former mymother's opinion of the merit you would have, if you could oblige yourfriends against your own inclination. Our conference upon this subjectwas introduced by the conversation we had had with Sir Harry Downeton;and my mother thinks it of so much importance, that she enjoins me togive you the particulars of it. I the rather comply, as I was unable inmy last to tell what to advise you to; and as you will in this recitalhave my mother's opinion at least, and, perhaps, in hers what theworld's would be, were it only to know what she knows, and not so muchas I know. 

My mother argues upon this case in a most discouraging manner for allsuch of our sex as look forward for happiness in marriage with the manof their choice. 

Only, that I know, she has a side-view of her daughter; who, at thesame time that she now prefers no one to another, values not the man hermother most regards, of one farthing; or I should lay it more to heart. 

What is there in it, says she, that all this bustle is about? Is it sucha mighty matter for a young woman to give up her inclinations to obligeher friends?

Very well, my mamma, thought I! Now, may you ask this--at FORTY, youmay. But what would you have said at EIGHTEEN, is the question?

Either, said she, the lady must be thought to have very violentinclinations [And what nice young creature would have that supposed?]which she could not give up; or a very stubborn will, which she wouldnot; or, thirdly, have parents she was indifferent about obliging. 

You know my mother now-and-then argues very notably; always very warmlyat least. I happen often to differ from her; and we both think so wellof our own arguments, that we very seldom are so happy as to convinceone another. A pretty common case, I believe, in all vehement debatings. She says, I am too witty; Angelice, too pert: I, That she is too wise;that is to say, being likewise put into English, not so young as she hasbeen: in short, is grown so much into mother, that she has forgottenshe ever was a daughter. So, generally, we call another cause byconsent--yet fall into the old one half a dozen times over, withoutconsent--quitting and resuming, with half-angry faces, forced into asmile, that there might be some room to piece together again: but goa-bed, if bedtime, a little sullen nevertheless: or, if we speak, hersilence is broken with an Ah! Nancy! You are so lively! so quick! I wishyou were less like your papa, child!

I pay it off with thinking, that my mother has no reason to disclaim hershare in her Nancy: and if the matter go off with greater severity onher side than I wish for, then her favourite Hickman fares the worse forit next day. 

I know I am a saucy creature. I know, if I do not say so, you will thinkso. So no more of this just now. What I mention it for, is to tell you, that on this serious occasion I will omit, if I can, all that passedbetween us, that had an air of flippancy on my part, or quickness on mymother's, to let you into the cool and cogent of the conversation. 

'Look through the families, said she, which we both know, where the manand the woman have been said to marry for love; which (at the time itis so called) is perhaps no more than a passion begun in folly orthoughtlessness, and carried on from a spirit of perverseness andopposition [here we had a parenthetical debate, which I omit]; and see, if they appear to be happier than those whose principal inducement tomarry has been convenience, or to oblige their friends; or ever whetherthey are generally so happy: for convenience and duty, where observed, will afford a permanent and even an increasing satisfaction (as wellat the time, as upon the reflection) which seldom fail to rewardthemselves: while love, if love be the motive, is an idle passion' [idlein ONE SENSE my mother cannot say; for love is as busy as a monkey, andas mischievous as a school-boy]--'it is a fervour, that, like all otherfervours, lasts but a little while after marriage; a bow overstrained, that soon returns to its natural bent. 

'As it is founded generally upon mere notional excellencies, whichwere unknown to the persons themselves till attributed to either by theother; one, two, or three months, usually sets all right on both sides;and then with opened eyes they think of each other--just as every bodyelse thought of them before. 

'The lovers imaginaries [her own notable word!] are by that time goneoff; nature and old habits (painfully dispensed with or concealed)return: disguises thrown aside, all the moles, freckles, and defects inthe minds of each discover themselves; and 'tis well if each do not sinkin the opinion of the other, as much below the common standard, as theblinded imagination of both had set them above it. And now, said she, the fond pair, who knew no felicity out of each other's company, areso far from finding the never-ending variety each had proposed inan unrestrained conversation with the other (when they seldom weretogether; and always parted with something to say; or, on recollection, when parted, wishing they had said); that they are continually on thewing in pursuit of amusements out of themselves; and those, concluded mysage mamma, [Did you think her wisdom so very modern?] will perhaps bethe livelier to each, in which the other has no share. '

I told my mother, that if you were to take any rash step, it would beowing to the indiscreet violence of your friends. I was afraid, I said, that these reflection upon the conduct of people in the married state, who might set out with better hopes, were but too well grounded: butthat this must be allowed me, that if children weighed not these mattersso thoroughly as they ought, neither did parents make those allowancesfor youth, inclination, and inexperience, which had been found necessaryto be made for themselves at their children's time of life. 

I remembered a letter, I told her, hereupon, which you wrote a fewmonths ago, personating an anonymous elderly lady (in Mr. Wyerley'sday of plaguing you) to Miss Drayton's mother, who, by her severity andrestraints, had like to have driven the young lady into the very faultagainst which her mother was most solicitous to guard her. And I daredto say, she would be pleased with it. 

I fetched the first draught of it, which at my request you obliged meat the time; and read the whole letter to my mother. But the followingpassage she made me read twice. I think you once told me you had not acopy of this letter. 

'Permit me, Madam, [says the personated grave writer, ] to observe, Thatif persons of your experience would have young people look forward, inorder to be wiser and better by their advice, it would be kind in themto look backward, and allow for their children's youth, and naturalvivacity; in other words, for their lively hopes, unabated by time, unaccompanied by reflection, and unchecked by disappointment. Thingsappear to us all in a very different light at our entrance upona favourite party, or tour; when, with golden prospects, and highexpectations, we rise vigorous and fresh like the sun beginning itsmorning course; from what they do, when we sit down at the end of ourviews, tired, and preparing for our journey homeward: for then we takeinto our reflection, what we had left out in prospect, the fatigues, the checks, the hazards, we had met with; and make a true estimate ofpleasures, which from our raised expectations must necessarily havefallen miserably short of what we had promised ourselves at setting out. Nothing but experience can give us a strong and efficacious convictionof this difference: and when we would inculcate the fruits of that uponthe minds of those we love, who have not lived long enough to find thosefruits; and would hope, that our advice should have as much force uponthem, as experience has upon us; and which, perhaps, our parents' advicehad not upon ourselves, at our daughter' time of life; should we notproceed by patient reasoning and gentleness, that we may not harden, where we would convince? For, Madam, the tenderest and most generousminds, when harshly treated, become generally the most inflexible. Ifthe young lady knows her heart to be right, however defective herhead may be for want of age and experience, she will be apt to be verytenacious. And if she believes her friends to be wrong, although perhapsthey may be only so in their methods of treating her, how much willevery unkind circumstance on the parent's part, or heedless one on thechild's, though ever so slight in itself, widen the difference! Theparent's prejudice in disfavour, will confirm the daughter's in favour, of the same person; and the best reasonings in the world on either side, will be attributed to that prejudice. In short, neither of them will beconvinced: a perpetual opposition ensues: the parent grows impatient;the child desperate: and, as a too natural consequence, that fallsout which the mother was most afraid of, and which possibly had nothappened, if the child's passions had been only led, not driven. '

My mother was pleased with the whole letter; and said, It deserved tohave the success it met with. But asked me what excuse could be offeredfor a young lady capable of making such reflections (and who at her timeof life could so well assume the character of one of riper years) if sheshould rush into any fatal mistake herself?

She then touched upon the moral character of Mr. Lovelace; and howreasonable the aversion of your reflections is to a man who giveshimself the liberties he is said to take; and who indeed himself deniesnot the accusation; having been heard to declare, that he will do allthe mischief he can to the sex, in revenge for the ill usage andbroken vows of his first love, at a time when he was too young [his ownexpression it seems] to be insincere. 

I replied, that I had heard every one say, that the lady meant reallyused him ill; that it affected him so much at the time, that he wasforced to travel upon it; and to drive her out of his heart, ran intocourses which he had ingenuousness enough himself to condemn: that, however, he had denied that he had thrown out such menaces against thesex when charged with them by me in your presence; and declared himselfincapable of so unjust and ungenerous a resentment against all, for theperfidy of one. 

You remember this, my dear, as I do your innocent observation upon it, that you could believe his solemn asseveration and denial: 'For surely, said you, the man who would resent, as the highest indignity that couldbe offered to a gentleman, the imputation of a wilful falsehood, wouldnot be guilty of one. '

I insisted upon the extraordinary circumstances in your case;particularizing them. I took notice, that Mr. Lovelace's morals were atone time no objection with your relations for Arabella: that then muchwas built upon his family, and more upon his part and learning, whichmade it out of doubt, that he might be reclaimed by a woman of virtueand prudence: and [pray forgive me for mentioning it] I ventured toadd, that although your family might be good sort of folks, as the worldwent, yet no body but you imputed to any of them a very punctiliousconcern for religion or piety--therefore were they the less entitled toobject to defect of that kind in others. Then, what an odious man, saidI, have they picked out, to supplant in a lady's affections one of thefinest figures of a man, and one noted for his brilliant parts, andother accomplishments, whatever his morals may be!

Still my mother insisted, that there was the greater merit in yourobedience on that account; and urged, that there hardly ever was a veryhandsome and a very sprightly man who made a tender and affectionatehusband: for that they were generally such Narcissus's, as to imagineevery woman ought to think as highly of them, as they did of themselves. 

There was no danger from that consideration here, I said, because thelady still had greater advantages of person and mind, than the man;graceful and elegant, as he must be allowed to be, beyond most of hissex. 

She cannot endure to hear me praise any man but her favourite Hickman;upon whom, nevertheless, she generally brings a degree of contempt whichhe would escape, did she not lessen the little merit he has, by givinghim, on all occasions, more than I think he can deserve, and enteringhim into comparisons in which it is impossible but he must be asufferer. And now [preposterous partiality!] she thought for her part, that Mr. Hickman, bating that his face indeed was not so smooth, nor hiscomplexion quite so good, and saving that he was not so presuming andso bold (which ought to be no fault with a modest woman) equaled Mr. Lovelace at any hour of the day. 

To avoid entering further into such an incomparable comparison, I said, I did not believe, had they left you to your own way, and treated yougenerously, that you would have had the thought of encouraging any manwhom they disliked--

Then, Nancy, catching me up, the excuse is less--for if so, must therenot be more of contradiction, than love, in the case?

Not so, neither, Madam: for I know Miss Clarissa Harlowe would preferMr. Lovelace to all men, if morals--

IF, Nancy!--That if is every thing. --Do you really think she loves Mr. Lovelace?

What would you have had me say, my dear?--I won't tell you what I didsay: But had I not said what I did, who would have believed me?

Besides, I know you love him!--Excuse me, my dear: Yet, if you deny it, what do you but reflect upon yourself, as if you thought you ought notto allow yourself in what you cannot help doing?

Indeed, Madam, said I, the man is worthy of any woman's love [if, again, I could say]--But her parents--

Her parents, Nancy--[You know, my dear, how my mother, who accuses herdaughter of quickness, is evermore interrupting one!]

May take wrong measures, said I--

Cannot do wrong--they have reason, I'll warrant, said she--

By which they may provoke a young woman, said I, to do rash things, which otherwise she would not do. 

But, if it be a rash thing, [returned she, ] should she do it? A prudentdaughter will not wilfully err, because her parents err, if they were toerr: if she do, the world which blames the parents, will not acquit thechild. All that can be said, in extenuation of a daughter's error inthis case, arises from a kind consideration, which Miss Clary's letterto Lady Drayton pleads for, to be paid to her daughter's youth andinexperience. And will such an admirable young person as Miss ClarissaHarlowe, whose prudence, as we see, qualifies her to be an advisor ofpersons much older than herself, take shelter under so poor a covert?

Let her know, Nancy, out of hand, what I say; and I charge you torepresent farther to her, That let he dislike one man and approveof another ever so much, it will be expected of a young lady of herunbounded generosity and greatness of mind, that she should deny herselfwhen she can oblige all her family by so doing--no less than ten or adozen perhaps the nearest and dearest to her of all the persons in theworld, an indulgent father and mother at the head of them. It may befancy only on her side; but parents look deeper: And will not MissClarissa Harlowe give up her fancy to her parents' judgment?

I said a great deal upon this judgment subject: all that you could wishI should say; and all that your extraordinary case allowed me to say. And my mother was so sensible of the force of it, that she charged menot to write to you any part of my answer to what she said; but onlywhat she herself had advanced; lest, in so critical a case, it shouldinduce you to take measures which might give us both reason (me forgiving it, you for following it) to repent it as long as we lived. 

And thus, my dear, have I set my mother's arguments before you. And therather, as I cannot myself tell what to advise you to do--you know bestyour own heart; and what that will let you do. 

Robin undertakes to deposit this very early, that you may have anopportunity to receive it by your first morning airing. 

Heaven guide and direct you for the best, is the incessant prayer of

Your ever affectionate ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER XV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE SUNDAY AFTERNOON

I am in great apprehension. Yet cannot help repeating my humble thanksto your mother and you for your last favour. I hope her kind end isanswered by the contents of my last. Yet I must not think it enough toacknowledge her goodness to me, with a pencil only, on the cover of aletter sealed up. A few lines give me leave to write with regard to myanonymous letter to Lady Drayton. If I did not at that time tell you, asI believe I did, that my excellent Mrs. Norton gave me her assistance inthat letter, I now acknowledge that she did. 

Pray let your mother know this, for two reasons: one, that I may not bethought to arrogate to myself a discretion which does not belong to me;the other, that I may not suffer by the severe, but just inference shewas pleased to draw; doubling my faults upon me, if I myself should actunworthy of the advice I was supposed to give. 

Before I come to what most nearly affects us all, I must chide you oncemore, for the severe, the very severe things you mention of our family, to the disparagement of their MORALS. Indeed, my dear, I wonder atyou!--A slighter occasion might have passed me, after I had written toyou so often to so little purpose, on this topic. But, affecting asmy own circumstances are, I cannot pass by, without animadversion, thereflection I need not repeat in words. 

There is not a worthier woman in England than my mother. Nor is myfather that man you sometimes make him. Excepting in one point, I knownot any family which lives more up to their duty, than the principals ofours. A little too uncommunicative for their great circumstances--thatis all. --Why, then, have they not reason to insist upon unexceptionablemorals in a man whose sought-for relationship to them, by a marriagein their family, they have certainly a right either to allow of, or todisallow. 

Another line or two, before I am engrossed by my own concerns--upon yourtreatment of Mr. Hickman. Is it, do you think, generous to revenge uponan innocent person, the displeasure you receive from another quarter, where, I doubt, you are a trespasser too?--But one thing I could tellhim; and you have best not provoke me to it: It is this, That no womanuses ill the man she does not absolutely reject, but she has it in herheart to make him amends, when her tyranny has had its run, and hehas completed the measure of his services and patience. My mind is notenough at ease to push this matter further. 

I will now give you the occasion of my present apprehensions. 

I had reason to fear, as I mentioned in mine of this morning, that astorm was brewing. Mr. Solmes came home from church this afternoon withmy brother. Soon after, Betty brought me up a letter, without sayingfrom whom. It was in a cover, and directed by a hand I never saw before;as if it were supposed that I would not receive and open it, had I knownfrom whom it came. 

These are the contents:

*****

TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE SUNDAY, MARCH 26. 

DEAREST MADAM, I think myself a most unhappy man, in that I have never yet been ableto pay my respects to you with youre consent, for one halfe-hour. Ihave something to communicat to you that concernes you much, if you bepleased to admit me to youre speech. Youre honour is concerned in it, and the honour of all youre familly. It relates to the designes of onewhom you are sed to valew more than he desarves; and to some of hisreprobat actions; which I am reddie to give you convincing proofes ofthe truth of. I may appear to be interested in it: but, neverthelesse, I am reddie to make oathe, that every tittle is true: and you willsee what a man you are sed to favour. But I hope not so, for your ownehonour. 

Pray, Madam, vouchsafe me a hearing, as you valew your honour andfamilly: which will oblidge, dearest Miss, Your most humble and most faithful servant, ROGER SOLMES. 

I wait below for the hope of admittance. 

*****

I have no manner of doubt, that this is a poor device to get this maninto my company. I would have sent down a verbal answer; but Bettyrefused to carry any message, which should prohibit his visiting me. SoI was obliged either to see him, or to write to him. I wrote thereforean answer, of which I shall send you the rough draught. And now my heartaches for what may follow from it; for I hear a great hurry below. 

*****

TO ROGER SOLMES, ESQ. 

SIR, Whatever you have to communicate to me, which concerns my honour, may aswell be done by writing as by word of mouth. If Mr. Lovelace is anyof my concern, I know not that therefore he ought to be yours: for theusage I receive on your account [I must think it so!] is so harsh, thatwere there not such a man in the world as Mr. Lovelace, I would not wishto see Mr. Solmes, no, not for one half-hour, in the way he is pleasedto be desirous to see me. I never can be in any danger from Mr. Lovelace, (and, of consequence, cannot be affected by any of yourdiscoveries, ) if the proposal I made be accepted. You have beenacquainted with it no doubt. If not, be pleased to let my friends know, that if they will rid me of my apprehensions of one gentleman, I willrid them of their of another: And then, of what consequence to them, orto me, will it be, whether Mr. Lovelace be a good man, or a bad? And ifnot to them, nor to me, I see not how it can be of any to you. But ifyou do, I have nothing to say to that; and it will be a christian partif you will expostulate with him upon the errors you have discovered, and endeavour to make him as good a man, as, no doubt, you are yourself, or you would not be so ready to detect and expose him. 

Excuse me, Sir: but, after my former letter to you, and your ungenerousperseverance; and after this attempt to avail yourself at the expense ofanother man's character, rather than by your own proper merit; I seenot that you can blame any asperity in her, whom you have so largelycontributed to make unhappy. 

CL. HARLOWE. 

*****

SUNDAY NIGHT. 

My father was for coming up to me, in great wrath, it seems; but waspersuaded to the contrary. My aunt Hervey was permitted to send me thisthat follow. --Quick work, my dear!

TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE

NIECE, Every body is now convinced, that nothing is to be done with you by wayof gentleness or persuasion. Your mother will not permit you to stay inthe house; for your father is so incensed by your strange letter to hisfriend, that she knows not what will be the consequence if you do. So, you are commanded to get ready to go to your uncle Antony's out of hand. 

Your uncle thinks he has not deserved of you such an unwillingness asyou shew to go to his house. 

You don't know the wickedness of the man for whose sake you think itworth while to quarrel with all your friends. 

You must not answer me. There will be no end of that. 

You know not the affliction you give to every body; but to none morethan to

Your affectionate aunt, DOROTHY HERVEY. 

*****

Forbid to write to my aunt, I took a bolder liberty. I wrote a few linesto my mother; beseeching her to procure me leave to throw myself at myfather's feet, and hers, if I must go, (nobody else present, ) to begpardon for the trouble I had given them both, and their blessings; andto receive their commands as to my removal, and the time for it, fromtheir own lips. 

'What new boldness this!--Take it back; and bid her learn to obey, ' wasmy mother's angry answer, with my letter returned, unopened. 

But that I might omit nothing, that had an appearance of duty, I wrotea few lines to my father himself, to the same purpose; begging, that hewould not turn me out of his house, without his blessing. But this, tornin two pieces, and unopened, was brought me up again by Betty, with anair, one hand held up, the other extended, the torn letter in her openpalm; and a See here!--What a sad thing is this!--Nothing will do butduty, Miss!--Your papa said, Let her tell me of deeds!--I'll receive nowords from her. And so he tore the letter, and flung the pieces at myhead. 

So desperate was my case, I was resolved not to stop even at thisrepulse. I took my pen, and addressed myself to my uncle Harlowe, enclosing that which my mother had returned unopened, and the tornunopened one sent to my father; having first hurried off a transcriptfor you. 

My uncle was going home, and it was delivered to him just as he steppedinto his chariot. What may be the fate of it therefore I cannot knowtill to-morrow. 

The following is a copy of it:

TO JOHN HARLOWE, ESQ. 

MY DEAR AND EVER-HONOURED UNCLE, I have nobody now but you, to whom I can apply, with hope, so much asto have my humble addresses opened and read. My aunt Hervey has given mecommands which I want to have explained; but she has forbid me writingto her. Hereupon I took the liberty to write to my father and mother. You will see, Sir, by the torn one, and by the other, (both unopened, )what has been the result. This, Sir, perhaps you already know: but, asyou know not the contents of the disgraced letters, I beseech you toread them both, that you may be a witness for me, that they are notfilled with either complaints or expostulations, nor contain any thingundutiful. Give me leave to say, Sir, that if deaf-eared anger willneither grant me a hearing, nor, what I write a perusal, some time hencethe hard-heartedness may be regretted. I beseech you, dear, good Sir, to let me know what is meant by sending me to my uncle Antony's house, rather than to yours, or to my aunt Hervey's, or else-where? If it befor what I apprehend it to be, life will not be supportable upon theterms. I beg also to know, WHEN I am to be turned out of doors!--Myheart strongly gives me, that if once I am compelled to leave thishouse, I never shall see it more. 

It becomes me, however, to declare, that I write not this throughperverseness, or in resentment. God knows my heart, I do not! But thetreatment I apprehend I shall meet with, if carried to my other uncle's, will, in all probability, give the finishing stroke to the distresses, the undeserved distresses I will be bold to call them, of

Your once highly-favoured, but now unhappy, CL. HARLOWE. 

LETTER XVI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE MONDAY MORNING, MARCH 27. 

This morning early my uncle Harlowe came hither. He sent up the enclosedvery tender letter. It has made me wish I could oblige him. You will seehow Mr. Solmes's ill qualities are glossed over in it. What blemishesdies affection hide!--But perhaps they may say to me, What faults doesantipathy bring to light!

Be pleased to send me back this letter of my uncle by the first return. 

SUNDAY NIGHT, OR RATHER MINDAY MORNING. 

I must answer you, though against my own resolution. Every body lovesyou; and you know they do. The very ground you walk upon is dear to mostof us. But how can we resolve to see you? There is no standing againstyour looks and language. It is our loves makes us decline to see you. How can we, when you are resolved not to do what we are resolved youshall do? I never, for my part, loved any creature, as I loved you fromyour infancy till now. And indeed, as I have often said, never was therea young creature so deserving of our love. But what is come to you now!Alas! alas! my dear kinswoman, how you fail in the trial!

I have read the letters you enclosed. At a proper time, I may shew themto my brother and sister: but they will receive nothing from you atpresent. 

For my part, I could not read your letter to me, without being unmanned. How can you be so unmoved yourself, yet so able to move every bodyelse? How could you send such a letter to Mr. Solmes? Fie upon you! Howstrangely are you altered!

Then to treat your brother and sister as you did, that they don't careto write to you, or to see you! Don't you know where it is written, Thatsoft answers turn away wrath? But if you will trust to you sharp-pointedwit, you may wound. Yet a club will beat down a sword: And how can youexpect that they who are hurt by you will not hurt you again? Was thisthe way you used to take to make us all adore you as we did?--No, itwas your gentleness of heart and manners, that made every body, evenstrangers, at first sight, treat you as a lady, and call you a lady, though not born one, while your elder sister had no such distinctionspaid her. If you were envied, why should you sharpen envy, and file upits teeth to an edge?--You see I write like an impartial man, and as onethat loves you still. 

But since you have displayed your talents, and spared nobody, and movedevery body, without being moved, you have but made us stand the closerand firmer together. This is what I likened to an embattled phalanx, once before. Your aunt Hervey forbids your writing for the same reasonthat I must not countenance it. We are all afraid to see you, because weknow we shall be made as so many fools. Nay, your mother is so afraidof you, that once or twice, when she thought you were coming to forceyourself into her presence, she shut the door, and locked herself in, because she knew she must not see you upon your terms, and you areresolved you will not see her upon hers. 

Resolves but to oblige us all, my dearest Miss Clary, and you shall seehow we will clasp you every one by turns to our rejoicing hearts. If theone man has not the wit, and the parts, and the person, of the other, noone breathing has a worse heart than that other: and is not the loveof all your friends, and a sober man (if he be not so polished) to bepreferred to a debauchee, though ever so fine a man to look at? You havesuch talents that you will be adored by the one: but the other has asmuch advantage in those respects, as you have yourself, and will not setby them one straw: for husbands are sometimes jealous of their authoritywith witty wives. You will have in one, a man of virtue. Had you notbeen so rudely affronting to him, he would have made your ears tinglewith what he could have told you of the other. 

Come, my dear niece, let me have the honour of doing with you what nobody else yet has been able to do. Your father, mother, and I, willdivide the pleasure, and the honour, I will again call it, between us;and all past offences shall be forgiven; and Mr. Solmes, we will engage, shall take nothing amiss hereafter, of what has passed. 

He knows, he says, what a jewel that man will have, who can obtain yourfavour; and he will think light of all he has suffered, or shall suffer, in obtaining you. 

Dear, sweet creature, oblige us: and oblige us with a grace. It must bedone, whether with a grace or not. I do assure you it must. You must notconquer father, mother, uncles, every body: depend upon that. 

I have set up half the night to write this. You do not know how Iam touched at reading yours, and writing this. Yet will I be atHarlowe-place early in the morning. So, upon reading this, if you willoblige us all, send me word to come up to your apartment: and I willlead you down, and present you to the embraces of every one: and youwill then see, you have more of a brother and sister in them both, thanof late your prejudices will let you think you have. This from one whoused to love to style himself, Your paternal uncle, JOHN HARLOWE. 

*****

In about an hour after this kind letter was given me, my uncle sent upto know, if he should be a welcome visiter, upon the terms mentioned inhis letter? He bid Betty bring him down a verbal answer: a written one, he said, would be a bad sign: and he bid her therefore not to bring aletter. But I had just finished the enclosed transcription of one I hadbeen writing. She made a difficulty to carry it; but was prevailed uponto oblige me by a token which these Mrs. Betty's cannot withstand. 

DEAR AND HONOURED SIR, How you rejoice me by your condescending goodness!--So kind, so paternala letter!--so soothing to a wounded heart; and of late what I have beenso little used to!--How am I affected with it! Tell me not, dear Sir, ofmy way of writing: your letter has more moved me, than I have been ableto move any body!--It has made me wish, with all my heart, that I couldentitle myself to be visited upon your own terms; and to be led down tomy father and mother by so good and so kind an uncle. 

I will tell you, dearest Uncle, what I will do to make my peace. I haveno doubt that Mr. Solmes, upon consideration, would greatly prefer mysister to such a strange averse creature as me. His chief, or one of hischief motives in his address to me, is, as I have reason to believe, thecontiguity of my grandfather's estate to his own. I will resign it; forever I will resign it: and the resignation must be good, because I willnever marry at all. I will make it over to my sister, and her heirs forever. I shall have no heirs, but my brother and her; and I will receive, as of my father's bounty, such an annuity (not in lieu of the estate, but as of his bounty) as he shall be pleased to grant me, if it beever so small: and whenever I disoblige him, he to withdraw it, at hispleasure. 

Will this not be accepted?--Surely it must--surely it will!--I beg ofyou, dearest Sir, to propose it; and second it with your interest. Thiswill answer every end. My sister has a high opinion of Mr. Solmes. Inever can have any in the light he is proposed to me. But as my sister'shusband, he will be always entitled to my respect; and shall have it. 

If this be accepted, grant me, Sir, the honour of a visit; and do methen the inexpressible pleasure of leading me down to the feet of myhonoured parents, and they shall find me the most dutiful of children;and to the arms of my brother and sister, and they shall find me themost obliging and most affectionate of sisters. 

I wait, Sir, for your answer to this proposal, made with the whole heartof

Your dutiful and most obliged niece, CL. HARLOWE. 

MONDAY NOON. 

I hope this will be accepted: for Betty tells me, that my uncle Antonyand my aunt Hervey are sent for; and not Mr. Solmes; which I look uponas a favourable circumstance. With what cheerfulness will I assign overthis envied estate!--What a much more valuable consideration shall Ipart with it for!--The love and favour of all my relations! That loveand favour, which I used for eighteen years together to rejoice in, andbe distinguished by!--And what a charming pretence will this afford meof breaking with Mr. Lovelace! And how easily will it possibly make himto part with me!

I found this morning, in the usual place, a letter from him, in answer, I suppose, to mine of Friday, which I deposited not till Saturday. ButI have not opened it; nor will I, till I see what effect this new offerwill have. 

Let me but be permitted to avoid the man I hate; and I will give up withcheerfulness the man I could prefer. To renounce the one, were I reallyto value him as much as you seem to imagine, can give but a temporaryconcern, which time and discretion will alleviate. This is a sacrificewhich a child owes to parents and friends, if they insist upon its beingmade. But the other, to marry a man one cannot endure, is not only adishonest thing, as to the man; but it is enough to make a creature whowishes to be a good wife, a bad or indifferent one, as I once wrote tothe man himself: and then she can hardly be either a good mistress, ora good friend; or any thing but a discredit to her family, and a badexample to all around her. 

Methinks I am loth, in the suspense I am in at present, to depositthis, because it will be leaving you in one as great: but having beenprevented by Betty's officiousness twice, I will now go down to mylittle poultry; and, if I have an opportunity, will leave it in theusual place, where I hope to find something from you. 

LETTER XVII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE MONDAY AFTERNOON, MARCH 27. 

I have deposited my narrative down to this day noon; but I hope soon tofollow it with another letter, that I may keep you as little a while aspossible in that suspense which I am so much affected by at this moment:for my heart is disturbed at ever foot I hear stir; and at every doorbelow that I hear open or shut. 

They have been all assembled some time, and are in close debate Ibelieve: But can there be room for long debate upon a proposal, which, if accepted, will so effectually answer all their views?--Can theyinsist a moment longer upon my having Mr. Solmes, when they see whatsacrifices I am ready to make, to be freed from his addresses?--Oh! butI suppose the struggle is, first, with Bella's nicety, to persuade herto accept of the estate, and of the husband; and next, with her pride, to take her sister's refusals, as she once phrased it!--Or, it maybe, my brother is insisting upon equivalents for his reversion in theestate: and these sort of things take up but too much the attention ofsome of our family. To these, no doubt, one or both, it must be owing, that my proposal admits of so much consideration. 

I want, methinks, to see what Mr. Lovelace, in his letter, says. But Iwill deny myself this piece of curiosity till that which is raised by mypresent suspense is answered. --Excuse me, my dear, that I thus troubleyou with my uncertainties: but I have no employment, nor heart, if Ihad, to pursue any other but what my pen affords me. 

MONDAY EVENING. 

Would you believe it?--Betty, by anticipation, tells me, that I am to berefused. I am 'a vile, artful creature. Every body is too good to me. My uncle Harlowe has been taken in, that's the phrase. They know howit would be, if he either wrote to me, or saw me. He has, however, beenmade ashamed to be so wrought upon. A pretty thing truly in the eye ofthe world it would be, were they to take me at my word! It would lookas if they had treated me thus hardly, as I think it, for this verypurpose. My peculiars, particularly Miss Howe, would give it thatturn; and I myself could mean nothing by it, but to see if it would beaccepted in order to strengthen my own arguments against Mr. Solmes. Itwas amazing, that it could admit of a moment's deliberation: that anything could be supposed to be done in it. It was equally against law andequity: and a fine security Miss Bella would have, or Mr. Solmes, when Icould resume it when I would!--My brother and she my heirs! O the artfulcreature!--I to resolve to live single, when Lovelace is so sure ofme--and every where declares as much!--and can whenever he pleases, if my husband, claim under the will!--Then the insolence--theconfidence--[as Betty mincingly told me, that one said; you may easilyguess who] that she, who was so justly in disgrace for downrightrebellion, should pretend to prescribe to the whole family!--Should namea husband for her elder sister!--What a triumph would her obstinacy goaway with, to delegate her commands, not as from a prison, as she calledit, but as from her throne, to her elders and betters; and to her fatherand mother too!--Amazing, perfectly amazing, that any body could argueupon such a proposal as this! It was a master-stroke of finesse--It wasME in perfection!--Surely my uncle Harlowe will never again be so takenin!'

All this was the readier told me, because it was against me, and wouldtease and vex me. But as some of this fine recapitulation implied, thatsomebody spoke up for me. I was curious to know who it was. But Bettywould not tell me, for fear I should have the consolation to find thatall were not against me. 

But do you not see, my dear, what a sad creature she is whom you honourwith your friendship?--You could not doubt your influence over me: Whydid you not take the friendly liberty I have always taken with you, and tell me my faults, and what a specious hypocrite I am? For, if mybrother and sister could make such discoveries, how is it possible, thatfaults to enormous [you could see others, you thought, of a more secretnature!] could escape you penetrating eye?

Well, but now, it seems, they are debating how and by whom to answer me:for they know not, nor are they to know, that Mrs. Betty has told me allthese fine things. One desires to be excused, it seems: another choosesnot to have any thing to say to me: another has enough of me: and ofwriting to so ready a scribbler, there will be no end. 

Thus are those imputed qualifications, which used so lately to gain meapplause, now become my crimes: so much do disgust and anger alter theproperty of things. 

The result of their debate, I suppose, will somehow or other becommunicated to me by-and-by. But let me tell you, my dear, that I ammade so desperate, that I am afraid to open Mr. Lovelace's letter, lest, in the humour I am in, I should do something (if I find it notexceptionable) that may give me repentance as long as I live. 

MONDAY NIGHT. 

This moment the following letter is brought me by Betty. 

MONDAY, 5 O'CLOCK

MISS CUNNING-ONE, Your fine new proposal is thought unworthy of a particular answer. Youruncle Harlowe is ashamed to be so taken in. Have you no new fetch foryour uncle Antony? Go round with us, child, now your hand's in. But Iwas bid to write only one line, that you might not complain, as youdid of your worthy sister, for the freedoms you provoked: It isthis--Prepare yourself. To-morrow you go to my uncle Antony's. That'sall, child. 

JAMES HARLOWE. 

I was vexed to the heart at this: and immediately, in the warmth ofresentment, wrote the enclosed to my uncle Harlowe; who it seems stayshere this night. 

TO JOHN HARLOWE, ESQ. MONDAY NIGHT. 

HONOURED SIR, I find I am a very sad creature, and did not know it. I wrote not to mybrother. To you, Sir, I wrote. From you I hope the honour of an answer. No one reveres her uncle more than I do. Nevertheless, between uncle andniece, excludes not such a hope: and I think I have not made a proposalthat deserves to be treated with scorn. 

Forgive me, Sir--my heart is full. Perhaps one day you may think youhave been prevailed upon (for that is plainly the case!) to join totreat me--as I do not deserve to be treated. If you are ashamed, as mybrother hints, of having expressed any returning tenderness to me, Godhelp me! I see I have no mercy to expect from any body! But, Sir, fromyour pen let me have an answer; I humbly implore it of you. Till mybrother can recollect what belongs to a sister, I will not take from himno answer to the letter I wrote to you, nor any commands whatever. 

I move every body!--This, Sir, is what you are pleased to mention. Butwhom have I moved?--One person in the family has more moving ways than Ihave, or he could never so undeservedly have made every body ashamed toshow tenderness to a poor distressed child of the same family. 

Return me not this with contempt, or torn, or unanswered, I beseech you. My father has a title to do that or any thing by his child: but from noother person in the world of your sex, Sir, ought a young creature ofmine (while she preserves a supplicating spirit) to be so treated. 

When what I have before written in the humblest strain has met with suchstrange constructions, I am afraid that this unguarded scrawl will bevery ill received. But I beg, Sir, you will oblige me with one line, beit ever so harsh, in answer to my proposal. I still think it ought tobe attended to. I will enter into the most solemn engagements to make itvalid by a perpetual single life. In a word, any thing I can do, I willdo, to be restored to all your favours. More I cannot say, but that Iam, very undeservedly, A most unhappy creature. 

Betty scrupled again to carry this letter; and said, she should haveanger; and I should have it returned in scraps and bits. 

I must take that chance, said I: I only desire that you will deliver itas directed. 

Sad doings! very sad! she said, that young ladies should so violentlyset themselves against their duty. 

I told her, she should have the liberty to say what she pleased, so shewould but be my messenger that one time: and down she went with it. 

I bid her, if she could, slide it into my uncle's hand, unseen; at leastunseen by my brother or sister, for fear it should meet, through theirgood office, with the fate she had bespoken for it. 

She would not undertake for that, she said. 

I am now in expectation of the result. But having so little ground tohope for their favour or mercy, I opened Mr. Lovelace's letter. 

I would send it to you, my dear (as well as those I shall enclose) bythis conveyance; but not being able at present to determine in whatmanner I shall answer it, I will give myself the trouble of abstractingit here, while I am waiting for what may offer from the letter justcarried down. 

'He laments, as usual, my ill opinion of him, and readiness to believeevery thing to his disadvantage. He puts into plain English, as Isupposed he would, my hint, that I might be happier, if, by any rashnesshe might be guilty of to Solmes, he should come to an untimely endhimself. '

He is concerned, he says, 'That the violence he had expressed on hisextreme apprehensiveness of losing me, should have made him guilty ofany thing I had so much reason to resent. '

He owns, 'That he is passionate: all good-natured men, he says, are so;and a sincere man cannot hide it. ' But appeals to me, 'Whether, if anyoccasion in the world could excuse the rashness of his expressions, itwould not be his present dreadful situation, through my indifference, and the malice of his enemies. '

He says, 'He has more reason than ever, from the contents of my last, to apprehend, that I shall be prevailed upon by force, if not by fairmeans, to fall in with my brother's measures; and sees but too plainly, that I am preparing him to expect it. 

'Upon this presumption, he supplicates, with the utmost earnestness, that I will not give way to the malice of his enemies. 

'Solemn vows of reformation, and everlasting truth and obligingness, he makes; all in the style of desponding humility: yet calls it a cruelturn upon him, to impute his protestations to a consciousness of thenecessity there is for making them from his bad character. 

'He despises himself, he solemnly protests, for his past follies. Hethanks God he has seen his error; and nothing but my more particularinstructions is wanting to perfect his reformation. 

'He promises, that he will do every thing that I shall think he can dowith honour, to bring about a reconciliation with my father; and evenwill, if I insist upon it, make the first overtures to my brother, andtreat him as his own brother, because he is mine, if he will not by newaffronts revive the remembrance of the past. 

'He begs, in the most earnest and humble manner, for one half-hour'sinterview; undertaking by a key, which he owns he has to thegarden-door, leading into the coppice, as we call it, (if I will butunbolt the door, ) to come into the garden at night, and wait till I havean opportunity to come to him, that he may re-assure me of the truth ofall he writes, and of the affection, and, if needful, protection, of allhis family. 

'He presumes not, he says, to write by way of menace to me; but if Irefuse him this favour, he knows not (so desperate have some strokes inmy letter made him) what his despair may make him do. '

He asks me, 'Determined, as my friends are, and far as they have alreadygone, and declare they will go, what can I propose to do, to avoidhaving Mr. Solmes, if I am carried to my uncle Antony's; unless Iresolve to accept of the protection he has offered to procure me; orexcept I will escape to London, or elsewhere, while I can escape?'

He advises me, 'To sue to your mother, for her private reception ofme; only till I can obtain possession of my own estate, and procure myfriends to be reconciled to me; which he is sure they will be desirousto be, the moment I am out of their power. '

He apprizes me, [It is still my wonder, how he comes by thisintelligence!] 'That my friends have written to my cousin Morden torepresent matters to him in their own partial way; nor doubt they toinfluence him on their side of the question. 

'That all this shews I have but one way; if none of my friends orintimates will receive me. 

'If I will transport him with the honour of my choice of this one way, settlements shall be drawn, with proper blanks, which I shall fill up asI pleased. Let him but have my commands from my own mouth, all my doubtsand scruples from my own lips; and only a repetition, that I will not, on any consideration, be Solmes's wife; and he shall be easy. But, aftersuch a letter as I have written, nothing but an interview can make himso. ' He beseeches me therefore, 'To unbolt the door, as that very night;or, if I receive not this time enough, this night;--and he will, in adisguise that shall not give suspicion who he is, if he should be seen, come to the garden door, in hopes to open it with his key; nor will hehave any other lodging than in the coppice both nights; watching everywakeful hour for the propitious unbolting, unless he has a letter withmy orders to the contrary, or to make some other appointment. '

This letter was dated yesterday: so he was there last night, I suppose;and will be there this night; and I have not written a line to him: andnow it is too late, were I determined what to write. 

I hope he will not go to Mr. Solmes. --I hope he will not comehither. --If he do either, I will break with him for ever. 

What have I to do with these headstrong spirits? I wish I had never--butwhat signifies wishing?--I am strangely perplexed: but I need not havetold you this, after such a representation of my situation. 

LETTER XVII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE TUESDAY MORNING, 7 O'CLOCK

My uncle has vouchsafed to answer me. These that follow are thecontents of his letter; but just now brought me, although written lastnight--late I suppose. 

MONDAY NIGHT. 

MISS CLARY, Since you are grown such a bold challenger, and teach us all our duty, though you will not practise your own, I must answer you. Nobodywants you estate from you. Are you, who refuse ever body's advice, to prescribe a husband to your sister? Your letter to Mr. Solmes isinexcusable. I blamed you for it before. Your parents will be obeyed. Itis fit they should. Your mother has nevertheless prevailed to have yourgoing to your uncle Antony's put off till Thursday: yet owns you deservenot that, or any other favour from her. I will receive no more ofyour letters. You are too artful for me. You are an ungrateful andunreasonable child: Must you have your way paramount to every body's?How are you altered. 

Your displeased uncle, JOHN HARLOWE. 

*****

To be carried away on Thursday--To the moated house--To the chapel--ToSolmes! How can I think of this!--They will make me desperate. 

TUESDAY MORNING, 8 O'CLOCK. 

I have another letter from Mr. Lovelace. I opened it with theexpectation of its being filled with bold and free complaints, on mynot writing to prevent his two nights watching, in weather not extremelyagreeable. But, instead of complaints, he is 'full of tender concernlest I may have been prevented by indisposition, or by the closerconfinement which he has frequently cautioned me that I may expect. '

He says, 'He had been in different disguises loitering about our gardenand park wall, all the day on Sunday last; and all Sunday night waswandering about the coppice, and near the back door. It rained; and hehas got a great cold, attended with feverishness, and so hoarse, that hehas almost lost his voice. '

Why did he not flame out in his letter?--Treated as I am treated by myfriends, it is dangerous to be laid under the sense of an obligation toan addresser's patience; especially when such a one suffers in healthfor my sake. 

'He had no shelter, he says, but under the great overgrown ivy, whichspreads wildly round the heads of two or three oaklings; and that wassoon wet through. '

You remember the spot. You and I, my dear, once thought ourselvesobliged to the natural shade which those ivy-covered oaklings affordedus, in a sultry day. 

I can't help saying, I am sorry he has suffered for my sake; but 'tishis own seeking. 

His letter is dated last night at eight: 'And, indisposed as he is, he tells me that he will watch till ten, in hopes of my giving him themeeting he so earnestly request. And after that, he has a mile to walkto his horse and servant; and four miles then to ride to his inn. '

He owns, 'That he has an intelligencer in our family; who has failedhim for a day or two past: and not knowing how I do, or how I may betreated, his anxiety is increased. '

This circumstance gives me to guess who this intelligencer is: JosephLeman: the very creature employed and confided in, more than any other, by my brother. 

This is not an honourable way of proceeding in Mr. Lovelace. Didhe learn this infamous practice of corrupting the servants of otherfamilies at the French court, where he resided a good while?

I have been often jealous of this Leman in my little airings andpoultry-visits. Doubly obsequious as he was always to me, I havethought him my brother's spy upon me; and although he obliged me byhis hastening out of the garden and poultry-yard, whenever I came intoeither, have wondered, that from his reports my liberties of those kindshave not been abridged. * So, possibly, this man may be bribed by both, yet betray both. Worthy views want not such obliquities as these oneither side. An honest mind must rise into indignation both at thetraitor-maker and the traitor. 

 * Mr. Lovelace accounts for this, Vol. I, Letter XXXV. 

'He presses with the utmost earnestness for an interview. He would notpresume, he says, to disobey my last personal commands, that he shouldnot endeavour to attend me again in the wood-house. But says, he cangive me such reasons for my permitting him to wait upon my fatheror uncles, as he hopes will be approved by me: for he cannot helpobserving, that it is no more suitable to my own spirit than to his, that he, a man of fortune and family, should be obliged to pursue such aclandestine address, as would only become a vile fortune-hunter. But, ifI will give my consent for his visiting me like a man, and a gentleman, no ill treatment shall provoke him to forfeit his temper. 

'Lord M. Will accompany him, if I please: or Lady Betty Lawrance willfirst make the visit to my mother, or to my aunt Hervey, or even to myuncles, if I choose it. And such terms shall be offered, as shall haveweight upon them. 

'He begs, that I will not deny him making a visit to Mr. Solmes. Byall that's good, he vows, that it shall not be with the least intentioneither to hurt or affront him; but only to set before him, calmly andrationally, the consequences that may possibly flow from so fruitless aperseverance, as well as the ungenerous folly of it, to a mind as nobleas mine. He repeats his own resolution to attend my pleasure, and Mr. Morden's arrival and advice, for the reward of his own patience. 

'It is impossible, he says, but one of these methods must do. Presence, he observes, even of a disliked person, takes off the edge ofresentments which absence whets, and makes keen. 

'He therefore most earnestly repeats his importunities for thesupplicated interview. ' He says, 'He has business of consequence inLondon: but cannot stir from the inconvenient spot where he has forsome time resided, in disguises unworthy of himself, until he can beabsolutely certain, that I shall not be prevailed upon, either by forceor otherwise; and until he finds me delivered from the insults of mybrother. Nor ought this to be an indifferent point to one, for whosesake all the world reports me to be used unworthily. But one remark, hesays, he cannot help making: that did my friends know the little favourI shew him, and the very great distance I keep him at, they wouldhave no reason to confine me on his account. And another, that theythemselves seem to think him entitled to a different usage, and expectthat he receives it; when, in truth, what he meets with from me isexactly what they wish him to meet with, excepting in the favour ofmy correspondence I honour him with; upon which, he says, he puts thehighest value, and for the sake of which he has submitted to a thousandindignities. 

'He renews his professions of reformation. He is convinced, he says, that he has already run a long and dangerous course; and that it is hightime to think of returning. It must be from proper conviction, he says, that a person who has lived too gay a life, resolves to reclaim, beforeage or sufferings come upon him. 

'All generous spirits, he observes, hate compulsion. Upon thisobservation he dwells; but regrets, that he is likely to owe all hishopes to this compulsion; this injudicious compulsion, he justly callsit; and none to my esteem for him. Although he presumes upon somemerit--in this implicit regard to my will--in the bearing the dailyindignities offered not only to him, but to his relations, by mybrother--in the nightly watchings, his present indisposition makes himmention, or he had not debased the nobleness of his passion for me, bysuch a selfish instance. '

I cannot but say, I am sorry the man is not well. 

I am afraid to ask you, my dear, what you would have done, thussituated. But what I have done, I have done. In a word, I wrote, 'ThatI would, if possible, give him a meeting to-morrow night, between thehours of nine and twelve, by the ivy summer-house, or in it, or near thegreat cascade, at the bottom of the garden; and would unbolt the door, that he might come in by his own key. But that, if I found the meetingimpracticable, or should change my mind, I would signify as much byanother line; which he must wait for until it were dark. '

TUESDAY, ELEVEN O'CLOCK. 

I am just returned from depositing my billet. How diligent is this man!It is plain he was in waiting: for I had walked but a few paces, after Ihad deposited it, when, my heart misgiving me, I returned, to have takenit back, in order to reconsider it as I walked, and whether I should orshould not let it go. But I found it gone. 

In all probability, there was but a brick wall, of a few inches thick, between Mr. Lovelace and me, at the very time I put the letter under thebrick!

I am come back dissatisfied with myself. But I think, my dear, therecan be no harm in meeting him. If I do not, he may take some violentmeasures. What he knows of the treatment I meet with in malice to him, and with the view to frustrate all his hopes, may make him desperate. His behaviour last time I saw him, under the disadvantages of time andplace, and surprised as I was, gives me no apprehension of any thing butdiscovery. What he requires is not unreasonable, and cannot affect myfuture choice and determination: it is only to assure him from my ownlips, that I never will be the wife of a man I hate. If I have not anopportunity to meet without hazard or detection, he must once morebear the disappointment. All his trouble, and mine too, is owing to hisfaulty character. This, although I hate tyranny and arrogance in allshapes, makes me think less of the risques he runs, and the fatigues heundergoes, than otherwise I should do; and still less, as my sufferings(derived from the same source) are greater than his. 

Betty confirms this intimation, that I must go to my uncle's onThursday. She was sent on purpose to direct me to prepare myself forgoing, and to help me to get every thing up in order for my removal. 

LETTER XIX

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE THURSDAY, THREE O'CLOCK, MARCH 28. 

I have mentioned several times the pertness of Mrs. Betty to me;and now, having a little time upon my hands, I will give you a shortdialogue that passed just now between us. It may, perhaps, be a littlerelief to you from the dull subjects with which I am perpetually teasingyou. 

As she attended me at dinner, she took notice, That Nature is satisfiedwith a very little nourishment: and thus she complimentally provedit--For, Miss, said she, you eat nothing; yet never looked morecharmingly in your life. 

As to the former part of your speech, Betty, said I, you observe well;and I have often thought, when I have seen how healthy the children ofthe labouring poor look, and are, with empty stomachs, and hardly a goodmeal in a week, that God Almighty is very kind to his creatures, in thisrespect, as well as in all others in making much not necessary to thesupport of life; when three parts in four of His creatures, if it were, would not know how to obtain it. It puts me in mind of two proverbialsentences which are full of admirable meaning. 

What, pray, Miss, are they? I love to hear you talk, when you are sosedate as you seem now to be. 

The one is to the purpose we are speaking of: Poverty is the mother ofhealth. And let me tell you, Betty, if I had a better appetite, andwere to encourage it, with so little rest, and so much distress andpersecution, I don't think I should be able to preserve my reason. 

There's no inconvenience but has its convenience, said Betty, giving meproverb for proverb. But what is the other, Madam?

That the pleasures of the mighty are not obtained by the tears of thepoor. It is but reasonable, therefore, methinks, that the plenty ofthe one should be followed by distempers; and that the indigence of theother should be attended with that health, which makes all its otherdiscomforts light on the comparison. And hence a third proverb, Betty, since you are an admirer of proverbs: Better a hare-foot than none atall; that is to say, than not to be able to walk. 

She was mightily taken with what I said: See, returned she, what a finething scholarship is!--I, said she, had always, from a girl, a taste forreading, though it were but in Mother Goose, and concerning the fairies[and then she took genteelly a pinch of snuff]: could but my parentshave let go as fast as I pulled, I should have been a very happycreature. 

Very likely, you would have made great improvements, Betty: but as itis, I cannot say, but since I had the favour of your attendance in thisintimate manner, I have heard smarter things from you, than I have heardat table from some of my brother's fellow-collegians. 

Your servant, dear Miss; dropping me one of her best courtesies: sofine a judge as you are!--It is enough to make one very proud. Then withanother pinch--I cannot indeed but say, bridling upon it, that I haveheard famous scholars often and often say very silly things: thingsI should be ashamed myself to say; but I thought they did it out ofhumility, and in condescension to those who had not their learning. 

That she might not be too proud, I told her, I would observe, that theliveliness or quickness she so happily discovered in herself, was notso much an honour to her, as what she owed to her sex; which, as I hadobserved in many instances, had great advantages over the other, in allthe powers that related to imagination. And hence, Mrs. Betty, you'lltake notice, as I have of late had opportunity to do, that your owntalent at repartee and smartness, when it has something to work upon, displays itself to more advantage, than could well be expected from onewhose friends, to speak in your own phrase, could not let go so fast asyou pulled. 

The wench gave me a proof of the truth of my observation, in a mannerstill more alert than I had expected: If, said she, our sex had so muchadvantage in smartness, it is the less to be wondered at, that you, Miss, who have had such an education, should outdo all the men and womentoo, that come near you. 

Bless me, Betty, said I, what a proof do you give me of your wit andyour courage at the same time! This is outdoing yourself. It would makeyoung ladies less proud, and more apprehensive, were they generallyattended by such smart servants, and their mouths permitted to beunlocked upon them as yours has been lately upon me. --But, take away, Mrs. Betty. 

Why, Miss, you have eat nothing at all--I hope you are not displeasedwith your dinner for any thing I have said. 

No, Mrs. Betty, I am pretty well used to your freedoms now, you know. --Iam not displeased in the main, to observe, that, were the succession ofmodern fine ladies to be extinct, it might be supplied from those whomthey place in the next rank to themselves, their chamber-maids andconfidants. Your young mistress has contributed a great deal to thisquickness of yours. She always preferred your company to mine. Asyou pulled, she let go; and so, Mrs. Betty, you have gained by herconversation what I have lost. 

Why, Miss, if you come to that, nobody says better things than MissHarlowe. I could tell you one, if I pleased, upon my observing to her, that you lived of late upon the air, and had no stomach to any thing;yet looked as charmingly as ever. 

I dare say, it was a very good-natured one, Mrs. Betty! Do you thenplease that I shall hear it?

Only this, Miss, That your stomachfulness had swallowed up your stomach;and, That obstinacy was meat, drink, and clothes to you. 

Ay, Mrs. Betty; and did she say this?--I hope she laughed when she saidit, as she does at all her good things, as she calls them. It was verysmart, and very witty. I wish my mind were so much at ease, as to aim atbeing witty too. But if you admire such sententious sayings, I'll helpyou to another; and that is, Encouragement and approbation make peopleshow talents they were never suspected to have; and this will do bothfor mistress and maid. And another I'll furnish you with, thecontrary of the former, that will do only for me: That persecution anddiscouragement depress ingenuous minds, and blunt the edge of livelyimaginations. And hence may my sister's brilliancy and my stupidity beboth accounted for. Ingenuous, you must know, Mrs. Betty, and ingenious, are two things; and I would not arrogate the latter to myself. 

Lord, Miss, said the foolish girl, you know a great deal for youryears. --You are a very learned young lady!--What pity--

None of your pitties, Mrs. Betty, I know what you'd say. But tell me, ifyou can, Is it resolved that I shall be carried to my uncle Antony's onThursday?

I was willing to reward myself for the patience she had made meexercise, by getting at what intelligence I could from her. 

Why, Miss, seating herself at a little distance (excuse my sitting down)with the snuff-box tapped very smartly, the lid opened, and apinch taken with a dainty finger and thumb, the other three fingersdistendedly bent, and with a fine flourish--I cannot but say, that it ismy opinion, you will certainly go on Thursday; and this noless foless, as I have heard my young lady say in FRENCH. 

Whether I am willing or not willing, you mean, I suppose, Mrs. Betty?

You have it, Miss. 

Well but, Betty, I have no mind to be turned out of doors so suddenly. Do you think I could not be permitted to tarry one week longer?

How can I tell, Miss?

O Mrs. Betty, you can tell a great deal, if you please. But here I amforbid writing to any one of my family; none of it now will come nearme; nor will any of it permit me to see them: How shall I do to makeknown my request, to stay here a week or fortnight longer?

Why, Miss, I fancy, if you were to shew a compliable temper, yourfriends would shew a compliable one too. But would you expect favours, and grant none?

Smartly put, Betty! But who knows what may be the result of my beingcarried to my uncle Antony's?

Who knows, Miss!--Why any body will guess what may be the result. 

As how, Betty?

As how! repeated the pert wench, Why, Miss, you will stand in your ownlight, as you have hitherto done: and your parents, as such good parentsought, will be obeyed. 

If, Mrs. Betty, I had not been used to your oughts, and to have my dutylaid down to me by your oraculous wisdom I should be apt to stare at theliberty of you speech. 

You seem angry, Miss. I hope I take no unbecoming liberty. 

If thou really thinkest thou dost not, thy ignorance is more to bepitied, than thy pertness resented. I wish thou wouldst leave me tomyself. 

When young ladies fall out with their own duty, it is not much to bewondered at, that they are angry at any body who do theirs. 

That's a very pretty saying, Mrs. Betty!--I see plainly what thy duty isin thy notion, and am obliged to those who taught it thee. 

Every body takes notice, Miss, that you can say very cutting words in acool manner, and yet not call names, as I have known some gentlefolksas well as others do when in a passion. But I wish you had permitted'Squire Solmes to see you: he would have told you such stories of'Squire Lovelace, as you would have turned your heart against him forever. 

And know you any of the particulars of those sad stories?

Indeed I don't; but you'll hear all at your uncle Antony's, I suppose;and a great deal more perhaps than you will like to hear. 

Let me hear what I will, I am determined against Mr. Solmes, were it tocost me my life. 

If you are, Miss, the Lord have mercy on you! For what with this letterof yours to 'Squire Solmes, whom they so much value, and what withtheir antipathy to 'Squire Lovelace, whom they hate, they will have nopatience with you. 

What will they do, Betty? They won't kill me? What will they do?

Kill you! No!--But you will not be suffered to stir from thence, tillyou have complied with your duty. And no pen and ink will be allowed youas here; where they are of opinion you make no good use of it: nor wouldit be allowed here, only as they intend so soon to send you away to youruncle's. No-body will be permitted to see you, or to correspond withyou. What farther will be done, I can't say; and, if I could, it may notbe proper. But you may prevent all, by one word: and I wish you would, Miss. All then would be easy and happy. And, if I may speak my mind, Isee not why one man is not as good as another: why, especially, a soberman is not as good as a rake. 

Well, Betty, said I, sighing, all thy impertinence goes for nothing. ButI see I am destined to be a very unhappy creature. Yet I will ventureupon one request more to them. 

And so, quite sick of the pert creature and of myself, I retired to mycloset, and wrote a few lines to my uncle Harlowe, notwithstanding hisprohibition; in order to get a reprieve from being carried away so soonas Thursday next, if I must go. And this, that I might, if compliedwith, suspend the appointment I have made with Mr. Lovelace; for myheart misgives me as to meeting him; and that more and more; I know notwhy. Under the superscription of the letter, I wrote these words: 'Pray, dear Sir, be pleased to give this a reading. '

This is a copy of what I wrote:

TUESDAY AFTERNOON. 

HONOURED SIR, Let me this once be heard with patience, and have my petition granted. It is only, that I may not be hurried away so soon as next Thursday. 

Why should the poor girl be turned out of doors so suddenly, sodisgracefully? Procure for me, Sir, one fortnight's respite. In thatspace of time, I hope you will all relent. My mamma shall not need toshut her door in apprehension of seeing her disgraceful child. I willnot presume to think of entering her presence, or my papa's withoutleave. One fortnight's respite is but a small favour for them to grant, except I am to be refused every thing I ask; but it is of the highestimport to my peace of mind. Procure it for me, therefore, dearest Sir;and you will exceedingly oblige

Your dutiful, though greatly afflicted niece, CL. HARLOWE. 

I sent this down: my uncle was not gone: and he now stays to know theresult of the question put to me in the enclosed answer which he hasgiven to mind. 

Your going to your uncle's was absolutely concluded upon for nextThursday. Nevertheless, your mother, seconded by Mr. Solmes, pleadedso strongly to have you indulged, that your request for a delay willbe complied with, upon one condition; and whether for a fortnight, ora shorter time, that will depend upon yourself. If you refuse thecondition, your mother declares she will give over all furtherintercession for you. --Nor do you deserve this favour, as you put itupon our yielding to you, not you to us. 

This condition is, that you admit of a visit from Mr. Solmes, for onehour, in company of your brother, your sister, or your uncle Antony, choose who you will. 

If you comply not, go next Thursday to a house which is become strangelyodious to you of late, whether you get ready to go or not. Answertherefore directly to the point. No evasion. Name your day and hour. Mr. Solmes will neither eat you, nor drink you. Let us see, whether we areto be complied with in any thing, or not. 

JOHN HARLOWE. 

*****

After a very little deliberation, I resolved to comply with thiscondition. All I fear is, that Mr. Lovelace's intelligencer may informhim of it; and that his apprehensions upon it may make him take somedesperate resolution: especially as now (having more time given me here)I think to write to him to suspend the interview he is possibly so sureof. I sent down the following to my uncle:

HONOURED SIR, Although I see not what end the proposed condition can answer, I complywith it. I wish I could with every thing expected of me. If I must nameone, in whose company I am to see the gentleman, and that one not mymamma, whose presence I could wish to be honoured by on the occasion, let my uncle, if he pleases, be the person. If I must name the day, (along day, I doubt, will not be permitted me, ) let it be next Tuesday. 

The hour, four in the afternoon. The place either the ivy summer-house, or in the little parlour I used to be permitted to call mine. 

Be pleased, Sir, nevertheless, to prevail upon my mamma, to vouchsafe meher presence on the occasion. 

I am, Sir, your ever-dutiful CL. HARLOWE. 

A reply is just sent me. I thought it became my averseness to thismeeting, to name a distant day: but I did not expect they would havecomplied with it. So here is one week gained!

This is the reply:

You have done well to comply. We are willing to think the best of everyslight instance of duty from you. Yet have you seemed to consider theday as an evil day, and so put if far off. This nevertheless is grantedyou, as no time need to be lost, if you are as generous after the day, as we are condescending before it. Let me advise you, not to harden yourmind; nor take up your resolution beforehand. Mr. Solmes has more awe, and even terror, at the thought of seeing you, than you can have at thethoughts of seeing him. His motive is love; let not yours be hatred. Mybrother Antony will be present, in hopes you will deserve well of him, by behaving well to the friend of the family. See you use him as such. Your mother had permission to be there, if she thought fit: but says, she would not for a thousand pound, unless you would encourage herbeforehand as she wishes to be encouraged. One hint I am to give youmean time. It is this: To make a discreet use of your pen and ink. Methinks a young creature of niceness should be less ready to write toone man, when she is designed to be another's. 

This compliance, I hope, will produce greater, and then the peace of thefamily will be restored: which is what is heartily wished by

Your loving uncle, JOHN HARLOWE. 

Unless it be to the purpose our hearts are set upon, you need not writeagain. 

*****

This man have more terror at seeing me, than I can have at seeinghim!--How can that be? If he had half as much, he would not wish to seeme!--His motive love!--Yes, indeed! Love of himself! He knows no other;for love, that deserves the name, seeks the satisfaction of the belovedobject more than its own. Weighed in this scale, what a profanation isthis man guilty of!

Not to take up my resolution beforehand!--That advice comes too late. 

But I must make a discreet use of my pen. That, I doubt, as they havemanaged it, in the sense they mean it, is as much out of my power, asthe other. 

But write to one man, when I am designed for another!--What a shockingexpression is that!

Repenting of my appointment with Mr. Lovelace before I had this favourgranted me, you may believe I hesitated not a moment to revoke it nowthat I had gained such a respite. Accordingly, I wrote, 'That I foundit inconvenient to meet him, as I had intended: that the risque I shouldrun of a discovery, and the mischiefs that might flow from it, could notbe justified by any end that such a meeting could answer: that I foundone certain servant more in my way, when I took my morning and eveningairings, than any other: that the person who might reveal the secretsof a family to him, might, if opportunity were given him, betray me, orhim, to those whom it was his duty to serve: that I had not been used toa conduct so faulty, as to lay myself at the mercy of servants: and wassorry he had measures to pursue, that made steps necessary in his ownopinion, which, in mine, were very culpable, and which no end couldjustify: that things drawing towards a crisis between my friends and me, an interview could avail nothing; especially as the method by which thiscorrespondence was carried on was not suspected, and he could write allthat was in his mind to write: that I expected to be at liberty to judgeof what was proper and fit upon this occasion: especially as he might beassured, that I would sooner choose death, than Mr. Solmes. '

TUESDAY NIGHT. 

I have deposited my letter to Mr. Lovelace. Threatening as things lookagainst me, I am much better pleased with myself for declining theinterview than I was before. I suppose he will be a little out of humourupon it, however: but as I reserved to myself the liberty of changing mymind; and as it is easy for him to imagine there may be reasons for itwithin-doors, which he cannot judge of without; besides those I havesuggested, which of themselves are of sufficient weight to engage hisacquiescence; I should think it strange, if he acquiesces not on thisoccasion, and that with a cheerfulness, which may shew me, that his lastletter is written from his heart: For, if he be really so much concernedat his past faults, as he pretends, and has for some time pretended, must he not, of course, have corrected, in some degree, the impetuosityof his temper? The first step to reformation, as I conceive, is tosubdue sudden gusts of passion, from which frequently the greatest evilsarise, and to learn to bear disappointments. If the irascible passionscannot be overcome, what opinion can we have of the person's power overthose to which bad habit, joined to greater temptation, gives strongerforce?

Pray, my dear, be so kind as to make inquiry, by some safe hand, afterthe disguises Mr. Lovelace assumes at the inn he puts up at in the poorvillage of Neale, he calls it. If it be the same I take it to be, Inever knew it was considerable enough to have a name; nor that it has aninn in it. 

As he must, to be so constantly near us, be much there, I would be gladto have some account of his behaviour; and what the people think of him. In such a length of time, he must by his conduct either give scandal, or hope of reformation. Pray, my dear, humour me in this inquiry. I havereason for it, which you shall be acquainted with another time, if theresult of the inquiry discover them not. 

LETTER XX

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE WEDNESDAY MORNING, NINE O'CLOCK. 

I am just returned from my morning walk, and already have received aletter from Mr. Lovelace in answer to mine deposited last night. Hemust have had pen, ink, and paper with him; for it was written in thecoppice; with this circumstance: On one knee, kneeling with the other. Not from reverence to the written to, however, as you'll find!

Well we are instructed early to keep these men at distance. Anundesigning open heart, where it is loth to disoblige, is easily drawnin, I see, to oblige more than ever it designed. It is too apt to governitself by what a bold spirit is encouraged to expect of it. It is verydifficult for a good-natured young person to give a negative where itdisesteems not. 

Our hearts may harden and contract, as we gain experience, and when wehave smarted perhaps for our easy folly: and so they ought, or we shouldbe upon very unequal terms with the world. 

Excuse these grave reflections. This man has vexed me heartily. I seehis gentleness was art: fierceness, and a temper like what I have beentoo much used to at home, are Nature in him. Nothing, I think, shallever make me forgive him; for, surely, there can be no good reason forhis impatience on an expectation given with reserve, and revocable. --Iso much to suffer through him; yet, to be treated as if I were obligedto bear insults from him--!

But here you will be pleased to read his letter; which I shall enclose. 

TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE

GOOD GOD!

What is now to become of me!--How shall I support thisdisappointment!--No new cause!--On one knee, kneeling with the other, Iwrite!--My feet benumbed with midnight wanderings through the heaviestdews that ever fell: my wig and my linen dripping with the hoar frostdissolving on them!--Day but just breaking--Sun not risen to exhale--Mayit never rise again!--Unless it bring healing and comfort to a benightedsoul! In proportion to the joy you had inspired (ever lovely promiser!)in such proportion is my anguish!

O my beloved creature!--But are not your very excuses confessions ofexcuses inexcusable? I know not what I write!--That servant in yourway!* By the great God of Heaven, that servant was not, dared not, couldnot, be in your way!--Curse upon the cool caution that is pleased todeprive me of an expectation so transporting!

 * See Letter XIX. 

And are things drawing towards a crisis between your friends andyou?--Is not this a reason for me to expect, the rather to expect, thepromised interview?

CAN I write all that is in my mind, say you?--Impossible!--Not thehundredth part of what is in my mind, and in my apprehension, can Iwrite!

Oh! the wavering, the changeable sex!--But can Miss Clarissa Harlowe--

Forgive me, Madam!--I know not what I write!

Yet, I must, I do, insist upon your promise--or that you will condescendto find better excuses for the failure--or convince me, that strongerreasons are imposed upon you, than those you offer. --A promise oncegiven (upon deliberation given, ) the promised only can dispense with;except in cases of a very apparent necessity imposed upon the promiser, which leaves no power to perform it. 

The first promise you ever made me! Life and death perhaps dependingupon it--my heart desponding from the barbarous methods resolved to betaken with you in malice to me!

You would sooner choose death than Solmes. (How my soul spurns thecompetition!) O my beloved creature, what are these but words?--Whosewords?--Sweet and ever adorable--What?--Promise breaker--must I callyou?--How shall I believe the asseveration, (your supposed duty in thequestion! Persecution so flaming!--Hatred to me so strongly avowed!)after this instance of you so lightly dispensing with your promise?

If, my dearest life! you would prevent my distraction, or, at least, distracted consequences, renew the promised hope!--My fate is indeedupon its crisis. 

Forgive me, dearest creature, forgive me!--I know I have written in toomuch anguish of mind!--Writing this, in the same moment that the justdawning light has imparted to me the heavy disappointment. 

I dare not re-peruse what I have written. I must deposit it. It mayserve to shew you my distracted apprehension that this disappointment isbut a prelude to the greatest of all. --Nor, having here any other paper, am I able to write again, if I would, on this gloomy spot. (Gloomy ismy soul; and all Nature around me partakes of my gloom!)--I trust ittherefore to your goodness--if its fervour excite your displeasurerather than your pity, you wrong my passion; and I shall be ready toapprehend, that I am intended to be the sacrifice of more miscreantsthan one! [Have patience with me, dearest creature!--I mean Solmes andyour brother only. ] But if, exerting your usual generosity, you willexcuse and re appoint, may that God, whom you profess to serve, and whois the God of truth and of promises, protect and bless you, for both;and for restoring to himself, and to hope, Your ever-adoring, yet almost desponding, LOVELACE!

Ivy Cavern, in the Coppice--Day but just breaking. 

*****

This is the answer I shall return:

WEDNESDAY MORNING. 

I am amazed, Sir, at the freedom of your reproaches. Pressed and teased, against convenience and inclination, to give you a private meeting, am Ito be thus challenged and upbraided, and my sex reflected upon, becauseI thought it prudent to change my mind?--A liberty I had reservedto myself, when I made the appointment, as you call it. I wanted notinstances of your impatient spirit to other people: yet may it be happyfor me, that I can have this new one; which shows, that you can aslittle spare me, when I pursue the dictates of my own reason, as you doothers, for acting up to theirs. Two motives you must be governed by inthis excess. The one my easiness; the other your own presumption. Sinceyou think you have found out the first, and have shown so much of thelast upon it, I am too much alarmed, not to wish and desire, that yourletter of this day may conclude all the trouble you had from, or for, Your humble servant, CL. HARLOWE. 

*****

I believe, my dear, I may promise myself your approbation, whenever Iwrite or speak with spirit, be it to whom it will. Indeed, I find buttoo much reason to exert it, since I have to deal with people, whogovern themselves in their conduct to me, not by what is fit or decent, right or wrong, but by what they think my temper will bear. I have, tillvery lately, been praised for mine; but it has always been by those whonever gave me opportunity to return the compliment to them. Some peoplehave acted, as if they thought forbearance on one side absolutelynecessary for them and me to be upon good terms together; and in thiscase have ever taken care rather to owe that obligation than to lay it. You have hinted to me, that resentment is not natural to my temper, andthat therefore it must soon subside: it may be so with respect to myrelations; but not to Mr. Lovelace, I assure you. 

WEDNESDAY NOON, MARCH 29. 

We cannot always answer for what we can do: but to convince you, that Ican keep my above resolution, with regard to Mr. Lovelace, angry as myletter is, and three hours since it was written, I assure you, that Irepent it not; nor will soften it, although I find it is not taken away. And yet I hardly ever before did any thing in anger, that I did notrepent in half an hour; and question myself in less that that time, whether I was right or wrong. 

In this respite till Tuesday, I have a little time to look about me, as I may say, and to consider of what I have to do, and can do. And Mr. Lovelace's insolence will make me go very home with myself. Not that Ithink I can conquer my aversion to Mr. Solmes. I am sure I cannot. But, if I absolutely break with Mr. Lovelace, and give my friends convincingproofs of it, who knows but they will restore me to their favour, andlet their views in relation to the other man go off by degrees?--Or, at least, that I may be safe till my cousin Morden arrives: to whom, I think, I will write; and the rather, as Mr. Lovelace has assuredme, that my friends have written to him to make good their side of thequestion. 

But, with all my courage, I am exceedingly apprehensive about theTuesday next, and about what may result from my steadfastness; forsteadfast I am sure I shall be. They are resolved, I am told, to tryevery means to induce me to comply with what they are determined upon. And I am resolved to do all I can to avoid what they would force me todo. A dreadful contention between parents and child!--Each hoping toleave the other without excuse, whatever the consequence may be. 

What can I do? Advise me, my dear. Something is strangely wrongsomewhere! to make parents, the most indulgent till now, seem cruel ina child's eye; and a daughter, till within these few weeks, thoughtunexceptionably dutiful, appear, in their judgment, a rebel!--Oh! myambitious and violent brother! What may he have to answer for to both!

Be pleased to remember, my dear, that your last favour was dated onSaturday. This is Wednesday: and none of mine have been taken awaysince. Don't let me want you advice. My situation is extremelydifficult. --But I am sure you love me still: and not the less on thataccount. Adieu, my beloved friend. 

CL. HARLOWE. 

LETTER XXI

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE THURSDAY MORNING, DAY-BREAK, MARCH30. 

An accident, and not remissness, has occasioned my silence. 

My mother was sent for on Sunday night by her cousin Larkin, whom Imentioned in one of my former, and who was extremely earnest to see her. 

This poor woman was always afraid of death, and was one of those weakpersons who imagine that the making of their will must be an undoubtedforerunner of it. 

She had always said, when urged to the necessary work, That whenever shemade it, she should not live long after; and, one would think, imaginedshe was under an obligation to prove her words: for, though she had beenlong bed-rid, and was, in a manner, worn out before, yet she thoughtherself better, till she was persuaded to make it: and from that moment, remembering what she used to prognosticate, (her fears, helping on whatshe feared, as is often the case, particularly in the small-pox, ) grewworse; and had it in her head once to burn her will, in hopes to growbetter upon it. 

She sent my mother word, that the doctors had given her over: but thatshe could not die till she saw her. I told my mother, That if she wishedher a chance for recovery, she should not, for that reason, go. But goshe would; and, what was worse, would make me go with her; and that, atan hour's warning; for she said nothing of it to me, till she was risingin the morning early, resolving to return again at night. Had there beenmore time for argumentation, to be sure I had not gone; but as it was, there was a kind of necessity that my preparation to obey her, should, in a manner, accompany her command. --A command so much out of the way, on such a solemn occasion! And this I represented: but to no purpose:There never was such a contradicting girl in the world--My wisdomalways made her a fool!--But she would be obliged this time, proper orimproper. 

I have but one way of accounting for this sudden whim of my mother; andthat is this--She had a mind to accept of Mr. Hickman's offer to escorther:--and I verily believe [I wish I were quite sure of it] had a mindto oblige him with my company--as far as I know, to keep me out ofworse. 

For, would you believe it?--as sure as you are alive, she is afraid forher favourite Hickman, because of the long visit your Lovelace, thoughso much by accident, made me in her absence, last time she was at thesame place. I hope, my dear, you are not jealous too. But indeed Inow-and-then, when she teases me with praises which Hickman cannotdeserve, in return fall to praising those qualities and personalities inLovelace, which the other never will have. Indeed I do love to tease alittle bit, that I do. --My mamma's girl--I had like to have said. 

As you know she is as passionate, as I am pert, you will not wonder tobe told, that we generally fall out on these occasions. She flies fromme, at the long run. It would be undutiful in me to leave her first--andthen I get an opportunity to pursue our correspondence. 

For, now I am rambling, let me tell you, that she does not much favourthat;--for two reasons, I believe:--One, that I don't shew her all thatpasses between us; the other, that she thinks I harden your mind againstyour duty, as it is called. And with her, for a reason at home, as Ihave hinted more than once, parents cannot do wrong; children cannotoppose, and be right. This obliges me now-and-then to steal an hour, asI may say, and not let her know how I am employed. 

You may guess from what I have written, how averse I was to comply withsuch an unreasonable stretch of motherly authority. But it came to be atest of duty; so I was obliged to yield, though with a full persuasionof being in the right. 

I have always your reproofs upon these occasions: in your late lettersstronger than ever. A good reason why, you'll say, because more deservedthan ever. I thank you kindly for your correction. I hope to makecorrection of it. But let me tell you, that your stripes, whetherdeserved or not, have made me sensible, deeper than the skin--but ofthis another time. 

It was Monday afternoon before we reached the old lady's house. Thatfiddling, parading fellow [you know who I mean] made us wait for him twohours, and I to go to a journey I disliked! only for the sake of havinga little more tawdry upon his housings; which he had hurried his sadlerto put on, to make him look fine, being to escort his dear Madam Howe, and her fair daughter. I told him, that I supposed he was afraid, thatthe double solemnity in the case (that of the visit to a dying woman, and that of his own countenance) would give him the appearance of anundertaker; to avoid which, he ran into as bad an extreme, and I doubtedwould be taken for a mountebank. 

The man was confounded. He took it as strongly, as if his consciencegave assent to the justice of the remark: otherwise he would have borneit better; for he is used enough to this sort of treatment. I thought hewould have cried. I have heretofore observed, that on this side of thecontract, he seems to be a mighty meek sort of creature. And though Ishould like it in him hereafter perhaps, yet I can't help despising hima little in my heart for it now. I believe, my dear, we all love yourblustering fellows best; could we but direct the bluster, and bid itroar when and at whom we pleased. 

The poor man looked at my mother. She was so angry, (my airs upon it, and my opposition to the journey, have all helped, ) that for half theway she would not speak to me. And when she did, it was, I wish I hadnot brought you! You know not what it is to condescend. It is my fault, not Mr. Hickman's, that you are here so much against your will. Have youno eyes for this side of the chariot?

And then he fared the better from her, as he always does, for faringworse from me: for there was, How do you now, Sir? And how do you now, Mr. Hickman? as he ambled now on this side of the chariot, now on that, stealing a prim look at me; her head half out of the chariot, kindlysmiling, as if married to the man but a fortnight herself: while Ialways saw something to divert myself on the side of the chariot wherethe honest man was not, were it but old Robin at a distance, on his roanKeffel. 

Our courtship-days, they say, are our best days. Favour destroyscourtship. Distance increases it. Its essence is distance. And, to seehow familiar these men-wretches grow upon a smile, what an awe they arestruck into when we frown; who would not make them stand off? Who wouldnot enjoy a power, that is to be short-lived?

Don't chide me one bit for this, my dear. It is in nature. I can't helpit. Nay, for that matter, I love it, and wish not to help it. So spareyour gravity, I beseech you on this subject. I set up not for a perfectcharacter. The man will bear it. And what need you care? My motheroverbalances all he suffers: And if he thinks himself unhappy, he oughtnever to be otherwise. 

Then did he not deserve a fit of the sullens, think you, to make us loseour dinner for his parade, since in so short a journey my mother wouldnot bait, and lose the opportunity of coming back that night, had theold lady's condition permitted it? To say nothing of being the cause, that my mamma was in the glout with her poor daughter all the way. 

At our alighting I gave him another dab; but it was but a little one. Yet the manner, and the air, made up (as I intended they should) forthat defect. My mother's hand was kindly put into his, with a simperingaltogether bridal; and with another How do you now, Sir?--All his plumpmuscles were in motion, and a double charge of care and obsequiousnessfidgeted up his whole form, when he offered to me his officious palm. My mother, when I was a girl, always bid me hold up my head. I just thenremembered her commands, and was dutiful--I never held up my head sohigh. With an averted supercilious eye, and a rejecting hand, halfflourishing--I have no need of help, Sir!--You are in my way. 

He ran back, as if on wheels; with a face excessively mortified: I hadthoughts else to have followed the too-gentle touch, with a declaration, that I had as many hands and feet as himself. But this would have beentelling him a piece of news, as to the latter, that I hope he had notthe presumption to guess at. 

*****

We found the poor woman, as we thought, at the last gasp. Had we comesooner, we could not have got away as we intended, that night. You see Iam for excusing the man all I can; and yet, I assure you, I have not somuch as a conditional liking to him. My mother sat up most part of thenight, expecting every hour would have been her poor cousin's last. Ibore her company till two. 

I never saw the approaches of death in a grown person before; and wasextremely shocked. Death, to one in health, is a very terrible thing. Wepity the person for what she suffers: and we pity ourselves for what wemust some time hence in like sort suffer; and so are doubly affected. 

She held out till Tuesday morning, eleven. As she had told my motherthat she had left her an executrix, and her and me rings and mourning;we were employed all that day in matters of the will [by which, by theway, my own cousin Jenny Fynnett is handsomely provided for], so that itwas Wednesday morning early, before we could set out on our return. 

It is true, we got home (having no housings to stay for) by noon: butthough I sent Robin away before he dismounted, (who brought me backa whole packet, down to the same Wednesday noon, ) yet was I really sofatigued, and shocked, as I must own, at the hard death of the oldlady; my mother likewise (who has no reason to dislike this world) beingindisposed from the same occasion; that I could not set about writingtime enough for Robin's return that night. 

But having recruited my spirits, my mother having also had a good night, I arose with the dawn, to write this, and get it dispatched time enoughfor your breakfast airing; that your suspense might be as short aspossible. 

*****

I will soon follow this with another. I will employ a person directlyto find out how Lovelace behaves himself at his inn. Such a busy spiritmust be traceable. 

But, perhaps, my dear, you are indifferent now about him, or hisemployments; for this request was made before he mortally offended you. Nevertheless, I will have inquiry made. The result, it is very probable, will be of use to confirm you in your present unforgiving temper. --Andyet, if the poor man [shall I pity him for you, my dear?] should bedeprived of the greatest blessing any man on earth can receive, and towhich he has the presumption, with so little merit, to aspire; he willhave run great risks; caught great colds; hazarded fevers; sustainedthe highest indignities; braved the inclemencies of skies, and allfor--nothing!--Will not this move your generosity (if nothing else) inhis favour!--Poor Mr. Lovelace--!

I would occasion no throb; nor half-throb; no flash of sensibility, likelightning darting in, and as soon suppressed by a discretion that noone of the sex ever before could give such an example of--I would not, I say; and yet, for such a trial of you to yourself, rather than as animpertinent overflow of raillery in your friend, as money-takers try asuspected guinea by the sound, let me on such a supposition, sound you, by repeating, poor Mr. Lovelace!

And now, my dear, how is it with you? How do you now, as my mother saysto Mr. Hickman, when her pert daughter has made him look sorrowful?

LETTER XXII

MR. HICKMAN, TO MRS. HOWE WEDNESDAY, MARCH 29. 

MADAM, It is with infinite regret that I think myself obliged, by pen and ink, to repeat my apprehension, that it is impossible for me ever to obtain ashare in the affections of your beloved daughter. O that it were not tooevident to every one, as well as to myself, even to our very servants, that my love for her, and my assiduities, expose me rather to her scorn[forgive me, Madam, the hard word!] than to the treatment due to a manwhose proposals have met with your approbation, and who loves her aboveall the women in the world!

Well might the merit of my passion be doubted, if, like Mr. Solmes tothe truly-admirably Miss Clarissa Harlowe, I could continue my addressesto Miss Howe's distaste. Yet what will not the discontinuance cost me!

Give me leave, nevertheless, dearest, worthiest Lady, to repeat, what Itold you, on Monday night, at Mrs. Larkin's, with a heart even burstingwith grief, That I wanted not the treatment of that day to convinceme, that I am not, nor ever can be, the object of Miss Howe's voluntaryfavour. What hopes can there be, that a lady will ever esteem, as ahusband, the man, whom, as a lover, she despises? Will not every actof obligingness from such a one, be construed as an unmanly tamenessof spirit, and entitle him the more to her disdain?--My heart is full:Forgive me, if I say, that Miss Howe's treatment of me does no crediteither to her education, or fine sense. 

Since, then, it is too evident, that she cannot esteem me; and since, asI have heard it justly observed by the excellent Miss Clarissa Harlowe, that love is not a voluntary passion; would it not be ungenerous tosubject the dear daughter to the displeasure of a mother so justly fondof her; and you, Madam, while you are so good as to interest yourself inmy favour, to uneasiness? And why, were I even to be sure, at last, ofsucceeding by means of your kind partiality to me, should I wish to makethe best-beloved of my soul unhappy; since mutual must be our happiness, or misery for life the consequence to both?

My best wishes will for ever attend the dear, the ever-dear lady! mayher nuptials be happy! they must be so, if she marry the man she canhonour with her love. Yet I will say, that whoever be the happy, thethrice-happy man, he can never love her with a passion more ardent andmore sincere than mine. 

Accept, dear Madam, of my most grateful thanks for a distinction thathas been the only support of my presumption in an address I am obliged, as utterly hopeless, to discontinue. A distinction, on which (and noton my own merits) I had entirely relied; but which, I find, can avail menothing. To the last hour of my life, it will give me pleasure to think, that had your favour, your recommendation, been of sufficient weight toconquer what seems to be an invincible aversion, I had been the happiestof men. 

I am, dear Madam, with inviolable respect, your ever obliged andfaithful humble servant, CHARLES HICKMAN. 

LETTER XXIII

MRS. HOWE, TO CHARLES HICKMAN, ESQ. THURSDAY, MARCH 30. 

I cannot but say, Mr. Hickman, but you have cause to be dissatisfied--tobe out of humour--to be displeased--with Nancy--but, upon my word; butindeed--What shall I say?--Yet this I will say, that you good younggentlemen know nothing at all of our sex. Shall I tell you--but whyshould I? And yet I will, that if Nancy did not think well of you uponthe main, she is too generous to treat you so freely as she does. --Don'tyou think she has courage enough to tell me, she would not see you, andto refuse at any time seeing you, as she knows on what account you come, if she had not something in her head favourable to you?--Fie! that I amforced to say thus much in writing, when I have hinted it to you twentyand twenty times by word of mouth!

But if you are so indifferent, Mr. Hickman--if you think you can partwith her for her skittish tricks--if my interest in your favour--Why, Mr. Hickman, I must tell you that my Nancy is worth bearing with. If shebe foolish--what is that owing to?--Is it not to her wit? Let me tellyou, Sir, you cannot have the convenience without the inconvenience. What workman loves not a sharp tool to work with? But is there not moredanger from a sharp tool than from a blunt one? And what workman willthrow away a sharp tool, because it may cut his fingers? Wit may belikened to a sharp tool. And there is something very pretty in wit, letme tell you. Often and often have I been forced to smile at her archturns upon me, when I could have beat her for them. And, pray, don't Ibear a great deal from her?--And why? because I love her. And would younot wish me to judge of your love for her by my own? And would not youbear with her?--Don't you love her (what though with another sort oflove?) as well as I do? I do assure you, Sir, that if I thought you didnot--Well, but it is plain that you don't!--And is it plain that youdon't?--Well, then, you must do as you think best. 

Well might the merit of your passion be doubted, you say, if, like Mr. Solmes--fiddle-faddle!--Why, you are a captious man, I think!--Has Nancybeen so plain in her repulses of you as Miss Clary Harlowe has been toMr. Solmes?--Does Nancy love any man better than you, although she maynot shew so much love to you as you wish for?--If she did, let me tellyou, she would have let us all hear of it. --What idle comparisons then!

But it mat be you are tired out. It may be you have seen somebodyelse--it may be you would wish to change mistresses with that gay wretchMr. Lovelace. It may be too, that, in that case, Nancy would not besorry to change lovers--The truly-admirable Miss Clarissa Harlowe!--Goodlack!-but take care, Mr. Hickman, that you do not praise any womanliving, let her be as admirable and as excellent as she will, above yourown mistress. No polite man will do that, surely. And take caretoo, that you do not make her or me think you are in earnest in youranger--just though it may be, as anger only--I would not for a thousandpounds, that Nancy should know that you can so easily part with her, ifyou have the love for her which you declare you have. Be sure, if youare not absolutely determined, that you do not so much as whisper thecontents of this your letter to your own heart, as I may say. 

Her treatment of you, you say, does no credit either to her educationor fine sense. Very home put, truly! Nevertheless, so say I. But is nothers the disgrace, more than yours? I can assure you, that every bodyblames her for it. And why do they blame her?--Why? because they thinkyou merit better treatment at her hands: And is not this to your credit?Who but pities you, and blames he? Do the servants, who, as you observe, see her skittish airs, disrespect you for them? Do they not, at suchtimes, look concerned for you? Are they not then doubly officious intheir respects and services to you?--I have observed, with pleasure, that they are. 

But you are afraid you shall be thought tame, perhaps, when married. That you shall not be though manly enough, I warrant!--And this was poorMr. Howe's fear. And many a tug did this lordly fear cost us both, Godknows!--Many more than needed, I am sure:--and more than ought to havebeen, had he known how to bear and forbear; as is the duty of those whopretend to have most sense--And, pray, which would you have to have mostsense, the woman or the man?

Well, Sir, and now what remains, if you really love Nancy so well as yousay you do?--Why, I leave that to you. You may, if you please, come tobreakfast with me in the morning. But with no full heart, nor resentinglooks, I advise you; except you can brave it out. That have I, whenprovoked, done many a time with my husband, but never did I get anything by it with my daughter: much less will you. Of which, for yourobservation, I thought fit to advise you. As from

Your friend, Anabella Howe. 

LETTER XXIV

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE THURSDAY MORNING. 

I will now take some notice of your last favour. But being so farbehind-hand with you, must be brief. 

In the first place, as to your reproofs, thus shall I discharge myselfof that part of my subject. Is it likely, think you, that I should avoiddeserving them now-and-then, occasionally, when I admire the manner inwhich you give me your rebukes, and love you the better for them? Andwhen you are so well entitled to give them? For what faults can youpossibly have, unless your relations are so kind as to find you a few tokeep their many in countenance?--But they are as king to me in this, asto you; for I may venture to affirm, That any one who should readyour letters, and would say you were right, would not on reading mine, condemn me for them quite wrong. 

Your resolution not to leave your father's house is right--if you canstay in it, and avoid being Solmes's wife. 

I think you have answered Solmes's letter, as I should have answeredit. --Will you not compliment me and yourself at once, by saying, thatwas right?

You have, in your letters to your uncle and the rest, done all that youought to do. You are wholly guiltless of the consequence, be it what itwill. To offer to give up your estate!--That would not I have done! Yousee this offer staggered them: they took time to consider of it. Theymade my heart ache in the time they took. I was afraid they would havetaken you at your word: and so, but for shame, and for fear of Lovelace, I dare say they would. You are too noble for them. This, I repeat, is anoffer I would not have made. Let me beg of you, my dear, never to repeatthe temptation to them. 

I freely own to you, that their usage of you upon it, and Lovelace'sdifferent treatment of you* in his letter received at the same time, would have made me his, past redemption. The duce take the man, I wasgoing to say, for not having so much regard to his character and morals, as would have entirely justified such a step in a CLARISSA, persecutedas she is!

 * See Letter XVIII. 

I wonder not at your appointment with him. I may further touch upon somepart of this subject by-and-by. 

Pray--pray--I pray you now, my dearest friend, contrive to send yourBetty Banes to me!--Does the Coventry Act extend to women, know ye?--Theleast I will do, shall be, to send her home well soused in and draggedthrough our deepest horsepond. I'll engage, if I get her hither, thatshe will keep the anniversary of her deliverance as long as she lives. 

I wonder not at Lovelace's saucy answer, saucy as it really is. * If heloves you as he ought, he must be vexed at so great a disappointment. The man must have been a detestable hypocrite, I think, had he not shownhis vexation. Your expectations of such a christian command of temperin him, in a disappointment of this nature especially, are too early byalmost half a century in a man of his constitution. But nevertheless Iam very far from blaming you for your resentment. 

 * See Letter XX. 

I shall be all impatience to know how this matter ends between you andhim. But a few inches of brick wall between you so lately; and now suchmountains?--And you think to hold it?--May be so!

You see, you say, that the temper he shewed in his letter was notnatural to him. Wretched creepers and insinuators! Yet when opportunityserves, as insolent encroachers!--This very Hickman, I make no doubt, would be as saucy as your Lovelace, if he dared. He has not half thearrogant bravery of the other, and can better hide his horns; that'sall. But whenever he has the power, depend upon it, he will butt at oneas valiantly as the other. 

If ever I should be persuaded to have him, I shall watch how theobsequious lover goes off; and how the imperative husband comes uponhim; in short, how he ascends, and how I descend, in the matrimonialwheel, never to take my turn again, but by fits and starts like thefeeble struggles of a sinking state for its dying liberty. 

All good-natured men are passionate, says Mr. Lovelace. A pretty pleato a beloved object in the plenitude of her power! As much as to say, 'Greatly I value you, Madam, I will not take pains to curb my passionsto oblige you'--Methinks I should be glad to hear from Mr. Hickman sucha plea for good nature as this. 

Indeed, we are too apt to make allowances for such tempers as earlyindulgence has made uncontroulable; and therefore habitually evil. Butif a boisterous temper, when under obligation, is to be thus allowedfor, what, when the tables are turned, will it expect? You know ahusband, who, I fancy, had some of these early allowances made for him:and you see that neither himself nor any body else is the happier forit. 

The suiting of the tempers of two persons who are to come together, isa great matter: and there should be boundaries fixed between them, byconsent as it were, beyond which neither should go: and each should holdthe other to it; or there would probably be encroachment in both. Toillustrate my assertion by a very high, and by a more manly (as somewould think it) than womanly instance--if the boundaries of thethree estates that constitute our political union were not known, and occasionally asserted, what would become of the prerogatives andprivileges of each? The two branches of the legislature would encroachupon each other; and the executive power would swallow up both. 

But if two persons of discretion, you'll say, come together--

Ay, my dear, that's true: but, if none but persons of discretion wereto marry--And would it not surprise you if I were to advance, that thepersons of discretion are generally single?--Such persons are aptto consider too much, to resolve. --Are not you and I complimented assuch?--And would either of us marry, if the fellows and our friendswould let us alone?

But to the former point;--had Lovelace made his addresses to me, (unlessindeed I had been taken with a liking for him more than conditional, )I would have forbid him, upon the first passionate instance of hisgood-nature, as he calls it, ever to see me more: 'Thou must bear withme, honest friend, might I have said [had I condescended to say anything to him] an hundred times more than this:--Begone, therefore!--Ibear with no passions that are predominant to that thou has pretendedfor me!'

But to one of your mild and gentle temper, it would be all one, wereyou married, whether the man were a Lovelace or a Hickman in hisspirit. --You are so obediently principled, that perhaps you would havetold a mild man, that he must not entreat, but command; and that itwas beneath him not to exact from you the obedience you had so solemnlyvowed to him at the altar. --I know of old, my dear, your meek regardto that little piddling part of the marriage-vow which someprerogative-monger foisted into the office, to make that a duty, whichhe knew was not a right. 

Our way of training-up, you say, makes us need the protection of thebrave. Very true: And how extremely brave and gallant is it, that thisbrave man will free us from all insults but those which will go nearestto our hearts; that is to say, his own!

How artfully has Lovelace, in the abstract you give me of one ofhis letters, calculated to your meridian! Generous spirits hatecompulsion!--He is certainly a deeper creature by much than once wethought him. He knows, as you intimate, that his own wild pranks cannotbe concealed: and so owns just enough to palliate (because it teachesyou not to be surprised at) any new one, that may come to your ears; andthen, truly, he is, however faulty, a mighty ingenuous man; and by nomeans an hypocrite: a character the most odious of all others, to oursex, in a lover, and the least to be forgiven, were it only because, when detected, it makes us doubt the justice of those praises which weare willing to believe he thought to be our due. 

By means of this supposed ingenuity, Lovelace obtains a praise, insteadof a merited dispraise; and, like an absolved confessionaire, wipes offas he goes along one score, to begin another: for an eye favourableto him will not see his faults through a magnifying glass; nor will awoman, willing to hope the best, forbear to impute it to ill-will andprejudice all that charity can make so imputable. And if she even givecredit to such of the unfavourable imputations as may be too flagrantto be doubted, she will be very apt to take in the future hope, whichhe inculcates, and which to question would be to question her own power, and perhaps merit: and thus may a woman be inclined to make a slight, even a fancied merit atone for the most glaring vice. 

I have a reason, a new one, for this preachment upon a text you havegiven me. But, till I am better informed, I will not explain myself. If it come out, as I shrewdly suspect it will, the man, my dear, is adevil; and you must rather think of--I protest I had like to have saidSolmes than him. 

But let this be as it will, shall I tell you, how, after all hisoffences, he may creep in with you again?

I will. Thus then: It is but to claim for himself the good-naturedcharacter: and this, granted, will blot out the fault of passionateinsolence: and so he will have nothing to do, but this hour toaccustom you to insult; the next, to bring you to forgive him, uponhis submission: the consequence must be, that he will, by this teazing, break your resentment all to pieces: and then, a little more of theinsult, and a little less of the submission, on his part, will go down, till nothing else but the first will be seen, and not a bit of thesecond. You will then be afraid to provoke so offensive a spirit: andat last will be brought so prettily, and so audibly, to pronounce thelittle reptile word OBEY, that it will do one's heart good to hear you. The Muscovite wife then takes place of the managed mistress. And ifyou doubt the progression, be pleased, my dear, to take your mother'sjudgment upon it. 

But no more of this just now. Your situation is become too critical topermit me to dwell upon these sort of topics. And yet this is but anaffected levity with me. My heart, as I have heretofore said, is asincere sharer in all your distresses. My sun-shine darts but througha drizly cloud. My eye, were you to see it, when it seems to you sogladdened, as you mentioned in a former, is more than ready to overflow, even at the very passages perhaps upon which you impute to me thearchness of exultation. 

But now the unheard-of cruelty and perverseness of some of your friends[relations, I should say--I am always blundering thus!] the as strangedeterminedness of others; your present quarrel with Lovelace; and yourapproaching interview with Solmes, from which you are right to apprehenda great deal; are such considerable circumstances in your story, that itis fit they should engross all my attention. 

You ask me to advise you how to behave upon Solmes's visit. I cannot formy life. I know they expect a great deal from it: you had not else hadyour long day complied with. All I will say is, That if Solmes cannotbe prevailed for, now that Lovelace has so much offended you, he neverwill. When the interview is over, I doubt not but that I shall havereason to say, that all you did, that all you said, was right, and couldnot be better: yet, if I don't think so, I won't say so; that I promiseyou. 

Only let me advise you to pull up a spirit, even to your uncle, if therebe occasion. Resent the vile and foolish treatment you meet with, inwhich he has taken so large a share, and make him ashamed of it, if youcan. 

I know not, upon recollection, but this interview may be a good thingfor you, however designed. For when Solmes sees (if that be to be so)that it is impossible he should succeed with you; and your relations seeit too; the one must, I think, recede, and the other come to terms withyou, upon offers, that it is my opinion, will go hard enough with you tocomply with; when the still harder are dispensed with. 

There are several passages in your last letters, as well as in yourformer, which authorize me to say this. But it would be unseasonable totouch this subject farther just now. 

But, upon the whole, I have no patience to see you thus made sport ofyour brother's and sister's cruelty: For what, after so much steadinesson your part, in so many trials, can be their hope? except indeed it beto drive you to extremity, and to ruin you in the opinion of your unclesas well as father. 

I urge you by all means to send out of their reach all the lettersand papers you would not have them see. Methinks, I would wish you todeposit likewise a parcel of clothes, linen, and the like, before yourinterview with Solmes: lest you should not have an opportunity for itafterwards. Robin shall fetch it away on the first orders by day or bynight. 

I am in hopes to procure from my mother, if things come to extremity, leave for you to be privately with us. 

I will condition to be good-humoured, and even kind, to HER favourite, if she will shew me an indulgence that shall make me serviceable toMINE. 

This alternative has been a good while in my head. But as your foolishuncle has so strangely attached my mother to their views, I cannotpromise that I shall succeed as I wish. 

Do not absolutely despair, however. What though the contention will bebetween woman and woman? I fancy I shall be able to manage it, by thehelp of a little female perseverance. Your quarrel with Lovelace, ifit continue, will strengthen my hands. And the offers you made in youranswer to your uncle Harlowe's letter of Sunday night last, duly dweltupon, must add force to my pleas. 

I depend upon your forgiveness of all the perhaps unseasonableflippancies of your naturally too lively, yet most sincerelysympathizing, ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER XXV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE FRIDAY, MARCH 31. 

You have very kindly accounted for your silence. People in misfortuneare always in doubt. They are too apt to turn even unavoidable accidentsinto slights and neglects; especially in those whose favourable opinionthey wish to preserve. 

I am sure I ought evermore to exempt my Anna Howe from the supposedpossibility of her becoming one of those who bask only in the sun-shineof a friend: but nevertheless her friendship is too precious to me, notto doubt my own merits on the one hand, and not to be anxious for thepreservation of it, on the other. 

You so generously gave me liberty to chide you, that I am afraid oftaking it, because I could sooner mistrust my own judgment, than that ofa beloved friend, whose ingenuousness in acknowledging an imputed errorseems to set her above the commission of a wilful one. This makesme half-afraid to ask you, if you think you are not too cruel, tooungenerous shall I say? in your behaviour to a man who loves you sodearly, and is so worthy and so sincere a man?

Only it is by YOU, or I should be ashamed to be outdone in that truemagnanimity, which makes one thankful for the wounds given by a truefriend. I believe I was guilty of a petulance, which nothing but myuneasy situation can excuse; if that can. I am but almost afraid to begof you, and yet I repeatedly do, to give way to that charming spirit, whenever it rises to your pen, which smiles, yet goes to the quick of myfault. What patient shall be afraid of a probe in so delicate a hand?--Isay, I am almost afraid to pray you to give way to it, for fear youshould, for that very reason, restrain it. For the edge may be takenoff, if it does not make the subject of its raillery wince a little. Permitted or desired satire may be apt, in a generous satirist, mendingas it rallies, to turn too soon into panegyric. Yours is intended toinstruct; and though it bites, it pleases at the same time: no fear of awound's wrankling or festering by so delicate a point as you carry;not envenomed by personality, not intending to expose, or ridicule, orexasperate. The most admired of our moderns know nothing of this art:Why? Because it must be founded in good nature, and directed by a rightheart. The man, not the fault, is generally the subject of their satire:and were it to be just, how should it be useful; how should it answerany good purpose; when every gash (for their weapon is a broad sword, not a lancet) lets in the air of public ridicule, and exasperates whereit should heal? Spare me not therefore because I am your friend. Forthat very reason spare me not. I may feel your edge, fine as it is. Imay be pained: you would lose you end if I were not: but after the firstsensibility (as I have said more than once before) I will love you thebetter, and my amended heart shall be all yours; and it will then bemore worthy to be yours. 

You have taught me what to say to, and what to think of, Mr. Lovelace. You have, by agreeable anticipation, let me know how it is probable hewill apply to me to be excused. I will lay every thing before you thatshall pass on the occasion, if he do apply, that I may take your advice, when it can come in time; and when it cannot, that I may receive yourcorrection, or approbation, as I may happen to merit either. --Only onething must be allowed for me; that whatever course I shall be permittedor be forced to steer, I must be considered as a person out of her owndirection. Tost to and fro by the high winds of passionate controul, (and, as I think, unseasonable severity, ) I behold the desired port, the single state, into which I would fain steer; but am kept off bythe foaming billows of a brother's and sister's envy, and by the ragingwinds of a supposed invaded authority; while I see in Lovelace, therocks on one hand, and in Solmes, the sands on the other; and tremble, lest I should split upon the former, or strike upon the latter. 

But you, my better pilot, to what a charming hope do you bid me aspire, if things come to extremity!--I will not, as you caution me, too muchdepend upon your success with your mother in my favour; for well I knowher high notions of implicit duty in a child: but yet I will hope too;because her seasonable protection may save me perhaps from a greaterrashness: and in this case, she shall direct me in all my ways: I willdo nothing but by her orders, and by her advice and yours: not seeany body: not write to any body: nor shall any living soul, but by herdirection and yours, know where I am. In any cottage place me, I willnever stir out, unless, disguised as your servant, I am now-and-thenpermitted an evening-walk with you: and this private protection to begranted for no longer time than till my cousin Morden comes; which, as Ihope, cannot be long. 

I am afraid I must not venture to take the hint you give me, to depositsome of my clothes; although I will some of my linen, as well as papers. 

I will tell you why--Betty had for some time been very curious about mywardrobe, whenever I took out any of my things before her. 

Observing this, I once, on taking one of my garden-airings, left my keysin the locks: and on my return surprised the creature with her hand uponthe keys, as if shutting the door. 

She was confounded at my sudden coming back. I took no notice: but onher retiring, I found my cloaths were not in the usual order. 

I doubted not, upon this, that her curiosity was owing to the orders shehad received; and being afraid they would abridge me of my airings, iftheir suspicions were not obviated, it has ever since been my custom(among other contrivances) not only to leave my keys in the locks, butto employ the wench now-and-then in taking out my cloaths, suit by suit, on pretence of preventing their being rumpled or creased, and to seethat the flowered silver suit did not tarnish: sometimes declaredly togive myself employment, having little else to do. With which employment(superadded to the delight taken by the low as well as by the high ofour sex in seeing fine cloaths) she seemed always, I thought, as wellpleased as if it answered one of the offices she had in charge. 

To this, and to the confidence they have in a spy so diligent, andto their knowing that I have not one confidant in a family in whichnevertheless I believe every servant loves me; nor have attemptedto make one; I suppose, I owe the freedom I enjoy of my airings: andperhaps (finding I make no movements towards going away) they are themore secure, that I shall at last be prevailed upon to comply withtheir measures: since they must think, that, otherwise, they give meprovocation enough to take some rash step, in order to free myselffrom a treatment so disgraceful; and which [God forgive me, if I judgeamiss!] I am afraid my brother and sister would not be sorry to drive meto take. 

If, therefore, such a step should become necessary, (which I yet hopewill not, ) I must be contented to go away with the clothes I shallhave on at the time. My custom to be dressed for the day, as soon asbreakfast is over, when I have had no household employments to preventme, will make such a step (if I am forced to take it) less suspected. And the linen I shall deposit, in pursuance of your kind hint, cannot bemissed. 

This custom, although a prisoner, (as I may too truly say, ) and neithervisited nor visiting, I continue. We owe to ourselves, and to our sex, you know, to be always neat; and never to be surprised in a way weshould be pained to be seen in. 

Besides, people in adversity (which is the state of trial of every goodquality) should endeavour to preserve laudable customs, that, if sunshine return, they may not be losers by their trial. 

Does it not, moreover, manifest a firmness of mind, in an unhappyperson, to keep hope alive? To hope for better days, is half to deservethem: for could we have just ground for such a hope, if we did notresolve to deserve what that hope bids us aspire to?--Then who shallbefriend a person who forsakes herself?

These are reflections by which I sometimes endeavour to support myself. 

I know you don't despise my grave airs, although (with a view no doubtto irradiate my mind in my misfortunes) you rally me upon them. Everybody has not your talent of introducing serious and important lessons, in such a happy manner as at once to delight and instruct. 

What a multitude of contrivances may not young people fall upon, if themind be not engaged by acts of kindness and condescension! I am not usedby my friends of late as I always used their servants. 

When I was intrusted with the family-management, I always found itright, as well in policy as generosity, to repose a trust in them. Notto seem to expect or depend upon justice from them, is in a manner tobid them to take opportunities, whenever they offer, to be unjust. 

Mr. Solmes, (to expatiate on this low, but not unuseful subject, ) in hismore trifling solicitudes, would have had a sorry key-keeper in me. WereI mistress of a family, I would not either take to myself, or give toservants, the pain of keeping those I had reason to suspect. People lowin station have often minds not sordid. Nay, I have sometimes thought, that (even take number for number) there are more honest low people, than honest high. In the one, honest is their chief pride. In the other, the love of power, of grandeur, of pleasure, mislead; and that and theirambition induce a paramount pride, which too often swallows up the morelaudable one. 

Many of the former would scorn to deceive a confidence. But I have seen, among the most ignorant of their class, a susceptibility of resentment, if their honesty has been suspected: and have more than once been forcedto put a servant right, whom I have heard say, that, although she valuedherself upon her honesty, no master or mistress should suspect her fornothing. 

How far has the comparison I had in my head, between my friendstreatment of me, and my treatment of the servants, carried me!--But wealways allowed ourselves to expatiate on such subjects, whether lowor high, as might tend to enlarge our minds, or mend our management, whether notional or practical, and whether such expatiating respectedour present, or might respect our probable future situations. 

What I was principally leading to, was to tell you how ingenious I am inmy contrivances and pretences to blind my gaoleress, and to take off thejealousy of her principals on my going down so often into the garden andpoultry-yard. People suspiciously treated are never I believe at a lossfor invention. Sometimes I want air, and am better the moment I am outof my chamber. --Sometimes spirits; and then my bantams and pheasants orthe cascade divert me; the former, by their inspiring liveliness; thelatter, by its echoing dashes, and hollow murmurs. --Sometimes, solitudeis of all things my wish; and the awful silence of the night, thespangled element, and the rising and setting sun, how promotive ofcontemplation!--Sometimes, when I intend nothing, and expect no letters, I am officious to take Betty with me; and at others, bespeak herattendance, when I know she is otherwise employed, and cannot give itme. 

These more capital artifices I branch out into lesser ones, withoutnumber. Yet all have not only the face of truth, but are real truths;although not my principal motive. How prompt a thing is will!--Whatimpediments does dislike furnish!--How swiftly, through everydifficulty, do we move with the one!--how tardily with the other!--everytrifling obstruction weighing us down, as if lead were fastened to ourfeet!

FRIDAY MORNING, ELEVEN O'CLOCK. 

I have already made up my parcel of linen. My heart ached all the timeI was employed about it; and still aches, at the thoughts of its being anecessary precaution. 

When the parcel comes to your hands, as I hope it safely will, you willbe pleased to open it. You will find in it two parcels sealed up; oneof which contains the letters you have not yet seen; being those writtensince I left you: in the other are all the letters and copies of lettersthat have passed between you and me since I was last with you; with someother papers on subjects so much above me, that I cannot wish them to beseen by any body whose indulgence I am not so sure of, as I am of yours. If my judgment ripen with my years, perhaps I may review them. 

Mrs. Norton used to say, from her reverend father, that youth was thetime of life for imagination and fancy to work in: then, were a writerto lay by his works till riper years and experience should direct thefire rather to glow, than to flame out; something between both mightperhaps be produced that would not displease a judicious eye. 

In a third division, folded up separately, are all Mr. Lovelace'sletters written to me since he was forbidden this house, and copiesof my answers to them. I expect that you will break the seals of thisparcel, and when you have perused them all, give me your free opinion ofmy conduct. 

By the way, not a line from that man!--Not one line! Wednesday Ideposited mine. It remained there on Wednesday night. What time it wastaken away yesterday I cannot tell: for I did not concern myself aboutit, till towards night; and then it was not there. No return at ten thisday. I suppose he is as much out of humour as I. --With all my heart. 

He may be mean enough perhaps, if ever I should put it into his power, to avenge himself for the trouble he has had with me. --But that now, Idare say, I never shall. 

I see what sort of a man the encroacher is. And I hope we are equallysick of one another. --My heart is vexedly easy, if I may so describeit. --Vexedly--because of the apprehended interview with Solmes, and theconsequences it may be attended with: or else I should be quite easy;for why? I have not deserved the usage I receive: and could I be rid ofSolmes, as I presume I am of Lovelace, their influence over my father, mother, and uncles, against me, could not hold. 

The five guineas tied up in one corner of a handkerchief under thelinen, I beg you will let pass as an acknowledgement for the troubleI give your trusty servant. You must not chide me for this. You know Icannot be easy unless I have my way in these little matters. 

I was going to put up what little money I have, and some of myornaments; but they are portable, and I cannot forget them. Besides, should they (suspecting me) desire to see any of the jewels, and wereI not able to produce them, it would amount to a demonstration of anintention which would have a guilty appearance to them. 

FRIDAY, ONE O'CLOCK, IN THE WOOD-HOUSE. 

No letter yet from this man! I have luckily deposited my parcel, andhave your letter of last night. If Robert take this without the parcel, pray let him return immediately for it. But he cannot miss it, I think:and must conclude that it is put there for him to take away. You maybelieve, from the contents of yours, that I shall immediately writeagain. --

CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER XXVI

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE THURSDAY NIGHT, MARCH 30. 

The fruits of my inquiry after your abominable wretch's behaviour andbaseness at the paltry alehouse, which he calls an inn, prepare to hear. 

Wrens and sparrows are not too ignoble a quarry for this villainousgos-hawk!--His assiduities; his watchings; his nightly risques; theinclement weather he journeys in; must not be all placed to youraccount. He has opportunities of making every thing light to him ofthat sort. A sweet pretty girl, I am told--innocent till he wentthither--Now! (Ah! poor girl!) who knows what?

But just turned of seventeen!--His friend and brother-rake (a man ofhumour and intrigue) as I am told, to share the social bottle with. And sometimes another disguised rake or two. No sorrow comes near theirhearts. Be not disturbed, my dear, at his hoarsenesses! his pretty, Betsey, his Rosebud, as the vile wretch calls her, can hear all he says. 

He is very fond of her. They say she is innocent even yet--her father, her grandmother, believe her to be so. He is to fortune her out to ayoung lover!--Ah! the poor young lover!--Ah! the poor simple girl!

Mr. Hickman tells me, that he heard in town, that he used to be oftenat plays, and at the opera, with women; and every time with a differentone--Ah! my sweet friend!--But I hope he is nothing to you, if all thiswere truth. --But this intelligence, in relation to this poor girl, willdo his business, if you had been ever so good friends before. 

A vile wretch! Cannot such purity in pursuit, in view, restrain him? butI leave him to you!--There can be no hope of him. More of a fool, than of such a man. Yet I wish I may be able to snatch the poor youngcreature out of his villainous paws. I have laid a scheme to do so; ifindeed she be hitherto innocent and heart-free. 

He appears to the people as a military man, in disguise, secretinghimself on account of a duel fought in town; the adversary's life insuspense. They believe he is a great man. His friend passes for aninferior officer; upon a footing of freedom with him. He, accompanied bya third man, who is a sort of subordinate companion to the second. Thewretch himself with but one servant. 

O my dear! how pleasantly can these devils, as I must call them, passtheir time, while our gentle bosoms heave with pity for their supposedsufferings for us!

*****

I have sent for this girl and her father; and am just now informed, thatI shall see them. I will sift them thoroughly. I shall soon find outsuch a simple thing as this, if he has not corrupted her already--and ifhe has, I shall soon find out that too. --If more art than nature appearseither in her or her father, I shall give them both up--but depend uponit, the girl's undone. 

He is said to be fond of her. He places her at the upper end of histable. He sets her a-prattling. He keeps his friends at a distance fromher. She prates away. He admires for nature all she says. Once was heardto call her charming little creature! An hundred has he called so nodoubt. He puts her upon singing. He praises her wild note--O my dear, the girl's undone!--must be undone!--The man, you know, is LOVELACE. 

Let 'em bring Wyerley to you, if they will have you married--any bodybut Solmes and Lovelace be yours!--So advises

Your ANNA HOWE. 

My dearest friend, consider this alehouse as his garrison: him as anenemy: his brother-rakes as his assistants and abettors. Would not yourbrother, would not your uncles, tremble, if they knew how near them heis, as they pass to and fro?--I am told, he is resolved you shall not becarried to your uncle Antony's. --What can you do, with or without suchan enterprising--

Fill up the blank I leave. --I cannot find a word bad enough

LETTER XXVII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE FRIDAY, THREE O'CLOCK. 

You incense, alarm, and terrify me, at the same time. --Hasten, mydearest friend, hasten to me what further intelligence you can gatherabout this vilest of men. 

But never talk of innocence, of simplicity, and this unhappy girl, together! Must she not know, that such a man as that, dignified in hisvery aspect; and no disguise able to conceal his being of condition;must mean too much, when he places her at the upper end of his table, and calls her by such tender names? Would a girl, modest as simple, above seventeen, be set a-singing at the pleasure of such a man asthat? a stranger, and professedly in disguise!--Would her father andgrandmother, if honest people, and careful of their simple girl, permitsuch freedoms?

Keep his friend at a distance from her!--To be sure his designs arevillainous, if they have not been already effected. 

Warn, my dear, if not too late, the unthinking father, of his child'sdanger. There cannot be a father in the world, who would sell hischild's virtue. Nor mother!--The poor thing!

I long to hear the result of your intelligence. You shall see the simplecreature, you tell me. --Let me know what sort of a girl she is. --A sweetpretty girl! you say. A sweet pretty girl, my dear!--They are sweetpretty words from your pen. But are they yours or his of her?--If she beso simple, if she have ease and nature in her manner, in her speech, andwarbles prettily her wild notes, why, such a girl as that mustengage such a profligate wretch, (as now indeed I doubt this man is, )accustomed, perhaps, to town women, and their confident ways. --Mustdeeply and for a long season engage him: since perhaps when herinnocence is departed, she will endeavour by art to supply the loss ofthe natural charms which now engage him. 

Fine hopes of such a wretch's reformation! I would not, my dear, for theworld, have any thing to say--but I need not make resolutions. I havenot opened, nor will I open, his letter. --A sycophant creature!--Withhis hoarsenesses--got perhaps by a midnight revel, singing to his wildnote singer, and only increased in the coppice!

To be already on a footing!--In his esteem, I mean: for myself, Idespise him. I hate myself almost for writing so much about him, and ofsuch a simpleton as this sweet pretty girl as you call her: but no onecan be either sweet or pretty, that is not modest, that is not virtuous. 

And now, my dear, I will tell you how I came to put you upon thisinquiry. 

This vile Joseph Leman had given a hint to Betty, and she to me, as ifLovelace would be found out to be a very bad man, at a place where hehad been lately seen in disguise. But he would see further, he said, before he told her more; and she promised secrecy, in hope to get atfurther intelligence. I thought it could be no harm, to get you toinform yourself, and me, of what could be gathered. * And now I see, hisenemies are but too well warranted in their reports of him: and, if theruin of this poor young creature be his aim, and if he had not known herbut for his visits to Harlowe-place, I shall have reason to be doublyconcerned for her; and doubly incensed against so vile a man. 

 * It will be seen in Vol. I. Letter XXXIV. That Mr. Lovelace's motive for sparing his Rosebud was twofold. First, Because his pride was gratified by the grandmother's desiring him to spare her grand-daughter. Many a pretty rogue, say he, had I spared, whom I did not spare, had my power been acknowledged, and my mercy in time implored. But the debellare superbos should be my motto, were I to have a new one. 

His other motive will be explained in the following passage, in thesame. I never was so honest, for so long together, says he, since mymatriculation. It behoves me so to be. Some way or other my recess [atthe little inn] may be found out, and it then will be thought that myRosebud has attracted me. A report in my favour, from simplicities soamiable, may establish me, &c. 

Accordingly, as the reader will hereafter see, Mr. Lovelace finds by theeffects, his expectations from the contrivance he set on foot by meansof his agent Joseph Leman (who plays, as above, upon Betty Barnes) fullyanswered, though he could not know what passed on the occasion betweenthe two ladies. 

This explanation is the more necessary to be given, as several of ourreaders (through want of due attention) have attributed to Mr. Lovelace, on his behaviour to his Rosebud, a greater merit than was due to him;and moreover imagined, that it was improbable, that a man, who wascapable of acting so generously (as they supposed) in this instance, should be guilty of any atrocious vileness. Not considering, that love, pride, and revenge as he owns in Vol. I. Letter XXXI. Were ingredients ofequal force in his composition; and that resistance was a stimulus tohim. 

I think I hate him worse than I do Solmes himself. 

But I will not add one more word about hi, ; and after I have told you, that I wish to know, as soon as possible what further occurs from yourinquiry. I have a letter from him; but shall not open it till I do:and then, if it come out as I dare say it will, I will directly put theletter unopened into the place I took it from, and never trouble myselfmore about him. Adieu, my dearest friend. 

CL. HARLOWE. 

LETTER XXVIII

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE. FRIDAY NOON, MARCH 31. 

Justice obliges me to forward this after my last on the wings of thewind, as I may say. I really believe the man is innocent. Of thisone accusation, I think he must be acquitted; and I am sorry I was soforward in dispatching away my intelligence by halves. 

I have seen the girl. She is really a very pretty, a very neat, and, what is still a greater beauty, a very innocent young creature. He whocould have ruined such an undersigned home-bred, must have beenindeed infernally wicked. Her father is an honest simple man; entirelysatisfied with his child, and with her new acquaintance. 

I am almost afraid for your heart, when I tell you, that I find, now Ihave got to the bottom of this inquiry, something noble come out in thisLovelace's favour. 

The girl is to be married next week; and this promoted and brought aboutby him. He is resolved, her father says, to make one couple happy, and wishes he could make more so [There's for you, my dear!] And sheprofesses to love, he has given her an hundred pounds: the grandmotheractually has it in her hands, to answer to the like sum given to theyouth by one of his own relation: while Mr. Lovelace's companion, attracted by the example, has given twenty-five guineas to the father, who is poor, towards clothes to equip the pretty rustic. 

Mr. Lovelace and his friend, the poor man says, when they first came tohis house, affected to appear as persons of low degree; but now he knowsthe one (but mentioned it in confidence) to be Colonel Barrow, the otherCaptain Sloane. The colonel he owns was at first very sweet upon hisgirl: but her grandmother's begging of him to spare her innocence, hevowed, that he never would offer any thing but good counsel to her. Hekept his word; and the pretty fool acknowledged, that she nevercould have been better instructed by the minister himself from thebible-book!--The girl pleased me so well, that I made her visit to meworth her while. 

But what, my dear, will become of us now?--Lovelace not only reformed, but turned preacher!--What will become of us now?--Why, my sweet friend, your generosity is now engaged in his favour!--Fie upon this generosity!I think in my heart, that it does as much mischief to the noble-minded, as love to the ignobler. --What before was only a conditional liking, Iam now afraid will turn to liking unconditional. 

I could not endure to change my invective into panegyric all at once, and so soon. We, or such as I at least, love to keep ourselves incountenance for a rash judgment, even when we know it to be rash. Everybody has not your generosity in confessing a mistake. It requiresa greatness of soul frankly to do it. So I made still further inquiryafter his life and manner, and behaviour there, in hopes to findsomething bad: but all uniform!

Upon the whole, Mr. Lovelace comes out with so much advantage from thisinquiry, that were there the least room for it, I should suspect thewhole to be a plot set on foot to wash a blackamoor white. Adieu, mydear. 

ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER XXIX

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE SATURDAY, APRIL 1. 

Hasty censures do indeed subject themselves to the charge ofvariableness and inconsistency in judgment: and so they ought; for, if you, even you, my dear, were so loth to own a mistake, as in theinstance before us you pretend you were, I believe I should not haveloved you so well as I really do love you. Nor could you, in that case, have so frankly thrown the reflection I hint at upon yourself, have notyour mind been one of the most ingenuous that ever woman boasted. 

Mr. Lovelace has faults enow to deserve very severe censure, althoughhe be not guilty of this. If I were upon such terms with him as he couldwish me to be, I should give him such a hint, that this treacherousJoseph Leman cannot be so much attached to him, as perhaps he thinkshim to be. If it were, he would not have been so ready to report to hisdisadvantage (and to Betty Barnes too) this slight affair of the prettyrustic. Joseph has engaged Betty to secrecy; promising to let her, andher young master, to know more, when he knows the whole of the matter:and this hinders her from mentioning it, as she is nevertheless agog todo, to my sister or brother. And then she does not choose to disobligeJoseph; for although she pretends to look above him, she listens, Ibelieve, to some love-stories he tells her. 

Women having it not in their power to begin a courtship, some of themvery frequently, I believe, lend an ear where their hearts incline not. 

But to say no more of these low people, neither of whom I thinktolerably of; I must needs own, that as I should for ever have despisedthis man, had he been capable of such a vile intrigue in his way toHarlowe-place, and as I believe he was capable of it, it has indeed [Iown it has] proportionably engaged my generosity, as you call it, in hisfavour: perhaps more than I may have reason to wish it had. And, rallyme as you will, pray tell me fairly, my dear, would it not have had suchan effect upon you?

Then the real generosity of the act. --I protest, my beloved friend, if he would be good for the rest of his life from this time, I wouldforgive him a great many of his past errors, were it only for thedemonstration he has given in this, that he is capable of so good andbountiful a manner of thinking. 

You may believe I made no scruple to open his letter, after the receiptof your second on this subject: nor shall I of answering it, as I haveno reason to find fault with it: an article in his favour, procuredhim, however, so much the easier, (I must own, ) by way of amends for theundue displeasure I took against him; though he knows it not. 

Is it lucky enough that this matter was cleared up to me by yourfriendly diligence so soon: for had I written before it was, it wouldhave been to reinforce my dismission of him; and perhaps I should havementioned the very motive; for it affected me more than I think itought: and then, what an advantage would that have given him, when hecould have cleared up the matter so happily for himself!

When I send you this letter of his, you will see how very humble he is:what acknowledgements of natural impatience: what confession of faults, as you prognosticated. 

A very different appearance, I must own, all these make, now the storyof the pretty rustic is cleared up, to what they would have made, had itnot. 

You will see how he accounts to me, 'That he could not, by reason ofindisposition, come for my letter in person: and the forward creaturelabours the point, as if he thought I should be uneasy that he did not. 'I am indeed sorry he should be ill on my account; and I will allow, thatthe suspense he has been in for some time past, must have been vexatiousenough to so impatient a spirit. But all is owing originally to himself. 

You will find him (in the presumption of being forgiven) 'full ofcontrivances and expedients for my escaping my threatened compulsion. '

I have always said, that next to being without fault, is theacknowledgement of a fault; since no amendment can be expected where anerror is defended: but you will see in this very letter, an haughtinesseven in his submissions. 'Tis true, I know not where to find fault asto the expression; yet cannot I be satisfied, that his humility ishumility; or even an humility upon such conviction as one should bepleased with. 

To be sure, he is far from being a polite man: yet is not directly andcharacteristically, as I may say, unpolite. But his is such a sort ofpoliteness, as has, by a carelessness founded on very early indulgence, and perhaps on too much success in riper years, and an arrogance builtupon both, grown into assuredness, and, of course, I may say, intoindelicacy. 

The distance you recommend at which to keep these men, is certainlyright in the main: familiarity destroys reverence: But with whom?--Notwith those, surely, who are prudent, grateful, and generous. 

But it is very difficult for persons, who would avoid running into oneextreme, to keep clear of another. Hence Mr. Lovelace, perhaps, thinksit the mark of a great spirit to humour his pride, though at the expenseof his politeness: but can the man be a deep man, who knows not how tomake such distinctions as a person of but moderate parts cannot miss?

He complains heavily of my 'readiness to take mortal offence at him, andto dismiss him for ever: it is a high conduct, he says, he must be frankenough to tell me; a conduct that must be very far from contributing toallay his apprehensions of the possibility that I may be prosecuted intomy relations' measures in behalf of Mr. Solmes. '

You will see how he puts his present and his future happiness, 'withregard to both worlds, entirely upon me. ' The ardour with which he vowsand promises, I think the heart only can dictate: how else can one guessat a man's heart?

You will also see, 'that he has already heard of the interview I am tohave with Mr. Solmes;' and with what vehemence and anguish he expresseshimself on the occasion. I intend to take proper notice of the ignoblemeans he stoops to, to come at his early intelligence of our family. If persons pretending to principle, bear not their testimony againstunprincipled actions, what check can they have?

You will see, 'how passionately he presses me to oblige him with a fewlines, before the interview between Mr. Solmes and me takes place, (if, as he says, it must take place, ) to confirm his hope, that I have noview, in my present displeasure against him, to give encouragement toSolmes. An apprehension, he says, that he must be excused for repeating;especially as the interview is a favour granted to that man, whichI have refused to him; since, as he infers, were it not with such anexpectation, why should my friends press it?'

*****

I have written; and to this effect: 'That I had never intended to writeanother line to a man, who could take upon himself to reflect upon mysex and myself, for having thought fit to make use of my own judgment. 

'I tell him, that I have submitted to the interview with Mr. Solmes, purely as an act of duty, to shew my friends, that I will comply withtheir commands as far as I can; and that I hope, when Mr. Solmes himselfshall see how determined I am, he will cease to prosecute a suit, inwhich it is impossible he should succeed with my consent. 

'I assure him, that my aversion to Mr. Solmes is too sincere to permitme to doubt myself on this occasion. But, nevertheless, he must notimagine, that my rejecting of Mr. Solmes is in favour to him. That Ivalue my freedom and independency too much, if my friends will but leaveme to my own judgment, to give them up to a man so uncontroulable, andwho shews me beforehand what I have to expect from him, were I in hispower. 

'I express my high disapprobation of the methods he takes to comeat what passes in a private family. The pretence of corrupting otherpeople's servants, by way of reprisal for the spies they have set uponhim, I tell him, is a very poor excuse; and no more than an attempt tojustify one meanness by another. 

'There is, I observe to him, a right and a wrong in every thing, letpeople put what glosses they please upon their action. To condemn adeviation, and to follow it by as great a one, what, I ask him, is this, but propagating a general corruption?--A stand must be made somebody, turn round the evil as many as may, or virtue will be lost: And shall itnot be I, a worthy mind would ask, that shall make this stand?

'I leave him to judge, whether his be a worthy one, tried by this rule:And whether, knowing the impetuosity of his own disposition, and theimprobability there is that my father and family will ever be reconciledto him, I ought to encourage his hopes?

'These spots and blemishes, I further tell him, give me not earnestnessenough for any sake but his own, to wish him in a juster and noblertrain of thinking and acting; for that I truly despised many of the wayshe allows himself in: our minds are therefore infinitely different:and as to his professions of reformation, I must tell him, thatprofuse acknowledgements, without amendment, are but to me as so manyanticipating concessions, which he may find much easier to make, thaneeither to defend himself, or amend his errors. 

'I inform him, that I have been lately made acquainted' [and so I haveby Betty, and she by my brother] 'with the weak and wanton airs he giveshimself of declaiming against matrimony. I severely reprehend him onthis occasion: and ask him, with what view he can take so witless, sodespicable a liberty, in which only the most abandoned of men allowthemselves, and yet presume to address me?

'I tell him, that if I am obliged to go to my uncle Antony's, it is notto be inferred, that I must therefore necessarily be Mr. Solmes's wife:since I must therefore so sure perhaps that the same exceptions lieso strongly against my quitting a house to which I shall be forciblycarried, as if I left my father's house: and, at the worst, I may beable to keep them in suspense till my cousin Morden comes, who will havea right to put me in possession of my grandfather's estate, if I insistupon it. '

This, I doubt, is somewhat of an artifice; which can only be excusable, as it is principally designed to keep him out of mischief. For I havebut little hope, if carried thither, whether sensible or senseless, absolutely if I am left to the mercy of my brother and sister, but theywill endeavour to force the solemn obligation upon me. Otherwise, werethere but any prospect of avoiding this, by delaying (or even by takingthings to make me ill, if nothing else would do, ) till my cousin comes, I hope I should not think of leaving even my uncle's house. For I shouldnot know how to square it to my own principles, to dispense with theduty I owe to my father, wherever it shall be his will to place me. 

But while you give me the charming hope, that, in order to avoid oneman, I shall not be under the necessity of throwing myself upon thefriends of the other; I think my case not desperate. 

*****

I see not any of my family, nor hear from them in any way of kindness. This looks as if they themselves expected no great matters from theTuesday's conference which makes my heart flutter every time I think ofit. 

My uncle Antony's presence on the occasion I do not much like: but Ihad rather meet him than my brother or sister: yet my uncle is veryimpetuous. I can't think Mr. Lovelace can be much more so; at least hecannot look angry, as my uncle, with his harder features, can. Thesesea-prospered gentlemen, as my uncle has often made me think, not usedto any but elemental controul, and even ready to buffet that, blusteroften as violently as the winds they are accustomed to be angry at. 

I believe Mr. Solmes will look as much like a fool as I shall do, if itbe true, as my uncle Harlowe writes, and as Betty often tells me, thathe is as much afraid of seeing me, as I am of seeing him. 

Adieu, my happy, thrice-happy Miss Howe, who have no hard terms fixedto your duty!--Who have nothing to do, but to fall in with a choice yourmother has made for you, to which you have not, nor can have, a justobjection: except the frowardness of our sex, as our free censurerswould perhaps take the liberty to say, makes it one, that the choice wasyour mother's, at first hand. Perverse nature, we know, loves not tobe prescribed to; although youth is not so well qualified, either bysedateness or experience, to choose for itself. 

To know your own happiness, and that it is now, nor to leave it to afterreflection to look back upon the preferable past with a heavy and selfaccusing heart, that you did not choose it when you might have chosenit, is all that is necessary to complete your felicity!--And this poweris wished you by

Your CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER XXX

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE SATURDAY, APRIL 2. 

I ought yesterday to have acknowledged the receipt of your parcel. Robintells me, that the Joseph Leman, whom you mention as the traitor, sawhim. He was in the poultry-yard, and spoke to Robin over the bankwhich divides that from the green-lane. 'What brings you hither, Mr. Robert?--But I can tell. Hie away, as fast as you can. '

No doubt but their dependence upon this fellow's vigilance, and uponBetty's, leaves you more at liberty in your airings, than you wouldotherwise be. But you are the only person I ever heard of, who in suchcircumstances had not some faithful servant to trust little offices to. A poet, my dear, would not have gone to work for an Angelica, withoutgiving her her Violetta, her Cleante, her Clelia, or some suchpretty-named confidant--an old nurse at the least. 

I read to my mother several passages of your letters. But your lastparagraph, in your yesterday's quite charmed her. You have won her heartby it, she told me. And while her fit of gratitude for it lasted, I wasthinking to make my proposal, and to press it with all the earnestnessI could give it, when Hickman came in, making his legs, and stroking hiscravat and ruffles. 

I could most freely have ruffled him for it. As it was--Sir, said I, sawyou not some of the servants?--Could not one of them have come in beforeyou?

He begged pardon: looked as if he knew not whether he had best keep hisground, or withdraw:--Till my mother, his fast friend, interposed--Why, Nancy, we are not upon particulars. --Pray, Mr. Hickman, sit down. 

By your le--ave, good Madam, to me. You know his drawl, when his musclesgive him the respectful hesitation. --

Ay, ay, pray sit down, honest man, if you are weary--but by mamma, if you please. I desire my hoop may have its full circumference. Allthey're good for, that I know, is to clean dirty shoes, and to keepfellows at a distance. 

Strange girl! cried my mother, displeased; but with a milder turn, ay, ay, Mr. Hickman, sit down by me: I have no such forbidding folly in mydress. 

I looked serious; and in my heart was glad this speech of hers was notmade to your uncle Antony. 

My mother, with the true widow's freedom, would mighty prudently haveled into the subject we had been upon; and would have had read to him, Iquestion not, that very paragraph in your letter which is so much inhis favour. He was highly obliged to dear Miss Harlowe, she would assurehim; that she did say--

But I asked him, if he had any news by his last letters from London?--Aquestion which he always understands to be a subject changer; forotherwise I never put it. And so if he be but silent, I am not angrywith him that he answers it not. 

I choose not to mention my proposal before him, till I know how it willbe relished by my mother. If it be not well received, perhaps I mayemploy him on the occasion. Yet I don't like to owe him an obligation, if I could help it. For men who have his views in their heads, do soparade it, so strut about, if a woman condescend to employ them in heraffairs, that one has no patience with them. 

However, if I find not an opportunity this day, I will make oneto-morrow. 

I shall not open either of your sealed-up parcels, but in your presence. There is no need. Your conduct is out of all question with me: and bythe extracts you have given me from his letters and your own, I know allthat relates to the present situation of things between you. 

I was going to give you a little flippant hint or two. But since youwish to be thought superior to all our sex in the command of yourself;and since indeed you deserve to be thought so; I will spare you. Youare, however, at times, more than half inclined to speak out. Thatyou do not, is only owing to a little bashful struggle between you andyourself, as I may say. When that is quite got over, I know you willfavour me undisguisedly with the result. 

I cannot forgive your taking upon me (at so extravagant a rate too) topay my mother's servants. Indeed I am, and I will be, angry with you forit. A year's wages at once well nigh! only as, unknown to my mother, Imake it better for the servants according to their merits--how it madethe man stare!--And it may be his ruin too, as far as I know. If heshould buy a ring, and marry a sorry body in the neighbourhood with themoney, one would be loth, a twelvemonth hence, that the poor old fellowshould think he had reason to wish the bounty never conferred. 

I MUST give you your way in these things, you say. --And I know there isno contradicting you: for you were ever putting too great a value uponlittle offices done for you, and too little upon the great ones you dofor others. The satisfaction you have in doing so, I grant it, repaysyou. But why should you, by the nobleness of your mind, throw reproachesupon the rest of the world? particularly, upon your own family--and uponours too?

If, as I have heard you say, it is a good rule to give WORDS thehearing, but to form our judgment of men and things by DEEDS ONLY;what shall we think of one, who seeks to find palliatives in words, fornarrowness of heart in the very persons her deeds so silently, yet soforcibly, reflect upon? Why blush you not, my dear friend, to be thussingular?--When you meet with another person whose mind is like yourown, then display your excellencies as you please: but till then, for pity's sake, let your heart and your spirit suffer a littlecontradiction. 

I intended to write but a few lines; chiefly to let you know yourparcels are come safe. And accordingly I began in a large hand; and Iam already come to the end of my second sheet. But I could write a quirewithout hesitation upon a subject so copious and so beloved as is yourpraise. Not for this single instance of your generosity; since I amreally angry with you for it; but for the benevolence exemplified inthe whole tenor of your life and action; of which this is but a commoninstance. Heaven direct you, in your own arduous trials, is all I haveroom to add; and make you as happy, as you think to be

Your own ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER XXXI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE SUNDAY NIGHT, APRIL 2. 

I have many new particulars to acquaint you with, that shew a greatchange in the behaviour of my friends as I find we have. I will givethese particulars to you as they offered. 

All the family was at church in the morning. They brought good Dr. Lewenwith them, in pursuance of a previous invitation. And the doctor sent upto desire my permission to attend me in my own apartment. 

You may believe it was easily granted. 

So the doctor came up. 

We had a conversation of near an hour before dinner: but, to mysurprise, he waved every thing that would have led me to the subject Isupposed he wanted to talk about. At last, I asked him, if it were notthought strange I should be so long absent from church? He made me somehandsome compliments upon it: but said, for his part, he had ever madeit a rule to avoid interfering in the private concerns of families, unless desired to do so. 

I was prodigiously disappointed; but supposing that he was thought toojust a man to be made a judge of in this cause; I led no more to it:nor, when he was called down to dinner, did he take the least notice ofleaving me behind him there. 

But this was not the first time since my confinement that I thought it ahardship not to dine below. And when I parted with him on the stairs, atear would burst its way; and he hurried down; his own good-natured eyesglistening; for he saw it. --Nor trusted he his voice, lest the accent Isuppose should have discovered his concern; departing in silence; thoughwith his usual graceful obligingness. 

I hear that he praised me, and my part in the conversation thatpassed between us. To shew them, I suppose, that it was not upon theinteresting subjects which I make no doubt he was desired not to enterupon. 

He left me so dissatisfied, yet so perplexed with this new way oftreatment, that I never found myself so much disconcerted, and out of mytrain. 

But I was to be more so. This was to be a day of puzzle to me. Pregnantpuzzle, if I may say so: for there must great meaning lie behind it. 

In the afternoon, all but my brother and sister went to church withthe good doctor; who left his compliments for me. I took a walk in thegarden. My brother and sister walked in it too, and kept me in theireye a good while, on purpose, as I thought, that I might see how gay andgood-humoured they were together. At last they came down the walk that Iwas coming up, hand-in-hand, lover-like. 

Your servant, Miss--your servant, Sir--passed between my brother and me. 

Is it not coldish, Clary! in a kinder voice than usual, said my sister, and stopped. --I stopped and courtesied low to her half-courtesy. --Ithink not, Sister, said I. 

She went on. I courtesied without return; and proceeded, turning to mypoultry-yard. 

By a shorter turn, arm-in-arm, they were there before me. 

I think, Clary, said my brother, you must present me with some of thisbreed, for Scotland. 

If you please, Brother. 

I'll choose for you, said my sister. 

And while I fed them, they pointed to half a dozen: yet intendingnothing by it, I believe, but to shew a deal of love and good-humour toeach other before me. 

My uncles next, (at their return from church) were to do me the honourof their notice. They bid Betty tell me, they would drink tea with mein my own apartment. Now, thought I, shall I have the subject of nextTuesday enforced upon me. 

But they contradicted the order for tea, and only my uncle Harlowe cameup to me. 

Half-distant, half-affectionate, at his entering my chamber, was theair he put on to his daughter-niece, as he used to call me; and I threwmyself at his feet, and besought his favour. 

None of these discomposures, Child. None of these apprehensions. Youwill now have every body's favour. All is coming about, my dear. I wasimpatient to see you. I could no longer deny myself this satisfaction. He then raised me, and kissed me, and called me charming creature!

But he waved entering into any interesting subject. All will be wellnow. All will be right!--No more complainings! every body loves you!--Ionly came to make my earliest court to you! [were his condescendingwords] and to sit and talk of twenty and twenty fond things, as I usedto do. And let every past disagreeable thing be forgotten; as if nothinghad happened. 

He understood me as beginning to hint at the disgrace of myconfinement--No disgrace my dear can fall to your lot: your reputationis too well established. --I longed to see you, repeated me--I have seennobody half so amiable since I saw you last. 

And again he kissed my cheek, my glowing cheek; for I was impatient, I was vexed, to be thus, as I thought, played upon: And how could I bethankful for a visit, that (it was now evident) was only a too humbleartifice, to draw me in against the next Tuesday, or to leave meinexcusable to them all?

O my cunning brother!--This is his contrivance. And then my anger mademe recollect the triumph in his and my sister's fondness for each other, as practised before me; and the mingled indignation flashing from theireyes, as arm-in-arm they spoke to me, and the forced condescensionplaying upon their lips, when they called me Clary, and Sister. 

Do you think I could, with these reflections, look upon my uncleHarlowe's visit as the favour he seemed desirous I should think itto be?--Indeed I could not; and seeing him so studiously avoid allrecrimination, as I may call it, I gave into the affectation; andfollowed him in his talk of indifferent things: while he seemed toadmire this thing and that, as if he had never seen them before; andnow-and then condescendingly kissed the hand that wrought some of thethings he fixed his eyes upon; not so much to admire them, as to findsubjects to divert what was most in his head, and in my heart. 

At his going away--How can I leave you here by yourself, my dear? you, whose company used to enliven us all. You are not expected down indeed:but I protest I had a good mind to surprise your father and mother!--IfI thought nothing would arise that would be disagreeable--My dear!my love! [O the dear artful gentleman! how could my uncle Harlowe sodissemble?] What say you? Will you give me your hands? Will you see yourfather? Can you stand his displeasure, on first seeing the dear creaturewho has given him and all of us so much disturbance? Can you promisefuture--

He saw me rising in my temper--Nay, my dear, interrupting himself, ifyou cannot be all resignation, I would not have you think of it. 

My heart, struggling between duty and warmth of temper, was full. Youknow, my dear, I never could bear to be dealt meanly with!--How--how canyou, Sir! you my Papa-uncle--How can you, Sir!--The poor girl!--for Icould not speak with connexion. 

Nay, my dear, if you cannot be all duty, all resignation--better staywhere you are. --But after the instance you have given--

Instance I have given!--What instance, Sir?

Well, well, Child, better stay where you are, if your past confinementhangs so heavy upon you--but now there will be a sudden end toit--Adieu, my dear!--Three words only--Let your compliance besincere!--and love me, as you used to love me--your Grandfather did notdo so much for you, as I will do for you. 

Without suffering me to reply, he hurried away, as I thought, like onewho has been employed to act a part against his will, and was glad itwas over. 

Don't you see, my dear Miss Howe, how they are all determined?--Have Inot reason to dread next Tuesday?

Up presently after came my sister:--to observe, I suppose, the way I wasin. 

She found me in tears. 

Have you not a Thomas a Kempis, Sister? with a stiff air. 

I have, Madam. 

Madam!--How long are we to be at this distance, Clary?

No longer, my dear Bella, if you allow me to call you sister. And I tookher hand. 

No fawning neither, Girl!

I withdrew my hand as hastily, as you may believe I should have done, had I, in feeling for one of your parcels under the wood, been bitten bya viper. 

I beg pardon, said I, --Too-too ready to make advances, I am alwayssubjecting myself to contempts. 

People who know not how to keep a middle behaviour, said she, must everdo so. 

I will fetch you the Kempis, Sister. I did. Here it is. You will findexcellent things, Bella, in that little book. 

I wish, retorted she, you had profited by them. 

I wish you may, said I. Example from a sister older than one's self is afine thing. 

Older! saucy little fool!--And away she flung. 

What a captious old woman will my sister make, if she lives to beone!--demanding the reverence, perhaps, yet not aiming at the merit; andashamed of the years that can only entitle her to the reverence. 

It is plain, from what I have related, that they think they have got meat some advantage by obtaining my consent to the interview: but if itwere not, Betty's impertinence just now would make it evident. She hasbeen complimenting me upon it; and upon the visit of my uncle Harlowe. She says, the difficulty now is more than half over with me. She issure I would not see Mr. Solmes, but to have him. Now shall she be soonbetter employed than of late she has been. All hands will be at work. She loves dearly to have weddings go forward!--Who knows, whose turnwill be next?

I found in the afternoon a reply to my answer to Mr. Lovelace's letter. It is full of promises, full of vows of gratitude, of eternal gratitude, is his word, among others still more hyperbolic. Yet Mr. Lovelace, theleast of any man whose letters I have seen, runs into those elevatedabsurdities. I should be apt to despise him for it, if he did. Suchlanguage looks always to me, as if the flatterer thought to find a womana fool, or hoped to make her one. 

'He regrets my indifference to him; which puts all the hope he has in myfavour upon the shocking usage I receive from my friends. 

'As to my charge upon him of unpoliteness and uncontroulableness--What[he asks] can he say? since being unable absolutely to vindicatehimself, he has too much ingenuousness to attempt to do so: yet isstruck dumb by my harsh construction, that his acknowledging temperis owing more to his carelessness to defend himself, than to hisinclination to amend. He had never before met with the objectionsagainst his morals which I had raised, justly raised: and he wasresolved to obviate them. What is it, he asks, that he has promised, butreformation by my example? And what occasion for the promise, if hehad not faults, and those very great ones, to reform? He hopesacknowledgement of an error is no bad sign; although my severe virtuehas interpreted it into one. 

'He believes I may be right (severely right, he calls it) in my judgmentagainst making reprisals in the case of the intelligence he receivesfrom my family: he cannot charge himself to be of a temper that leadshim to be inquisitive into any body's private affairs; but hopes, thatthe circumstances of the case, and the strange conduct of my friends, will excuse him; especially when so much depends upon his knowing themovements of a family so violently bent, by measures right or wrong, tocarry their point against me, in malice to him. People, he says, who actlike angels, ought to have angels to deal with. For his part, he has notyet learned the difficult lesson of returning good for evil: and shallthink himself the less encouraged to learn it by the treatment I havemet with from the very persons who would trample upon him, as they doupon me, were he to lay himself under their feet. 

'He excuses himself for the liberties he owns he has heretofore taken inridiculing the marriage-state. It is a subject, he says, that he has notof late treated so lightly. He owns it to be so trite, so beaten atopic with all libertines and witlings; so frothy, so empty, so nothingmeaning, so worn-out a theme, that he is heartily ashamed of himself, ever to have made it his. He condemns it as a stupid reflection upon thelaws and good order of society, and upon a man's own ancestors: andin himself, who has some reason to value himself upon his descentand alliances, more censurable, than in those who have not the sameadvantages to boast of. He promises to be more circumspect than ever, both in his words and actions, that he may be more and more worthy ofmy approbation; and that he may give an assurance before hand, that afoundation is laid in his mind for my example to work upon with equalreputation and effect to us both;--if he may be so happy to call me his. 

'He gives me up, as absolutely lost, if I go to my uncle Antony's; theclose confinement; the moated house; the chapel; the implacableness ofmy brother and sister; and their power over the rest of the family, he sets forth in strong lights; and plainly says, that he must have astruggle to prevent my being carried thither. '

Your kind, your generous endeavours to interest your mother in mybehalf, will, I hope, prevent those harsher extremities to which I mightbe otherwise driven. And to you I will fly, if permitted, and keep allmy promises, of not corresponding with any body, not seeing any body, but by your mother's direction and yours. 

I will close and deposit at this place. It is not necessary to say, howmuch I am

Your ever affectionate and obliged CL. HARLOWE. 

LETTER XXXII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE

I am glad my papers are safe in your hands. I will make it my endeavourto deserve your good opinion, that I may not at once disgrace yourjudgment, and my own heart. 

I have another letter from Mr. Lovelace. He is extremely apprehensive ofthe meeting I am to have with Mr. Solmes to-morrow. He says, 'that theairs that wretch gives himself on the occasion add to his concern; andit is with infinite difficulty that he prevails upon himself not to makehim a visit to let him know what he may expect, if compulsion be usedtowards me in his favour. He assures me, that Solmes has actually talkedwith tradesmen of new equipages, and names the people in town with whomhe has treated: that he has even' [Was there ever such a horrid wretch!]'allotted this and that apartment in his house, for a nursery, and otheroffices. '

How shall I bear to hear such a creature talk of love to me? I shall beout of all patience with him. Besides, I thought that he did not dareto make or talk of these impudent preparations. --So inconsistent as suchare with my brother's views--but I fly the subject. 

Upon this confidence of Solmes, you will less wonder at that ofLovelace, 'in pressing me in the name of all his family, to escapefrom so determined a violence as is intended to be offered to me at myuncle's: that the forward contriver should propose Lord M. 's chariot andsix to be at the stile that leads up to the lonely coppice adjoining toour paddock. You will see how audaciously he mentions settlements readydrawn; horsemen ready to mount; and one of his cousins Montague to bein the chariot, or at the George in the neighbouring village, waitingto accompany me to Lord M. 's, or to Lady Betty's or Lady Sarah's, or totown, as I please; and upon such orders, or conditions, and under suchrestrictions, as to himself, as I shall prescribe. '

You will see how he threatens, 'To watch and waylay them, and to rescueme as he calls it, by an armed force of friends and servants, if theyattempt to carry me against my will to my uncle's; and this, whether Igive my consent to the enterprise, or not:--since he shall have no hopesif I am once there. '

O my dear friend! Who can think of these things, and not be extremelymiserable in her apprehensions!

This mischievous sex! What had I to do with any of them; or theywith me?--I had deserved this, were it by my own seeking, by my owngiddiness, that I had brought myself into this situation--I wish withall my heart--but how foolish we are apt to wish when we find ourselvesunhappy, and know not how to help ourselves!

On your mother's goodness, however, is my reliance. If I can but avoidbeing precipitated on either hand, till my cousin Morden arrives, areconciliation must follow; and all will be happy. 

I have deposited a letter for Mr. Lovelace; in which 'I charge him, ashe would not disoblige me for ever, to avoid any rash step, any visit toMr. Solmes, which may be followed by acts of violence. '

I re-assure him, 'That I will sooner die than be that man's wife. 

'Whatever be my usage, whatever shall be the result of the apprehendedinterview, I insist upon it that he presume not to offer violence toany of my friends: and express myself highly displeased, that he shouldpresume upon such an interest in my esteem, as to think himself entitledto dispute my father's authority in my removal to my uncle's; although Itell him, that I will omit neither prayers nor contrivance, even to themaking myself ill, to avoid going. '

To-morrow is Tuesday! How soon comes upon us the day we dread!--Oh thata deep sleep of twenty four hours would seize my faculties!--But thenthe next day would be Tuesday, as to all the effects and purposes forwhich I so much dread it. If this reach you before the event of the somuch apprehended interview can be known, pray for

Your CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER XXXIII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE TUESDAY MORNING, SIX O'CLOCK. 

The day is come!--I wish it were happily over. I have had a wretchednight. Hardly a wink have I slept, ruminating upon the approachinginterview. The very distance of time to which they consented, has addedsolemnity to the meeting, which otherwise it would not have had. 

A thoughtful mind is not a blessing to be coveted, unless it had such ahappy vivacity with it as yours: a vivacity, which enables a person toenjoy the present, without being over-anxious about the future. 

TUESDAY, ELEVEN O'CLOCK. 

I have had a visit from my aunt Hervey. Betty, in her alarming way, toldme, I should have a lady to breakfast with me, whom I little expected;giving me to believe it was my mother. This fluttered me so much, onhearing a lady coming up-stairs, supposing it was she, (and not knowinghow to account for her motives in such a visit, after I had been so longbanished from her presence, ) that my aunt, at her entrance, took noticeof my disorder; and, after her first salutation, Why, Miss, said she, you seem surprised. --Upon my word, you thoughtfulyoung ladies have strange apprehensions about nothing at all. What, taking my hand, can be the matter with you?--Why, my dear, tremble, tremble, tremble, at this rate? You'll not be fit to be seen by anybody. Come, my love, kissing my cheek, pluck up a courage. By thisneedless flutter on the approaching interview, when it is over you willjudge of your other antipathies, and laugh at yourself for giving way toso apprehensive an imagination. 

I said, that whatever we strongly imagined, was in its effect at thetime more than imaginary, although to others it might not appear so:that I had not rested one hour all night: that the impertinent set overme, by giving me room to think my mother was coming up, had so muchdisconcerted me, that I should be very little qualified to see any bodyI disliked to see. 

There was no accounting for these things, she said. Mr. Solmes lastnight supposed he should be under as much agitation as I could be. 

Who is it, then, Madam, that so reluctant an interview on both sides, isto please?

Both of you, my dear, I hope, after the first flurries are over. Themost apprehensive beginnings, I have often known, make the happiestconclusions. 

There can be but one happy conclusion to the intended visit; and thatis, That both sides may be satisfied it will be the last. 

She then represented how unhappy it would be for me, if I did not suffermyself to be prevailed upon: she pressed me to receive Mr. Solmesas became my education: and declared, that his apprehensions on theexpectation he had of seeing me, were owing to his love and his awe;intimating, That true love is ever accompanied by fear and reverence;and that no blustering, braving lover could deserve encouragement. 

To this I answered, That constitution was to be considered: that aman of spirit would act like one, and could do nothing meanly: thata creeping mind would creep into every thing, where it had a view toobtain a benefit by it; and insult, where it had power, and nothing toexpect: that this was not a point now to be determined with me: thatI had said as much as I could possibly say on the subject: that thisinterview was imposed upon me: by those, indeed, who had a right toimpose it: but that it was sorely against my will complied with: and forthis reason, that there was aversion, not wilfulness, in the case; andso nothing could come of it, but a pretence, as I much apprehended, touse me still more severely than I had been used. 

She was then pleased to charge me with prepossession and prejudice. Sheexpatiated upon the duty of a child. She imputed to me abundance of finequalities; but told me, that, in this case, that of persuadableness waswanting to crown all. She insisted upon the merit of obedience, althoughmy will were not in it. From a little hint I gave of my still greaterdislike to see Mr. Solmes, on account of the freedom I had treated himwith, she talked to me of his forgiving disposition; of his infiniterespect for me; and I cannot tell what of this sort. 

I never found myself so fretful in my life: and so I told my aunt; andbegged her pardon for it. But she said, it was well disguised then; forshe saw nothing but little tremors, which were usual with young ladieswhen they were to see their admirers for the first time; and this mightbe called so, with respect to me; since it was the first time I hadconsented to see Mr. Solmes in that light--but that the next--

How, Madam, interrupted I--Is it then imagined, that I give this meetingon that footing?

To be sure it is, Child. 

To be sure it is, Madam! Then I do yet desire to decline it. --I willnot, I cannot, see him, if he expects me to see him upon those terms. 

Niceness, punctilio, mere punctilio, Niece!--Can you think that yourappointment, (day, place, hour, ) and knowing what the intent of it was, is to be interpreted away as a mere ceremony, and to mean nothing?--Letme tell you, my dear, your father, mother, uncles, every body, respectthis appointment as the first act of your compliance with their wills:and therefore recede not, I desire you; but make a merit of what cannotbe avoided. 

O the hideous wretch!--Pardon me, Madam. --I to be supposed to meetsuch a man as that, with such a view! and he to be armed with such anexpectation!--But it cannot be that he expects it, whatever others maydo. --It is plain he cannot, by the fears he tell you all he shall haveto see me. If his hope were so audacious, he could not fear so much. 

Indeed, he has this hope; and justly founded too. But his fear arisesfrom his reverence, as I told you before. 

His reverence!--his unworthiness!--'Tis so apparent, that even hehimself sees it, as well as every body else. Hence his offersto purchase me! Hence it is, that settlements are to make up foracknowledged want of merit!

His unworthiness, say you!--Not so fast, my dear. Does not this looklike setting a high value upon yourself?--We all have exalted notions ofyour merit, Niece; but nevertheless, it would not be wrong, if you wereto arrogate less to yourself; though more were to be your due than yourfriends attribute to you. 

I am sorry, Madam, it should be thought arrogance in me, to suppose I amnot worthy of a better man than Mr. Solmes, both as to person and mind:and as to fortune, I thank God I despise all that can be insisted uponin his favour from so poor a plea. 

She told me, It signified nothing to talk: I knew the expectation ofevery one. 

Indeed I did not. It was impossible I could think of such a strangeexpectation, upon a compliance made only to shew I would comply in allthat was in my power to comply with. 

I might easily, she said, have supposed, that every one thought I wasbeginning to oblige them all, by the kind behaviour of my brother andsister to me in the garden, last Sunday; by my sister's visit to meafterwards in my chamber (although both more stiffly received by me, than were either wished or expected); by my uncle Harlowe's affectionatevisit to me the same afternoon, not indeed so very gratefully receivedas I used to receive his favours:--but this he kindly imputed to thedispleasure I had conceived at my confinement, and to my intention tocome off by degrees, that I might keep myself in countenance for my pastopposition. 

See, my dear, the low cunning of that Sunday-management, which thenso much surprised me! And see the reason why Dr. Lewen was admitted tovisit me, yet forbore to enter upon a subject about which I thought hecame to talk to me!--For it seems there was no occasion to dispute withme on the point I was to be supposed to have conceded to. --See, also, how unfairly my brother and sister must have represented their pretendedkindness, when (though the had an end to answer by appearing kind) theirantipathy to me seems to have been so strong, that they could not helpinsulting me by their arm-in-arm lover-like behaviour to each other; asmy sister afterwards likewise did, when she came to borrow my Kempis. 

I lifted up my hands and eyes! I cannot, said I, give this treatment aname! The end so unlikely to be answered by means so low! I know whosethe whole is! He that could get my uncle Harlowe to contribute his part, and to procure the acquiescence of the rest of my friends to it, musthave the power to do any thing with them against me. 

Again my aunt told me, that talking and invective, now I had given theexpectation, would signify nothing. She hoped I would not shew everyone, that they had been too forward in their constructions of my desireto oblige them. She could assure me, that it would be worse for me, ifnow I receded, than if I had never advanced. 

Advanced, Madam! How can you say advanced? Why, this is a trick uponme! A poor low trick! Pardon me, Madam, I don't say you have a hand init. --But, my dearest Aunt, tell me, Will not my mother be present atthis dreaded interview? Will she not so far favour me? Were it but toqualify--

Qualify, my dear, interrupted she--your mother, and your uncle Harlowewould not be present on this occasion for the world--

O then, Madam, how can they look upon my consent to this interview as anadvance?

My aunt was displeased at this home-push. Miss Clary, said she, there isno dealing with you. It would be happy for you, and for every body else, were your obedience as ready as your wit. I will leave you--

Not in anger, I hope, Madam, interrupted I--all I meant was, to observe, that let the meeting issue as it may, and as it must issue, it cannot bea disappointment to any body. 

O Miss! you seem to be a very determined young creature. Mr. Solmeswill be here at your time: and remember once more, that upon the comingafternoon depend upon the peace of your whole family, and your ownhappiness. 

And so saying, down she hurried. 

Here I will stop. In what way I shall resume, or when, is not left tome to conjecture; much less determine. I am excessively uneasy!--No goodnews from your mother, I doubt!--I will deposit thus far, for fear ofthe worst. 

Adieu, my best, rather, my only friend! CL. HARLOWE. 

LETTER XXXIV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE TUESDAY EVENING; AND CONTINUEDTHROUGH THE NIGHT. 

Well, my dear, I am alive, and here! but how long I shall be eitherhere, or alive, I cannot say. I have a vast deal to write; and perhapsshall have little time for it. Nevertheless, I must tell you how thesaucy Betty again discomposed me, when she came up with this Solmes'smessage; although, as you will remember from my last, I was in a waybefore that wanted no additional surprises. 

Miss! Miss! Miss! cried she, as fast as she could speak, with her armsspread abroad, and all her fingers distended, and held up, will you bepleased to walk down into your own parlour?--There is every body, I willassure you in full congregation!--And there is Mr. Solmes, as fine as alord, with a charming white peruke, fine laced shirt and ruffles, coattrimmed with silver, and a waistcoat standing on end with lace!--Quitehandsome, believe me!--You never saw such an alteration!--Ah! Miss, shaking her head, 'tis pity you have said so much against him! but youwill know how to come off for all that!--I hope it will not be too late!

Impertinence! said I--Wert thou bid to come up in this flutteringway?--and I took up my fan, and fanned myself. 

Bless me! said she, how soon these fine young ladies will be put intoflusterations!--I mean not either to offend or frighten you, I amsure. --

Every body there, do you say?--Who do you call every body?

Why, Miss, holding out her left palm opened, and with a flourish, anda saucy leer, patting it with the fore finger of the other, at everymentioned person, there is your papa!--there is your mamma!--there isyour uncle Harlowe!--there is your uncle Antony!--your aunt Hervey!--myyoung lady!--and my young master!--and Mr. Solmes, with the air of agreat courtier, standing up, because he named you:--Mrs. Betty, said he, [then the ape of a wench bowed and scraped, as awkwardly as I supposethe person did whom she endeavoured to imitate, ] pray give my humbleservice to Miss, and tell her, I wait her commands. 

Was not this a wicked wench?--I trembled so, I could hardly stand. I wasspiteful enough to say, that her young mistress, I supposed, bid her puton these airs, to frighten me out of a capacity of behaving so calmly asshould procure me my uncles' compassion. 

What a way do you put yourself in, Miss, said the insolent!--Come, dearMadam, taking up my fan, which I had laid down, and approaching me withit, fanning, shall I--

None of thy impertinence!--But say you, all my friends are below withhim? And am I to appear before them all?

I can't tell if they'll stay when you come. I think they seemed to bemoving when Mr. Solmes gave me his orders. --But what answer shall Icarry to the 'squire?

Say, I can't go!--but yet when 'tis over, 'tis over!--Say, I'll waitupon--I'll attend--I'll come presently--say anything; I care notwhat--but give me my fan, and fetch me a glass of water--

She went, and I fanned myself all the time; for I was in a flame; andhemmed, and struggled with myself all I could; and, when she returned, drank my water; and finding no hope presently of a quieter heart, I senther down, and followed her with precipitation; trembling so, that, hadI not hurried, I question if I could have got down at all. --Oh my dear, what a poor, passive machine is the body when the mind is disordered!

There are two doors to my parlour, as I used to call it. As I enteredone, my friends hurried out the other. I just saw the gown of my sister, the last who slid away. My uncle Antony went out with them: but he staidnot long, as you shall hear; and they all remained in the next parlour, a wainscot partition only parting the two. I remember them both in one:but they were separated in favour of us girls, for each to receive hervisitors in at her pleasure. 

Mr. Solmes approached me as soon as I entered, cringing to the ground, a visible confusion in every feature of his face. After half a dozenchoaked-up Madams, --he was very sorry--he was very much concerned--itwas his misfortune--and there he stopped, being unable presently tocomplete a sentence. 

This gave me a little more presence of mind. Cowardice in a foe begetscourage in one's self--I see that plainly now--yet perhaps, at bottom, the new-made bravo is a greater coward than the other. 

I turned from him, and seated myself in one of the fireside chairs, fanning myself. I have since recollected, that I must have lookedvery saucily. Could I have had any thoughts of the man, I should havedespised myself for it. But what can be said in the case of an aversionso perfectly sincere?

He hemmed five or six times, as I had done above; and these produced asentence--that I could not but see his confusion. This sentence producedtwo or three more. I believe my aunt had been his tutoress; for it washis awe, his reverence for so superlative a Lady [I assure you!] And hehoped--he hoped--three times he hoped, before he told me what--atlast it came out, that I was too generous (generosity, he said, was mycharacter) to despise him for such--for such--for such--true tokens ofhis love. 

I do indeed see you under some confusion, Sir; and this gives me hope, that although I have been compelled, as I may call it, to give wayto this interview, it may be attended with happier effects than I hadapprehended from it. 

He had hemmed himself into more courage. 

You could not, Madam, imagine any creature so blind to your merits, and so little attracted by them, as easily to forego the interest andapprobation he was honoured with by your worthy family, while he hadany hope given him, that one day he might, by his perseverance and zeal, expect your favour. 

I am but too much aware, Sir, that it is upon the interest andapprobation you mention, that you build such hope. It is impossibleotherwise, that a man, who has any regard for his own happiness, wouldpersevere against such declarations as I have made, and think myselfobliged to make, in justice to you, as well as to myself. 

He had seen many instances, he told me, and had heard of more, whereladies had seemed as averse, and yet had been induced, some by motivesof compassion, others by persuasion of friends, to change their minds;and had been very happy afterwards: and he hoped this might be the casehere. 

I have no notion, Sir, of compliment, in an article of such importanceas this: yet I am sorry to be obliged to speak my mind so plainly as Iam going to do. --Know then, that I have invincible objections, Sir, toyour address. I have avowed them with an earnestness that I believe iswithout example: and why?--because I believe it is without example thatany young creature, circumstanced as I am, was ever treated as I havebeen treated on your account. 

It is hoped, Madam, that your consent may in time be obtained--that isthe hope; and I shall be a miserable man if it cannot. 

Better, Sir, give me leave to say, you were miserable by yourself, thanthat you should make two so. 

You may have heard, Madam, things to my disadvantage. No man is withoutenemies. Be pleased to let me know what you have heard, and I willeither own my faults, and amend; or I will convince you that I am baselybespattered: and once I understand you overheard something that I shouldsay, that gave you offence: unguardedly, perhaps; but nothing but whatshewed my value, and that I would persist so long as I have hope. 

I have indeed heard many things to your disadvantage:--and I was farfrom being pleased with what I overheard fall from your lips: but as youwere not any thing to me, and never could be, it was not for me to beconcerned about the one or the other. 

I am sorry, Madam, to hear this. I am sure you should not tell me of myfault, that I would be unwilling to correct in myself. 

Then, Sir, correct this fault--do not wish to have a young creaturecompelled in the most material article of her life, for the sake ofmotives she despises; and in behalf of a person she cannot value: onethat has, in her own right, sufficient to set her above all your offers, and a spirit that craves no more than what it has, to make itself easyand happy. 

I don't see, Madam, how you would be happy, if I were to discontinue myaddress: for--

That is nothing to you, Sir, interrupted I: do you but withdraw yourpretensions: and if it will be thought fit to start up another man formy punishment, the blame will not lie at your door. You will be entitledto my thanks, and most heartily will I thank you. 

He paused, and seemed a little at a loss: and I was going to give himstill stronger and more personal instances of my plain-dealing; when incame my uncle Antony. 

So, Niece, so!--sitting in state like a queen, giving audience! haughtyaudience!--Mr. Solmes, why stand you thus humbly?--Why this distance, man? I hope to see you upon a more intimate footing before we part. 

I arose, as soon as he entered--and approached him with a bend knee: Letme, Sir, reverence my uncle, whom I have not for so long time seen!--Letme, Sir, bespeak your favour and compassion. 

You will have the favour of every body, Niece, when you know how todeserve it. 

If ever I deserved it, I deserve it now. --I have been hardly used!--Ihave made proposals that ought to be accepted, and such as would nothave been asked of me. What have I done, that I must be banished andconfined thus disgracefully? that I must not be allowed to have anyfree-will in an article that concerns my present and future happiness?--

Miss Clary, replied my uncle, you have had your will in every thing tillnow; and this makes your parents' will sit so heavy upon you. 

My will, Sir! be pleased to allow me to ask, what was my will till now, but my father's will, and yours and my uncle Harlowe's will?--Has it notbeen my pride to obey and oblige?--I never asked a favour, that I didnot first sit down and consider, if it were fit to be granted. And now, to shew my obedience, have I not offered to live single?--Have I notoffered to divest myself of my grandfather's bounty, and to cast myselfupon my father's! and that to be withdrawn, whenever I disoblige him?Why, dear, good Sir, am I to be made unhappy in a point so concerning myhappiness?

Your grandfather's estate is not wished from you. You are not desiredto live a single life. You know our motives, and we guess at yours. And, let me tell you, well as we love you, we should much sooner choose tofollow you to the grave, than that yours should take place. 

I will engage never to marry any man, without my father's consent, andyours, Sir, and every body's. Did I ever give you cause to doubt myword?--And here I will take the solemnest oath that can be offered me--

That is the matrimonial one, interrupted he, with a big voice--and tothis gentleman. --It shall, it shall, cousin Clary!--And the more youoppose it, the worse it shall be for you. 

This, and before the man, who seemed to assume courage upon it, highlyprovoked me. 

Then, Sir, you shall sooner follow me to the grave indeed. --I willundergo the cruelest death--I will even consent to enter into that awfulvault of my ancestors, and have that bricked up upon me, rather thanconsent to be miserable for life. And, Mr. Solmes, turning to him, takenotice of what I say: This or any death, I will sooner undergo [thatwill quickly be over] than be yours, and for ever unhappy!

My uncle was in a terrible rage upon this. He took Mr. Solmes by thehand, shocked as the man seemed to be, and drew him to the window--Don'tbe surprised, Mr. Solmes, don't be concerned at this. We know, and raptout a sad oath, what women will say in their wrath: the wind is not moreboisterous, nor more changeable; and again he swore to that. --If youthink it worthwhile to wait for such an ungrateful girl as this, I'llengage she'll veer about; I'll engage she shall. And a third timeviolently swore to it. 

Then coming up to me (who had thrown myself, very much disordered by myvehemence, into the most distant window) as if he would have beat me;his face violently working, his hands clinched, and his teeth set--Yes, yes, yes, you shall, Cousin Clary, be Mr. Solmes's wife; we will seethat you shall; and this in one week at farthest. --And then a fourthtime he confirmed it!--Poor gentleman! how he swore!

I am sorry, Sir, said I, to see you in such a passion. All this, I ambut too sensible, is owing to my brother's instigation; who would nothimself give the instance of duty that is sought to be exacted from me. It is best for me to withdraw. I shall but provoke you farther, I fear:for although I would gladly obey you if I could, yet this is a pointdetermined with me; and I cannot so much as wish to get over it. 

How could I avoid making these strong declarations, the man in presence?

I was going out at the door I came in at; the gentlemen looking upon oneanother, as if referring to each other what to do, or whether to engagemy stay, or suffer me to go; and whom should I meet at the door but mybrother, who had heard all that had passed!

He bolted upon me so unexpectedly, that I was surprised. He took myhand, and grasped it with violence: Return, pretty Miss, said he;return, if you please. You shall not yet be bricked up. Your instigatingbrother shall save you from that!--O thou fallen angel, said he, peeringup to my downcast face--such a sweetness here!--and such an obstinacythere! tapping my neck--O thou true woman--though so young!--But youshall not have your rake: remember that; in a loud whisper, as if hewould be decently indecent before the man. You shall be redeemed, andthis worthy gentleman, raising his voice, will be so good as to redeemyou from ruin--and hereafter you will bless him, or have reason to blesshim, for his condescension; that was the brutal brother's word!

He had led me up to meet Mr. Solmes, whose hand he took, as he heldmine. Here, Sir, said he, take the rebel daughter's hand: I give it younow: she shall confirm the gift in a week's time; or will have neitherfather, mother, nor uncles, to boast of. 

I snatched my hand away. 

How now, Miss--!

And how now, Sir!--What right have you to dispose of my hand?--If yougovern every body else, you shall not govern me; especially in a pointso immediately relative to myself, and in which you neither have, norever shall have, any thing to do. 

I would have broken from him; but he held my hand too fast. 

Let me go, Sir!--Why am I thus treated?--You design, I doubt not, withyour unmanly gripings, to hurt me, as you do: But again I ask, whereforeis it that I am to be thus treated by you?

He tossed my hand from him with a whirl, that pained my very shoulder. Iwept, and held my other hand to the part. 

Mr. Solmes blamed him. So did my uncle. 

He had no patience, he said, with such a perverse one; and to think ofthe reflections upon himself, before he entered. He had only given meback the hand I had not deserved he should touch. It was one of my artsto pretend to be so pained. 

Mr. Solmes said, he would sooner give up all his hopes of me, than thatI should be used unkindly. --And he offered to plead in my behalf to themboth; and applied himself with a bow, as if for my approbation of hisinterposition. 

Interpose not, Mr. Solmes, said I, to save me from my brother'sviolence. I cannot wish to owe an obligation to a man whose ungenerousperseverance is the occasion of that violence, and of all my disgracefulsufferings. 

How generous in you, Mr. Solmes, said my brother, to interpose so kindlyin behalf of such an immovable spirit! I beg of you to persist in youraddress--the unnatural brother called it address!--For all our family'ssake, and for her sake too, if you love her, persist!--Let us save her, if possible, from ruining herself. Look at her person! [and he gazed atme, from head to foot, pointing at me, as he referred to Mr. Solmes, ]think of her fine qualities!--all the world confesses them, and we allgloried in her till now. She is worth saving; and, after two or threemore struggles, she will be yours, and take my word for it, will rewardyour patience. Talk not, therefore, of giving up your hopes, for alittle whining folly. She has entered upon a parade, which she knowsnot how to quit with a female grace. You have only her pride and herobstinacy to encounter: and depend upon it, you will be as happy a manin a fortnight, as a married man can be. 

You have heard me say, my dear, that my brother has always taken aliberty to reflect upon our sex, and upon matrimony!--He would not, ifhe did not think it wit to do so!--Just as poor Mr. Wyerley, and others, whom we both know, profane and ridicule scripture; and all to evincetheir pretensions to the same pernicious talent, and to have it thoughtthey are too wise to be religious. 

Mr. Solmes, with a self-satisfied air, presumptuously said, he wouldsuffer every thing, to oblige my family, and to save me: and doubted notto be amply rewarded, could he be so happy as to succeed at last. 

Mr. Solmes, said I, if you have any regard for your own happiness, (mineis out of the question with you, you have not generosity enough to makethat any part of your scheme, ) prosecute no father your address, as mybrother calls it. It is but too just to tell you, that I could not bringmy heart so much as to think of you, without the utmost disapprobation, before I was used as I have been:--And can you think I am such a slave, such a poor slave, as to be brought to change my mind by the violentusage I have met with?

And you, Sir, turning to my brother, if you think that meekness alwaysindicates tameness; and that there is no magnanimity without bluster;own yourself mistaken for once: for you shall have reason to judge fromhenceforth, that a generous mind is not to be forced; and that--

No more, said the imperious wretch, I charge you, lifting up his handsand eyes. Then turning to my uncle, Do you hear, Sir? this is your oncefaultless niece! This is your favourite!

Mr. Solmes looked as if he know not what to think of the matter; and hadI been left alone with him, I saw plainly I could have got rid of himeasily enough. 

My uncle came to me, looking up also to my face, and down to my feet:and is it possible this can be you? All this violence from you, MissClary?

Yes, it is possible, Sir--and, I will presume to say, this vehemence onmy side is but the natural consequence of the usage I have met with, andthe rudeness I am treated with, even in your presence, by a brother, whohas no more right to controul me, than I have to controul him. 

This usage, cousin Clary, was not till all other means were tried withyou. 

Tried! to what end, Sir?--Do I contend for any thing more than a merenegative? You may, Sir, [turning to Mr. Solmes, ] possibly you may beinduced the rather to persevere thus ungenerously, as the usage I havemet with for your sake, and what you have now seen offered to me by mybrother, will shew you what I can bear, were my evil destiny ever tomake me yours. 

Lord, Madam, cried Solmes, [all this time distorted into twentydifferent attitudes, as my brother and my uncle were blessingthemselves, and speaking only to each other by their eyes, and by theirworking features; Lord, Madam, ] what a construction is this!

A fair construction, Sir, interrupted I: for he that can see a person, whom he pretends to value, thus treated, and approve of it, must becapable of treating her thus himself. And that you do approve of it, is evident by your declared perseverance, when you know I am confined, banished, and insulted, in order to make me consent to be what I nevercan be: and this, let me tell you, as I have often told others, not frommotives of obstinacy, but aversion. 

Excuse me, Sir, turning to my uncle--to you, as to my father's brother, I owe duty. I beg your pardon, but my brother; he shall not constrainme. --And [turning to the unnatural wretch--I will call him wretch] knityour brows, Sir, and frown all you will, I will ask you, would you, inmy case, make the sacrifices I am willing to make, to obtain every one'sfavour? If not, what right have you to treat me thus; and to procure meto be treated as I have been for so long a time past?

I had put myself by this time into great disorder: they were silent, andseemed by their looks to want to talk to one another (walking about inviolent disorders too) between whiles. I sat down fanning myself, (asit happened, against the glass, ) and I could perceive my colour go andcome; and being sick to the very heart, and apprehensive of fainting, Irung. 

Betty came in. I called for a glass of water, and drank it: but nobodyminded me. I heard my brother pronounce the words, Art! Female Art!to Solmes; which, together with the apprehension that he would not bewelcome, I suppose kept him back. Else I could see the man was affected. And (still fearing I should faint) I arose, and taking hold of Betty'sarm, let me hold by you, Betty, said I: let me withdraw. And movedwith trembling feet towards the door, and then turned about, and made acourtesy to my uncle--Permit me, Sir, said I, to withdraw. 

Whither go you, Niece? said my uncle: we have not done with you yet. I charge you depart not. Mr. Solmes has something to open to you, thatwill astonish you--and you shall hear it. 

Only, Sir, by your leave, for a few minutes into the air. I will return, if you command it. I will hear all that I am to hear; that it may beover now and for ever. --You will go with me, Betty?

And so, without any farther prohibition, I retired into the garden; andthere casting myself upon the first seat, and throwing Betty's apronover my face, leaning against her side, my hands between hers, I gaveway to a violent burst of grief, or passion, or both; which, as itseemed, saved my heart from breaking, for I was sensible of an immediaterelief. 

I have already given you specimens of Mrs. Betty's impertinence. I shallnot, therefore, trouble you with more: for the wench, notwithstandingthis my distress, took great liberties with me, after she saw me alittle recovered, and as I walked farther into the garden; insomuchthat I was obliged to silence her by an absolute prohibition of sayinganother word to me; and then she dropped behind me sullen and gloomy. 

It was near an hour before I was sent for in again. The messenger wasmy cousin Dolly Hervey, who, with an eye of compassion and respect, (forMiss Hervey always loved me, and calls herself my scholar, as you know, )told my company was desired. 

Betty left us. 

Who commands my attendance, Miss? said I--Have you not been in tears, mydear?

Who can forbid tears? said she. 

Why, what is the matter, cousin Dolly?--Sure, nobody is entitled to weepin this family, but me!

Yes, I am, Madam, said she, because I love you. 

I kissed her: And is it for me, my sweet Cousin, that you shedtears?--There never was love lost between us: but tell me, what isdesigned to be done with me, that I have this kind instance of yourcompassion for me?

You must take no notice of what I tell you, said the dear girl: but mymamma has been weeping for you, too, with me; but durst not let any bodysee it: O my Dolly, said my mamma, there never was so set a malicein man as in your cousin James Harlowe. They will ruin the flower andornament of their family. 

As how, Miss Dolly?--Did she not explain herself?--As how, my dear?

Yes; she said, Mr. Solmes would have given up his claim to you; for hesaid, you hated him, and there were no hopes; and your mamma was willinghe should; and to have you taken at your word, to renounce Mr. Lovelaceand to live single. My mamma was for it too; for they heard all thatpassed between you and uncle Antony, and cousin James; saying, it wasimpossible to think of prevailing upon you to have Mr. Solmes. UncleHarlowe seemed in the same way of thinking; at least, my mamma says hedid not say any thing to the contrary. But your papa was immovable, andwas angry at your mamma and mine upon it. --And hereupon your brother, your sister, and my uncle Antony, joined in, and changed the sceneentirely. In short, she says, that Mr. Solmes had great matters engagedto him. He owned, that you were the finest young lady in England, andhe would be content to be but little beloved, if he could not, aftermarriage, engage your heart, for the sake of having the honour to callyou his but for one twelvemonth--I suppose he would break your heart thenext--for he is a cruel-hearted man, I am sure. 

My friends may break my heart, cousin Dolly; but Mr. Solmes will neverhave it in his power to break it. 

I do not know that, Miss: you will have good luck to avoid having him, by what I can find; for my mamma says, they are all now of one mind, herself excepted; and she is forced to be silent, your papa and brotherare both so outrageous. 

I am got above minding my brother, cousin Dolly:--he is but my brother. But to my father I owe duty and obedience, if I could comply. 

We are apt to be fond of any body that will side with us, when oppressedor provoked. I always loved my cousin Dolly; but now she endearedherself to me ten times more, by her soothing concern for me. I askedwhat she would do, were she in my case?

Without hesitation, she replied, have Mr. Lovelace out of hand, and takeup her own estate, if she were me; and there would be an end to it. --AndMr. Lovelace, she said, was a fine gentleman:--Mr. Solmes was not worthyto buckle his shoes. 

Miss Hervey told me further, that her mother was desired to come to me, to fetch me in; but she excused herself. I should have all my friends, she said, she believed, sit in judgment upon me. 

I wish it had been so. But, as I have been told since, neither my fatherfor my mother would trust themselves with seeing me: the one it seemsfor passion sake; my mother for tender considerations. 

By this time we entered the house. Miss accompanied me into the parlour, and left me, as a person devoted, I then thought. 

Nobody was there. I sat down, and had leisure to weep; reflecting uponwhat my cousin Dolly had told me. 

They were all in my sister's parlour adjoining: for I heard a confusedmixture of voices, some louder than others, which drowned the morecompassionating accents. 

Female accents I could distinguish the drowned ones to be. O my dear!what a hard-hearted sex is the other! Children of the same parents, howcame they by their cruelty?--Do they get it by travel?--Do they getit by conversation with one another?--Or how do they get it?--Yet mysister, too, is as hard-hearted as any of them. But this may be noexception neither: for she has been thought to be masculine in her airand her spirit. She has then, perhaps, a soul of the other sex in a bodyof ours. And so, for the honour of our own, will I judge of everywoman for the future, who imitating the rougher manners of men, actsunbeseeming the gentleness of her own sex. 

Forgive me, my dear friend, for breaking into my story by thesereflections. Were I rapidly to pursue my narration, without thinking, without reflecting, I believe I should hardly be able to keep in myright mind: since vehemence and passion would then be always uppermost;but while I think as I write, I cool, and my hurry of spirits isallayed. 

I believe I was about a quarter of an hour enjoying my own comfortlesscontemplations, before any body came in to me; for they seemed to bein full debate. My aunt looked in first; O my dear, said she, are youthere? and withdrew hastily to apprize them of it. 

And then (as agreed upon I suppose) in came my uncle Antony, creditingMr. Solmes with the words, Let me lead you in, my dear friend, havinghold of his hand; while the new-made beau awkwardly followed, but moreedgingly, as I may say, setting his feet mincingly, to avoid treadingupon his leader's heels. Excuse me, my dear, this seeming levity; butthose we do not love, appear in every thing ungraceful to us. 

I stood up. My uncle looked very surly. --Sit down!--Sit down, Girl, said he. --And drawing a chair near me, he placed his dear friend in it, whether he would or not, I having taken my seat. And my uncle sat on theother side of me. 

Well, Niece, taking my hand, we shall have very little more to say toyou than we have already said, as to the subject that is so distastefulto you--unless, indeed, you have better considered of the matter--Andfirst let me know if you have?

The matter wants no consideration, Sir. 

Very well, very well, Madam! said my uncle, withdrawing his hands frommine: Could I ever have thought of this from you?

For God's sake, dearest Madam, said Mr. Solmes, folding his hands--Andthere he stopped. 

For God's sake, what, Sir?--How came God's sake, and your sake, I prayyou, to be the same?

This silenced him. My uncle could only be angry; and that he was before. 

Well, well, well, Mr. Solmes, said my uncle, no more of supplication. You have not confidence enough to expect a woman's favour. 

He then was pleased to hint what great things he had designed to do forme; and that it was more for my sake, after he returned from the Indies, than for the sake of any other of the family, that he had resolvedto live a single life. --But now, concluded he, that the perverse girldespises all the great things it was once as much in my will, as it isin my power, to do for her, I will change my measures. 

I told him, that I most sincerely thanked him for all his kindintentions to me: but that I was willing to resign all claim to anyother of his favours than kind looks and kind words. 

He looked about him this way and that. 

Mr. Solmes looked pitifully down. 

But both being silent, I was sorry, I added, that I had too much reasonto say a very harsh thing, as I might be thought; which was, That ifhe would but be pleased to convince my brother and sister, that he wasabsolutely determined to alter his generous purposes towards me, it might possibly procure me better treatment from both, than I wasotherwise likely to have. 

My uncle was very much displeased. But he had not the opportunity toexpress his displeasure, as he seemed preparing to do; for in came mybrother in exceeding great wrath; and called me several vile names. Hissuccess hitherto, in his device against me, had set him above keepingeven decent measures. 

Was this my spiteful construction? he asked--Was this the interpretationI put upon his brotherly care of me, and concern for me, in order toprevent my ruining myself?

It is, indeed it is, said I: I know no other way to account for yourlate behaviour to me: and before your face, I repeat my request to myuncle, and I will make it to my other uncle whenever I am permitted tosee him, that they will confer all their favours upon you, and upon mysister; and only make me happy (it is all I wish for!) in their kindlooks, and kind words. 

How they all gazed upon one another!--But could I be less peremptorybefore the man?

And, as to your care and concern for me, Sir, turning to my brother;once more I desire it not. You are but my brother. My father and mother, I bless God, are both living; and were they not, you have given meabundant reason to say, that you are the very last person I would wishto have any concern for me. 

How, Niece! And is a brother, an only brother, of so littleconsideration with you, as this comes to? And ought he to have noconcern for his sister's honour, and the family's honour. 

My honour, Sir!--I desire none of his concern for that! It never wasendangered till it had his undesired concern!--Forgive me, Sir--but whenmy brother knows how to act like a brother, or behave like a gentleman, he may deserve more consideration from me than it is possible for me nowto think he does. 

I thought my brother would have beat me upon this: but my uncle stoodbetween us. 

Violent girl, however, he called me--Who, said he, who would havethought it of her?

Then was Mr. Solmes told, that I was unworthy of his pursuit. 

But Mr. Solmes warmly took my part: he could not bear, he said, that Ishould be treated so roughly. 

And so very much did he exert himself on this occasion, and so patientlywas his warmth received by my brother, that I began to suspect, that itwas a contrivance to make me think myself obliged to him; and that thismight perhaps be one end of the pressed-for interview. 

The very suspicion of this low artifice, violent as I was thought to bebefore, put me still more out of patience; and my uncle and my brotheragain praising his wonderful generosity, and his noble return of goodfor evil, You are a happy man, Mr. Solmes, said I, that you canso easily confer obligations upon a whole family, except upon oneungrateful person of it, whom you seem to intend most to oblige; butwho being made unhappy by your favour, desires not to owe to you anyprotection from the violence of a brother. 

Then was I a rude, an ungrateful, and unworthy creature. 

I own it all--all, all you can call me, or think me, Brother, do I own. I own my unworthiness with regard to this gentleman. I take your wordfor his abundant merit, which I have neither leisure nor inclination toexamine into--it may perhaps be as great as your own--but yet I cannotthank him for his great mediation: For who sees not, looking at myuncle, that this is giving himself a merit with every body at myexpense?

Then turning to my brother, who seemed surprised into silence by mywarmth, I must also acknowledge, Sir, the favour of your superabundantcare for me. But I discharge you of it; at least, while I have thehappiness of nearer and dearer relations. You have given me no reason tothink better of your prudence, than of my own. I am independent of you, Sir, though I never desire to be so of my father: and although I wishfor the good opinion of my uncles, it is all I wish for from them: andthis, Sir, I repeat, to make you and my sister easy. 

Instantly almost came in Betty, in a great hurry, looking at me asspitefully as if she were my sister: Sir, said she to my brother, mymaster desires to speak with you this moment at the door. 

He went to that which led into my sister's parlour; and this sentenceI heard thundered from the mouth of one who had a right to all myreverence: Son James, let the rebel be this moment carried away to mybrother's--this very moment--she shall not stay one hour more under myroof!

I trembled; I was ready to sink. Yet, not knowing what I did, or said, Iflew to the door, and would have opened it: but my brother pulled it to, and held it close by the key--O my Papa!--my dear Papa! said I, fallingupon my knees, at the door--admit your child to your presence!--Let mebut plead my cause at your feet!--Oh! reprobate not thus your distresseddaughter!

My uncle put his handkerchief to his eyes. Mr. Solmes made a still moregrievous face than he had before. But my brother's marble heart wasuntouched. 

I will not stir from my knees, continued I, without admission; at thisdoor I beg it!--Oh! let it be the door of mercy! and open it to me, honoured Sir, I beseech you!--But this once, this once! although youwere afterwards to shut it against me for ever!

The door was endeavoured to be opened on the inside, which made mybrother let go the key on a sudden; and I pressing against it, (allthe time remaining on my knees, ) fell flat on my face into the otherparlour; however without hurting myself. But every body was gone, exceptBetty, who I suppose was the person that endeavoured to open the door. She helped to raise me up; and when I was on my feet, I looked roundthat apartment, and seeing nobody there, re-entered the other, leaningupon her; and then threw myself into the chair which I had sat inbefore; and my eyes overflowed, to my great relief: while my uncleAntony, my brother, and Mr. Solmes, left me, and went to my otherrelations. 

What passed among them, I know not: but my brother came in by the timeI had tolerably recovered myself, with a settled and haughty gloom uponhis brow--Your father and mother command you instantly to prepare foryour uncle Antony's. You need not be solicitous about what you shalltake with you: you may give Betty your keys--Take them, Betty, if theperverse one has them about her, and carry them to her mother. She willtake care to send every thing after you that you shall want--but anothernight you will not be permitted to stay in this house. 

I don't choose to give my keys to any body, except to my mother, andinto her own hands. --You see how much I am disordered. It may cost memy life, to be hurried away so suddenly. I beg to be indulged till nextMonday at least. 

That will not be granted you. So prepare for this very very night. And give up your keys. Give them to me, Miss. I'll carry them to yourmother. 

Excuse me, Brother. Indeed I won't. 

Indeed you must. Have you any thing you are afraid should be seen byyour mother?

Not if I be permitted to attend her. 

I'll make a report accordingly. 

He went out. 

In came Miss Dolly Hervey: I am sorry, Madam, to be the messenger--butyour mamma insists upon your sending up all the keys of your cabinet, library, and drawers. 

Tell my mother, that I yield them up to her commands: tell her, Imake no conditions with my mother: but if she finds nothing she shalldisapprove of, I beg that she will permit me to tarry here a few dayslonger. --Try, my Dolly, [the dear girl sobbing with grief;] try if yourgentleness cannot prevail for me. 

She wept still more, and said, It is sad, very sad, to see matters thuscarried!

She took the keys, and wrapped her arms about me; and begged me toexcuse her for her message; and would have said more; but Betty'spresence awed her, as I saw. 

Don't pity me, my dear, said I. It will be imputed to you as a fault. You see who is by. 

The insolent wench scornfully smiled: One young lady pitying anotherin things of this nature, looks promising in the youngest, I must needssay. 

I bid her begone from my presence. 

She would most gladly go, she said, were she not to stay about me by mymother's order. 

It soon appeared for what she staid; for I offering to go up stairs tomy apartment when my cousin went from me with the keys, she told me shewas commanded (to her very great regret, she must own) to desire me notto go up at present. 

Such a bold face, as she, I told her, should not hinder me. 

She instantly rang the bell, and in came my brother, meeting me at thedoor. 

Return, return, Miss--no going up yet. 

I went in again, and throwing myself upon the window-seat, weptbitterly. 

Shall I give you the particulars of a ridiculously-spiteful conversationthat passed between my brother and me, in the time that he (withBetty) was in office to keep me in the parlour while my closet wassearching!--But I think I will not. It can answer no good end. 

I desired several times, while he staid, to have leave to retire to myapartment; but was denied. The search, I suppose, was not over. 

Bella was one of those employed in it. They could not have a morediligent searcher. How happy it was they were disappointed!

But when my sister could not find the cunning creature's papers, I wasto stand another visit from Mr. Solmes--preceded now by my aunt Hervey, solely against her will, I could see that; accompanied by my uncleAntony, in order to keep her steady, I suppose. 

But being a little heavy (for it is now past two in the morning) Iwill lie down in my clothes, to indulge the kind summons, if it will beindulged. 

THREE O'CLOCK, WEDNESDAY MORNING. 

I could not sleep--Only dozed away one half-hour. 

My aunt Hervey accosted me thus:--O my dear child, what troubles do yougive to your parents, and to every body!--I wonder at you!

I am sorry for it, Madam. 

Sorry for it, child!--Why then so very obstinate?--Come, sit down, mydear. I will sit next to you; taking my hand. 

My uncle placed Mr. Solmes on the other side of me: himself over-againstme, almost close to me. Was I not finely beset, my dear?

Your brother, child, said my aunt, is too passionate--his zeal for yourwelfare pushes him on a little too vehemently. 

Very true, said my uncle: but no more of this. We would now be glad tosee if milder means will do with you--though, indeed, they were triedbefore. 

I asked my aunt, If it were necessary, that the gentleman should bepresent?

There is a reason that he should, said my aunt, as you will hear by-andby. --But I must tell you, first, that, thinking you was a little tooangrily treated by your brother, your mother desired me to try whatgentler means would do upon a spirit so generous as we used to thinkyours. 

Nothing can be done, Madam, I must presume to say, if this gentleman'saddress be the end. 

She looked upon my uncle, who bit his lip; and looked upon Mr. Solmes, who rubbed his cheek; and shaking her head, Good, dear creature, saidshe, be calm. Let me ask you, If something would have been done, had youbeen more gently used, than you seem to think you have been?

No, Madam, I cannot say it would, in this gentleman's favour. Youknow, Madam, you know, Sir, to my uncle, I ever valued myself upon mysincerity: and once indeed had the happiness to be valued for it. 

My uncle took Mr. Solmes aside. I heard him say, whispering, She must, she shall, still be yours. --We'll see, who'll conquer, parents or child, uncles or niece. I doubt not to be witness to all this being got over, and many a good-humoured jest made of this high phrensy!

I was heartily vexed. 

Though we cannot find out, continued he, yet we guess, who puts her uponthis obstinate behaviour. It is not natural to her, man. Nor would Iconcern myself so much about her, but that I know what I say to be true, and intend to do great things for her. 

I will hourly pray for that happy time, whispered as audibly Mr. Solmes. I never will revive the remembrance of what is now so painful to me. 

Well, but, Niece, I am to tell you, said my aunt, that the sending upof the keys, without making any conditions, has wrought for you whatnothing else could have done. That, and the not finding any thing thatcould give them umbrage, together with Mr. Solmes's interposition--

O Madam, let me not owe an obligation to Mr. Solmes. I cannot repay it, except by my thanks; and those only on condition that he will declinehis suit. To my thanks, Sir, [turning to him, ] if you have a heartcapable of humanity, if you have any esteem for me for my own sake, Ibeseech you to entitle yourself!--I beseech you, do--!

O Madam, cried he, believe, believe, believe me, it is impossible. Whileyou are single, I will hope. While that hope is encouraged by so manyworthy friends, I must persevere. I must not slight them, Madam, becauseyou slight me. 

I answered him only with a look; but it was of high disdain; and turningfrom him, --But what favour, dear Madam, [to my aunt, ] has the instanceof duty you mention procured me?

Your mother and Mr. Solmes, replied my aunt, have prevailed, that yourrequest to stay here till Monday next shall be granted, if you willpromise to go cheerfully then. 

Let me but choose my own visiters, and I will go to my uncle's housewith pleasure. 

Well, Niece, said my aunt, we must wave this subject, I find. We willnow proceed to another, which will require your utmost attention. Itwill give you the reason why Mr. Solmes's presence is requisite--

Ay, said my uncle, and shew you what sort of a man somebody is. Mr. Solmes, pray favour us, in the first place, with the letter you receivedfrom your anonymous friend. 

I will, Sir. And out he pulled a letter-case, and taking out a letter, it is written in answer to one, sent to the person. It is superscribed, To Roger Solmes, Esq. It begins thus: Honoured Sir--

I beg your pardon, Sir, said I: but what, pray, is the intent of readingthis letter to me?

To let you know what a vile man you are thought to have set your heartupon, said my uncle, in an audible whisper. 

If, Sir, it be suspected, that I have set my heart upon any other, whyis Mr. Solmes to give himself any further trouble about me?

Only hear, Niece, said my aunt; only hear what Mr. Solmes has to readand to say to you on this head. 

If, Madam, Mr. Solmes will be pleased to declare, that he has no viewto serve, no end to promote, for himself, I will hear any thing he shallread. But if the contrary, you must allow me to say, that it will abatewith me a great deal of the weight of whatever he shall produce. 

Hear it but read, Niece, said my aunt--

Hear it read, said my uncle. You are so ready to take part with--

With any body, Sir, that is accused anonymously, and from interestedmotives. 

He began to read; and there seemed to be a heavy load of charges in thisletter against the poor criminal: but I stopped the reading of it, and said, It will not be my fault, if this vilified man be not asindifferent to me, as one whom I never saw. If he be otherwise atpresent, which I neither own, nor deny, it proceed from the strangemethods taken to prevent it. Do not let one cause unite him and me, andwe shall not be united. If my offer to live single be accepted, he shallbe no more to me than this gentleman. 

Still--Proceed, Mr. Solmes--Hear it out, Niece, was my uncle's cry. 

But to what purpose, Sir! said I--Had not Mr. Solmes a view in this?And, besides, can any thing worse be said of Mr. Lovelace, than I haveheard said for several months past?

But this, said my uncle, and what Mr. Solmes can tell you besides, amounts to the fullest proof--

Was the unhappy man, then, so freely treated in his character before, without full proof? I beseech you, Sir, give me not too good an opinionof Mr. Lovelace; as I may have, if such pains be taken to make himguilty, by one who means not his reformation by it; nor to do good, if Imay presume to say so in this case, to any body but himself. 

I see very plainly, girl, said my uncle, your prepossession, your fondprepossession, for the person of a man without morals. 

Indeed, my dear, said my aunt, you too much justify all yourapprehension. Surprising! that a young creature of virtue and honourshould thus esteem a man of a quite opposite character!

Dear Madam, do not conclude against me too hastily. I believe Mr. Lovelace is far from being so good as he ought to be: but if every man'sprivate life was searched into by prejudiced people, set on for thatpurpose, I know not whose reputation would be safe. I love a virtuouscharacter, as much in man as in woman. I think it is requisite, and asmeritorious, in the one as in the other. And, if left to myself, I wouldprefer a person of such a character to royalty without it. 

Why then, said my uncle--

Give me leave, Sir--but I may venture to say, that many of those whohave escaped censure, have not merited applause. 

Permit me to observe further, That Mr. Solmes himself may not beabsolutely faultless. I never head of his virtues. Some vices I haveheard of--Excuse me, Mr. Solmes, I speak to your face--The text aboutcasting the first stone affords an excellent lesson. 

He looked down; but was silent. 

Mr. Lovelace may have vices you have not. You may have others, whichhe has not. I speak not this to defend him, or to accuse you. No man isbad, no one is good, in every thing. Mr. Lovelace, for example, is saidto be implacable, and to hate my friends: that does not make me valuehim the more: but give me leave to say, that they hate him as much. Mr. Solmes has his antipathies, likewise; very strong ones, and those to hisown relations; which I don't find to be the other's fault; for he liveswell with his--yet he may have as bad:--worse, pardon me, he cannothave, in my poor opinion: for what must be the man, who hates his ownflesh?

You know not, Madam; You know not, Niece; all in one breath. You knownot, Clary;

I may not, nor do I desire to know Mr. Solmes's reasons. It concerns notme to know them: but the world, even the impartial part of it, accuseshim. If the world is unjust or rash, in one man's case, why may it notbe so in another's? That's all I mean by it. Nor can there by a greatersign of want of merit, than where a man seeks to pull down another'scharacter, in order to build up his own. 

The poor man's face was all this time overspread with confusion, twisted, as it were, and all awry, neither mouth nor nose standing inthe middle of it. He looked as if he were ready to cry: and had he beencapable of pitying me, I had certainly tried to pity him. 

They all three gazed upon one another in silence. 

My aunt, I saw (at least I thought so) looked as if she would have beenglad she might have appeared to approve of what I said. She but feeblyblamed me, when she spoke, for not hearing what Mr. Solmes had to say. He himself seemed not now very earnest to be heard. My uncle said, There was no talking to me. And I should have absolutely silenced bothgentlemen, had not my brother come in again to their assistance. 

This was the strange speech he made at his entrance, his eyes flamingwith anger; This prating girl, has struck you all dumb, I perceive. Persevere, however, Mr. Solmes. I have heard every word she has said:and I know of no other method of being even with her, than after she isyours, to make her as sensible of your power, as she now makes you ofher insolence. 

Fie, cousin Harlowe! said my aunt--Could I have thought a brother wouldhave said this, to a gentleman, of a sister?

I must tell you, Madam, said he, that you give the rebel courage. You yourself seem to favour too much the arrogance of her sex inher; otherwise she durst not have thus stopped her uncle's mouth byreflections upon him; as well as denied to hear a gentleman tell herthe danger she is in from a libertine, whose protection, as she plainlyhinted, she intends to claim against her family. 

Stopped my uncle's mouth, by reflections upon him, Sir! said I, how canthat be! how dare you to make such an application as this!

My aunt wept at his reflection upon her. --Cousin, said she to him, ifthis be the thanks I have for my trouble, I have done: your fatherwould not treat me thus--and I will say, that the hint you gave was anunbrotherly one. 

Not more unbrotherly than all the rest of his conduct to me, of late, Madam, said I. I see by this specimen of his violence, how every bodyhas been brought into his measures. Had I any the least apprehension ofever being in Mr. Solmes's power, this might have affected me. But yousee, Sir, to Mr. Solmes, what a conduct is thought necessary to enableyou to arrive at your ungenerous end. You see how my brother courts foryou. 

I disclaim Mr. Harlowe's violence, Madam, with all my soul. I will neverremind you--

Silence, worthy Sir, said I; I will take care you never shall have theopportunity. 

Less violence, Clary, said my uncle. Cousin James, you are as much toblame as your sister. 

In then came my sister. Brother, said she, you kept not your promise. You are thought to be to blame within, as well as here. Were not Mr. Solmes's generosity and affection to the girl well known, what you saidwould have been inexcusable. My father desires to speak with you; andwith you, Mr. Solmes, if you please. 

They all four withdrew into the next apartment. 

I stood silent, as not knowing presently how to take this interventionof my sister's. But she left me not long at a loss--O thou perversething, said she [poking out her angry face at me, when they were allgone, but speaking spitefully low]--what trouble do you give to us all!

You and my brother, Bella, said I, give trouble to yourselves; yetneither you nor he have any business to concern yourselves about me. 

She threw out some spiteful expressions, still in a low voice, as if shechose not to be heard without; and I thought it best to oblige her toraise her tone a little, if I could. If I could, did I say? It is easyto make a passionate spirit answer all one's views upon it. 

She accordingly flamed out in a raised tone: and this brought my cousinDolly in to us. Miss Harlowe, your company is desired. 

I will come presently, cousin Dolly. 

But again provoking a severity from me which she could not bear, andcalling me names! in once more come Dolly, with another message, thather company was desired. 

Not mine, I doubt, Miss Dolly, said I. 

The sweet-tempered girl burst out into tears, and shook her head. 

Go in before me, child, said Bella, [vexed to see her concern for me, ]with thy sharp face like a new moon: What dost thou cry for? is it tomake thy keen face look still keener?

I believe Bella was blamed, too, when she went in; for I heard her say, the creature was so provoking, there was no keeping a resolution. 

Mr. Solmes, after a little while, came in again by himself, to takeleave of me: full of scrapes and compliments; but too well tutored andencouraged, to give me hope of his declining his suit. He begged menot to impute to him any of the severe things to which he had been asorrowful witness. He besought my compassion, as he called it. 

He said, the result was, that he still had hopes given him; and, although discouraged by me, he was resolved to persevere, while Iremained single. --And such long and such painful services he talked of, as never before were heard of. 

I told him in the strongest manner, what he had to trust to. 

Yet still he determined to persist. --While I was no man's else, he musthope. 

What! said I, will you still persist, when I declare, as I do now, thatmy affections are engaged?--And let my brother make the most of it. 

He knew my principles, and adored me for them. He doubted not, that itwas in his power to make me happy: and he was sure I would not want thewill to be so. 

I assured him, that were I to be carried to my uncle's, it should answerno end; for I would never see him; nor receive a line from him; nor heara word in his favour, whoever were the person who should mention him tome. 

He was sorry for it. He must be miserable, were I to hold in that mind. But he doubted not, that I might be induced by my father and uncles tochange it--

Never, never, he might depend upon it. 

It was richly worth his patience, and the trial. 

At my expense?--At the price of all my happiness, Sir?

He hoped I should be induced to think otherwise. 

And then would he have run into his fortune, his settlements, hisaffection--vowing, that never man loved a woman with so sincere apassion as he loved me. 

I stopped him, as to the first part of his speech: and to the second, of the sincerity of his passion, What then, Sir, said I, is your love toone, who must assure you, that never young creature looked upon man witha more sincere disapprobation, than I look upon you? And tell me, what argument can you urge, that this true declaration answers notbefore-hand?

Dearest Madam, what can I say?--On my knees I beg--

And down the ungraceful wretch dropped on his knees. 

Let me not kneel in vain, Madam: let me not be thus despised. --And helooked most odiously sorrowful. 

I have kneeled too, Mr. Solmes: often have I kneeled: and I will kneelagain--even to you, Sir, will I kneel, if there be so much merit inkneeling; provided you will not be the implement of my cruel brother'sundeserved persecution. 

If all the services, even to worship you, during my whole life--You, Madam, invoke and expect mercy; yet shew none--

Am I to be cruel to myself, to shew mercy to you; take my estate, Sir, with all my heart, since you are such a favourite in this house!--onlyleave me myself--the mercy you ask for, do you shew to others. 

If you mean to my relations, Madam--unworthy as they are, all shall bedone that you shall prescribe. 

Who, I, Sir, to find you bowels you naturally have not? I to purchasetheir happiness by the forfeiture of my own? What I ask you for, is mercy to myself: that, since you seem to have some power over myrelations, you will use it in my behalf. Tell them, that you see Icannot conquer my aversion to you: tell them, if you are a wise man, that you too much value your own happiness, to risk it against such adetermined antipathy: tell them that I am unworthy of your offers: andthat in mercy to yourself, as well as to me, you will not prosecute asuit so impossible to be granted. 

I will risque all consequences, said the fell wretch, rising, with acountenance whitened over, as if with malice, his hollow eyes flashingfire, and biting his under lip, to shew he could be manly. Your hatred, Madam, shall be no objection with me: and I doubt not in a few days tohave it in my power to shew you--

You have it in your power, Sir--

He came well off--To shew you more generosity than, noble as you aresaid to be to others, you shew to me. 

The man's face became his anger: it seems formed to express the passion. 

At that instant, again in came my brother--Sister, Sister, Sister, saidhe, with his teeth set, act on the termagant part you have so newlyassumed--most wonderfully well does it become you. It is but ashort one, however. Tyraness in your turn, accuse others of your ownguilt--But leave her, leaver her, Mr. Solmes: her time is short. You'llfind her humble and mortified enough very quickly. Then, how like alittle tame fool will she look, with her conscience upbraiding her, andbegging of you [with a whining voice, the barbarous brother spoke] toforgive and forget!

More he said, as he flew out, with a glowing face, upon Shorey's comingin to recall him on his violence. 

I removed from chair to chair, excessively frighted and disturbed atthis brutal treatment. 

The man attempted to excuse himself, as being sorry for my brother'spassion. 

Leave me, leave me, Sir, fanning--or I shall faint. And indeed I thoughtI should. 

He recommended himself to my favour with an air of assurance; augmented, as I thought, by a distress so visible in me; for he even snatched mytrembling, my struggling hand; and ravished it to his odious mouth. 

I flung from him with high disdain: and he withdrew, bowing andcringing; self-gratified, and enjoying, as I thought, the confusion hesaw me in. 

The wretch is now, methinks, before me; and now I see him awkwardlystriding backward, as he retired, till the edge of the opened door, which he ran against, remembered him to turn his welcome back upon me. 

Upon his withdrawing, Betty brought me word, that I was permitted togo up to my own chamber: and was bid to consider of every thing: for mytime was short. Nevertheless, she believed I might be permitted to staytill Saturday. 

She tells me, that although my brother and sister were blamed for beingso hasty with me, yet when they made their report, and my uncle Antonyhis, of my provocations, they were all more determined than ever in Mr. Solmes's favour. 

The wretch himself, she tells me, pretends to be more in love withme than before; and to be rather delighted than discouraged with theconversation that passed between us. He ran on, she says, in raptures, about the grace wherewith I should dignify his board; and the like sortof stuff, either of his saying, or of her making. 

She closed all with a Now is your time, Miss, to submit with a grace, and to make your own terms with him:--else, I can tell you, were I Mr. Solmes, it should be worse for you: And who, Miss, of our sex, proceededthe saucy creature, would admire a rakish gentleman, when she might beadmired by a sober one to the end of the chapter?

She made this further speech to me on quitting my chamber--You havehad amazing good luck, Miss. I must tell you, to keep your writingsconcealed so cunningly. You must needs think I know that you are alwaysat your pen: and as you endeavour to hide that knowledge from me, Ido not think myself obliged to keep your secret. But I love not toaggravate. I had rather reconcile by much. Peace-making is my talent, and ever was. And had I been as much your foe, as you imagine, you hadnot perhaps been here now. But this, however, I do not say to make amerit with you, Miss: for, truly, it will be the better for you thesooner every thing is over with you. And better for me, and for everyone else; that's certain. Yet one hint I must conclude with; that yourpen and ink (soon as you are to go away) will not be long in your power, I do assure you, Miss. And then, having lost that amusement, it will beseen, how a mind so active as yours will be able to employ itself. 

This hint alarms me so much, that I shall instantly begin to conceal, indifferent places, pens, inks, and paper; and to deposit some in the ivysummer-house, if I can find a safe place there; and, at the worst, Ihave got a pencil of black, and another of red lead, which I use in mydrawings; and my patterns shall serve for paper, if I have no other. 

How lucky it was, that I had got away my papers! They made a strictsearch for them; that I can see, by the disorderly manner they have leftall things in: for you know that I am such an observer of method, thatI can go to a bit of ribband, or lace, or edging, blindfold. The same inmy books; which they have strangely disordered and mismatched; to lookbehind them, and in some of them, I suppose. My clothes too are rumplednot a little. No place has escaped them. To your hint, I thank you, arethey indebted for their disappointment. 

The pen, through heaviness and fatigue, dropt out of my fingers, at theword indebted. I resumed it, to finish the sentence; and to tell you, that I am, Your for ever obliged and affectionate CL. HARLOWE. 

LETTER XXXV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE WEDNESDAY, ELEVEN O'CLOCK, APRIL 5. 

I must write as I have opportunity; making use of my concealed stores:for my pens and ink (all of each that they could find) are taken fromme; as I shall tell you about more particularly by and by. 

About an hour ago, I deposited my long letter to you; as also, in theusual place, a billet to Mr. Lovelace, lest his impatience should puthim upon some rashness; signifying, in four lines, 'That the interviewwas over; and that I hoped my steady refusal of Mr. Solmes woulddiscourage any further applications to me in his favour. '

Although I was unable (through the fatigue I had undergone, and byreason of sitting up all night, to write to you, which made me lielonger than ordinary this morning) to deposit my letter to you sooner, yet I hope you will have it in such good time, as that you will be ableto send me an answer to it this night, or in the morning early; which, if ever so short, will inform me, whether I may depend upon yourmother's indulgence or not. This it behoves me to know as soon aspossible; for they are resolved to hurry me away on Saturday next atfarthest; perhaps to-morrow. 

I will now inform you of all that has happened previous to their takingaway my pen and ink, as well as of the manner in which that act ofviolence was committed; and this as briefly as I can. 

My aunt, who (as well as Mr. Solmes, and my two uncles) lives here, Ithink, came up to me, and said, she would fain have me hear what Mr. Solmes had to say of Mr. Lovelace--only that I may be apprized ofsome things, that would convince me what a vile man he is, and what awretched husband he must make. I might give them what degree of creditI pleased; and take them with abatement for Mr. Solmes's interestedness, if I thought fit. But it might be of use to me, were it but to questionMr. Lovelace indirectly upon some of them, that related to myself. 

I was indifferent, I said, about what he could say of me; and I was sureit could not be to my disadvantage; and as he had no reason to impute tome the forwardness which my unkind friends had so causelessly taxed mewith. 

She said, That he gave himself high airs on account of his family; andspoke as despicably of ours as if an alliance with us were beneath him. 

I replied, That he was a very unworthy man, if it were true, to speakslightingly of a family, which was as good as his own, 'bating thatit was not allied to the peerage: that the dignity itself, I thought, conveyed more shame than honour to descendants, who had not merit toadorn, as well as to be adorned by it: that my brother's absurd pride, indeed, which made him every where declare, he would never marry but toquality, gave a disgraceful preference against ours: but that were Ito be assured, that Mr. Lovelace was capable of so mean a pride as toinsult us or value himself on such an accidental advantage, I shouldthink as despicably of his sense, as every body else did of his morals. 

She insisted upon it, that he had taken such liberties, it would be butcommon justice (so much hated as he was by all our family, and somuch inveighed against in all companies by them) to inquire into theprovocation he had to say what was imputed to him; and whether the valuesome of my friends put upon the riches they possess (throwing perhapscontempt upon every other advantage, and even discrediting their ownpretensions to family, in order to depreciate his) might not provoke himto like contempts. Upon the whole, Madam, said I, can you say, that theinveteracy lies not as much on our side, as on his? Can he say any thingof us more disrespectful than we say of him?--And as to the suggestion, so often repeated, that he will make a bad husband, Is it possible forhim to use a wife worse than I am used; particularly by my brother andsister?

Ah, Niece! Ah, my dear! how firmly has this wicked man attached you!

Perhaps not, Madam. But really great care should be taken by fathers andmothers, when they would have their daughters of their minds in theseparticulars, not to say things that shall necessitate the child, inhonour and generosity, to take part with the man her friends are averseto. But, waving all this, as I have offered to renounce him for ever, Isee now why he should be mentioned to me, nor why I should be wished tohear any thing about him. 

Well, but still, my dear, there can be no harm to let Mr. Solmes tellyou what Mr. Lovelace has said of you. Severely as you have treated Mr. Solmes, he is fond of attending you once more: he begs to be heard onthis head. 

If it be proper for me to hear it, Madam--

It is, eagerly interrupted she, very proper. 

Has what he has said of me, Madam, convinced you of Mr. Lovelace'sbaseness?

It has, my dear: and that you ought to abhor him for it. 

Then, dear Madam, be pleased to let me hear it from your mouth: thereis no need that I should see Mr. Solmes, when it will have double theweight from you. What, Madam, has the man dared to say of me?

My aunt was quite at a loss. 

At last, Well, said she, I see how you are attached. I am sorry for it, Miss. For I do assure you, it will signify nothing. You must be Mrs. Solmes; and that in a very few days. 

If consent of heart, and assent of voice, be necessary to a marriage, Iam sure I never can, nor ever will, be married to Mr. Solmes. And whatwill any of my relations be answerable for, if they force my hand intohis, and hold it there till the service be read; I perhaps insensible, and in fits, all the time!

What a romantic picture of a forced marriage have you drawn, Niece!Some people would say, you have given a fine description of your ownobstinacy, child. 

My brother and sister would: but you, Madam, distinguish, I am sure, between obstinacy and aversion. 

Supposed aversion may owe its rise to real obstinacy, my dear. 

I know my own heart, Madam. I wish you did. 

Well, but see Mr. Solmes once more, Niece. It will oblige and make foryou more than you imagine. 

What should I see him for, Madam?--Is the man fond of hearing me declaremy aversion to him?--Is he desirous of having me more and more incensemy friends against myself?--O my cunning, my ambitious brother!

Ah, my dear! with a look of pity, as if she understood the meaning of myexclamation--But must that necessarily be the case?

It must, Madam, if they will take offence at me for declaring mysteadfast detestation of Mr. Solmes, as a husband. 

Mr. Solmes is to be pitied, said she. He adores you. He longs to seeyou once more. He loves you the better for your cruel usage of himyesterday. He is in raptures about you. 

Ugly creature, thought I!--He in raptures!

What a cruel wretch must he be, said I, who can enjoy the distress towhich he so largely contributes!--But I see, I see, Madam, that I amconsidered as an animal to be baited, to make sport for my brotherand sister, and Mr. Solmes. They are all, all of them, wanton in theircruelty. --I, Madam, see the man! the man so incapable of pity!--Indeed Iwill not see him, if I can help it--indeed I will not. 

What a construction does your lively wit put upon the admirationMr. Solmes expresses of you!--Passionate as you were yesterday, andcontemptuously as you treated him, he dotes upon you for the veryseverity by which he suffers. He is not so ungenerous a man as you thinkhim: nor has he an unfeeling heart. --Let me prevail upon you, my dear, (as your father and mother expect it of you, ) to see him once more, andhear what he has to say to you. 

How can I consent to see him again, when yesterday's interviewwas interpreted by you, Madam, as well as by every other, as anencouragement to him? when I myself declared, that if I saw him a secondtime by my own consent, it might be so taken? and when I am determinednever to encourage him?

You might spare your reflections upon me, Miss. I have no thanks eitherfrom one side or the other. 

And away she flung. 

Dearest Madam! said I, following her to the door--

But she would not hear me further; and her sudden breaking from meoccasioned a hurry to some mean listener; as the slipping of a foot fromthe landing-place on the stairs discovered to me. 

I had scarcely recovered myself from this attack, when up cameBetty--Miss, said she, your company is desired below-stairs in your ownparlour. 

By whom, Betty?

How can I tell, Miss?--perhaps by your sister, perhaps by yourbrother--I know they wont' come up stairs to your apartment again. 

Is Mr. Solmes gone, Betty?

I believe he is, Miss--Would you have him sent for back? said the boldcreature. 

Down I went: and to whom should I be sent for, but to my brother and Mr. Solmes! the latter standing sneaking behind the door, so that I saw himnot, till I was mockingly led by the hand into the room by my brother. And then I started as if I had beheld a ghost. 

You are to sit down, Clary. 

And what then, Brother?

Why then, you are to put off that scornful look, and hear what Mr. Solmes has to say to you. 

Sent down for to be baited again, thought I!

Madam, said Mr. Solmes, as if in haste to speak, lest he should not havean opportunity given him, [and indeed he judged right, ] Mr. Lovelace isa declared marriage hater, and has a design upon your honour, if ever--

Base accuser! said I, in a passion, snatching my hand from my brother, who was insolently motioning to give it to Mr. Solmes; he has not!--hedares not!--But you have, if endeavouring to force a free mind be todishonour it!

O thou violent creature! said my brother--but not gone yet--for I wasrushing away. 

What mean you, Sir, [struggling vehemently to get away, ] to detain methus against my will?

You shall not go, Violence; clasping his unbrotherly arms about me. 

Then let not Mr. Solmes stay. --Why hold you me thus? he shall not foryour own sake, if I can help it, see how barbarously a brother can treata sister who deserves not evil treatment. 

And I struggled so vehemently to get from him, that he was forced toquit my hand; which he did with these words--Begone then, Fury!--howstrong is will!--there is no holding her. 

And up I flew to my chamber, and locked myself in, trembling and out ofbreath. 

In less than a quarter of an hour, up came Betty. I let her in upon hertapping, and asking (half out of breath too) for admittance. 

The Lord have mercy upon us! said she. --What a confusion of a house isthis! [hurrying up and down, fanning herself with her handkerchief, ]Such angry masters and mistresses!--such an obstinate young lady!--sucha humble lover!--such enraged uncles!--such--O dear!--dear! what atopsy-turvy house is this!--And all for what, trow?--only because ayoung lady may be happy, and will not?--only because a young lady willhave a husband, and will not have a husband? What hurlyburlies are here, where all used to be peace and quietness!

Thus she ran on to herself; while I sat as patiently as I could (beingassured that her errand was not designed to be a welcome one to me) toobserve when her soliloquy would end. 

At last, turning to me--I must do as I am bid. I can't help it--don'tbe angry with me, Miss. But I must carry down your pen and ink: and thatthis moment. 

By whose order?

By your papa's and mamma's. 

How shall I know that?

She offered to go to my closet: I stept in before her: touch it, if youdare. 

Up came my cousin Dolly--Madam!--Madam! said the poor weeping, good natured creature, in broken sentences--you must--indeed youmust--deliver to Betty--or to me--your pen and ink. 

Must I, my sweet Cousin? then I will to you; but not to this bold body. And so I gave my standish to her. 

I am sorry, very sorry, said she, Miss, to be the messenger: but yourpapa will not have you in the same house with him: he is resolved youshall be carried away to-morrow, or Saturday at farthest. And thereforeyour pen and ink are taken away, that you may give nobody notice of it. 

And away went the dear girl, very sorrowful, carrying down with her mystandish, and all its furniture, and a little parcel of pens beside, which having been seen when the great search was made, she was bid toask for. 

As it happened, I had not diminished it, having hid half a dozen crowquills in as many different places. It was lucky; for I doubt not theyhad numbered how many were in the parcel. 

Betty ran on, telling me, that my mother was now as much incensedagainst me as any body--that my doom was fixed--that my violentbehaviour had not left one to plead for me--that Mr. Solmes bit his lip, and muttered, and seemed to have more in his head, than could come outat his mouth; that was her phrase. 

And yet she also hinted to me, that the cruel wretch took pleasurein seeing me; although so much to my disgust--and so wanted to see meagain. --Must he not be a savage, my dear?

The wench went on--that my uncle Harlowe said, That now he gave meup--that he pitied Mr. Solmes--yet hoped he would not think of thisto my detriment hereafter: that my uncle Antony was of opinion, thatI ought to smart for it: and, for her part--and then, as one of thefamily, she gave her opinion of the same side. 

As I have no other way of hearing any thing that is said or intendedbelow, I bear sometimes more patiently than I otherwise should do withher impertinence. And indeed she seems to be in all my brother's andsister's counsels. 

Miss Hervey came up again, and demanded an half-pint ink-bottle whichthey had seen in my closet. 

I gave it her without hesitation. 

If they have no suspicion of my being able to write, they will perhapslet me stay longer than otherwise they would. 

This, my dear, is now my situation. 

All my dependence, all my hopes, are in your mother's favour. But forthat, I know not what I might do: For who can tell what will come next?

LETTER XXXVI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE WEDNESDAY, FOUR O'CLOCK IN THEAFTERNOON

I am just returned from depositing the letter I so lately finished, andsuch of Mr. Lovelace's letters as I had not sent you. My long letter Ifound remaining there--so you will have both together. 

I am convinced, methinks, it is not with you. --But your servant cannotalways be at leisure. However, I will deposit as fast as I write. I mustkeep nothing by me now; and when I write, lock myself in, that I may notbe surprised now they think I have no pen and ink. 

I found in the usual place another letter from this diligent man: and, by its contents, a confirmation that nothing passes in this house buthe knows it; and that almost as soon as it passes. For this lettermust have been written before he could have received my billet; anddeposited, I suppose, when that was taken away; yet he compliments me init upon asserting myself (as he calls it) on that occasion to my uncleand to Mr. Solmes. 

'He assures me, however, that they are more and more determined tosubdue me. 

'He sends me the compliments of his family; and acquaints me with theirearnest desire to see me amongst them. Most vehemently does he press formy quitting this house, while it is in my power to get away: and againcraves leave to order his uncle's chariot-and-six to attend my commandsat the stile leading to the coppice adjoining to the paddock. 

'Settlements to my own will he again offers. Lord M. And Lady Sarah andLady Betty to be guarantees of his honour and justice. But, if I choosenot to go to either of those ladies, nor yet to make him the happiest ofmen so soon as it is nevertheless his hope that I will, he urges me towithdraw to my own house, and to accept of Lord M. For my guardian andprotector till my cousin Morden arrives. He can contrive, he says, to give me easy possession of it, and will fill it with his femalerelations on the first invitation from me; and Mrs. Norton, or MissHowe, may be undoubtedly prevailed upon to be with me for a time. Therecan be no pretence for litigation, he says, when I am once in it. Nor, if I choose to have it so, will he appear to visit me; nor presume tomention marriage to me till all is quiet and easy; till every method Ishall prescribe for a reconciliation with my friends is tried; till mycousin comes; till such settlements are drawn as he shall approve of forme; and that I have unexceptionable proofs of his own good behaviour. '

As to the disgrace a person of my character may be apprehensive of uponquitting my father's house, he observes (too truly I doubt) 'That thetreatment I meet with is in every one's mouth: yet, he says, that thepublic voice is in my favour. My friends themselves, he says, expectthat I will do myself what he calls, this justice: why else do theyconfine me? He urges, that, thus treated, the independence I have aright to will be my sufficient excuse, going but from their house to myown, if I choose that measure; or in order to take possession of myown, if I do not: that all the disgrace I can receive, they have alreadygiven me: that his concern and his family's concern in my honour, willbe equal to my own, if he may be so happy ever to call me his: and hepresumes, he says, to aver, that no family can better supply the lossof my own friends to me than his, in whatever way I shall do them thehonour to accept of his and their protection. 

'But he repeats, that, in all events, he will oppose my being carried tomy uncle's; being well assured, that I shall be lost to him for ever, ifonce I enter into that house. ' He tells me, 'That my brother and sister, and Mr. Solmes, design to be there to receive me: that my father andmother will not come near me till the ceremony is actually over: andthat then they will appear, in order to try to reconcile me to my odioushusband, by urging upon me the obligations I shall be supposed to beunder from a double duty. '

How, my dear, am I driven on one side, and invited on the other!--Thislast intimation is but a too probable one. All the steps they take seemto tend to this! And, indeed, they have declared almost as much. 

He owns, 'That he has already taken his measures upon thisintelligence:--but that he is so desirous for my sake (I must suppose, he says, that he owes them no forbearance for their own) to avoid comingto extremities, that he has suffered a person, whom they do not suspect, to acquaint them with his resolutions, as if come at by accident, ifthey persist in their design to carry me by violence to my uncle's;in hopes, that they may be induced from the fear of mischief whichmay ensue, to change their measures: and yet he is aware, that he hasexposed himself to the greatest risques by having caused this intimationto be given them; since, if he cannot benefit himself by their fears, there is no doubt but they will doubly guard themselves against him uponit. '

What a dangerous enterpriser, however, is this man!

'He begs a few lines from me by way of answer to this letter, eitherthis evening, or to-morrow morning. If he be not so favoured, he shallconclude, from what he knows of the fixed determination of my relations, that I shall be under a closer restraint than before: and he shall beobliged to take his measures according to that presumption. '

You will see by this abstract, as well by his letter preceding this, (for both run in the same strain, ) how strangely forward the difficultyof my situation has brought him in his declarations and proposals; andin his threatenings too: which, but for that, I would not take from him. 

Something, however, I must speedily resolve upon, or it will be out ofmy power to help myself. 

Now I think of it, I will enclose his letter, (so might have spared theabstract of it, ) that you may the better judge of all his proposals, andintelligence; and les it should fall into other hands. I cannot forgivethe contents, although I am at a loss what answer to return. *

 * She accordingly encloses Mr. Lovelace's letter. But as the most material contents of it are given in her abstract, it is omitted. 

I cannot bear the thoughts of throwing myself upon the protection of hisfriends:--but I will not examine his proposals closely till I hear fromyou. Indeed, I have no eligible hope, but in your mother's goodness Hersis a protection I could more reputably fly to, than to that of any otherperson: and from hers should be ready to return to my father's (for thebreach then would not be irreparable, as it would be, if I fled tohis family): to return, I repeat, on such terms as shall secure but mynegative; not my independence: I do not aim at that (so shall lay yourmother under the less difficulty); though I have a right to be putinto possession of my grandfather's estate, if I were to insist uponit:--such a right, I mean, as my brother exerts in the bid, that Ishould ever think myself freed from my father's reasonable controul, whatever right my grandfather's will has given me! He, good gentleman, left me that estate, as a reward of my duty, and not to set me aboveit, as has been justly hinted to me: and this reflection makes me morefearful of not answering the intention of so valuable a bequest. --Oh!that my friends knew but my heart!--Would but think of it as they usedto do!--For once more, I say, If it deceive me not, it is not altered, although theirs are!

Would but your mother permit you to send her chariot, or chaise, to thebye-place where Mr. Lovelace proposes Lord M. 's shall come, (provoked, intimidated, and apprehensive, as I am, ) I would not hesitate a momentwhat to do. Place me any where, as I have said before--in a cot, in agarret; any where--disguised as a servant--or let me pass as a servant'ssister--so that I may but escape Mr. Solmes on one hand, and thedisgrace of refuging with the family of a man at enmity with my own, on the other; and I shall be in some measure happy!--Should yourgood mother refuse me, what refuge, or whose, can I fly to?--Dearestcreature, advise your distressed friend. 

*****

I broke off here--I was so excessively uneasy, that I durst not trustmyself with my own reflections. I therefore went down to the garden, totry to calm my mind, by shifting the scene. I took but one turn upon thefilbert-walk, when Betty came to me. Here, Miss, is your papa--hereis your uncle Antony--here is my young master--and my young mistress, coming to take a walk in the garden; and your papa sends me to see whereyou are, for fear he should meet you. 

I struck into an oblique path, and got behind the yew-hedge, seeing mysister appear; and there concealed myself till they were gone past me. 

My mother, it seems is not well. My poor mother keeps herchamber--should she be worse, I should have an additional unhappiness, in apprehension that my reputed undutifulness had touched her heart. 

You cannot imagine what my emotions were behind the yew-hedge, on seeingmy father so near me. I was glad to look at him through the hedge as hepassed by: but I trembled in every joint, when I heard him utter thesewords: Son James, to you, and to you Bella, and to you, Brother, do Iwholly commit this matter. That I was meant, I cannot doubt. And yet, why was I so affected; since I may be said to have been given up to thecruelty of my brother and sister for many days past?

*****

While my father remained in the garden, I sent my dutiful complimentsto my mother, with inquiry after her health, by Shorey, whom I metaccidentally upon the stairs; for none of the servants, except mygaoleress, dare to throw themselves in my way. I had the mortificationof such a return, as made me repent my message, though not my concernfor her health. 'Let her not inquire after the disorders she occasions, 'was her harsh answer. 'I will not receive any compliments from her. '

Very, very hard, my dear! Indeed it is very hard. 

*****

I have the pleasure to hear that my mother is already better. A colickydisorder, to which she is too subject. It is hoped it is gone off--Godsend it may!--Every evil that happens in this house is owing to me!

This good news was told me, with a circumstance very unacceptable; forBetty said, she had orders to let me know, that my garden-walks andpoultry-visits were suspected; and that both will be prohibited, if Istay here till Saturday or Monday. 

Possibly this is said by order, to make me go with less reluctance to myuncle's. 

My mother bid her say, if I expostulated about these orders, and aboutmy pen and ink, 'that reading was more to the purpose, at present, thanwriting: that by the one, I might be taught my duty; that the other, considering whom I was believed to write to, only stiffened my will:that my needle-works had better be pursued than my airings; which wereobserved to be taken in all weathers. '

So, my dear, if I do not resolve upon something soon, I shall neither beable to avoid the intended evil, nor have it in my power to correspondwith you. 

*****

WEDNESDAY NIGHT. 

All is in a hurry below-stairs. Betty is in and out like a spy. Something is working, I know not what. I am really a good dealdisordered in body as well as in mind. Indeed I am quite heart-sick. 

I will go down, though 'tis almost dark, on pretence of getting a littleair and composure. Robert has my two former, I hope, before now: andI will deposit this, with Lovelace's enclosed, if I can, for fear ofanother search. 

I know not what I shall do!--All is so strangely busy!--Doors claptto--going out of one apartment, hurryingly, as I may say, into another. Betty in her alarming way, staring, as if of frighted importance; twicewith me in half an hour; called down in haste by Shorey the last time;leaving me with still more meaning in her looks and gestures--yetpossibly nothing in all this worthy of my apprehensions--

Here again comes the creature, with her deep-drawn affected sighs, andher O dear's! O dear's!

*****

More dark hints thrown out by the saucy creature. But she will notexplain herself. 'Suppose this pretty business ends in murder! she says. I may rue my opposition as long as I live, for aught she knows. Parentswill not be baffled out of their children by imprudent gentlemen; nor isit fit they should. It may come home to me when I least expect it. '

These are the gloomy and perplexing hints this impertinent throwsout. Probably they arose from the information Mr. Lovelace says he hassecretly permitted them to have (from this vile double-faced agent, Isuppose!) of his resolution to prevent my being carried to my uncle's. 

How justly, if so, may this exasperate them!--How am I driven to andfro, like a feather in the wind, at the pleasure of the rash, theselfish, the headstrong! and when I am as averse to the proceedings ofthe one, as I am to those of the other! For although I was induced tocarry on this unhappy correspondence, as I think I ought to call it, inhopes to prevent mischief; yet indiscreet measures are fallen upon bythe rash man, before I, who am so much concerned in the event of thepresent contentions, can be consulted: and between his violence on onehand, and that of my relations on the other, I find myself in dangerfrom both. 

O my dear! what is worldly wisdom but the height of folly!--I, themeanest, at least youngest, of my father's family, to thrust myselfin the gap between such uncontroulable spirits!--To the interceptingperhaps of the designs of Providence, which may intend to make thosehostile spirits their own punishers. --If so, what presumption!--Indeed, my dear friend, I am afraid I have thought myself of too muchconsequence. But, however this be, it is good, when calamities befal us, that we should look into ourselves, and fear. 

If I am prevented depositing this and the enclosed, (as I intend to tryto do, late as it is, ) I will add to it as occasion shall offer. Meantime, believe me to be

Your ever-affectionate and grateful CL. HARLOWE. 

Under the superscription, written with a pencil, after she went down. 

'My two former are not yet taken away--I am surprised--I hope you arewell--I hope all is right betwixt your mother and you. '

LETTER XXXVII

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE THURSDAY MORNING, APRIL 9. 

I have your three letters. Never was there a creature more impatient onthe most interesting uncertainty than I was, to know the event of theinterview between you and Solmes. 

It behoves me to account to my dear friend, in her present unhappysituation, for every thing that may have the least appearance ofnegligence or remissness on my part. I sent Robin in the morning early, in hopes of a deposit. He loitered about the place till near ten tono purpose; and then came away; my mother having given him a letter tocarry to Mr. Hunt's, which he was to deliver before three, when only, inthe day-time, that gentleman is at home; and to bring back an answer toit. Mr. Hunt's house, you know, lies wide from Harlowe-place. Robin butjust saved his time; and returned not till it was too late to send himagain. I only could direct him to set out before day this morning; andif he got any letter, to ride as for his life to bring it to me. 

I lay by myself: a most uneasy night I had through impatience; and beingdiscomposed with it, lay longer than usual. Just as I was risen, in cameKitty, from Robin, with your three letters. I was not a quarter dressed;and only slipt on my morning sack; proceeding no further till I hadread them all through, long as they are: and yet I often stopped to ravealoud (though by myself) at the devilish people you have to deal with. 

How my heart rises at them all! How poorly did they design to trickyou into an encouragement of Solmes, from the extorted interview!--Iam very, very angry at your aunt Hervey--to give up her own judgment sotamely!--and, not content to do so, to become such an active instrumentin their hands!--But it is so like the world!--so like my mothertoo!--Next to her own child, there is not any body living she values somuch as you:--Yet it is--Why should we embroil ourselves, Nancy, withthe affairs of other people?

Other people!--How I hate the poor words, where friendship is concerned, and where the protection to be given may be of so much consequence to afriend, and of so little detriment to one's self?

I am delighted with your spirit, however. I expected it not from youNor did they, I am sure. Nor would you, perhaps, have exerted it, ifLovelace's intelligence of Solmes's nursery-offices had not set you up. I wonder not that the wretch is said to love you the better for it. Whatan honour would it be to him to have such a wife? And he can be evenwith you when you are so. He must indeed be a savage, as you say. --Yethe is less to blame for his perseverance, than those of your own family, whom most you reverence for theirs. 

It is well, as I have often said, that I have not such provocationsand trials; I should perhaps long ago have taken your cousin Dolly'sadvice--yet dare I not to touch that key. --I shall always love the goodgirl for her tenderness to you. 

I know not what to say of Lovelace; nor what to think of his promises, nor of his proposals to you. 'Tis certain that you are highly esteemedby all his family. The ladies are persons of unblemished honour. My LordM. Is also (as men and peers go) a man of honour. I could tell what toadvise any other person in the world to do but you. So much expectedfrom you!--Such a shining light!--Your quitting your father's house, andthrowing yourself into the protection of a family, however honourable, that has a man in it, whose person, parts, declarations, andpretensions, will be thought to have engaged your warmestesteem;--methinks I am rather for advising that you should get privatelyto London; and not to let either him, or any body else but me, knowwhere you are, till your cousin Morden comes. 

As to going to your uncle's, that you must not do, if you can helpit. Nor must you have Solmes, that's certain: Not only because of hisunworthiness in every respect, but because of the aversion you have soopenly avowed to him; which every body knows and talks of; as they doof your approbation of the other. For your reputation sake therefore, as well as to prevent mischief, you must either live single, or haveLovelace. 

If you think of going to London, let me know; and I hope you will havetime to allow me a further concert as to the manner of your gettingaway, and thither, and how to procure proper lodgings for you. 

To obtain this time, you must palliate a little, and come into someseeming compromise, if you cannot do otherwise. Driven as you aredriven, it will be strange if you are not obliged to part with a few ofyour admirable punctilio's. 

You will observe from what I have written, that I have not succeededwith my mother. 

I am extremely mortified and disappointed. We have had very strongdebates upon it. But, besides the narrow argument of embroilingourselves with other people's affairs, as above-mentioned, she will haveit, that it is your duty to comply. She says, she was always of opinionthat daughters should implicitly submit to the will of their parents inthe great article of marriage; and that she governed herself accordinglyin marrying my father; who at first was more the choice of her parentsthan her own. 

This is what she argues in behalf of her favourite Hickman, as well asfor Solmes in your case. 

I must not doubt, but my mother always governed herself by thisprinciple--because she says she did. I have likewise another reason tobelieve it; which you shall have, though it may not become me to giveit--that they did not live so happily together, as one would hope peoplemight do who married preferring each other at the time to the rest ofthe world. 

Somebody shall fare never the better for this double-meant policy of mymother, I do assure you. Such a retrospection in her arguments tohim, and to his address, it is but fit that he should suffer for mymortification in failing to carry a point upon which I had set my wholeheart. 

Think, my dear, if in any way I can serve you. If you allow of it, I protest I will go off privately with you, and we will live and dietogether. Think of it. Improve upon my hint, and command me. 

A little interruption. --What is breakfast to the subject I am upon?

*****

London, I am told, is the best hiding-place in the world. I have writtennothing but what I will stand in to at the word of command. Women loveto engage in knight-errantry, now-and-then, as well as to encourageit in the men. But in your case, what I propose will not seem to haveanything of that nature in it. It will enable me to perform what is nomore than a duty in serving and comforting a dear and worthy friend, wholabours under undeserved oppression: and you will ennoble, as I may say, your Anna Howe, if you allow her to be your companion in affliction. 

I will engage, my dear, we shall not be in town together one month, before we surmount all difficulties; and this without being beholden toany men-fellows for their protection. 

I must repeat what I have often said, that the authors of yourpersecutions would not have presumed to set on foot their selfishschemes against you, had they not depended upon the gentleness of yourspirit; though now, having gone so far, and having engaged Old AUTHORITYin it, [chide me if you will!] neither he nor they know how to recede. 

When they find you out of their reach, and know that I am with you, you'll see how they'll pull in their odious horns. 

I think, however, that you should have written to your cousin Morden, the moment they had begun to treat you disgracefully. 

I shall be impatient to hear whether they will attempt to carry you toyour uncle's. I remember, that Lord M. 's dismissed bailiff reported ofLovelace, that he had six or seven companions as bad as himself; andthat the country was always glad when they left it. * He actually has, asI hear, such a knot of them about him now. And, depend upon it, he willnot suffer them quietly to carry you to your uncle's: And whose must yoube, if he succeeds in taking you from them?

 * See Vol. I. Letter IV. 

I tremble for you but upon supposing what may be the consequence of aconflict upon this occasion. Lovelace owes some of them vengeance. Thisgives me a double concern, that my mother should refuse her consent tothe protection I had set my heart upon procuring for you. 

My mother will not breakfast without me. A quarrel has its convenienciessometimes. Yet too much love, I think, is as bad as too little. 

*****

We have just now had another pull. Upon my word, she isexcessively--what shall I say?--unpersuadable--I must let her off withthat soft word. 

Who was the old Greek, that said, he governed Athens; his wife, him; andhis son, her?

It was not my mother's fault [I am writing to you, you know] that shedid not govern my father. But I am but a daughter!--Yet I thought I wasnot quite so powerless when I was set upon carrying a point, as I findmyself to be. 

Adieu, my dear!--Happier times must come--and that quickly too. --Thestrings cannot long continue to be thus overstrained. They must breakor be relaxed. In either way, the certainty must be preferable to thesuspense. 

One word more:

I think in my conscience you must take one of these two alternatives;either to consent to let us go to London together privately; [in whichcase, I will procure a vehicle, and meet you at your appointment at thestile to which Lovelace proposes to bring his uncle's chariot;] or, to put yourself into the protection of Lord M. And the ladies of hisfamily. 

You have another, indeed; and that is, if you are absolutely resolvedagainst Solmes, to meet and marry Lovelace directly. 

Whichsoever of these you make choice of, you will have this plea, both to yourself, and to the world, that you are concluded by the sameuniform principle that has governed your whole conduct, ever since thecontention between Lovelace and your brother has been on foot: thatis to say, that you have chosen a lesser evil, in hopes to prevent agreater. 

Adieu! and Heaven direct for the best my beloved creature, prays

Her ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER XXXVIII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE THURSDAY, APRIL 6. 

I thank you, my dearest friend, for the pains you have taken inaccounting so affectionately for my papers not being taken awayyesterday; and for the kind protection you would have procured for me, if you could. 

This kind protection was what I wished for: but my wishes, raised atfirst by your love, were rather governed by my despair of other refuge[having before cast about, and not being able to determine, what Iought to do, and what I could do, in a situation so unhappy] than by areasonable hope: For why indeed should any body embroil themselves forothers, when they can avoid it?

All my consolation is, as I have frequently said, that I have not, by myown inadvertence or folly, brought myself into this sad situation. If Ihad, I should not have dared to look up to any body with the expectationof protection or assistance, nor to you for excuse of the trouble I giveyou. But nevertheless we should not be angry at a person's not doingthat for ourselves, or for our friend, which she thinks she ought not todo; and which she has it in her option either to do, or to let it alone. Much less have you a right to be displeased with so prudent a mother, for not engaging herself so warmly in my favour, as you wished shewould. If my own aunt can give me up, and that against her judgment, asI may presume to say; and if my father and mother, and uncles, who onceloved me so well, can join so strenuously against me; can I expect, orought you, the protection of your mother, in opposition to them?

Indeed, my dear love, [permit me to be very serious, ] I am afraid I amsingled out (either for my own faults, or for the faults of myfamily, or perhaps for the faults of both) to be a very unhappycreature!--signally unhappy! For see you not how irresistible the wavesof affliction come tumbling down upon me?

We have been till within these few weeks, every one of us, too happy. Nocrosses, no vexations, but what we gave ourselves from the pamperedness, as I may call it, of our own wills. Surrounded by our heaps and stores, hoarded up as fast as acquired, we have seemed to think ourselves outof the reach of the bolts of adverse fate. I was the pride of all myfriends, proud myself of their pride, and glorying in my standing. Whoknows what the justice of Heaven may inflict, in order to convince us, that we are not out of the reach of misfortune; and to reduce us to abetter reliance, than what we have hitherto presumptuously made?

I should have been very little the better for the conversation-visitswith the good Dr. Lewen used to honour me with, and for the principleswrought (as I may say) into my earliest mind by my pious Mrs. Norton, founded on her reverend father's experience, as well as on her own, ifI could not thus retrospect and argue, in such a strange situation as weare in. Strange, I may well call it; for don't you see, my dear, that weseem all to be impelled, as it were, by a perverse fate, which none ofus are able to resist?--and yet all arising (with a strong appearanceof self-punishment) from ourselves? Do not my parents see the hopefulchildren, from whom they expected a perpetuity of worldly happinessto their branching family, now grown up to answer the till now distanthope, setting their angry faces against each other, pulling up by theroots, as I may say, that hope which was ready to be carried into aprobable certainty?

Your partial love will be ready to acquit me of capital and intentionalfaults:--but oh, my dear! my calamities have humbled me enough to makeme turn my gaudy eye inward; to make me look into myself. --And what haveI discovered there?--Why, my dear friend, more secret pride and vanitythan I could have thought had lain in my unexamined heart. 

If I am to be singled out to be the punisher of myself and family, whoso lately was the pride of it, pray for me, my dear, that I may notbe left wholly to myself; and that I may be enabled to support mycharacter, so as to be justly acquitted of wilful and premeditatedfaults. The will of Providence be resigned to in the rest: as thatleads, let me patiently and unrepiningly follow!--I shall not livealways!--May but my closing scene be happy!

But I will not oppress you, my dearest friend, with further reflectionsof this sort. I will take them all into myself. Surely I have a mindthat has room for them. My afflictions are too sharp to last long. Thecrisis is at hand. Happier times you bid me hope for. I will hope. 

*****

But yet, I cannot be but impatient at times, to find myself thus driven, and my character so depreciated and sunk, that were all the future to behappy, I should be ashamed to shew my face in public, or to look up. Andall by the instigation of a selfish brother, and envious sister--

But let me stop: let me reflect!--Are not these suggestions thesuggestions of the secret pride I have been censuring? Then, alreadyso impatient! but this moment so resigned, so much better disposedfor reflection! yet 'tis hard, 'tis very hard, to subdue an embitteredspirit!--in the instant of its trial too!--O my cruel brother!--butnow it rises again. --I will lay down a pen I am so little ableto govern. --And I will try to subdue an impatience, which (if myafflictions are sent me for corrective ends) may otherwise lead me intostill more punishable errors. --

*****

I will return to a subject, which I cannot fly from for ten minutestogether--called upon especially, as I am, by your three alternativesstated in the conclusion of your last. 

As to the first; to wit, your advice for me to escape to London--let metell you, that the other hint or proposal which accompanies it perfectlyfrightens me--surely, my dear, (happy as you are, and indulgentlytreated as your mother treats you, ) you cannot mean what you propose!What a wretch must I be, if, for one moment only, I could lend an earto such a proposal as this!--I, to be the occasion of making sucha mother's (perhaps shortened) life unhappy to the last hour ofit!--Ennoble you, my dear creature! How must such an enterprise (therashness public, the motives, were they excusable, private) debaseyou!--but I will not dwell upon the subject--for your own sake I willnot. 

As to your second alternative, to put myself into the protection of LordM. And of the ladies of that family, I own to you, (as I believe I haveowned before, ) that although to do this would be the same thing in theeye of the world as putting myself into Mr. Lovelace's protection, yetI think I would do it rather than be Mr. Solmes's wife, if there wereevidently no other way to avoid being so. 

Mr. Lovelace, you have seen, proposes to contrive a way to put me intopossession of my own house; and he tells me, that he will soon fillit with the ladies of his family, as my visiters;--upon my invitation, however, to them. A very inconsiderate proposal I think it to be, and upon which I cannot explain myself to him. What an exertion ofindependency does it chalk out for me! How, were I to attend to him, (and not to the natural consequences to which the following of hisadvice would lead me, ) might I be drawn by gentle words into thepenetration of the most violent acts!--For how could I gain possession, but either by legal litigation, which, were I inclined to have recourseto it, (as I never can be, ) must take up time; or by forcibly turningout the persons whom my father has placed there, to look after thegardens, the house, and the furniture--persons entirely attached tohimself, and who, as I know, have been lately instructed by my brother?

Your third alternative, to meet and marry Mr. Lovelace directly; a manwith whose morals I am far from being satisfied--a step, that couldnot be taken with the least hope of ever obtaining pardon from orreconciliation with any of my friends; and against which a thousandobjections rise in my mind--that is not to be thought of. 

What appears to me, upon the fullest deliberation, the most eligible, if I must be thus driven, is the escaping to London. But I would forfeitall my hopes of happiness in this life, rather than you should go awaywith me, as you rashly, though with the kindest intentions, propose. If I could get safely thither, and be private, methinks I might remainabsolutely independent of Mr. Lovelace, and at liberty either to makeproposals to my friends, or, should they renounce me, (and I had noother or better way, ) to make terms with him; supposing my cousinMorden, on his arrival, were to join with my other relations. But theywould then perhaps indulge me in my choice of a single life, on givinghim up: the renewing to them this offer, when at my own liberty, willat least convince them, that I was in earnest when I made it first: and, upon my word, I would stand to it, dear as you seem to think, when youare disposed to rally me, it would cost me, to stand to it. 

If, my dear, you can procure a vehicle for us both, you can perhapsprocure one for me singly: but can it be done without embroilingyourself with your mother, or her with our family?--Be it coach, chariot, chaise, wagon, or horse, I matter not, provided you appear notto have a hand in my withdrawing. Only, in case it be one of the twolatter, I believe I must desire you to get me an ordinary gown and coat, or habit, of some servant; having no concert with any of our own: themore ordinary the better. They must be thrust on in the wood-house;where I can put them on; and then slide down from the bank, thatseparates the wood-yard from the green lane. 

But, alas! my dear, this, even this alternative, is not withoutdifficulties, which, to a spirit so little enterprising as mine, seem ina manner insuperable. These are my reflections upon it. 

I am afraid, in the first place, that I shall not have time for therequisite preparations for an escape. 

Should I be either detected in those preparations, or pursued andovertaken in my flight, and so brought back, then would they thinkthemselves doubly warranted to compel me to have their Solmes: and, conscious of an intended fault, perhaps, I should be the less able tocontend with them. 

But were I even to get safely to London, I know nobody there but byname; and those the tradesmen to our family; who, no doubt, would bethe first written to and engaged to find me out. And should Mr. Lovelacediscover where I was, and he and my brother meet, what mischiefsmight ensue between them, whether I were willing or not to return toHarlowe-place!

But supposing I could remain there concealed, to what might my youth, mysex, and unacquaintedness of the ways of that great, wicked town, exposeme!--I should hardly dare to go to church for fear of being discovered. People would wonder how I lived. Who knows but I might pass for a keptmistress; and that, although nobody came to me, yet, that every time Iwent out, it might be imagined to be in pursuance of some assignation?

You, my dear, who alone would know where to direct to me, would bewatched in all your steps, and in all your messages; and your mother, at present not highly pleased with our correspondence, would then havereason to be more displeased: And might not differences follow betweenher and you, that would make me very unhappy, were I to know them? Andthis the more likely, as you take it so unaccountably (and, give meleave to say, so ungenerously) into your head, to revenge yourself uponthe innocent Mr. Hickman, for all the displeasure your mother gives you. 

Were Lovelace to find out my place of abode, that would be the samething in the eye of the world as if I had actually gone off with him:For would he, do you think, be prevailed upon to forbear visiting me?And then his unhappy character (a foolish man!) would be no credit toany young creature desirous of concealment. Indeed the world, let meescape whither, and to whomsoever I could, would conclude him to be thecontriver of it. 

These are the difficulties which arise to me on revolving this scheme;which, nevertheless, might appear surmountable to a more enterprisingspirit in my circumstances. If you, my dear, think them surmountable inany one of the cases put, [and to be sure I can take no course, but whatmust have some difficulty in it, ] be pleased to let me know your freeand full thoughts upon it. 

Had you, my dear friend, been married, then should I have had no doubtbut that you and Mr. Hickman would have afforded an asylum to a poorcreature more than half lost in her own apprehension for want of onekind protecting friend!

You say I should have written to my cousin Morden the moment I wastreated disgracefully: But could I have believed that my friends wouldnot have softened by degrees when they saw my antipathy to their Solmes?

I had thoughts indeed several times of writing to my cousin: but by thetime an answer could have come, I imagined all would have been over, asif it had never been: so from day to day, from week to week, I hoped on:and, after all, I might as reasonably fear (as I have heretofore said)that my cousin would be brought to side against me, as that some ofthose I have named would. 

And then to appeal a cousin [I must have written with warmth to engagehim] against a father; this was not a desirable thing to set about. ThenI had not, you know, one soul on my side; my mother herself against me. To be sure my cousin would have suspended his judgment till he couldhave arrived. He might not have been in haste to come, hoping the maladywould cure itself: but had he written, his letters probably would haverun in the qualifying style; to persuade me to submit, or them only torelax. Had his letters been more on my side than on theirs, they wouldnot have regarded them: nor perhaps himself, had he come and been anadvocate for me: for you see how strangely determined they are; how theyhave over-awed or got in every body; so that no one dare open their lipsin my behalf. And you have heard that my brother pushes his measureswith the more violence, that all may be over with me before my cousin'sexpected arrival. 

But you tell me, that, in order to gain time, I must palliate; that Imust seem to compromise with my friends: But how palliate? How seem tocompromise? You would not have me endeavour to make them believe, that Iwill consent to what I never intended to consent to! You would not haveme to gain time, with a view to deceive!

To do evil, that good may come of it, is forbidden: And shall I do evil, yet know not whether good may come of it or not?

Forbid it, heaven! that Clarissa Harlowe should have it in her thoughtto serve, or even to save herself at the expense of her sincerity, andby a studied deceit!

And is there, after all, no way to escape one great evil, but byplunging myself into another?--What an ill-fated creature am I!--Prayfor me, my dearest Nancy!--my mind is at present so much disturbed, thatI can hardly pray for myself. 

LETTER XXXIX

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE THURSDAY NIGHT. 

This alarming hurry I mentioned under my date of last night, and Betty'ssaucy dark hints, come out to be owing to what I guessed they were; thatis to say, to the private intimation Mr. Lovelace contrived our familyshould have of his insolent resolution [insolent I must call it] toprevent my being carried to my uncle's. 

I saw at the time that it was as wrong with respect to answering his ownview, as it was insolent: For, could he think, as Betty (I suppose fromher betters) justly observed, that parents would be insulted out oftheir right to dispose of their own child, by a violent man, whom theyhate; and who could have no pretension to dispute that right with them, unless what he had from her who had none over herself? And how mustthis insolence of his, aggravated as my brother is able to aggravate it, exasperate them against me?

The rash man has indeed so far gained his point, as to intimidate themfrom attempting to carry me away: but he has put them upon a surer anda more desperate measure: and this has driven me also into one asdesperate; the consequence of which, although he could not foresee it, *may perhaps too well answer his great end, little as he deserves to haveit answered. 

 * She was mistaken in this. Mr. Lovelace did foresee this consequence. All his contrivances led to it, and the whole family, as he boasts, unknown to themselves, were but so many puppets danced by his wires. See Vol. I. Letter XXXI. 

In short, I have done, as far as I know, the most rash thing that ever Idid in my life. 

But let me give you the motive, and then the action will follow ofcourse. 

About six o'clock this evening, my aunt (who stays here all night, on myaccount, no doubt) came up and tapped at my door; for I was writing;and had locked myself in. I opened it; and she entering, thus deliveredherself:

I come once more to visit you, my dear; but sorely against my will;because it is to impart to you matters of the utmost concern to you, andto the whole family. 

What, Madam, is now to be done with me? said I, wholly attentive. 

You will not be hurried away to your uncle's, child; let that comfortyou. --They see your aversion to go. --You will not be obliged to go toyour uncle Antony's. 

How you revive me, Madam! this is a cordial to my heart!

I little thought, my dear, what was to follow this supposedcondescension. 

And then I ran over with blessings for this good news, (and shepermitted me so to do, by her silence); congratulating myself, thatI thought my father could not resolve to carry things to the lastextremity. --

Hold, Niece, said she, at last--you must not give yourself too much joyupon the occasion neither. --Don't be surprised, my dear. --Why look youupon me, child, with so affecting an earnestness?--but you must be Mrs. Solmes, for all that. 

I was dumb. 

She then told me, that they had undoubted information, that a certaindesperate ruffian (I must excuse her that word, she said) had preparedarmed men to way-lay my brother and uncles, and seize me, and carry meoff. --Surely, she said, I was not consenting to a violence that might befollowed by murder on one side or the other; perhaps on both. 

I was still silent. 

That therefore my father (still more exasperated than before) hadchanged his resolution as to my going to my uncle's; and was determinednext Tuesday to set out thither himself with my mother; and that (forit was to no purpose to conceal a resolution so soon to be put intoexecution)--I must not dispute it any longer--on Wednesday I must givemy hand--as they would have me. 

She proceeded, that orders were already given for a license: that theceremony was to be performed in my own chamber, in presence of all myfriends, except of my father and mother; who would not return, nor seeme, till all was over, and till they had a good account of my behaviour. 

The very intelligence, my dear!--the very intelligence this, whichLovelace gave me!

I was still dumb--only sighing, as if my heart would break. 

She went on, comforting me, as she thought. 'She laid before me themerit of obedience; and told me, that if it were my desire that myNorton should be present at the ceremony, it would be complied with:that the pleasure I should receive from reconciling al my friends to me, and in their congratulations upon it, must needs overbalance, with sucha one as me, the difference of persons, however preferable I might thinkthe one man to the other: that love was a fleeting thing, little betterthan a name, where mortality and virtue did not distinguish the objectof it: that a choice made by its dictates was seldom happy; at least notdurably so: nor was it to be wondered at, when it naturally exalted theobject above its merits, and made the lover blind to faults, that werevisible to every body else: so that when a nearer intimacy stript it ofits imaginary perfections, it left frequently both parties surprised, that they could be so grossly cheated; and that then the indifferencebecame stronger than the love ever was. That a woman gave a man greatadvantages, and inspired him with great vanity, when she avowed herlove for him, and preference of him; and was generally requited withinsolence and contempt: whereas the confessedly-obliged man, it wasprobable, would be all reverence and gratitude'--and I cannot tell what. 

'You, my dear, said she, believe you shall be unhappy, if you haveMr. Solmes: your parents think the contrary; and that you will beundoubtedly so, were you to have Mr. Lovelace, whose morals areunquestionably bad: suppose it were your sad lot to consider, whatgreat consolation you will have on one hand, if you pursue your parents'advice, that you did so; what mortification on the other, that byfollowing your own, you have nobody to blame but yourself. '

This, you remember, my dear, was an argument enforced upon me by Mrs. Norton. 

These and other observations which she made were worthy of my auntHervey's good sense and experience, and applied to almost any youngcreature who stood in opposition to her parents' will, but one who hadoffered to make the sacrifices I have offered to make, ought to have hadtheir due weight. But although it was easy to answer some of them in myown particular case; yet having over and over, to my mother, before myconfinement, and to my brother and sister, and even to my aunt Hervey, since, said what I must now have repeated, I was so much mortified andafflicted at the cruel tidings she brought me, that however attentive Iwas to what she said, I had neither power nor will to answer one word;and, had she not stopped of herself, she might have gone on an hourlonger, without interruption from me. 

Observing this, and that I only sat weeping, my handkerchief coveringmy face, and my bosom heaving ready to burst; What! no answer, mydear?--Why so much silent grief? You know I have always loved you. Youknow, that I have no interest in the affair. You would not permit Mr. Solmes to acquaint you with some things which would have set your heartagainst Mr. Lovelace. Shall I tell you some of the matters chargedagainst him?--shall I, my dear?

Still I answered only by my tears and sighs. 

Well, child, you shall be told these things afterwards, when you will bein a better state of mind to hear them; and then you will rejoice in theescape you will have had. It will be some excuse, then, for you to pleadfor your behaviour to Mr. Solmes, that you could not have believed Mr. Lovelace had been so very vile a man. 

My heart fluttered with impatience and anger at being so plainly talkedto as the wife of this man; but yet I then chose to be silent. If I hadspoken, it would have been with vehemence. 

Strange, my dear, such silence!--Your concern is infinitely more on thisside the day, than it will be on the other. --But let me ask you, and donot be displeased, Will you choose to see what generous stipulationsfor you there are in the settlements?--You have knowledge beyond youryears--give the writings a perusal: do, my dear: they are engrossed, andready for signing, and have been for some time. Excuse me, my love--Imean not to disorder you:--your father would oblige me to bring them up, and to leave them with you. He commands you to read them. But to readthem, Niece--since they are engrossed, and were before you made themabsolutely hopeless. 

And then, to my great terror, she drew some parchments form herhandkerchief, which she had kept, (unobserved by me, ) under her apron;and rising, put them in the opposite window. Had she produced a serpent, I could not have been more frightened. 

Oh! my dearest Aunt, turning away my face, and holding out my hands, hide from my eyes those horrid parchments!--Let me conjure you to tellme--by all the tenderness of near relationship, and upon your honour, and by your love for me, say, Are they absolutely resolved, that, comewhat will, I must be that man's?

My dear, you must have Mr. Solmes: indeed you must. 

Indeed I never will!--This, as I have said over and over, is notoriginally my father's will. --Indeed I never will--and that is all Iwill say!

It is your father's will now, replied my aunt: and, considering howall the family is threatened by Mr. Lovelace, and the resolution he hascertainly taken to force you out of their hands, I cannot but say theyare in the right, not to be bullied out of their child. 

Well, Madam, then nothing remains for me to say. I am made desperate. Icare not what becomes of me. 

Your piety, and your prudence, my dear, and Mr. Lovelace's immoralcharacter, together with his daring insults, and threatenings, whichought to incense you, as much as any body, are every one's dependence. We are sure the time will come, when you'll think very differently ofthe steps your friends take to disappoint a man who has made himself sojustly obnoxious to them all. 

She withdrew; leaving me full of grief and indignation:--and as muchout of humour with Mr. Lovelace as with any body; who, by his conceitedcontrivances, has made things worse for me than before; depriving meof the hopes I had of gaining time to receive your advice, and privateassistance to get to town; and leaving me not other advice, in allappearance, than either to throw myself upon his family, or to be mademiserable for ever with Mr. Solmes. But I was still resolved to avoidboth these evils, if possible. 

I sounded Betty, in the first place, (whom my aunt sent up, not thinkingit proper, as Betty told me, that I should be left by myself, and who, Ifound, knew their designs, ) whether it were not probable that theywould forbear, at my earnest entreaty, to push matters to the threatenedextremity. 

But she confirmed all my aunt said; rejoicing (as she said they all did)that Mr. Lovelace had given them so good a pretence to save me from himnow, and for ever. 

She ran on about equipages bespoken; talked of my brother's and sister'sexultations that now the whole family would soon be reconciled to eachother: of the servants' joy upon it: of the expected license: of a visitto be paid me by Dr. Lewen, or another clergyman, whom they named notto her; which was to crown the work: and of other preparations, soparticular, as made me dread that they designed to surprise me into astill nearer day than Wednesday. 

These things made me excessively uneasy. I knew not what to resolveupon. 

At one time, What have I to do, thought I, but to throw myself at onceinto the protection of Lady Betty Lawrance?--But then, in resentment ofhis fine contrivances, which had so abominably disconcerted me, I soonresolved to the contrary: and at last concluded to ask the favour ofanother half-hour's conversation with my aunt. 

I sent Betty to her with my request. 

She came. 

I put it to her, in the most earnest manner, to tell me, whether I mightnot obtain the favour of a fortnight's respite?

She assured me, it would not be granted. 

Would a week? Surely a week would?

She believed a week might, if I would promise two things: the first, upon my honour, not to write a line out of the house, in that week:for it was still suspected, she said, that I found means to write tosomebody. And, secondly, to marry Mr. Solmes, at the expiration of it. 

Impossible! Impossible! I said with a passion--What! might not I beobliged with one week, without such a horrid condition as the last?

She would go down, she said, that she might not seem of her own head toput upon me what I thought a hardship so great. 

She went down: and came up again. 

Did I want, was the answer, to give the vilest of men an opportunity toput his murderous schemes into execution?--It was time for them to putan end to my obstinacy (they were tired out with me) and to his hopesat once. And an end should be put on Tuesday or Wednesday next, atfurthest; unless I would give my honour to comply with the conditionupon which my aunt had been so good as to allow me a longer time. 

I even stamped with impatience!--I called upon her to witness, thatI was guiltless of the consequence of this compulsion; this barbarouscompulsion, I called it; let that consequence be what it would. 

My aunt chid me in a higher strain than ever she did before. 

While I, in a half phrensy, insisted upon seeing my father; such usage, I said, set me above fear. I would rejoice to owe my death to him, as Idid my life. 

I did go down half way of the stairs, resolved to throw myself at hisfeet wherever he was. --My aunt was frighted. She owned, that she fearedfor my head. --Indeed I was in a perfect phrensy for a few minutes--buthearing my brother's voice, as talking to somebody in my sister'sapartment just by, I stopt; and heard the barbarous designer say, speaking to my sister, This works charmingly, my dear Arabella!

It does! It does! said she, in an exulting accent. 

Let us keep it up, said my brother. --The villain is caught in his owntrap!--Now must she be what we would have her be. 

Do you keep my father to it; I'll take care of my mother, said Bella. 

Never fear, said he!--and a laugh of congratulation to each other, andderision of me (as I made it out) quite turned my frantic humour into avindictive one. 

My aunt then just coming down to me, and taking my hand led me up; andtried to sooth me. 

My raving was turned into sullenness. 

She preached patience and obedience to me. 

I was silent. 

At last she desired me to assure her, that I would offer no violence tomyself. 

God, I said, had given me more grace, I hoped, than to permit me to beguilty of so horrid a rashness, I was his creature, and not my own. 

She then took leave of me; and I insisted upon her taking down with herthe odious parchments. 

Seeing me in so ill an humour, and very earnest that she should takethem with her, she took them; but said, that my father should not knowthat she did: and hoped I would better consider of the matter, and becalmer next time they were offered to my perusal. 

I revolved after she was gone all that my brother and sister had said. I dwelt upon their triumphings over me; and found rise in my minda rancour that was new to me; and which I could not withstand. --Andputting every thing together, dreading the near day, what could Ido?--Am I in any manner excusable for what I did do?--If I shall becondemned by the world, who know not my provocations, may I be acquittedby you?--If not, I am unhappy indeed!--for this I did. 

Having shaken off the impertinent Betty, I wrote to Mr. Lovelace, tolet him know, 'That all that was threatened at my uncle Antony's, wasintended to be executed here. That I had come to a resolution to throwmyself upon the protection of either of his two aunts, who would affordit me--in short, that by endeavouring to obtain leave on Monday to dinein the ivy summer-house, I would, if possible, meet him without thegarden-door, at two, three, four, or five o'clock on Monday afternoon, as I should be able. That in the mean time he should acquaint me, whether I might hope for either of those ladies' protection: and if Imight, I absolutely insisted that he should leave me with either, and goto London himself, or remain at Lord M. 's; nor offer to visit me, till Iwere satisfied that nothing could be done with my friends in an amicableway; and that I could not obtain possession of my own estate, and leaveto live upon it: and particularly, that he should not hint marriage tome, till I consented to hear him upon that subject. --I added, that ifhe could prevail upon one of the Misses Montague to favour me withher company on the road, it would make me abundantly more easy in thethoughts of carrying into effect a resolution which I had not come to, although so driven, but with the utmost reluctance and concern; andwhich would throw such a slur upon my reputation in the eye of theworld, as perhaps I should never be able to wipe off. '

This was the purport of what I wrote; and down into the garden I slidwith it in the dark, which at another time I should not have had thecourage to do; and deposited it, and came up again unknown to any body. 

My mind so dreadfully misgave me when I returned, that, to divert insome measure my increasing uneasiness, I had recourse to my private pen;and in a very short time ran this length. 

And now, that I am come to this part, my uneasy reflections begin againto pour in upon me. Yet what can I do?--I believe I shall take it backagain the first thing in the morning--Yet what can I do?

And who knows but they may have a still earlier day in their intention, than that which will too soon come?

I hope to deposit this early in the morning for you, as I shall returnfrom resuming my letter, if I do resume it as my inwardest mind bids me. 

Although it is now near two o'clock, I have a good mind to slide downonce more, in order to take back my letter. Our doors are always lockedand barred up at eleven; but the seats of the lesser hall-windows beingalmost even with the ground without, and the shutters not difficult toopen, I could easily get out. 

Yet why should I be thus uneasy, since, should the letter go, I canbut hear what Mr. Lovelace says to it? His aunts live at too great adistance for him to have an immediate answer from them; so I can scruplegoing to them till I have invitation. I can insist upon one of hiscousins meeting me in the chariot; and may he not be able to obtainthat favour from either of them. Twenty things may happen to afford mea suspension at least: Why should I be so very uneasy?--When likewiseI can take back my letter early, before it is probable he will have thethought of finding it there. Yet he owns he spends three parts of hisdays, and has done for this fortnight past, in loitering about sometimesin one disguise, sometimes in another, besides the attendance given byhis trusty servant when he himself is not in waiting, as he calls it. 

But these strange forebodings!--Yet I can, if you advise, cause thechariot he shall bring with him, to carry me directly to town, whitherin my London scheme, if you were to approve it, I had proposed to go:and this will save you the trouble of procuring for me a vehicle; aswell as prevent any suspicion from your mother of your contributing tomy escape. 

But, solicitous of your advice, and approbation too, if I can have it, Iwill put an end to this letter. 

Adieu, my dearest friend, adieu!

LETTER XL

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE FRIDAY MORNING, SEVEN O'CLOCK, APRIL7. 

My aunt Hervey, who is a very early riser, was walking in the garden(Betty attending her, as I saw from my window this morning) when Iarose: for after such a train of fatigue and restless nights, I hadunhappily overslept myself: so all I durst venture upon, was, to stepdown to my poultry-yard, and deposit mine of yesterday, and last night. And I am just come up; for she is still in the garden. This prevents mefrom going to resume my letter, as I think still to do; and hope it willnot be too late. 

I said, I had unhappily overslept myself: I went to bed about halfan hour after two. I told the quarters till five; after which I droptasleep, and awaked not till past six, and then in great terror, from adream, which has made such an impression upon me, that, slightly as Ithink of dreams, I cannot help taking this opportunity to relate it toyou. 

'Methought my brother, my uncle Antony, and Mr. Solmes, had formed aplot to destroy Mr. Lovelace; who discovering it, and believing I had ahand in it, turned all his rage against me. I thought he made them allfly to foreign parts upon it; and afterwards seizing upon me, carriedme into a church-yard; and there, notwithstanding, all my prayers andtears, and protestations of innocence, stabbed me to the heart, andthen tumbled me into a deep grave ready dug, among two or threehalf-dissolved carcases; throwing in the dirt and earth upon me with hishands, and trampling it down with his feet. '

I awoke in a cold sweat, trembling, and in agonies; and still thefrightful images raised by it remain upon my memory. 

But why should I, who have such real evils to contend with, regardimaginary ones? This, no doubt, was owing to my disturbed imagination;huddling together wildly all the frightful idea which my aunt'scommunications and discourse, my letter to Mr. Lovelace, my ownuneasiness upon it, and the apprehensions of the dreaded Wednesday, furnished me with. 

*****

EIGHT O'CLOCK. 

The man, my dear, has got the letter!--What a strange diligence! I wishhe mean me well, that he takes so much pains!--Yet, to be ingenuous, Imust own, that I should be displeased if he took less--I wish, however, he had been an hundred miles off!--What an advantage have I given himover me!

Now the letter is out of my power, I have more uneasiness and regretthan I had before. For, till now, I had a doubt, whether it should orshould not go: and now I think it ought not to have gone. And yet isthere any other way than to do as I have done, if I would avoid Solmes?But what a giddy creature shall I be thought, if I pursue the course towhich this letter must lead me?

My dearest friend, tell me, have I done wrong?--Yet do not say I have, if you think it; for should all the world besides condemn me, I shallhave some comfort, if you do not. The first time I ever besought you toflatter me. That, of itself, is an indication that I have done wrong, and am afraid of hearing the truth--O tell me (but yet do not tell me)if I have done wrong!

*****

FRIDAY, ELEVEN O'CLOCK. 

My aunt has made me another visit. She began what she had to saywith letting me know that my friends are all persuaded that I stillcorrespond with Mr. Lovelace; as is plain, she said, by hints andmenaces he throws out, which shew that he is apprized of several thingsthat have passed between my relations and me, sometimes within a verylittle while after they have happened. 

Although I approve not of the method he stoops to take to come at hisintelligence, yet it is not prudent in me to clear myself by the ruin ofthe corrupted servant, (although his vileness has neither my connivancenor approbation, ) since my doing so might occasion the detection of myown correspondence; and so frustrate all the hopes I have to avoidthis Solmes. Yet it is not at all likely, that this very agent of Mr. Lovelace acts a double part between my brother and him: How else can ourfamily know (so soon too) his menaces upon the passages they hint at?

I assured my aunt, that I was too much ashamed of the treatment I metwith (and that from every one's sake as well as for my own) to acquaintMr. Lovelace with the particulars of that treatment, even were the meansof corresponding with him afforded me: that I had reason to think, thatif he were to know of it from me, we must be upon such terms, thathe would not scruple making some visits, which would give me greatapprehensions. They all knew, I said, that I had no communicationwith any of my father's servants, except my sister's Betty Barnes: foralthough I had a good opinion of them all, and believed, if left totheir own inclinations, that they would be glad to serve me; yet, finding by their shy behaviour, that they were under particulardirection, I had forborn, ever since my Hannah had been so disgracefullydismissed, so much as to speak to any of them, for fear I should be theoccasion of their losing their places too. They must, therefore, accountamong themselves for the intelligence Mr. Lovelace met with, sinceneither my brother nor sister, (as Betty had frequently, in praise oftheir open hearts, informed me, ) nor perhaps their favourite Mr. Solmes, were all careful before whom they spoke, when they had any thing tothrow out against him, or even against me, whom they took great pride tojoin with him on this occasion. 

It was but too natural, my aunt said, for my friends to suppose thathe had his intelligence (part of it at least) from me; who, thinkingyourself hardly treated, might complain of it, if not to him, to MissHowe; which, perhaps, might be the same thing; for they knew Miss Howespoke as freely of them, as they could do of Mr. Lovelace; and must havethe particulars she spoke of from somebody who knew what was done here. That this determined my father to bring the whole matter to a speedyissue, lest fatal consequences should ensue. 

I perceive you are going to speak with warmth, proceeded she: [and so Iwas] for my own part I am sure, you would not write any thing, if youdo write, to inflame so violent a spirit. --But this is not the end of mypresent visit. 

You cannot, my dear, but be convinced, that your father will be obeyed. The more you contend against his will, the more he thinks himselfobliged to assert his authority. Your mother desires me to tell you, that if you will give her the least hopes of a dutiful compliance, shewill be willing to see you in her closet just now, while your father isgone to take a walk in the garden. 

Astonishing perseverance! said I--I am tired with making declarationsand with pleadings on this subject; and had hoped, that my resolutionbeing so well known, I should not have been further urged upon it. 

You mistake the purport of my present visit, Miss: [lookinggravely]--Heretofore you have been desired and prayed to obey and obligeyour friends. Entreaty is at an end: they give it up. Now it is resolvedupon, that your father's will is to be obeyed; as it is fit it should. Some things are laid at your door, as if you concurred with Lovelace'sthreatened violence to carry you off, which your mother will notbelieve. She will tell you her own good opinion of you. She will tellyou how much she still loves you; and what she expects of you onthe approaching occasion. But yet, that she may not be exposed to anopposition which would the more provoke her, she desires that you willfirst assure her that you go down with a resolution to do that with agrace which must be done with or without a grace. And besides, she wantsto give you some advice how to proceed in order to reconcile yourselfto your father, and to every body else. Will you go down, Miss Clary, orwill you not?

I said, I should think myself happy, could I be admitted to my mother'spresence, after so long a banishment from it; but that I could not wishit upon those terms. 

And this is your answer, Niece?

It must be my answer, Madam. Come what may, I never will have Mr. Solmes. It is cruel to press this matter so often upon me. --I never willhave that man. 

Down she went with displeasure. I could not help it. I was quite tiredwith so many attempts, all to the same purpose. I am amazed that theyare not!--So little variation! and no concession on either side!

I will go down and deposit this; for Betty has seen I have been writing. The saucy creature took a napkin, and dipt it in water, and with afleering air, here, Miss; holding the wet corner to me. 

What's that for? said I. 

Only, Miss, one of the fingers of your right-hand, if you please to lookat it. 

It was inky. 

I gave her a look; but said nothing. 

But, lest I should have another search, I will close here. 

CL. HARLOWE. 

LETTER XLI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE FRIDAY, ONE O'CLOCK. 

I have a letter from Mr. Lovelace, full of transports, vows, andpromises. I will send it to you enclosed. You'll see how 'he engagesin it for Lady Betty's protection, and for Miss Charlotte Montague'saccompanying me. I have nothing to do, but to persevere, he says, andprepare to receive the personal congratulations of his whole family. '

But you'll see how he presumes upon my being his, as the consequence ofthrowing myself into that lady's protection. 

'The chariot and six is to be ready at the place he mentions. You'll seeas to the slur upon my reputation, about which I am so apprehensive, howboldly he argues. ' Generously enough, indeed, were I to be his; and hadgiven him to believe that I would. --But that I have not done. 

How one step brings on another with this encroaching sex; how soon ayoung creature, who gives a man the least encouragement, be carriedbeyond her intentions, and out of her own power! You would imagine, bywhat he writes, that I have given him reason to think that my aversionto Mr. Solmes is all owing to my favour for him. 

The dreadful thing is, that comparing what he writes from hisintelligencer of what is designed against me (though he seems not toknow the threatened day) with what my aunt and Betty assure me of, therecan be no hope for me, but that I must be Solmes's wife, if I stay here. 

I had better have gone to my uncle Antony's at this rate. I shouldhave gained time, at least, by it. This is the fruit of his finecontrivances!

'What we are to do, and how good he is to be: how I am to direct all hisfuture steps. ' All this shews, as I said before, that he is sure of me. 

However, I have replied to the following effect: 'That although I hadgiven him room to expect that I would put myself into the protectionof one of the ladies of his family; yet as I have three days to come, between this and Monday, and as I still hope that my friends willrelent, or that Mr. Solmes will give up a point they will findimpossible to carry; I shall not look upon myself as absolutely boundby the appointment: and expect therefore, if I recede, that I shall notagain be called to account for it by him. That I think it necessaryto acquaint him, that if my throwing myself upon Lady Betty Lawrance'sprotection, as he proposed, he understands, that I mean directly to putmyself into his power, he is very much mistaken: for that there are manypoint in which I must be satisfied; several matters to be adjusted, evenafter I have left this house, (if I do leave it, ) before I can think ofgiving him any particular encouragement: that in the first place he mustexpect that I will do my utmost to procure my father's reconciliationand approbation of my future steps; and that I will govern myselfentirely by his commands, in every reasonable point, as much as if I hadnot left his house: that if he imagines I shall not reserve to myselfthis liberty, but that my withdrawing is to give him any advantageswhich he would not otherwise have had; I am determined to stay where Iam, and abide the event, in hopes that my friends will still acceptof my reiterated promise never to marry him, or any body else, withouttheir consent. 

This I will deposit as soon as I can. And as he thinks things are neartheir crisis, I dare say it will not be long before I have an answer toit. 

FRIDAY, FOUR O'CLOCK. 

I am really ill. I was used to make the best of any little accidentsthat befel me, for fear of making my then affectionate friends uneasy:but now I shall make the worst of my indisposition, in hopes to obtain asuspension of the threatened evil of Wednesday next. And if I do obtainit, will postpone my appointment with Mr. Lovelace. 

Betty has told them that I am very much indisposed. But I have no pityfrom any body. 

I believe I am become the object of every one's aversion; and that theywould all be glad if I were dead. Indeed I believe it. 'What ails theperverse creature?' cries one:--'Is she love-sick?' another. 

I was in the ivy summer-house, and came out shivering with cold, asif aguishly affected. Betty observed this, and reported it. --'O nomatter!--Let her shiver on!--Cold cannot hurt her. Obstinacy will defendher from harm. Perverseness is a bracer to a love-sick girl, and moreeffectual than the cold bath to make hardy, although the constitution beever so tender. '

This was said by a cruel brother, and heard said by the dearer friendsof one, for whom, but a few months ago, every body was apprehensive atthe least blast of wind to which she exposed herself!

Betty, it must be owned, has an admirable memory on these occasions. Nothing of this nature is lost by her repetition: even the very air withwhich she repeats what she hears said, renders it unnecessary to ask, who spoke this or that severe thing. 

FRIDAY, SIX O'CLOCK. 

My aunt, who again stays all night, just left me. She came to tell methe result of my friends' deliberations about me. It is this:

Next Wednesday morning they are all to be assembled: to wit, my father, mother, my uncles, herself, and my uncle Hervey; my brother and sisterof course: my good Mrs. Norton is likewise to be admitted: and Dr. Lewenis to be at hand, to exhort me, it seems, if there be occasion: but myaunt is not certain whether he is to be among them, or to tarry tillcalled in. 

When this awful court is assembled, the poor prisoner is to be broughtin, supported by Mrs. Norton; who is to be first tutored to instruct mein the duty of a child; which it seems I have forgotten. 

Nor is the success at all doubted, my aunt says: since it is notbelieved that I can be hardened enough to withstand the expostulationsof so venerable a judicature, although I have withstood those of severalof them separately. And still the less, as she hints at extraordinarycondescensions from my father. But what condescensions, even from myfather, can induce me to make such a sacrifice as is expected from me?

Yet my spirits will never bear up, I doubt, at such a tribunal--myfather presiding in it. 

Indeed I expected that my trials would not be at an end till he hadadmitted me into his awful presence. 

What is hoped from me, she says, is, that I will cheerfully, on Tuesdaynight, if not before, sign the articles; and so turn the succeedingday's solemn convention into a day of festivity. I am to have thelicense sent me up, however, and once more the settlements, that I maysee how much in earnest they are. 

She further hinted, that my father himself would bring up thesettlements for me to sign. 

O my dear! what a trial will this be!--How shall I be able to refuse myfather the writing of my name?--To my father, from whose presence Ihave been so long banished!--He commanding and entreating, perhaps, in abreath!--How shall I be able to refuse this to my father?

They are sure, she says, something is working on Mr. Lovelace's part, and perhaps on mine: and my father would sooner follow to the grave, than see me his wife. 

I said, I was not well: that the very apprehensions of these trials werealready insupportable to me; and would increase upon me, as the timeapproached; and I was afraid I should be extremely ill. 

They had prepared themselves for such an artifice as that, was my aunt'sunkind word; and she could assure me, it would stand me in no stead. 

Artifice! repeated I: and this from my aunt Hervey?

Why, my dear, said she, do you think people are fools?--Can they not seehow dismally you endeavour to sigh yourself down within-doors?--How youhang down your sweet face [those were the words she was pleased to use]upon your bosom?--How you totter, as it were, and hold by this chair, and by that door post, when you know that any body sees you? [This, mydear Miss Howe, is an aspersion to fasten hypocrisy and contempt uponme: my brother's or sister's aspersion!--I am not capable of arts solow. ] But the moment you are down with your poultry, or advancing uponyour garden-walk, and, as you imagine, out of every body's sight, it isseem how nimbly you trip along; and what an alertness governs all yourmotions. 

I should hate myself, said I, were I capable of such poor artifices asthese. I must be a fool to use them, as well as a mean creature; forhave I not had experience enough, that my friends are incapable of beingmoved in much more affecting instances?--But you'll see how I shall beby Tuesday. 

My dear, you will not offer any violence to your health?--I hope, Godhas given you more grace than to do that. 

I hope he has, Madam. But there is violence enough offered, andthreatened, to affect my health; and so it will be found, without myneeding to have recourse to any other, or to artifice either. 

I'll only tell you one thing, my dear: and that is, ill or well, theceremony will probably be performed before Wednesday night:--but this, also, I will tell you, although beyond my present commission, That Mr. Solmes will be under an engagement (if you should require it of him asa favour) after the ceremony is passed, and Lovelace's hopes therebyutterly extinguished, to leave you at your father's, and return to hisown house every evening, until you are brought to a full sense of yourduty, and consent to acknowledge your change of name. 

There was no opening of my lips to such a speech as this. I was dumb. 

And these, my dear Miss Howe, are they who, some of them at least, havecalled me a romantic girl!--This is my chimerical brother, and wisesister; both joining their heads together, I dare say. And yet, my aunttold me, that the last part was what took in my mother: who had, tillthat last expedient was found out, insisted, that her child should notbe married, if, through grief or opposition, she should be ill, or fallinto fits. 

This intended violence my aunt often excused, by the certain informationthey pretended to have, of some plots or machinations, that wereready to break out, from Mr. Lovelace:* the effects of which were thuscunningly to be frustrated. 

 * It may not be amiss to observe in this place, that Mr. Lovelace artfully contrived to drive the family on, by permitting his and their agent Leman to report machinations, which he had neither intention nor power to execute. 

FRIDAY, NINE O'CLOCK. 

And now, my dear, what shall I conclude upon? You see howdetermined--But how can I expect your advice will come time enoughto stand me in any stead? For here I have been down, and already haveanother letter from Mr. Lovelace [the man lives upon the spot, I think:]and I must write to him, either that I will or will not stand to myfirst resolution of escaping hence on Monday next. If I let him knowthat I will not, (appearances so strong against him and for Solmes, evenstronger than when I made the appointment, ) will it not be justly deemedmy own fault, if I am compelled to marry their odious man? And if anymischief ensue from Mr. Lovelace's rage and disappointment, will it notlie at my door?--Yet, he offers so fair!--Yet, on the other hand, toincur the censure of the world, as a giddy creature--but that, as hehints, I have already incurred--What can I do?--Oh! that my cousinMorden--But what signifies wishing?

I will here give you the substance of Mr. Lovelace's letter. The letteritself I will send, when I have answered it; but that I will defer doingas long as I can, in hopes of finding reason to retract an appointmenton which so much depends. And yet it is necessary you should have allbefore you as I go along, that you may be the better able to advise mein this dreadful crisis. 

'He begs my pardon for writing with so much assurance; attributing it tohis unbounded transport; and entirely acquiesces to me in my will. He isfull of alternatives and proposals. He offers to attend me directly toLady Betty's; or, if I had rather, to my own estate; and that my LordM. Shall protect me there. ' [He knows not, my dear, my reasons forrejecting this inconsiderate advice. ] 'In either case, as soon as hesees me safe, he will go up to London, or whither I please; and notcome near me, but by my own permission; and till I am satisfied in everything I am doubtful of, as well with regard to his reformation, as tosettlements, &c. 

'To conduct me to you, my dear, is another of his proposals, notdoubting, he says, but your mother will receive me:* or, if that be notagreeable to you, or to your mother, or to me, he will put me into Mr. Hickman's protection; whom, no doubt he says, you can influence; andthat it may be given out, that I have gone to Bath, or Bristol, orabroad; wherever I please. 

 * See Note in Letter V. Of this Volume. 

'Again, if it be more agreeable, he proposes to attend me privately toLondon, where he will procure handsome lodgings for me, and both hiscousins Montague to receive me in them, and to accompany me tillall shall be adjusted to my mind; and till a reconciliation shallbe effected; which he assures me nothing shall be wanting in him tofacilitate, greatly as he has been insulted by all my family. 

'These several measures he proposes to my choice; as it was unlikely, he says, that he could procure, in the time, a letter from Lady Betty, under her own hand, to invite me in form to her house, unless hehad been himself to go to that lady for it; which, at this criticaljuncture, while he is attending my commands, is impossible. 

'He conjures me, in the most solemn manner, if I would not throw himinto utter despair, to keep to my appointment. 

'However, instead of threatening my relations, or Solmes, if I recede, he respectfully says, that he doubts not, but that, if I do, it will beupon the reason, as he ought to be satisfied with; upon no slighter, he hopes, than their leaving me at full liberty to pursue my owninclinations: in which (whatever they shall be) he will entirelyacquiesce; only endeavouring to make his future good behaviour the soleground for his expectation of my favour. 

'In short, he solemnly vows, that his whole view, at present, is to freeme from my imprisonment; and to restore me to my future happiness. Hedeclares, that neither the hopes he has of my future favour, nor theconsideration of his own and his family's honour, will permit him topropose any thing that shall be inconsistent with my own most scrupulousnotions: and, for my mind's sake, should choose to have the proposed endobtained by my friends declining to compel me. But that nevertheless, asto the world's opinion, it is impossible to imagine that the behaviourof my relations to me has not already brought upon my family thosefree censures which they deserve, and caused the step which I am soscrupulous about taking, to be no other than the natural and expectedconsequence of their treatment of me. '

Indeed, I am afraid all this is true: and it is owing to some littledegree of politeness, that Mr. Lovelace does not say all he might onthis subject: for I have no doubt that I am the talk, and perhaps thebye-word of half the county. If so, I am afraid I can now do nothingthat will give me more disgrace than I have already so causelesslyreceived by their indiscreet persecutions: and let me be whose Iwill, and do what I will, I shall never wipe off the stain which myconfinement, and the rigorous usage I have received, have fixed upon me;at least in my own opinion. 

I wish, if ever I am to be considered as one of the eminent family thisman is allied to, some of them do not think the worse of me for thedisgrace I have received. In that case, perhaps, I shall be obliged tohim, if he do not. You see how much this harsh, this cruel treatmentfrom my own family has humbled me! But perhaps I was too much exaltedbefore. 

Mr. Lovelace concludes, 'with repeatedly begging an interview with me;and that, this night, if possible: an hour, he says, he is the moreencouraged to solicit for, as I had twice before made him hope for it. But whether he obtain it or not, he beseeches me to choose one of thealternatives he offers to my acceptance; and not to depart from myresolution of escaping on Monday, unless the reason ceases on which Ihad taken it up; and that I have a prospect of being restored tothe favour of my friends; at least to my own liberty, and freedom ofchoice. '

He renews all his vows and promises on this head in so earnest and sosolemn a manner, that (his own interest, and his family's honour, andtheir favour for me, co-operating) I can have no room to doubt of hissincerity. 

LETTER XLII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE SAT. MORN. , EIGHT O'CLOCK, APRIL 8. 

Whether you will blame me or not, I cannot tell, but I have depositeda letter confirming my resolution to leave this house on Monday next, within the hour mentioned in my former, if possible. I have not kept acopy of it. But this is the substance:

I tell him, 'That I have no way to avoid the determined resolution ofmy friends in behalf of Mr. Solmes, but by abandoning this house by hisassistance. '

I have not pretended to make a merit with him on this score; for Iplainly tell him, 'That could I, without an unpardonable sin, die when Iwould, I would sooner make death my choice, than take a step, which allthe world, if not my own heart, would condemn me for taking. '

I tell him, 'That I shall not try to bring any other clothes with methan those I shall have on; and those but my common wearing-apparel;lest I should be suspected. That I must expect to be denied thepossession of my estate: but that I am determined never to consent to alitigation with my father, were I to be reduced to ever so low a state:so that the protection I am to be obliged for to any one, must be alonefor the distress sake. That, therefore, he will have nothing to hope forfrom this step that he had not before: and that in ever light Ireserve to myself to accept or refuse his address, as his behaviour andcircumspection shall appear to me to deserve. '

I tell him, 'That I think it best to go into a private lodging in theneighbourhood of Lady Betty Lawrance; and not to her ladyship's house;that it may not appear to the world that I have refuged myself in hisfamily; and that a reconciliation with my friends may not, on thataccount, be made impracticable: that I will send for thither my faithfulHannah; and apprize only Miss Howe where I am: that he shall instantlyleave me, and go to London, or to one of Lord M. 's seats; and as he hadpromised not to come near me, but by my leave; contenting himself with acorrespondence by letter only. 

'That if I find myself in danger of being discovered, and carried backby violence, I will then throw myself directly into the protectioneither of Lady Betty or Lady Sarah: but this only in case of absolutenecessity; for that it will be more to my reputation, for me, by thebest means I can, (taking advantage of my privacy, ) to enter by a secondor third hand into a treaty of reconciliation with my friends. 

'That I must, however, plainly tell him, 'That if, in this treaty, myfriends insist upon my resolving against marrying him, I will engageto comply with them; provided they will allow me to promise him, that Iwill never be the wife of any other man while he remains single, or isliving: that this is a compliment I am willing to pay him, in return forthe trouble and pains he has taken, and the usage he has met with onmy account: although I intimate, that he may, in a great measure, thankhimself (by reason of the little regard he has paid to his reputation)for the slights he has met with. '

I tell him, 'That I may, in this privacy, write to my cousin Morden, and, if possible, interest him in my cause. 

'I take some brief notice then of his alternatives. '

You must think, my dear, that this unhappy force upon me, and thisprojected flight, make it necessary for me to account to him much soonerthan I should otherwise choose to do, for every part of my conduct. 

'It is not to be expected, I tell him, that your mother will embroilherself, or suffer you or Mr. Hickman to be embroiled, on my account:and as to his proposal of my going to London, I am such an absolutestranger to every body there, and have such a bad opinion of the place, that I cannot by any means think of going thither; except I should beinduced, some time hence, by the ladies of his family to attend them. 

'As to the meeting he is desirous of, I think it by no means proper;especially as it is so likely that I may soon see him. But that if anything occurs to induce me to change my mind, as to withdrawing, I willthen take the first opportunity to see him, and give him my reasons forthat change. 

This, my dear, I the less scrupled to write, as it might qualify him tobear such a disappointment, should I give it him; he having, besides, behaved so very unexceptionably when he surprised me some time ago inthe lonely wood-house. 

Finally, 'I commend myself, as a person in distress, and merely as such, to his honour, and to the protection of the ladies of his family. Irepeat [most cordially, I am sure!] my deep concern for being forced totake a step so disagreeable, and so derogatory to my honour. And havingtold him, that I will endeavour to obtain leave to dine in the IvySummer-house, * and to send Betty of some errand, when there, I leave therest to him; but imagine, that about four o'clock will be a proper timefor him to contrive some signal to let me know he is at hand, and for meto unbolt the garden-door. '

 * The Ivy Summer-house (or Ivy Bower, as it was sometimes called in the family) was a place, that from a girl, this young lady delighted in. She used, in the summer months, frequently to sit and work, and read, and write, and draw, and (when permitted) to breakfast, and dine, and sometimes to sup, in it; especially when Miss Howe, who had an equal liking to it, was her visiter and guest. 

She describes it, in another letter (which appears not) as 'pointing toa pretty variegated landscape of wood, water, and hilly country; whichhad pleased her so much, that she had drawn it; the piece hanging up, inher parlous, among some of her other drawings. '

I added, by way of postscript, 'That their suspicions seeming toincrease, I advise him to contrive to send or some to the usual place, as frequently as possible, in the interval of time till Monday morningten or eleven o'clock; as something may possibly happen to make me altermy mind. '

O my dear Miss Howe!--what a sad, sad thing is the necessity, forcedupon me, for all this preparation and contrivance!--But it is now toolate!--But how!--Too late, did I say?--What a word is that!--What adreadful thing, were I to repent, to find it to be too late to remedythe apprehended evil!

SATURDAY, TEN O'CLOCK. 

Mr. Solmes is here. He is to dine with his new relations, as Betty tellsme he already calls them. 

He would have thrown himself in my way once more: but I hurried up to myprison, in my return from my garden-walk, to avoid him. 

I had, when in the garden, the curiosity to see if my letter were gone:I cannot say with an intention to take it back again if it were not, because I see not how I could do otherwise than I have done; yet, what acaprice! when I found it gone, I began (as yesterday morning) to wish ithad not: for no other reason, I believe, than because it was out of mypower. 

A strange diligence in this man!--He says, he almost lives upon theplace; and I think so too. 

He mentions, as you will see in his letter, four several disguises, which he puts on in one day. It is a wonder, nevertheless, that he hasnot been seen by some of our tenants: for it is impossible that anydisguise can hide the gracefulness of his figure. But this is to besaid, that the adjoining grounds being all in our own hands, and nocommon foot-paths near that part of the garden, and through the park andcoppice, nothing can be more bye and unfrequented. 

Then they are less watchful, I believe, over my garden-walks, and mypoultry-visits, depending, as my aunt hinted, upon the bad characterthey have taken so much pains to fasten upon Mr. Lovelace. This, theythink, (and justly think, ) must fill me with doubts. And then the regardI have hitherto had for my reputation is another of their securities. Were it not for these two, they would not surely have used me as theyhave done; and at the same time left me the opportunities which I haveseveral times had, to get away, had I been disposed to do so:* and, indeed, their dependence on both these motives would have been wellfounded, had they kept but tolerable measures with me. 

 * They might, no doubt, make a dependence upon the reasons she gives: but their chief reliance was upon the vigilance of their Joseph Leman; little imagining what an implement he was of Mr. Lovelace. 

Then, perhaps, they have no notion of the back-door; as it is seldomopened, and leads to a place so pathless and lonesome. * If not, therecan be no other way to escape (if one would) unless by the plashy lane, so full of springs, by which your servant reaches the solitary woodhouse; to which lane one must descend from a high bank, that bounds thepoultry yard. For, as to the front-way, you know, one must pass throughthe house to that, and in sight of the parlours, and the servants' hall;and then have the open courtyard to go through, and, by means of theiron-gate, be full in view, as one passes over the lawn, for a quarterof a mile together; the young plantations of elms and limes affordingyet but little shade or covert. 

 * This, in another of her letters, (which neither is inserted, ) is thus described:--'A piece of ruins upon it, the remains of an old chapel, now standing in the midst of the coppice; here and there an over-grown oak, surrounded with ivy and mistletoe, starting up, to sanctify, as it were, the awful solemnness of the place: a spot, too, where a man having been found hanging some years ago, it was used to be thought of by us when children, and by the maid- servants, with a degree of terror, (it being actually the habitation of owls, ravens, and other ominous birds, ) as haunted by ghosts, goblins, specters: the genuine result of the country loneliness and ignorance: notions which, early propagated, are apt to leave impressions even upon minds grown strong enough at the same time to despise the like credulous follies in others. '

The Ivy Summer-house is the most convenient for this heart-affectingpurpose of any spot in the garden, as it is not far from the back-door, and yet in another alley, as you may remember. Then it is seldomresorted to by any body else, except in the summer-months, because it iscool. When they loved me, they would often, for this reason, object tomy long continuance in it:--but now, it is no matter what becomes of me. Besides, cold is a bracer, as my brother said yesterday. 

Here I will deposit what I have written. Let me have your prayers, mydear; and your approbation, or your censure, of the steps I have taken:for yet it may not be quite too late to revoke the appointment. I am

Your most affectionate and faithful CL. HARLOWE. 

Why will you send your servant empty-handed?

LETTER XLIII

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE SAT. AFTERNOON. 

By your last date of ten o'clock in your letter of this day, you couldnot long have deposited it before Robin took it. He rode hard, andbrought it to be just as I had risen from table. 

You may justly blame me for sending my messenger empty-handed, yoursituation considered; and yet that very situation (so critical!) ispartly the reason for it: for indeed I knew not what to write, fit tosend you. 

I have been inquiring privately, how to procure you a conveyance fromHarlowe-place, and yet not appear in it; knowing, that to oblige inthe fact, and to disoblige in the manner, is but obliging by halves: mymother being moreover very suspicious, and very uneasy; made more so bydaily visits from your uncle Antony; who tells her, that every thingis now upon the point of being determined; and hopes, that her daughterwill not so interfere, as to discourage your compliance with theirwills. This I came at by a way that I cannot take notice of, or bothshould hear of it in a manner neither would like: and, without that, mymother and I have had almost hourly bickerings. 

I found more difficulty than I expected (as the time was confined, andsecrecy required, and as you so earnestly forbid me to accompany you inyour enterprise) in procuring you a vehicle. Had you not obliged me tokeep measures with my mother, I could have managed it with ease. I couldeven have taken our own chariot, on one pretence or other, and put twohorses extraordinary to it, if I had thought fit; and I could, when wehad got to London, have sent it back, and nobody the wiser as to thelodgings we might have taken. 

I wish to the Lord you had permitted this. Indeed I think you are toopunctilious a great deal for you situation. Would you expect to enjoyyourself with your usual placidness, and not to be ruffled, in anhurricane which every moment threatens to blow your house down?

Had your distress sprung from yourself, that would have been anotherthing. But when all the world knows where to lay the fault, this altersthe case. 

How can you say I am happy, when my mother, to her power, is as much anabettor of their wickedness to my dearest friend, as your aunt, or anybody else?--and this through the instigation of that odd-headed andfoolish uncle of yours, who [sorry creature that he is!] keeps her upto resolutions which are unworthy of her, for an example to me, if itplease you. Is not this cause enough for me to ground a resentment upon, sufficient to justify me for accompanying you; the friendship between usso well known?

Indeed, my dear, the importance of the case considered, I must repeat, that you are too nice. Don't they already think that your non-compliancewith their odious measures is owing a good deal to my advice? Have theynot prohibited our correspondence upon that very surmise? And have I, but on your account, reason to value what they think?

Besides, What discredit have I to fear by such a step? What detriment?Would Hickman, do you believe, refuse me upon it?--If he did, shouldI be sorry for that?--Who is it, that has a soul, who would not beaffected by such an instance of female friendship?

But I should vex and disorder my mother!--Well, that is something: butnot more than she vexes and disorders me, on her being made an implementby such a sorry creature, who ambles hither every day in spite to mydearest friend--Woe be to both, if it be for a double end!--Chide me, ifyou will: I don't care. 

I say, and I insist upon it, such a step would ennoble your friend: andif still you will permit it, I will take the office out of Lovelace'shands; and, to-morrow evening, or on Monday before his time ofappointment takes place, will come in a chariot, or chaise: and then, my dear, if we get off as I wish, will we make terms (and what terms weplease) with them all. My mother will be glad to receive her daughteragain, I warrant: and Hickman will cry for joy on my return; or he shallfor sorrow. 

But you are so very earnestly angry with me for proposing such a step, and have always so much to say for your side of any question, that I amafraid to urge it farther. --Only be so good (let me add) as to encourageme to resume it, if, upon farther consideration, and upon weighingmatters well, (and in this light, whether best to go off with me, or with Lovelace, ) you can get over your punctilious regard for myreputation. A woman going away with a woman is not so discreditable athing, surely! and with no view, but to avoid the fellows!--I say, onlyto be so good, as to consider this point; and if you can get over yourscruples on my account, do. And so I will have done with this argumentfor the present; and apply myself to some of the passages in yours. 

A time, I hope, will come, that I shall be able to read your affectingnarratives without the impatient bitterness which now boils over in myheart, and would flow to my pen, were I to enter into the particulars ofwhat you write. And indeed I am afraid of giving you my advice at all, or telling you what I should do in your case (supposing you wills tillrefuse my offer; finding too what you have been brought or rather drivento without it); lest any evil should follow it: in which case, Ishould never forgive myself. And this consideration has added to mydifficulties in writing to you now you are upon such a crisis, and yetrefuse the only method--but I said, I would not for the present touchany more that string. Yet, one word more, chide me if you please: If anyharm betide you, I shall for ever blame my mother--indeed I shall--andperhaps yourself, if you do not accept my offer. 

But one thing, in your present situation and prospects, let me advise:It is this, that if you do go off with Mr. Lovelace, you take the firstopportunity to marry. Why should you not, when every body will know bywhose assistance, and in whose company, you leave your father's house, go whithersoever you will?--You may indeed keep him at a distance, untilsettlements are drawn, and such like matters are adjusted to your mind:but even these are matters of less consideration in your particularcase, than they would be in that of most others: and first, because, behis other faults what they will, nobody thinks him an ungenerous man:next, because the possession of your estate must be given up to youas soon as your cousin Morden comes; who, as your trustee, will seeit done; and done upon proper terms: 3dly, because there is no want offortune on his side: 4thly, because all his family value you, and areextremely desirous that you should be their relation: 5thly, because hemakes no scruple of accepting you without conditions. You see how he hasalways defied your relations: [I, for my own part, can forgive him forthe fault: nor know I, if it be not a noble one:] and I dare say, hehad rather call you his, without a shilling, than be under obligationto those whom he has full as little reason to love, as they have to lovehim. You have heard, that his own relations cannot make his proud spiritsubmit to owe any favour to them. 

For all these reasons, I think, you may the less stand upon previoussettlements. It is therefore my absolute opinion, that, if you dowithdraw with him, (and in that case you must let him be judge when hecan leave you with safety, you'll observe that, ) you should not postponethe ceremony. 

Give this matter your most serious consideration. Punctilio is out ofdoors the moment you are out of your father's house. I know how justlysevere you have been upon those inexcusable creatures, whose giddinessand even want of decency have made them, in the same hour as I maysay, leap from a parent's window to a husband's bed--but consideringLovelace's character, I repeat my opinion, that your reputation in theeye of the world requires no delay be made in this point, when once youare in his power. 

I need not, I am sure, make a stronger plea to you. 

You say, in excuse for my mother, (what my fervent love for my friendvery ill brooks, ) that we ought not to blame any one for not doing whatshe has an opinion to do, or to let alone. This, in cases of friendship, would admit of very strict discussion. If the thing requested be ofgreater consequence, or even of equal, to the person sought to, and itwere, as the old phrase has it, to take a thorn out of one's friend'sfoot to put in into one's own, something might be said. --Nay, it wouldbe, I will venture to say, a selfish thing in us to ask a favour ofa friend which would subject that friend to the same or equalinconvenience as that from which we wanted to be relieved, The requestedwould, in this case, teach his friend, by his own selfish example, withmuch better reason, to deny him, and despise a friendship so merelynominal. But if, by a less inconvenience to ourselves, we could relieveour friend from a greater, the refusal of such a favour makes therefuser unworthy of the name of friend: nor would I admit such a one, not even into the outermost fold of my heart. 

I am well aware that this is your opinion of friendship, as well asmine: for I owe the distinction to you, upon a certain occasion; and itsaved me from a very great inconvenience, as you must needs remember. But you were always for making excuses for other people, in caseswherein you would not have allowed of one for yourself. 

I must own, that were these excuses for a friend's indifference, ordenial, made by any body but you, in a case of such vast importance toherself, and of so comparative a small one to those for whose protectionshe would be thought to wish; I, who am for ever, as you have oftenremarked, endeavouring to trace effects to their causes, should beready to suspect that there was a latent, unowned inclination, whichbalancing, or preponderating rather, made the issue of the alternative(however important) sit more lightly upon the excuser's mind than shecared to own. 

You will understand me, my dear. But if you do not, it may be well forme; for I am afraid I shall have it from you for but starting such a\notion, or giving a hint, which perhaps, as you did once in anothercase, you will reprimandingly call, 'Not being able to forego theostentation of sagacity, though at the expense of that tenderness whichis due to friendship and charity. '

What signifies owning a fault without mending it, you'll say?--Verytrue, my dear. But you know I ever was a saucy creature--ever stood inneed of great allowances. --And I remember, likewise, that I ever hadthem from my dear Clarissa. Nor do I doubt them now: for you know howmuch I love you--if it be possible, more than myself I love you! Believeme, my dear: and, in consequence of that belief, you will be able tojudge how much I am affected by your present distressful and criticalsituation; which will not suffer me to pass by without a censure eventhat philosophy of temper in your own cause, which you have not inanother's, and which all that know you ever admired you for. 

From this critical and distressful situation, it shall be my hourlyprayers that you may be delivered without blemish to that fair famewhich has hitherto, like your heart, been unspotted. 

With this prayer, twenty times repeated, concludes Your everaffectionate, ANNA HOWE. 

I hurried myself in writing this; and I hurry Robin away with it, that, in a situation so very critical, you may have all the time possible toconsider what I have written, upon two points so very important. I willrepeat them in a very few words:

'Whether you choose not rather to go off with one of your own sex; withyour ANNA HOWE--than with one of the other; with Mr. LOVELACE?'

And if not, 'Whether you should not marry him as soon as possible?'

LETTER XLIV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE [THE PRECEDING LETTER NOT RECEIVED. ]SATURDAY AFTERNOON. 

Already have I an ecstatic answer, as I may call it, to my letter. 

'He promises compliance with my will in every article: approves of allI propose; particularly of the private lodging: and thinks it a happyexpedient to obviate the censures of the busy and the unreflecting: andyet he hopes, that the putting myself into the protection of either ofhis aunts, (treated as I am treated, ) would be far from being lookedupon by any body in a disreputable light. But every thing I enjoinor resolve upon must, he says, be right, not only with respect to mypresent but future reputation; with regard to which, he hopes so tobehave himself, as to be allowed to be, next to myself, more properlysolicitous than any body. He will only assure me, that his whole familyare extremely desirous to take advantage of the persecutions I labourunder to make their court, and endear themselves to me, by their bestand most cheerful services: happy if they can in any measure contributeto my present freedom and future happiness. 

'He will this afternoon, he says, write to Lord M. And to Lady Betty andLady Sarah, that he is now within view of being the happiest man in theworld, if it be not his own fault; since the only woman upon earth thatcan make him so will be soon out of danger of being another man's; andcannot possibly prescribe any terms to him that he shall not think ithis duty to comply with. 

'He flatters himself now (my last letter confirming my resolution) thathe can be in no apprehension of my changing my mind, unless my friendschange their manner of acting by me; which he is too sure they willnot. * And now will all his relations, who take such a kind and generousshare in his interests, glory and pride themselves in the prospects hehas before him. '

 * Well might he be so sure, when he had the art to play them off, by his corrupted agent, and to make them all join to promote his views unknown to themselves; as is shewn in some of his preceding letters. 

Thus does he hold me to it. 

'As to fortune, he begs me not to be solicitous on that score: that hisown estate is sufficient for us both; not a nominal, but a real, twothousand pounds per annum, equivalent to some estates reputed a thirdmore: that it never was encumbered; that he is clear of the world, bothas to book and bond debts; thanks, perhaps, to his pride, more than tohis virtue: that Lord M. Moreover resolves to settle upon him a thousandpounds per annum on his nuptials. And to this, he will have it, hislordship is instigated more by motives of justice than of generosity; ashe must consider it was but an equivalent for an estate which he hadgot possession of, to which his (Mr. Lovelace's) mother had betterpretensions. That his lordship also proposed to give him up eitherhis seat in Hertfordshire, or that in Lancashire, at his own or at hiswife's option, especially if I am the person. All which it will be in mypower to see done, and proper settlements drawn, before I enter into anyfarther engagements with him; if I will have it so. '

He says, 'That I need not be under any solicitude as to apparel: allimmediate occasions of that sort will be most cheerfully supplied by theladies of his family: as my others shall, with the greatest pride andpleasure (if I allow him that honour) by himself. 

'He assures me, that I shall govern him as I please, with regard to anything in his power towards effecting a reconciliation with my friends:'a point he knows my heart is set upon. 

'He is afraid, that the time will hardly allow of his procuring MissCharlotte Montague's attendance upon me, at St. Alban's, as he hadproposed she should; because, he understands, she keeps her chamber witha violent cold and sore throat. But both she and her sister, the firstmoment she is able to go abroad, shall visit me at my private lodgings;and introduce me to Lady Sarah and Lady Betty, or those ladies to me, asI shall choose; and accompany me to town, if I please; and stay as longin it with me as I shall think fit to stay there. 

'Lord M. Will also, at my own time, and in my own manner, (that is tosay, either publicly or privately, ) make me a visit. And, for his ownpart, when he has seen me in safety, either in their protection, or inthe privacy I prefer, he will leave me, and not attempt to visit me butby my own permission. 

'He had thought once, he says, on hearing of his cousin Charlotte'sindisposition, to have engaged his cousin Patty's attendance upon me, either in or about the neighbouring village, or at St. Alban's: but, hesays, she is a low-spirited, timorous girl, and would but the more haveperplexed us. '

So, my dear, the enterprise requires courage and high spirits, yousee!--And indeed it does!--What am I about to do!

He himself, it is plain, thinks it necessary that I should beaccompanied with one of my own sex. --He might, at least, have proposedthe woman of one of the ladies of his family. --Lord bless me!--What am Iabout to do!--

*****

After all, as far as I have gone, I know not but I may still recede:and, if I do, a mortal quarrel I suppose will ensue. --And what if itdoes?--Could there be any way to escape this Solmes, a breach withLovelace might make way for the single life to take place, which Iso much prefer: and then I would defy the sex. For I see nothing buttrouble and vexation that they bring upon ours: and when once entered, one is obliged to go on with them, treading, with tender feet, uponthorns, and sharper thorns, to the end of a painful journey. 

What to do I know not. The more I think, the more I am embarrassed!--Andthe stronger will be my doubts as the appointed time draws near. 

But I will go down, and take a little turn in the garden; and depositthis, and his letters all but the two last, which I will enclose in mynext, if I have opportunity to write another. 

Mean time, my dear friend----But what can I desire you to prayfor?--Adieu, then!--Let me only say--Adieu--!

LETTER XLV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE. [IN ANSWER TO LETTER XLIII. ] SUNDAYMORNING, APRIL 9. 

Do not think, my beloved friend, although you have given me in yoursof yesterday a severer instance of what, nevertheless, I must cal yourimpartial love, than ever yet I received from you, that I would bedispleased with you for it. That would be to put myself into theinconvenient situation of royalty: that is to say, out of the way ofever being told of my faults; of ever mending them: and in the way ofmaking the sincerest and warmest friendship useless to me. 

And then how brightly, how nobly glows in your bosom the sacred flameof friendship; since it can make you ready to impute to the unhappysufferer a less degree of warmth in her own cause, than you have forher, because of the endeavours to divest herself of self so far as toleave others to the option which they have a right to make!--Ought I, mydear, to blame, ought I not rather to admire you for this ardor?

But nevertheless, lest you should think that there is any foundation fora surmise which (although it owe its rise to your friendship) would, ifthere were, leave me utterly inexcusable, I must, in justice to myself, declare, that I know not my own heart if I have any of that latent orunowned inclination, which you would impute to any other but me. Nordoes the important alternative sit lightly on my mind. And yet I mustexcuse your mother, were it but on this single consideration, thatI could not presume to reckon upon her favour, as I could upon herdaughter's, so as to make the claim of friendship upon her, to whom, asthe mother of my dearest friend, a veneration is owing, which canhardly be compatible with that sweet familiarity which is one of theindispensable requisites of the sacred tie by which your heart and mineare bound in one. 

What therefore I might expect from my Anna Howe, I ought not fromher mother; for would it not be very strange, that a person of herexperience should be reflected upon because she gave not up her ownjudgment, where the consequence of her doing so would be to embroilherself, as she apprehends, with a family she has lived well with, and in behalf of a child against her parents?--as she has moreover adaughter of her own:--a daughter too, give me leave to say, of whosevivacity and charming spirits she is more apprehensive than she need tobe, because her truly maternal cares make her fear more from her youth, than she hopes for her prudence; which, nevertheless, she and all theworld know to be beyond her years. 

And here let me add, that whatever you may generously, and as the resultof an ardent affection for your unhappy friend, urge on this head, in mybehalf, or harshly against any one who may refuse me protection in theextraordinary circumstances I find myself in, I have some pleasurein being able to curb undue expectations upon my indulgent friends, whatever were to befal myself from those circumstances, for I should beextremely mortified, were I by my selfish forwardness to give occasionfor such a check, as to be told, that I had encouraged an unreasonablehope, or, according to the phrase you mention, wished to take a thornout of my own foot, and to put in to that of my friend. Nor should Ibe better pleased with myself, if, having been taught by my good Mrs. Norton, that the best of schools is that of affliction, I should ratherlearn impatience than the contrary, by the lessons I am obliged to getby heart in it; and if I should judge of the merits of others, as theywere kind to me; and that at the expense of their own convenience orpeace of mind. For is not this to suppose myself ever in the right; andall who do not act as I would have them act, perpetually in the wrong?In short, to make my sake God's sake, in the sense of Mr. Solmes'spitiful plea to me?

How often, my dear, have you and I endeavoured to detect and censurethis partial spirit in others?

But I know you do not always content yourself with saying what you thinkmay justly be said; but, in order the shew the extent of a penetrationwhich can go to the bottom of any subject, delight to say or to writeall that can be said or written, or even thought, on the particularoccasion; and this partly perhaps from being desirous [pardon me, mydear!] to be thought mistress of a sagacity that is aforehand withevents. But who would wish to drain off or dry up a refreshing current, because it now-and-then puts us to some little inconvenience by itsover-flowings? In other words, who would not allow for the liveliness ofa spirit which for one painful sensibility gives an hundred pleasurableones; and the one in consequence of the other?

But now I come to the two points in your letter, which most sensiblyconcern me: Thus you put them:

'Whether I choose not rather to go off [shocking words!] with one ofmy own sex; with my ANNA HOWE--than with one of the other; with Mr. LOVELACE?'

And if not, 'Whether I should not marry him as soon as possible?'

You know, my dear, my reasons for rejecting your proposal, and evenfor being earnest that you should not be known to be assisting me in anenterprise in which a cruel necessity induced me to think of engaging;and for which you have not the same plea. At this rate, well mightyour mother be uneasy at our correspondence, not knowing to whatinconveniencies it might subject her and you!--If I am hardly excusableto think of withdrawing from my unkind friends, what could you have tosay for yourself, were you to abandon a mother so indulgent? Doesshe suspect that your fervent friendship may lead you to a smallindiscretion? and does this suspicion offend you? And would you, inresentment, shew her and the world, that you can voluntarily rush intothe highest error that any of our sex can be guilty of?

And is it worthy of your generosity [I ask you, my dear, is it?] tothink of taking so undutiful a step, because you believe your motherwould be glad to receive you again?

I do assure you, that were I to take this step myself, I would run allrisks rather than you should accompany me in it. Have I, do you think, adesire to double and treble my own fault in the eye of the world? in theeye of that world which, cruelly as I am used, (not knowing all, ) wouldnot acquit me?

But, my dearest, kindest friend, let me tell you, that we will neitherof us take such a step. The manner of putting your questions abundantlyconvinces me, that I ought not, in your opinion, to attempt it. You nodoubt intend that I shall so take it; and I thank you for the equallypolite and forcible conviction. 

It is some satisfaction to me (taking the matter in this light) that Ihad begun to waver before I received your last. And now I tell you, thatit has absolutely determined me not to go off; at least not to-morrow. 

If you, my dear, think the issue of the alternative (to use your ownwords) sits so lightly upon my mind, in short, that my inclination isfaulty; the world would treat me much less scrupulously. When thereforeyou represent, that all punctilio must be at an end the moment I am outof my father's house; and hint, that I must submit it to Mr. Lovelaceto judge when he can leave me with safety; that is to say, give him theoption whether he will leave me, or not; who can bear these reflections, who can resolve to incur these inconveniencies, that has the questionstill in her own power to decide upon?

While I thought only of an escape from this house as an escape from Mr. Solmes; that already my reputation suffered by my confinement; and thatit would be in my own option either to marry Mr. Lovelace, or wholly torenounce him; bold as the step was, I thought, treated as I am treated, something was to be said in excuse of it--if not to the world, tomyself: and to be self-acquitted, is a blessing to be preferred to theoption of all the world. But, after I have censured most severely, as Ihave ever done, those giddy girls, who have in the same hour, as I maysay, that they have fled from their chamber, presented themselves atthe altar that is witness to their undutiful rashness; after I havestipulated with Mr. Lovelace for time, and for an ultimate optionwhether to accept or refuse him; and for his leaving me, as soon as I amin a place of safety (which, as you observe, he must be the judge of);and after he has signified to me hi compliance with these terms; sothat I cannot, if I would, recall them, and suddenly marry;--you see, my dear, that I have nothing left me but to resolve not to go away withhim!

But, how, on this revocation of my appointment, shall I be able topacify him?

How!--Why assert the privilege of my sex!--Surely, on this side of thesolemnity he has no right to be displeased. Besides, did I not reserve apower of receding, as I saw fit? To what purpose, as I asked in the casebetween your mother and you, has any body an option, if the making useof it shall give the refused a right to be disgusted?

Far, very far, would those, who, according to the old law, have a rightof absolving or confirming a child's promise, be from ratifying mine, had it been ever so solemn a one. * But this was rather an appointmentthan a promise: and suppose it had been the latter; and that I had notreserved to myself a liberty of revoking it; was it to preclude betteror maturer consideration?--If so, how unfit to be given!--how ungenerousto be insisted upon!--And how unfitter still to be kept!--Is there a manliving who ought to be angry that a woman whom he hopes one day tocall his, shall refuse to keep a rash promise, when, on the maturestdeliberation, she is convinced that it was a rash one?

 * See Numb. XXX. Where it is declared, whose vows shall be binding, and whose not. The vows of a man, or of a widow, are there pronounced to be indispensable; because they are sole, and subject to no other domestic authority. But the vows of a single woman, or of a wife, if the father of the one, or the husband of the other, disallow of them as soon as they know them, are to be of no force. 

 A matter highly necessary to be known; by all young ladies especially, whose designing addressers too often endeavour to engage them by vows; and then plead conscience and honour to them to hold them down to the performance. 

 It cannot be amiss to recite the very words. 

 Ver. 3 If a woman vow a vow unto the Lord, and bind herself by a bond, being in her father's house in her youth;

 4. And her father hear her vow, and her bond wherewith she hath bound her soul, and her father shall hold his peace at her; then all her vows shall stand, and every bond wherewith she hath bound her soul shall stand. 

 5. But if her father disallow her in the day that he heareth; not any of her vows or of her bonds wherewith she hath bound her soul shall stand: and the Lord shall forgive her, because her father disallowed her. 

 The same in the case of a wife, as said above. See ver. 6, 7, 8, &c. --All is thus solemnly closed:

 Ver. 16. These are the statutes which the Lord commanded Moses between a man and his wife, between the father and his daughter, being yet in her youth in her father's house. 

I resolve then, upon the whole, to stand this one trial of Wednesdaynext--or, perhaps, I should rather say, of Tuesday evening, if my fatherhold his purpose of endeavouring, in person, to make me read, or hearread, and then sign, the settlements. --That, that must be the greatesttrial of all. 

If I am compelled to sign them over-night--then (the Lord bless me!)must all I dread follow, as of course, on Wednesday. If I can prevailupon them by my prayers [perhaps I shall fall into fits; for the veryfirst appearance of my father, after having been so long banished hispresence, will greatly affect me--if, I say, I can prevail upon them bymy prayers] to lay aside their views; or to suspend the day, if but forone week; but if not, but for two or three days; still Wednesday willbe a lighter day of trial. They will surely give me time to consider: toargue with myself. This will not be promising. As I have made noeffort to get away, they have no reason to suspect me; so I may have anopportunity, in the last resort, to withdraw. Mrs. Norton is to be withme: she, although she should be chidden for it, will, in my extremity, plead for me. My aunt Hervey may, in such an extremity, join with her. Perhaps my mother may be brought over. I will kneel to each, one by one, to make a friend. Some of them have been afraid to see me, lest theyshould be moved in my favour: does not this give a reasonable hope thatI may move them? My brother's counsel, heretofore given, to turn me outof doors to my evil destiny, may again be repeated, and may prevail;then shall I be in no worse case than now, as to the displeasure of myfriends; and thus far better, that it will not be my fault that I seekanother protection: which even then ought to be my cousin Morden's, rather than Mr. Lovelace's, or any other person's. 

My heart, in short, misgives me less, when I resolve this way, than whenI think of the other: and in so strong and involuntary a bias, the heartis, as I may say, conscience. And well cautions the wise man: 'Let thecounsel of thine own heart stand; for there is no man more faithful tothee than it: for a man's mind is sometimes wont to tell him more thanseven watchmen, that sit above in a high tower. '*

 * Ecclus. Xxxvii. 13, 14. 

Forgive these indigested self-reasonings. I will close here: andinstantly set about a letter of revocation to Mr. Lovelace; take itas he will. It will only be another trial of temper to him. To me ofinfinite importance. And has he not promised temper and acquiescence, onthe supposition of a change in my mind?

LETTER XLVI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE SUNDAY MORNING, APRIL 9. 

Nobody it seems will go to church this day. No blessing to be expectedperhaps upon views so worldly, and in some so cruel. 

They have a mistrust that I have some device in my head. Betty has beenlooking among my clothes. I found her, on coming up from depositing myletter to Lovelace (for I have written!) peering among them; for I hadleft the key in the lock. She coloured, and was confounded to be caught. But I only said, I should be accustomed to any sort of treatment intime. If she had her orders--those were enough for her. 

She owned, in her confusion, that a motion had been made to abridgeme of my airings; and the report she should make, would be of nodisadvantage to me. One of my friends, she told me, urged in my behalf, That there was no need of laying me under greater restraint, since Mr. Lovelace's threatening to rescue me by violence, were I to have beencarried to my uncle's, was a conviction that I had no design to go tohim voluntarily; and that if I had, I should have made preparationsof that kind before now; and, most probably, had been detected inthem. --Hence, it was also inferred, that there was no room to doubt, but I would at last comply. And, added the bold creature, if you don'tintend to do so, your conduct, Miss, seems strange to me. --Only thusshe reconciled it, that I had gone so far, I knew not how to come offgenteelly: and she fancied I should, in full congregation, on Wednesday, give Mr. Solmes my hand. And then said the confident wench, as thelearned Dr. Brand took his text last Sunday, There will be joy inheaven--

This is the substance of my letter to Mr. Lovelace:

'That I have reasons of the greatest consequence to myself (and which, when known, must satisfy him) to suspend, for the present, my intentionof leaving my father's house: that I have hopes that matters may bebrought to an happy conclusion, without taking a step, which nothingbut the last necessity could justify: and that he may depend upon mypromise, that I will die rather than consent to marry Mr. Solmes. '

And so, I am preparing myself to stand the shock of his exclamatoryreply. But be that what it will, it cannot affect me so much, as theapprehensions of what may happen to me next Tuesday or Wednesday; fornow those apprehensions engage my whole attention, and make me sick atthe very heart. 

SUNDAY, FOUR IN THE AFTERNOON. 

My letter is not yet taken away--If he should not send for it, or takeit, or come hither on my not meeting him to-morrow, in doubt of whatmay have befallen me, what shall I do! Why had I any concerns with thissex!--I, that was so happy till I knew this man!

I dined in the ivy summer-house. My request to do so, was complied withat the first word. To shew I meant nothing, I went again into the housewith Betty, as soon as I had dined. I thought it was not amiss to askthis liberty; the weather seemed to be set in fine. Who knows whatTuesday or Wednesday may produce?

SUNDAY EVENING, SEVEN O'CLOCK. 

There remains my letter still!--He is busied, I suppose, in hispreparations for to-morrow. But then he has servants. Does the man thinkhe is so secure of me, that having appointed, he need not give himselfany further concern about me till the very moment? He knows how I ambeset. He knows not what may happen. I may be ill, or still more closelywatched or confined than before. The correspondence might be discovered. It might be necessary to vary the scheme. I might be forced intomeasures, which might entirely frustrate my purpose. I might have newdoubts. I might suggest something more convenient, for any thing heknew. What can the man mean, I wonder!--Yet it shall lie; for if he hasit any time before the appointed hour, it will save me declaring to himpersonally my changed purpose, and the trouble of contending with him onthat score. If he send for it at all, he will see by the date, that hemight have had it in time; and if he be put to any inconvenience fromshortness of notice, let him take it for his pains. 

SUNDAY NIGHT, NINE O'CLOCK. 

It is determined, it seems, to send for Mrs. Norton to be here onTuesday to dinner; and she is to stay with me for a whole week. 

So she is first to endeavour to persuade me to comply; and, when theviolence is done, she is to comfort me, and try to reconcile me tomy fate. They expect fits and fetches, Betty insolently tells me, andexpostulations, and exclamations, without number: but every body willbe prepared for them: and when it's over, it's over; and I shall be easyand pacified when I find I can't help it. 

MONDAY MORN. APRIL 10, SEVEN O'CLOCK. 

O my dear! there yet lies the letter, just as I left it!

Does he think he is so sure of me?--Perhaps he imagines that I dare notalter my purpose. I wish I had never known him! I begin now to see thisrashness in the light every one else would have seen it in, had I beenguilty of it. But what can I do, if he come to-day at the appointedtime! If he receive not the letter, I must see him, or he will thinksomething has befallen me; and certainly will come to the house. Ascertainly he will be insulted. And what, in that case, may be theconsequence! Then I as good as promised that I would take the firstopportunity to see him, if I change my mind, and to give him my reasonsfor it. I have no doubt but he will be out of humour upon it: butbetter, if we meet, that he should go away dissatisfied with me, thanthat I should go away dissatisfied with myself. 

Yet, short as the time is, he may still perhaps send, and get theletter. Something may have happened to prevent him, which when knownwill excuse him. 

After I have disappointed him more than once before, on a requestedinterview only, it is impossible he should not have a curiosity atleast, to know if something has not happened; and whether my mind holdor not in this more important case. And yet, as I rashly confirmed myresolution by a second letter, I begin now to doubt it. 

NINE O'CLOCK. 

My cousin Dolly Hervey slid the enclosed letter into my hand, as Ipassed by her, coming out of the garden. 

DEAREST MADAM, I have got intelligence from one who pretends to know every thing, that you must be married on Wednesday morning to Mr. Solmes. Perhaps, however, she says this only to vex me; for it is that saucy creatureBetty Barnes. A license is got, as she says: and so far she went as totell me (bidding me say nothing, but she knew I would) that Mr. Brand isto marry you. For Dr. Lewen I hear, refuses, unless your consent canbe obtained; and they have heard that he does not approve of theirproceedings against you. Mr. Brand, I am told, is to have his fortunemade by uncle Harlowe and among them. 

You will know better than I what to make of all these matters; forsometimes I think Betty tells me things as if I should not tell you, and yet expects that I will. * For there is great whispering between MissHarlowe and her; and I have observed that when their whispering is over, Betty comes and tells me something by way of secret. She and all theworld know how much I love you: and so I would have them. It is anhonour to me to love a young lady who is and ever was an honour to allher family, let them say what they will. 

 * It is easy for such of the readers as have been attentive to Mr. Lovelace's manner of working, to suppose, from this hint of Miss Hervey's, that he had instructed his double- faced agent to put his sweet-heart Betty upon alarming Miss Hervey, in hopes she would alarm her beloved cousin, (as we see she does, ) in order to keep her steady to her appointment with him. 

But from a more certain authority than Betty's I can assure you (but Imust beg of you to burn this letter) that you are to be searchedonce more for letters, and for pen and ink; for they know you write. Something they pretend to have come at from one of Mr. Lovelace'sservants, which they hope to make something of. I know not for certainwhat it is. He must be a very vile and wicked man who would boast of alady's favour to him, and reveal secrets. But Mr. Lovelace, I dare say, is too much of a gentleman to be guilty of such ingratitude. 

Then they have a notion, from that false Betty I believe, that youintend to take something to make yourself sick; and so they will searchfor phials and powders and such like. 

If nothing shall be found that will increase their suspicions, you areto be used more kindly by your papa when you appear before them all, than he of late has used you. 

Yet, sick or well, alas! my dear cousin! you must be married. But yourhusband is to go home every night without you, till you are reconciledto him. And so illness can be no pretence to save you. 

They are sure you will make a good wife. So would not I, unless I likedmy husband. And Mr. Solmes is always telling them how he will purchaseyour love by rich presents. --A syncophant man!--I wish he and BettyBarnes were to come together; and he would beat her every day. 

After what I told you, I need not advise you to secure every thing youwould not have seen. 

Once more let me beg that you will burn this letter; and, pray, dearestMadam, do not take any thing that may prejudice your health: for thatwill not do. I am

Your truly loving cousin, D. H. 

*****

When I first read my cousin's letter, I was half inclined to resume myformer intention; especially as my countermanding letter was not takenaway; and as my heart ached at the thoughts of the conflict I mustexpect to have with him on my refusal. For see him for a few moments Idoubt I must, lest he should take some rash resolutions; especially ashe has reason to expect I will see him. But here your words, that allpunctilio is at an end the moment I am out of my father's house, added to the still more cogent considerations of duty and reputation, determined me once more against the rash step. And it will be very hard(although no seasonable fainting, or wished-for fit, should stand myfriend) if I cannot gain one month, or fortnight, or week. And I havestill more hopes that I shall prevail for some delay, from my cousin'sintimation that the good Dr. Lewen refuses to give his assistance totheir projects, if they have not my consent, and thinks me cruelly used:since, without taking notice that I am apprized of this, I can pleada scruple of conscience, and insist upon having that worthy divine'sopinion upon it: in which, enforced as I shall enforce it, my motherwill surely second me: my aunt Hervey, and Mrs. Norton, will supporther: the suspension must follow: and I can but get away afterwards. 

But, if they will compel me: if they will give me no time: if nobodywill be moved: if it be resolved that the ceremony should be read overmy constrained hand--why then--Alas! What then!--I can but--But what? Omy dear! this Solmes shall never have my vows I am resolved! and I willsay nothing but no, as long as I shall be able to speak. And who willpresume to look upon such an act of violence as a marriage?--It isimpossible, surely, that a father and mother can see such a dreadfulcompulsion offered to their child--but if mine should withdraw, andleave the task to my brother and sister, they will have no mercy. 

I am grieved to be driven to have recourse to the following artifices. 

I have given them a clue, by the feather of a pen sticking out, wherethey will find such of my hidden stories, as I intend they shall find. 

Two or three little essays I have left easy to be seen, of my ownwriting. 

About a dozen lines also of a letter begun to you, in which I expressmy hopes, (although I say that appearances are against me, ) and thatmy friends will relent. They know from your mother, by my uncle Antony, that, some how or other, I now and then get a letter to you. In thispiece of a letter I declare renewedly my firm resolution to give up theman so obnoxious to my family, on their releasing me from the address ofthe other. 

Near the essays, I have left the copy of my letter to Lady Drayton;*which affording arguments suitable to my case, may chance (thusaccidentally to be fallen upon) to incline them to favour me. 

 * See Letters XIII. And XIV. 

I have reserves of pens and ink, you may believe; and one or two in theivy summer-house; with which I shall amuse myself, in order to lighten, if possible, those apprehensions which more and more affect me, asWednesday, the day of trial, approaches. 

LETTER XLVII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE IVY SUMMER-HOUSE, ELEVEN O'CLOCK. 

He has not yet got my letter: and while I was contriving here how tosend my officious gaoleress from me, that I might have time for theintended interview, and had hit upon an expedient, which I believe wouldhave done, came my aunt, and furnished me with a much better. She saw mylittle table covered, preparative to my solitary dinner; and hoped, she told me, that this would be the last day that my friends would bedeprived of my company at table. 

You may believe, my dear, that the thoughts of meeting Mr. Lovelace, for fear of being discovered, together with the contents of my cousinDolly's letter, gave me great and visible emotions. She took notice ofthem--Why these sighs, why these heavings here? said she, patting myneck--O my dear Niece, who would have thought so much natural sweetnesscould be so very unpersuadable?

I could not answer her, and she proceeded--I am come, I doubt, upon avery unwelcome errand. Some things have been told us yesterday, whichcame from the mouth of one of the most desperate and insolent men in theworld, convince your father, and all of us, that you still find meansto write out of the house. Mr. Lovelace knows every thing that is donehere; and that as soon as done; and great mischief is apprehended fromhim, which you are as much concerned as any body to prevent. Your motherhas also some apprehensions concerning yourself, which yet she hopes aregroundless; but, however, cannot be easy, if she would, unless (whileyou remain here in the garden, or in this summer-house) you give herthe opportunity once more of looking into your closet, your cabinet anddrawers. It will be the better taken, if you give me cheerfully yourkeys. I hope, my dear, you won't dispute it. Your desire of dining inthis place was the more readily complied with for the sake of such anopportunity. 

I thought myself very lucky to be so well prepared by my cousin Dolly'smeans for this search: but yet I artfully made some scruples, and not afew complaints of this treatment: after which, I not only gave her thekeys of all, but even officiously emptied my pockets before her, andinvited her to put her fingers in my stays, that she might be sure I hadno papers there. 

This highly obliged her; and she said, she would represent my cheerfulcompliance as it deserved, let my brother and sister say what theywould. My mother in particular, she was sure, would rejoice at theopportunity given her to obviate, as she doubted not would be the case, some suspicions that were raised against me. 

She then hinted, That there were methods taken to come at all Mr. Lovelace's secrets, and even, from his careless communicativeness, atsome secret of mine; it being, she said, his custom, boastingly to prateto his very servants of his intentions, in particular cases. She added, that deep as he was thought to be, my brother was as deep as he, andfairly too hard for him at his own weapons--as one day it would befound. 

I knew not, I said, the meaning of these dark hints. I thought thecunning she hinted at, on both sides, called rather for contempt thanapplause. I myself might have been put upon artifices which my heartdisdained to practise, had I given way to the resentment, which, I wasbold to say, was much more justifiable than the actions that occasionedit: that it was evident to me, from what she had said, that theirpresent suspicions of me were partly owing to this supposed superiorcunning of my brother, and partly to the consciousness that the usage Imet with might naturally produce a reason for such suspicions: that itwas very unhappy for me to be made the butt of my brother's wit: that itwould have been more to his praise to have aimed at shewing a kind heartthan a cunning head: that, nevertheless, I wished he knew himself aswell as I imagined I knew him; and he would then have less conceit ofhis abilities: which abilities would, in my opinion, be less thought of, if his power to do ill offices were not much greater than they. 

I was vexed. I could not help making this reflection. The dupe theother, too probably, makes of him, through his own spy, deserved it. ButI so little approve of this low art in either, that were I but tolerablyused, the vileness of that man, that Joseph Leman, should be inquiredinto. 

She was sorry, she said, to find that I thought so disparagingly of mybrother. He was a young man both of learning and parts. 

Learning enough, I said, to make him vain of it among us women: but notof parts sufficient to make his learning valuable either to himself orto any body else. 

She wished, indeed, that he had more good nature: but she feared thatI had too great an opinion of somebody else, to think so well of mybrother as a sister ought: since, between the two, there was a sort ofrivalry, as to abilities, that made them hate one another. 

Rivalry! Madam, said I. --If that be the case, or whether it be or not, I wish they both understood, better than either of them seem to do, what it becomes gentlemen, and men of liberal education, to be, and todo. --Neither of them, then, would glory in what they ought to be ashamedof. 

But waving this subject, it was not impossible, I said, that they mightfind a little of my writing, and a pen or two, and a little ink, [hatedart!--or rather, hateful the necessity for it!] as I was not permittedto go up to put them out of the way: but if they did, I must becontented. And I assured her, that, take what time they pleased, I wouldnot go in to disturb them, but would be either in or near the garden, in this summer-house, or in the cedar one, or about my poultry-yard, ornear the great cascade, till I was ordered to return to my prison. Withlike cunning I said, I supposed the unkind search would not be madetill the servants had dined; because I doubted not that the pert BettyBarnes, who knew all the corners of my apartment and closet, would beemployed in it. 

She hoped, she said, that nothing could be found that would give ahandle against me: for, she would assure me, the motives to the search, on my mother's part especially, were, that she hoped to find reasonrather to acquit than to blame me; and that my father might be inducedto see my to-morrow night, or Wednesday morning, with temper: withtenderness, I should rather say, said she; for he is resolved to do so, if no new offence be given. 

Ah! Madam, said I--

Why that Ah! Madam, and shaking your head so significantly?

I wish, Madam, that I may not have more reason to dread my father'scontinued displeasure, than to hope for his returning tenderness. 

You don't know, my dear!--Things may take a turn--things may not be sobad as you fear--

Dearest Madam, have you any consolation to give me?--

Why, my dear, it is possible, that you may be more compliable than youhave been. 

Why raised you my hopes, Madam?--Don't let me think my dear aunt Herveycruel to a niece who truly honours her. 

I may tell you more perhaps, said she (but in confidence, absoluteconfidence) if the inquiry within came out in your favour. Do you knowof any thin above that can be found to your disadvantage?--

Some papers they will find, I doubt: but I must take consequences. My brother and sister will be at hand with their good-naturedconstructions. I am made desperate, and care not what is found. 

I hope, I earnestly hope, that nothing can be found that will impeachyour discretion; and then--but I may say too much--

And away she went, having added to my perplexity. 

But I now can think of nothing but this interview. --Would to Heaven itwere over!--To meet to quarrel--but, let him take what measures he will, I will not stay a moment with him, if he be not quite calm and resigned. 

Don't you see how crooked some of my lines are? Don't you see how someof the letters stagger more than others?--That is when this interview ismore in my head than in my subject. 

But, after all, should I, ought I to meet him? How have I taken it forgranted that I should!--I wish there were time to take your advice. Yetyou are so loth to speak quite out--but that I owe, as you own, to thedifficulty of my situation. 

I should have mentioned, that in the course of this conversation Ibesought my aunt to stand my friend, and to put in a word for me onmy approaching trial; and to endeavour to procure me time forconsideration, if I could obtain nothing else. 

She told me, that, after the ceremony was performed [odious confirmationof a hint in my cousin Dolly's letter!] I should have what time Ipleased to reconcile myself to my lot before cohabitation. 

This put me out of all patience. 

She requested of me in her turn, she said, that I would resolve to meetthem all with cheerful duty, and with a spirit of absolute acquiescence. It was in my power to make them all happy. And how joyful would it beto her, she said, to see my father, my mother, my uncles, my brother, mysister, all embracing me with raptures, and folding me in turns to theirfond hearts, and congratulating each other on their restored happiness!Her own joy, she said, would probably make her motionless and speechlessfor a time: and for her Dolly--the poor girl, who had suffered in theesteem of some, for her grateful attachment to me, would have every bodylove her again. 

Will you doubt, my dear, that my next trial will be the most affectingthat I have yet had?

My aunt set forth all this in so strong a light, and I was soparticularly touched on my cousin Dolly's account, that, impatient as Iwas just before, I was greatly moved: yet could only shew, by my sighsand my tears, how desirable such an event would be to me, could itbe brought about upon conditions with which it was possible for me tocomply. 

Here comes Betty Barnes with my dinner--

*****

The wench is gone. The time of meeting is at hand. O that he may notcome!--But should I, or should I not, meet him?--How I question, withoutpossibility of a timely answer!

Betty, according to my leading hint to my aunt, boasted to me, that shewas to be employed, as she called it, after she had eat her own dinner. 

She should be sorry, she told me, to have me found out. Yet 'twould beall for my good. I should have it in my power to be forgiven for all atonce, before Wednesday night. The confident creature then, to stifle alaugh, put a corner of her apron in her mouth, and went to the door:and on her return to take away, as I angrily bid her, she begged myexcuse--but--but--and then the saucy creature laughed again, she couldnot help it, to think how I had drawn myself in by my summer-housedinnering, since it had given so fine an opportunity, by way ofsurprise, to look into all my private hoards. She thought something wasin the wind, when my brother came into my dining here so readily. Heryoung master was too hard for every body. 'Squire Lovelace himself wasnothing at all at a quick thought to her young master. 

My aunt mentioned Mr. Lovelace's boasting behaviour to his servants:perhaps he may be so mean. But as to my brother, he always took a pridein making himself appear to be a man of parts and learning to ourown servants. Pride and meanness, I have often thought, are as nearlyallied, and as close borderers upon each other, as the poet tells us witand madness are. 

But why do I trouble you (and myself, at such a crisis) with theseimpertinences?--Yet I would forget, if I could, the nearest evil, theinterview; because, my apprehensions increasing as the hour is at hand, I should, were my intentions to be engrossed by them, be unfit to seehim, if he does come: and then he will have too much advantage over me, as he will have seeming reason to reproach me with change of resolution. 

The upbraider, you know, my dear, is in some sense a superior; while theupbraided, if with reason upbraided, must make a figure as spiritless asconscious. 

I know that this wretch will, if he can, be his own judge, and mine too. But the latter he shall not be. 

I dare say, we shall be all to pieces. But I don't care for that. Itwould be hard, if I, who have held it out so sturdily to my father anduncles, should not--but he is at the garden-door--

*****

I was mistaken!--How many noises unlike, be made like to what onefears!--Why flutters the fool so--!

*****

I will hasten to deposit this. Then I will, for the last time, go to theusual place, in hopes to find that he has got my letter. If he has, Iwill not meet him. If he has not, I will take it back, and shew him whatI have written. That will break the ice, as I may say, and save me muchcircumlocution and reasoning: and a steady adherence to that my writtenmind is all that will be necessary. --The interview must be as short aspossible; for should it be discovered, it would furnish a new and strongpretence for the intended evil of Wednesday next. 

Perhaps I shall not be able to write again one while. Perhaps not tillI am the miserable property of that Solmes!--But that shall never, neverbe, while I have my senses. 

If your servant find nothing from me by Wednesday morning, you may thenconclude that I can neither write to you, nor receive your favours. 

In that case, pity and pray for me, my beloved friend; and continue tome that place in your affection, which is the pride of my life, and theonly comfort left to

Your CL. HARLOWE. 

LETTER XLVIII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE ST. ALBAN'S, TUESDAY MORN. PAST ONE. 

O MY DEAREST FRIEND!

After what I had resolved upon, as by my former, what shall I write?what can I? with what consciousness, even by letter, do I approachyou?--You will soon hear (if already you have not heard from the mouthof common fame) that your Clarissa Harlowe is gone off with a man!

I am busying myself to give you the particulars at large. The wholetwenty-four hours of each day (to begin at the moment I can fix) shallbe employed in it till it is finished: every one of the hours, I mean, that will be spared me by this interrupting man, to whom I have mademyself so foolishly accountable for too many of them. Rest is departedfrom me. I have no call for that: and that has no balm for the woundsof my mind. So you'll have all those hours without interruption till theaccount is ended. 

But will you receive, shall you be permitted to receive my letters, after what I have done?

O my dearest friend!--But I must make the best of it. 

I hope that will not be very bad! yet am I convinced that I did a rashand inexcusable thing in meeting him; and all his tenderness, all hisvows, cannot pacify my inward reproaches on that account. 

The bearer comes to you, my dear, for the little parcel of linen which Isent you with far better and more agreeable hopes. 

Send not my letters. Send the linen only: except you will favour me withone line, to tell me you love me still; and that you will suspend yourcensures till you have the whole before you. I am the readier to sendthus early, because if you have deposited any thing for me, you maycause it to be taken back, or withhold any thing you had but intended tosend. 

Adieu, my dearest friend!--I beseech you to love me still--Butalas! what will your mother say?--what will mine?--what my otherrelations?--and what my dear Mrs. Norton?--and how will my brother andsister triumph!

I cannot at present tell you how, or where, you can direct to me. Forvery early shall I leave this place; harassed and fatigued to death. But, when I can do nothing else, constant use has made me able to write. Long, very long, has been all my amusement and pleasure: yet could notthat have been such to me, had I not had you, my best beloved friend, towrite to. Once more adieu. Pity and pray for

Your CL. HARLOWE. 

END OF VOL. II