CLARISSA HARLOWE

or the

HISTORY OF A YOUNG LADY

By Samuel Richardson

Nine Volumes

Volume III. 

LETTERS OF VOLUME III

LETTER I. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Is astonished, confounded, aghast. Repeats her advice to marry Lovelace. 

LETTER II. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Gives a particular account of hermeeting Lovelace; of her vehement contention with him; and, at last, of her being terrified out of her predetermined resolution, and trickedaway. Her grief and compunction of heart upon it. Lays all to the faultof corresponding with him at first against paternal prohibition. Isincensed against him for his artful dealings with her, and for hisselfish love. 

LETTER III. Mr. Lovelace to Joseph Leman. --A letter which lays open thewhole of his contrivance to get off Clarissa. 

LETTER IV. Joseph Leman. In answer. 

LETTER V. Lovelace to Belford. --In ecstasy on the success of hiscontrivances. Well as he loves Clarissa, he would show her no mercy, ifhe thought she preferred any man living to him. Will religiously observethe INJUNCTIONS she laid upon him previous to their meeting. 

LETTER VI. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --A recriminating conversation betweenher and Lovelace. He reminds her of her injunctions; and, instead ofbeseeching her to dispense with them, promises a sacred regard to them. It is not, therefore, in her power, she tells Miss Howe, to take heradvice as to speedy marriage. [A note on the place, justifying herconduct. ] Is attended by Mrs. Greme, Lord M. 's housekeeper at The Lawn, who waits on her to her sister Sorlings, with whom she consents tolodge. His looks offend her. Has written to her sister for her clothes. 

LETTER VII. Lovelace to Belford. --Gives briefly the particulars ofhis success. Describes her person and dress on her first meeting him. Extravagant exultation. Makes Belford question him on the honour of hisdesigns by her: and answers doubtfully. 

LETTER VIII. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Her sentiments on her narrative. Her mother, at the instigation of Antony Harlowe, forbids theircorrespondence. Mr. Hickman's zeal to serve them in it. What her familynow pretend, if she had not left them. How they took her supposedprojected flight. Offers her money and clothes. Would have her seem toplace some little confidence in Lovelace. Her brother and sister willnot permit her father and uncles to cool. 

LETTER IX. X. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Advises her to obey her mother, whoprohibits their correspondence. Declines to accept her offers of money:and why. Mr. Lovelace not a polite man. She will be as ready to place aconfidence in him, as he will be to deserve it. Yet tricked away by himas she was, cannot immediately treat him with great complaisance. Blamesher for her liveliness to her mother. Encloses the copy of her letter toher sister. 

LETTER XI. Lovelace to Belford. --Prides himself in his arts in theconversations between them. Is alarmed at the superiority of hertalents. Considers opposition and resistance as a challenge to do hisworst. His artful proceedings with Joseph Leman. 

LETTER XII. From the same. --Men need only be known to be rakes, he says, to recommend themselves to the favour of the sex. Wishes Miss Howe werenot so well acquainted with Clarissa: and why. 

LETTER XIII. From the same. --Intends to set old Antony at Mrs. Howe, toprevent the correspondence between the two young ladies. Girl, not gold, his predominant passion. Rallies Belford on his person and appearance. Takes humourous notice of the two daughters of the widow Sorlings. 

LETTER XIV. From the same. --Farther triumphs over the Harlowes. Similitude of the spider and fly. Is for having separate churches aswell as separate boarding-schools for the sexes. The women ought to lovehim, he says: and why. Prides himself that they do. 

LETTER XV. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Particulars of an angry conferencewith Lovelace. Seeing her sincerely displeased, he begs the ceremony mayimmediately pass. He construes her bashful silence into anger, and vowsa sacred regard to her injunctions. 

LETTER XVI. XVII. XVIII. Lovelace to Belford. --The pleasure of adifficult chace. Triumphs in the distress and perplexity he gave her byhis artful and parading offer of marriage. His reasons for and againstdoing her justice. Resolves to try her to the utmost. The honour of thewhole sex concerned in the issue of her trial. Matrimony, he sees, is inhis power, now she is. 

LETTER XIX. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Will not obey her mother in herprohibition of their correspondence: and why. Is charmed with herspirit. 

LETTER XX. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Knows not what she can do withLovelace. He may thank himself for the trouble he has had on heraccount. Did she ever, she asks, make him any promises? Did she everreceive him as a lover?

LETTER XXI. XXII. From the same. --She calls upon Lovelace to give her afaithful account of the noise and voices she heard at the garden-door, which frightened her away with him. His confession, and daring hints inrelation to Solmes, and her brother, and Betty Barnes. She is terrified. 

LETTER XXIII. Lovelace to Belford. --Rejoices in the stupidity of theHarlowes. Exults in his capacity for mischief. The condescensionsto which he intends to bring the lady. Libertine observations to thedisadvantage of women; which may serve as cautions to the sex. 

LETTER XXIV. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --A conversation with Mr. Lovelacewholly agreeable. His promises of reformation. She remembers, to hisadvantage, his generosity to his Rosebud and his tenants. Writes to heraunt Hervey. 

LETTER XXV. XXVI. Lovelace to Belford. --His acknowledged vanity. Accounts for his plausible behaviour, and specious promises andproposals. Apprehensive of the correspondence between Miss Howe andClarissa. Loves to plague him with out-of-the-way words and phrases. 

LETTER XXVII. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --How to judge of Lovelace'ssuspicious proposals and promises. Hickman devoted to their service. Yetshe treats him with ridicule. 

LETTER XXVIII. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Lovelace complains, she hears, toMrs. Greme, of her adhering to her injunctions. What means he by it, sheasks, yet forego such opportunities as he had? She is punished for hervanity in hoping to be an example. Blames Miss Howe for her behaviour toHickman. 

LETTER XXIX. From the same. --Warm dialogues with Lovelace. She isdispleased with him for his affectedly-bashful hints of matrimony. Mutual recriminations. He looks upon her as his, she says, by a strangesort of obligation, for having run away with her against her will. Yetbut touches on the edges of matrimony neither. She is sick of herself. 

LETTER XXX. From the same. --Mr. Lovelace a perfect Proteus. He nowapplauds her for that treatment of him which before he had resented; andcommunicates to her two letters, one from Lady Betty Lawrance, the otherfrom Miss Montague. She wonders he did not produce those letters before, as he must know they would be highly acceptable to her. 

LETTER XXXI. XXXII. XXXIII. XXXIV. From the same. --The contents of theletters from Lady Betty and Miss Montague put Clarissa in good humourwith Mr. Lovelace. He hints at marriage; but pretends to be afraid ofpursuing the hint. She is earnest with him to leave her: and why. He applauds her reasonings. Her serious questions, and his ludicrousanswer. --He makes different proposals. --He offers to bring Mrs. Nortonto her. She is ready to blame herself for her doubts of him: butgives reasons for her caution. --He writes by her consent to his friendDoleman, to procure lodgings for her in town. 

LETTER XXXV. Lovelace to Belford. --Glories in his contrivances. Givesan advantageous description of Clarissa's behaviour. Exults on hermentioning London. None but impudent girls, he says, should run awaywith a man. His farther views, plots, and designs. 

LETTER XXXVI. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Humourously touches on herreproofs in relation to Hickman. Observations on smooth love. LordM. 's family greatly admire her. Approves of her spirited treatment ofLovelace, and of her going to London. Hints at the narrowness of her ownmother. Advises her to keep fair with Lovelace. 

LETTER XXXVII. XXXVIII. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Wonders not that herbrother has weight to make her father irreconcilable. --Copy of Mr. Doleman's answer about London lodgings. Her caution in her choice ofthem. Lovelace has given her five guineas for Hannah. Other instances ofhis considerateness. Not displeased with her present prospects. 

LETTER XXXIX. Lovelace to Belford. --Explains what is meant by Doleman'sanswer about the lodgings. Makes Belford object to his scheme, thathe may answer the objections. Exults. Swells. Despises every body. Importance of the minutiae. More of his arts, views, and contrivances. 

LETTER XL. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Acquaints her with a scheme formedby her brother and captain Singleton, to carry her off. Hickman's silentcharities. She despises all his sex, as well as him. Ill terms on whichher own father and mother lived. Extols Clarissa for her domestic goodqualities. Particulars of a great contest with her mother, on theircorrespondence. Has been slapt by her. Observations on managing wives. 

LETTER XLI. XLII. XLIII. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --A strong remonstranceon her behaviour to her mother; in which she lays down the duty ofchildren. Accuses her of want of generosity to Hickman. Farther excusesherself on declining to accept of her money offers. Proposes a conditionon which Mrs. Howe may see all they write. 

LETTER XLIV. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Her mother rejects the proposedcondition. Miss Howe takes thankfully her reprehensions: but willcontinue the correspondence. Some excuses for herself. Humourous storyof game-chickens. 

LETTER XLV. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Lovelace communicates her brother'sand Singleton's project; but treats it with seeming contempt. She askshis advice what to do upon it. This brings on an offer of marriage fromhim. How it went off. 

LETTER XLVI. Lovelace to Belford. --He confesses his artful intentions inthe offer of marriage: yet had like, he says, to have been caught in hisown snares. 

LETTER XLVII. Joseph Leman to Mr. Lovelace. --With intelligence of adesign formed against him by the Harlowes. Joseph's vile hypocrisy andselfishness. 

LETTER XLVIII. Lovelace. In answer. --Story of Miss Betterton. Boast ofhis treatment of his mistresses. The artful use he makes of Joseph'sintelligence. 

LETTER XLIX. Clarissa to her aunt Hervey. --Complains of her silence. Hints at her not having designed to go away with Lovelace. She will openher whole heart to her, if she encourage her to do so, by the hopes of areconciliation. 

LETTER L. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Observations on Lovelace's meanness, pride, and revenge. Politeness not to be expected from him. She ravesat him for the artful manner in which he urges Clarissa to marry him. Advises her how to act in her present situation. 

LETTER LI. Belford to Lovelace. --Becomes a warm advocate for the lady. Gives many instructive reasons to enforce his arguments in her favour. 

LETTER LII. Mrs. Hervey to Clarissa. --A severe and cruel letter inanswer to her's, Letter XLIX. It was not designed, she says, absolutelyto force her to marry to her dislike. 

LETTER LIII. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Her deep regret on thisintelligence, for having met Lovelace. The finer sensibilities makenot happy. Her fate too visibly in her power. He is unpolite, cruel, insolent, unwise, a trifler in his own happiness. Her reasons why sheless likes him than ever. Her soul his soul's superior. Her fortitude. Her prayer. 

LETTER LIV. LV. From the same. --Now indeed is her heart broken, shesays. A solemn curse laid upon her by her father. Her sister's barbarousletters on the occasion. 

LETTER LVI. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --A letter full of generousconsolation and advice. Her friendly vow. Sends her fifty guineas in theleaves of a Norris's miscellanies. 

LETTER LVII. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --A faithful friend the medicine oflife. She is just setting out for London. Lovelace has offered marriageto her in so unreserved a manner, that she wishes she had never writtenwith diffidence of him. Is sorry it was not in her power to comply withhis earnest solicitations. Returns her Norris: and why. 

LETTER LVIII. LIX. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Sorry she has returnedher Norris. Wishes she had accepted of Lovelace's unreserved offer ofmarriage. Believes herself to have a sneaking kindness for Hickman: andwhy. She blames Mrs. Harlowe: and why. 

In answer to Letter VIII. Clarissa states the difference in thecharacters of Mr. Lovelace and Mr. Hickman; and tells her, that hermotives for suspending marriage were not merely ceremonious ones. Regrets Mrs. Howe's forbidding the correspondence between them. Herdutiful apology for her own mother. Lesson to children. 

LETTER LX. Lovelace to Belford. --Thinks he shall be inevitably manacledat last. The lady's extreme illness. Her filial piety gives her dreadfulfaith in a father's curses. She lets not Miss Howe know how very ill shewas. His vows of marriage bring her back to life. Absolutely in earnestin those vows. [The only time he was so. ] He can now talk of love andmarriage without check. Descants upon Belford's letter, No. LI. 

LETTER LXI. From the same. --Is setting out for London. A struggle withhis heart. Owns it to be a villain of a heart. A fit of strong, buttransitory remorse. If he do marry, he doubts he shall have a vapourishwife. Thinks it would be better for both not to marry. His libertinereasons. Lessons to the sex. 

LETTER LXII. From the same. --They arrive at Mrs. Sinclair's. SallyMartin and Polly Horton set upon him. He wavers in his good purposes. Dorcas Wykes proposed, and reluctantly accepted for a servant, tillHannah can come. Dorcas's character. He has two great points to carry. What they are. 

THE HISTORY OF CLARISSA HARLOWE

LETTER I

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TUESDAY, NINE O'CLOCK. 

I write, because you enjoin me to do so. Love you still!--How can Ihelp it, if I would? You may believe how I stand aghast, your lettercommunicating the first news--Good God of Heaven and Earth!--But whatshall I say?--I am all impatient for particulars. 

Lord have mercy upon me!--But can it be?

My mother will indeed be astonished!--How can I tell it her!--It wasbut last night (upon some jealousies put into her head by your foolishuncle) that I assured her, and this upon the strength of your ownassurances, that neither man nor devil would be able to induce you totake a step that was in the least derogatory to the most punctilioushonour. 

But, once more, can it be? What woman at this rate!--But, God preserveyou!

Let nothing escape you in your letters. Direct them for me, however, toMrs. Knolly's, till further notice. 

*****

Observe, my dear, that I don't blame you by all this--Your relationsonly are in fault!--Yet how you came to change your mind is thesurprising thing. 

How to break it to my mother, I know not. Yet if she hear it firstfrom any other, and find I knew it before, she will believe it to be myconnivance!--Yet, as I hope to live, I know not how to break it to her. 

But this is teasing you. --I am sure, without intention. 

Let me now repeat my former advice--If you are not married by this time, be sure delay not the ceremony. Since things are as they are, I wish itwere thought that you were privately married before you went away. Ifthese men plead AUTHORITY to our pain, when we are theirs--Why should wenot, in such a case as this, make some good out of the hated word, forour reputation, when we are induced to violate a more natural one?

Your brother and sister [that vexes me almost as much as any thing!]have now their ends. Now, I suppose, will go forward alterations ofwills, and such-like spiteful doings. 

*****

Miss Lloyd and Miss Biddulph this moment send up their names. Theyare out of breath, Kitty says, to speak to me--easy to guess theirerrand;--I must see my mother, before I see them. I have no way but toshew her your letter to clear myself. I shall not be able to say aword, till she has run herself out of her first breath. --Forgive me, mydear--surprise makes me write thus. If your messenger did not wait, andwere not those young ladies below, I could write it over again, for fearof afflicting you. 

I send what you write for. If there be any thing else you want that isin my power, command without reserve

Your ever affectionate ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER II. 

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE. TUESDAY NIGHT. 

I think myself obliged to thank you, my dear Miss Howe, for yourcondescension, in taking notice of a creature who has occasioned you somuch scandal. 

I am grieved on this account, as much, I verily think, as for the evilitself. 

Tell me--but yet I am afraid to know--what your mother said. 

I long, and yet I dread, to be told, what the young ladies mycompanions, now never more perhaps to be so, say of me. 

They cannot, however, say worse of me than I will of myself. Selfaccusation shall flow in every line of my narrative where I think I amjustly censurable. If any thing can arise from the account I am going togive you, for extenuation of my fault (for that is all a person canhope for, who cannot excuse herself) I know I may expect it from yourfriendship, though not from the charity of any other: since by this timeI doubt not every mouth is opened against me; and all that know ClarissaHarlowe condemn the fugitive daughter. 

After I had deposited my letter to you, written down to the last hour, as I may say, I returned to the ivy summer-house; first taking back myletter from the loose bricks: and there I endeavoured, as coolly as mysituation would permit, to recollect and lay together several incidentsthat had passed between my aunt and me; and, comparing them with some ofthe contents of my cousin Dolly's letter, I began to hope, that I needednot to be so very apprehensive as I have been next Wednesday. And thus Iargued with myself. 

'Wednesday cannot possibly be the day they intend, although tointimidate me they may wish me to think it is: for the settlements areunsigned: nor have they been offered me to sign. I can choose whether Iwill or will not put my hand to them; hard as it will be to refuse if myfather and mother propose, if I made compulsion necessary, to go to myuncle's themselves in order to be out of the way of my appeals? Whereasthey intend to be present on Wednesday. And, however affecting to me thethought of meeting them and all my friends in full assembly is, perhapsit is the very thing I ought to wish for: since my brother and sisterhad such an opinion of my interest in them, that they got me excludedfrom their presence, as a measure which they thought previouslynecessary to carry on their designs. 

'Nor have I reason to doubt, but that (as I had before argued withmyself) I shall be able to bring over some of my relations to my party;and, being brought face to face with my brother, that I shall expose hismalevolence, and of consequence weaken his power. 

'Then supposing the very worst, challenging the minister as I shallchallenge him, he will not presume to proceed: nor surely will Mr. Solmes dare to accept my refusing and struggling hand. And finally, if nothing else will do, nor procure me delay, I can plead scruples ofconscience, and even pretend prior obligation; for, my dear, I have giveMr. Lovelace room to hope (as you will see in one of my letters in yourhands) that I will be no other man's while he is single, and gives menot wilful and premeditated cause of offence against him; and this inorder to rein-in his resentment on the declared animosity of my brotherand uncles to him. And as I shall appeal, or refer my scruples on thishead, to the good Dr. Lewen, it is impossible but that my mother andaunt (if nobody else) must be affected with this plea. '

Revolving cursorily these things, I congratulated myself, that I hadresolved against going away with Mr. Lovelace. 

I told you, my dear, that I would not spare myself: and I enumeratethese particulars as so many arguments to condemn the actions I havebeen so unhappily betrayed into. An argument that concludes against mewith the greater force, as I must acknowledge, that I was apprehensive, that what my cousin Dolly mentions as from Betty, and from my sister whotold her, that she should tell me, in order to make me desperate, andperhaps to push me upon some such step as I have been driven to take, asthe most effectual means to ruin me with my father and uncles. 

God forgive me, if I judge too harshly of their views!--But if I do not, it follows, that they laid a wicked snare for me; and that I have beencaught in it. --And now they triumph, if they can triumph, in the ruin ofa sister, who never wished or intended to hurt them!

As the above kind of reasoning had lessened my apprehensions as to theWednesday, it added to those I had of meeting Mr. Lovelace--now, as itseemed, not only the nearest, but the heaviest evil; principally indeedbecause nearest; for little did I dream (foolish creature that Iwas, and every way beset!) of the event proving what it has proved. Iexpected a contention with him, 'tis true, as he had not my letter: butI thought it would be very strange, as I mentioned in one of my former, *if I, who had so steadily held out against characters so venerable, against authorities so sacred, as I may say, when I thought themunreasonably exerted, should not find myself more equal to such a trialas this; especially as I had so much reason to be displeased with himfor not having taken away my letter. 

On what a point of time may one's worldly happiness depend! Had I buttwo hours more to consider of the matter, and to attend to and improveupon these new lights, as I may call them--but even then, perhaps, Imight have given him a meeting. --Fool that I was! what had I to do togive him hope that I would personally acquaint him with the reason formy change of mind, if I did change it?

O my dear! an obliging temper is a very dangerous temper!--Byendeavouring to gratify others, it is evermore disobliging itself!

When the bell rang to call the servants to dinner, Betty came to meand asked, if I had any commands before she went to hers; repeatingher hint, that she should be employed; adding, that she believed it wasexpected that I should not come up till she came down, or till I saw myaunt or Miss Hervey. 

I asked her some questions about the cascade, which had been out oforder, and lately mended; and expressed a curiosity to see how itplayed, in order to induce her [how cunning to cheat myself, as itproved!] to go thither, if she found me not where she left me; it beinga part of the garden most distant from the ivy summer-house. 

She could hardly have got into the house when I heard the firstsignal--O how my heart fluttered!--but no time was to be lost. Istept to the garden-door; and seeing a clear coast, unbolted thealready-unlocked door--and there was he, all impatience, waiting for me. 

A panic next to fainting seized me when I saw him. My heart seemedconvulsed; and I trembled so, that I should hardly have kept my feet, had he not supported me. 

Fear nothing, dearest creature, said he--let us hasten away--the chariotis at hand--and, by this sweet condescension, you have obliged me beyondexpression or return. 

Recovering my spirits a little, as he kept drawing me after him, O Mr. Lovelace, said I, I cannot go with you--indeed I cannot--I wrote youword so--let go my hand, and you shall see my letter. It is lain therefrom yesterday morning, till within this half-hour. I bid you watch tothe last for a letter from me, lest I should be obliged to revoke theappointment; and, had you followed the direction, you would have foundit. 

I have been watched, my dearest life, said he, half out of breath--Ihave been watched in every step I took: and my trusty servant has beenwatched too, ever since Saturday; and dared not to come near yourwall. And here we shall be discovered in a moment. --Speed away, mycharmer--this is the moment of your deliverance--if you neglect thisopportunity, you can never have such another. 

What is it you mean, Sir?--Let go my hand: for I tell you [strugglingvehemently] that I will sooner die than go with you. 

Good God! said he, with a look of wildness and surprise, what is it Ihear?--But [still drawing me after him, as he retreated farther from thedoor] it is no time to argue--by all that's good you must go--surely youcannot doubt my honour, nor give me cause to question your own. 

As you value me, Mr. Lovelace, urge me no farther. I come fixed andresolved. Let me give you the letter I have written. My further reasonsshall follow; and they will convince you that I ought not to go. 

Nothing, Madam, can convince me--by all that's sacred, I will not leaveyou. To leave you now, would be to lose you for ever--

Am I to be thus compelled? interrupted I, with equal indignation andvehemence. --Let go my hands--I am resolved not to go with you--and Iwill convince you that I ought not. 

All my friends expect you, Madam--all your own are determined againstyou--Wednesday next is the day, the important, perhaps the fatal day!Would you stay to be Solmes's wife?--Can this be your determination atlast?

No, never, never will I be that man's--But I will not go with you! [drawme not thus--How dare you, Sir? I would not have seen you, but to tellyou so]. I had not met you, but for fear you would have been guilty ofsome rashness--and, once more, I will not go--What mean you?--strivingwith all my force to get from him. 

What can have possessed my angel, said he [quitting my hands, and with agentler voice] that after so much ill-usage from your relations; vows sosolemn on my part; an affection so ardent; you stab me with a refusal tostand by your own appointment?

We have no time to talk, Mr. Lovelace. I will give you my reasons at abetter opportunity. I cannot go with you now--and once more urge me nofarther--surely, I am not to be compelled by every body!

I see how it is, said he, with a dejected but passionate air--What asevere fate is mine!--At length your spirit is subdued!--Your brotherand sister have prevailed; and I must give up all my hopes to a wretchso truly despicable--

Once more I tell you, interrupted I, I never will be his--all may end onWednesday differently from what you expect--

And it may not!--And then, good heavens!

It is to be their last effort, as I have reason to believe--

And I have reason to believe so too--since if you stay, you willinevitably be Solmes's wife. 

Not so, interrupted I--I have obliged them in one point. They will bein good-humour with me. I shall gain time at least. I am sure I shall. Ihave several ways to gain time. 

And what, Madam, will gaining time do? It is plain you have not ahope beyond that--it is plain you have not, by putting all upon thatprecarious issue. O my dearest, dearest life, let me beseech you notto run a risque of this consequence. I can convince you that it will bemore than a risque if you go back, that you will on Wednesday next beSolmes's wife. --Prevent, therefore, now that it is in your power toprevent, the fatal mischief that will follow such a dreadful certainty. 

While I have any room for hope, it concerns your honour, Mr. Lovelace, as well as mine, (if you have the value for me you pretend, and wish meto believe you, ) that my conduct in this great point should justify myprudence. 

Your prudence, Madam! When has that been questionable? Yet what steadhas either your prudence or your duty stood you in, with people sostrangely determined?

And then he pathetically enumerated the different instances of the harshtreatment I had met with; imputing all to the malice and caprice of abrother, who set every body against him: and insisting, that I had noother way to bring about a reconciliation with my father and uncles, than by putting myself out of the power of my brother's inveteratemalice. 

Your brother's whole reliance, proceeded he, has been upon your easinessto bear his insults. Your whole family will seek to you, when you havefreed yourself from this disgraceful oppression. When they know you arewith those who can and will right you, they will give up to you your ownestate. Why then, putting his arms around me, and again drawing mewith a gentle force after him, do you hesitate a moment?--Now is thetime--Fly with me, then, I beseech you, my dearest creature! Trustyour persecuted adorer. Have we not suffered in the same cause? If anyimputations are cast upon you, give me the honour (as I shall be foundto deserve it) to call you mine; and, when you are so, shall I not beable to protect both your person and character?

Urge me no more, Mr. Lovelace, I conjure you. You yourself have givenme a hint, which I will speak plainer to, than prudence, perhaps, on anyother occasion, would allow. I am convinced, that Wednesday next (if Ihad time I would give you my reasons) is not intended to be the day wehad both so much dreaded: and if after that day shall be over, I find myfriends determined in Mr. Solmes's favour, I will then contrive someway to meet you with Miss Howe, who is not your enemy: and when thesolemnity has passed, I shall think that step a duty, which till thenwill be criminal to take: since now my father's authority is unimpeachedby any greater. 

Dearest Madam--

Nay, Mr. Lovelace, if you now dispute--if, after this more favourabledeclaration, than I had the thought of making, you are not satisfied, Ishall know what to think both of your gratitude and generosity. 

The case, Madam, admits not of this alternative. I am all gratitude uponit. I cannot express how much I should be delighted with the charminghope you have given me, were you not next Wednesday, if you stay, tobe another man's. Think, dearest creature! what an heightening of myanguish the distant hope you bid me look up to is, taken in this light!

Depend, depend upon it, I will die sooner than be Mr. Solmes's. If youwould have me rely upon your honour, why should you doubt of mine?

I doubt not your honour, Madam; your power is all I doubt. You never, never can have such another opportunity. --Dearest creature, permitme--and he was again drawing me after him. 

Whither, Sir, do you draw me?--Leave me this moment--Do you seek to keepme till my return shall grow dangerous or impracticable? This moment letme go, if you would have me think tolerably of you. 

My happiness, Madam, both here and hereafter, and the safety of all yourimplacable family, depend upon this moment. 

To Providence, Mr. Lovelace, and to the law, will I leave the safetyof my friends. You shall not threaten me into a rashness that my heartcondemns!--Shall I, to promote your happiness, as you call it, dependupon future peace of mind?

You trifle with me, my dear life, just as our better prospects begin toopen. The way is clear; just now it is clear; but you may be preventedin a moment. What is it you doubt?--May I perish eternally, if yourwill shall not be a law to me in every thing! All my relations expectyou. --Next Wednesday!--Dearest creature! think of next Wednesday!--Andto what is it I urge you, but to take a step that sooner than any otherwill reconcile you to all whom you have most reason to value in yourfamily?

Let my judge for myself, Sir. Do not you, who blame my friends forendeavouring to compel me, yourself seek to compel. I won't bear it. Your earnestness gives me greater apprehensions, and greater reluctance. Let me go back, then--let me, before it is too late, go back, that itmay not be worse for both--What mean you by this forcible treatment? Isit thus that I am to judge of the entire submission to my will which youhave so often vowed?--Unhand me this moment, or I will cry out for help. 

I will obey you, my dearest creature!--And quitted my hand with a lookfull of tender despondency, that, knowing the violence of his temper, half-concerned me for him. Yet I was hastening from him, when, with asolemn air, looking upon his sword, but catching, as it were, his handfrom it, he folded both his arms, as if a sudden thought had recoveredhim from an intended rashness. 

Stay, one moment--but one moment stay, O best beloved of my soul!--Yourretreat is secure, if you will go: the key lies at the door. --But, O Madam, next Wednesday, and you are Mr. Solmes's!--Fly me not soeagerly--hear me but a few words. 

When near the garden-door, I stopped; and was the more satisfied, asI saw the key there, by which I could let myself in again at pleasure. But, being uneasy lest I should be missed, I told him, I could stayno longer. I had already staid too long. I would write to him all myreasons. And depend upon it, Mr. Lovelace, said I [just upon the pointof stooping for the key, in order to return] I will die, rather thanhave that man. You know what I have promised, if I find myself indanger. 

One word, Madam, however; one word more [approaching me, his arms stillfolded, as if, I thought, he would not be tempted to mischief]. Rememberonly, that I come at your appointment, to redeem you, at the hazard ofmy life, from your gaolers and persecutors, with a resolution, God ismy witness, or may he for ever blast me! [that was his shockingimprecation] to be a father, uncle, brother, and, as I humbly hoped, inyour own good time, a husband to you, all in one. But since I find youare so ready to cry out for help against me, which must bring down uponme the vengeance of all your family, I am contented to run all risques. I will not ask you to retreat with me; I will attend you into thegarden, and into the house, if I am not intercepted. 

Nay, be not surprised, Madam. The help you would have called for, I willattend you to; for I will face them all: but not as a revenger, if theyprovoke me not too much. You shall see what I can further bear for yoursake--and let us both see, if expostulation, and the behaviour of agentleman to them, will not procure me the treatment due to a gentlemanfrom them. 

Had he offered to draw his sword upon himself, I was prepared to havedespised him for supposing me such a poor novice, as to be intimidatedby an artifice so common. But this resolution, uttered with so seriousan air, of accompanying me in to my friends, made me gasp with terror. 

What mean you, Mr. Lovelace? said I: I beseech you leave me--leave me, Sir, I beseech you. 

Excuse me, Madam! I beg you to excuse me. I have long enough skulkedlike a thief about these lonely walls--long, too long, have I bornethe insults of your brother, and other of your relations. Absence butheightens malice. I am desperate. I have but this one chance for it; foris not the day after to-morrow Wednesday? I have encouraged virulenceby my tameness. --Yet tame I will still be. You shall see, Madam, what Iwill bear for your sake. My sword shall be put sheathed into your hands[and he offered it to me in the scabbard]. --My heart, if you please, clapping one hand upon his breast, shall afford a sheath for yourbrother's sword. Life is nothing, if I lose you--be pleased, Madam, toshew me the way into the garden [moving toward the door]. I will attendyou, though to my fate!--But too happy, be it what it will, if I receiveit in your presence. Lead on, dear creature! [putting his sword into hisbelt]--You shall see what I can bear for you. And he stooped and tookup the key; and offered it to the lock; but dropped it again, withoutopening the door, upon my earnest expostulations. 

What can you mean, Mr. Lovelace?--said I--Would you thus exposeyourself? Would you thus expose me?--Is this your generosity? Is everybody to take advantage thus of the weakness of my temper?

And I wept. I could not help it. 

He threw himself upon his knees at my feet--Who can bear, said he, [withan ardour that could not be feigned, his own eyes glistening, ] whocan bear to behold such sweet emotion?--O charmer of my heart, [and, respectfully still kneeling, he took my hand with both his, pressing itto his lips, ] command me with you, command me from you; in every wayI am implicit to obedience--but I appeal to all you know of yourrelations' cruelty to you, their determined malice against me, and asdetermined favour to the man you tell me you hate, (and, O Madam, if youdid not hate him, I should hardly think there would be a merit in yourapprobation, place it where you would)--I appeal to every thing youknow, to all you have suffered, whether you have not reason to beapprehensive of that Wednesday, which is my terror!--whether you canpossibly have another opportunity--the chariot ready: my friends withimpatience expecting the result of your own appointment: a man whosewill shall be entirely your will, imploring you, thus, on his knees, imploring you--to be your own mistress; that is all: nor will I askfor your favour, but as upon full proof I shall appear to deserve it. Fortune, alliance, unobjectionable!--O my beloved creature! pressing myhand once more to his lips, let not such an opportunity slip. You never, never will have such another. 

I bid him rise. He arose; and I told him, that were I not thusunaccountably hurried by his impatience, I doubted not to convincehim, that both he and I had looked upon next Wednesday with greaterapprehension than was necessary. I was proceeding to give him myreasons; but he broke in upon me--

Had I, Madam, but the shadow of a probability to hope what you hope, Iwould be all obedience and resignation. But the license is actuallygot: the parson is provided: the pedant Brand is the man. O my dearestcreature, do these preparations mean only a trial?

You know not, Sir, were the worst to be intended, and weak as you thinkme, what a spirit I have: you know not what I can do, and how I canresist when I think myself meanly or unreasonably dealt with: nor do youknow what I have already suffered, what I have already borne, knowing towhose unbrotherly instigations all is to be ascribed--

I may expect all things, Madam, interrupted he, from the nobleness ofyour mind. But your spirits may fail you. What may not be apprehendedfrom the invincible temper of a father so positive, to a daughter sodutiful?--Fainting will not save you: they will not, perhaps, be sorryfor such an effect of their barbarity. What will signify expostulationsagainst a ceremony performed? Must not all, the dreadful all follow, that is torture to my heart but to think of? Nobody to appeal to, ofwhat avail will your resistance be against the consequences of a ritewitnessed to by the imposers of it, and those your nearest relations?

I was sure, I said, of procuring a delay at least. Many ways I had toprocure a delay. Nothing could be so fatal to us both, as for me now tobe found with him. My apprehensions on this score, I told him, grew toostrong for my heart. I should think very hardly of him, if he sought todetain me longer. But his acquiescence should engage my gratitude. 

And then stooping to take up the key to let myself into the garden, hestarted, and looked as if he had heard somebody near the door, on theinside; clapping his hand on his sword. 

This frighted me so, that I thought I should have sunk down at his feet. But he instantly re-assured me: He thought, he said, he had heard arustling against the door: but had it been so, the noise would have beenstronger. It was only the effect of his apprehension for me. 

And then taking up the key, he presented it to me. --If you will go, Madam--Yet, I cannot, cannot leave you!--I must enter the garden withyou--forgive me, but I must enter the garden with you. 

And will you, will you thus ungenerously, Mr. Lovelace, take advantageof my fears? of my wishes to prevent mischief? I, vain fool, to beconcerned for every one; nobody for me!

Dearest creature! interrupted he, holding my hand, as I tremblinglyoffered to put the key to the lock--let me, if you will go, open thedoor. But once more, consider, could you possibly obtain that delaywhich seems to be your only dependence, whether you may not be closerconfined? I know they have already had that in consideration. Will younot, in this case, be prevented from corresponding either with MissHowe, or with me?--Who then shall assist you in your escape, if escapeyou would?--From your chamber-window only permitted to view the gardenyou must not enter into, how will you wish for the opportunity younow have, if your hatred to Solmes continue!--But alas! that cannotcontinue. If you go back, it must be from the impulses of a yielding(which you'll call, a dutiful) heart, tired and teased out of your ownwill. 

I have no patience, Sir, to be thus constrained. Must I never be atliberty to follow my own judgment? Be the consequence what it may, Iwill not be thus constrained. 

And then, freeing my hand, I again offered the key to the door. 

Down the ready kneeler dropt between me and that: And can you, can you, Madam, once more on my knees let me ask you, look with an indifferenteye upon the evils that may follow? Provoked as I have been, andtriumphed over as I shall be, if your brother succeeds, my own heartshudders, at times, at the thoughts of what must happen: And can yoursbe unconcerned? Let me beseech you, dearest creature, to consider allthese things; and lose not this only opportunity. My intelligence--

Never, Mr. Lovelace, interrupted I, give so much credit to the words ofa traitor. Your base intelligencer is but a servant. He may pretendto know more than he has grounds for, in order to earn the wages ofcorruption. You know not what contrivances I can find out. 

I was once more offering the key to the lock, when, starting from hisknees, with a voice of affrightment, loudly whispering, and as if outof breath, they are at the door, my beloved creature! and taking thekey from me, he fluttered with it, as if he would double lock it. Andinstantly a voice from within cried out, bursting against the door, asif to break it open, the person repeating his violent pushes, Are youthere?--come up this moment!--this moment!--here they are--here they areboth together!--your pistol this moment!--your gun!--Then another push, and another. He at the same moment drew his sword, and clapping itnaked under his arm, took both my trembling hands in his; and drawing meswiftly after him, Fly, fly, my charmer; this moment is all you have forit, said he. --Your brother!--your uncles!--or this Solmes!--they willinstantly burst the door--fly, my dearest life, if you would not bemore cruelly used than ever--if you would not see two or three murderscommitted at your feet, fly, fly, I beseech you. 

O Lord:--help, help, cried the fool, all in amaze and confusion, frighted beyond the power of controuling. 

Now behind me, now before me, now on this side, now on that, turned I myaffrighted face, in the same moment; expecting a furious brother here, armed servants there, an enraged sister screaming, and a father armedwith terror in his countenance more dreadful than even the drawn swordwhich I saw, or those I apprehended. I ran as fast as he; yet knew notthat I ran; my fears adding wings to my feet, at the same time that theytook all power of thinking from me--my fears, which probably would nothave suffered me to know what course to take, had I not had him to urgeand draw me after him: especially as I beheld a man, who must have comeout of the door, keeping us in his eye, running now towards us; thenback to the garden; beckoning and calling to others, whom I supposed hesaw, although the turning of the wall hindered me from seeing them; andwhom I imagined to be my brother, my father, and their servants. 

Thus terrified, I was got out of sight of the door in a very fewminutes: and then, although quite breathless between running andapprehension, he put my arm under his, his drawn sword in the otherhand, and hurried me on still faster: my voice, however, contradictingmy action; crying, no, no, no, all the while; straining my neck to lookback, as long as the walls of the garden and park were within sight, and till he brought me to the chariot: where, attending, were two armedservants of his own, and two of Lord M. 's on horseback. 

Here I must suspend my relation for a while: for now I am come to thissad period of it, my indiscretion stares me in the face; and my shameand my grief give me a compunction that is more poignant methinks thanif I had a dagger in my heart. To have it to reflect, that I shouldso inconsiderately give in to an interview, which, had I known eithermyself or him, or in the least considered the circumstances of the case, I might have supposed would put me into the power of his resolution, andout of that of my own reason. 

For, might I not have believed, that he, who thought he had cause toapprehend that he was on the point of losing a person who had costhim so much pains and trouble, would not hinder her, if possible, fromreturning? That he, who knew I had promised to give him up for ever, ifinsisted as a condition of reconciliation, would not endeavour to put itout of my power to do so? In short, that he, who had artfully forborneto send for my letter, (for he could not be watched, my dear, ) lest heshould find in it a countermand to my appointment, (as I myself couldapprehend, although I profited by the apprehension, ) would want a deviceto keep me with him till the danger of having our meeting discoveredmight throw me absolutely into his power, to avoid my own worse usage, and the mischiefs which might have ensued (perhaps in my very sight) hadmy friends and he met?

But if it shall come out, that the person within the garden was hiscorrupted implement, employed to frighten me away with him, do youthink, my dear, that I shall not have reason to hate him and myselfstill more? I hope his heart cannot be so deep and so vile a one: I hopeit cannot! But how came it to pass, that one man could get out at thegarden-door, and no more? how, that that man kept aloof, as it were, and pursued us not; nor ran back to alarm the house? my fright, and mydistance, would not let me be certain; but really this man, as I nowrecollect, had the air of that vile Joseph Leman. 

O why, why, my dear friends!--But wherefore blame I them, when I hadargued myself into a hope, not improbable, that even the dreadfultrial I was to undergo so soon might turn out better than if I had beendirectly carried away from the presence of my once indulgent parents, who might possibly intend that trial to be the last I should have had?

Would to Heaven, that I had stood it, however! then if I had afterwardsdone, what now I have been prevailed upon, or perhaps foolishlyfrightened to do, I should not have been stung so much by inwardreproach as now I am: and this would have been a great evil avoided. 

You know, my dear, that your Clarissa's mind was ever above justifyingher own failings by those of others. God forgive those of my friendswho have acted cruelly by me! But their faults are their own, andnot excuses for mine. And mine began early: for I ought not to havecorresponded with him. 

O the vile encroacher! how my indignation, at times, rises at him! thusto lead a young creature (too much indeed relying upon her own strength)from evil to evil!--This last evil, although the remote, yet sureconsequence of my first--my prohibited correspondence! by a father earlyprohibited. 

How much more properly had I acted, with regard to that correspondence, had I, once for all, when he was forbidden to visit me, and I to receivehis visits, pleaded the authority by which I ought to have been bound, and denied to write to him!--But I thought I could proceed, or stop, asI pleased. I supposed it concerned me, more than any other, to bethe arbitress of the quarrels of unruly spirits. --And now I find mypresumption punished--punished, as other sins frequently are, by itself!

As to this last rashness; now, that it is too late, I plainly see howI ought to have conducted myself. As he knew I had but one way oftransmitting to him the knowledge of what befel me; as he knew that myfate was upon a crisis with my friends; and that I had in my letterto him reserved the liberty of revocation; I should not have beensolicitous whether he had got my letter or not: when he had come, andfound I did not answer to his signal, he would presently have resortedto the loose bricks, and there been satisfied, by the date of my letter, that it was his own fault that he had it not before. But, governed bythe same pragmatical motives which induced me to correspond with him atfirst, I was again afraid, truly, with my foolish and busy prescience;and the disappointment would have thrown him into the way of receivingfresh insults from the same persons; which might have made him guiltyof some violence to them. And so to save him an apprehended rashness, I rushed into a real one myself. And what vexes me more is, that it isplain to me now, by all his behaviour, that he had as great a confidencein my weakness, as I had in my own strength. And so, in a point entirelyrelative to my honour, he has triumphed; for he has not been mistaken inme, while I have in myself!

Tell me, my dear Miss Howe, tell me truly, if your unbiassed heart doesnot despise me?--It must! for your mind and mine were ever one; andI despise myself!--And well I may: For could the giddiest and mostinconsiderate girl in England have done worse than I shall appear tohave done in the eye of the world? Since my crime will be known withoutthe provocations, and without the artifices of the betrayer too; whileit will be a high aggravation, that better things were expected from methan from many others. 

You charge me to marry the first opportunity--Ah! my dear! another ofthe blessed effects of my folly--That's as much in my power now as--asI am myself!--And can I besides give a sanction immediately to hisdeluding arts?--Can I avoid being angry with him for tricking me thus, as I may say, (and as I have called it to him, ) out of myself?--Forcompelling me to take a step so contrary to all my resolutions andassurances given to you; a step so dreadfully inconvenient to myself; sodisgraceful and so grievous (as it must be) to my dear mother, were I tobe less regardful of any other of my family or friends?--You don't know, nor can you imagine, my dear, how I am mortified!--How much I am sunkin my own opinion! I, that was proposed for an example, truly, toothers!--O that I were again in my father's house, stealing down witha letter to you; my heart beating with expectation of finding one fromyou!

*****

This is the Wednesday morning I dreaded so much, that I once thoughtof it as the day of my doom: but of the Monday, it is plain, I ought tohave been most apprehensive. Had I staid, and had the worst Idreaded happened, my friends would then have been answerable for theconsequences, if any bad ones had followed:--but now, I have only thisconsolation left me (a very poor one, you'll say!) that I have clearedthem of blame, and taken it all upon myself!

You will not wonder to see this narrative so dismally scrawled. It isowing to different pens and ink, all bad, and written in snatches oftime; my hand trembling too with fatigue and grief. 

I will not add to the length of it, by the particulars of his behaviourto me, and of our conversation at St. Alban's, and since; because thosewill come in course in the continuation of my story; which, no doubt, you will expect from me. 

Only thus much will I say, that he is extremely respectful (evenobsequiously so) at present, though I am so much dissatisfied withhim and myself that he has hitherto had no great cause to praise mycomplaisance to him. Indeed, I can hardly, at times, bear the seducer inmy sight. 

The lodgings I am in are inconvenient. I shall not stay in them: so itsignifies nothing to tell you how to direct to me hither. And where mynext may be, as yet I know not. 

He knows that I am writing to you; and has offered to send my letter, when finished, by a servant of his. But I thought I could not be toocautious, as I am now situated, in having a letter of this importanceconveyed to you. Who knows what such a man may do? So very wickeda contriver! The contrivance, if a contrivance, to get me away, soinsolently mean!--But I hope it is not a contrivance neither!--Yet, bethat as it will, I must say, that the best of him, and of my prospectswith him, are bad; and yet, having enrolled myself among the too-laterepenters, who shall pity me?

Nevertheless, I will dare to hope for a continued interest in youraffections [I shall be miserable indeed if I may not!] and to beremembered in your daily prayers. For neither time nor accident shallever make me cease to be

Your faithful and affectionate CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER III

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOSEPH LEMAN SAT. APRIL 8. 

HONEST JOSEPH, At length your beloved young lady has consented to free herself fromthe cruel treatment she has so long borne. She is to meet me without thegarden-door at about four o'clock on Monday afternoon. I told you shehad promised to do so. She has confirmed her promise. Thank Heaven shehas confirmed her promise!

I shall have a chariot-and-six ready in the by-road fronting the privatepath to Harlowe-paddock; and several of my friends and servants not faroff, armed to protect her, if there be occasion: but every one chargedto avoid mischief. That, you know, has always been my principal care. 

All my fear is, that, when she comes to the point, the over-niceness ofher principles will make her waver, and want to go back: although herhonour is my honour, you know, and mine is her's. If she should, andshould I be unable to prevail upon her, all your past services willavail nothing, and she will be lost to me for ever: the prey then ofthat cursed Solmes, whose vile stinginess will never permit him to dogood to any of the servants of the family. 

I have no doubt of your fidelity, honest Joseph; nor of your zeal toserve an injured gentleman, and an oppressed young lady. You see by theconfidence I repose in you, that I have not; more particularly, on thisvery important occasion, in which your assistance may crown the work:for, if she waver, a little innocent contrivance will be necessary. 

Be very mindful, therefore, of the following directions; take them intoyour heart. This will probably be your last trouble, until my belovedand I are joined in holy wedlock: and then we will be sure to take careof you. You know what I have promised. No man ever reproached me forbreach of word. 

These, then, honest Joseph, are they:

Contrive to be in the garden, in disguise, if possible, and unseen byyour young lady. If you find the garden-door unbolted, you will knowthat she and I are together, although you should not see her go out atit. It will be locked, but my key shall be on the ground just withoutthe door, that you may open it with your's, as it may be needful. 

If you hear our voices parleying, keep at the door till I cry Hem, hem, twice: but be watchful for this signal; for I must not hem very loud, lest she should take it for a signal. Perhaps, in struggling to prevailupon the dear creature, I may have an opportunity to strike the doorhard with my elbow, or heel, to confirm you--then you are to make aviolent burst against the door, as if you would break it open, drawingbackward and forward the bolt in a hurry: then, with another push, butwith more noise than strength, lest the lock give way, cry out (as ifyou saw some of the family) Come up, come up, instantly!--Here theyare! Here they are!--Hasten!--This instant! hasten! And mention swords, pistols, guns, with as terrible a voice as you can cry out with. Thenshall I prevail upon her, no doubt, if loth before, to fly. If I cannot, I will enter the garden with her, and the house too, be the consequencewhat it will. But, so affrighted, these is no question but she will fly. 

When you think us at a sufficient distance [and I shall raise my voiceurging her swifter flight, that you may guess at that] then open thedoor with your key: but you must be sure to open it very cautiously, lest we should not be far enough off. I would not have her know you havea hand in this matter, out of my great regard to you. 

When you have opened the door, take your key out of the lock, and putit in your pocket: then, stooping for mine, put it in the lock on theinside, that it may appear as if the door was opened by herself, witha key, which they will suppose to be of my procuring (it being new) andleft open by us. 

They should conclude she is gone off by her own consent, that they maynot pursue us: that they may see no hopes of tempting her back again. Ineither case, mischief might happen, you know. 

But you must take notice, that you are only to open the door with yourkey, in case none of the family come up to interrupt us, and before weare quite gone: for, if they do, you'll find by what follows, that youmust not open the door at all. Let them, on breaking it open, or bygetting over the wall, find my key on the ground, if they will. 

If they do not come to interrupt us, and if you, by help of your key, come out, follow us at a distance; and, with uplifted hands, and wildimpatient gestures, (running backward and forward, for fear youshould come up too near us, and as if you saw somebody coming to yourassistance, ) cry out for help, help, and to hasten. Then shall we besoon at the chariot. 

Tell the family that you saw me enter a chariot with her: a dozen, or more, men on horseback, attending us; all armed; some withblunderbusses, as you believe; and that we took quite the contrary wayto that we should take. 

You see, honest Joseph, how careful I am, as well as you, to avoidmischief. 

Observe to keep at such a distance that she may not discover who youare. Take long strides, to alter your gait; and hold up your head, honest Joseph; and she'll not know it to be you. Men's airs and gaitsare as various and peculiar as their faces. Pluck a stake out of one ofthe hedges: and tug at it, though it may come easy: this, if she turnback, will look terrible, and account for your not following us faster. Then, returning with it, shouldered, to brag to the family what youwould have done, could you have overtaken us, rather than your younglady should be carried off by such a ------ And you may call me names, and curse me. And these airs will make you look valiant, and in earnest. You see, honest Joseph, I am always contriving to give you reputation. No man suffers by serving me. 

But, if our parley should last longer than I wish; and if any of herfriends miss her before I cry, Hem, hem, twice; then, in order to saveyourself, (which is a very great point with me, I assure you, ) make thesame noise as above: but as I directed before, open not the door withyour key. On the contrary, wish for a key with all your heart; butfor fear any of them should by accident have a key about them, keep inreadiness half a dozen little gravel-stones, no bigger than peas, andthrust two or three slily into the key-hole; which will hinder theirkey from turning round. It is good, you know, Joseph, to provide againstevery accident in such an important case, as this. And let this be yourcry, instead of the other, if any of my enemies come in your sight, asyou seem to be trying to burst the door open, Sir! Sir! or Madam! Madam!O Lord, hasten! O Lord, hasten! Mr. Lovelace! Mr. Lovelace!--And veryloud--and that shall quicken me more than it shall those you callto. --If it be Betty, and only Betty, I shall think worse of your artof making love* than of your fidelity, if you can't find a way to amuseher, and put her upon a false scent. 

 * See Vol. II. Letter XXIX. 

You must tell them that your young lady seemed to run as fast off withme as I with her. This will also confirm to them that all pursuit isin vain. An end will hereby be put to Solmes's hopes: and her friends, after a while, will be more studious to be reconciled to her than to gether back. So you will be a happy instrument of great good to all round. And this will one day be acknowledged by both families. You will then beevery one's favourite; and every good servant, for the future, will beproud to be likened to honest Joseph Leman. 

If she should guess at you, or find you out, I have it already in myhead to write a letter for you to copy, * which, occasionally produced, will set you right with her. 

 * See Vol. III. Letter XXI. 

This one time be diligent, be careful: this will be the crown of all:and once more, depend, for a recompense, upon the honour of

Your assured friend, R. LOVELACE. 

You need not be so much afraid of going too far with Betty. If youshould make a match with her, she is a very likely creature, thougha vixen, as you say. I have an admirable receipt to cure a termagantwife. --Never fear, Joseph, but thou shalt be master of thine house. Ifshe be very troublesome, I can teach thee how to break her heart in atwelvemonth; and honestly too;--or the precept would not be mine. 

I enclose a new earnest of my future favour. 

LETTER IV

TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQUIER, HIS HONNER SUNDAY MORNING, APRIL 9. 

HONNERED SIR, I must confesse I am infinitely obliged to your Honner's bounty. Butthis last command!--It seems so intricket! Lord be merciful to me, howhave I been led from littel stepps to grate stepps!--And if I shouldbe found out!--But your Honner says you will take me into your Honner'ssarvise, and protect me, if as I should at any time be found out;and raise my wages besides; or set me upp in a good inne; which is myambishion. And you will be honnerable and kind to my dearest young lady, God love her. --But who can be unkind to she?

I wil do my best I am able, since your Honner will be apt to lose her, as your Honner says, if I do not; and a man so stingie will be aptto gain her. But mayhap my deareste young lady will not make all thistrubble needful. If she has promissed, she will stand to it, I dare tosay. 

I love your Honner for contriveing to save mischiff so well. I thoughttill I know'd your Honner, that you was verry mischevous, and pleseyour Honner: but find it to be clene contrary. Your Honner, it is plane, means mighty well by every body, as far as I see. As I am sure I domyself; for I am, althoff a very plane man, and all that, a very honnestone, I thank my God. And have good principels, and have kept my younglady's pressepts always in mind: for she goes no where, but saves a soulor two, more or less. 

So, commending myself to your Honner's further favour, not forgettingthe inne, when your Honner shall so please, and good one offers; forplases are no inherritanses now-a-days. And, I hope, your Honner willnot think me a dishonest man for sarving your Honner agenst my duty, asit may look; but only as my conshence clears me. 

Be pleased, howsomever, if it like your Honner, not to call me honestJoseph, so often. For, althoff I think myself verry honnest, and allthat, yet I am touched a littel, for fear I should not do the quiteright thing: and too besides, your Honner has such a fesseshious waywith you, as that I hardly know whether you are in jest or earnest, whenyour Honner calls me honnest so often. 

I am a very plane man, and seldom have writ to such honourablegentlemen; so you will be good enuff to pass by every thing, as I haveoften said, and need not now say over again. 

As to Mrs. Betty; I tho'te, indeed, she looked above me. But she comeson vere well, natheless. I could like her better, iff she was better tomy young lady. But she has too much wit for so plane a man. Natheless, if she was to angre me, althoff it is a shame to bete a woman, yet Icolde make shift to throe my hat at her, or so, your Honner. 

But that same reseit, iff your Honner so please, to cure a shrewishwife. It would more encurrege to wed, iff so be one know'd itbefore-hand, as one may say. So likewise, if one knoed one couldhonnestly, as your Honner says, and as of the handy-work of God, in onetwelvemonth--

But, I shall grow impertinent to such a grate man. --And hereafter maydo for that, as she turnes out: for one mought be loth to part with her, mayhap, so verry soon too; espessially if she was to make the notablelandlady your Honner put into my head. 

Butt wonce moer, begging your Honner's parden, and promissing alldilligence and exsackness, I reste, Your Honner's dewtiful sarvant to command, JOSEPH LEMAN. 

LETTER V

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. ST. ALBAN'S, MONDAY NIGHT. 

I snatch a few moments while my beloved is retired, [as I hope, torest, ] to perform my promise. No pursuit--nor have I apprehensions ofany; though I must make my charmer dread that there will be one. 

And now, let me tell thee, that never was joy so complete as mine!--Butlet me inquire, is not the angel flown away?

*****

O no! She is in the next apartment!--Securely mine!--Mine for ever!

 O ecstasy!--My heart will burst my breast, To leap into her bosom!

I knew that the whole stupid family were in a combination to do mybusiness for me. I told thee that they were all working for me, like somany ground moles; and still more blind than the moles are said to be, unknowing that they did so. I myself, the director of their principalmotions; which falling in with the malice of their little hearts, theytook to be all their own. 

But did I say my joy was perfect?--O no!--It receives some abatementfrom my disgusted bride. For how can I endure to think that I owe moreto her relations' precautions than to her favour for me?--Or even, asfar as I know, to her preference of me to another man?

But let me not indulge this thought. Were I to do so, it might cost mycharmer dear. Let me rejoice, that she has passed the rubicon: that shecannot return: that, as I have ordered it, the flight will appear to theimplacables to be altogether with her own consent: and that if I doubther love, I can put her to trials as mortifying to her niceness, asglorious to my pride. --For, let me tell thee, dearly as I love her, ifI thought there was but the shadow of a doubt in her mind whether shepreferred me to any man living, I would shew her no mercy. 

TUESDAY, DAY-DAWN. 

But, on the wings of love, I fly to my charmer, who perhaps by this timeis rising to encourage the tardy dawn. I have not slept a wink of thehour and half I lay down to invite sleep. It seems to me, that I am notso much body, as to require such a vulgar renovation. 

But why, as in the chariot, as in the inn, at alighting, allheart-bursting grief, my dearest creature? SO persecuted as thou wertpersecuted!--So much in danger of the most abhorred compulsion!--Yetgrief so unsuspectedly sincere for an escape so critical!--Take care, take care, O beloved of my soul! for jealous is the heart in which lovehas erected a temple to thee. 

Yet, it must be allowed, that such a sudden transition must affect her;must ice her over. When a little more used to her new situation; whenher hurries are at an end; when she sees how religiously I shallobserve all her INJUNCTIONS; she will undoubtedly have the gratitudeto distinguish between the confinement she has escaped from, and theliberty she has reason to rejoice in. 

She comes! She comes! And the sun is just rising to attend her! Adieu!Be half as happy as I am (for all diffidencies, like night-fogs beforethe sun, disperse at her approach) and, next myself, thou wilt be thehappiest man in the world. 

LETTER VI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE WEDNESDAY, APRIL 12. 

I will pursue my melancholy story. 

Being thus hurried to the chariot, it would have been to no purpose tohave refused entering into it, had he not in my fright lifted me in, ashe did: and it instantly drove away a full gallop, and stopped not tillit brought us to St. Alban's; which was just as the day shut in. 

I thought I should have fainted several times by the way. With upliftedhands and eyes, God protect me! said I often to myself: Can it be I, that am here! My eyes running over, and my heart ready to burst withsighs as involuntarily as my flight. 

How different, how inexpressibly different, the gay wretch; visiblytriumphing (as I could not be construe his almost rapturous joy) in thesuccess of his arts! But overflowing with complimental flourishes, yetrespectfully distant his address, all the way we flew; for that, ratherthan galloping, was the motion of the horses; which took, as I believe, a round-about way, to prevent being traced. 

I have reason to think, there were other horsemen at his devotion; threeor four different persons, above the rank of the servants, galloping byus now-and-then, on each side of the chariot: but he took no noticeof them; and I had too much grief, mingled with indignation, notwithstanding all his blandishments, to ask any questions about them, or any thing else. 

Think, my dear, what were my thoughts on alighting from the chariot;having no attendant of my own sex; no clothes but what I had on, andthose little suited to such a journey as I had already taken, and wasstill to take: neither hood nor hat, nor any thing but a handkerchiefround my head and shoulders: fatigued to death: my mind still morefatigued than my body: and in such a foam the horses, that every one inthe inn we put up at guessed [they could not do otherwise] that I wasa young giddy creature, who had run away from her friends. This it waseasy to see, by their whispering and gaping: more of the people of thehouse also coming in by turns, than were necessary for the attendance. 

The mistress of the house, whom he sent in to me, showed me anotherapartment; and, seeing me ready to fain, brought me hartshorn and water;and then, upon my desiring to be left alone for half an hour, retired:for I found my heart ready to burst, on revolving every thing in mythoughts: and the moment she was gone, fastening the door, I threwmyself into an old great chair, and gave way to a violent flood oftears, which a little relieved me. 

Mr. Lovelace, sooner than I wished, sent up the gentlewoman, who pressedme, in his name, to admit my brother, or to come down to him: for he hadtold her I was his sister; and that he had brought me, against my will, and without warning, from a friend's house, where I had been all thewinter, in order to prevent my marrying against the consent of myfriends; to whom he was now conducting me; and that, having given me notime for a travelling-dress, I was greatly offended at him. 

So, my dear, your frank, your open-hearted friend, was forced tocountenance this tale; which indeed suited me the better, because I wasunable for some time to talk, speak, or look up; and so my dejection, and grief, and silence, might very well pass before the gentlewoman andher niece who attended me, as a fit of sullenness. 

The room I was in being a bed-chamber, I chose to go down, at hisrepeated message, attended by the mistress of the house, to that inwhich he was. He approached me with great respect, yet not exceedinga brotherly politeness, where a brother is polite; and, calling me hisdearest sister, asked after the state of my mind; and hoped I wouldforgive him; for never brother half so well loved a sister, as he me. 

A wretch! how naturally did he fall into the character, although I wasso much out of mine!

Unthinking creatures have some comfort in the shortness of their views;in their unapprehensiveness; and that they penetrate not beyond thepresent moment: in short that they are unthinking!--But, for a person ofmy thoughtful disposition, who has been accustomed to look forward, aswell to the possible, as to the probable, what comfort can I have in myreflections?

But let me give you the particulars of our conversation a little beforeand after our supper-time, joining both in one. 

When we were alone, he besought me (I cannot say but with all the tokensof a passionate and respectful tenderness) to be better reconciled tomyself and to him: he repeated all the vows of honour and inviolableaffection that he ever made me: he promised to be wholly governed by mein every future step. He asked me to give him leave to propose, whetherI chose to set out next day to either of his aunts?

I was silent. I knew not what to say, nor what to do. 

Whether I chose to have private lodgings procured for me in either ofthose ladies' neighbourhood, as were once my thoughts?

I was still silent. 

Whether I chose to go to either of Lord M. 's seats; that of Berks, orthat in the county we were in?

In lodgings, I said, any where, where he was not to be. 

He had promised this, he owned; and he would religiously keep to hisword, as soon as he found all danger of pursuit over; and that I wassettled to my mind. But, if the place were indifferent to me, London wasthe safest, and the most private: and his relations should all visitme there, the moment I thought fit to admit them. His cousin Charlotte, particularly, should attend me, as my companion, if I would accept ofher, as soon as she was able to go abroad. Mean time, would I go to LadyBetty Lawrance's (Lady Sarah was a melancholy woman)? I should be themost welcome guest she ever received. 

I told him, I wished not to go (immediately, however, and in the frameI was in, and not likely to be out of) to any of his relations: that myreputation was concerned, to have him absent from me: that, if I were insome private lodging, the meaner the less to be suspected, (as it wouldbe known, that I went away by his means; and he would be supposed tohave provided me handsome accommodations, ) it would be most suitableboth to my mind and to my situation: that this might be best, I shouldthink, in the country for me; in town for him. And no matter how soon hewas known to be there. 

If he might deliver his opinion, he said, it was, that since I declinedgoing to any of his relations, London was the only place in the worldto be private in. Every new comer in a country town or village excited acuriosity: A person of my figure [and many compliments he made me] wouldexcite more. Even messages and letters, where none used to be brought, would occasion inquiry. He had not provided a lodging any where, supposing I would choose to go either to London, where accommodations ofthat sort might be fixed upon in an hour's time, or to Lady Betty's; orto Lord M. 's Herfordshire seat, where was the housekeeper, an excellentwoman, Mrs. Greme, such another as my Norton. 

To be sure, I said, if I were pursued, it would be in their firstpassion; and some one of his relations' houses would be the place theywould expect to find me at--I knew not what to do. 

My pleasure should determine him, he said, be it what it would. Onlythat I were safe, was all he was solicitous about. He had lodgings intown; but he did not offer to propose them. He knew, I would have moreobjections to go to them, than I could to go to Lord M. 's, or to LadyBetty's. 

No doubt of it, I replied, with such an indignation in my manner, asmade him run over with professions, that he was far from proposing them, or wishing for my acceptance of them. And again he repeated, that myhonour and safety were all he was solicitous about; assuring me, that mywill should be a law to him in every particular. 

I was too peevish, and too much afflicted, and indeed too much incensedagainst him, to take well any thing he said. 

I thought myself, I said, extremely unhappy. I knew not what todetermine upon: my reputation now, no doubt, utterly ruined: destituteof clothes: unfit to be seen by any body: my very indigence, as I mightcall it, proclaiming my folly to every one who saw me; who would supposethat I had been taken at advantage, or had given an undue one; and hadno power over either my will or my actions: that I could not but think Ihad been dealt artfully with: that he had seemed to have taken, what hemight suppose, the just measure of my weakness, founded on my youth andinexperience: that I could not forgive myself for meeting him: that myheart bled for the distresses of my father and mother, on this occasion:that I would give the world, and all my hopes in it, to have been stillin my father's house, whatever had been my usage: that, let him protestand vow what he would, I saw something low and selfish in his love, thathe could study to put a young creature upon making such a sacrifice ofher duty and conscience: when a person, actuated by a generous love, must seek to oblige the object of it, in every thing essential to herhonour, and to her peace of mind. 

He was very attentive to all I said, never offering to interrupt meonce. His answer to every article, almost methodically, shewed hismemory. 

'What I had said, he told me, made him very grave; and he would answeraccordingly. 

'He was grieved at his heart, to find that he had so little share in myfavour or confidence. 

'As to my reputation, (he must be very sincere with me, ) that could notsuffer half so much by the step I so regretted to have taken, as by theconfinement, and equally foolish and unjust treatment, I had met withfrom my relations: that every mouth was full of blame of them, of mybrother and sister particularly; and of wonder at my patience: that hemust repeat what he had written to me he believed more than once, Thatmy friends themselves expected that I should take a proper opportunityto free myself from their persecutions; why else did they confine me?That my exalted character, as he called it, would still bear me out, with those who knew me; who knew my brother's and sister's motives; andwho knew the wretch they were for compelling me to have. 

'With regard to clothes; who, as matters were circumstanced, couldexpect that I should be able to bring away any others than those I hadon at the time? For present use or wear, all the ladies of his familywould take a pride to supply me: for future, the product of the bestlooms, not only in England, but throughout the world, were at mycommand. 

'If I wanted money, as no doubt I must, he should be proud to supply me:Would to heaven, he might presume to hope, there were but one interestbetween us!'

And then he would fain have had me to accept of a bank note of a hundredpounds; which, unawares to me, he put into my hand: but which, you maybe sure, I refused with warmth. 

'He was inexpressibly grieved and surprised, he said, to hear me sayhad acted artfully by me. He came provided, according to my confirmedappointment, ' [a wretch to upbraid me thus!] 'to redeem me from mypersecutors; and little expected a change of sentiment, and that heshould have so much difficulty to prevail upon me, as he had met with:that perhaps I might think his offer to go into the garden with me, andto face my assembled relations, was a piece of art only: but that if Idid, I wronged him: since to this hour, seeing my excessive uneasiness, he wished, with all his soul he had been permitted to accompany me in. It was always his maxim to brave a threatened danger. Threateners, wherethey have an opportunity to put in force their threats, were seldomto be feared. But had he been assured of a private stab, or of as manydeath's wounds as there were persons in my family, (made desperate ashe should have been by my return, ) he would have attended me into thehouse. '

So, my dear, what I have to do, is to hold myself inexcusable formeeting such a determined and audacious spirit; that's all! I havehardly any question now, but that he would have contrived some wickedstratagem or other to have got me away, had I met him at a midnighthour, as once or twice I had thoughts to do; and that would have beenmore terrible still. 

He concluded this part of his talk, with saying, 'That he doubted notbut that, had he attended me in, he should have come off in everyone's opinion well, that he should have had general leave to renew hisvisits. '

He went on--'He must be so bold as to tell me, that he should have paida visit of this kind, (but indeed accompanied by several of his trustyfriends, ) had I not met him; and that very afternoon too; for he couldnot tamely let the dreadful Wednesday come, without making some effortto change their determinations. '

What, my dear, was to be done with such a man!

'That therefore for my sake, as well as for his own, he had reason towish that a disease so desperate had been attempted to be overcome by asdesperate a remedy. We all know, said he, that great ends are sometimesbrought about by the very means by which they are endeavoured to befrustrated. '

My present situation, I am sure, thought I, affords a sad evidence ofthis truth!

I was silent all this time. My blame was indeed turned inward. Sometimes, too, I was half-frighted at his audaciousness: at others, hadthe less inclination to interrupt him, being excessively fatigued, andmy spirits sunk to nothing, with a view even of the best prospects withsuch a man. 

This gave his opportunity to proceed: and that he did; assuming a stillmore serious air. 

'As to what further remained for him to say, in answer to what I hadsaid, he hoped I would pardon him; but, upon his soul, he was concerned, infinitely concerned, he repeated, (his colour and his voice rising, )that it was necessary for him to observe, how much I chose rather tohave run the risque of being Solmes's wife, than to have it in my powerto reward a man who, I must forgive him, had been as much insulted on myaccount, as I had been on his--who had watched my commands, and (pardonme, Madam) ever changeable motion of your pen, all hours, in allweathers, and with a cheerfulness and ardour, that nothing but the mostfaithful and obsequious passion could inspire. '

I now, my dear, began to revive into a little more warmth ofattention. --

'And all, Madam, for what?'--How I stared! for he stopt then a momentor two--'Only, ' went he on, 'to prevail upon you to free yourself fromungenerous and base oppressions'--

Sir, Sir, indignantly said I--

'Hear me but out, dearest Madam!--My heart is full--I must speak whatI have to say--To be told (for your words are yet in my ears, and at myheart!) that you would give the world, and all your hopes in it, to havebeen still in your cruel and gloomy father's house'--

Not a word, Sir, against my father!--I will not bear that--

'Whatever had been your usage:--and you have a credulity, Madam, againstall probability, if you believe you should have avoided beingSolmes's wife: That I have put you upon sacrificing your duty andconscience--yet, dearest creature! see you not the contradiction thatyour warmth of temper has surprised you into, when the reluctanceyou shewed to the last to leave your persecutors, has cleared yourconscience from the least reproach of this sort?'--

O Sir! Sir! are you so critical then? Are you so light in your anger asto dwell upon words?--

Indeed, my dear, I have since thought that his anger was not owing tothat sudden impetus, which cannot be easily bridled; but rather was asort of manageable anger let loose to intimidate me. 

'Forgive me, Madam--I have just done--Have I not, in your opinion, hazarded my life to redeem you from oppression? Yet is not my reward, after all, precarious?--For, Madam, have you not conditioned with me(and, hard as the condition is, most sacredly will I observe it) thatall my hope must be remote? That you are determined to have it in yourpower to favour or reject me totally, as you please?'

See, my dear! in every respect my condition changed for the worse! Is itin my power to take your advice, if I should think it ever so right totake it?*

 * Clarissa had been censured as behaving to Mr. Lovelace, in their firstconversation at St. Alban's, and afterwards, with too much reserve, andeven with haughtiness. Surely those, who have thought her to blame onthis account, have not paid a due attention to the story. How early, asabove, and in what immediately follows, does he remind her of the termsof distance which she had prescribed to him, before she was in hispower, in hopes to leave the door open for a reconciliation withher friends, which her heart was set upon? And how artfully does he(unrequired) promise to observe the conditions in which she in herpresent circumstances and situation (in pursuance of Miss Howe's advice)would gladly have dispensed with?--To say nothing of the resentment shewas under a necessity to shew, at the manner of his getting her away, inorder to justify to him the sincerity of her refusal to go off with him. See, in her subsequent Letter to Miss Howe, No. IX. , her own sense uponthe subject. 

'And have you not furthermore declared, ' proceeded he 'that you willengage to renounce me for ever, if you friends insist upon that cruelrenunciation, as the terms of being reconciled to you?

'But nevertheless, Madam, all the merit of having saved you from anodious compulsion, shall be mine. I glory in it, though I were to loseyou for ever. As I see I am but too likely to do, from your presentdispleasure; and especially, if your friends insist upon the terms youare ready to comply with. 

'That you are your own mistress, through my means, is, I repeat, myboast. As such, I humbly implore your favour, and that only upon theconditions I have yielded to hope for it. As I do now, thus humbly, [the proud wretch falling on one knee, ] your forgiveness, for so longdetaining your ear, and for all the plain dealing that my undesigningheart would not be denied to utter by my lips. '

O Sir, pray rise! Let the obliged kneel, if one of us must kneel! But, nevertheless, proceed not in this strain, I beseech you. You have hada great deal of trouble about me: but had you let me know in time, thatyou expected to be rewarded for it at the price of my duty, I shouldhave spared you much of it. 

Far be it from me, Sir, to depreciate merit so extraordinary. But let mesay, that had it not been for the forbidden correspondence I was teasedby you into; and which I had not continued (every letter, for manyletters, intended to be the last) but because I thought you a suffererfrom my friends; I had not been either confined or ill treated: norwould my brother's low-meant violence have had a foundation to workupon. 

I am far from thinking my case would have been so very desperate as youimagine had I staid. My father loved me in his heart: he would not seeme before; and I wanted only to see him, and to be heard; and a delayof his sentence was the least thing I expected from the trial I was tostand. 

You are boasting of your merits, Sir: let merit be your boast; nothingelse can attract me. If personal considerations had principal weightwith me, either in Solmes's disfavour, or in your favour, I shalldespise myself: if you value yourself upon them, in preference to theperson of the poor Solmes, I shall despise you!

You may glory in your fancied merits in getting me away: but the causeof your glory, I tell you plainly, is my shame. 

Make to yourself a title to my regard, which I can better approve of; orelse you will not have so much merit with me, as you have with yourself. 

But here, Sir, like the first pair, (I, at least, driven out of myparadise, ) are we recriminating. No more shall you need to tell me ofyour sufferings, and your merits! your all hours, and all weathers! ForI will bear them in memory as long as I live; and if it be impossiblefor me to reward them, be ever ready to own the obligation. All thatI desire of you now is, to leave it to myself to seek for some privateabode: to take the chariot with you to London, or elsewhere: and, ifI have any further occasion for your assistance and protection, I willsignify it to you, and be still further obliged to you. 

You are warm, my dearest life!--But indeed there is no occasion for it. Had I any views unworthy of my faithful love for you, I should not havebeen so honest in my declarations. 

Then he began again to vow the sincerity of his intentions--

But I took him up short: I am willing to believe you, Sir. It wouldbe insupportable but to suppose there were a necessity for such solemndeclarations. [At this he seemed to collect himself, as I may say, intoa little more circumspection. ] If I thought there were, I would not sitwith you here, in a public inn, I assure you, although cheated hither, as far as I know, by methods (you must excuse me, Sir) which, butto suspect, will hardly let me have patience either with you or withmyself--but no more of this, just now: Let me, I beseech you, good Sir, bowing [I was very angry!] let me only know whether you intend to leaveme; or whether I have only escaped from one confinement to another?

Cheated hither, as far as I know, Madam! Let you know (and with thatair, too, charming, though grievous to my heart!) if you have onlyescaped from one confinement to another--amazing! perfectly amazing! Andcan there be a necessity for me to answer this? You are absolutely yourown mistress--it was very strange, if you were not. The moment you arein a place of safety, I will leave you. To one condition only, give meleave to beg your consent: it is this, that you will be pleased, now youare so entirely in your own power, to renew a promise voluntarily madebefore; voluntarily, or I would not now presume to request it; foralthough I would not be thought capable of growing upon concession, yetI cannot bear to think of losing the ground your goodness had givenme room to hope I had gained; 'That, make up how you please with yourrelations, you will never marry any other man, while I am living andsingle, unless I should be so wicked as to give new cause for highdispleasure. '

I hesitate not to confirm this promise, Sir, upon your own condition. Inwhat manner do you expect to confirm it?

Only, Madam, by your word. 

Then I never will. 

He had the assurance (I was now in his power) to salute me as a sealingof my promise, as he called it. His motion was so sudden, that I was notaware of it. It would have looked affected to be very angry; yet I couldnot be pleased, considering this as a leading freedom, from a spirit soaudacious and encroaching: and he might see, that I was not. 

He passed all that my with an air peculiar to himself--Enough, enough, dearest Madam! And now let me beg of you but to conquer this dreadfuluneasiness, which gives me to apprehend too much for my jealous love tobear; and it shall be my whole endeavour to deserve your favour, and tomake you the happiest woman in the world; as I shall be the happiest ofmen. 

I broke from him to write to you my preceding letter; but refused tosend it by his servant, as I told you. The mistress of the house helpedme to a messenger, who was to carry what you should give him to LordM. 's seat in Hertfordshire, directed for Mrs. Greme, the housekeeperthere. And early in the morning, for fear of pursuit, we were to setout that way: and there he proposed to change the chariot and six for achaise and pair of his own, which he had at that seat, as it would be aless-noticed conveyance. 

I looked over my little stock of money; and found it to be no morethan seven guineas and some silver: the rest of my stock was but fiftyguineas, and that five more than I thought it was, when my sisterchalleneged me as to the sum I had by me:* and those I left in myescritoire, little intending to go away with him. 

 * See Vol. I. Letter XLIII. 

Indeed my case abounds with a shocking number of indelicatecircumstances. Among the rest, I was forced to account to him, who knewI could have no clothes but what I had on, how I came to have linen withme (for he could not but know I sent for it); lest he should imagineI had an early design to go away with him, and made that part of thepreparation. 

He most heartily wished, he said, for my mind's sake, that your motherwould have afforded me her protection; and delivered himself upon thissubject with equal freedom and concern. 

There are, my dear Miss Howe, a multitude of punctilios and decorums, which a young creature must dispense with, who, in a situation likemine, makes a man the intimate attendant of her person. I could now, I think, give twenty reasons stronger than any I have heretoforementioned, why women of the least delicacy should never think ofincurring the danger and the disgrace of taking the step I have beendrawn in to take, but with horror and aversion; and why they should lookupon the man who should tempt them to it, as the vilest and most selfishof seducers. 

*****

Before five o'clock (Tuesday morning) the maidservant came up to tell methat my brother was ready, and that breakfast also waited for me inthe parlour. I went down with a heart as heavy as my eyes, and receivedgreat acknowledgements and compliments from him on being so soondressed, and ready (as he interpreted it) to continue on our journey. 

He had the thought which I had not (for what had I to with thinking, whohad it not when I stood most in need of it?) to purchase for me a velvethood, and a short cloke, trimmed with silver, without saying any thingto me. He must reward himself, the artful encroacher said, before thelandlady and her maids and niece, for his forethought; and would salutehis pretty sullen sister!--He took his reward; and, as he said before, a tear with it. While he assured me, still before them [a vile wretch!]that I had nothing to fear from meeting with parents who so dearly lovedme. --

How could I be complaisant, my dear, to such a man as this?

When we had got in the chariot, and it began to move, he asked me, whether I had any objection to go to Lord M. 's Hertfordshire seat? HisLordship, he said, was at his Berkshire one. 

I told him, I chose not to go, as yet, to any of his relations; for thatwould indicate a plain defiance to my own. My choice was, to go to aprivate lodging, and for him to be at a distance from me: at least, tillI heard how things were taken by my friends: for that, although I hadbut little hopes of a reconciliation as it was; yet if they knew I wasin his protection, or in that of any of his friends, (which would belooked upon as the same thing, ) there would not be room for any hopes atall. 

I should govern him as I pleased, he solemnly assured me, in everything. But he still thought London was the best place for me; and if Iwere once safe there, and in a lodging to my liking, he would go to M. Hall. But, as I approved not of London, he would urge it no further. 

He proposed, and I consented, to put up at an inn in the neighbourhoodof The Lawn (as he called Lord M. 's seat in this county) since I chosenot to go thither. And here I got two hours to myself; which I told himI should pass in writing another letter to you, (meaning my narrative, which, though greatly fatigued, I had begun at St. Alban's, ) and in oneto my sister, to apprise the family (whether they were solicitous aboutit or not) that I was well; and to beg that my clothes, some particularbooks, and the fifty guineas I had left in my escritoire, might be sentme. 

He asked, if I had considered whither to have them directed?

Indeed, not I, I told him: I was a stranger to--

So was he, he interrupted me; but it struck him by chance--

Wicked story-teller!

But, added he, I will tell you, Madam, how it shall be managed--Ifyou don't choose to go to London, it is, nevertheless, best that yourrelations should think you there; for then they will absolutely despairof finding you. If you write, be pleased to direct, to be left for you, at Mr. Osgood's, near Soho-square. Mr. Osgood is a man of reputation:and this will effectually amuse them. 

Amuse them, my dear!--Amuse whom?--My father!--my uncles!--But it mustbe so!----All his expedients ready, you see!

I had no objection to this: and I have written accordingly. But whatanswer I shall have, or whether any, that is what gives me no smallanxiety. 

This, however, is one consolation, that if I have an answer, andalthough my brother should be the writer, it cannot be more severe thanthe treatment I have of late received from him and my sister. 

Mr. Lovelace staid out about an hour and half; and then came in;impatiently sending up to me no less than four times, to desireadmittance. But I sent him word as often, that I was busy; and at last, that I should be so, till dinner was ready. He then hastened that, as Iheard him now-and-then, with a hearty curse upon the cook and waiters. 

This is another of his perfections. I ventured afterwards to check himfor his free words, as we sat at dinner. 

Having heard him swear at his servant, when below, whom, nevertheless, he owns to be a good one; it is a sad life, said I, these innkeeperslive, Mr. Lovelace. 

No; pretty well, I believe--but why, Madam, think you, that fellows, whoeat and drink at other men's cost, or they are sorry innkeepers, shouldbe entitled to pity?

Because of the soldiers they are obliged to quarter; who are generally, I believe, wretched profligates. Bless me! said I, how I heard one ofthem swear and curse, just now, at a modest, meek man, as I judge by hislow voice, and gentle answers!--Well do they make it a proverb--Like atrooper!

He bit his lip; arose; turned upon his heel; stept to the glass; andlooking confidently abashed, if I may say so, Ay, Madam, said he, these troopers are sad swearing fellows. I think their officers shouldchastise them for it. 

I am sure they deserve chastisement, replied I: for swearing is a mostunmanly vice, and cursing as poor and low a one; since they proclaim theprofligate's want of power, and his wickedness at the same time; for, could such a one punish as he speaks, he would be a fiend!

Charmingly observed, by my soul, Madam!--The next trooper I hear swearand curse, I'll tell him what an unmanly, and what a poor wretch he is. 

Mrs. Greme came to pay her duty to me, as Mr. Lovelace called it; andwas very urgent with me to go to her lord's house; letting me know whathandsome things she had heard of her lord, and his two nieces, and allthe family, say of me; and what wishes for several months past they hadput up for the honour she now hoped would soon be done them all. 

This gave me some satisfaction, as it confirmed from the mouth of a verygood sort of woman all that Mr. Lovelace had told me. 

Upon inquiry about a private lodging, she recommended me to asister-in-law of hers, eight miles from thence--where I now am. And whatpleased me the better, was, that Mr. Lovelace (of whom I could see shewas infinitely observant) obliged her, of his own motion, to accompanyme in the chaise; himself riding on horseback, with his two servants, and one of Lord M. 's. And here we arrived about four o'clock. 

But, as I told you in my former, the lodgings are inconvenient. Mr. Lovelace indeed found great fault with them: and told Mrs. Greme (whohad said, that they were not worthy of us) that they came not up even toher own account of them. As the house was a mile from a town, it was notproper for him, he said, to be so far distant from me, lest any thingshould happen: and yet the apartments were not separate and distinctenough for me to like them, he was sure. 

This must be agreeable enough for him, you will believe. 

Mrs. Greme and I had a good deal of talk in the chaise about him: shewas very easy and free in her answers to all I asked; and has, I find, avery serious turn. 

I led her on to say to the following effect; some part of it not unlikewhat Lord M. 's dismissed bailiff had said before; by which I find thatall the servants have a like opinion of him. 

'That Mr. Lovelace was a generous man: that it was hard to say, whetherthe servants of her lord's family loved or feared him most: that herlord had a very great affection for him: that his two noble aunts werenot less fond of him: that his cousins Montague were as good naturedyoung ladies as ever lived: that Lord M. And Lady Sarah, and Lady Bettyhad proposed several ladies to him, before he made his addresses to me:and even since; despairing to move me and my friends in his favour. --Butthat he had no thoughts of marrying at all, she had heard him say, if itwere not to me: that as well her lord as the two ladies his sisters werea good deal concerned at the ill-usage he received from my family: butadmired my character, and wished to have him married to me (although Iwere not to have a shilling) in preference to any other person, from theopinion they had of the influence I should have over him. That, to besure, Mr. Lovelace was a wild gentleman: but wildness was a distemperwhich would cure itself. That her lord delighted in his company, whenever he could get it: but that they often fell out; and his lordshipwas always forced to submit--indeed, was half afraid of him, shebelieved; for Mr. Lovelace would do as he pleased. She mingled athousand pities often, that he acted not up to the talents lent him--yetwould have it, that he had fine qualities to found a reformation upon:and, when the happy day came, would make amends for all: and of this allhis friends were so assured, that they wished for nothing so earnestly, as for his marriage. '

This, indifferent as it is, is better than my brother says of him. 

The people of the house here are very honest-looking industrious folks:Mrs. Sorlings is the gentlewoman's name. The farm seems well stocked, and thriving. She is a widow; has two sons, men grown, who vie with eachother which shall take most pains in promoting the common good; and theyare both of them, I already see, more respectful to two modest youngwomen their sisters, than my brother was to his sister. 

I believe I must stay here longer than at first I thought I should. 

I ought to have mentioned, that, before I set out for this place, Ireceived your kind letter. * Every thing is kind from so dear a friend. 

 * See Vol. II. Letter XLVII. 

I own, that after I had told you of my absolute determination not to goaway with him, you might well be surprised, at your first hearing thatI was actually gone. The Lord bless me, my dear, I myself, at times, canhardly believe it is I, that have been led to take so strange a step. 

I have not the better opinion of Mr. Lovelace for his extravagantvolubility. He is too full of professions. He says too many fine thingsof me, and to me. True respect, true value, I think, lies not in words:words cannot express it: the silent awe, the humble, the doubting eye, and even the hesitating voice, better shew it by much, than, as ourbeloved Shakespeare says, ----The rattling tongue Of saucy and audacious eloquence. 

The man indeed at times is all upon the ecstatic; one of his phrases. But, to my shame and confusion, I must say, that I know too well to whatto attribute his transports. In one word, it is to his triumph, mydear. And, to impute it to that perhaps equally exposes my vanity, andcondemns my folly. 

We have been alarmed with notions of a pursuit, founded upon a letterfrom his intelligencer. 

How do different circumstances either sanctify or condemn the sameaction!--What care ought we to take not to confound the distinctions ofright and wrong, when self comes in the question!--I condemned in Mr. Lovelace the corrupting of a servant of my father's; and now I am gladto give a kind of indirect approbation of that fault, by inquiring ofhim what he hears, by that or any other way, of the manner in which myrelations took my flight. A preconcerted, forward, and artful flight, itmust undoubtedly appear to them. How grievous is that to think of! yethow, as long as I am situated, can I put them right?

Most heavily, he says, they take it; but shew not so much grief as rage. And he can hardly have patience to hear of the virulence and menacesof my brother against himself. Then a merit is made to me of hisforbearance. 

What a satisfaction am I robbed of, my dearest friend, when I reflectupon my inconsiderateness! O that I had it still in my power to say Isuffered wrong, rather than did wrong! That others were more wanting intheir kindness to me than I duty (where duty is owing) to them. 

Fie upon me! for meeting the seducer!--Let all end as happily as it nowmay, I have laid up for myself remorse for my whole life. 

What still more concerns me is, that every time I see this man, I amstill at a greater loss than before what to make of him. I watch everyturn of his countenance: and I think I see very deep lines in it. Helooks with more meaning, I verily think, than he used to look; yet notmore serious; not less gay--I don't know how he looks--but with moreconfidence a great deal than formerly; and yet he never wanted that. 

But here is the thing; I behold him with fear now, as conscious of thepower my indiscretion has given him over me. And well may he look moreelate, when he sees me deprived of all the self-supposed significance, which adorns and exults a person who has been accustomed to respect; andwho now, by a conscious inferiority, allows herself to be overcome, and in a state of obligation, as I may say, to a man who from a humblesuitor to her for her favour, assumes the consequence and airs of aprotector. 

I shall send this, as my former, by a poor man, who travels every daywith pedlary matters. He will leave it at Mrs. Knolly's, as you direct. 

If you hear any thing of my father and mother, and of their health, andhow my friends were affected by my unhappy step, pray be so good as towrite me a few lines by the messenger, if his waiting for them can beknown to you. 

I am afraid to ask you, Whether, upon reading that part of my narrativealready in your hands, you think any sort of extenuation lies for

Your unhappy CLARISSA HARLOWE?

LETTER VII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUESDAY, WEDN. APRIL 11, 12. 

You claim my promise, that I will be as particular as possible, inall that passes between me and my goddess. Indeed, I never had a moreillustrious subject to exercise my pen. And, moreover, I have leisure;for by her good will, my access would be as difficult to her, as that ofthe humblest slave to an Eastern monarch. Nothing, then, but inclinationto write can be wanting; and since our friendship, and your obligingattendance upon me at the White Hart, will not excuse that, I willendeavour to keep my word. 

I parted with thee and thy brethren, with a full resolution, thouknowest, to rejoin ye, if she once again disappointed me, in order to gotogether (attended by our servants, for shew sake) to the gloomy father;and demand audience of the tyrant upon the freedoms taken with mycharacter. In short, to have tried by fair resolutions, and treat hischarming daughter with less inhumanity, and me with more civility. 

I told thee my reasons for not going in search of a letter ofcountermand. I was right; for if I had, I should have found such a one;and had I received it, she would not have met me. Did she think, thatafter I had been more than once disappointed, I would not keep her toher promise; that I would not hold her to it, when I had got her in sodeeply?

The moment I heard the door unbolt, I was sure of her. That motionmade my heart bound to my throat. But when that was followed with thepresence of my charmer, flashing upon me all at once in a flood ofbrightness, sweetly dressed, though all unprepared for a journey, I trodair, and hardly thought myself a mortal. 

Thou shalt judge of her dress, as at the moment I first beheld her sheappeared to me, and as, upon a nearer observation, she really was. I ama critic, thou knowest, in women's dresses. Many a one have I taughtto dress, and helped to undress. But there is such a native elegance inthis lady, that she surpasses all that I could imagine surpassing. Butthen her person adorns what she wears, more than dress can adorn her;and that's her excellence. 

Expect therefore a faint sketch of her admirable person with her dress. 

Her wax-like flesh (for after all, flesh and blood I think she is) byits delicacy and firmness, answers for the soundness of her health. Thouhast often heard me launch out in praise of her complexion. I never inmy life beheld a skins so illustriously fair. The lily and the drivensnow it is nonsense to talk of: her lawn and her laces one might indeedcompare to those; but what a whited wall would a woman appear to be, who had a complexion which would justify such unnatural comparisons? Butthis lady is all glowing, all charming flesh and blood; yet so clear, that every meandring vein is to be seen in all the lovely parts of herwhich custom permits to be visible. 

Thou has heard me also describe the wavy ringlets of her shining hair, needing neither art nor powder; of itself an ornament, defying allother ornaments; wantoning in and about a neck that is beautiful beyonddescription. 

Her head-dress was a Brussels-lace mob, peculiarly adapted to thecharming air and turn of her features. A sky-blue ribband illustratedthat. But although the weather was somewhat sharp, she had not on eitherhat or hood; for, besides that she loves to use herself hardily (bywhich means and by a temperance truly exemplary, she is allowed to havegiven high health and vigour to an originally tender constitution) sheseems to have intended to shew me, that she was determined not to standto her appointment. O Jack! that such a sweet girl should be a rogue!

Her morning gown was a pale primrose-coloured paduasoy: the cuffsand robins curiously embroidered by the fingers of this ever-charmingArachne, in a running pattern of violets and their leaves, the light inthe flowers silver, gold in the leaves. A pair of diamond snaps inher ears. A white handkerchief wrought by the same inimitable fingersconcealed--O Belford! what still more inimitable beauties did it notconceal!--And I saw, all the way we rode, the bounding heart (by itsthrobbing motions I saw it!) dancing beneath her charming umbrage. 

Her ruffles were the same as her mob. Her apron a flowered lawn. Hercoat white sattin, quilted: blue sattin her shoes, braided with the samecolour, without lace; for what need has the prettiest foot in the worldof ornament? neat buckles in them: and on her charming arms a pair ofblack velvet glove-like muffs of her own invention; for she makes andgives fashions as she pleases. --Her hands velvet of themselves, thusuncovered the freer to be grasped by those of her adorer. 

I have told thee what were my transports, when the undrawn boltpresented to me my long-expected goddess. Her emotions were more sweetlyfeminine, after the first moments; for then the fire of her starry eyesbegan to sink into a less dazzling languor. She trembled: nor knewshe how to support the agitations of a heart she had never found soungovernable. She was even fainting, when I clasped her in my supportingarms. What a precious moment that! How near, how sweetly near, thethrobbing partners!

By her dress, I saw, as I observed before, how unprepared she was fora journey; and not doubting her intention once more to disappoint me, Iwould have drawn her after me. Then began a contention the most vehementthat ever I had with woman. It would pain thy friendly heart to be toldthe infinite trouble I had with her. I begged, I prayed; on my knees, yet in vain, I begged and prayed her to answer her own appointment: andhad I not happily provided for such a struggle, knowing whom I had todeal with, I had certainly failed in my design; and as certainly wouldhave accompanied her in, without thee and thy brethren: and who knowswhat might have been the consequence?

But my honest agent answering my signal, though not quite so soon as Iexpected, in the manner thou knowest I had prescribed, They are coming!They are coming!--Fly, fly, my beloved creature, cried I, drawing mysword with a flourish, as if I would have slain half an hundred of thesupposed intruders; and, seizing her trembling hands, I drew her afterme so swiftly, that my feet, winged by love, could hardly keep pace withher feet, agitated by fear. --And so I became her emperor. 

I'll tell thee all, when I see thee: and thou shalt then judge of mydifficulties, and of her perverseness. And thou wilt rejoice with me atmy conquest over such a watchful and open-eyed charmer. 

But seest thou not now (as I think I do) the wind outstripping fair oneflying from her love to her love? Is there not such a game?--Nay, flyingfrom her friends she was resolved not to abandon, to the man she wasdetermined not to go off with?--The sex! the sex, all over!--Charmingcontradiction!--Hah, hah, hah, hah!--I must here--I must here, lay downmy pen, to hold my sides; for I must have my laugh out now the fit isupon me. 

*****

I believe--I believe--Hah, hah, hah! I believe, Jack, my dogs concludeme mad: for here has one of them popt in, as if to see what ailed me, orwhom I had with me. Hah, hah, hah! An impudent dog! O Jack, knewest thoumy conceit, and were but thy laugh joined to mine, I believe it wouldhold me for an hour longer. 

But, O my best beloved fair one, repine not thou at the arts by whichthou suspectest thy fruitless vigilence has been over watched. Takecare, that thou provokest not new ones, that may be still more worthyof thee. If once thy emperor decrees thy fall, thou shalt greatly fall. Thou shalt have cause, if that come to pass, which may come to pass (forwhy wouldst thou put off marriage to so long a day, as till thou hadstreason to be convinced of my reformation, dearest?) thou shalt havecause, never fear, to sit down more dissatisfied with the stars, thanwith thyself. And come the worst to the worst, glorious terms will Igive thee. Thy garrison, with general Prudence at the head, and governorWatchfulness bringing up the rear, shall be allowed to march out withall the honours due to so brave a resistance. And all thy sex, and allmine, that hear of my stratagems, and of thy conduct, shall acknowledgethe fortress as nobly won as defended. 

'Thou wilt not dare, methinks I hear thee say, to attempt to reduce sucha goddess as this, to a standard unworthy of her excellencies. It isimpossible, Lovelace, that thou shouldst intent to break through oathsand protestations so solemn. '

That I did not intend it, is certain. That I do intend it, I cannot (myheart, my reverence for her, will not let me) say. But knowest thou notmy aversion to the state of shackles?--And is she not IN MY POWER?

'And wilt thou, Lovelace, abuse that power which--'

Which what, Belford? Which I obtained not by her own consent, butagainst it. 

'But which thou never hadst obtained, had she not esteemed thee aboveall men. '

And which I had never taken so much pains to obtain, had I not loved herabove all women. So far upon a par, Jack! and if thou pleadest honour, ought not honour to be mutual? If mutual, does it not imply mutualtrust, mutual confidence? And what have I had of that from her to boastof?--Thou knowest the whole progress of our warfare: for a warfare ithas truly been; and far, very far, from an amorous warfare too. Doubts, mistrusts, upbraidings, on her part; humiliations the most abject, onmine. Obliged to assume such airs of reformation, that every varlet ofye has been afraid I should reclaim in good earnest. And hast thou notthyself frequently observed to me, how awkwardly I returned to my usualgayety, after I had been within a mile of her father's garden-wall, although I had not seen her?

Does she not deserve to pay for all this?--To make an honest fellow looklike an hypocrite, what a vile thing is that!

Then thou knowest what a false little rogue she has been. How littleconscience she has made of disappointing me. Hast thou not been awitness of my ravings on this score? Have I not, in the height of them, vowed revenge upon the faithless charmer? And if I must be forsworn, whether I answer her expectations, or follow my own inclinations; and ifthe option be in my own power, can I hesitate a moment which to choose?

Then, I fancy by her circumspection, and her continual grief, that sheexpects some mischief from me. I don't care to disappoint any body Ihave a value for. 

But O the noble, the exalted creature! Who can avoid hesitating when hethinks of an offence against her? Who can but pity--

Yet, on the other hand, so loth at last to venture, though threatenedto be forced into the nuptial fetters with a man, whom to look upon asa rival, is to disgrace myself!--So sullen, now she has ventured!--Whattitle has she to pity; and to a pity which her pride would make herdisclaim?

But I resolve not any way. I will see how her will works; and how mywill leads me on. I will give the combatants fair play, and yet, everytime I attend her, I find that she is less in my power; I more in hers. 

Yet, a foolish little rogue! to forbid me to think of marriage till I ama reformed man! Till the implacables of her family change their natures, and become placable!

It is true, when she was for making those conditions, she did not think, that without any, she should be cheated out of herself; for so the dearsoul, as I may tell thee in its place, phrases it. 

How it swells my pride, to have been able to outwit such a vigilantcharmer! I am taller by half a yard in my imagination than I was. I lookdown upon every body now. Last night I was still more extravagant. Itook off my hat, as I walked, to see if the lace were not scorched, supposing it had brushed down a star; and, before I put it on again, inmere wantonness and heart's ease, I was for buffeting the moon. 

In short, my whole soul is joy. When I go to bed I laugh myself asleep;and I awake either laughing or singing--yet nothing nearly in view, neither--For why?--I am not yet reformed enough!

I told thee at the time, if thou rememberest, how capable thisrestriction was of being turned upon the over-scrupulous dear creature, could I once get her out of her father's house; and were I disposed topunish her for her family's faults, and for the infinite trouble sheherself had given me. Little thinks she, that I have kept an account ofboth: and that, when my heart is soft, and all her own, I can but turnto my memoranda, and harden myself at once. 

O my charmer, look to it! Abate of thy haughty airs! Value not thyselfupon thy sincerity, if thou art indifferent to me! I will not bear itnow. Art thou not in my POWER!--Nor, if thou lovest me, think, thatthe female affectation of denying thy love, will avail thee now, with aheart so proud and so jealous as mine?--Remember, moreover, that all thyfamily sins are upon thy head--!

But ah! Jack, when I see my angel, when I am admitted to the presence ofthis radiant beauty, what will become of all this vapouring?

But, be my end what it may, I am obliged, by thy penetration, fair one, to proceed by the sap. Fair and softly. A wife at any time! Marriagewill be always in my power. 

When put to the university, the same course of initial studies willqualify the yonker for the one line or the other. The genius ought topoint out the future lawyer, divine, or physician!--So the same cautiousconduct, with such a vigilance, will do either for the wife, or for theno-wife. When I reform, I'll marry. 'Tis time enough for the one, thelady must say--for the other, say I!

But how I ramble!--This is to be in such a situation, that I know notwhat to resolve upon. 

I'll tell thee my inclinings, as I proceed. The pro's and the con's I'lltell thee: but being got too far from the track I set out in, I willclose here. I may, however, write every day something, and send it asopportunity offers. 

Regardless, nevertheless, I shall be in all I write, of connection, accuracy, or of any thing but of my own imperial will and pleasure. 

LETTER VIII

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE WEDNESDAY NIGHT, APRIL 12. 

I have your narrative, my dear. You are the same noble creature youever were. Above disguise, above art, above attempting to extenuate afailing. 

The only family in the world, yours, surely, that could have driven sucha daughter upon such extremities. 

But you must not be so very much too good for them, and for the case. 

You lay the blame so properly and so unsparingly upon your meeting him, that nothing can be added to that subject by your worst enemies, werethey to see what you have written. 

I am not surprised, now I have read your narrative, that so bold and socontriving a man--I am forced to break off----

*****

You stood it out much better and longer--Here again comes my bustling, jealous mother!

*****

Don't be angry at yourself. Did you not do for the best at the time? Asto your first fault, the answering his letters; it was always incumbentupon you to assume the guardianship of such a family, when the bravo ofit had run riot, as he did, and brought himself into danger. 

Except your mother, who has no will of her own, have any of them commonsense?

Forgive me, my dear--Here is that stupid uncle Antony of yours. Apragmatical, conceited positive. --He came yesterday, in a fearfulpucker, and puffed, and blowed, and stumped about our hall and parlour, while his message was carried up. 

My mother was dressing. These widows are as starched as the oldbachelors. She would not see him in a dishabille for the world--What canshe mean by it?

His errand was to set her against you, and to shew her their determinedrage on your going away. The issue proved too evidently that this wasthe principal end of his visit. 

The odd creature desired to speak with her alone. I am not used to suchexceptions whenever any visits are made to my mother. 

When she was primed out, down she came to him. They locked themselvesin. The two positive heads were put together--close together I suppose;for I listened, but could hear nothing distinctly, though they bothseemed full of their subject. 

I had a good mind, once or twice, to have made them open the door. Could I have been sure of keeping but tolerably my temper, I would havedemanded admittance. But I was afraid, if I had obtained it, that Ishould have forgot it was my mother's house, and been for turninghim out of it. To come to rave against and abuse my dearest, dearest, faultless friend! and the ravings to be encouraged, and perhaps joinedin, in order to justify themselves; the one for contributing to drivethat dear friend out of her father's house; the other for refusing hera temporary asylum, till the reconciliation could have been effected, which her dutiful heart was set upon; and which it would have becomethe love which my mother had ever pretended for you, to have mediatedfor--Could I have had patience!

The issue, as I said, shewed what the errand was--Its fusty appearance, after the old fusty fellow was marched off, [you must excuse me, mydear, ] was in a kind of gloomy, Harlowe-like reservedness in my mother;which upon a few resenting flirts of mine, was followed by a rigorousprohibition of correspondence. 

This put us, you may suppose, upon terms not the most agreeable, Idesired to know, if I were prohibited dreaming of you?--For, my dear, you have all my sleeping as well as waking hours. 

I can easily allow for your correspondence with your wretch at first(and yet your notions were excellent) by the effect this prohibition hasupon me; since, if possible, it has made me love you better than before;and I am more desirous than ever of corresponding with you. 

But I have nevertheless a much more laudable motive--I should thinkmyself the unworthiest of creatures, could I be brought to slight adear friend, and such a meritorious one, in her distress. I would diefirst--And so I told my mother. And I have desired her not to watch mein my retired hours; nor to insist upon my lying with her constantly, which she now does more earnestly than ever. 'Twere better, I told her, that the Harlowe-Betty were borrowed to be set over me. 

Mr. Hickman, who so greatly honours you, has, unknown to me, interposedso warmly in your favour with my mother, that it makes for him no smallmerit with me. 

I cannot, at present, write to every particular, unless I would be inset defiance. Tease, tease, tease, for ever! The same thing, thoughanswered fifty times over, in every hour to be repeated--Lord blessme! what a life must my poor father--But let me remember to whom I amwriting. 

If this ever-active, ever-mischievous monkey of a man, this Lovelace, contrived as you suspect--But here comes my mother again--Ay, stay alittle longer, my Mamma, if you please--I can but be suspected! I canbut be chidden for making you wait; and chidden I am sure to be, whetherI do or not, in the way you, my good Mamma, are Antony'd into. 

Bless me! how impatient she is! How she thunders at the door! Thismoment, Madam! How came I to double-lock myself if! What have I donewith the key! Duce take the key! Dear Madam! You flutter one so!

*****

You may believe, my dear, that I took care of my papers before I openedthe door. We have had a charming dialogue--She flung from me in apassion--

So--What's now to be done? Sent for down in a very peremptory manner, I assure you. What an incoherent letter will you have, when I get itto you! But now I know where to send it, Mr. Hickman shall find me amessenger. Yet, if he be detected, poor soul, he will be Harlowed-off, as well as his meek mistress. 

THURSDAY, APRIL 13. 

I have this moment your continuation-letter. And am favoured, atpresent, with the absence of my Argus-eyes mother. --

Dear creature! I can account for all your difficulties. A young lady ofyour delicacy!--And with such a man!--I must be brief----

The man's a fool, my dear, with all his pride, and with all hiscomplaisance, and affected regards to your injunctions. Yet his readyinventions----

Sometimes I think you should go to Lady Betty's. I know not what toadvise you to do. --I should, if you were not so intent upon reconcilingyourself to your relations. Yet they are implacable. You can have nohopes of them. Your uncle's errand to my mother may convince you ofthat; ad if you have an answer to your letter to your sister, that willconfirm you, I dare say. 

You need not to have been afraid of asking me, Whether upon reading yournarrative, I thought any extenuation could lie for what you have done! Ihave, as above, before I had your question, told you my mind as to that. And I repeat, I think, your provocations and inducements considered, that ever young creature was who took such a step. 

But you took it not--You were driven on one side, and, possibly, trickedon the other. --If any woman on earth shall be circumstanced as you were, and shall hold out so long as you did, against her persecutors on onehand, and her seducer on the other, I will forgive her for all the restof her conduct, be it what it will. 

All your acquaintance, you may suppose, talk of nobody but you. Someindeed bring your admirable character for a plea against you: but nobodydoes, or can, acquit your father and uncles. 

Every body seems apprized of your brother's and sister's motives. Yourflight is, no doubt, the very thing they aimed to drive you to, by thevarious attacks they made upon you; unhoping (as they must do all thetime) the success of their schemes in Solmes's behalf. They knew, thatif once you were restored to favour, the suspended love of your fatherand uncles, like a river breaking down a temporary obstruction, wouldreturn with double force; and that then you would expose, and triumphover all their arts. --And now, I hear they enjoy their successfulmalice. 

Your father is all rage and violence. He ought, I am sure, to turn hisrage inward. All your family accuse you of acting with deep art; and areput upon supposing that you are actually every hour exulting over them, with your man, in the success of it. 

They all pretend now, that your trial of Wednesday was to be the last. 

Advantage would indeed, my mother owns, have been taken of youryielding, if you had yielded. But had you not been prevailed upon, theywould have given up their scheme, and taken your promise for renouncingLovelace--Believe them who will!

They own, however, that a minister was to be present--Mr. Solmes wasto be at hand--And your father was previously to try his authority overyou, in order to make you sign the settlements--All of it a romanticcontrivance of your wild-headed foolish brother, I make no doubt. Itis likely that he and Bell would have given way to your restoration tofavour, supposing it in their power to hinder it, on any other termsthan those their hearts had been so long set upon?

How they took your flight, when they found it out, may be bettersupposed than described. 

Your aunt Hervey, it seems, was the first that went down to the ivysummer-house, in order to acquaint you that their search was over. Betty followed her; and they not finding you there, went on towards thecascade, according to a hint of yours. 

Returning by the garden-door, they met a servant [they don't say, it wasJoseph Leman; but it is very likely that it was he] running, as he said, from pursuing Mr. Lovelace (a great hedge-stake in his hand, and out ofbreath) to alarm the family. 

If it were this fellow, and if he were employed in the double agency ofcheating them, and cheating you, what shall we think of the wretch youare with? Run away from him, my dear, if so--no matter to whom--or marryhim, if you cannot. 

Your aunt and all your family were accordingly alarmed by thisfellow--evidently when too late for pursuit. They got together, and whena posse, ran to the place of interview; and some of them as far as tothe tracks of the chariot wheels, without stopping. And having heard theman's tale upon the spot, a general lamentation, a mutual upbraiding, and rage, and grief, were echoed from the different persons, accordingto their different tempers and conceptions. And they returned like foolsas they went. 

Your brother, at first, ordered horses and armed men to be got ready fora pursuit. Solmes and your uncle Tony were to be of the party. But yourmother and your aunt Hervey dissuaded them from it, for fear of addingevil to evil; not doubting but Lovelace had taken measures to supporthimself in what he had done; and especially when the servant declared, that he saw you run with him as fast as you could set foot to theground; and that there were several armed men on horseback at a smalldistance off. 

*****

My mother's absence was owing to her suspicion, that the Knolly's wereto assist in our correspondence. She made them a visit upon it. She doesevery thing at once. And they have promised, that no more letters shallbe left there, without her knowledge. 

But Mr. Hickman has engaged one Filmer, a husbandman in the lane we callFinch-lane, near us, to receive them. Thither you will be pleased todirect yours, under cover, to Mr. John Soberton; and Mr. Hickman himselfwill call for them there; and there shall leave mine. It goes against metoo, to make him so useful to me. He looks already so proud upon it!I shall have him [Who knows?] give himself airs--He had best consider, that the favour he has been long aiming at, may put him into avery dangerous, a very ticklish situation. He that can oblige, maydisoblige--Happy for some people not to have it in their power tooffend!

I will have patience, if I can, for a while, to see if these bustlingsin my mother will subside--but upon my word, I will not long bear thisusage. 

Sometimes I am ready to think, that my mother carries it thus on purposeto tire me out, and to make me the sooner marry. If I find it to be so, and that Hickman, in order to make a merit with me, is in the low plot, I will never bear him in my sight. 

Plotting wretch, as I doubt your man is, I wish to heaven that youwere married, that you might brave them all, and not be forced to hideyourself, and be hurried from one inconvenient place to another. Icharge you, omit not to lay hold on any handsome opportunity that mayoffer for that purpose. 

Here again comes my mother--

*****

We look mighty glum upon each other, I can tell you. She had not bestHarlowe me at this rate--I won't bear it. 

I have a vast deal to write. I know not what to write first. Yet my mindis full, and ready to run over. 

I am got into a private corner of the garden, to be out of herway. --Lord help these mothers!--Do they think they can prevent adaughter's writing, or doing any thing she has a mind to do, bysuspicion, watchfulness, and scolding?--They had better place aconfidence in one by half--A generous mind scorns to abuse a generousconfidence. 

You have a nice, a very nice part to act with this wretch--who yet has, I think, but one plain path before him. I pity you--but you mustmake the best of the lot you have been forced to draw. Yet I see yourdifficulties. --But, if he do not offer to abuse your confidence, I wouldhave you seem at least to place some in him. 

If you think not of marrying soon, I approve of your resolution to fixsomewhere out of his reach. And if he know not where to find you, somuch the better. Yet I verily believe, they would force you back, couldthey but come at you, if they were not afraid of him. 

I think, by all means, you should demand of both your trustees to be putin possession of your own estate. Mean time I have sixty guineas at yourservice. I beg you will command them. Before they are gone, I'll takecare you shall be further supplied. I don't think you'll have a shillingor a shilling's worth of your own from your relations, unless you extortit from them. 

As they believe you went away by your own consent, they are, it seems, equally surprised and glad that you have left your jewels and moneybehind you, and have contrived for clothes so ill. Very littlelikelihood this shews of their answering your requests. 

Indeed every one who knows not what I now know, must be at a loss toaccount for your flight, as they will call it. And how, my dear, canone report it with any tolerable advantage to you?--To say, you did notintend it when you met him, who will believe it?--To say, that a personof your known steadiness and punctilio was over-persuaded when you gavehim the meeting, how will that sound?--To say, you were tricked out ofyourself, and people were given credit to it, how disreputable!--Andwhile unmarried, and yet with him, the man a man of such a character, what would it not lead a censuring world to think?

I want to see how you put it in your letter for your clothes. 

As you may depend upon all the little spiteful things they can offer, instead of sending what you write for, pray accept the sum that Itender. What will seen guineas do?--And I will find a way to send youalso any of my clothes and linen for present supply. I beg, my dearClarissa, that you will not put your Anna Howe upon a footing withLovelace, in refusing to accept of my offer. If you do not oblige me, Ishall be apt to think you rather incline to be obliged to him, than tofavour me. And if I find this, I shall not know how to reconcile it withyour delicacy in other respects. 

Pray inform me of every thing that passes between you and him. My caresfor you (however needless, from your own prudence) make me wish you tocontinue to be every minute. If any thing occur that you would tell meof if I were present, fail not to put it down in writing, althoughfrom your natural diffidence, it should not appear to you altogether soworthy of your pen, or my knowing. A stander-by may see more of the gamethan one that plays. Great consequences, like great folks, generally owetheir greatness to small causes, and little incidents. 

Upon the whole, I do not now think it is in your power to dismiss himwhen you please. I apprized you beforehand, that it would not. Irepeat, therefore, that were I you, I would at least seem to placesome confidence in him. So long as he is decent, you may. Very visiblyobservable, to such delicacy as yours, must be that behaviour in him, which will make him unworthy of some confidence. 

Your relations, according to what old Antony says to my mother, and sheto me, (by way of threatening, that you will not gain your supposed endsupon them by your flight, ) seem to expect that you will throw yourselfinto Lady Betty's protection; and that she will offer to mediatefor you. And they vow, that they will never hearken to any terms ofaccommodation that shall come from that quarter; for I dare aver, thatyour brother and sister will not let them cool--at least, till theiruncles have made such dispositions, and perhaps your father too, as theywould have them make. 

As this letter will apprize you of an alteration in the place to whichyou must direct your next, I send it by a friend of Mr. Hickman, who maybe depended upon. He has business in the neighbourhood of Mrs. Sorlings;and he knows her. He will return to Mr. Hickman this night; and bringback any letter you shall have ready to send, or can get ready. It ismoon-light. He'll not mind waiting for you. I choose not to send by anyof Mr. Hickman's servants--at present, however. Every hour is now, or may be, important; and may make an alteration in your resolutionsnecessary. 

I hear at this instant, my mother calling about her, and putting everybody into motion. She will soon, I suppose, make me and my employmentthe subjects of her inquiry. 

Adieu, my dear. May heaven preserve you, and restore you with honour asunsullied as your mind to

Your ever affectionate ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER IX

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE THURSDAY AFTERNOON, APRIL 13. 

I am infinitely concerned, my ever dear and ever kind friend, that I amthe sad occasion of the displeasure between your mother and you. --Howmany persons have I made unhappy. 

Had I not to console myself, that my error is not owing to wickedprecipitation, I should be the most miserable of all creatures. As itis, I am enough punished in the loss of my character, more valuableto me than my life; and in the cruel doubts and perplexities which, conflicting with my hopes, and each getting the victory by turns, harrowup my soul between them. 

I think, however, that you should obey your mother, and decline acorrespondence with me; at least for the present. Take care how youfall into my error; for that begun with carrying on a prohibitedcorrespondence; a correspondence which I thought it in my power todiscontinue at pleasure. My talent is scribbling; and I the readier fellinto this freedom, as I found delight in writing; having motives too, which I thought laudable; and, at one time, the permission of all myfriends; to write to him. *

 * See Vol. I. Letter III. 

Yet, as to this correspondence, What hurt could arise from it, if yourmother could be prevailed upon to permit it to be continued?--So muchprudence and discretion as you have; and you, in writing to me, lyingunder no temptation of following so bad an example as I have set--myletters too occasionally filled with self-accusation. 

I thank you, my dear, most cordially I thank you, for your kind offers. You may be assured, that I will sooner be beholden to you, than to anybody living. To Mr. Lovelace the last. Do not therefore think, thatby declining your favours, I have an intention to lay myself underobligations to him. 

I am willing to hope (notwithstanding what you write) that my friendswill send me my little money, together with my clothes. They are tooconsiderate, some of them at least, to permit that I should be put tosuch low difficulties. Perhaps, they will not be in haste to oblige me. But, if not, I cannot yet want. I believe you think, I must not disputewith Mr. Lovelace the expenses of the road and lodgings, till I can geta fixed abode. But I hope soon to put an end even to those small sort ofobligations. 

Small hopes indeed of a reconciliation from your account of my uncle'svisit to your mother, in order to set her against an almost friendlesscreature whom once he loved! But is it not my duty to try for it?Ought I to widen my error by obstinacy and resentment, because of theirresentment; which must appear reasonable to them, as they suppose myflight premeditated; and as they are made to believe, that I am capableof triumphing in it, and over them, with the man they hate? When I havedone all in my power to restore myself to their favour, I shall have theless to reproach myself with. 

These considerations make me waver about following your advice, inrelation to marriage; and the rather, as he is so full of complaisancewith regard to my former conditions, which he calls my injunctions. Nor can I now, that my friends, as you inform me, have so strenuouslydeclared against accepting of the mediation of the ladies of Mr. Lovelace's family, put myself into their protection, unless I amresolved to give up all hopes of a reconciliation with my own. 

Yet if any happy introduction could be thought of to effect thisdesirable purpose, how shall terms be proposed to my father, whilethis man is with me, or near me? On the other hand, should they in hisabsence get me back by force, (and this, you are of opinion, they wouldattempt to do, but in fear of him, ) how will their severest acts ofcompulsion be justified by my flight from them!--Mean while, to whatcensures, as you remind me, do I expose myself, while he and I aretogether and unmarried!--Yet [can I with patience ask the question?] Isit in my power?--O my dear Miss Howe! And am I so reduced, as that, tosave the poor remains of my reputation in the world's eye, I must watchthe gracious motion from this man's lips?

Were my cousin Morden in England, all might still perhaps be determinedhappily. 

If no other mediation than this can be procured to set on foot thewished-for reconciliation, and if my situation with Mr. Lovelace alternot in the interim, I must endeavour to keep myself in a state ofindependence till he arrive, that I may be at liberty to govern myselfby his advice and direction. 

I will acquaint you, as you desire, with all that passes betweenMr. Lovelace and me. Hitherto I have not discovered any thing in hisbehaviour that is very exceptionable. Yet I cannot say, that I thinkthe respect he shews me, an easy, unrestrained, and natural respect, although I can hardly tell where the fault is. 

But he has doubtless an arrogant and encroaching spirit. Nor is heso polite as his education, and other advantages, might have made oneexpect him to be. He seems, in short, to be one, who has always had toomuch of his own will to study to accommodate himself to that of others. 

As to the placing of some confidence in him, I shall be as ready to takeyour advice in this particular, as in all others, and as he will beto deserve it. But tricked away as I was by him, not only against myjudgment, but my inclination, can he, or any body, expect, that I shouldimmediately treat him with complaisance, as if I acknowledged obligationto him for carrying me away?--If I did, must he not either think he avile dissembler before he gained that point, or afterwards?

Indeed, indeed, my dear, I could tear my hair, on reconsidering what youwrite (as to the probability that the dreaded Wednesday was more dreadedthan it needed to be) to think, that I should be thus tricked by thisman; and that, in all likelihood, through his vile agent Joseph Leman. So premeditated and elaborate a wickedness as it must be!--Must Inot, with such a man, be wanting to myself, if I were not jealous andvigilant?--Yet what a life to live for a spirit so open, and naturallyso unsuspicious, as mine?

I am obliged to Mr. Hickman for the assistance he is so kindly ready togive to our correspondence. He is so little likely to make to himself anadditional merit with the daughter upon it, that I shall be very sorry, if he risk any thing with the mother by it. 

I am now in a state of obligation: so must rest satisfied with whateverI cannot help. Whom have I the power, once so precious to me, ofobliging?--What I mean, my dear, is, that I ought, perhaps, toexpect, that my influences over you are weakened by my indiscretion. Nevertheless, I will not, if I can help it, desert myself, nor give upthe privilege you used to allow me, of telling you what I think of suchparts of your conduct as I may not approve. 

You must permit me therefore, severe as your mother is against anundesigning offender, to say that I think your liveliness to herinexcusable--to pass over, for this time, what nevertheless concerns menot a little, the free treatment you almost indiscriminately give to myrelations. 

If you will not, for your duty's sake, forbear your tauntings andimpatience, let me beseech you, that you will for mine. --Sinceotherwise, your mother may apprehend that my example, like a leaven, isworking itself into the mind of her beloved daughter. And may not suchan apprehension give her an irreconcilable displeasure against me?

I enclose the copy of my letter to my sister, which you are desirous tosee. You will observe, that although I have not demanded my estate inform, and of my trustees, yet that I have hinted at leave to retire toit. How joyfully would I keep my word, if they would accept of the offerI renew!--It was not proper, I believe you will think, on many accounts, to own that I was carried off against my inclination. I am, my dearestfriend, Your ever obliged and affectionate, CL. HARLOWE. 

LETTER X

TO MISS ARABELLA HARLOWE [ENCLOSED TO MISS HOWE IN THE PRECEDING. ] ST. ALBAN'S, APR. 11. 

MY DEAR SISTER, I have, I confess, been guilty of an action which carries with it a rashand undutiful appearance. And I should have thought it an inexcusableone, had I been used with less severity than I have been of late; andhad I not had too great reason to apprehend, that I was to be made asacrifice to a man I could not bear to think of. But what is done, isdone--perhaps I could wish it had not; and that I had trusted to therelenting of my dear and honourable parents. --Yet this from no othermotives but those of duty to them. --To whom I am ready to return (ifI may not be permitted to retire to The Grove) on conditions which Ibefore offered to comply with. 

Nor shall I be in any sort of dependence upon the person by whose meansI have taken this truly-reluctant step, inconsistent with any reasonableengagement I shall enter into, if I am not further precipitated. Let menot have it to say, now at this important crisis! that I have a sister, but not a friend in that sister. My reputation, dearer to me than life, (whatever you may imagine from the step I have taken, ) is suffering. Alittle lenity will, even yet, in a great measure, restore it, and makethat pass for a temporary misunderstanding only, which otherwise will bea stain as durable as life, upon a creature who has already been treatedwith great unkindness, to use no harsher a word. 

For your own sake therefore, for my brother's sake, by whom (I must say)I have been thus precipitated, and for all the family's sake, aggravatenot my fault, if, on recollecting every thing, you think it one; nor bywidening the unhappy difference, expose a sister for ever--prays

Your affectionate CL. HARLOWE. 

I shall take it for a very great favour to have my clothes directly sentme, together with fifty guineas, which you will find in my escritoire(of which I enclose the key); as also of the divinity and miscellanyclasses of my little library; and, if it be thought fit, myjewels--directed for me, to be left till called for, at Mr. Osgood's, near Soho-square. 

LETTER XI

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. 

 Mr. Lovelace, in continuation of his last letter, (No. VII. ) gives an account to his friend (pretty much to the same effect with the lady's) of all that passed between them at the inns, in the journey, and till their fixing at Mrs. Sorling's; to avoid repetition, those passages in his narrative are extracted, which will serve to embellish her's; to open his views; or to display the humourous talent he was noted for. 

 At their alighting at the inn at St. Alban's on Monday night, thus he writes:

The people who came about us, as we alighted, seemed by their jaw-fallenfaces, and goggling eyes, to wonder at beholding a charming young lady, majesty in her air and aspect, so composedly dressed, yet with featuresso discomposed, come off a journey which made the cattle smoke, and theservants sweat. I read their curiosity in their faces, and my beloved'suneasiness in her's. She cast a conscious glance, as she alighted, uponher habit, which was no habit; and repulsively, as I may say, quittingmy assisting hand, hurried into the house. *****

Ovid was not a greater master of metamorphoses than thy friend. To themistress of the house I instantly changed her into a sister, brought offby surprise from a near relation's, (where she had wintered, ) to preventher marrying a confounded rake, [I love always to go as near the truthas I can, ] whom her father and mother, her elder sister, and all herloving uncles, aunts, and cousins abhorred. This accounted for mycharmer's expected sullens; for her displeasure when she was to join meagain, were it to hold; for her unsuitable dress upon the road; and, at the same time, gave her a proper and seasonable assurance of myhonourable views. 

Upon the debate between the lady and him, and particularly upon thatpart where she upbraids him with putting a young creature upon making a sacrifice of her duty and conscience, he write:

All these, and still more mortifying things, she said. 

I heard her in silence. But when it came to my turn, I pleaded, Iargued, I answered her, as well as I could. --And when humility wouldnot do, I raised my voice, and suffered my eyes to sparkle with anger;hoping to take advantage of that sweet cowardice which is so amiable inthe sex, and to which my victory over this proud beauty is principallyowing. 

She was not intimidated, however, and was going to rise upon me in hertemper; and would have broken in upon my defence. But when a man talksto a woman upon such subjects, let her be ever so much in alt, 'tisstrange, if he cannot throw out a tub to the whale;--that is to say, ifhe cannot divert her from resenting one bold thing, by uttering two orthree full as bold; but for which more favourable interpretations willlie. 

 To that part, where she tells him of the difficulty she made to correspond with him at first, thus he writes:

Very true, my precious!--And innumerable have been the difficultiesthou hast made me struggle with. But one day thou mayest wish, that thouhadst spared this boast; as well as those other pretty haughtinesses, 'That thou didst not reject Solmes for my sake: that my glory, if Ivalued myself upon carrying thee off, was thy shame: that I have moremerit with myself than with thee, or any body else: [what a coxcomb shemakes me, Jack!] that thou wishest thyself in thy father's house again, whatever were to be the consequence. '--If I forgive thee, charmer, for these hints, for these reflections, for these wishes, for thesecontempts, I am not the Lovelace I have been reputed to be; and that thytreatment of me shews that thou thinkest I am. 

In short, her whole air throughout this debate expressed a majestic kindof indignation, which implied a believed superiority of talents over theperson to whom she spoke. 

Thou hast heard me often expatiate upon the pitiful figure a man mustmake, whose wife has, or believes she has, more sense than himself. Athousand reasons could I give why I ought not to think of marrying MissClarissa Harlowe; at least till I can be sure, that she loves me withthe preference I must expect from a wife. 

I begin to stagger in my resolutions. Ever averse as I was to thehymeneal shackles, how easily will prejudices recur! Heaven give me theheart to be honest to my Clarissa!--There's a prayer, Jack! If I shouldnot be heard, what a sad thing would that be, for the most admirable ofwomen!--Yet, as I do no often trouble Heaven with my prayers, who knowsbut this may be granted?

But there lie before me such charming difficulties, such scenery forintrigue, for stratagem, for enterprize. What a horrible thing, that mytalents point all that way!--When I know what is honourable and just;and would almost wish to be honest?--Almost, I say; for such a varlet amI, that I cannot altogether wish it, for the soul of me!--Such a triumphover the whole sex, if I can subdue this lady! My maiden vow, as I maycall it!--For did not the sex begin with me? And does this lady spareme? Thinkest thou, Jack, that I should have spared my Rosebud, had Ibeen set at defiance thus?--Her grandmother besought me, at first, tospare her Rosebud: and when a girl is put, or puts herself into aman's power, what can he wish for further? while I always consideredopposition and resistance as a challenge to do my worst. *

 * See Vol. I. Letter XXXIV. 

Why, why, will the dear creature take such pains to appear all ice tome?--Why will she, by her pride, awaken mine?--Hast thou not seen, inthe above, how contemptibly she treats me?--What have I not sufferedfor her, and even from her!--Ought I to bear being told, that she willdespise me, if I value myself above that odious Solmes?

Then she cuts me short in all my ardours. To vow fidelity, is by acursed turn upon me, to shew, that there is reason, in my own opinion, for doubt of it. The very same reflection upon me once before. *

 * See Vol. II. Letter XIII. 

In my power, or out of my power, all one to this lady. --So, Belford, mypoor vows are crammed down my throat, before they can well rise to mylips. And what can a lover say to his mistress, if she will neither lethim lie nor swear?

One little piece of artifice I had recourse to: When she pushed so hardfor me to leave her, I made a request to her, upon a condition she couldnot refuse; and pretended as much gratitude upon her granting it, as ifit were a favour of the last consequence. 

And what was this? but to promise what she had before promised, 'Neverto marry any other man, while I am living, and single, unless I shouldgive her cause for high disgust against me. ' This, you know, waspromising nothing, because she could be offended at any time, and was tobe the sole judge of the offence. But it shewed her how reasonable andjust my expectations were; and that I was no encroacher. 

She consented; and asked what security I expected? Her word only. 

She gave me her word: but I besought her excuse for sealing it: and inthe same moment (since to have waited for consent would have been askingfor a denial) saluted her. And, believe me, or not, but, as I hope tolive, it was the first time I had the courage to touch her charming lipswith mine. And this I tell thee, Belford, that that single pressure (asmodestly put too, as if I were as much a virgin as herself, that shemight not be afraid of me another time) delighted me more than ever Iwas delighted by the ultimatum with any other woman. --So precious doawe, reverence, and apprehended prohibition, make a favour!

And now, Belford, I am only afraid that I shall be too cunning; for shedoes not at present talk enough for me. I hardly know what to make ofthe dear creature yet. 

I topt the brother's part on Monday night before the landlady at St. Alban's; asking my sister's pardon for carrying her off so unpreparedfor a journey; prated of the joy my father and mother, and allour friends, would have in receiving her; and this with so manycircumstances, that I perceived, by a look she gave me, that wentthrough my very reins, that I had gone too far. I apologized for itindeed when alone; but could not penetrate for the soul of me, whether Imade the matter better or worse by it. 

But I am of too frank a nature: my success, and the joy I have becauseof the jewel I am half in possession of, has not only unlocked my bosom, but left the door quite open. 

This is a confounded sly sex. Would she but speak out, as I do--but Imust learn reserves of her. 

She must needs be unprovided of money: but has too much pride to acceptof any from me. I would have had her go to town [to town, if possible, must I get her to consent to go] in order to provide herself withthe richest of silks which that can afford. But neither is this to beassented to. And yet, as my intelligencer acquaints me, her implacablerelations are resolved to distress her all they can. 

These wretches have been most gloriously raving, ever since her flight;and still, thank Heaven, continue to rave; and will, I hope, for atwelvemonth to come. Now, at last, it is my day!

Bitterly do they regret, that they permitted her poultry-visits, andgarden-walks, which gave her the opportunity to effect an escape whichthey suppose preconcerted. For, as to her dining in the ivy-bower, theyhad a cunning design to answer upon her in that permission, as Bettytold Joseph her lover. *

 * Vol. II. Letter XLVII. Paragr. 37, 38. 

They lost, they say, and excellent pretence for confining her moreclosely on my threatening to rescue her, if they offered to carry heragainst her will to old Antony's moated house. * For this, as I told theeat the Hart, and as I once hinted to the dear creature herself, ** theyhad it in deliberation to do; apprehending, that I might attempt tocarry her off, either with or without her consent, on some one of thoseconnived-at excursions. 

 * Ibid. Let. XXXVI. And Let. XXXIX. Par. I. ** Ibid. Let. XXXVI. Par. 4. See also Let. XV. Par. 3. 

But here my honest Joseph, who gave me the information, was of admirableservice to me. I had taught him to make the Harlowes believe, that I wasas communicative to my servants, as their stupid James was to Joseph:*Joseph, as they supposed, by tampering with Will, ** got all my secrets, and was acquainted with all my motions: and having also undertaken towatch all those of his young lady, ***** the wise family were secure; andso was my beloved; and so was I. 

 * Ibid. Letter XLVII. Par. 6, and 39. ** This will be farther explained in Letter XXI. Of this volume. *****See Vol. I. Letters XXXI. And XXXIV. 

I once had it in my head (and I hinted it to thee* in a former) in casesuch a step should be necessary, to attempt to carry her off by surprisefrom the wood-house; as it is remote from the dwelling-house. This, had I attempted, I should have certainly effected, by the help of theconfraternity: and it would have been an action worthy of us all. --ButJoseph's conscience, as he called it, stood in my way; for he thought itmust have been known to be done by his connivance. I could, I dare say, have overcome this scruple, as easily as I did many of the others, hadI not depended at one time upon her meeting me at midnight or late hour[and, if she had, she never would have gone back]; at other times, upon the cunning family's doing my work for me, equally against theirknowledge or their wills. 

 * See Vol. I. Letter XXXV. 

For well I knew, that James and Arabella were determined never to leaveoff their foolish trials and provocations, till, by tiring her out, theyhad either made her Solmes's wife, or guilty of some such rashness asshould throw her for ever out of the favour of both her uncles; thoughthey had too much malice in their heads to intend service to me by theirpersecutions of her. 

LETTER XII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. [IN CONTINUATION. ]

I obliged the dear creature highly, I could perceive, by bringing Mrs. Greme to attend her, and to suffer that good woman's recommendation oflodgings to take place, on her refusal to go to The Lawn. 

She must believe all my views to be honourable, when I had provided forher no particular lodgings, leaving it to her choice, whether she wouldgo to M. Hall, to The Lawn, to London, or to either of the dowagers ofmy family. 

She was visibly pleased with my motion of putting Mrs. Greme into thechaise with her, and riding on horseback myself. 

Some people would have been apprehensive of what might pass betweenher and Mrs. Greme. But as all my relations either know or believe thejustice of my intentions by her, I was in no pain on that account;and the less, as I have always been above hypocrisy, or wishing to bethought better than I am. And indeed, what occasion has a man to be anhypocrite, who has hitherto found his views upon the sex better answeredfor his being known to be a rake? Why, even my beloved here denied notto correspond with me, though her friends had taught her to think me alibertine--Who then would be trying a new and worse character?

And then Mrs. Greme is a pious matron, and would not have been biasedagainst truth on any consideration. She used formerly, while there wereany hopes of my reformation, to pray for me. She hardly continues thegood custom, I doubt; for her worthy lord makes no scruple occasionallyto rave against me to man, woman, and child, as they come in his way. He is very undutiful, as thou knowest. Surely, I may say so; since allduties are reciprocal. But for Mrs. Greme, poor woman! when my lordhas the gout, and is at The Lawn, and the chaplain not to be found, sheprays by him, or reads a chapter to him in the Bible, or some other goodbook. 

Was it not therefore right to introduce such a good sort of woman tothe dear creature; and to leave them, without reserve, to their owntalk!--And very busy in talk I saw they were, as they rode; and felt ittoo; for most charmingly glowed my cheeks. 

I hope I shall be honest, I once more say: but as we frail mortals arenot our own masters at all times, I must endeavour to keep the dearcreature unapprehensive, until I can get her to our acquaintance's inLondon, or to some other safe place there. Should I, in the interim, give her the least room for suspicion; or offer to restrain her; shecan make her appeals to strangers, and call the country in upon me; and, perhaps, throw herself upon her relations on their own terms. And were Inow to lose her, how unworthy should I be to be the prince and leaderof such a confraternity as ours!--How unable to look up among men! or toshew my face among women!

As things at present stand, she dare not own that she went off againsther own consent; and I have taken care to make all the implacablesbelieve, that she escaped with it. 

She has received an answer from Miss Howe, to the letter written to herfrom St. Alban's. *

 * See Vol. II. Letter XLVIII. 

Whatever are the contents, I know not; but she was drowned in tears onthe perusal of it. And I am the sufferer. 

Miss Howe is a charming creature too; but confoundedly smart andspiritful. I am a good deal afraid of her. Her mother can hardly keepher in. I must continue to play off old Antony, by my honest Joseph, upon that mother, in order to manage that daughter, and oblige mybeloved to an absolute dependence upon myself. *

 * See Vol. I. Letter XXXI. 

Mrs. Howe is impatient of contradiction. So is Miss. A young lady who issensible that she has all the materials requisites herself, to be undermaternal controul;--fine ground for a man of intrigue to build upon!--Amother over-notable; a daughter over-sensible; and their Hickman, whois--over-neither: but merely a passive--

Only that I have an object still more desirable--!

Yet how unhappy, that these two young ladies lived so near each other, and are so well acquainted! Else how charmingly might I have managedthem both!

But one man cannot have every woman worth having--Pity though--when theman is such a VERY clever fellow!

LETTER XIII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. [IN CONTINUATION. ]

Never was there such a pair of scribbling lovers as we;--yet perhapswhom it so much concerns to keep from each other what each writes. Shewon't have any thing else to do. I would, if she'd let me. I am notreformed enough for a husband. --Patience is a virtue, Lord M. Says. Slowand sure, is another of his sentences. If I had not a great deal of thatvirtue, I should not have waited the Harlowes own time of ripening intoexecution my plots upon themselves and upon their goddess daughter. 

My beloved has been writing to her saucy friend, I believe, all that hasbefallen her, and what has passed between us hitherto. She will possiblyhave fine subjects for her pen, if she be as minute as I am. 

I would not be so barbarous as to permit old Antony to set Mrs. Howeagainst her, did I not dread the consequences of the correspondencebetween the two young ladies. So lively the one, so vigilant, so prudentboth, who would not wish to outwit such girls, and to be able to twirlthem round his finger?

My charmer has written to her sister for her clothes, for some gold, andfor some of her books. What books can tell her more than she knows? ButI can. So she had better study me. 

She may write. She must be obliged to me at last, with all her pride. Miss Howe indeed will be ready enough to supply her; but I question, whether she can do it without her mother, who is as covetous as thegrave. And my agent's agent, old Antony, has already given the mother ahint which will make her jealous of pecuniaries. 

Besides, if Miss Howe has money by her, I can put her mother uponborrowing it of her: nor blame me, Jack, for contrivances that havetheir foundation in generosity. Thou knowest my spirit; and that Ishould be proud to lay an obligation upon my charmer to the amount ofhalf, nay, to the whole of my estate. Lord M. Has more for me than Ican ever wish for. My predominant passion is girl, not gold; nor value Ithis, but as it helps me to that, and gives me independence. 

I was forced to put it into the sweet novice's head, as well for my sakeas for hers (lest we should be traceable by her direction) whither todirect the sending of her clothes, if they incline to do her that smallpiece of justice. 

If they do I shall begin to dread a reconciliation; and must be forcedto muse for a contrivance or two to prevent it, and to avoid mischief. For that (as I have told honest Joseph Leman) is a great point with me. 

Thou wilt think me a sad fellow, I doubt. But are not all rakes sadfellows?--And art not thou, to thy little power, as bad as any? If thoudost all that's in thy head and in thy heart to do, thou art worse thanI; for I do not, I assure you. 

I proposed, and she consented, that her clothes, or whatever else herrelations should think fit to send her, should be directed to thy cousinOsgood's. Let a special messenger, at my charge, bring me any letter, orportable parcel, that shall come. If not portable, give me notice of it. But thou'lt have no trouble of this sort from her relations, I dare besworn. And in this assurance, I will leave them, I think, to act upontheir own heads. A man would have no more to answer for than needs must. 

But one thing, while I think of it; which is of great importance to beattended to--You must hereafter write to me in character, as I shall doto you. It would be a confounded thing to be blown up by a train ofmy own laying. And who knows what opportunities a man in love may haveagainst himself? In changing a coat or waistcoat, something might beforgotten. I once suffered that way. Then for the sex's curiosity, itis but remembering, in order to guard against it, that the name of theircommon mother was Eve. 

Another thing remember; I have changed my name: changed it without anact of parliament. 'Robert Huntingford' it is now. Continue Esquire. It is a respectable addition, although every sorry fellow assumes it, almost to the banishment of the usual traveling one of Captain. 'To beleft till called for, at the post-house at Hertford. '

Upon naming thee, she asked thy character. I gave thee a better thanthou deservest, in order to do credit to myself. Yet I told her, thatthou wert an awkward fellow; and this to do credit to thee, that she maynot, if ever she be to see thee, expect a cleverer man than she'll find. Yet thy apparent awkwardness befriends thee not a little: for wert thoua sightly mortal, people would discover nothing extraordinary inthee, when they conversed with thee: whereas, seeing a bear, they aresurprised to find in thee any thing that is like a man. Felicitatethyself then upon thy defects; which are evidently thy principalperfections; and which occasion thee a distinction which otherwise thouwouldst never have. 

The lodgings we are in at present are not convenient. I was so delicateas to find fault with them, as communicating with each other, becauseI knew she would; and told her, that were I sure she was safe frompursuit, I would leave her in them, (since such was her earnest desireand expectation, ) and go to London. 

She must be an infidel against all reason and appearances, if I do notbanish even the shadow of mistrust from her heart. 

Here are two young likely girls, daughters of the widow Sorlings; that'sthe name of our landlady. 

I have only, at present, admired them in their dairy-works. How greedilydo the sex swallow praise!--Did I not once, in the streets of London, see a well-dressed, handsome girl laugh, bridle, and visibly enjoy thepraises of a sooty dog, a chimney-sweeper; who, with his empty sackacross his shoulder, after giving her the way, stopt, and held up hisbrush and shovel in admiration of her?--Egad, girl, thought I, Idespise thee as Lovelace: but were I the chimney-sweeper, and could onlycontrive to get into thy presence, my life to thy virtue, I would havethee. 

So pleased was I with the young Sorlings, for the elegance of her works, that I kissed her, and she made me a courtesy for my condescension; andblushed, and seemed sensible all over: encouraging, yet innocently, sheadjusted her handkerchief, and looked towards the door, as much as tosay, she would not tell, were I to kiss her again. 

Her eldest sister popt upon her. The conscious girl blushed again, andlooked so confounded, that I made an excuse for her, which gratifiedboth. Mrs. Betty, said I, I have been so much pleased with the neatnessof your dairy-works, that I could not help saluting your sister: youhave your share of merit in them, I am sure--Give me leave----

Good souls!--I like them both--she courtesied too!--How I love agrateful temper! O that my Clarissa were but half so acknowledging!

I think I must get one of them to attend my charmer when sheremoves--the mother seems to be a notable woman. She had not best, however, be too notable: since, were she by suspicion to give me a faceof difficulty to the matter, it would prepare me for a trial with one orboth the daughters. 

Allow me a little rhodamantade, Jack--but really and truly my heart isfixed. I can think of no creature breathing of the sex, but my Gloriana. 

LETTER XIV

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. [IN CONTINUATION. ]

This is Wednesday; the day that I was to have lost my charmer for everto the hideous Solmes! With what high satisfaction and heart's-ease canI now sit down, and triumph over my men in straw at Harlowe-place! Yet'tis perhaps best for them, that she got off as she did. Who knows whatconsequences might have followed upon my attending her in; or (if shehad not met me) upon my projected visit, followed by my myrmidons?

But had I even gone in with her unaccompanied, I think I had but littlereason for apprehension: for well thou knowest, that the tame spiritswhich value themselves upon reputation, and are held within the skirtsof the law by political considerations only, may be compared to aninfectious spider; which will run into his hole the moment one of histhreads is touched by a finger that can crush him, leaving all his toilsdefenceless, and to be brushed down at the will of the potent invader. While a silly fly, that has neither courage nor strength to resist, no sooner gives notice, by its buz and its struggles, of its beingentangled, but out steps the self-circumscribed tyrant, winds round andround the poor insect, till he covers it with his bowel-spun toils; andwhen so fully secured, that it can neither move leg nor wing, suspendsit, as if for a spectacle to be exulted over: then stalking to the doorof his cell, turns about, glotes over it at a distance; and, sometimesadvancing, sometimes retiring, preys at leisure upon its vitals. 

But now I think of it, will not this comparison do as well forthe entangled girls, as for the tame spirits?--Better o' myconscience!--'Tis but comparing the spider to us brave fellows, and itquadrates. 

Whatever our hearts are in, our heads will follow. Begin with spiders, with flies, with what we will, girl is the centre of gravity, and we allnaturally tend to it. 

Nevertheless, to recur; I cannot but observe, that these tame spiritsstand a poor chance in a fairly offensive war with such of us madfellows as are above all law, and scorn to sculk behind the hypocriticalscreen of reputation. 

Thou knowest that I never scruple to throw myself amongst numbers ofadversaries; the more the safer: one or two, no fear, will take the partof a single adventurer, if not intentionally, in fact; holding him in, while others hold in the principal antagonist, to the augmentation oftheir mutual prowess, till both are prevailed upon to compromise, orone to be absent: so that, upon the whole, the law-breakers have theadvantage of the law-keepers, all the world over; at least for a time, and till they have run to the end of their race. Add to this, in thequestion between me and the Harlowes, that the whole family of them mustknow that they have injured me--must therefore be afraid of me. Did theynot, at their own church, cluster together like bees, when they saw meenter it? Nor knew they which should venture out first, when the servicewas over. 

James, indeed, was not there. If he had, he would perhaps haveendeavoured to look valiant. But there is a sort of valour in the face, which shews fear in the heart: just such a face would James Harlowe'shave been, had I made them a visit. 

When I have had such a face and such a heart as I have described to dealwith, I have been all calm and serene, and left it to the friends of theblusterer (as I have done to the Harlowes) to do my work for me. 

I am about mustering up in my memory, all that I have ever done, thathas been thought praise-worthy, or but barely tolerable. I am afraidthou canst not help me to many remembrances of this sort; because Inever was so bad as since I have known thee. 

Have I not had it in my heart to do some good that thou canst not remindme of? Study for me, Jack. I have recollected some instances which Ithink will tell in--but see if thou canst not help me to some which Imay have forgot. 

This I may venture to say, that the principal blot in my escutcheon isowing to these girls, these confounded girls. But for them, I could goto church with a good conscience: but when I do, there they are. Everywhere does Satan spread his snares for me! But, how I think of it, whatif our governor should appoint churches for the women only, and othersfor the men?--Full as proper, I think, for the promoting of truepiety in both, [much better than the synagogue-lattices, ] as separateboarding-schools for their education. 

There are already male and female dedications of churches. 

St. Swithin's, St. Stephen's, St. Thomas's, St. George's, and so forth, might be appropriated to the men; and Santa Catharina's, Santa Anna's, Santa Maria's, Santa Margaretta's, for the women. 

Yet were it so, and life to be the forfeiture of being found at thefemale churches, I believe that I, like a second Clodius, should changemy dress, to come at my Portia or Pompeia, though one the daughter of aCato, the other the wife of a Caesar. 

But how I excurse!--Yet thou usedst to say, thou likedst my excursions. If thou dost, thou'lt have enow of them: for I never had a subject Iso much adored; and with which I shall probably be compelled to have somuch patience before I strike the blow; if the blow I do strike. 

But let me call myself back to my recordation-subject--Thou needestnot remind me of my Rosebud. I have her in my head; and moreover havecontrived to give my fair-one an hint of that affair, by the agency ofhonest Joseph Leman;* although I have not reaped the hoped-for credit ofher acknowledgement. 

 * See Vol. II. Letter XXVII. 

That's the devil; and it was always my hard fate--every thing I do thatis good, is but as I ought!--Every thing of a contrary nature is broughtinto the most glaring light against me--Is this fair? Ought not abalance to be struck; and the credit carried to my account?--Yet I mustown too, that I half grudge Johnny this blooming maiden? for, in truth, I think a fine woman too rich a jewel to hang about a poor man's neck. 

Surely, Jack, if I am guilty of a fault in my universal adorations ofthe sex, the women in general ought to love me the better for it. 

And so they do; I thank them heartily; except here and there a covetouslittle rogue comes cross me, who, under the pretence of loving virtuefor its own sake, wants to have me all to herself. 

I have rambled enough. 

Adieu, for the present. 

LETTER XV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE THURSDAY NIGHT, APRIL 13. 

I always loved writing, and my unhappy situation gives me now enough ofit; and you, I fear, too much. I have had another very warm debate withMr. Lovelace. It brought on the subject which you advised me not todecline, when it was handsomely offered. And I want to have either youracquittal or blame for having suffered it to go off without effect. 

The impatient wretch sent up to me several times, while I was writing mylast to you, to desire my company: yet his business nothing particular;only to hear him talk. The man seems pleased with his own volubility;and, whenever he has collected together abundance of smooth things, hewants me to find an ear for them! Yet he need not; for I don't oftengratify him either with giving him the praise for his verboseness, orshewing the pleasure in it that he would be fond of. 

When I had finished the letter, and given it to Mr. Hickman's friend, Iwas going up again, and had got up half a dozen stairs; when he besoughtbe to stop, and hear what he had to say. 

Nothing, as I said, to any new purpose had he to offer; butcomplainings; and those in a manner, and with an air, as I thought, thatbordered upon insolence. He could not live, he told me, unless he hadmore of my company, and of my indulgence too, that I had yet given him. 

Hereupon I stept down, and into the parlour, not a little out of humourwith him; and the more, as he has very quietly taken up his quartershere, without talking of removing, as he had promised. 

We began instantly our angry conference. He provoked me; and I repeatedseveral of the plainest things I had said in our former conversations;and particularly told him, that I was every hour more and moredissatisfied with myself, and with him: that he was not a man, who, inmy opinion, improved upon acquaintance: and that I should not be easytill he had left me to myself. 

He might be surprised at my warmth, perhaps: but really the man lookedso like a simpleton, hesitating, and having nothing to say for himself, or that should excuse the peremptoriness of his demand upon me, (when heknew I had been writing a letter which a gentleman waited for, ) that Iflung from him, declaring, that I would be mistress of my own time, andof my own actions, and not to be called to account for either. 

He was very uneasy till he could again be admitted into my company, andwhen I was obliged to see him, which was sooner than I liked, never didthe man put on a more humble and respectful demeanor. 

He told me, that he had, upon this occasion, been entering intohimself, and had found a great deal of reason to blame himself for animpertinency and inconsideration which, although he meant nothing byit, must be very disagreeable to one of my delicacy. That having alwaysaimed at a manly sincerity and openness of heart, he had not till nowdiscovered, that both were very consistent with that true politeness, which he feared he had too much disregarded, while he sought to avoidthe contrary extreme; knowing, that in me he had to deal with a lady, who despised an hypocrite, and who was above all flattery. But from thistime forth, I should find such an alteration in his whole behaviour, asmight be expected from a man who knew himself to be honoured with thepresence and conversation of a person, who had the most delicate mind inthe world--that was his flourish. 

I said, that he might perhaps expect congratulation upon the discoveryhe had just now made, to wit, that true politeness and sincerity werereconcilable: but that I, who had, by a perverse fate, been thrown intohis company, had abundant reason to regret that he had not sooner foundthis out. --Since, I believed, very few men of birth and education werestrangers to it. 

He knew not, neither, he said, that he had so badly behaved himself, asto deserve so very severe a rebuke. 

Perhaps not, I replied: but he might, if so, make another discovery fromwhat I had said; which might be to my own disadvantage: since, if hehad so much reason to be satisfied with himself, he would see what anungenerous person he spoke to, who, when he seemed to give himself airsof humility, which, perhaps he thought beneath him to assume, had notthe civility to make him a compliment upon them; but was ready to takehim at his word. 

He had long, with infinite pleasure, the pretended flattery-hater said, admired my superior talents, and a wisdom in so young a lady, perfectlysuprising. 

Let me, Madam, said he, stand ever so low in your opinion, I shallbelieve all you say to be just; and that I have nothing to do but togovern myself for the future by your example, and by the standard youshall be pleased to give me. 

I know better, Sir, replied I, than to value myself upon your volubilityof speech. As you pretend to pay so preferable a regard to sincerity, you shall confine yourself to the strict rules of truth, when you speakof me, to myself: and then, although you shall be so kind as to imaginethat you have reason to make me a compliment, you will have much moreto pride yourself in those arts which have made so extraordinary a youngcreature so great a fool. 

Really, my dear, the man deserves not politer treatment. --And then hashe not made a fool, an egregious fool of me?--I am afraid he himselfthinks he has. 

I am surprised! I am amazed, Madam, returned he, at so strange a turnupon me!--I am very unhappy, that nothing I can do or say will giveyou a good opinion of me!--Would to heaven that I knew what I can do toobtain the honour of your confidence!

I told him, that I desired his absence, of all things. I saw not, I said, that my friends thought it worth their while to give medisturbance: therefore, if he would set out for London, or Berkshire, orwhither he pleased, it would be most agreeable to me, and most reputabletoo. 

He would do so, he said, he intended to do so, the moment I was in aplace to my liking--in a place convenient for me. 

This, Sir, will be so, said I, when you are not here to break in uponme, and make the apartments inconvenient. 

He did not think this place safe, he replied; and as I intended not tostay here, he had not been so solicitous, as otherwise he should havebeen, to enjoin privacy to his servants, nor to Mrs. Greme at herleaving me; that there were two or three gentlemen at the neighbourhood, he said, with whose servants his gossiping fellows had scrapedacquaintance: so that he could not think of leaving me here unguardedand unattended. --But fix upon any place in England where I could beout of danger, and he would go to the furthermost part of the king'sdominions, if by doing so he could make me easy. 

I told him plainly that I should never be in humour with myself formeeting him; nor with him, for seducing me away: that my regretsincreased, instead of diminished: that my reputation was wounded: thatnothing I could do would now retrieve it: and that he must not wonder, if I every hour grew more and more uneasy both with myself and him: thatupon the whole, I was willing to take care of myself; and when he hadleft me, I should best know what to resolve upon, and whither to go. 

He wished, he said, he were at liberty, without giving me offence, orbeing thought to intend to infringe the articles I had stipulated andinsisted upon, to make one humble proposal to me. But the sacred regardhe was determined to pay to all my injunctions (reluctantly as I had onMonday last put it into his power to serve me) would not permit him tomake it, unless I would promise to excuse him, if I did not approve ofit. 

I asked, in some confusion, what he would say?

He prefaced and paraded on; and then out came, with great diffidence, and many apologies, and a bashfulness which sat very awkwardly upon him, a proposal of speedy solemnization: which, he said, would put all right;and make my first three or four months (which otherwise must be passedin obscurity and apprehension) a round of visits and visitings to andfrom all his relations; to Miss Howe; to whom I pleased: and would pavethe way to the reconciliation I had so much at heart. 

Your advice had great weight with me just then, as well as his reasons, and the consideration of my unhappy situation: But what could I say? Iwanted somebody to speak for me. 

The man saw I was not angry at his motion. I only blushed; and that I amsure I did up to the ears; and looked silly, and like a fool. 

He wants not courage. Would he have had me catch at his first, at hisvery first word?--I was silent too--and do not the bold sex take silencefor a mark of a favour!--Then, so lately in my father's house! Havingalso declared to him in my letters, before I had your advice, thatI would not think of marriage till he had passed through a state ofprobation, as I may call it--How was it possible I could encourage, withvery ready signs of approbation, such an early proposal? especially sosoon after the free treatment he had provoked from me. If I were to die, I could not. 

He looked at me with great confidence; as if (notwithstanding hiscontradictory bashfulness) he would look me through; while my eyebut now-and-then could glance at him. --He begged my pardon with greathumility: he was afraid I would think he deserved no other answer, butthat of a contemptuous silence. True love was fearful of offending. [Take care, Mr. Lovelace, thought I, how your's is tried by thatrule]. Indeed so sacred a regard [foolish man!] would he have to all mydeclarations made before I honoured him--

I would hear him no further; but withdrew in a confusion too visible, and left him to make his nonsensical flourishes to himself. 

I will only add, that, if he really wishes for a speedy solemnization, he never could have had a luckier time to press for my consent to it. But he let it go off; and indignation has taken place of it. And now itshall be a point with me, to get him at a distance from me. 

I am, my dearest friend, Your ever faithful and obliged CL. H. 

LETTER XVI

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUESDAY, APR. 13. 

Why, Jack, thou needest not make such a wonderment, as the girls say, ifI should have taken large strides already towards reformation: for dostthou not see, that while I have been so assiduously, night and day, pursuing this single charmer, I have infinitely less to answer for, than otherwise I should have had? Let me see, how many days andnights?--Forty, I believe, after open trenches, spent in the sap only, and never a mine sprung yet!

By a moderate computation, a dozen kites might have fallen, while I havebeen only trying to ensnare this single lark. Nor yet do I see whenI shall be able to bring her to my lure: more innocent days yet, therefore!--But reformation for my stalking-horse, I hope, will be asure, though a slow method to effect all my purposes. 

Then, Jack, thou wilt have a merit too in engaging my pen, since thytime would be otherwise worse employed: and, after all, who knows but bycreating new habits, at the expense of the old, a real reformation maybe brought about? I have promised it; and I believe there is a pleasureto be found in being good, reversing that of Nat. Lee's madman, --Which none but good men know. 

By all this, seest thou not how greatly preferable it is, on twentyaccounts, to pursue a difficult rather than an easy chace? I have adesire to inculcate this pleasure upon thee, and to teach thee to fly atnobler game than daws, crows, and widgeons: I have a mind to shew theefrom time to time, in the course of the correspondence thou hast soearnestly wished me to begin on this illustrious occasion, that theseexalted ladies may be abased, and to obviate one of the objections thatthou madest to me, when we were last together, that the pleasure whichattends these nobler aims, remunerates not the pains they bring withthem; since, like a paltry fellow as thou wert, thou assertedst that allwomen are alike. 

Thou knowest nothing, Jack, of the delicacies of intrigue: nothing ofthe glory of outwitting the witty and the watchful: of the joys thatfill the mind of the inventive or contriving genius, ruminating whichto use of the different webs that offer to him for the entanglement of ahaughty charmer, who in her day has given him unnumbered torments. Thou, Jack, who, like a dog at his ease, contentest thyself to growl overa bone thrown out to thee, dost not know the joys of a chace, and inpursuing a winding game: these I will endeavour to rouse thee to, and then thou wilt have reason doubly and trebly to thank me, as wellbecause of thy present delight, as with regard to thy prospect beyondthe moon. 

To this place I had written, purely to amuse myself, before I wasadmitted to my charmer. But now I have to tell thee, that I was quiteright in my conjecture, that she would set up for herself, and dismissme: for she has declared in so many words that such was her resolution:And why? Because, to be plain with me, the more she saw of me, and of myways, the less she liked of either. 

This cut me to the heart! I did not cry, indeed! Had I been a woman, I should though, and that most plentifully: but I pulled out a whitecambrick handkerchief: that I could command, but not my tears. 

She finds fault with my protestations, with my professions, with myvows: I cannot curse a servant, the only privilege a master is known by, but I am supposed to be a trooper*--I must not say, By my soul! nor, As I hope to be saved! Why, Jack, how particular this is! Would she nothave me think I have a precious soul, as well as she? If she thinks mysalvation hopeless, what a devil [another exceptionable word!] does shepropose to reform me for? So I have not an ardent expression left me. 

 * See Letter VI. Of this volume. 

*****

What can be done with a woman who is above flattery, and despises allpraise but that which flows from the approbation of her own heart?

Well, Jack, thou seest it is high time to change my measures. I must runinto the pious a little faster than I had designed. 

What a sad thing it would be, were I, after all, to lose her person, as well as her opinion! the only time that further acquaintance, and noblow struck, nor suspicion given, ever lessened me in a lady's favour!A cursed mortification!--'Tis certain I can have no pretence for holdingher, if she will go. No such thing as force to be used, or so much ashinted at: Lord send us safe at London!--That's all I have for it now:and yet it must be the least part of my speech. 

But why will this admirable creature urge her destiny? Why will she defythe power she is absolutely dependent upon? Why will she still wish tomy face that she had never left her father's house? Why will she deny meher company, till she makes me lose my patience, and lay myself opento her resentment? And why, when she is offended, does she carry herindignation to the utmost length that a scornful beauty, in the veryheight of her power and pride, can go?

Is it prudent, thinkest thou, in her circumstances, to tell me, repeatedly to tell me, 'That she is every hour more and moredissatisfied with herself and me? That I am not one who improve upon herin my conversation and address?' [Couldst thou, Jack, bear this froma captive!] 'That she shall not be easy while she is with me? That sheknows better than to value herself upon my volubility? That if I thinkshe deserves the compliments I make her, I may pride myself in thosearts, by which I have made a fool of so extraordinary a person? Thatshe shall never forgive herself for meeting me, nor me for seducing heraway?' [Her very words. ] 'That her regrets increase instead of diminish?That she will take care of herself; and, since her friends thing itnot worth while to pursue her, she will be left to her own care? That Ishall make Mrs. Sorlings's house more agreeable by my absence?--And goto Berks, to town, or wherever I will, ' [to the devil, I suppose, ] 'withall her heart?'

The impolitic charmer!--To a temper so vindictive as she thins mine! Toa free-liver, as she believes me to be, who has her in his power! Iwas before, as thou knowest, balancing; now this scale, now that, theheaviest. I only waited to see how her will would work, how mine wouldlead me on. Thou seest what bias here takes--And wilt thou doubtthat mine will be determined by it? Were not her faults, before this, numerous enough? Why will she put me upon looking back?

I will sit down to argue with myself by-and-by, and thou shalt beacquainted with the result. 

If thou didst but know, if thou hadst but beheld, what an abject slaveshe made me look like!--I had given myself high airs, as she calledthem: but they were airs that shewed my love for her: that shewedI could not live out of her company. But she took me down with avengeance! She made me look about me. So much advantage had she over me;such severe turns upon me; by my soul, Jack, I had hardly a word to sayfor myself. I am ashamed to tell thee what a poor creature she made melook like! But I could have told her something that would have humbledher pretty pride at the instant, had she been in a proper place, andproper company about her. 

To such a place then--and where she cannot fly me--And then to seehow my will works, and what can be done with the amorous see-saw; nowhumble, now proud; now expecting, or demanding; now submitting, oracquiescing--till I have tried resistance. 

But these hints are at present enough. I may further explain myself asI go along; and as I confirm or recede in my future motions. If shewill revive past disobligations! If she will--But no more, no more, as Isaid, at present, of threatenings. 

LETTER XVII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. [IN CONTINUATION. ]

And do I not see that I shall need nothing but patience, in order tohave all power with me? For what shall we say, if all these complaintsof a character wounded; these declarations of increasing regrets formeeting me; of resentments never to be got over for my seducing heraway; these angry commands to leaver her:--What shall we say, if allwere to mean nothing but MATRIMONY? And what if my forbearing to enterupon that subject come out to be the true cause of their petulance anduneasiness!

I had once before played about the skirts of the irrevocable obligation;but thought myself obliged to speak in clouds, and to run away from thesubject, as soon as she took my meaning, lest she should imagine it tobe ungenerously urged, now she was in some sort in my power, as shehad forbid me beforehand, to touch upon it, till I were in a state ofvisible reformation, and till a reconciliation with her friends wereprobable. But now, out-argued, out-talented, and pushed so vehemently toleave one of whom I had no good pretence to hold, if she would go; andwho could so easily, if I had given her cause to doubt, have thrownherself into other protection, or have returned to Harlowe-place andSolmes; I spoke out upon the subject, and offered reasons, althoughwith infinite doubt and hesitation, [lest she should be offended atme, Belford!] why she should assent to the legal tie, and make me thehappiest of men. And O how the mantle cheek, the downcast eye, thesilent yet trembling lip, and the heaving bosom, a sweet collectionof heightened beauties, gave evidence that the tender was not mortallyoffensive!

Charming creature! thought I, [but I charge thee, that thou let notany of the sex know my exultation, *] Is it so soon come to this? AmI already lord of the destiny of a Clarissa Harlowe? Am I alreadythe reformed man thou resolvest I should be, before I had the leastencouragement given me? Is it thus, that the more thou knowest me, theless thou seest reason to approve of me?--And can art and designenter into a breast so celestial? To banish me from thee, to insist sorigorously upon my absence, in order to bring me closer to thee, andmake the blessing dear? Well do thy arts justify mine; and encourage meto let loose my plotting genius upon thee. 

 * Mr. Lovelace might have spared this caution on this occasion, sincemany of the sex [we mention it with regret] who on the first publicationhad read thus far, and even to the lady's first escape, have beenreadier to censure her for over-niceness, as we have observed in aformer note, page 42, than him for artifices and exultations not lesscruel and ungrateful, than ungenerous and unmanly. 

But let me tell thee, charming maid, if thy wishes are at all to beanswered, that thou hast yet to account to me for thy reluctance to gooff with me, at a crisis when thy going off was necessary to avoid beingforced into the nuptial fetters with a wretch, that, were he not thyaversion, thou wert no more honest to thy own merit than to me. 

I am accustomed to be preferred, let me tell thee, by thy equals in ranktoo, though thy inferiors in merit: But who is not so? And shall I marrya woman, who has given me reason to doubt the preference she has for me?

No, my dearest love, I have too sacred a regard for thy injunctions, tolet them be broken through, even by thyself. Nor will I take in thy fullmeaning by blushing silence only. Nor shalt thou give me room to doubt, whether it be necessity or love, that inspires this condescendingimpulse. 

Upon these principles, what had I to do but to construe her silence intocontemptuous displeasure? And I begged her pardon for making a motionwhich I had so much reason to fear would offend her: for the future Iwould pay a sacred regard to her previous injunctions, and prove toher by all my conduct the truth of that observation, That true love isalways fearful of offending. 

And what could the lady say to this? methinks thou askest. 

Say!--Why she looked vexed, disconcerted, teased; was at a loss, as Ithought, whether to be more angry with herself, or with me. She turnedabout, however, as if to hide a starting tear; and drew a sigh intotwo or three but just audible quavers, trying to suppress it, andwithdrew--leaving me master of the field. 

Tell me not of politeness; tell me not of generosity; tell me not ofcompassion--Is she not a match for me? More than a match? Does she notoutdo me at every fair weapon? Has she not made me doubt her love? Hasshe not taken officious pains to declare that she was not averse toSolmes for any respect she had to me? and her sorrow for putting herselfout of his reach, that is to say, for meeting me?

Then, what a triumph would it be to the Harlowe pride, were I now tomarry this lady? A family beneath my own! No one in it worthy of analliance with but her! My own estate not contemptible! Living within thebounds of it, to avoid dependence upon their betters, and obliged to noman living! My expectations still so much more considerable! My person, my talents--not to be despised, surely--yet rejected by them with scorn. Obliged to carry on an underhand address to their daughter, when two ofthe most considerable families in the kingdom have made overtures, whichI have declined, partly for her sake, and partly because I never willmarry; if she be not the person. To be forced to steal her away, notonly from them, but from herself! And must I be brought to imploreforgiveness and reconciliation from the Harlowes?--Beg to beacknowledged as the son of a gloomy tyrant, whose only boast is hisriches? As a brother to a wretch, who has conceived immortal hatred tome; and to a sister who was beneath my attempts, or I would have had herin my own way, and that with a tenth part of the trouble and pains thather sister has cost me; and, finally, as a nephew to uncles, who valuethemselves upon their acquired fortunes, would insult me as creepingto them on that account?--Forbid it in the blood of the Lovelaces, thatyour last, and, let me say, not the meanest of your stock, should thuscreep, thus fawn, thus lick the dust, for a WIFE--!

Proceed anon. 

LETTER XVIII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. [IN CONTINUATION. ]

But is it not the divine CLARISSA [Harlowe let me not say; my soulspurns them all but her] whom I am thus by application threatening?--Ifvirtue be the true nobility, how is she ennobled, and how shall analliance with her ennoble, were not contempt due to the family from whomshe sprang and prefers to me!

But again, let me stop. --Is there not something wrong, has therenot been something wrong, in this divine creature? And will not thereflections upon that wrong (what though it may be construed in myfavour?*) make me unhappy, when novelty has lost its charms, and when, mind and person, she is all my own? Libertines are nicer, if at allnice, than other men. They seldom meet with the stand of virtue inthe women whom they attempt. And, by the frailty of those they havetriumphed over, they judge of all the rest. 'Importunity and opportunityno woman is proof against, especially from the persevering lover, whoknows how to suit temptations to inclinations:' This, thou knowest, is aprime article of the rake's creed. 

 * The particular attention of such of the fair sex, as are more apt toread for the same of amusement than instruction, is requested to thisletter of Mr. Lovelace. 

And what! (methinks thou askest with surprise) Dost thou question thismost admirable of women?--The virtue of a CLARISSA dost thou question?

I do not, I dare not question it. My reverence for her will not let medirectly question it. But let me, in my turn, ask thee--Is not, may nother virtue be founded rather in pride than in principle? Whose daughteris she?--And is she not a daughter? If impeccable, how came she by herimpeccability? The pride of setting an example to her sex has run awaywith her hitherto, and may have made her till now invincible. But is notthat pride abated? What may not both men and women be brought to do in amortified state? What mind is superior to calamity? Pride is perhaps theprincipal bulwark of female virtue. Humble a woman, and may she not beeffectually humbled?

Then who says Miss Clarissa Harlowe is the paragon of virtue?--Is virtueitself?

All who know her, and have heard of her, it will be answered. 

Common bruit!--Is virtue to be established by common bruit only?--Hasher virtue ever been proved?--Who has dared to try her virtue?

I told thee, I would sit down to argue with myself; and I have drawnmyself into argumentation before I was aware. 

Let me enter into a strict discussion of this subject. 

I know how ungenerous an appearance what I have said, and what I havefurther to say, on this topic, will have from me: But am I not bringingvirtue to the touchstone, with a view to exalt it, if it come out to beproof?--'Avaunt then, for one moment, all consideration that may arisefrom a weakness which some would miscall gratitude; and is oftentimesthe corrupter of a heart most ignoble!'

To the test then--and I will bring this charming creature to thestrictest test, 'that all the sex, who may be shewn any passages in myletters, ' [and I know thou cheerest the hearts of all thy acquaintancewith such detached parts of mine as tend not to dishonour charactersor reveal names: and this gives me an appetite to oblige thee byinterlardment, ] 'that all the sex, I say, may see what they ought to be;what is expected from them; and if they have to deal with a person ofreflection and punctilio, [of pride, if thou wilt, ] how careful theyought to be, by a regular and uniform conduct, not to give him cause tothink lightly of them for favours granted, which may be interpreted intonatural weakness. For is not a wife the keeper of a man's honour? Anddo not her faults bring more disgrace upon a husband than even uponherself?'

It is not for nothing, Jack, that I have disliked the life of shackles. 

To the test then, as I said, since now I have the question brought hometo me, Whether I am to have a wife? And whether she be to be a wife atthe first or at the second hand?

I will proceed fairly. I do the dear creature not only strict butgenerous justice; for I will try her by her own judgment, as well as byour principles. 

She blames herself for having corresponded with me, a man of freecharacter; and one indeed whose first view it was to draw her into thiscorrespondence; and who succeeded in it by means unknown to herself. 

'Now, what were her inducements to this correspondence?' If not what herniceness makes her think blameworthy, why does she blame herself?

Has she been capable of error? Of persisting in that error?

Whoever was the tempter, that is not the thing; nor what the temptation. The fact, the error, is now before us. 

Did she persist in it against parental prohibition?

She owns she did. 

Was a daughter ever known who had higher notions of the filial duty, ofthe parental authority?

Never. 

'What must be the inducements, how strong, that were too strong forduty, in a daughter so dutiful?--What must my thoughts have been ofthese inducements, what my hopes built upon them at the time, taken inthis light?'

Well, but it will be said, That her principal view was to preventmischief between her brother and her other friends, and the man vilelyinsulted by them all. 

But why should she be more concerned for the safety of others than theywere for their own? And had not the rencounter then happened? 'Was aperson of virtue to be prevailed upon to break through her apparent, heracknowledged duty, upon any consideration?' And, if not, was she to beso prevailed upon to prevent an apprehended evil only?

Thou, Lovelace, the tempter (thou wilt again break out and say) to bethe accuser!

But I am not the accuser. I am the arguer only, and, in my heart, all the time acquit and worship the divine creature. 'But let me, nevertheless, examine, whether the acquital be owing to her merit, or tomy weakness--Weakness the true name of love!'

But shall we suppose another motive?--And that is LOVE; a motive whichall the world will excuse her for. 'But let me tell all the world thatdo, not because they ought, but because all the world is apt to bemisled by it. '

Let LOVE then be the motive:--Love of whom?

A Lovelace, is the answer. 

'Is there but one Lovelace in the world? May not more Lovelaces beattracted by so fine a figure? By such exalted qualities? It was hercharacter that drew me to her: and it was her beauty and good sense thatrivetted my chains: and now all together make me think her a subjectworthy of my attempts, worthy of my ambition. '

But has she had the candour, the openness, to acknowledge that love?

She has not. 

'Well then, if love be at the bottom, is there not another fault lurkingbeneath the shadow of that love?--Has she not affectation?--Or is itpride of heart?'

And what results?--'Is then the divine Clarissa capable of loving a manwhom she ought not to love? And is she capable of affectation? And isher virtue founded in pride?--And, if the answer to these questions beaffirmative, must she not then be a woman?'

And can she keep this love at bay? Can she make him, who has beenaccustomed to triumph over other women, tremble? Can she conductherself, as to make him, at times, question whether she loves him orany man; 'yet not have the requisite command over the passion itself insteps of the highest consequence to her honour, as she thinks, ' [Iam trying her, Jack, by her own thoughts, ] 'but suffer herself to beprovoked to promise to abandon her father's house, and go off withhim, knowing his character; and even conditioning not to marry tillimprobably and remote contingencies were to come to pass? What thoughthe provocations were such as would justify any other woman; yet wasa CLARISSA to be susceptible to provocations which she thinks herselfhighly censurable for being so much moved by?'

But let us see the dear creature resolved to revoke her promise, yetmeeting her lover; a bold and intrepid man, who was more than oncebefore disappointed by her; and who comes, as she knows, prepared toexpect the fruits of her appointment, and resolved to carry her off. And let us see him actually carrying her off, and having her athis mercy--'May there not be, I repeat, other Lovelaces; other likeintrepid, persevering enterprizers; although they may not go to work inthe same way?

'And has then a CLARISSA (herself her judge) failed?--In such greatpoints failed?--And may she not further fail?--Fail in the greatestpoint, to which all the other points, in which she has failed, have buta natural tendency?'

Nor say thou, that virtue, in the eye of Heaven, is as much a manly asa womanly grace. By virtue in this place I mean chastity, and to besuperior to temptation; my Clarissa out of the question. Nor ask thou, shall the man be guilty, yet expect the woman to be guiltless, and evenunsuspectible? Urge thou not these arguments, I say, since the wife, bya failure, may do much more injury to the husband, than the husband cando to the wife, and not only to her husband, but to all his family, byobtruding another man's children into his possessions, perhaps to theexclusion of (at least to a participation with) his own; he believingthem all the time to be his. In the eye of Heaven, therefore, the sincannot be equal. Besides I have read in some places that the woman wasmade for the man, not the man for the woman. Virtue then is less to bedispensed with in the woman than in the man. 

Thou, Lovelace, (methinks some better man than thyself will say, ) toexpect such perfection in a woman!

Yes, I, may I answer. Was not the great Caesar a great rake as towomen? Was he not called, by his very soldiers, on one of his triumphantentries into Rome, the bald-pated lecher? and warning given of him tothe wives, as well as to the daughter of his fellow-citizens? Yet didnot Caesar repudiate his wife for being only in company with Clodius, orrather because Clodius, though by surprise upon her, was found in hers?And what was the reason he gave for it?--It was this, (though a rakehimself, as I have said, ) and only this--The wife of Caesar must not besuspected!--

Caesar was not a prouder man than Lovelace. 

Go to then, Jack; nor say, nor let any body say, in thy hearing, thatLovelace, a man valuing himself upon his ancestry, is singular in hisexpectations of a wife's purity, though not pure himself. 

As to my CLARISSA, I own that I hardly think there ever was such anangel of a woman. But has she not, as above, already taken steps, whichshe herself condemns? Steps, which the world and her own family didnot think her capable of taking? And for which her own family will notforgive her?

Nor think it strange, that I refuse to hear any thing pleaded in behalfof a standard virtue from high provocations. 'Are not provocations andtemptations the tests of virtue? A standard virtue must not be allowedto be provoked to destroy or annihilate itself. 

'May not then the success of him, who could carry her thus far, beallowed to be an encouragement for him to try to carry her farther?''Tis but to try. Who will be afraid of a trail for this divine creature?'Thou knowest, that I have more than once, twice, or thrice, put to thefiery trial young women of name and character; and never yet metwith one who held out a month; nor indeed so long as could puzzle myinvention. I have concluded against the whole sex upon it. ' And now, ifI have not found a virtue that cannot be corrupted, I will swear thatthere is not one such in the whole sex. Is not then the whole sexconcerned that this trial should be made? And who is it that knows thislady, that would not stake upon her head the honour of the whole?--Lether who would refuse it come forth, and desire to stand in her place. 

I must assure thee, that I have a prodigious high opinion of virtue; asI have of all those graces and excellencies which I have not beenable to attain myself. Every free-liver would not say this, nor thinkthus--every argument he uses, condemnatory of his own actions, as somewould think. But ingenuousness was ever a signal part of my character. 

Satan, whom thou mayest, if thou wilt, in this case, call my instigator, put the good man of old upon the severest trial. 'To his behaviour underthese trials that good man owed his honour and his future rewards. 'An innocent person, if doubted, must wish to be brought to a fair andcandid trial. 

Rinaldo, indeed, in Ariosto, put the Mantua Knight's cup of trial fromhim, which was to be the proof of his wife's chastity*--This was hisargument for forbearing the experiment: 'Why should I seek a think Ishould be loth to find? My wife is a woman. The sex is frail. I cannotbelieve better of her than I do. It will be to my own loss, if I findreason to think worse. ' But Rinaldo would not have refused the trial ofthe lady, before she became his wife, and when he might have found hisaccount in detecting her. 

 * The story tells us, that whoever drank of this cup, if his wife werechaste, could drink without spilling; if otherwise, the contrary. 

For my part, I would not have put the cup from me, though married, hadit been but in hope of finding reason to confirm my good opinion of mywife's honour; and that I might know whether I had a snake or a dove inmy bosom. 

To my point--'What must that virtue be which will not stand atrial?--What that woman who would wish to shun it?'

Well, then, a trial seems necessary for the furthest establishment ofthe honour of so excellent a creature. 

And who shall put her to this trial? Who, but the man who has, as shethinks, already induced her in lesser points to swerve?--And this forher own sake in a double sense--not only, as he has been able to makesome impression, but as she regrets the impression made; and so may bepresumed to be guarded against his further attempts. 

The situation she is at present in, it must be confessed is adisadvantageous one to her: but, if she overcome, that will redound toher honour. 

Shun not, therefore, my dear soul, further trials, nor hate me formaking them. --'For what woman can be said to be virtuous till she hasbeen tried?

'Nor is one effort, one trial, to be sufficient. Why? Because a woman'sheart may at one time be adamant, at another wax'--as I have oftenexperienced. And so, no doubt, hast thou. 

A fine time of it, methinks, thou sayest, would the woman have, if theywere all to be tried--!

But, Jack, I am not for that neither. Though I am a rake, I am not arake's friend; except thine and company's. 

And be this one of the morals of my tedious discussion--'Let the littlerogues who would not be put to the question, as I may call it, chooseaccordingly. Let them prefer to their favour good honest sober fellows, who have not been used to play dog's tricks: who will be willing totake them as they offer; and, who being tolerable themselves, are notsuspicious of others. '

But what, methinks thou askest, is to become of the lady if she fail?

What?--Why will she not, 'if once subdued, be always subdued?'Another of our libertine maxims. And what an immense pleasure to amarriage-hater, what rapture to thought, to be able to prevail upon sucha woman as Miss Clarissa Harlowe to live with him, without real changeof name!

But if she resist--if nobly she stand her trial?--

Why then I will marry her; and bless my starts for such an angel of awife. 

But will she not hate thee?--will she not refuse--

No, no, Jack!--Circumstanced and situated as we are, I am not afraid ofthat. And hate me! Why should she hate the man who loves her upon proof?

And then for a little hint at reprisal--am I not justified in myresolutions of trying her virtue, who is resolved, as I may say, to trymine? Who has declared that she will not marry me, till she has hopes ofmy reformation?

And now, to put an end to this sober argumentation, Wilt thou notthyself (whom I have supposed an advocate for the lady, because I knowthat Lord M. Has put thee upon using the interest he thinks thou hast inme, to persuade me to enter the pale; wilt thou not thyself) allow me totry if I cannot awaken the woman in her?--To try if she, with all thatglowing symmetry of parts, and that full bloom of vernal graces, bywhich she attracts every eye, be really inflexible as to the grandarticle?

Let me begin then, as opportunity presents--I will; and watch herevery step to find one sliding one; her every moment to find themoment critical. And the rather, as she spares me not, but takes everyadvantage that offers to puzzle and plague me; nor expect nor thinks meto be a good man. 

If she be a woman, and love me, I shall surely catch her once tripping:for love was ever a traitor to its harbourer: and love within, and Iwithout, she will be more than woman, as the poet says, or I less thanman, if I succeed not. 

Now, Belford, all is out. The lady is mine; shall be more mine. Marriage, I see, is in my power, now she is so. Else perhaps it had not. If I can have her without marriage, who can blame me for trying? If not, great will be her glory, and my future confidence. And well will shemerit the sacrifice I shall make her of my liberty; and from all her sexhonours next to divine, for giving a proof, 'that there was once a womanwhose virtue no trials, no stratagems, no temptations, even from the manshe hated not, could overpower. '

Now wilt thou see all my circulation: as in a glass wilt thou seeit. --CABALA, however, is the word;* nor let the secret escape thee evenin thy dreams. 

 * This word, whenever used by any of these gentlemen, was agreed to implyan inviolable secret. 

Nobody doubts that she is to be my wife. Let her pass for such when Igive the word. 'Mean time reformation shall be my stalking-horse; someone of the women in London, if I can get her hither, my bird. ' And somuch for this time. 

LETTER XIX

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [IN ANSWER TO LETTERS IX. XV. ]

Do not be so much concerned, my dearest friend, at the bickeringsbetween my mother and me. We love one another dearly notwithstanding. If my mother had not me to find fault with, she must find fault withsomebody else. And as to me, I am a very saucy girl; and were not thisoccasion, there would be some other, to shew it. 

You have heard me say, that this was always the case between us. You could not otherwise have known it. For when you was with us, youharmonized us both; and, indeed, I was always more afraid of you than ofmy mother. But then that awe is accompanied with love. Your reproofs, as I have always found, are so charmingly mild and instructive; soevidently calculated to improve, and not to provoke; that a generoustemper must be amended by them. But hear now, mind my good mamma, whenyou are not with us--You shall, I tell you, Nancy. I will have it so. Don't I know best, I won't be disobeyed. How can a daughter of spiritsbear such language; such looks too with the language; and not have alonging mind to disobey?

Don't advise me, my dear, to subscribe to my mother's prohibition ofcorrespondence with you. She has no reason for it. Nor would she of herown judgment have prohibited it. That odd old ambling soul your uncle, (whose visits are frequenter than ever, ) instigated by your maliciousand selfish brother and sister in the occasion. And they have onlyborrowed my mother's lips, at the distance they are from you, for a sortof speaking trumpet for them. The prohibition, once more I say, cannotcome from her heart: But if it did, is so much danger to be apprehendedfrom my continuing to write to one of my own sex, as if I wrote to oneof the other? Don't let dejection and disappointment, and the courseof oppression which you have run through, weaken your mind, my dearestcreature, and make you see inconveniencies where there possibly cannotbe any. If your talent is scribbling, as you call it; so is mine--andI will scribble on, at all opportunities; and to you; let them say whatthey will. Nor let your letters be filled with the self-accusations youmention: there is no cause for them. I wish that your Anna Howe, whocontinues in her mother's house, were but half so good as Miss ClarissaHarlowe, who has been driven out of her father's. 

I will say nothing upon your letter to your sister till I see the effectit will have. You hope, you tell me, that you shall have your money andclothes sent you, notwithstanding my opinion to the contrary--I am sorryto have it to acquaint you, that I have just now heard, that they havesat in council upon your letter; and that your mother was the onlyperson who was for sending you your things, and was overruled. Icharge you therefore to accept of my offer, as by my last: and giveme particular directions for what you want, that I can supply you withbesides. 

Don't set your thought so much upon a reconciliation as to prevent yourlaying hold of any handsome opportunity to give yourself a protector;such a one as the man will be, who, I imagine, husband-like, will letnobody insult you but himself. 

What could he mean by letting slip such a one as that you mention? Idon't know how to blame you; for how you go beyond silence and blushes, when the foolish fellow came with his observances of the restrictionswhich you laid him under when in another situation? But, as I told youabove, you really strike people into awe. And, upon my word, you did notspare him. 

I repeat what I said in my last, that you have a very nice part to act:and I will add, that you have a mind that is much too delicate for yourpart. But when the lover is exalted, the lady must be humbled. He isnaturally proud and saucy. I doubt you must engage his pride, which hecalls his honour: and that you must throw off a little more of the veil. And I would have you restrain your wishes before him, that you had notmet him, and the like. What signifies wishing, my dear? He will not bearit. You can hardly expect that he will. 

Nevertheless, it vexed me to the very bottom of my pride, that anywretch of that sex should be able to triumph over Clarissa. 

I cannot, however, but say, that I am charmed with your spirit. So muchsweetness, where sweetness is requisite; so much spirit, where spirit iscalled for--what a true magnanimity!

But I doubt, in your present circumstances, you must endeavour after alittle more of the reserve, in cases where you are displeased with him, and palliate a little. That humility which he puts on when you rise uponhim, is not natural to him. 

Methinks I see the man hesitating, and looking like the fool you painthim, under your corrective superiority!--But he is not a fool. Don't puthim upon mingling resentment with his love. 

You are very serious, my dear, in the first of the two letters beforeme, in relation to Mr. Hickman and me; and in relation to my mother andme. But as to the latter, you must not be too grave. If we are not welltogether at one time, we are not ill together at another. And while I amable to make her smile in the midst of the most angry fit she ever fellinto on the present occasion, (though sometimes she would not if shecould help it, ) it is a very good sign; a sign that displeasure cannever go deep, or be lasting. And then a kind word, or kind look, toher favourite Hickman, sets the one into raptures, and the other intolerable humour, at any time. 

But your case pains me at heart; and with all my levity, both the goodfolks most sometimes partake of that pain; nor will it be over, as longas you are in a state of uncertainty; and especially as I was not ableto prevail for that protection for you which would have prevented theunhappy step, the necessity for which we both, with so much reason, deplore. 

I have only to add (and yet it is needless to tell you) that I am, andwill ever be, Your affectionate friend and servant, ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER XX

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE

You tell me, my dear, that my clothes and the little sum of money I leftbehind me, will not be sent me. --But I will still hope. It is yet earlydays. When their passions subside, they will better consider of thematter; and especially as I have my ever dear and excellent mother formy friend in this request! O the sweet indulgence! How has my heartbled, and how does it still bleed for her!

You advise me not to depend upon a reconciliation. I do not, I cannotdepend upon it. But nevertheless, it is the wish next my heart. And asto this man, what can I do? You see, that marriage is not absolutely inmy own power, if I were inclined to prefer it to the trial which I thinkI ought to have principally in view to make for a reconciliation. 

You say, he is proud and insolent--indeed he is. But can it be youropinion, that he intends to humble me down to the level of his meanpride?

And what mean you, my dear friend, when you say, that I must throw offa little more of the veil?--Indeed I never knew that I wore one. Letme assure you, that if I never see any thing in Mr. Lovelace that lookslike a design to humble me, his insolence shall never make me discover aweakness unworthy of a person distinguished by your friendship; that isto say, unworthy either of my sex, or of my former self. 

But I hope, as I am out of all other protection, that he is not capableof mean or low resentments. If he has had any extraordinary trouble onmy account, may he not thank himself for it? He may; and lay it, if hepleases, to his character; which, as I have told him, gave at least apretence to my brother against him. And then, did I ever make him anypromises? Did I ever profess a love for him? Did I ever wish for thecontinuance of his address? Had not my brother's violence precipitatedmatters, would not my indifference to him in all likelihood (as Idesigned it should) have tired out his proud spirit, * and make him setout for London, where he used chiefly to reside? And if he had, wouldnot there have been an end of all his pretensions and hopes? For noencouragement had I given him; nor did I then correspond with him. Nor, believe me, should I have begun to do so--the fatal rencounternot having then happened; which drew me in afterwards for others' sakes(fool that I was!) and not for my own. And can you think, or can he, that even this but temporarily-intended correspondence (which, by theway, my mother* connived at) would have ended thus, had I not beendriven on one hand, and teased on the other, to continue it, theoccasion which had at first induced it continuing? What pretence thenhas he, were I to be absolutely in his power, to avenge himself on mefor the faults of others, and through which I have suffered more thanhe? It cannot, cannot be, that I should have cause to apprehend him tobe so ungenerous, so bad a man. 

 * See Vol. I. Letter IV. 

You bid me not to be concerned at the bickerings between your mother andyou. Can I avoid concern, when those bickerings are on my account? Thatthey are raised (instigated shall I say?) by my uncle, and my otherrelations, surely must add to my concern. 

But I must observe, perhaps too critically for the state my mind is inat present, that the very sentences you give from your mother, as in somany imperatives, which you take amiss, are very severe reflections uponyourself. For instance--You shall, I tell you, Nancy, implies that youhad disputed her will--and so of the rest. 

And further let me observe, with respect to what you say, that therecannot be the same reason for a prohibition of correspondence with me, as there was of mine with Mr. Lovelace; that I thought as little of badconsequences from my correspondence with him at the time, as you can dofrom yours with me now. But, if obedience be a duty, the breach of it isa fault, however circumstances may differ. Surely there is no merit insetting up our own judgment against the judgments of our parents. Andif it is punishable so to do, I have been severely punished; and that iswhat I warned you of from my own dear experience. 

Yet, God forgive me! I advise thus against myself with very greatreluctance: and, to say truth, have not strength of mind, at present, todecline it myself. But, if my occasion go not off, I will take it intofurther consideration. 

You give me very good advice in relation to this man; and I thank youfor it. When you bid me be more upon the reserve with him in expressingmy displeasure, perhaps I may try for it: but to palliate, as you callit, that, my dearest Miss Howe, cannot be done, by

Your own, CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER XXI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE

You may believe, my dear Miss Howe, that the circumstances of the noiseand outcry within the garden-door, on Monday last, gave me no smalluneasiness, to think that I was in the hands of a man, who could, bysuch vile premeditation, lay a snare to trick me out of myself, as Ihave so frequently called it. 

Whenever he came in my sight, the thought of this gave me an indignationthat made his presence disgustful to me; and the more, as I fanciedI beheld in his face a triumph which reproached my weakness on thataccount; although perhaps it was only the same vivacity and placidnessthat generally sit upon his features. 

I was resolved to task him upon this subject, the first time I couldhave patience to enter upon it with him. For, besides that it piqued meexcessively from the nature of the artifice, I expected shuffling andevasion, if he were guilty, that would have incensed me: and, if notconfessedly guilty, such unsatisfactory declarations as still would havekept my mind doubtful and uneasy; and would, upon every new offence thathe might give me, sharpen my disgust to me. 

I have had the opportunity I waited for; and will lay before you theresult. 

He was making his court to my good opinion in very polite terms, andwith great seriousness lamenting that he had lost it; declaring, that heknew not how he had deserved to do so; attributing to me an indifferenceto him, that seemed, to his infinite concern, hourly to increase, Andhe besought me to let him know my whole mind, that he might have anopportunity either to confess his faults and amend them, or clear hisconduct to my satisfaction, and thereby entitle himself to a greatershare of my confidence. 

I answered him with quickness--Then, Mr. Lovelace, I will tell you onething with a frankness, that is, perhaps, more suitable to my characterthan to yours, [He hoped not, he said, ] which gives me a very badopinion of you, as a designing, artful man. 

I am all attention, Madam. 

I never can think tolerably of you, while the noise and voice I heard atthe garden-door, which put me into the terror you took so much advantageof, remains unaccounted for. Tell me fairly, tell me candidly, thewhole of that circumstance; and of your dealings with that wicked JosephLeman; and, according to your explicitness in this particular, I shallform a judgment of your future professions. 

I will, without reserve, my dearest life, said he, tell you the whole;and hope that my sincerity in the relation will atone for any thing youmay think wrong in the fact. 

'I knew nothing, said he, of this man, this Leman, and should havescorned a resort to so low a method as bribing the servant of any familyto let me into the secrets of that family, if I had not detected himin attempting to corrupt a servant of mine, to inform him of all mymotions, of all my supposed intrigues, and, in short, of every actionof my private life, as well as of my circumstances and engagements; andthis for motives too obvious to be dwelt upon. 

'My servant told me of his offers, and I ordered him, unknown to thefellow, to let me hear a conversation that was to pass between them. 

'In the midst of it, and just as he had made an offer of money for aparticular piece of intelligence, promising more when procured, I brokein upon them, and by bluster, calling for a knife to cut off his ears(one of which I took hold of) in order to make a present of it, as Isaid, to his employers, I obliged him to tell me who they were. 

'Your brother, Madam, and your uncle Antony, he named. 

'It was not difficult, when I had given him my pardon on naming them, (after I had set before him the enormity of the task he had undertaken, and the honourableness of my intentions to your dear self, ) to prevailupon him, by a larger reward, to serve me; since, at the same time, hemight preserve the favour of your uncle and brother, as I desired toknow nothing but what related to myself and to you, in order to guard usboth against the effects of an ill-will, which all his fellow-servants, as well as himself, as he acknowledged, thought undeserved. 

'By this means, I own to you, Madam, I frequently turned his principalsabout upon a pivot of my own, unknown to themselves: and the fellow, whois always calling himself a plain man, and boasting of his conscience, was the easier, as I condescended frequently to assure him ofmy honourable views; and as he knew that the use I made of hisintelligence, in all likelihood, prevented fatal mischiefs. 

'I was the more pleased with his services, as (let me acknowledgeto you, Madam) they procured to you, unknown to yourself, a safe anduninterrupted egress (which perhaps would not otherwise have beencontinued to you so long as it was) to the garden and wood-house: for heundertook, to them, to watch all your motions: and the more cheerfully, (for the fellow loves you, ) as it kept off the curiosity of others. '*

 * See Vol. II. Letter XXXVI. 

So, my dear, it comes out, that I myself was obliged to this deepcontriver. 

I sat in silent astonishment; and thus he went on. 

'As to the circumstance, for which you think so hardly of me, I dofreely confess, that having a suspicion that you would revoke yourintention of getting away, and in that case apprehending that we shouldnot have the time together that was necessary for that purpose; I hadordered him to keep off every body he could keep off, and to be himselfwithin a view of the garden-door; for I was determined, if possible, toinduce you to adhere to your resolution. '--

But pray, Sir, interrupting him, how came you to apprehend that I shouldrevoke my intention? I had indeed deposited a letter to that purpose;but you had it not: and how, as I had reserved to myself the privilegeof a revocation, did you know, but I might have prevailed upon myfriends, and so have revoked upon good grounds?

'I will be very ingenuous, Madam--You had made me hope that if youchanged your mind, you would give me a meeting to apprize me of thereasons for it. I went to the loose bricks, and I saw the letter there:and as I knew your friends were immovably fixed in their schemes, Idoubted not but the letter was to revoke or suspend your resolution; andprobably to serve instead of a meeting too. I therefore let it lie, thatif you did revoke, you might be under the necessity of meeting me forthe sake of the expectation you had given me: and as I came prepared, Iwas resolved, pardon me, Madam, whatever were your intentions, that youshould not go back. Had I taken your letter I must have been determinedby the contents of it, for the present at least: but not havingreceived it, and you having reason to think I wanted not resolution ina situation so desperate, to make your friends a personal visit, Idepended upon the interview you had bid me hope for. '

Wicked wretch, said I; it is my grief, that I gave you opportunity totake so exact a measure of my weakness!--But would you have presumed tovisit the family, had I not met you?

Indeed I would. I had some friends in readiness, who were to haveaccompanied me to them. And had your father refused to give me audience, I would have taken my friends with me to Solmes. 

And what did you intend to do to Mr. Solmes?

Not the least hurt, had the man been passive. 

But had he not been passive, as you call it, what would you have done toMr. Solmes?

He was loth, he said to tell me--yet not the least hurt to his person. 

I repeated my question. 

If he must tell me, he only proposed to carry off the poor fellow, andto hide him for a month or two. And this he would have done, let whatwould have been the consequence. 

Was ever such a wretch heard of!--I sighed from the bottom of my heart;but bid him proceed from the part I had interrupted him at. 

'I ordered the fellow, as I told you, Madam, said he, to keep withinview of the garden-door: and if he found any parley between us, and anybody coming (before you could retreat undiscovered) whose coming mightbe attended with violent effects, he should cry out; and this not onlyin order to save himself from their suspicions of him, but to give mewarning to make off, and, if possible, to induce you (I own it, Madam)to go off with me, according to your own appointment. And I hope allcircumstances considered, and the danger I was in of losing you forever, that the acknowledgement of that contrivance, or if you had notmet me, that upon Solmes, will not procure me your hatred: for, had theycome as I expected as well as you, what a despicable wretch had I been, could I have left you to the insults of a brother and other of yourfamily, whose mercy was cruelty when they had not the pretence withwhich this detected interview would have furnished them!'

What a wretch! said I. --But if, Sir, taking your own account of thisstrange matter to be fact, any body were coming, how happened it, that Isaw only that man Leman (I thought it was he) out at the door, and at adistance, look after us?

Very lucky! said he, putting his hand first in one pocket, then inanother--I hope I have not thrown it away--it is, perhaps, in the coatI had on yesterday--little did I think it would be necessary to beproduced--but I love to come to a demonstration whenever I can--I maybe giddy--I may be heedless. I am indeed--but no man, as to you, Madam, ever had a sincerer heart. 

He then stepping to the parlour-door, called his servant to bring himthe coat he had on yesterday. 

The servant did. And in the pocket, rumpled up as a paper he regardednot, he pulled out a letter, written by that Joseph, dated Monday night;in which 'he begs pardon for crying out so soon--says, That his fears ofbeing discovered to act on both sides, had made him take the rushing ofa little dog (that always follows him) through the phyllirea-hedge, forBetty's being at hand, or some of his masters: and that when he foundhis mistake, he opened the door by his own key (which the contrivingwretch confessed he had furnished him with) and inconsiderately ran outin a hurry, to have apprized him that his crying out was owing to hisfright only:' and he added, 'that they were upon the hunt for me, by thetime he returned. *

 * See his Letter to Joseph Leman, Vol. III. No. III. Towards the end, wherehe tells him, he would contrive for him a letter of this nature to copy. 

I shook my head--Deep! deep! deep! said I, at the best!--O Mr. Lovelace!God forgive and reform you!--But you are, I see plainly, (upon the wholeof your own account, ) a very artful, a very designing man. 

Love, my dearest life, is ingenious. Night and day have I racked mystupid brain [O Sir, thought I, not stupid! 'Twere well perhaps if itwere] to contrive methods to prevent the sacrifice designed to be madeof you, and the mischief that must have ensued upon it: so little holdin your affections: such undeserved antipathy from your friends: so muchdanger of losing you for ever from both causes. I have not had for thewhole fortnight before last Monday, half an hour's rest at a time. AndI own to you, Madam, that I should never have forgiven myself, had Iomitted any contrivance or forethought that would have prevented yourreturn without me. 

Again I blamed myself for meeting him: and justly; for there weremany chances to one, that I had not met him. And if I had not, all hisfortnight's contrivances, as to me, would have come to nothing; and, perhaps, I might nevertheless have escaped Solmes. 

Yet, had he resolved to come to Harlowe-place with his friends, and beeninsulted, as he certainly would have been, what mischiefs might havefollowed!

But his resolutions to run away with and to hide the poor Solmes fora month or so, O my dear! what a wretch have I let run away with me, instead of Solmes!

I asked him, if he thought such enormities as these, such defiances ofthe laws of society, would have passed unpunished?

He had the assurance to say, with one of his usual gay airs, That heshould by this means have disappointed his enemies, and saved me from aforced marriage. He had no pleasure in such desperate pushes. Solmeshe would not have personally hurt. He must have fled his country, for atime at least: and, truly, if he had been obliged to do so, (as allhis hopes of my favour must have been at an end, ) he would have had afellow-traveller of his own sex out of our family, whom I little thoughtof. 

Was ever such a wretch!--To be sure he meant my brother!

And such, Sir, said I, in high resentment, are the uses you make of yourcorrupt intelligencer--

My corrupt intelligencer, Madam! interrupted me, He is to this hour yourbrother's as well as mine. By what I have ingenuously told you, you maysee who began this corruption. Let me assure you, Madam, that there aremany free things which I have been guilty of as reprisals, in which Iwould not have been the aggressor. 

All that I shall further say on this head, Mr. Lovelace, is this: thatas this vile double-faced wretch has probably been the cause of greatmischief on both sides, and still continues, as you own, his wickedpractices, I think it would be but just, to have my friends apprizedwhat a creature he is whom some of them encourage. 

What you please, Madam, as to that--my service, as well as yourbrother's is now almost over for him. The fellow has made a good hand ofit. He does not intend to stay long in his place. He is now actually intreaty for an inn, which will do his business for life. I can tellyou further, that he makes love to your sister's Betty: and that by myadvice. They will be married when he is established. An innkeeper'swife is every man's mistress; and I have a scheme in my head to set someengines at work to make her repent her saucy behaviour to you to thelast day of her life. 

What a wicked schemer you are, Sir!--Who shall avenge upon you the stillgreater evils which you have been guilty of? I forgive Betty with allmy heart. She was not my servant; and but too probably, in what she did, obeyed the commands of her to whom she owed duty, better than I obeyedthose to whom I owed more. 

No matter for that, the wretch said [To be sure, my dear, he mustdesign to make me afraid of him]: The decree was gone out--Betty mustsmart--smart too by an act of her own choice. He loved, he said, tomake bad people their own punishers. --Nay, Madam, excuse me; but if thefellow, if this Joseph, in your opinion, deserves punishment, mine isa complicated; a man and his wife cannot well suffer separately, and itmay come home to him too. 

I had no patience with him. I told him so. I see, Sir, said I, I see, what a man I am with. Your rattle warns me of the snake. --And away Iflung: leaving him seemingly vexed, and in confusion. 

LETTER XXII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE

My plain-dealing with Mr. Lovelace, on seeing him again, and the freedislike I expressed to his ways, his manners, and his contrivances, aswell as to his speeches, have obliged him to recollect himself a little. He will have it, that the menaces which he threw out just now against mybrother and Mr. Solmes, are only the effect of an unmeaning pleasantry. He has too great a stake in his country, he says, to be guilty of suchenterprises as should lay him under a necessity of quitting it for ever. Twenty things, particularly, he says, he has suffered Joseph Leman totell him of, that were not, and could not be true, in order to makehimself formidable in some people's eyes, and this purely with a viewto prevent mischief. He is unhappy, as far as he knows, in a quickinvention; in hitting readily upon expedients; and many things arereported of him which he never said, and many which he never did, andothers which he has only talked of, (as just now, ) and which he hasforgot as soon as the words have passed his lips. 

This may be so, in part, my dear. No one man so young could be sowicked as he has been reported to be. But such a man at the head ofsuch wretches as he is said to have at his beck, all men of fortune andfearlessness, and capable of such enterprises as I have unhappily foundhim capable of, what is not to be apprehended from him!

His carelessness about his character is one of his excuses: a verybad one. What hope can a woman have of a man who values not his ownreputation?--These gay wretches may, in mixed conversation, divert foran hour, or so: but the man of probity, the man of virtue, is the manthat is to be the partner for life. What woman, who could help it, wouldsubmit it to the courtesy of a wretch, who avows a disregard to allmoral sanctions, whether he will perform his part of the matrimonialobligation, and treat her with tolerable politeness?

With these notions, and with these reflections, to be thrown upon such aman myself!--Would to Heaven--But what avail wishes now?--To whom can Ifly, if I would fly from him?

LETTER XXIII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. FRIDAY, APRIL 14. 

Never did I hear of such a parcel of foolish toads as theseHarlowes!--Why, Belford, the lady must fall, if every hair of her headwere a guardian angel, unless they were to make a visible appearance forher, or, snatching her from me at unawares, would draw her after theminto the starry regions. 

All I had to apprehend, was, that a daughter, so reluctantly carriedoff, would offer terms to her father, and would be accepted upon amutual concedence; they to give up Solmes; she to give up me. And so Iwas contriving to do all I could to guard against the latter. But theyseem resolved to perfect the work they have begun. 

What stupid creatures are there in the world! This foolish brother notto know, that he who would be bribed to undertake a base thing by one, would be over-bribed to retort the baseness; especially when he could beput into the way to serve himself by both!--Thou, Jack, wilt never knowone half of my contrivances. 

 He here relates the conversation between him and the Lady (upon the subject of the noise and exclamations his agent made at the garden- door) to the same effect as in the Lady's Letter, No. XXI. And proceeds exulting:

What a capacity for glorious mischief has thy friend!--Yet how near thetruth all of it! The only derivation, my asserting that the fellowmade the noises by mistake, and through fright, and not by previousdirection: had she known the precise truth, her anger, to be so takenin, would never have let her forgive me. 

Had I been a military hero, I should have made gunpowder useless; forI should have blown up all my adversaries by dint of stratagem, turningtheir own devices upon them. 

But these fathers and mothers--Lord help 'em!--Were not the powers ofnature stronger than those of discretion, and were not that busy deabona to afford her genial aids, till tardy prudence qualified parents tomanage their future offspring, how few people would have children!

James and Arabella may have their motives; but what can be said for afather acting as this father has acted? What for a mother? What foran aunt? What for uncles?--Who can have patience with such fellows andfellowesses?

Soon will the fair one hear how high their foolish resentments runagainst her: and then will she, it is to be hoped, have a little moreconfidence in me. Then will I be jealous that she loves me not with thepreference my heart builds upon: then will I bring her to confessionsof grateful love: and then will I kiss her when I please; and not standtrembling, as now, like a hungry hound, who sees a delicious morselwithin his reach, (the froth hanging upon his vermilion jaws, ) yet daresnot leap at it for his life. 

But I was originally a bashful mortal. Indeed I am bashful still withregard to this lady--Bashful, yet know the sex so well!--But that indeedis the reason that I know it so well:--For, Jack, I have had abundantcause, when I have looked into myself, by way of comparison with theother sex, to conclude that a bashful man has a good deal of the soul ofa woman; and so, like Tiresias, can tell what they think, and what theydrive at, as well as themselves. 

The modest ones and I, particularly, are pretty much upon a par. Thedifference between us is only, what they think, I act. But the immodestones out-do the worst of us by a bar's length, both in thinking andacting. 

One argument let me plead in proof of my assertion; That even we rakeslove modesty in a woman; while the modest woman, as they are accounted, (that is to say, the slyest, ) love, and generally prefer, an impudentman. Whence can this be, but from a likeness in nature? And this madethe poet say, That ever woman is a rake in her heart. It concerns them, by their actions, to prove the contrary, if they can. 

Thus have I read in some of the philosophers, That no wickedness iscomparable to the wickedness of a woman. * Canst thou tell me, Jack, whosays this? Was it Socrates? for he had the devil of a wife--Or who? Oris it Solomon?--King Solomon--Thou remembrest to have read of such aking, dost thou not? SOL-O-MON, I learned, in my infant state [my motherwas a good woman] to answer, when asked, Who was the wisest man?--But myindulgent questioner never asked me how he came by the uninspired partof his wisdom. 

 * Mr. Lovelace is as much out in his conjecture of Solomon, as ofSocrates. The passage is in Ecclesiasticus, chap. Xxv. 

Come, come, Jack, you and I are not so very bad, could we but stop wherewe are. 

 He then gives the particulars of what passed between him and the Lady on his menaces relating to her brother and Mr. Solmes, and of his design to punish Betty Barnes and Joseph Leman. 

LETTER XXIV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE FRIDAY, APR. 14. 

I will now give you the particulars of a conversation that has justpassed between Mr. Lovelace and me, which I must call agreeable. 

It began with his telling me, that he had just received intelligencethat my friends were on a sudden come to a resolution to lay aside allthoughts of pursuing me, or of getting me back: and that therefore heattended me to know of my pleasure; and what I would do, or have him do?

I told him, that I would have him leave me directly; and that, when itwas known to every body that I was absolutely independent of him, itwould pass, that I had left my father's house because of my brother'sill usage of me: which was a plea that I might make with justice, and tothe excuse of my father, as well as of myself. 

He mildly replied, that if we could be certain that my relations wouldadhere to this their new resolution, he could have no objection, sincesuch was my pleasure; but, as he was well assured that they had taken itonly from apprehensions, that a more active one might involve my brother(who had breathed nothing but revenge) in some fatal misfortune, therewas too much reason to believe that they would resume their formerpurpose the moment they should think they safely might. 

This, Madam, said he, is a risque I cannot run. You would think itstrange if I could. And yet, as soon as I knew they had so given out, Ithought it proper to apprize you of it, and take your commands upon it. 

Let me hear, said I, (willing to try if he had any particular view, )what you think most advisable?

'Tis very easy to say that, if I durst--if I might not offend you--if itwere not to break conditions that shall be inviolable with me. 

Say then, Sir, what you would say. I can approve or disapprove, as Ithink fit. 

Had not the man a fine opportunity here to speak out?--He had. And thushe used it. 

To wave, Madam, what I would say till I have more courage to speakout [More courage, --Mr. Lovelace more courage, my dear!]--I will onlypropose what I think will be most agreeable to you--suppose, if youchoose not to go to Lady Betty's, that you take a turn cross the countryto Windsor?

Why to Windsor?

Because it is a pleasant place: because it lies in the way either toBerkshire, to Oxford, or to London: Berkshire, where Lord M. Is atpresent: Oxford, in the neighbourhood of which lives Lady Betty: London, whither you may retire at your pleasure: or, if you will have it so, whither I may go, you staying at Windsor; and yet be within an easydistance of you, if any thing should happen, or if your friends shouldchange their new-taken resolution. 

This proposal, however, displeased me not. But I said, my only objectionwas, the distance of Windsor from Miss Howe, of whom I should be glad tobe always within two or three hours reach of by messenger, if possible. 

If I had thoughts of any other place than Windsor, or nearer toMiss Howe, he wanted but my commands, and would seek for properaccommodations: but, fix as I pleased, farther or nearer, he hadservants, and they had nothing else to do but to obey me. 

A grateful thing then he named to me--To send for my Hannah, as soon asI shall be fixed;* unless I would choose one of the young gentlewomenhere to attend me; both of whom, as I had acknowledged, were veryobliging; and he knew I had generosity enough to make it worth theirwhile. 

 * See his reasons for proposing Windsor, Letter XXV. --and her Hannah, Letter XXVI. 

This of Hannah, he might see, I took very well. I said I had thoughtsof sending for her, as soon as I got to more convenient lodgings. As tothese young gentlewomen, it were pity to break in upon that usefulnesswhich the whole family were of to each other; each having her properpart, and performing it with an agreeable alacrity: insomuch, that Iliked them all so well, that I could even pass my days among them, werehe to leave me; by which means the lodgings would be more convenient tome than now they were. 

He need not repeat his objections to this place, he said: but as togoing to Windsor, or wherever else I thought fit, or as to his personalattendance, or leaving me, he would assure me (he very agreeably said)that I could propose nothing in which I thought my reputation, and evenmy punctilio, concerned, that he would not cheerfully come into. Andsince I was so much taken up with my pen, he would instantly order hishorse to be got ready, and would set out. 

Not to be off my caution. Have you any acquaintance at Windsor? saidI. --Know you of any convenient lodgings there?

Except the forest, replied he, where I have often hunted, I know theleast of Windsor of any place so noted and so pleasant. Indeed I havenot a single acquaintance there. 

Upon the whole, I told him, that I thought his proposal of Windsor, notamiss; and that I would remove thither, if I could get a lodging onlyfor myself, and an upper chamber for Hannah; for that my stock of moneywas but small, as was easy to be conceived and I should be very loth tobe obliged to any body. I added, that the sooner I removed the better;for that then he could have no objection to go to London, or Berkshire, as he pleased: and I should let every body know my independence. 

He again proposed himself, in very polite terms, for my banker. But I, as civilly, declined his offer. 

This conversation was to be, all of it, in the main, agreeable. He askedwhether I would choose to lodge in the town of Windsor, or out of it?

As near the castle, I said, as possible, for the convenience of goingconstantly to the public worship; an opportunity I had been very longdeprived of. 

He should be very glad, he told me, if he could procure meaccommodations in any one of the canon's houses; which he imagined wouldbe more agreeable to me than any other, on many accounts. And as hecould depend upon my promise, Never to have any other man but himself, on the condition to which he had so cheerfully subscribed, he should beeasy; since it was now his part, in earnest, to set about recommendinghimself to my favour, by the only way he knew it would be done. Adding, with a very serious air--I am but a young man, Madam; but I have run along course: let not your purity of mind incline you to despise me forthe acknowledgement. It is high time to be weary of it, and to reform;since, like Solomon, I can say, There is nothing new under the sun: butthat it is my belief, that a life of virtue can afford such pleasures, on reflection, as will be for ever blooming, for ever new!

I was agreeably surprised. I looked at him, I believe, as if I doubtedmy ears and my eyes. His aspect however became his words. 

I expressed my satisfaction in terms so agreeable to him, that he said, he found a delight in this early dawning of a better day to him, and inmy approbation, which he had never received from the success of the mostfavoured of his pursuits. 

Surely, my dear, the man must be in earnest. He could not have saidthis; he could not have thought it, had he not. What followed made mestill readier to believe him. 

In the midst of my wild vagaries, said he, I have ever preserved areverence for religion, and for religious men. I always called anothercause, when any of my libertine companions, in pursuance of LordShaftesbury's test (which is a part of the rake's creed, and what Imay call the whetstone of infidelity, ) endeavoured to turn the sacredsubject into ridicule. On this very account I have been called by goodmen of the clergy, who nevertheless would have it that I was a practicalrake, the decent rake: and indeed I had too much pride in my shame, todisown the name of rake. 

This, Madam, I am the readier to confess, as it may give you hope, thatthe generous task of my reformation, which I flatter myself you willhave the goodness to undertake, will not be so difficult a one as youmay have imagined; for it has afforded me some pleasure in my retiredhours, when a temporary remorse has struck me for any thing I have doneamiss, that I should one day delight in another course of life: for, unless we can, I dare say, no durable good is to be expected from theendeavour. Your example, Madam, must do all, must confirm all. *

 * That he proposes one day to reform, and that he has sometimes goodmotions, see Vol. I. Letter XXXIV. 

The divine grace, or favour, Mr. Lovelace, must do all, and confirmall. You know not how much you please me, that I can talk to you in thisdialect. 

And I then thought of his generosity to his pretty rustic; and of hiskindness to his tenants. 

Yet, Madam, be pleased to remember one thing; reformation cannot be asudden work. I have infinite vivacity: it is that which runs away withme. Judge, dearest Madam, by what I am going to confess, that I havea prodigious way to journey on, before a good person will think metolerable; since though I have read in some of our perfectionists enoughto make a better man than myself either run into madness or despairabout the grace you mention, yet I cannot enter into the meaning of theword, nor into the modus of its operation. Let me not then be checked, when I mention your example for my visible reliance; and instead ofusing such words, till I can better understand them, suppose all therest included in the profession of that reliance. 

I told him, that, although I was somewhat concerned at his expression, and surprised at so much darkness, as (for want of another word) I wouldcall it, in a man of his talents and learning, yet I was pleased withhis ingenuousness. I wished him to encourage this way of thinking. Itold him, that his observation, that no durable good was to be expectedfrom any new course, were there was not a delight taken in it, was just;but that the delight would follow by use. 

And twenty things of this sort I even preached to him; taking care, however, not to be tedious, nor to let my expanded heart give him acontracted or impatient blow. And, indeed, he took visible pleasure inwhat I said, and even hung upon the subject, when I, to try him, onceor twice, seemed ready to drop it: and proceeded to give me a mostagreeable instance, that he could at times think both deeply andseriously. --Thus it was. 

He was once, he said, dangerously wounded in a duel, in the left arm, baring it, to shew me the scar: that this (notwithstanding a greateffusion of blood, it being upon an artery) was followed by a violentfever, which at last fixed upon his spirits; and that so obstinately, that neither did he desire life, nor his friends expect it: that, for amonth together, his heart, as he thought, was so totally changed, thathe despised his former courses, and particularly that rashness which hadbrought him to the state he was in, and his antagonist (who, however, was the aggressor) into a much worse: that in this space he had thoughtwhich at times still gave him pleasure to reflect upon: and althoughthese promising prospects changed, as he recovered health and spirits, yet he parted with them with so much reluctance, that he could not helpshewing it in a copy of verses, truly blank ones, he said; some of whichhe repeated, and (advantaged by the grace which he gives to every thinghe repeats) I thought them very tolerable ones; the sentiments, however, much graver than I expected from him. 

He has promised me a copy of the lines; and then I shall judge betterof their merit; and so shall you. The tendency of them was, 'That, sincesickness only gave him a proper train of thinking, and that his restoredhealth brought with it a return to his evil habits, he was ready torenounce those gifts of nature for those of contemplation. '

He farther declared, that although these good motions went off (ashe had owned) on his recovery, yet he had better hopes now, fromthe influence of my example, and from the reward before him, if hepersevered: and that he was the more hopeful that he should, as hispresent resolution was made in a full tide of health and spirits; andwhen he had nothing to wish for but perseverance, to entitle himself tomy favour. 

I will not throw cold water, Mr. Lovelace, said I, on a rising flame:but look to it! for I shall endeavour to keep you up to this spirit. Ishall measure your value of me by this test: and I would have you bearthose charming lines of Mr. Rowe for ever in your mind; you, who have, by your own confession, so much to repent of; and as the scar, indeed, you shewed me, will, in one instance, remind you to your dying day. 

The lines, my dear, are from the poet's Ulysses; you have heard me oftenadmire them; and I repeated them to him:

 Habitual evils change not on a sudden: But many days must pass, and many sorrows; Conscious remorse and anguish must be felt, To curb desire, to break the stubborn will, And work a second nature in the soul, Ere Virtue can resume the place she lost: 'Tis else dissimulation--

He had often read these lines, he said; but never tasted thembefore. --By his soul, (the unmortified creature swore, ) and as he hopedto be saved, he was now in earnest in his good resolutions. He had said, before I repeated those lines from Rowe, that habitual evils couldnot be changed on a sudden: but he hoped he should not be thought adissembler, if he were not enabled to hold his good purposes; sinceingratitude and dissimulation were vices that of all others he abhorred. 

May you ever abhor them, said I. They are the most odious of all vices. 

I hope, my dear Miss Howe, I shall not have occasion, in my futureletters, to contradict these promising appearances. Should I havenothing on his side to combat with, I shall be very far from beinghappy, from the sense of my fault, and the indignation of all myrelations. So shall not fail of condign punishment for it, from myinward remorse on account of my forfeited character. But the least rayof hope could not dart in upon me, without my being willing to lay holdof the very first opportunity to communicate it to you, who take sogenerous a share in all my concerns. 

Nevertheless, you may depend upon it, my dear, that these agreeableassurances, and hopes of his begun reformation, shall not make me forgetmy caution. Not that I think, at worst, any more than you, that he dareto harbour a thought injurious to my honour: but he is very various, and there is an apparent, and even an acknowledged unfixedness in histemper, which at times gives me uneasiness. I am resolved therefore tokeep him at a distance from my person and my thoughts, as much as I can:for whether all men are or are not encroachers, I am sure Mr. Lovelaceis one. 

Hence it is that I have always cast about, and will continue to castabout, what ends he may have in view from this proposal, or from thatreport. In a word, though hopeful of the best, I will always be fearfulof the worst, in every thing that admits of doubt. For it is better, insuch a situation as mine, to apprehend without cause, than to subjectmyself to surprise for want of forethought. 

Mr. Lovelace is gone to Windsor, having left two servants to attend me. He purposes to be back to-morrow. 

I have written to my aunt Hervey, to supplicate her interest in mybehalf, for my clothes, books, and money; signifying to her, 'That, if Imay be restored to the favour of my family, and allowed a negative only, as to any man who may be proposed to me, and be used like a daughter, a niece, and a sister, I will stand by my offer to live single, and submit, as I ought, to a negative from my father. ' Intimating, nevertheless, 'That it were perhaps better, after the usage I havereceived from my brother and sister, that I may be allowed to be distantfrom them, as well for their sakes as for my own, ' (meaning, as Isuppose it will be taken, at my Dairy-house)--offering, 'to take myfather's directions as to the manner I shall live in, the servants Ishall have, and in every thing that shall shew the dutiful subordinationto which I am willing to conform. '

My aunt will know by my letter to my sister how to direct to me, if shebe permitted to favour me with a line. 

I am equally earnest with her in this letter, as I was with my sisterin that I wrote to her, to obtain for me a speedy reconciliation, that Inot be further precipitated; intimating, 'That, by a timely lenity, allmay pass for a misunderstanding only, which, otherwise, will be thoughtequally disgraceful to them, and to me; appealing to her for thenecessity I was under to do what I did. '--

Had I owned that I was overreached, and forced away against myintention, might they not, as a proof of the truth of my assertion, haveinsisted upon my immediate return to them? And, if I did not return, would they not have reason to suppose, that I had now altered my mind(if such were my mind) or had not the power to return?--Then were Ito have gone back, must it not have been upon their own terms? Noconditioning with a father! is a maxim with my father, and with myuncles. If I would have gone, Mr. Lovelace would have opposed it. So Imust have been under his controul, or have run away from him, as it issupposed I did to him, from Harlowe-place. In what a giddy light wouldthis have made me appear!--Had he constrained me, could I haveappealed to my friends for their protection, without risking the veryconsequences, to prevent which (setting up myself presumptuously, as amiddle person between flaming spirits, ) I have run into such terribleinconveniencies. 

But, after all, must it not give me great anguish of mind, to be forcedto sanctify, as I may say, by my seeming after-approbation, a measureI was so artfully tricked into, and which I was so much resolved not totake?

How one evil brings on another, is sorrowfully witnessed to by

Your ever-obliged and affectionate, CL. HARLOWE. 

LETTER XXV

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. FRIDAY, APR. 14. 

Thou hast often reproached me, Jack, with my vanity, withoutdistinguishing the humourous turn that accompanies it; and for which, atthe same time that thou robbest me of the merit of it thou admirestme highly. Envy gives thee the indistinction: Nature inspires theadmiration: unknown to thyself it inspires it. But thou art too clumsyand too short-sighted a mortal, to know how to account even for theimpulses by which thou thyself art moved. 

Well, but this acquits thee not of my charge of vanity, Lovelace, methinks thou sayest. 

And true thou sayest: for I have indeed a confounded parcel of it. But, if men of parts may not be allowed to be in vain, who should! and yet, upon second thoughts, men of parts have the least occasion of any to bevain; since the world (so few of them are there in it) are ready to findthem out, and extol them. If a fool can be made sensible that there isa man who has more understanding than himself, he is ready enough toconclude, that such a man must be a very extraordinary creature. 

And what, at this rate, is the general conclusion to be drawn from thepremises?--Is it not, That no man ought to be vain? But what if a mancan't help it!--This, perhaps, may be my case. But there is nothing uponwhich I value myself so much as upon my inventions. And for the soul ofme, I cannot help letting it be seen, that I do. Yet this vanity may bea mean, perhaps, to overthrow me with this sagacious lady. 

She is very apprehensive of me I see. I have studied before her and MissHowe, as often as I have been with them, to pass for a giddy thoughtlesscreature. What a folly then to be so expatiatingly sincere, in my answerto her home put, upon the noises within the garden?--But such successhaving attended that contrivance [success, Jack, has blown many a manup!] my cursed vanity got uppermost, and kept down my caution. Themenace to have secreted Solmes, and that other, that I had thoughts torun away with her foolish brother, and of my project to revenge her uponthe two servants, so much terrified the dear creature, that I was forcedto sit down to muse after means to put myself right in her opinion. 

Some favourable incidents, at the time, tumbled in from my agent inher family; at least such as I was determined to make favourable: andtherefore I desired admittance; and this before she could resolve anything against me; that is to say, while her admiration of my intrepiditykept resolution in suspense. 

Accordingly, I prepared myself to be all gentleness, all obligingness, all serenity; and as I have now and then, and always had, more or less, good motions pop up in my mind, I encouraged and collected every thingof this sort that I had ever had from novicehood to maturity, [not longin recollecting, Jack, ] in order to bring the dear creature intogood humour with me:* And who knows, thought I, if I can hold it, andproceed, but I may be able to lay a foundation fit to build my grandscheme upon!--LOVE, thought I, is not naturally a doubter: FEAR is, I will try to banish the latter: nothing then but love will remain. CREDULITY is the God of Love's prime minister, and they never areasunder. 

 * He had said, Letter XVIII. That he would make reformation his stalking-horse, &c. 

 He then acquaints his friend with what passed between him and the Lady, in relation to his advices from Harlowe- place, and to his proposal about lodgings, pretty much to the same purpose as in her preceding Letter. 

 When he cones to mention his proposal of the Windsor lodgings, thus heexpresses himself:

Now, Belford, can it enter into thy leaden head, what I meant by thisproposal!--I know it cannot. And so I'll tell thee. 

To leave her for a day or two, with a view to serve her by my absence, would, as I thought, look like a confiding in her favour. I could notthink of leaving her, thou knowest, while I had reason to believe herfriends would pursue us; and I began to apprehend that she would suspectthat I made a pretence of that intentional pursuit to keep about her andwith her. But now that they had declared against it, and that they wouldnot receive her if she went back, (a declaration she had better hearfirst from me, than from Miss Howe, or any other, ) what should hinder mefrom giving her this mark of my obedience; especially as I could leaveWill, who is a clever fellow, and can do any thing but write and spell, and Lord M. 's Jonas (not as guards, to be sure, but as attendants only);the latter to be dispatched to me occasionally by the former, whom Icould acquaint with my motions?

Then I wanted to inform myself, why I had not congratulatory lettersfrom Lady Sarah and Lady Betty, and from my cousins Montague, to whom Ihad written, glorying in my beloved's escape; which letters, if properlyworded, might be made necessary to shew her as matters proceed. 

As to Windsor, I had no design to carry her particularly thither: butsomewhere it was proper to name, as she condescended to ask my adviceabout it. London, I durst not; but very cautiously; and so as to make ither own option: for I must tell thee, that there is such a perversenessin the sex, that when they ask your advice, they do it only to know youropinion, that they may oppose it; though, had not the thing in questionbeen your choice, perhaps it had been theirs. 

I could easily give reasons against Windsor, after I had pretended tobe there; and this would have looked the better, as it was a place ofmy own nomination; and shewn her that I had no fixed scheme. Never wasthere in woman such a sagacious, such an all-alive apprehension, as inthis. Yet it is a grievous thing to an honest man to be suspected. 

Then, in my going or return, I can call upon Mrs. Greme. She and mybeloved had a great deal of talk together. If I knew what it was about;and that either, upon their first acquaintance, was for benefitingherself by the other; I might contrive to serve them both, withouthurting myself: for these are the most prudent ways of doingfriendships, and what are not followed by regrets, though the servedshould prove ingrateful. Then Mrs. Greme corresponds by pen-and-ink withher farmer-sister where we are: something may possibly arise that way, either of a convenient nature, which I may pursue; or of an inconvenientnature, which I may avoid. 

Always be careful of back doors, is a maxim with me in all my exploits. Whoever knows me, knows that I am no proud man. I can talk as familiarlyto servants as to principals, when I have a mind to make it worth theirwhile to oblige me in any thing. Then servants are but as the commonsoldiers in an army, they do all the mischief frequently without malice, and merely, good souls! for mischief-sake. 

I am most apprehensive about Miss Howe. She has a confounded deal ofwit, and wants only a subject, to shew as much roguery: and should Ibe outwitted with all my sententious boasting of conceit of my ownnostrum-mongership--[I love to plague thee, who art a pretender toaccuracy, and a surface-skimmer in learning, with out-of-the-way wordsand phrases] I should certainly hang, drown, or shoot myself. 

Poor Hickman! I pity him for the prospect he has with such a virago! Butthe fellow's a fool, God wot! And now I think of it, it is absolutelynecessary for complete happiness in the married state, that one shouldbe a fool [an argument I once held with this very Miss Howe. ] But thenthe fool should know the other's superiority; otherwise the obstinateone will disappoint the wise one. 

But my agent Joseph has helped me to secure this quarter, as I havehinted to thee more than once. 

LETTER XXVI

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. [IN CONTINUATION. ]

But is it not a confounded thing that I cannot fasten an obligation uponthis proud beauty? I have two motives in endeavouring to prevail uponher to accept of money and raiment from me: one; the real pleasure Ishould have in the accommodating of the haughty maid; and to think therewas something near her, and upon her, that I could call mine: the other, in order to abate her severity and humble her a little. 

Nothing more effectually brings down a proud spirit, than a sense oflying under pecuniary obligations. This has always made me solicitousto avoid laying myself under any such: yet, sometimes, formerly, haveI been put to it, and cursed the tardy resolution of the quarterlyperiods. And yet I ever made shift to avoid anticipation: I never wouldeat the calf in the cow's belly, as Lord M. 's phrase is: for what isthat, but to hold our lands upon tenant-courtesy, the vilest of alltenures? To be denied a fox-chace, for breaking down a fence upon my owngrounds? To be clamoured at for repairs studied for, rather than reallywanted? To be prated to by a bumpkin with his hat on, and his armsfolded, as if he defied your expectations of that sort; his foot firmlyfixed, as if upon his own ground, and you forced to take his arch leers, and stupid gybes; he intimating, by the whole of his conduct, that hehad had it in his power to oblige you, and, if you behave civilly, mayoblige you again? I, who think I have a right to break every man's headI pass by, if I like not his looks, to bear this!--No more could I doit, then I could borrow of an insolent uncle, or inquisitive aunt, whowould thence think themselves entitled to have an account of all my lifeand actions laid before them for their review and censure. 

My charmer, I see, has a pride like my own: but she has no distinctionin her pride: nor knows the pretty fool that there is nothing nobler, nothing more delightful, than for loves to be conferring and receivingobligations from each other. In this very farm-yard, to give thee afamiliar instance, I have more than once seen this remark illustrated. Astrutting rascal of a cock have I beheld chuck, chuck, chuck, chuck-inghis mistress to him, when he has found a single barley-corn, taking itup with his bill, and letting it drop five or six times, still repeatinghis chucking invitation: and when two or three of his feathered ladiesstrive who shall be the first for it [O Jack! a cock is a grand signorof a bird!] he directs the bill of the foremost to it; and when she hasgot the dirty pearl, he struts over her with an erected crest, clinground her with dropt wings, sweeping the dust in humble courtship: whilethe obliged she, half-shy, half-willing, by her cowering tail, preparedwings, yet seemingly affrighted eyes, and contracted neck, lets one seethat she knows the barley-corn was not all he called her for. 

 When he comes to that part of his narrative, where he mentions of the proposing of the Lady's maid Hannah, or one of the young Sorlings, to attend her, thus he writes:

Now, Belford, canst thou imagine what I meant by proposing Hannah, orone of the girls here, for her attendant? I'll give thee a month toguess. 

Thou wilt not pretend to guess, thou say'st. 

Well, then I'll tell thee. 

Believing she would certainly propose to have that favourite wench abouther, as soon as she was a little settled, I had caused the girl to beinquired after, with an intent to make interest, some how or other, thata month's warning should be insisted on by her master or mistress, or bysome other means, which I had not determined upon, to prevent her comingto her. But fortune fights for me. The wench is luckily ill; a violentrheumatic disorder, which has obliged her to leave her place, confinesher to her chamber. Poor Hannah! How I pity the girl! These things arevery hard upon industrious servants!--I intend to make the poor wench asmall present on the occasion--I know it will oblige my charmer. 

And so, Jack, pretending not to know any thing of the matter, I pressedher to send for Hannah. She knew I had always a regard for this servant, because of her honest love to her lady: but now I have greater regardfor her than ever. Calamity, though a poor servant's calamity, willrather increase than diminish good will, with a truly generous master ormistress. 

As to one of the young Sorling's attendance, there was nothing at allin proposing that; for if either of them had been chosen by her, andpermitted by the mother [two chances in that!] it would have been onlytill I had fixed upon another. And, if afterwards they had been loth topart, I could easily have given my beloved to a jealousy, which wouldhave done the business; or to the girl, who would have quitted hercountry dairy, such a relish for a London one, and as would have madeit very convenient for her to fall in love with Will; or perhaps I couldhave done still better for her with Lord M. 's chaplain, who is verydesirous of standing well with his lord's presumptive heir. 

A blessing on thy honest heart, Lovelace! thou'lt say; for thou art forproviding for every body!

 He gives an account of the serious part of their conversation, with no great variation from the Lady's account of it: and when he comes to that part of it, where he bids her remember, that reformation cannot be a sudden thing, he asks his friend:

Is not this fair play? Is it not dealing ingenuously? Then theobservation, I will be bold to say, is founded in truth and nature. Butthere was a little touch of policy in it besides; that the lady, if Ishould fly out again, should not think me too gross an hypocrite: for, as I plainly told her, I was afraid, that my fits of reformation werebut fits and sallies; but I hoped her example would fix them intohabits. But it is so discouraging a thing to have my monitress sovery good!--I protest I know not how to look up at her! Now, as I amthinking, if I could pull her down a little nearer to my own level;that is to say, could prevail upon her to do something that wouldargue imperfection, something to repent of; we should jog on muchmore equally, and be better able to comprehend one another: and so thecomfort would be mutual, and the remorse not all on one side. 

 He acknowledges that he was greatly affected and pleased with the Lady's serious arguments at the time: but even then was apprehensive that his temper would not hold. Thus he writes:

This lady says serious things in so agreeable a manner (and then hervoice is all harmony when she touches a subject she is pleased with)that I could have listened to her for half a day together. But yet I amafraid, if she falls, as they call it, she will lose a good deal of thatpathos, of that noble self-confidence, which gives a good person, as Inow see, a visible superiority over one not so good. 

But, after all, Belford, I would fain know why people call suchfree-livers as you and me hypocrites. --That's a word I hate; and shouldtake it very ill to be called by it. For myself, I have as good motions, and, perhaps, have them as frequently as any body: all the business is, they don't hold; or, to speak more in character, I don't take the caresome do to conceal my lapses. 

LETTER XXVII

MISS HOWE, TO MIS CLARISSA HARLOWE SATURDAY, APRIL 15. 

Though pretty much pressed in time, and oppressed by my mother'swatchfulness, I will write a few lines upon the new light that hasbroken in upon your gentleman; and send it by a particular hand. 

I know not what to think of him upon it. He talks well; but judge himby Rowe's lines, he is certainly a dissembler, odious as the sin ofhypocrisy, and, as he says, that other of ingratitude, are to him. 

And, pray, my dear, let me ask, could he have triumphed, as it is saidhe has done, over so many of our sex, had he not been egregiously guiltyof both sins?

His ingenuousness is the thing that staggers me: yet is he cunningenough to know, that whoever accuses him first, blunts the edge of anadversary's accusation. 

He is certainly a man of sense: there is more hope of such a one than afool: and there must be a beginning to a reformation. These I will allowin his favour. 

But this, that follows, I think, is the only way to judge of hisspecious confessions and self-accusations--Does he confess any thingthat you knew not before, or that you are not likely to find out fromothers?--If nothing else, what does he confess to his own disadvantage?You have heard of his duels: you have heard of his seductions. --Allthe world has. He owns, therefore, what it would be to no purpose toconceal; and his ingenuousness is a salvo--'Why, this, Madam, is no morethan Mr. Lovelace himself acknowledges. '

Well, but what is now to be done?--You must make the best of yoursituation: and as you say, so he has proposed to you of Windsor, and hiscanon's house. His readiness to leave you, and go himself in quest ofa lodging, likewise looks well. And I think there is nothing can be soproperly done, as (whether you get to a canon's house or not) that thecanon should join you together in wedlock as soon as possible. 

I much approve, however, of all your cautions, of all your vigilance, and of every thing you have done, but of your meeting him. Yet, in mydisapprobation of that, I judge by that event only: for who would havedivined it would have been concluded as it did? But he is the devil byhis own account: and had he run away with the wretched Solmes, and yourmore wretched brother, and himself been transported for life, he shouldhave had my free consent for all three. 

What use does he make of that Joseph Leman!--His ingenuousness, I mustmore than once say, confounds me; but if, my dear, you can forgiveyour brother for the part he put that fellow upon acting, I don't knowwhether you ought to be angry at Lovelace. Yet I have wished fiftytimes, since Lovelace got you away, that you were rid of him, whether itwere by a burning fever, by hanging, by drowning, or by a brokenneck; provided it were before he laid you under a necessity to go intomourning for him. 

I repeat my hitherto rejected offer. May I send it safely by your oldman? I have reasons for not sending it by Hickman's servant; unless Ihad a bank note. Inquiring for such may cause distrust. My mother is sobusy, so inquisitive--I don't love suspicious tempers. 

And here she is continually in and out--I must break off. 

*****

Mr. Hickman begs his most respectful compliments to you, with offer ofhis services. I told him I would oblige him, because minds in troubletake kindly any body's civilities: but that he was not to imagine thathe particularly obliged me by this; since I should think the man orwoman either blind or stupid who admired not a person of your exaltedmerit for your own sake, and wished not to serve you without view toother reward than the honour of serving you. 

To be sure, that was his principal motive, with great daintiness he saidit: but with a kiss of his hand, and a bow to my feet, he hoped, that afine lady's being my friend did not lessen the merit of the reverence hereally had for her. 

Believe me ever, what you, my dear, shall ever find me, Your faithful and affectionate, ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER XXVIII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE SAT. AFTERNOON. 

I detain your messenger while I write an answer to yours; the poor oldman not being very well. 

You dishearten me a good deal about Mr. Lovelace. I may be too willingfrom my sad circumstances to think the best of him. If his pretencesto reformation are but pretences, what must be his intent? But can theheart of man be so very vile? Can he, dare he, mock the Almighty? ButI may not, from one very sad reflection, think better of him; that I amthrown too much into his power, to make it necessary for him (excepthe were to intend the very utmost villany by me) to be such a shockinghypocrite? He must, at least be in earnest at the time he gives thebetter hopes. Surely he must. You yourself must join with me in thishope, or you could not wish me to be so dreadfully yoked. 

But after all, I had rather, much rather, be independent of him, and ofhis family, although I have an high opinion of them; at least till I seewhat my own may be brought to. --Otherwise, I think, it were best for me, at once, to cast myself into Lady Betty's protection. All would then beconducted with decency, and perhaps many mortifications would be sparedme. But then I must be his, at all adventures, and be thought to defy myown family. And shall I not first see the issue of one application? Andyet I cannot make this, till I am settled somewhere, and at a distancefrom him. 

Mrs. Sorlings shewed me a letter this morning, which she had receivedfrom her sister Greme last night; in which Mrs. Greme (hoping I wouldforgive her forward zeal if her sister thinks fit to shew her letter tome) 'wishes (and that for all the noble family's sake, and she hopes shemay say for my own) that I will be pleased to yield to make his honour, as she calls him, happy. ' She grounds her officiousness, as she callsit, upon what he was so condescending [her word also] to say to heryesterday, in his way to Windsor, on her presuming to ask, if she mightsoon give him joy? 'That no man ever loved a woman as he loves me: thatno woman ever so well deserved to be beloved: that he loves me with sucha purity as he had never believed himself capable of, or that a mortalcreature could have inspired him with; looking upon me as all soul; asan angel sent down to save his;' and a great deal more of this sort:'but that he apprehends my consent to make him happy is at a greaterdistance than he wishes; and complained of too severe restrictions Ihad laid upon him before I honoured him with my confidence: whichrestrictions must be as sacred to him, as if they were parts of themarriage contract, ' &c. 

What, my dear, shall I say to this? How shall I take it? Mrs. Greme isa good woman. Mrs. Sorlings is a good woman. And this letter agrees withthe conversation between Mr. Lovelace and me, which I thought, andstill think, so agreeable. * Yet what means the man by foregoing theopportunities he has had to declare himself?--What mean his complaintsof my restrictions to Mrs. Greme? He is not a bashful man. --But you say, I inspire people with an awe of me. --An awe, my dear!--As how?

 * This letter Mrs. Greme (with no bad design on her part) was put uponwriting by Mr. Lovelace himself, as will be seen in Letter XXXV. 

I am quite petulant, fretful, and peevish, with myself, at times, tofind that I am bound to see the workings of the subtle, or this giddyspirit, which shall I call it?

How am I punished, as I frequently think, for my vanity, in hoping tobe an example to young persons of my sex! Let me be but a warning, and Iwill now be contented. For, be my destiny what it may, I shall neverbe able to hold up my head again among my best friends and worthiestcompanions. 

It is one of the cruelest circumstances that attends the faults of theinconsiderate, that she makes all who love her unhappy, and gives joyonly to her own enemies, and to the enemies of her family. 

What an useful lesson would this afford, were it properly inculcated atthe time that the tempted mind was balancing upon a doubtful adventure?

You know not, my dear, the worth of a virtuous man; and, noble-minded asyou are in most particulars, you partake of the common weakness of humannature, in being apt to slight what is in your own power. 

You would not think of using Mr. Lovelace, were he your suitor, as youdo the much worthier Mr. Hickman--would you?--You know who says inmy mother's case, 'Much will bear, much shall bear, all the worldthrough. '* Mr. Hickman, I fancy, would be glad to know the lady's name, who made such an observation. He would think it hardly possible, butsuch a one should benefit by her own remark; and would be apt to wishhis Miss Howe acquainted with her. 

 * See Vol. I. Letter X. 

Gentleness of heart, surely, is not despicable in a man. Why, if it be, is the highest distinction a man can arrive at, that of a gentleman?--Adistinction which a prince may not deserve. For manners, more thanbirth, fortune, or title, are requisite in this character. Manners areindeed the essence of it. And shall it be generally said, and Miss Howenot be an exception to it (as you once wrote), that our sex are bestdealt with by boisterous and unruly spirits?*

 * See Vol. II. Letter III. 

Forgive me, my dear, and love me as you used to do. For although myfortunes are changed, my heart is not: Nor ever will, while it bids mypen tell you, that it must cease to bear, when it is not as much yoursas

Your CL. HARLOWE. 

LETTER XXIX

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE. SATURDAY EVENING. 

Mr. Lovelace has seen divers apartments at Windsor; but not one, hesays, that he thought fit for me, and which, at the same time, answeredmy description. 

He has been very solicitous to keep to the letter of my instructions:which looked well: and the better I like him, as, although he proposedthat town, he came back, dissuading me from it: for he said, that, inhis journey from thence, he had thought Windsor, although of his ownproposal, a wrong choice; because I coveted privacy, and that was aplace generally visited and admired. *

 * This inference of the Lady in his favour is exactly what he had hopedfor. See Letter XXV. Of this volume. 

I told him, that if Mrs. Sorlings thought me not an incumbrance, I wouldbe willing to stay here a little longer; provided he would leave me, andgo to Lord M. 's, or to London, which ever he thought best. 

He hoped, he said, that he might suppose me absolutely safe from theinsults or attempts of my brother; and, therefore, if it should make meeasier, he would obey, for a few days at least. 

He again proposed to send for Hannah. I told him I designed to doso, through you--And shall I beg of you, my dear, to cause the honestcreature to be sent to? Your faithful Robert, I think, knows whereshe is. Perhaps she will be permitted to quit her place directly, byallowing a month's wages, which I will repay her. He took notice of theserious humour he found me in, and of the redness of my eyes. I had justbeen answering your letter; and had he not approached me, on hiscoming off his journey, in a very respectful manner; had he not made anunexceptionable report of his inquiries, and been so ready to go fromme, at the very first word; I was prepared (notwithstanding the goodterms we parted upon when he set out for Windsor) to have given him avery unwelcome reception: for the contents of your last letter had soaffected me, that the moment I saw him, I beheld with indignation theseducer, who had been the cause of all the evils I suffer, and havesuffered. 

He hinted to me, that he had received a letter from Lady Betty, andanother (as I understood him) from one of the Miss Montagues. If theytake notice of my in them, I wonder that he did not acquaint me with thecontents. I am afraid, my dear, that his relations are among those whothink I have taken a rash and inexcusable step. It is not to my creditto let even them know how I have been frighted out of myself: and yetperhaps they would hold me unworthy of their alliance, if they were tothink my flight a voluntary one. O my dear, how uneasy to us are ourreflections upon every doubtful occurrence, when we know we have beenprevailed upon to do a wrong thing!

SUNDAY MORNING. 

Ah! this man, my dear! We have had warmer dialogues than ever yet wehave had. At fair argument, I find I need not fear him;* but he is sucha wild, such an ungovernable creature [he reformed!] that I am halfafraid of him. 

 * See this confirmed by Mr. Lovelace, Letter XI. Of this volume. 

He again, on my declaring myself uneasy at his stay with me here, proposed that I would put myself into Lady Betty's protection; assuringme that he thought he could not leave me at Mrs. Sorlings's with safetyto myself. And upon my declining to do that, for the reasons I gave youin my last, * he urged me to make a demand of my estate. 

 * See Letter XXVIII. Of this volume. 

He knew it, I told him, to be my resolution not to litigate with myfather. 

Nor would he put me upon it, he replied, but as the last thing. Butif my spirit would not permit me to be obliged, as I called it, to anybody, and yet if my relations would refuse me my own, he knew not howI could keep up that spirit, without being put to inconveniences, which would give him infinite concern--Unless--unless--unless, he said, hesitating, as if afraid to speak out--unless I would take the onlymethod I could take, to obtain the possession of my own. 

What is that, Sir?

Sure the man saw by my looks, when he came with his creeping unless's, that I guessed what he meant. 

Ah! Madam, can you be at a loss to know what that method is?--They willnot dispute with a man that right which they contest with you. 

Why said he with a man, instead of with him? Yet he looked as if hewanted to be encouraged to say more. 

So, Sir, you would have me employ a lawyer, would you, notwithstandingwhat I have ever declared as to litigating with my father?

No, I would not, my dearest creature, snatching my hand, and pressing itwith his lips--except you would make me the lawyer. 

Had he said me at first, I should have been above the affectation ofmentioning a lawyer. 

I blushed. The man pursued not the subject so ardently, but that it wasmore easy as well as more natural to avoid it than to fall into it. 

Would to Heaven he might, without offending!--But I so over-awedhim!--[over-awed him!--Your* notion, my dear!]--And so the over-awed, bashful man went off from the subject, repeating his proposal, that Iwould demand my own estate, or empower some man of the law to demand it, if I would not [he put in] empower a happier man to demand it. But itcould not be amiss, he thought, to acquaint my two trustees, that Iintended to assume it. 

 * See Letter XIX. Of this volume. 

I should know better what to do, I told him, when he was at a distancefrom me, and known to be so. I suppose, Sir, that if my father proposemy return, and engage never to mentions Solmes to me, nor any other man, but by my consent, and I agree, upon that condition, to think no more ofyou, you will acquiesce. 

I was willing to try whether he had the regard to all of my previousdeclarations, which he pretended to have to some of them. 

He was struck all of a heap. 

What say you, Mr. Lovelace? You know, all you mean is for my good. Surely I am my own mistress: surely I need not ask your leave to makewhat terms I please for myself, so long as I break none with you?

He hemm'd twice or thrice--Why, Madam--why, Madam, I cannot say--thenpausing--and rising from his seat with petulance; I see plainly enough, said he, the reason why none of my proposals can be accepted: at last Iam to be a sacrifice to your reconciliation with your implacable family. 

It has always been your respectful way, Mr. Lovelace, to treat my familyin this free manner. But pray, Sir, when you call others implacable, seethat you deserve not the same censure yourself. 

He must needs say, there was no love lost between some of my family andhim; but he had not deserved of them what they had of him. 

Yourself being judge, I suppose, Sir?

All the world, you yourself, Madam, being judge. 

Then, Sir, let me tell you, had you been less upon your defiances, they would not have been irritated so much against you. But nobody everheard, that avowed despite to the relations of a person was a propercourtship, either to that person, or to her friends. 

Well, Madam, all that I know is, that their malice against me is such, that, if you determine to sacrifice me, you may be reconciled when youplease. 

And all I know, Sir, is, that if I do give my father the power of anegative, and he will be contented with that, it will be but my duty togive it him; and if I preserve one to myself, I shall break through noobligation to you. 

Your duty to your capricious brother, not to your father, you mean, Madam. 

If the dispute lay between my brother and me at first, surely, Sir, afather may choose which party he will take. 

He may, Madam--but that exempts him not from blame for all that, if hetake the wrong--

Different people will judge differently, Mr. Lovelace, of the right andthe wrong. You judge as you please. Shall not others as they please? Andwho has a right to controul a father's judgment in his own family, andin relation to his own child?

I know, Madam, there is no arguing with you. But, nevertheless, I hadhoped to have made myself some little merit with you, so as that I mightnot have been the preliminary sacrifice to a reconciliation. 

Your hope, Sir, had been better grounded if you had had my consent to myabandoning of my father's house--

Always, Madam, and for ever, to be reminded of the choice you would havemade of that damn'd Solmes--rather than--

Not so hasty! not so rash, Mr. Lovelace! I am convinced that there wasno intention to marry me to that Solmes on Wednesday. 

So I am told they now give out, in order to justify themselves at yourexpense. Every body living, Madam, is obliged to you for your kindthoughts but I. 

Excuse me, good Mr. Lovelace [waving my hand, and bowing], that I amwilling to think the best of my father. 

Charming creature! said he, with what a bewitching air is thatsaid!--And with a vehemence in his manner would have snatched my hand. But I withdrew it, being much offended with him. 

I think, Madam, my sufferings for your sake might have entitled me tosome favour. 

My sufferings, Sir, for your impetuous temper, set against yoursufferings for my sake, I humbly conceive, leave me very little yourdebtor. 

Lord! Madam, [assuming a drawling air] What have you suffered?--Nothingbut what you can easily forgive. You have been only made a prisoner inyour father's house, by way of doing credit to your judgment!--You haveonly had an innocent and faithful servant turned out of your service, because you loved her!--You have only had your sister's confidentservant set over you, with leave to tease and affront you--!

Very well, Sir!

You have only had an insolent brother take upon him to treat you like aslave, and as insolent a sister to undermine you in every body's favour, on pretence to keep you out of hands, which, if as vile as they vilelyreport, are not, however, half so vile and cruel as their own. 

Go on, Sir, if you please!

You have only been persecuted, in order to oblige you to have a sordidfellow, whom you have professed to hate, and whom every body despises!The license has been only got! The parson has only been had inreadiness! The day, a near, a very near day, had been only fixed! Andyou were only to be searched for your correspondencies, and still closerconfined till the day came, in order to deprive you of all means ofescaping the snare laid for you!--But all this you can forgive! Youcan wish you had stood all this; inevitable as the compulsion must havebeen!--And the man who, at the hazard of his life, had delivered youfrom all these mortifications, is the only person you cannot forgive!

Can't you go on, Sir? You see I have patience to hear you. Can't you goon, Sir?

I can, Madam, with my sufferings: which I confess ought not to bementioned, were I at last to be rewarded in the manner I hoped. 

Your sufferings then, if you please, Sir?

Affrontingly forbidden your father's house, after encouragement given, without any reasons they knew not before to justify the prohibition:forced upon a rencounter I wished to avoid: the first I ever, soprovoked, wished to avoid. And that, because the wretch was yourbrother!

Wretch, Sir!--And my brother!--This could be from no man breathing, butfrom him before me!

Pardon me, Madam!--But oh! how unworthy to be your brother!--The quarrelgrafted upon an old one, when at college; he universally known to be theaggressor; and revived for views equally sordid and injurious both toyourself and me--giving life to him, who would have taken away mine!

Your generosity THIS, Sir; not your sufferings: a little more of yoursufferings, if you please!--I hope you do not repent, that you did notmurder my brother!

My private life hunted into! My morals decried! Some of the accusers notunfaulty!

That's an aspersion, Sir!

Spies set upon my conduct! One hired to bribe my own servant's fidelity;perhaps to have poisoned me at last, if the honest fellow had not--

Facts, Mr. Lovelace!--Do you want facts in the display of yoursufferings?--None of your perhaps's, I beseech you!

Menaces every day, and defiances, put into every one's mouth against me!Forced to creep about in disguises--and to watch all hours--

And in all weathers, I suppose, Sir--That, I remember, was once yourgrievance! In all weathers, Sir!* and all these hardships arising fromyourself, not imposed by me. 

 * See Letter VI. Of this volume. 

Like a thief, or an eaves-dropper, proceeded he: and yet neither bybirth nor alliances unworthy of their relation, whatever I may be andam of their admirable daughter: of whom they, every one of them, are atleast as unworthy!--These, Madam, I call sufferings: justly call so; ifat last I am to be sacrificed to an imperfect reconciliation--imperfect, I say: for, can you expect to live so much as tolerably under the sameroof, after all that has passed, with that brother and sister?

O Sir, Sir! What sufferings have yours been! And all for my sake, Iwarrant!--I can never reward you for them!--Never think of me more Ibeseech you--How can you have patience with me?--Nothing has beenowing to your own behaviour, I presume: nothing to your defiances fordefiances: nothing to your resolution declared more than once, that youwould be related to a family, which, nevertheless, you would not stoopto ask a relation of: nothing, in short to courses which every bodyblamed you for, you not thinking it worth your while to justifyyourself. Had I not thought you used in an ungentlemanly manner, as Ihave heretofore told you, you had not had my notice by pen and ink. *That notice gave you a supposed security, and you generously defiedmy friends the more for it: and this brought upon me (perhaps notundeservedly) my father's displeasure; without which, my brother'sprivate pique, and selfish views, would have wanted a foundation tobuild upon: so that for all that followed of my treatment, and yourredundant only's, I might thank you principally, as you may yourself forall your sufferings, your mighty sufferings!--And if, voluble Sir, youhave founded any merit upon them, be so good as to revoke it: andlook upon me, with my forfeited reputation, as the only sufferer--Forwhat--pray hear me out, Sir [for he was going to speak] have yousuffered in but your pride? Your reputation could not suffer: thatit was beneath you to be solicitous about. And had you not been anunmanageable man, I should not have been driven to the extremity I nowevery hour, as the hour passes, deplore--with this additional reflectionupon myself, that I ought not to have begun, or, having begun, notcontinued a correspondence with one who thought it not worth his whileto clear his own character for my sake, or to submit to my father forhis own, in a point wherein every father ought to have an option--

 * See Letter VI. Of this volume. 

Darkness, light; light, darkness; by my soul;--just as you please tohave it. O charmer of my heart! snatching my hand, and pressing itbetween both of his, to his lips, in a strange wild way, take me, takeme to yourself: mould me as you please: I am wax in your hands; give meyour own impression; and seal me for ever yours--we were born for eachother!--You to make me happy, and save a soul--I am all error, allcrime. I see what I ought to have done. But do you think, Madam, I canwillingly consent to be sacrificed to a partial reconciliation, inwhich I shall be so great, so irreparable a sufferer!--Any thing butthat--include me in your terms: prescribe to me: promise for me as youplease--put a halter about my neck, and lead me by it, upon conditionof forgiveness on that disgraceful penance, and of a prostration asservile, to your father's penance (your brother absent), and I willbeg his consent at his feet, and bear any thing but spurning from him, because he is your father. But to give you up upon cold conditions, d----n me [said the shocking wretch] if I either will, or can!

These were his words, as near as I can remember them; for his behaviourwas so strangely wild and fervent, that I was perfectly frighted. Ithought he would have devoured my hand. I wished myself a thousand milesdistant from him. 

I told him, I by no means approved of his violent temper: he was tooboisterous a man for my liking. I saw now, by the conversation that hadpassed, what was his boasted regard to my injunctions; and shouldtake my measures accordingly, as he should soon find. And, with a halffrighted earnestness, I desired him to withdraw, and leave me to myself. 

He obeyed; and that with extreme complaisance in his manner, butwith his complexion greatly heightened, and a countenance as greatlydissatisfied. 

But, on recollecting all that passed, I plainly see that he means not, if he can help it, to leave me to the liberty of refusing him; which Ihad nevertheless preserved a right to do; but looks upon me as his, by astrange sort of obligation, for having run away with me against my will. 

Yet you see he but touches upon the edges of matrimony neither. Andthat at a time, generally, when he has either excited one's passionsor apprehensions; so that one cannot at once descend. But surely thiscannot be his design. --And yet such seemed to be his behaviour to mysister, * when he provoked her to refuse him, and so tamely submitted, ashe did, to her refusal. But he dare not--What can one say of so variousa man?--I am now again out of conceit with him. I wish I were fairly outof his power. 

 * See Vol. I. Letters II. And III. 

He has sent up three times to beg admittance; in the two last withunusual earnestness. But I have sent him word, I will finish what I amabout. 

What to do about going from this place, I cannot tell. I could stayhere with all my heart, as I have said to him: the gentlewoman and herdaughters are desirous that I will: although not very convenient forthem, I believe, neither: but I see he will not leave me, while I do--soI must remove somewhere. 

I have long been sick of myself: and now I am more and more so. Butlet me not lose your good opinion. If I do, that loss will complete themisfortunes of

Your CL. HARLOWE. 

LETTER XXX

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE SUNDAY NIGHT, APRIL 16. 

I may send to you, although you are forbid to write to me; may Inot?--For that is not a correspondence (is it?) where letters are notanswered. 

I am strangely at a loss what to think of this man. He is a perfectProteus. I can but write according to the shape he assumes at the time. Don't think me the changeable person, I beseech you, if in one letter Icontradict what I wrote in another; nay, if I seem to contradict whatI said in the same letter: for he is a perfect camelion; or rather morevariable than the camelion; for that, it is said, cannot assume thered and the white; but this man can. And though black seems to behis natural colour, yet has he taken great pains to make me think himnothing but white. 

But you shall judge of him as I proceed. Only, if I any where appearto you to be credulous, I beg you to set me right: for you are astander-by, as you say in a former*--Would to Heaven I were not to play!for I think, after all, I am held to a desperate game. 

 * See Letter VIII. Of this volume. 

Before I could finish my last to you, he sent up twice more to begadmittance. I returned for answer, that I would see him at my own time:I would neither be invaded nor prescribed to. 

Considering how we parted, and my delaying his audience, as he sometimescalls it, I expected him to be in no very good humour, when I admittedof his visit; and by what I wrote, you will conclude that I was not. Yetmine soon changed, when I saw his extreme humility at his entrance, andheard what he had to say. 

I have a letter, Madam, said he, from Lady Betty Lawrance, and anotherfrom my cousin Charlotte. But of these more by-and-by. I came now tomake my humble acknowledgement to you upon the arguments that passedbetween us so lately. 

I was silent, wondering what he was driving at. 

I am a most unhappy creature, proceeded he: unhappy from a strangeimpatiency of spirit, which I cannot conquer. It always brings upon medeserved humiliation. But it is more laudable to acknowledge, than topersevere when under the power of conviction. 

I was still silent. 

I have been considering what you proposed to me, Madam, that I shouldacquiesce with such terms as you should think proper to comply with, inorder to a reconciliation with your friends. 

Well, Sir. 

And I find all just, all just, on your side; and all impatience, allinconsideration on mine. 

I stared, you may suppose. Whence this change, Sir? and so soon?

I am so much convinced that you must be in the right in all you thinkfit to insist upon, that I shall for the future mistrust myself; and, if it be possible, whenever I differ with you, take an hour's time forrecollection, before I give way to that vehemence, which an opposition, to which I have not been accounted, too often gives me. 

All this is mighty good, Sir: But to what does it tend?

Why, Madam, when I came to consider what you had proposed, as to theterms of reconciliation with your friends; and when I recollected thatyou had always referred to yourself to approve or reject me, accordingto my merits or demerits; I plainly saw, that it was rather acondescension in you, than that you were imposing a new law: and Inow, Madam, beg your pardon for my impatience: whatever terms you thinkproper to come into with your relations, which will enable you tohonour me with the conditional effect of your promise to me, to these bepleased to consent: and if I lose you, insupportable as that thought isto me; yet, as it must be by my own fault, I ought to thank myself forit. 

What think you, Miss Howe?--Do you believe he can have any view inthis?--I cannot see any he could have; and I thought it best, as he putit in so right a manner, to appear not to doubt the sincerity of hisconfession, and to accept of it as sincere. 

He then read to me part of Lady Betty's letter; turning down thebeginning, which was a little too severe upon him, he said, for my eye:and I believe, by the style, the remainder of it was in a correctivestrain. 

It was too plain, I told him, that he must have great faults, that noneof his relations could write to him, but with a mingled censure for somebad action. 

And it is as plain, my dearest creature, said he, that you, who knownot of any such faults, but by surmise, are equally ready to condemnme. --Will not charity allow you to infer, that their charges are nobetter grounded?--And that my principal fault has been carelessness ofmy character, and too little solicitude to clear myself, when aspersed?Which, I do assure you, is the case. 

Lady Betty, in her letter, expresses herself in the most obliging mannerin relation to me. 'She wishes him so to behave, as to encourage me tomake him soon happy. She desires her compliments to me; and expressesher impatience to see, as her niece, so celebrated a lady [those are herhigh words]. She shall take it for an honour, she says, to be put intoa way to oblige me. She hopes I will not too long delay the ceremony;because that performed, will be to her, and to Lord M. And Lady Sarah, asure pledge of her nephew's merits and good behaviour. '

She says, 'she was always sorry to hear of the hardships I had met withon his account: that he will be the most ungrateful of me, if he make itnot all up to me: and that she thinks it incumbent upon all their familyto supply to me the lost favour of my own: and, for her part, nothing ofthat kind, she bids him assure me, shall be wanting. '

Her ladyship observes, 'That the treatment he had received from myfamily would have been much more unaccountable than it was, with suchnatural and accidental advantages as he had, had it not been owingto his own careless manners. But she hopes that he will convince theHarlowe family that they had thought worse of him than he had deserved;since now it was in his power to establish his character for ever. Thisshe prays to God to enable him to do, as well for his own honour, as forthe honour of their house, ' was the magnificent word. 

She concludes, with 'desiring to be informed of our nuptials the momentthey are celebrated, that she may be with the earliest in felicitatingme on the happy occasion. '

But her Ladyship gives me no direct invitation to attend her before themarriage: which I might have expected from what he had told me. 

He then shewed me part of Miss Montague's more sprightly letter, 'congratulating him upon the honour he had obtained, of the confidenceof so admirable a lady. ' These are her words. Confidence, my dear!Nobody, indeed, as you say, will believe otherwise, were they to betold the truth: and you see that Miss Montague (and all his family, Isuppose) think that the step I have taken an extraordinary one. 'Shealso wishes for his speedy nuptials; and to see her new cousin at M. Hall: as do Lord M. She tells him, and her sister; and in general allthe well-wishers of their family. 

'Whenever this happy day shall be passed, she proposes, she says, toattend me, and to make one in my train to M. Hall, if his Lordship shallcontinue as ill of the gout as he is at present. But that, should he getbetter, he will himself attend me, she is sure, and conduct me thither;and afterwards quit either of his three seats to us, till we shall besettled to our mind. '

This young lady says nothing in excuse for not meeting me on the road, or St. Alban's, as he had made me expect she would: yet mentions herhaving been indisposed. Mr. Lovelace had also told me, that Lord M. Wasill of the gout; which Miss Montague's letter confirms. 

But why did not the man show me these letters last night? Was he afraidof giving me too much pleasure?

LETTER XXXI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE

You may believe, my dear, that these letters put me in good humour withhim. He saw it in my countenance, and congratulated himself upon it. Yet I cannot but repeat my wonder, that I could not have the contents ofthem communicated to me last night. *

 * The reader will see how Miss Howe accounts for this, in Letter XXXV. 

He then urged me to go directly to Lady Betty's, on the strength of herletter. 

But how, said I, can I do that, were I even out of all hope of areconciliation with my friends, (which yet, however unlikely to beeffected, is my duty to attempt, ) as her Ladyship has given me noparticular invitation?

That, he was sure, was owing to her doubt that it would beaccepted--Else she had done it with the greatest pleasure in the world. 

That doubt itself, I said, was enough to deter me: since her Ladyship, who knew so well the boundaries to the fit and the unfit, by her notexpecting I would accept of the invitation, had she given it, would havereason to think me very forward, if I had accepted it; and much moreforward to go without it. Then, said I, I thank you, Sir, I have noclothes fit to go any where, or to be seen by any body. 

O, I was fit to appear in the drawing-room, were full dress andjewels to be excused; and should make the most amiable [he must meanextraordinary] figure there. He was astonished at the elegance of mydress. By what art he knew not, but I appeared to such advantage, as ifI had a different suit every day. 

Besides, his cousins Montague would supply me with all I wanted for thepresent; and he would write to Miss Charlotte accordingly, if I wouldgive him leave. 

Do you think me the jay in the fable? said I. Would you have me visitthe owners of the borrowed dresses in their own clothes? Surely, Mr. Lovelace, you think I have either a very low, or a very confident mind. 

Would I choose to go to London (for a very few days only) in order tofurnish myself with clothes?

Not at your expense, Sir, said I, in an angry tone. 

I could not have appeared in earnest to him, in my displeasure at hisartful contrivances to get me away, if I were not occasionally to shewmy real fretfulness upon the destitute condition to which he has reducedme. When people set out wrong together, it is very difficult to avoidrecriminations. 

He wished he knew but my mind--That should direct him in his proposals, and it would be his delight to observe it, whatever it were. 

My mind is, that you, Sir, should leave me out of hand--How often must Itell you so?

If I were any where but here, he would obey me, he said, if I insistedupon it. But if I would assert my right, that would be infinitelypreferable, in his opinion, to any other measure but one (which he durstonly hint at:) for then admitting his visits, or refusing them, as Ipleased, (Granting a correspondence by letter only) it would appearto all the world, that what I had done, was but in order to do myselfjustice. 

How often, Mr. Lovelace, must I repent, that I will not litigate with myfather? Do you think that my unhappy circumstances will alter my notionsof my own duty so far as I shall be enabled to perform it? How can Iobtain possession without litigation, and but by my trustees? One ofthem will be against me; the other is abroad. Then the remedy proposedby this measure, were I disposed to fall in with it, will require timeto bring it into effect; and what I want, is present independence, andyour immediate absence. 

Upon his soul, the wretch swore, he did not think it safe, for thereasons he had before given, to leave me here. He wished I would thinkof some place, to which I should like to go. But he must takethe liberty to say, that he hoped his behaviour had not been soexceptionable, as to make me so very earnest for his absence in theinterim: and the less, surely, as I was almost eternally shutting upmyself from him; although he presumed to assure me, that he never wentfrom me, but with a corrected heart, and with strengthened resolutionsof improving by my example. 

Externally shutting myself up from you! repeated I--I hope, Sir, that Iexpect to be uninvaded in my retirements. I hope you do not think me soweak a creature (novice as you have found me in a very capital instance)as to be fond of occasions to hear your fond speeches, especially as nodiffering circumstances require your over-frequent visits; nor that I amto be addressed to, as if I thought hourly professions needful to assureme of your honour. 

He seemed a little disconcerted. 

You know, Mr. Lovelace, proceeded I, why I am so earnest for yourabsence. It is, that I may appear to the world independent of you; andin hopes, by that means, to find it less difficult to set on foot areconciliation with my friends. And now let me add, (in order to makeyou easier as to the terms of that hoped-for reconciliation, ) that sinceI find I have the good fortune to stand so well with your relations, Iwill, from time to time, acquaint you, by letter, when you are absent, with every step I shall take, and with every overture that shall be madeto me: but not with an intention to render myself accountable to you, neither, as to my acceptance or non-acceptance of those overtures. Theyknow that I have a power given me by my grandfather's will, to bequeaththe estate he left me, with other of his bounties, in a way that mayaffect them, though not absolutely from them. This consideration, Ihope, will procure me some from them, when their passion subsides, andwhen they know I am independent of you. 

Charming reasoning!--And let him tell me, that the assurance I hadgiven him was all he wished for. It was more than he could ask. What ahappiness to have a woman of honour and generosity to depend upon! Hadhe, on his first entrance into the world, met with such a one, he hadnever been other than a man of strict virtue. --But all, he hoped, was for the best; since, in that case, he had never perhaps had thehappiness he now had in view; because his relations had always beenurging him to marry; and that before he had the honour to know me. Andnow, as he had not been so bad as some people's malice reported him tobe, he hoped he should have near as much merit in his repentance, asif he had never erred. --A fine rakish notion and hope! And too muchencouraged, I doubt, my dear, by the generality of our sex!

This brought on a more serious question or two. You'll see by it what acreature an unmortified libertine is. 

I asked him, if he knew what he had said, alluded to a sentence in thebest of books, That there as more joy in heaven--

He took the words out of my mouth, Over one sinner that repenteth, than over ninety-and-nine just persons, which need no repentance, * were his words. 

 * Luke xv. 7. The parable is concerning the Ninety-nine Sheep, not theProdigal Son, as Mr. Lovelace erroneously imagines. 

Yes, Madam, I thought of it, as soon as I said it, but not before. Ihave read the story of the Prodigal Son, I'll assure you; and one day, when I am settled as I hope to be, will write a dramatic piece on thesubject. I have at times had it in my head; and you will be too ready, perhaps, to allow me to be qualified fro it. 

You so lately, Sir, stumbled at a word, with which you must be betteracquainted, ere you can be thoroughly master of such a subject, that Iam amazed you should know any thing of the Scripture, and be so ignorantof that. *

 * See Letter XXIV. Of this volume. 

O Madam, I have read the Bible, as a fine piece of ancient history--Butas I hope to be saved, it has for some years past made me so uneasy, when I have popped upon some passages in it, that I have been forced torun to music or company to divert myself. 

Poor wretch! lifting up my hands and eyes. 

The denunciations come so slap-dash upon one, so unceremoniously, as Imay say, without even the By-your-leave of a rude London chairman, thatthey overturn one, horse and man, as St. Paul was overturned. There'sanother Scripture allusion, Madam! The light, in short, as his was, istoo glaring to be borne. 

O Sir, do you want to be complimented into repentance and salvation?But pray, Mr. Lovelace, do you mean any thing at all, when you swear sooften as you do, By your soul, or bind an asseveration with the words, As you hope to be saved?

O my beloved creature, shifting his seat; let us call another cause. 

Why, Sir, don't I neither use ceremony enough with you?

Dearest Madam, forbear for the present: I am but in my noviciate. Yourfoundation must be laid brick by brick: you'll hinder the progress ofthe good work you would promote, if you tumble in a whole wagon-load atonce upon me. 

Lord bless me, thought I, what a character is that of a libertine!What a creature am I, who have risked what I have risked with such aone!--What a task before me, if my hopes continue of reforming such awild Indian as this!--Nay, worse than a wild Indian; for a man who errswith his eyes open, and against conviction, is a thousand times worsefor what he knows, and much harder to be reclaimed, than if he had neverknown any thing at all. 

I was equally shocked at him, and concerned for him; and having laid sofew bricks (to speak to his allusion) and those so ill-cemented, I wasas willing as the gay and inconsiderate to call another cause, as hetermed it--another cause, too, more immediately pressing upon me, frommy uncertain situation. 

I said, I took it for granted that he assented to the reasoning heseemed to approve, and would leave me. And then I asked him, what hereally, and in his most deliberate mind, would advise me to, in mypresent situation? He must needs see, I said, that I was at a great losswhat to resolve upon; entirely a stranger to London, having no adviser, no protector, at present: himself, he must give me leave to tellhim, greatly deficient in practice, if not in the knowledge, of thosedecorums, which, I had supposed, were always to be found in a man ofbirth, fortune, and education. 

He imagines himself, I find, to be a very polite man, and cannot bear tobe thought otherwise. He put up his lip--I am sorry for it, Madam--a manof breeding, a man of politeness, give me leave to say, [colouring, ] ismuch more of a black swan with you, than with any lady I ever met with. 

Then that is your misfortune, Mr. Lovelace, as well as mine, at present. Every woman of discernment, I say as I say, [I had a mind to mortify apride, that I am sure deserves to be mortified;] that your politeness isnot regular, nor constant. It is not habit. It is too much seen by fitsand starts, and sallies, and those not spontaneous. You must be remindedinto them. 

O Lord! O Lord!--Poor I!--was the light, yet the half-angry wretch'sself-pitying expression!

I proceeded. --Upon my word, Sir, you are not the accomplished man, whichyour talents and opportunities would have led one to expect you to be. You are indeed in your noviciate, as to every laudable attainment. 

LETTER XXXII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE [IN CONTINUATION. ]

As this subject was introduced by himself, and treated so lightly byhim, I was going on to tell him more of my mind; but he interruptedme--Dear, dear Madam, spare me. I am sorry that I have lived to thishour for nothing at all. But surely you could not have quitted a subjectso much more agreeable, and so much more suitable, I will say, to yourpresent situation, if you had not too cruel a pleasure in mortifying aman, who the less needed to be mortified, as he before looked up to youwith a diffidence in his own merits too great to permit him to speakhalf of his mind to you. Be pleased but to return to the subject we wereupon; and at another time I will gladly embrace correction from the onlylips in the world so qualified to give it. 

You talk of reformation sometimes, Mr. Lovelace, and in so talking, acknowledge errors. But I see you can very ill bear the reproof, forwhich perhaps you are not solicitous to avoid giving occasion. Far be itfrom me to take delight in finding fault; I should be glad for both oursakes, since my situation is what it is, that I could do nothing butpraise you. But failures which affect a mind that need not be verydelicate to be affected by them, are too grating to be passed over insilence by a person who wises to be though in earnest in her own duties. 

I admire your delicacy, Madam, again interrupted he. Although I sufferby it, yet would I not have it otherwise: indeed I would not, when Iconsider of it. It is an angelic delicacy, which sets you above all oursex, and even above your own. It is natural to you, Madam; so you maythink it extraordinary: but there is nothing like it on earth, said theflatterer--What company has he kept!

But let us return to the former subject--You were so good as to ask mewhat I would advise you to do: I want but to make you easy; I want butto see you fixed to your liking: your faithful Hannah with you; yourreconciliation with those to whom you wish to be reconciled, seton foot, and in a train. And now let me mention to you differentexpedients; in hopes that some one of them may be acceptable to you. 

'I will go to Mrs. Howe, or to Miss Howe, or to whomsoever you wouldhave me to go, and endeavour to prevail upon them to receive you. *

 * The reader, perhaps, need not be reminded that he had taken care fromthe first (see Vol. I. Letter XXXI. ) to deprive her of any protectionfrom Mrs. Howe. See in his next letter, a repeated account of the sameartifices, and his exultations upon his inventions to impose upon thetwo such watchful ladies as Clarissa and Miss Howe. 

'Do you incline to go to Florence to your cousin Morden? I will furnishyou with an opportunity of going thither, either by sea to Leghorn, or by land through France. Perhaps I may be able to procure one ofthe ladies of my family to attend you. Either Charlotte or Patty wouldrejoice in such an opportunity of seeing France and Italy. As formyself, I will only be your escort, in disguise, if you will have it so, even in your livery, that your punctilio may not receive offence by myattendance. '

I told him, I would consider of all he had said: but that I hoped for aline or two from my aunt Hervey, if not from my sister, to both ofwhom I had written, which, if I were to be so favoured, might help todetermine me. Mean time, if he would withdraw, I would particularlyconsider of this proposal of his, in relation to my cousin Morden. Andif it held its weight with me, so far as to write for your opinion uponit, he should know my mind in an hour's time. 

He withdrew with great respect: and in an hour's time returned. And Ithen told him it was unnecessary to trouble you for your opinion aboutit. My cousin Morden was soon expected. If he were not, I could notadmit him to accompany me to him upon any condition. It was highlyimprobable that I should obtain the favour of either of his cousins'company: and if that could be brought about, it would be the same thingin the world's eye as if he went himself. 

This led us into another conversation; which shall be the subject of mynext. 

LETTER XXXIII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [IN CONTINUATION. ]

Mr. Lovelace told me, that on the supposition that his proposal inrelation to my cousin Morden might not be accepted, he had been studyingto find out, if possible, some other expedient that might be agreeable, in order to convince me, that he preferred my satisfaction to his own. 

He then offered to go himself, and procure my Hannah to come andattend me. As I had declined the service of either of the young MissesSorlings, he was extremely solicitous, he said, that I should have aservant in whose integrity I might confide. 

I told him, that you would be so kind as to send to engage Hannah, ifpossible. 

If any thing, he said, should prevent Hannah from coming, suppose hehimself waited upon Miss Howe, to desire her to lend me her servant tillI was provided to my mind?

I said, your mother's high displeasure at the step I had taken, (as shesupposed, voluntarily, ) had deprived me of an open assistance of thatsort from you. 

He was amazed, so much as Mrs. Howe herself used to admire me, and sogreat an influence as Miss Howe was supposed, and deserved to haveover her mother, that Mrs. Howe should take upon herself to be so muchoffended with me. He wished that the man, who took such pains to keep upand enflame the passions of my father and uncles, were not at the bottomof this mischief too. 

I was afraid, I said, that my brother was: or else my uncle Antony, Idared to say, would not have taken such pains to set Mrs. Howe againstme, as I understood he had done. 

Since I had declined visiting Lady Sarah, and Lady Betty, he asked me, if I should accept of a visit from his cousin Montague, and accept of aservant of hers for the present?

That was not, I said, an acceptable proposal: but I would first see ifmy friends would send me my clothes, that I might not make such a giddyand runaway appearance to any of his relations. 

If I pleased, he would take another journey to Windsor, to make a moreparticular inquiry amongst the canons, or in any worthy family. 

Were not his objections as to the publicness of the place, I asked him, as strong now as before?

I remember, my dear, in one of your former letters, you mentioned Londonas the most private place to be in:* and I said, that since he made suchpretences against leaving me here, as shewed he had no intention to doso; and since he engaged to go from me, and leave me to pursue myown measures, if I were elsewhere; and since his presence made theselodgings inconvenient to me; I should not be disinclined to go toLondon, did I know any body there. 

 * See Vol. II. Letter XXXVII. 

As he had several times proposed London to me, I expected that he wouldeagerly have embraced that motion from me. But he took not ready hold ofit: yet I thought his eye approved of it. 

We are both great watchers of each other's eyes; and, indeed, seem to bemore than half afraid of each other. 

He then made a grateful proposal to me: 'that I would send for my Nortonto attend me. '*

 * The reader is referred to Mr. Lovelace's next letter, for his motivesin making the several proposals of which the Lady is willing to think sowell. 

He saw by my eyes, he said, that he had at last been happy in anexpedient, which would answer the wishes of us both. Why, says he, didI not think of it before?--And snatching my hand, Shall I write, Madam?Shall I send? Shall I go and fetch the worthy woman myself?

After a little consideration, I told him that this was indeed a gratefulmotion: but that I apprehended it would put her to a difficulty whichshe would not be able to get over; as it would make a woman of her knownprudence appear to countenance a fugitive daughter in opposition toher parents; and as her coming to me would deprive her of my mother'sfavour, without its being in my power to make it up to her. 

O my beloved creature! said he, generously enough, let not this bean obstacle. I will do every thing for Mrs. Norton you wish to havedone. --Let me go for her. 

More coolly than perhaps his generosity deserved, I told him it wasimpossible but I must soon hear from my friends. I should not, meantime, embroil any body with them. Not Mrs. Norton especially, from whoseinterest in, and mediation with, my mother, I might expect some good, were she to keep herself in a neutral state: that, besides, the goodwoman had a mind above her fortune; and would sooner want than bebeholden to any body improperly. 

Improperly! said he. --Have not persons of merit a right to all thebenefits conferred upon them?--Mrs. Norton is so good a woman, that Ishall think she lays me under an obligation if she will put it in mypower to serve her; although she were not to augment it, by giving methe opportunity, at the same time, of contributing to your pleasure andsatisfaction. 

How could this man, with such powers of right thinking, be so fardepraved by evil habits, as to disgrace his talents by wrong acting?

Is there not room, after all, thought I, at the time, to hope (as he solately led me to hope) that the example it will behove me, for bothour sakes, to endeavour to set him, may influence him to a change ofmanners, in which both may find our account?

Give me leave, Sir, said I, to tell you, there is a strange mixture inyour mind. You must have taken pains to suppress many good motionsand reflections as they arose, or levity must have been surprisinglypredominant in it. --But as to the subject we were upon, there is notaking any resolutions till I hear from my friends. 

Well, Madam, I can only say, I would find out some expedient, if Icould, that should be agreeable to you. But since I cannot, will you beso good as to tell me what you would wish to have done? Nothing in theworld but I will comply with, excepting leaving you here, at such adistance from the place I shall be in, if any thing should happen; andin a place where my gossiping rascals have made me in a manner public, for want of proper cautions at first. 

These vermin, added he, have a pride they can hardly rein-in, whenthey serve a man of family. They boast of their master's pedigree anddescent, as if they were related to him. Nor is any thing they know ofhim, or of his affairs, a secret to one another, were it a matter thatwould hang him. 

If so, thought I, men of family should take care to give them subjectsworth boasting of. 

I am quite at a loss, said I, what to do or where to go. Would you, Mr. Lovelace, in earnest, advise me to think of going to London?

And I looked at him with stedfastness. But nothing could I gather fromhis looks. 

At first, Madam, said he, I was for proposing London, as I was then moreapprehensive of pursuit. But as your relations seem cooler on that head, I am the more indifferent about the place you go to. --So as you arepleased, so as you are easy, I shall be happy. 

This indifference of his to London, I cannot but say, made me inclinethe more to go thither. I asked him (to hear what he would say) if hecould recommend me to any particular place in London?

No, he said: none that was fit for me, or that I should like. His friendBelford, indeed, had very handsome lodgings near Soho-square, at arelation's, whose wife was a woman of virtue and honour. These, as Mr. Belford was generally in the country, he could borrow till I was betteraccommodated. 

I was resolved to refuse these at the first mention, as I should anyother he had named. Nevertheless, I will see, thought I, if he hasreally thought of these for me. If I break off the talk here, and heresume this proposal with earnestness in the morning, I shall apprehendthat he is less indifferent than he seems to be about my going toLondon, and that he has already a lodging in his eye for me. And then Iwill not go at all. 

But after such generous motions from him, I really think it a littlebarbarous to act and behave as if I thought him capable of the blackestand most ungrateful baseness. But his character, his principles, are sofaulty! He is so light, so vain, so various, that there is no certaintythat he will be next hour what he is this. Then, my dear, I have noguardian now; no father, no mother! only God and my vigilance to dependupon. And I have no reason to expect a miracle in my favour. 

Well, Sir, said I, [rising to leave him, ] something must be resolvedupon: but I will postpone this subject till to-morrow morning. 

He would fain have engaged me longer: but I said I would see him asearly as he pleased in the morning. He might think of any convenientplace in London, or near it, in mean time. 

And so I retired from him. As I do from my pen; hoping for better restfor the few hours that remain of this night than I have had of a longtime. 

CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER XXXIV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [IN CONTINUATION. ] MONDAY MORNING, APRIL 17. 

Late as I went to bed, I have had very little rest. Sleep and I havequarreled; and although I court it, it will not be friends. I hope itsfellow-irreconcilables at Harlowe-place enjoy its balmy comforts. Elsethat will be an aggravation of my fault. My brother and sister, I daresay, want it not. 

Mr. Lovelace, who is an early riser, as well as I, joined me in thegarden about six; and after the usual salutations, asked me to resumeour last night's subject. It was upon lodgings at London, he said. 

I think you mentioned one to me, Sir--Did you not?

Yes, Madam, [but, watching the turn of my countenance, ] rather as whatyou would be welcome to, than perhaps approve of. 

I believe so too. To go to town upon an uncertainty, I own, is notagreeable: but to be obliged to any persons of your acquaintance, whenI want to be thought independent of you; and to a person, especially, towhom my friends are to direct to me, if they vouchsafe to take notice ofme at all, is an absurd thing to mention. 

He did not mention it as what he imagined I would accept, but only toconfirm to me what he had said, that he himself knew of none fit for me. 

Has not your family, Madam, some one tradesman they deal with, who hasconveniences of this kind? I would make it worth such a person's whileto keep his secret of your being at his house. Traders are dealers inpins, said he, and will be more obliged by a penny customer, than by apound present, because it is in their way: yet will refuse neither, anymore than a lawyer or a man of office his fee. 

My father's tradesmen, I said, would, no doubt, be the first employed tofind me out. So that that proposal was as wrong as the other. And whois it that a creature so lately in favour with all her friends can applyto, in such a situation as mine, but must be (at least) equally thefriends of her relations. 

We had a good deal of discourse upon the same topic. But, at last, theresult was this--He wrote a letter to one Mr. Doleman, a married man, of fortune and character, (I excepting to Mr. Belford, ) desiring himto provide decent apartments ready furnished [I had told him what theyshould be] for a single woman; consisting of a bed-chamber; another fora maidservant; with the use of a dining-room or parlour. This letter hegave me to peruse; and then sealed it up, and dispatched it away in mypresence, by one of his own servants, who, having business in town, isto bring back an answer. 

I attend the issue of it; holding myself in readiness to set out forLondon, unless you, my dear, advise the contrary. 

LETTER XXXV

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SAT. , SUNDAY, MONDAY. 

 He gives, in several letters, the substance of what is contained in the last seven of the Lady's. 

 He tells his friend, that calling at The Lawn, in his way to M. Hall, (for he owns that he went not to Windsor, ) he found the letters from Lady Betty Lawrance, and his cousin Montague, which Mrs. Greme was about sending to him by a special messenger. 

 He gives the particulars, from Mrs. Greme's report, of what passed between the Lady and her, as in Letter VI. And makes such declarations to Mrs. Greme of his honour and affection to the Lady, as put her upon writing the letter to her sister Sorlings, the contents of which are in Letter XXVIII. 

 He then accounts, as follows, for the serious humour he found her in on his return:

Upon such good terms when we parted, I was surprised to find so solemn abrow upon my return, and her charming eyes red with weeping. But when Ihad understood she had received letters from Miss Howe, it was naturalto imagine that that little devil had put her out of humour with me. 

It is easy for me to perceive, that my charmer is more sullen whenshe receives, and has perused, a letter from that vixen, than at othertimes. But as the sweet maid shews, even then, more of passive grief, than of active spirit, I hope she is rather lamenting than plotting. And, indeed, for what now should she plot? when I am become a reformedman, and am hourly improving in my morals?--Nevertheless, I mustcontrive some way or other to get at their correspondence--only to seethe turn of it; that's all. 

But no attempt of this kind must be made yet. A detected invasion, in anarticle so sacred, would ruin me beyond retrieve. Nevertheless, it vexesme to the heart to think that she is hourly writing her whole mind onall that passes between her and me, I under the same roof with her, yet kept at such awful distance, that I dare not break into acorrespondence, that may perhaps be a mean to defeat all my devices. 

Would it be very wicked, Jack, to knock her messenger on the head, ashe is carrying my beloved's letters, or returning from Miss Howe's?--Toattempt to bribe him, and not succeed, would utterly ruin me. And theman seems to be one used to poverty, one who can sit down satisfied withit, and enjoy it; contented with hand-to-mouth conveniencies, and notaiming to live better to-morrow, than he does to-day, and than he didyesterday. Such a one is above temptation, unless it could come clothedin the guise of truth and trust. What likelihood of corrupting a man whohas no hope, no ambition?

Yet the rascal has but half life, and groans under that. Should I beanswerable in his case for a whole life?--But hang the fellow! Let himlive. Were I king, or a minister of state, an Antonio Perez, * it wereanother thing. And yet, on second thoughts, am I not a rake, as it iscalled? And who ever knew a rake stick at any thing? But thou knowest, Jack, that the greatest half of my wickedness is vapour, to shew myinvention; and to prove that I could be mischievous if I would. 

 * Antonio Perez was first minister of Philip II. King of Spain, by whosecommand he caused Don Juan de Escovedo to be assassinated: which broughton his own ruin, through the perfidy of his viler master. --Gedde'sTracts. 

 When he comes to that part where the Lady says (Letter XXIX. ) in a sarcastic way, waving her hand, and bowing, 'Excuse me, good Mr. Lovelace, that I am willing to think the best of my father, ' he gives a description of her air and manner, greatly to her advantage; and says, I could hardly forbear taking her into my arms upon it, in spite of anexpected tempest. So much wit, so much beauty, such a lively manner, and such exceeding quickness and penetration! O Belford! she must benobody's but mine. I can now account for and justify Herod's command todestroy his Mariamne, if he returned not alive from his interview withCaesar: for were I to know that it were but probable that any otherman were to have this charming creature, even after my death, the verythought would be enough to provoke me to cut that man's throat, were hea prince. 

I may be deemed by this lady a rapid, a boisterous lover--and she maylike me the less for it: but all the ladies I have met with, till now, loved to raise a tempest, and to enjoy it: nor did they ever raise it, but I enjoyed it too!--Lord send us once happily to London!

 Mr. Lovelace gives the following account of his rude rapture, when he seized her hand, and put her, by his WILD manner, as she expresses it, Letter XXXIX. Into such terror. 

Darkness and light, I swore, were convertible at her pleasure: she couldmake any subject plausible. I was all error: she all perfection. And Isnatched her hand; and, more than kissed it, I was ready to devour it. There was, I believe, a kind of phrensy in my manner, which threw herinto a panic, like that of Semele perhaps, when the Thunderer, in allhis majesty, surrounded with ten thousand celestial burning-glasses, wasabout to scorch her into a cinder. 

*****

Had not my heart misgiven me, and had I not, just in time, recollectedthat she was not so much in my power, but that she might abandon me ather pleasure, having more friends in that house than I had, I should atthat moment have made offers, that would have decided all, one wayor other. --But, apprehending that I had shewn too much meaning in mypassion, I gave it another turn. --But little did the charmer think thatan escape either she or I had (as the event might have proved) fromthat sudden gust of passion, which had like to have blown me intoher arms. --She was born, I told her, to make me happy and to save asoul. ----

 He gives the rest of his vehement speech pretty nearly in the same words as the Lady gives them: and then proceeds:

I saw she was frighted: and she would have had reason had the scene beenLondon, and that place in London, which I have in view to carry her to. She confirmed me in my apprehension, that I had alarmed her too much:she told me, that she saw what my boasted regard to her injunctions was;and she would take proper measures upon it, as I should find: that shewas shocked at my violent airs; and if I hoped any favour from her, Imust that instant withdraw, and leave her to her recollection. 

She pronounced this in such a manner as shewed she was set upon it; and, having stepped out of the gentle, and polite part I had so newly engagedto act, I thought ready obedience was the best atonement. And indeed Iwas sensible, from her anger and repulses, that I wanted time myselffor recollection. And so I withdrew, with the same veneration as apetitioning subject would withdraw from the presence of his sovereign. But, O Belford! had she had but the least patience with me--had she butmade me think she would forgive this initiatory ardour--surely she willnot be always thus guarded. --

I had not been a moment by myself, but I was sensible that I had halfforfeited my newly-assumed character. It is exceedingly difficult, thouseest, for an honest man to act in disguises: as the poet says, ThrustNature back with a pitchfork, it will return. I recollected, that whatshe had insisted upon was really a part of that declared will before sheleft her father's house, to which in another case (to humble her) I hadpretended to have an inviolable regard. And when I had remembered herwords of taking her measures accordingly, I was resolved to sacrificea leg or an arm to make all up again, before she had time to determineupon any new measures. 

How seasonably to this purpose have come in my aunt's and cousin'sletters!

*****

I have sent in again and again to implore her to admit me to herpresence. But she will conclude a letter she is writing to Miss Howe, before she will see me. --I suppose to give her an account of what hasjust passed. 

*****

Curse upon her perverse tyranny! How she makes me wait for an humbleaudience, though she has done writing for some time! A prince beggingfor her upon his knees should not prevail upon me to spare her, if I canbut get her to London--Oons! Jack, I believe I have bit my lip throughfor vexation!--But one day her's shall smart for it. 

 Mr. Lovelace, beginning a new date, gives an account of his admittance, and of the conversation that followed: which differing only in style from that of the Lady gives in the next letter is omitted. 

 He collects the lady's expressions, which his pride cannot bear: such as, That he is a stranger to the decorums which she thought inseparable from a man of birth and education; and that he is not the accomplished man he imagines himself to be; and threatens to remember them against her. 

 He values himself upon his proposals and speeches, which he gives to his friend pretty much to the same purpose that the Lady does in her four last letters. 

 After mentioning his proposal to her that she would borrow a servant from Miss Howe, till Hannah could come, he writes as follows:

Thou seest, Belford, that my charmer has no notion that Miss Howeherself is but a puppet danced upon my wires at second or third hand. Tooutwit, and impel, as I please, two such girls as these, who think theyknow every thing; and, by taking advantage of the pride and ill-natureof the old ones of both families, to play them off likewise at the verytime they think they are doing me spiteful displeasure; what charmingrevenge!--Then the sweet creature, when I wished that her brother wasnot at the bottom of Mrs. Howe's resentment, to tell me, that she wasafraid he was, or her uncle would not have appeared against her to thatlady!--Pretty dear! how innocent!

But don't think me the cause neither of her family's malice andresentment. It is all in their hearts. I work but with their materials. They, if left to their own wicked direction, would perhaps express theirrevenge by fire and faggot; that is to say, by the private dagger, orby Lord Chief Justices' warrants, by law, and so forth: I only pointthe lightning, and teach it where to dart, without the thunder. In otherwords, I only guide the effects: the cause is in their malignant hearts:and while I am doing a little mischief, I prevent a great deal. 

Thus he exults on her mentioning London:

I wanted her to propose London herself. This made me again mentionWindsor. If you would have a woman do one thing, you must always proposeanother, and that the very contrary: the sex! the very sex! as I hopeto be saved!--Why, Jack, they lay a man under a necessity to deal doublywith them! And, when they find themselves outwitted, they cry out uponan honest fellow, who has been too hard for them at their own weapons. 

I could hardly contain myself. My heart was at my throat. --Down, down, said I to myself, exuberant exultation! A sudden cough befriended me;I again turned to her, all as indifferenced over as a girl at the firstlong-expected question, who waits for two more. I heard out the rest ofher speech: and when she had done, instead of saying any thing to herfor London, I advised her to send for Mrs. Norton. 

As I knew she would be afraid of lying under obligation, I could haveproposed to do so much for the good woman and her son, as would havemade her resolve that I should do nothing: this, however, not merely toavoid expense. But there was no such thing as allowing of the presenceof Mrs. Norton. I might as well have had her mother or her aunt Herveywith her. Hannah, had she been able to come, and had she actually come, I could have done well enough with. What do I keep fellows idling in thecountry for, but to fall in love, and even to marry those whom I wouldhave them marry? Nor, upon second thoughts, would the presence of herNorton, or of her aunt, or even of her mother, have saved the dearcreature, had I decreed her fall. 

How unequal is a modest woman to the adventure, when she throws herselfinto the power of a rake! Punctilio will, at any time, stand for reasonwith such an one. She cannot break through a well-tested modesty. Nonebut the impudent little rogues, who can name the parson and the churchbefore you think of either, and undress and go to bed before you thenext hour, should think of running away with a man. 

*****

I am in the right train now. Every hour, I doubt not, will give me anincreasing interest in the affections of this proud beauty. I have justcarried unpoliteness far enough to make her afraid of me; and to shewher, that I am no whiner. Every instance of politeness, now, will giveme double credit with her. My next point will be to make her acknowledgea lambent flame, a preference of me to all other men, at least: andthen my happy hour is not far off. An acknowledged reciprocality in lovesanctifies every little freedom: and little freedoms beget greater. And if she call me ungenerous, I can call her cruel. The sex love to becalled cruel. Many a time have I complained of cruelty, even in the actof yielding, because I knew it gratified the fair one's pride. 

Mentioning that he had only hinted at Mr. Belford's lodgings as an instance to confirm what he had told her, that he knew of none in London fit for her, he says, I had a mind to alarm her with something furthest from my purpose; for(as much as she disliked my motion) I intend nothing by it: Mrs. Osgoodis too pious a woman; and would have been more her friend than mine. 

I had a view, moreover, to give her an high opinion of her own sagacity. I love, when I dig a put, to have my prey tumble in with secure feet, and open eyes: then a man can look down upon her, with an O-ho, charmer, how came you there?

MONDAY, APRIL 17. 

I have just now received a fresh piece of intelligence from my agent, honest Joseph Leman. Thou knowest the history of poor Miss Betterton ofNottingham. James Harlowe is plotting to revive the resentments of herfamily against me. The Harlowes took great pains, some time ago, toendeavour to get to the bottom of that story. But now the foolish devilsare resolved to do something in it, if they can. My head is working tomake this booby 'squire a plotter, and a clever fellow, in order to turnhis plots to my advantage, supposing his sister shall aim to keep meat arm's length when in town, and to send me from her. But I will, inproper time, let thee see Joseph's letter, and what I shall answer toit. * To know in time a designed mischief, is, with me, to disappoint it, and to turn it upon the contriver's head. 

 * See Letters XLVII. , XLVIII. Of this volume. 

Joseph is plaguy squeamish again; but I know he only intends by hisqualms to swell his merits with me. O Belford! Belford! what a vilecorruptible rogue, whether in poor or rich, is human nature!

LETTER XXXVI

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [IN ANSWER TO LETTERSXXVIII. --XXXIV. INCLUSIVE. ] TUESDAY, APRIL 18. 

You have a most implacable family. Another visit from your uncle Antonyhas not only confirmed my mother an enemy to our correspondence, but hasalmost put her upon treading in their steps. --

But to other subjects:

You plead generously for Mr. Hickman. Perhaps, with regard to him, Imay have done, as I have often done in singing--begun a note or keytoo high; and yet, rather than begin again, proceed, though I strainmy voice, or spoil my tune. But this is evident, the man is the moreobservant for it; and you have taught me, that the spirit which is thehumbler for ill usage, will be insolent upon better. So, good and graveMr. Hickman, keep your distance a little longer, I beseech you. You haveerected an altar to me; and I hope you will not refuse to bow to it. 

But you ask me, if I would treat Mr. Lovelace, were he to be in Mr. Hickman's place, as I do Mr. Hickman? Why really, my dear, I believe Ishould not. --I have been very sagely considering this point of behaviour(in general) on both sides in courtship; and I will very candidly tellyou the result. I have concluded, that politeness, even to excess, is necessary on the men's part, to bring us to listen to their firstaddresses, in order to induce us to bow our necks to a yoke so unequal. But, upon my conscience, I very much doubt whether a little intermingledinsolence is not requisite from them, to keep up that interest, whenonce it has got footing. Men must not let us see, that we can makefools of them. And I think, that smooth love; that is to say, a passionwithout rubs; in other words, a passion without passion; is like asleepy stream that is hardly seen to give motion to a straw. So that, sometimes to make us fear, and even, for a short space, to hate thewretch, is productive of the contrary extreme. 

If this be so, Lovelace, than whom no man was ever more polite andobsequious at the beginning, has hit the very point. For his turbulencesince, his readiness to offend, and his equal readiness to humblehimself, (as must keep a woman's passion alive); and at last tire herinto a non-resistance that shall make her as passive as a tyrant-husbandwould wish her to be. 

I verily think, that the different behaviour of our two heroes totheir heroines make out this doctrine to demonstration. I am so muchaccustomed, for my own part, to Hickman's whining, creeping, submissivecourtship, that I now expect nothing but whine and cringe from him: andam so little moved with his nonsense, that I am frequently forced to goto my harpsichord, to keep me awake, and to silence his humdrum. WhereasLovelace keeps up the ball with a witness, and all his address andconversation is one continual game at raquet. 

Your frequent quarrels and reconciliations verify this observation: andI really believe, that, could Hickman have kept my attention alive afterthe Lovelace manner, only that he had preserved his morals, I shouldhave married the man by this time. But then he must have set outaccordingly. For now he can never, never recover himself, that'scertain; but must be a dangler to the end of the courtship-chapter; and, what is still worse for him, a passive to the end of his life. 

Poor Hickman! perhaps you'll say. 

I have been called your echo--Poor Hickman! say I. 

You wonder, my dear, that Mr. Lovelace took not notice to you over-nightof the letters of Lady Betty and his cousin. I don't like his keepingsuch a material and relative circumstance, as I may call it, one momentfrom you. By his communicating the contents of them to you next day, when you was angry with him, it looks as if he withheld them foroccasional pacifiers; and if so, must he not have had a forethought thathe might give you cause for anger? Of all the circumstances that havehappened since you have been with him, I think I like this the least:this alone, my dear, small as it might look to an indifferent eye, inmine warrants all your caution. Yet I think that Mrs. Greme's letter toher sister Sorlings: his repeated motions for Hannah's attendance; andfor that of one of the widow Sorlings's daughters; and, above all, forthat of Mrs. Norton; are agreeable counterbalances. Were it not forthese circumstances, I should have said a great deal more of the other. Yet what a foolish fellow, to let you know over-night that he had suchletters!--I can't tell what to make of him. 

I am pleased with the contents of these ladies' letters. And the more, as I have caused the family to be again sounded, and find that they areall as desirous as ever of your alliance. 

They really are (every one of them) your very great admirers. And as forLord M. , he is so much pleased with you, and with the confidence, ashe calls it, which you have reposed in his nephew, that he vows he willdisinherit him, if he reward it not as he ought. You must take care, that you lose not both families. 

I hear Mrs. Norton is enjoined, as she values the favour of theother family, not to correspond either with you or with me--Poorcreatures!--But they are your--yet they are not your relations, neither, I believe. Had you had any other nurse, I should have concluded you hadbeen changed. I suffer by their low malice--excuse me, therefore. 

You really hold this man to his good behaviour with more spirit thanI thought you mistress of; especially when I judged of you by thatmeekness which you always contended for, as the proper distinction ofthe female character; and by the love, which (think as you please) youcertainly have for him. You may rather be proud of than angry at theimputation; since you are the only woman I ever knew, read, or heardof, whose love was so much governed by her prudence. But when once theindifference of the husband takes place of the ardour of the lover, itwill be your turn: and, if I am not mistaken, this man, who is the onlyself-admirer I ever knew who was not a coxcomb, will rather in his dayexpect homage than pay it. 

Your handsome husbands, my dear, make a wife's heart ache very often:and though you are as fine a person of a woman, at the least, as he isof a man, he will take too much delight in himself to think himself moreindebted to your favour, than you are to his distinction and preferenceof you. But no man, take your finer mind with your very fine person, candeserve you. So you must be contented, should your merit be underrated;since that must be so, marry whom you will. Perhaps you will think Iindulge these sort of reflections against your Narcissus's of men, tokeep my mother's choice for me of Hickman in countenance with myself--Idon't know but there is something in it; at least, enough to have givenbirth to the reflection. 

I think there can be no objection to your going to London. There, asin the centre, you will be in the way of hearing from every body, andsending to any body. And then you will put all his sincerity to thetest, as to his promised absence, and such like. 

But indeed, my dear, I think you have nothing for it but marriage. Youmay try (that you may say you have tried) what your relations can bebrought to: but the moment they refuse your proposals, submit to theyoke, and make the best of it. He will be a savage, indeed, if he makesyou speak out. Yet, it is my opinion, that you must bend a little; forhe cannot bear to be thought slightly of. 

This was one of his speeches once; I believe designed for me--'A womanwho means one day to favour her lover with her hand, should show theworld, for her own sake, that she distinguishes him from the commonherd. '

Shall I give you another very fine sentence of his, and in thetrue libertine style, as he spoke it, throwing out his challenginghand?--'D--n him, if he would marry the first princess on earth, ifhe but thought she balanced a minute in her choice of him, or of anemperor. '

All the world, in short, expect you to have this man. They think, thatyou left your father's house for this very purpose. The longer theceremony is delayed, the worse appearance it will have in the world'seye. And it will not be the fault of some of your relations, if a slurbe not thrown upon your reputation, while you continue unmarried. Youruncle Antony, in particular, speaks rough and vile things, grounded uponthe morals of his brother Orson. But hitherto your admirable characterhas antidoted the poison; the detractor is despised, and every one'sindignation raised against him. 

I have written through many interruptions: and you will see the firstsheet creased and rumpled, occasioned by putting it into my bosom on mymother's sudden coming upon me. We have had one very pretty debate, I will assure you; but it is not worth while to trouble you with theparticulars. --But upon my world--no matter though--

Your Hannah cannot attend you. The poor girl left her place about afortnight ago, on account of the rheumatic disorder, which has confinedher to her room ever since. She burst into tears, when Kitty carriedto her your desire of having her with you; and called herself doublyunhappy, that she could not wait upon a mistress whom she so dearlyloved. 

Had my mother answered my wishes, I should have been sorry Mr. Lovelacehad been the first proposer of my Kitty for your attendant, till Hannahshould come. To be altogether among strangers, and a stranger to attendyou every time you remove, is a very disagreeable thing. But yourconsiderateness and bounty will make you faithful ones wherever you go. 

You must take your own way: but, if you suffer any inconvenience, eitheras to clothes or money, that it is in my power to remedy, I will neverforgive you. My mother, (if that is your objection) need not know anything of the matter. 

We have all our defects: we have often regretted the particular fault, which, though in venerable characters, we must have been blind not tosee. 

I remember what you once said to me; and the caution was good: Let us, my Nancy, were your words; let us, who have not the same failingsas those we censure, guard against other and greater in ourselves. Nevertheless, I must needs tell you, that my mother has vexed me alittle very lately, by some instances of her jealous narrowness. I willmention one of them, though I did not intend it. She wanted to borrowthirty guineas of me: only while she got a note changed. I said I couldlend her but eight or ten. Eight or ten would not do: she thought I wasmuch richer. I could have told her, I was much cunninger than to let herknow my stock; which, on a review, I find ninety-five guineas; and allof them most heartily at your service. 

I believe your uncle Tony put her upon this wise project; for she wasout of cash in an hour after he left her. 

If he did, you will judge that they intend to distress you. If it willprovoke you to demand your own in a legal way, I wish they would; sincetheir putting you upon that course will justify the necessity of yourleaving them. And as it is not for your credit to own that you weretricked away contrary to your intention, this would afford a reason foryour going off, that I should make very good use of. You'll see, thatI approve of Lovelace's advice upon this subject. I am not willing toallow the weight of your answer to him on that head, which perhaps oughtto be allowed it. *

 * See Letter XXXI. Of this volume. 

You must be the less surprised at the inventions of this man, because ofhis uncommon talents. Whatever he had turned his head to, he would haveexcelled in; or been (or done things) extraordinary. He is said to berevengeful: a very bad quality! I believe, indeed, he is a devilin every thing but his foot--this, therefore, is my repeatedadvice--provoke him not too much against yourself: but unchain him, andlet him loose upon your sister' Betty, and your brother's Joseph Leman. This is resenting low: but I know to whom I write, or else I would go agood deal higher, [I'll assure you. ]

Your next, I suppose, will be from London. Pray direct it, and yourfuture letters, till further notice, to Mr. Hickman, at his own house. He is entirely devoted to you. Don't take so heavily my mother'spartiality and prejudices. I hope I am past a baby. 

Heaven preserve you, and make you as happy as I think you deserve to be, prays

Your ever affectionate ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER XXXVII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE WEDN. MORNING, APRIL 19. 

I am glad, my dear friend, that you approve of my removal to London. 

The disagreement between your mother and you gives me inexpressibleaffliction. I hope I think you both more unhappy than you are. But Ibeseech you let me know the particulars of the debate you call a verypretty one. I am well acquainted with your dialect. When I am informedof the whole, let your mother have been ever so severe upon me, Ishall be easier a great deal. --Faulty people should rather deplore theoccasion they have given for anger than resent it. 

If I am to be obliged to any body in England for money, it shall be toyou. Your mother need not know of your kindness to me, you say--but shemust know it, if it be done, and if she challenge my beloved friend uponit; for would you either falsify or prevaricate?--I wish your mothercould be made easy on this head--forgive me, my dear, --but Iknow--Yet once she had a better opinion of me. --O my inconsideraterashness!--Excuse me once more, I pray you. --Pride, when it is native, will shew itself sometimes in the midst of mortifications--but mystomach is down already. 

*****

I am unhappy that I cannot have my worthy Hannah. I am sorry for thepoor creature's illness as for my own disappointment by it. Come, mydear Miss Howe, since you press me to be beholden to you: and wouldthink me proud if I absolutely refused your favour; pray be so good asto send her two guineas in my name. 

If I have nothing for it, as you say, but matrimony, it yields littlecomfort, that his relations do not despise the fugitive, as persons oftheir rank and quality-pride might be supposed to do, for having been afugitive. 

But O my cruel, thrice cruel uncle! to suppose--but my heart checks mypen, and will not let it proceed, on an intimation so extremely shockingas that which he supposes!--Yet, if thus they have been persuaded, nowonder if they are irreconcilable. 

This is all my hard-hearted brother's doings!--His surmisings:--Godforgive him--prays his injured sister!

LETTER XXXVIII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE THURSDAY, APRIL 20. 

Mr. Lovelace's servant is already returned with an answer from hisfriend Mr. Doleman, who has taken pains in his inquiries, and is veryparticular. Mr. Lovelace brought me the letter as soon as he had readit: and as he now knows that I acquaint you with every thing that heoffers, I desired him to let me send it to you for your perusal. Bepleased to return it by the first opportunity. You will see by it, thathis friends in town have a notion that we are actually married. 

TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. TUESDAY NIGHT, APRIL 18. 

DEAR SIR, I am extremely rejoiced to hear, that we shall so soon have you in townafter so long an absence. You will be the more welcome still, if whatreport says, be true; which is, that you are actually married to thefair lady upon whom we have heard you make such encomiums. Mrs. Doleman, and my sister, both wish you joy if you are; and joy upon your nearprospect if you are not. 

I have been in town for this week past, to get help if I could, from myparalytic complaints; and am in a course for them. Which, nevertheless, did not prevent me from making the desired inquiries. This is theresult. 

You may have a first floor, well furnished, at a mercer's inBelford-street, Covent-garden, with conveniencies for servants: andthese either by the quarter or month. The terms according to theconveniences required. 

Mrs. Doleman has seen lodgings in Norfolk-street and others inCecil-street; but though the prospects to the Thames and Surrey-hillslook inviting from both these streets, yet I suppose they are too nearthe city. 

The owner of those in Norfolk-street would have half the house gotogether. It would be too much for your description therefore: andI suppose, tat when you think fit to declare your marriage, you willhardly be in lodgings. 

Those in Cecil-street are neat and convenient. The owner is a widow ofa good character; and she insists, that you take them for a twelvemonthcertain. 

You may have good accommodations in Dover-street, at a widow's, the relict of an officer in the guards, who dying soon after he hadpurchased his commission (to which he had a good title by service, and which cost him most part of what he had) she was obliged to letlodgings. 

This may possibly be an objection. But she is very careful, she says, that she takes no lodgers, but of figure and reputation. She rents twogood houses, distant from each other, only joined by a large handsomepassage. The inner-house is the genteelest, and very elegantlyfurnished; but you may have the use of a very handsome parlour in theouter-house, if you choose to look into the street. 

A little garden belongs to the inner-house, in which the old gentlewomanhas displayed a true female fancy; having crammed it with vases, flower-pots, and figures, without number. 

As these lodgings seemed to me the most likely to please you, I was moreparticular in my inquiries about them. The apartments she has to letare in the inner-house: they are a dining-room, two neat parlours, awithdrawing-room, two or three handsome bedchambers, one with a prettylight closet in it, which looks into the little garden, all furnished intaste. 

A dignified clergyman, his wife, and maiden daughter were the last wholived in them. They have but lately quitted them, on his being presentedto a considerable church preferment in Ireland. The gentlewoman saysthat he took the lodgings but for three months certain; but liked themand her usage so well, that he continued in them two years; and leftthem with regret, though on so good an account. She bragged, that thiswas the way of all the lodgers she ever had, who staid with her fourtimes as long as they at first intended. 

I had some knowledge of the colonel, who was always looked upon as a manof honour. His relict I never saw before. I think she has a masculineair, and is a little forbidding at first: but when I saw her behaviourto two agreeable gentlewomen, her husband's nieces, whom, for thatreason, she calls doubly hers, and heard their praises of her, I couldimputer her very bulk to good humour; since we seldom see your sourpeevish people plump. She lives reputably, and is, as I find, aforehandin the world. 

If these, or any other of the lodgings I have mentioned, be notaltogether to your lady's mind, she may continue in them the less while, and choose others for herself. 

The widow consents that you shall take them for a month only, and whatof them you please. The terms, she says, she will not fall out upon, when she knows what your lady expects, and what her servants are to do, or yours will undertake; for she observed that servants are generallyworse to deal with than their masters or mistresses. 

The lady may board or not as she pleases. 

As we suppose you were married, but that you have reason, fromfamily-differences, to keep it private for the present, I thought it notamiss to hint as much to the widow (but as uncertainty, however);and asked her, if she could, in that case, accommodate you and yourservants, as well as the lady and hers? She said, she could; and wished, by all means, it were to be so: since the circumstance of a person'sbeing single, it not as well recommended as this lady, was one of theusual exceptions. 

If none of these lodgings please, you need not doubt very handsome onesin or near Hanover-square, Soho-square, Golden-square, or in some of thenew streets about Grosvenor-square. And Mrs. Doleman, her sister, and myself, most cordially join to offer to your good lady the bestaccommodations we can make for her at Uxbridge (and also for you, if youare the happy man we wish you to be), till she fits herself more to hermind. 

Let me add, that the lodgings at the mercer's, those in Cecil-street, those at the widow's in Dover-street, any of them, may be entered uponat a day's warning. 

I am, my dear Sir, Your sincere and affectionate friend and servant, THO. DOLEMAN. 

You will easily guess, my dear, when you have read the letter, whichlodgings I made choice of. But first to try him, (as in so materiala point I thought I could not be too circumspect, ) I seemed to preferthose in Norfolk-street, for the very reason the writer gives why hethought I would not; that is to say, for its neighbourhood to a cityso well governed as London is said to be. Nor should I have disliked alodging in the heart of it, having heard but indifferent accounts of theliberties sometimes taken at the other end of the town. --Then seemingto incline to the lodgings in Cecil-street--Then to the mercer's. Buthe made no visible preference; and when I asked his opinion of thewidow gentlewoman's, he said he thought those the most to my taste andconvenience: but as he hoped that I would think lodgings necessary butfor a very little while, he knew not which to give his vote for. 

I then fixed upon the widow's; and he has written accordingly to Mr. Doleman, making my compliments to his lady and sister, for their kindoffer. 

I am to have the dining-room, the bed-chamber with the light-closet, (ofwhich, if I stay any time at the widow's, I shall make great use, ) and aservant's room; and we propose to set out on Saturday morning. As fora maid servant, poor Hannah's illness is a great disappointment to me:but, as he observes, I can make the widow satisfaction for one ofhers, till I can get a servant to my mind. And you know I want not muchattendance. 

*****

Mr. Lovelace has just now, of his own accord, given me five guineas forpoor Hannah. I send them inclosed. Be so good as to cause them to beconveyed to her, and to let her know from whom they came. 

He has obliged me much by this little mark of his considerateness. Indeed I have the better opinion of him ever since he proposed herreturn to me. 

*****

I have just now another instance of his considerateness. He came to me, and said that, on second thoughts, he could not bear that I should go upto town without some attendant, were it but for the look of the thing tothe London widow and her nieces, who, according to his friend's account, lived so genteelly; and especially as I required him to leave me so soonafter I arrived there, and so would be left alone among strangers. Hetherefore sought that I might engage Mrs. Sorlings to lend me one of hertwo maids, or let one of her daughters go up with me, and stay till Iwere provided. And if the latter, the young gentlewoman, no doubt, wouldbe glad of so good an opportunity to see the curiosities of the town, and would be a proper attendant on the same occasions. 

I told him as I had done before, that the two young gentlewomen were soequally useful in their way, and servants in a busy farm were so littleto be spared, that I should be loth to take them off their laudableemployments. Nor should I think much of diversions for one while; and sothe less want an attendant out of doors. 

And now, my dear, lest any thing should happen, in so variable, (whichat present are more promising than ever yet they have been since Iquitted Harlowe-place, ) I will snatch the opportunity to subscribemyself

Your not unhoping and ever-obliged friend and servant, CL. HARLOWE. 

LETTER XXXIX

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. THURSDAY, APRIL 20. 

 He begins with communicating to him the letter he wrote to Mr. Doleman, to procure suitable lodgings in town, and which he sent away by the Lady's approbation: and then gives him a copy of the answer to it (see p. 218): upon which he thus expresses himself:

Thou knowest the widow; thou knowest her nieces; thou knowest thelodgings: and didst thou ever read a letter more artfully couchedthan this of Tom Doleman? Every possible objection anticipated! Everyaccident provided against! Every tittle of it plot-proof!

Who could forbear smiling, to see my charmer, like a farcical dean andchapter, choose what was before chosen for her; and sagaciously (as theygo in form to prayers, that Heaven would direct their choice) ponderingupon the different proposals, as if she would make me believe she hada mind for some other? The dear sly rogue looking upon me, too, with aview to discover some emotion in me. Emotions I had; but I can tellher that they lay deeper than her eye could reach, though it had been asun-beam. 

No confidence in me, fair one! None at all, 'tis plain. Thou wiltnot, if I were inclined to change my views, encourage me by a generousreliance on my honour!--And shall it be said that I, a master of arts inlove, shall be overmatched by so unpractised a novice?

But to see the charmer so far satisfied with my contrivance as to borrowmy friend's letter, in order to satisfy Miss Howe likewise--!

Silly little rogues! to walk out into bye-paths on the strength of theirown judgment!--When nothing but experience can enable them to disappointus, and teach them grandmother-wisdom! When they have it indeed, thenmay they sit down, like so many Cassandras, and preach caution toothers; who will as little mind them as they did their instructresses, whenever a fine handsome confidant young fellow, such a one as thouknowest who, comes across them. 

But, Belford, didst thou not mind that sly rogue Doleman's namingDover-street for the widow's place of abode?--What dost thou thinkcould be meant by that?--'Tis impossible thou shouldst guess, so, notto puzzle thee about it, suppose the Widow Sinclair's in Dover-streetshould be inquired after by some officious person, in order to come atcharacters [Miss Howe is as sly as the devil, and as busy to the full, ]and neither such a name, nor such a house, can be found in that street, nor a house to answer the description; then will not the keenest hunterin England be at a fault?

But how wilt thou do, methinks thou askest, to hinder the lady fromresenting the fallacy, and mistrusting thee the more on that account, when she finds it out to be in another street?

Pho! never mind that: either I shall have a way for it, or we shallthoroughly understand one another by that time; or if we don't, she'llknow enough of me, not to wonder at such a peccadilla. 

But how wilt thou hinder the lady from apprizing her friend of the realname?

She must first know it herself, monkey, must she not?

Well, but how wilt thou do to hinder her from knowing the street, andher friend from directing letters thither, which will be the same thingas if the name were known?

Let me alone for that too. 

If thou further objectest, that Tom Doleman, is too great a dunce towrite such a letter in answer to mine:--Canst thou not imagine that, inorder to save honest Tom all this trouble, I who know the town so well, could send him a copy of what he should write, and leave him nothing todo but transcribe?

What now sayest thou to me, Belford?

And suppose I had designed this task of inquiry for thee; and supposethe lady excepted against thee for no other reason in the world, butbecause of my value for thee? What sayest thou to the lady, Jack?

This it is to have leisure upon my hands!--What a matchless plotterthy friend!--Stand by, and let me swell!--I am already as big as anelephant, and ten times wiser!--Mightier too by far! Have I not reasonto snuff the moon with my proboscis?--Lord help thee for a poor, for avery poor creature!--Wonder not that I despise thee heartily; since theman who is disposed immoderately to exalt himself, cannot do it but bydespising every body else in proportion. 

I shall make good use of the Dolemanic hint of being married. But I willnot tell thee all at once. Nor, indeed, have I thoroughly digested thatpart of my plot. When a general must regulate himself by the motions ofa watchful adversary, how can he say beforehand what he will, or what hewill not, do?

Widow SINCLAIR, didst thou not say, Lovelace?--

Ay, SINCLAIR, Jack!--Remember the name! SINCLAIR, I repeat. She has noother. And her features being broad and full-blown, I will suppose herto be of Highland extraction; as her husband the colonel [mind that too]was a Scot, as brave, as honest. 

I never forget the minutiae in my contrivances. In all matters thatadmit of doubt, the minutiae, closely attended to and provided for, areof more service than a thousand oaths, vows, and protestations made tosupply the neglect of them, especially when jealousy has made its way inthe working mind. 

Thou wouldst wonder if thou knewest one half of my providences. To givethee but one--I have already been so good as to send up a list of booksto be procured for the lady's closet, mostly at second hand. Andthou knowest that the women there are all well read. But I will notanticipate--Besides, it looks as if I were afraid of leaving any thingto my old friend CHANCE; which has many a time been an excellent secondto me, and ought not be affronted or despised; especially by one who hasthe art of making unpromising incidents turn out in his favour. 

LETTER XL

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE WEDNESDAY, APRIL 19. 

I have a piece of intelligence to give you, which concerns you much toknow. 

Your brother having been assured that you are not married, has taken aresolution to find you out, waylay you, and carry you off. A friend ofhis, a captain of a ship, undertakes to get you on ship-board, and tosail away with you, either to Hull or Leith, in the way to one of yourbrother's houses. 

They are very wicked: for in spite of your virtue they conclude you tobe ruined. But if they can be assured when they have you that you arenot, they will secure you till they can bring you out Mrs. Solmes. Meantime, in order to give Mr. Lovelace full employment, they talk of aprosecution which will be set up against him, for some crime they havegot a notion of, which they think, if it do not cost him his life, willmake him fly his country. 

This is very early news. Miss Bell told it in confidence, and withmighty triumph over Lovelace, to Miss Lloyd, who is at present herfavourite, though as much you admirer as ever. Miss Lloyd, being veryapprehensive of the mischief which might follow such an attempt, toldit to me, with leave to apprize you privately of it--and yet neithershe nor I would be sorry, perhaps, if Lovelace were to be fairlyhanged--that is to say, if you, my dear, had no objection to it. Butwe cannot bear that such an admirable creature should be made thetennis-ball of two violent spirits--much less that you should be seized, and exposed to the brutal treatment of wretches who have no bowels. 

If you can engage Mr. Lovelace to keep his temper upon it, I think youshould acquaint him with it, but not to mention Miss Lloyd. Perhaps hiswicked agent may come at the intelligence, and reveal it to him. Butleave it to your own discretions to do as you think fit in it. All myconcern is, that this daring and foolish project, if carried on, willbe a mean of throwing you more into his power than ever. But as it willconvince you that there can be no hope of a reconciliation, I wish youwere actually married, let the cause for prosecution hinted at be whatit will, short of murder or a rape. 

Your Hannah was very thankful for your kind present. She heaped athousand blessings upon you for it. She has Mr. Lovelace's too by thistime. 

I am pleased with Mr. Hickman, I can tell you:--for he has sent hertwo guineas by the person who carries Mr. Lovelace's five, as from anunknown hand: nor am I, or you, to know it. But he does a great manythings of this sort, and is as silent as the night in his charities; fornobody knows of them till the gratitude of the benefited will not letthem be concealed. He is now and then my almoner, and, I believe, alwaysadds to my little benefactions. 

But his time is not come to be praised to his face for these things; nordoes he seem to want that encouragement. 

The man certainly has a good mind. Nor can we expect in one man everygood quality. But he is really a silly fellow, my dear, to trouble hishead about me, when he sees how much I despise his whole sex; andmust of course make a common man look like a fool, were he not tomake himself look like one, by wishing to pitch his tent so oddly. Ourlikings and dislikings, as I have often thought, are seldom governed byprudence, or with a view to happiness. The eye, my dear, the wicked eye, has such a strict alliance with the heart--and both have such enmity tothe judgment!--What an unequal union, the mind and body! All the senses, like the family at Harlowe-place, in a confederacy against that whichwould animate, and give honour to the whole, were it allowed its properprecedence. 

Permit me, I beseech you, before you go to London to send youforty-eight guineas. I mention that sum to oblige you, because, byaccepting back the two to Hannah, I will hold you indebted to mefifty. --Surely this will induce you! You know that I cannot want themoney. I told you that I had near double that sum, and that the half ofit is more than my mother knows I am mistress of. You are afraid that mymother will question me on this subject; and then you think I must ownthe truth. But little as I love equivocation, and little as you wouldallow of it in your Anna Howe, it is hard if I cannot (were I to be putto it ever so closely) find something to say that would bring me off, as you have, what can you do at such a place as London?--You don't knowwhat occasion you may have for messengers, intelligence, and suchlike. If you don't oblige me, I shall not think your stomach so much down asyou say it is, and as, in this one particular, I think it ought to be. 

As to the state of things between my mother and me, you know enough ofher temper, not to need to be told that she never espouses or resentswith indifference. Yet will she not remember that I am her daughter. No, truly, I am all my papa's girl. 

She was very sensible, surely, of the violence of my poor father'stemper, that she can so long remember that, when acts of tenderness andaffection seem quite forgotten. Some daughters would be tempted to thinkthat controul sat very heavy upon a mother, who can endeavour to exertthe power she has over a child, and regret, for years after death, thatshe had not the same over a husband. 

If this manner of expression becomes not me of my mother, the fault willbe somewhat extenuated by the love I always bore to my father, and bythe reverence I shall ever pay to his memory: for he was a fond father, and perhaps would have been as tender a husband, had not my mother andhe been too much of a temper to agree. 

The misfortune was, in short, that when one was out of humour, theother would be so too: yet neither of their tempers comparativelybad. Notwithstanding all which, I did not imagine, girl as I was in myfather's life-time, that my mother's part of the yoke sat so heavy uponher neck as she gives me room to think it did, whenever she is pleasedto disclaim her part of me. 

Both parents, as I have often thought, should be very careful, if theywould secure to themselves the undivided love of their children, that, of all things, they should avoid such durable contentions with eachother, as should distress their children in choosing their party, whenthey would be glad to reverence both as they ought. 

But here is the thing: there is not a better manager of affairs in thesex than my mother; and I believe a notable wife is more impatient ofcontroul than an indolent one. An indolent one, perhaps, thinks shehas some thing to compound for; while women of the other character, Isuppose, know too well their own significance to think highly of that ofany body else. All must be their own way. In one word, because they areuseful, they will be more than useful. 

I do assure you, my dear, were I man, and a man who loved my quiet, Iwould not have one of these managing wives on any consideration. I wouldmake it a matter of serious inquiry beforehand, whether my mistress'squalifications, if I heard she was notable, were masculine or feminineones. If indeed I were an indolent supine mortal, who might be in dangerof perhaps choosing to marry for the qualifications of a steward. 

But, setting my mother out of the question, because she is my mother, have I not seen how Lady Hartley pranks up herself above all her sex, because she knows how to manage affairs that do not belong to her sexto manage?--Affairs that do no credit to her as a woman to understand;practically, I mean; for the theory of them may not be amiss to beknown. 

Indeed, my dear, I do not think a man-woman a pretty character at all:and, as I said, were I a man, I would sooner choose a dove, though itwere fit for nothing but, as the play says, to go tame about house, and breed, than a wife that is setting at work (my insignificant selfpresent perhaps) every busy our my never-resting servants, those ofthe stud not excepted; and who, with a besom in her hand, as I may say, would be continually filling my with apprehensions that she wanted tosweep me out of my own house as useless lumber. 

Were indeed the mistress of a family (like the wonderful young lady I somuch and so justly admire) to know how to confine herself within her ownrespectable rounds of the needle, the pen, the housekeeper's bills, thedairy for her amusement; to see the poor fed from superfluities thatwould otherwise be wasted, and exert herself in all the really-usefulbranches of domestic management; then would she move in her propersphere; then would she render herself amiably useful, and respectablynecessary; then would she become the mistress-wheel of the family, [whatever you think of your Anna Howe, I would not have her be themaster-wheel, ] and every body would love her; as every body did you, before your insolent brother came back, flushed with his unmeritedacquirements, and turned all things topsy-turvy. 

If you will be informed of the particulars of our contention, afteryou have known in general that your unhappy affair was the subject, whythen, I think I must tell you. 

Yet how shall I?==I feel my cheek glow with mingled shame andindignation. --Know then, my dear, --that I have been--as I may say--thatI have been beaten--indeed 'tis true. My mother thought fit to slap myhands to get from me a sheet of a letter she caught me writing to you;which I tore, because she should not read it, and burnt it before herface. 

I know this will trouble you: so spare yourself the pains to tell me itdoes. 

Mr. Hickman came in presently after. I would not see him. I am eithertoo much a woman to be beat, or too much a child to have an humbleservant--so I told my mother. What can one oppose but sullens, when itwould be unpardonable so much as to think of lifting up a finger?

In the Harlowe style, She will be obeyed, she says: and even Mr. Hickmanshall be forbid the house, if he contributes to the carrying on of acorrespondence which she will not suffer to be continued. 

Poor man! He stands a whimsical chance between us. But he knows he issure of my mother; but not of me. 'Tis easy then for him to choose hisparty, were it not his inclination to serve you, as it surely is. Andthis makes him a merit with me, which otherwise he would not have had;notwithstanding the good qualities which I have just now acknowledged inhis favour. For, my dear, let my faults in other respects be what theymay, I will pretend to say, that I have in my own mind those qualitieswhich I praised him for. And if we are to come together, I could forthat reason better dispense with them in him. --So if a husband, who hasa bountiful-tempered wife, is not a niggard, nor seeks to restrain her, but has an opinion of all she does, that is enough for him: as, on thecontrary, if a bountiful-tempered husband has a frugal wife, it isbest for both. For one to give, and the other to give, except they haveprudence, and are at so good an understanding with each other as tocompare notes, they may perhaps put it out of their power to be just. Good frugal doctrine, my dear! But this way of putting it is middlingthe matter between what I have learnt of my mother's over-prudent andyour enlarged notions. --But from doctrine to fact--

I shut myself up all that day; and what little I did eat, eat alone. Butat night she sent up Kitty with a command, upon my obedience, to attendher at supper. 

I went down; but most gloriously in the sullens. YES, and NO, were greatwords with me, to every thing she asked, for a good while. 

That behaviour, she told me, should not do for her. 

Beating should not do for me, I said. 

My bold resistance, she told me, had provoked her to slap my hand; andshe was sorry to have been so provoked. But again insisted that I wouldeither give up my correspondence absolutely, or let her see all thatpassed in it. 

I must not do either, I told her. It was unsuitable both to myinclination and to my honour, at the instigation of base minds to giveup a friend in distress. 

She rung all the maternal changes upon the words duty, obedience, filialobligation, and so forth. 

I told her that a duty too rigorously and unreasonably exacted had beenyour ruin, if you were ruined. 

If I were of age to be married, I hope she would think me capableof making, or at least of keeping, my own friendships; such a oneespecially as this, with a woman too, and one whose friendship sheherself, till this distressful point of time, had thought the mostuseful and edifying that I had ever contracted. 

The greater the merit, the worse the action: the finer the talents, themore dangerous the example. 

There were other duties, I said, besides the filial one; and I hoped Ineed not give up a suffering friend, especially at the instigation ofthose by whom she suffered. I told her, that it was very hard to annexsuch a condition as that to my duty; when I was persuaded, that bothduties might be performed, without derogating from either: that anunreasonable command (she must excuse me, I must say it, though I wereslapped again) was a degree of tyranny: and I could not have expected, that at these years I should be allowed now will, no choice of myown! where a woman only was concerned, and the devilish sex not in thequestion. 

What turned most in favour of her argument was, that I desired to beexcused from letting her read all that passes between us. She insistedmuch upon this: and since, she said, you were in the hands of themost intriguing man in the world, and a man who had made a jest ofher favourite Hickman, as she had been told, she knows not whatconsequences, unthought of by your or me, may flow from such acorrespondence. 

So you see, my dear, that I fare the worse on Mr. Hickman's account!My mother might see all that passes between us, did I not know, thatit would cramp your spirit, and restrain the freedom of your pen, asit would also the freedom of mine: and were she not moreover so firmlyattached to the contrary side, that inferences, consequences, straineddeductions, censures, and constructions the most partial, would forever to be haled in to tease me, and would perpetually subject us to thenecessity of debating and canvassing. 

Besides, I don't choose that she should know how much this artful wretchhas outwitted, as I may call it, a person so much his superior in allthe nobler qualities of the human mind. 

The generosity of your heart, and the greatness of your soul, full wellI know; but do offer to dissuade me from this correspondence. 

Mr. Hickman, immediately on the contention above, offered his service;and I accepted of it, as you will see by my last. He thinks, thoughhe has all honour for my mother, that she is unkind to us both. He waspleased to tell me (with an air, as I thought) that he not only approvedof our correspondence, but admired the steadiness of my friendship; andhaving no opinion of your man, but a great one of me, thinks that myadvice or intelligence from time to time may be of use to you; andon this presumption said, that it would be a thousand pities that youshould suffer for want of either. 

Mr. Hickman pleased me in the main of his speech; and it is well thegeneral tenor of it was agreeable; otherwise I can tell him, I shouldhave reckoned with him for his word approve; for it is a style I havenot yet permitted him to talk to me in. And you see, my dear, what thesemen are--no sooner do they find that you have favoured them with thepower of doing you an agreeable service, but they take upon them toapprove, forsooth, of your actions! By which is implied a right todisapprove, if they think fit. 

I have told my mother how much you wish to be reconciled to yourrelations, and how independent you are upon Lovelace. 

Mark the end of the latter assertion, she says. And as toreconciliation, she knows that nothing will do, (and will have it, thatnothing ought to do, ) but your returning back, without presuming tocondition with them. And this if you do, she says, will best show yourindependence on Lovelace. 

You see, my dear, what your duty is, in my mother's opinion. 

I suppose your next, directed to Mr. Hickman, at his own house, will befrom London. 

Heaven preserve you in honour and safety, is my prayer. 

What you do for change of clothes, I cannot imagine. 

It is amazing to me what your relations can mean by distressing you, as they seem resolved to do. I see they will throw you into his arms, whether you will or not. 

I send this by Robert, for dispatch-sake: and can only repeat thehitherto-rejected offer of my best services. Adieu, my dearest friend. Believe me ever

Your affectionate and faithful ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER XLI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE TUESDAY, APRIL 20. 

I should think myself utterly unworthy of your friendship did not myown concerns, heavy as they are, so engross me, that I could not findleisure for a few lines to declare to my beloved friend my sinceredisapprobation of her conduct, in an instance where she is so generouslyfaulty, that the consciousness of that very generosity may hide fromher the fault, which I, more than any other, have reason to deplore, asbeing the unhappy occasion of it. 

You know, you say, that your account of the contentions between yourmother and you will trouble me; and so you bid me spare myself the painsto tell you that they do. 

You did not use, my dear, to forbid me thus beforehand. You were wontto say, you loved me the better for my expostulations with you on thatacknowledged warmth and quickness of your temper which your own goodsense taught you to be apprehensive of. What though I have so miserablyfallen, and am unhappy, if ever I had any judgment worth regarding, itis now as much worth as ever, because I can give it as freely againstmyself as against any body else. And shall I not, when there seems to bean infection in my fault, and that it leads you likewise to resolve tocarry on a correspondence against prohibition, expostulate with you uponit; when whatever consequences flow from your disobedience, they butwiden my error, which is as the evil root, from which such sad branchesspring?

The mind that can glory in being capable of so noble, so firm, sounshaken friendship, as that of my dear Miss Howe; a friendship whichno casualty or distress can lessen, but which increases with themisfortunes of its friend--such a mind must be above taking amissthe well-meant admonitions of that distinguished friend. I will nottherefore apologize for my freedom on this subject: and the less need I, when that freedom is the result of an affection, in the very instance, so absolutely disinterested, that it tends to deprive myself of the onlycomfort left me. 

Your acknowledged sullens; your tearing from your mother's hands theletter she thought she had a right to see, and burning it, as you own, before her face; your refusal to see the man, who is so willing to obeyyou for the sake of your unhappy friend, and this purely to vex yourmother; can you think, my dear, upon this brief recapitulation of hardlyone half of the faulty particulars you give, that these faults areexcusable in one who so well knows her duty?

Your mother had a good opinion of me once: is not that a reason why sheshould be more regarded now, when I have, as she believes, so deservedlyforfeited it? A prejudice in favour is as hard to be totally overcome asa prejudice in disfavour. In what a strong light, then, must that errorappear to her, that should so totally turn her heart against me, herselfnot a principal in the case?

There are other duties, you say, besides the filial duty: but that, mydear, must be a duty prior to all other duties; a duty anterior, as Imay say, to you very birth: and what duty ought not to give way to that, when they come in competition?

You are persuaded, that the duty to your friend, and the filial duty, may be performed without derogating from either. Your mother thinksotherwise. What is the conclusion to be drawn from these premises?

When your mother sees, how much I suffer in my reputation from the stepI have taken, from whom she and all the world expected better things, how much reason has she to be watchful over you! One evil draws onanother after it; and how knows she, or any body, where it may stop?

Does not the person who will vindicate, or seek to extenuate, a faultystep in another [in this light must your mother look upon the matter inquestion between her and you] give an indication either of a culpablewill, or a weak judgment; and may not she apprehend, that the censoriouswill think, that such a one might probably have equally failed under thesame inducements and provocations, to use your own words, as applied tome in a former letter?

Can there be a stronger instance in human lie than mine has so earlyfurnished, within a few months past, (not to mention the uncommonprovocations to it, which I have met with, ) of the necessity of thecontinuance of a watchful parent's care over a daughter: let thatdaughter have obtained ever so great a reputation for her prudence?

Is not the space from sixteen to twenty-one that which requires thiscare, more than at any time of a young woman's life? For in that perioddo we not generally attract the eyes of the other sex, and become thesubject of their addresses, and not seldom of their attempts? And is notthat the period in which our conduct or misconduct gives us a reputationor disreputation, that almost inseparably accompanies us throughout ourwhole future lives?

Are we not likewise then most in danger from ourselves, because of thedistinction with which we are apt to behold particulars of that sex. 

And when our dangers multiply, both from within and without, do not ourparents know, that their vigilance ought to be doubled? And shall thatnecessary increase of care sit uneasy upon us, because we are grown upto stature and womanhood?

Will you tell me, if so, what is the precise stature and age at which agood child shall conclude herself absolved from the duty she owes toa parent?--And at which a parent, after the example of the dams ofthe brute creation, is to lay aside all care and tenderness for heroffspring?

Is it so hard for you, my dear, to be treated like a child? And canyou not think it is hard for a good parent to imagine herself under theunhappy necessity of so treating her woman-grown daughter?

Do you think, if your mother had been you, and you your mother, and yourdaughter had struggled with you, as you did with her, that you wouldnot have been as apt as your mother was to have slapped your daughter'shands, to have made her quit her hold, and give up the prohibitedletter?

Your mother told you, with great truth, that you provoked her to thisharshness; and it was a great condescension in her (and not taken noticeof by you as it deserved) to say that she was sorry for it. 

At every age on this side matrimony (for then we come under another sortof protection, though that is far from abrogating the filial duty) itwill be found, that the wings of our parents are our most necessary andmost effectual safeguard from the vultures, the hawks, the kites, andother villainous birds of prey, that hover over us with a view to seizeand destroy is the first time we are caught wandering out of the eye orcare of our watchful and natural guardians and protectors. 

Hard as you may suppose it, to be denied to continuance of acorrespondence once so much approved, even by the venerable denier;yet, if your mother think my fault to be of such a nature, as that acorrespondence with me will cast a shade upon your reputation, all myown friends having given me up--that hardship is to be submitted to. Andmust it not make her the more strenuous to support her own opinion, whenshe sees the first fruits of this tenaciousness on your side is tobe gloriously in the sullens, as you call it, and in a disobedientopposition?

I know that you have a humourous meaning in that expression, and thatthis turn, in most cases, gives a delightful poignancy both to yourconversation and correspondence; but indeed, my dear, this case will notbear humour. 

Will you give me leave to add to this tedious expostulation, that I byno means approve of some of the things you write, in relation to themanner in which your father and mother lived--at times lived--only attimes, I dare day, though perhaps too often. 

Your mother is answerable to any body, rather than to her child, forwhatever was wrong in her conduct, if any thing was wrong, towards Mr. Howe: a gentleman, of whose memory I will only say, that it ought to berevered by you--But yet, should you not examine yourself, whether yourdispleasure at your mother had no part in your revived reverence foryour father at the time you wrote?

No one is perfect: and although your mother may not be right to rememberdisagreeableness against the departed, yet should you not want to bereminded on whose account, and on what occasion, she remembered them. You cannot judge, nor ought you to attempt to judge, of what mighthave passed between both, to embitter and keep awake disagreeableremembrances in the survivor. 

LETTER XLII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [IN CONTINUATION. ]

But this subject must not be pursued. Another might, with more pleasure, (though not with more approbation, ) upon one of your lively excursions. It is upon the high airs you give yourself upon the word approve. 

How comes it about, I wonder, that a young lady so noted forpredominating generosity, should not be uniformly generous? That yourgenerosity should fail in an instance where policy, prudence, gratitude, would not permit it to fail? Mr. Hickman (as you confess) had indeed aworthy mind. If I had not long ago known that, he would never have foundan advocate in me for my Anna Howe's favour to him. Often and oftenhave I been concerned, when I was your happy guest, to see him, after aconversation, in which he had well supported his part in your absence, sink at once into silence the moment you came into company. 

I have told you of this before: and I believe I hinted to you once, that the superciliousness you put on only to him, was capable of aconstruction, which at the time would have very little gratified yourpride to have had made; since it would have been as much in his favour, as if your disfavour. 

Mr. Hickman, my dear, is a modest man. I never see a modest man, but Iam sure (if he has not wanted opportunities) that he has a treasure inhis mind, which requires nothing but the key of encouragement to unlockit, to make him shine--while a confident man, who, to be confident, must think as meanly of his company as highly of himself, enters withmagisterial airs upon any subject; and, depending upon his assurance tobring himself off when found out, talks of more than he is master of. 

But a modest man!--O my dear, shall not a modest woman distinguish andwish to consort with a modest man?--A man, before whom, and to whom shemay open her lips secure of his good opinion of all she says, and of hisjust and polite regard for her judgment? and who must therefore inspireher with an agreeable self-confidence. 

What a lot have I drawn!--We are all indeed apt to turn teachers--but, surely, I am better enabled to talk, to write, upon these subjects, than ever I was. But I will banish myself, if possible, from an addresswhich, when I began to write, I was determined to confide wholly to yourown particular. 

My dearest, dearest friend, how ready are you to tell us what othersshould do, and even what a mother should have done! But indeed you once, I remember, advanced, that, as different attainments required differenttalents to master them, so, in the writing way, a person might not be abad critic upon the works of others, although he might himself be unableto write with excellence. But will you permit me to account for all thisreadiness of finding fault, by placing it to human nature, which, beingsensible of the defects of human nature, (that is to say, of its owndefects, ) loves to be correcting? But in exercising that talent, choosesrather to turn its eye outward than inward? In other words, to employitself rather in the out-door search, than in the in-door examination. 

And here give me leave to add, (and yet it is with tender reluctance, )that although you say very pretty things of notable wives; andalthough I join with you in opinion, that husbands may have as manyinconveniencies to encounter with, as conveniencies to boast of, fromwomen, of that character; yet Lady Hartley perhaps would have had mildertreatment from your pen, had it not been dipped in gall with a mother inyour eye. 

As to the money, you so generously and repeatedly offer, don't be angrywith me, if I again say, that I am very desirous that you should be ableto aver, without the least qualifying or reserve, that nothing of thatsort has passed between us. I know your mother's strong way of puttingthe question she is intent upon having answered. But yet I promise thatI will be obliged to nobody but you, when I have occasion. 

LETTER XLIII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [IN CONTINUATION. ]

And now, my dear, a few words, as to the prohibition laid upon you; asubject that I have frequently touched upon, but cursorily, because Iwas afraid to trust myself with it, knowing that my judgment, if I did, would condemn my practice. 

You command me not to attempt to dissuade you from this correspondence;and you tell me how kindly Mr. Hickman approves of it; and how obliginghe is to me, to permit it to be carried on under cover to him--but thisdoes not quite satisfy me. 

I am a very bad casuist; and the pleasure I take in writing to you, whoare the only one to whom I can disburden my mind, may make me, as I havehinted, very partial to my own wishes: else, if it were not an artfulevasion beneath an open and frank heart to wish to be complied with, Iwould be glad methinks to be permitted still to write to you; and onlyto have such occasional returns by Mr. Hickman's pen, as well as cover, as might set me right when I am wrong; confirm me, when right, and guideme where I doubt. This would enable me to proceed in the difficult pathbefore me with more assuredness. For whatever I suffer from thecensure of others, if I can preserve your good opinion, I shall not bealtogether unhappy, let what will befall me. 

And indeed, my dear, I know not how to forbear writing. I have now noother employment or diversion. And I must write on, although I were notto send it to any body. You have often heard he own the advantages Ihave found from writing down every thing of moment that befalls me; andof all I think, and of all I do, that may be of future use to me; for, besides that this helps to form one to a style, and opens and expandsthe ductile mind, every one will find that many a good thoughtevaporates in thinking; many a good resolution goes off, driven out ofmemory perhaps by some other not so good. But when I set down what Iwill do, or what I have done, on this or that occasion; the resolutionor action is before me either to be adhered to, withdrawn, or amended;and I have entered into compact with myself, as I may say; having givenit under my own hand to improve, rather than to go backward, as I livelonger. 

I would willingly, therefore, write to you, if I might; the rather as itwould be the more inspiriting to have some end in view in what I write;some friend to please; besides merely seeking to gratify my passion forscribbling. 

But why, if your mother will permit our correspondence on communicatingto her all that passes in it, and if she would condescend to one onlycondition, may it not be complied with?

Would she not, do you think, my dear, be prevailed upon to have thecommunication made to her, in confidence?

If there were any prospect of a reconciliation with my friends, I shouldnot have so much regard for my pride, as to be afraid of any body'sknowing how much I have been outwitted as you call it. I would in thatcase (when I had left Mr. Lovelace) acquaint your mother, and all my ownfriends, with the whole of my story. It would behove me so to do, for myown reputation, and for their satisfaction. 

But, if I have no such prospect, what will the communication of myreluctance to go away with Mr. Lovelace, and of his arts to frightenme away, avail me? Your mother has hinted, that my friends would insistupon my returning home to them (as a proof of the truth of my plea)to be disposed of, without condition, at their pleasure. If I scrupledthis, my brother would rather triumph over me, than keep my secret. Mr. Lovelace, whose pride already so ill brooks my regrets for meeting him, (when he thinks, if I had not, I must have been Mr. Solmes's wife, )would perhaps treat me with indignity: and thus, deprived of all refugeand protection, I should become the scoff of men of intrigue; a disgraceto my sex--while that avowed loved, however indiscreetly shown, which isfollowed by marriage, will find more excuses made for it, than generallyit ought to find. 

But, if your mother will receive the communication in confidence, prayshew her all that I have written, or shall write. If my past conductin that case shall not be found to deserve heavy blame, I shall thenperhaps have the benefit of her advice, as well as your. And if, aftera re-establishment in her favour, I shall wilfully deserve blame for thetime to come, I will be content to be denied yours as well as hers forever. 

As to cramping my spirit, as you call it, (were I to sit down to writewhat I know your mother must see, ) that, my dear, is already cramped. And do not think so unhandsomely of your mother, as to fear that shewould make partial constructions against me. Neither you nor I candoubt, but that, had she been left unprepossessedly to herself, shewould have shown favour to me. And so, I dare say, would my uncleAntony. Nay, my dear, I can extend my charity still farther: for I amsometimes of opinion, that were my brother and sister absolutely certainthat they had so far ruined me in the opinion of both my uncles, as thatthey need not be apprehensive of my clashing with their interests, they would not oppose a pardon, although they might not wish areconciliation; especially if I would make a few sacrifices to them:which, I assure you, I should be inclined to make were I wholly free, and independent on this man. You know I never valued myself upon worldlyacquisitions, but as they enlarged my power to do things I loved todo. And if I were denied the power, I must, as I now do, curb myinclination. 

Do not however thing me guilty of an affectation in what I have saidof my brother and sister. Severe enough I am sure it is, in the mostfavourable sense. And an indifferent person will be of opinion, thatthey are much better warranted than ever, for the sake of the familyhonour, to seek to ruin me in the favour of all my friends. 

But to the former topic--try, my dear, if your mother will, upon thecondition above given, permit our correspondence, on seeing all wewrite. But if she will not, what a selfishness would there be in my loveto you, were I to wish you to forego your duty for my sake?

And now, one word, as to the freedom I have treated you with in thistedious expostulary address. I presume upon your forgiveness of it, because few friendships are founded on such a basis as ours: whichis, 'freely to give reproof, and thankfully to receive it as occasionsarise; that so either may have opportunity to clear up mistakes, toacknowledge and amend errors, as well in behaviour as in words anddeeds; and to rectify and confirm each other in the judgment each shallform upon persons, things, and circumstances. ' And all this upon thefollowing consideration; 'that it is much more eligible, as well ashonourable, to be corrected with the gentleness that may be expectedfrom an undoubted friend, than, by continuing either blind or wilful, to expose ourselves to the censures of an envious and perhaps malignantworld. '

But it is as needless, I dare say, to remind you of this, as it is torepeat my request, so often repeated, that you will not, in your turn, spare the follies and the faults of

Your ever affectionate CL. HARLOWE. 

SUBJOINED TO THE ABOVE. 

I said, that I would avoid writing any thing of my own particularaffairs in the above address, if I could. 

I will write one letter more, to inform you how I stand with this man. But, my dear, you must permit that one, and your answer to it (for Iwant your advice upon the contents of mine) and the copy of one I havewritten to my aunt, to be the last that shall pass between us, while theprohibition continues. 

I fear, I very much fear, that my unhappy situation will draw me in tobeing guilty of evasion, of little affectations, and of curvings fromthe plain simple truth which I was wont to delight in, and prefer toevery other consideration. But allow me to say, and this for your sake, and in order to lessen your mother's fears of any ill consequences thatshe might apprehend from our correspondence, that if I am at any timeguilty of a failure in these respects, I will not go on in it, butendeavour to recover my lost ground, that I may not bring error intohabit. 

I have deferred going to town, at Mrs. Sorlings's earnest request. Buthave fixed my removal to Monday, as I shall acquaint you in my next. 

I have already made a progress in that next; but, having an unexpectedopportunity, will send this by itself. 

LETTER XLIV

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE FRIDAY MORNING, APRIL 21. 

My mother will not comply with your condition, my dear. I hinted it toher, as from myself. But the Harlowes (excuse me) have got her entirelyin with them. It is a scheme of mine, she told me, formed to draw herinto your party against your parents. Which, for your own sake, she isvery careful about. 

Don't be so much concerned about my mother and me, once more, I beg ofyou. We shall do well enough together--now a falling out, now a fallingin. 

It used to be so, when you were not in the question. 

Yet do I give you my sincere thanks for every line of your reprehensiveletters; which I intend to read as often as I find my temper rises. 

I will freely own, however, that I winced a little at first readingthem. But I see that, on every re-perusal, I shall love and honour youstill more, if possible, than before. 

Yet, I think I have one advantage over you; and which I will holdthrough this letter, and through all my future letters; that is, thatI will treat you as freely as you treat me; and yet will never think anapology necessary to you for my freedom. 

But that you so think with respect to me is the effect of yourgentleness of temper, with a little sketch of implied reflection on thewarmth of mine. Gentleness in a woman you hold to be no fault: nor do Ia little due or provoked warmth--But what is this, but praising on bothsides what what neither of us can help, nor perhaps wish to help? Youcan no more go out of your road, than I can go out of mine. It would bea pain to either to do so: What then is it in either's approving of herown natural bias, but making a virtue of necessity?

But one observation I will add, that were your character, and mycharacter, to be truly drawn, mine would be allowed to be the mostnatural. Shades and lights are equally necessary in a fine picture. Yours would be surrounded with such a flood of brightness, with such aglory, that it would indeed dazzle; but leave one heartless to imitateit. 

O may you not suffer from a base world for your gentleness; while mytemper, by its warmth, keeping all imposition at a distance, thoughless amiable in general, affords me not reason, as I have mentionedheretofore, to wish to make an exchange with you!

I should indeed be inexcusable to open my lips by way of contradictionto my mother, had I such a fine spirit as yours to deal with. Truth istruth, my dear! Why should narrowness run away with the praises due to anoble expansion of heart? If every body would speak out, as I do, (thatis to say, give praise where only praise is due; dispraise where duelikewise, ) shame, if not principle, would mend the world--nay, shamewould introduce principle in a generation or two. Very true, my dear. Doyou apply. I dare not. --For I fear you, almost as much as I love you. 

I will give you an instance, nevertheless, which will a-new demonstrate, that none but very generous and noble-minded people ought to beimplicitly obeyed. You know what I said above, that truth is truth. 

Inconveniencies will sometimes arise from having to do with persons ofmodest and scrupulousness. Mr. Hickman, you say, is a modest man. Heput your corrective packet into my hand with a very fine bow, and aself-satisfied air [we'll consider what you say of this honest manby-and-by, my dear]: his strut was no gone off, when in came my mother, as I was reading it. 

When some folks find their anger has made them considerable, they willbe always angry, or seeking occasions for anger. 

Why, now, Mr. Hickman--why, now, Nancy, [as I was huddling in thepacket between my gown and my stays, at her entrance. ] You have aletter brought you this instant. --While the modest man, with his pausingbrayings, Mad-da--Mad-dam, looked as if he knew not whether to fight itout, or to stand his ground, and see fair play. 

It would have been poor to tell a lie for it. She flung away. I wentout at the opposite door, to read the contents; leaving Mr. Hickman toexercise his white teeth upon his thumb-nails. 

When I had read your letters, I went to find out my mother. I told herthe generous contents, and that you desired that the prohibitionmight be adhered to. I proposed your condition, as for myself; and wasrejected, as above. 

She supposed, she was finely painted between two 'young creatures, whohad more wit than prudence:' and instead of being prevailed upon by thegenerosity of your sentiments, made use of your opinion only to confirmher own, and renewed her prohibitions, charging me to return no otheranswer, but that she did renew them: adding, that they should stand, till your relations were reconciled to you; hinting as if she hadengaged for as much: and expected my compliance. 

I thought of your reprehensions, and was meek, though not pleased. Andlet me tell you, my dear, that as long as I can satisfy my own mind, that good is intended, and that it is hardly possible that evil shouldensue from our correspondence--as long as I know that this prohibitionproceeds originally from the same spiteful minds which have been theoccasion of all these mischiefs--as long as I know that it is notyour fault if your relations are not reconciled to you, and that uponconditions which no reasonable people would refuse--you must giveme leave, with all deference to your judgment, and to your excellentlessons, (which would reach almost every case of this kind but thepresent, ) to insist upon your writing to me, and that minutely, as ifthis prohibition had not been laid. 

It is not from humour, from perverseness, that I insist upon this. Icannot express how much my heart is in your concerns. And you must, inshort, allow me to think, that if I can do you service by writing, Ishall be better justified in continuing to write, than my mother is inher prohibition. 

But yet, to satisfy you all I can, I will as seldom return answers, while the interdict lasts, as may be consistent with my notions offriendship, and with the service I owe you, and can do you. 

As to your expedient of writing by Hickman [and now, my dear, yourmodest man comes in: and as you love modesty in that sex, I will domy endeavour, by holding him at a proper distance, to keep him in yourfavour] I know what you mean by it, my sweet friend. It is to make thatman significant with me. As to the correspondence, THAT shall go on, I do assure you, be as scrupulous as you please--so that that will notsuffer if I do not close with your proposal as to him. 

I must tell you, that I think it will be honour enough for him to havehis name made use of so frequently betwixt us. This, of itself, isplacing a confidence in him, that will make him walk bolt upright, anddisplay his white hand, and his fine diamond ring; and most mightily laydown his services, and his pride to oblige, and his diligence, and hisfidelity, and his contrivances to keep our secret, and his excuses, and his evasions to my mother, when challenged by her; with fifty ana'sbeside: and will it not moreover give him pretence and excuse oftenerthan ever to pad-nag it hither to good Mrs. Howe's fair daughter?

But to admit him into my company tete-a-tete, and into my closet, asoften as I would wish to write to you, I only dictate to his pen--mymother all the time supposing that I was going to be heartily in lovewith him--to make him master of my sentiments, and of my heart, as I maysay, when I write to you--indeed, my dear, I won't. Nor, were I marriedto the best HE in England, would I honour him with the communication ofmy correspondences. 

No, my dear, it is sufficient, surely, for him to parade in thecharacter of our letter-conveyor, and to be honoured in a cover, andnever fear but, modest as you think him, he will make enough of that. 

You are always blaming me for want of generosity to this man, and forabuse of power. But I profess, my dear, I cannot tell how to help it. Do, dear, now, let me spread my plumes a little, and now-and-then makemyself feared. This is my time, you know, since it would be no more tomy credit than to his, to give myself those airs when I am married. Hehas a joy when I am pleased with him that he would not know, but for thepain my displeasure gives him. 

Men, no more than women, know how to make a moderate use of power. Isnot that seen every day, from the prince to the peasant? If I do notmake Hickman quake now-and-then, he will endeavour to make me fear. Allthe animals in the creation are more or less in a state of hostilitywith each other. The wolf, that runs away from a lion, will devour alamb the next moment. I remember, that I was once so enraged at a gamechicken that was continually pecking at another (a poor humble one, as Ithought him) that I had the offender caught, and without more ado, in apet of humanity, wrung his neck off. What followed this execution? Whythat other grew insolent, as soon as his insulter was gone, and wascontinually pecking at one or two under him. Peck and be hanged, saidI, --I might as well have preserved the first, for I see it is the natureof the beast. 

Excuse my flippancies. I wish I were with you. I would make you smile inthe midst of your gravest airs, as I used to do. O that you hadaccepted of my offer to attend you! but nothing that I offer will youaccept----Take care!--You will make me very angry with you: and when Iam, you know I value nobody: for, dearly as I love you, I must be, andcannot always help it, Your saucy ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER XLV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE FRIDAY, APRIL 22. 

Mr. Lovelace communicated to me this morning early, from hisintelligencer, the news of my brother's scheme. I like him the betterfor making very light of it, and for his treating it with contempt. Andindeed, had I not had the hint of it from you, I should have suspectedit to be some contrivance of his, in order to hasten me to town, wherehe has long wished to be himself. 

He read me the passage in that Leman's letter, which is pretty much tothe effect of what you wrote to me from Miss Lloyd; with this addition, that one Singleton, a master of a Scots vessel, is the man who is to bethe principal in this act of violence. 

I have seen him. He had been twice entertained at Harlowe-place, as mybrother's friend. He has the air of a very bold and fearless man, and Ifancy it must be his project; as my brother, I suppose, talks to everybody of the rash step I have taken, for he did not spare me before hehad this seeming reason to censure me. 

This Singleton lives at Leith; so, perhaps, I am to be carried to mybrother's house not far from that port. 

Putting these passages together, I am not a little apprehensive that thedesign, lightly as Mr. Lovelace, from his fearless temper, treats it, may be attempted to be carried into execution; and of the consequencesthat may attend it, if it be. 

I asked Mr. Lovelace, seeing him so frank and cool, what he would adviseme to do. 

Shall I ask you, Madam, what are your own thoughts?--Why I return thequestion, said he, is, because you have been so very earnest that Ishould leave you as soon as you are in London, that I know not what topropose without offending you. 

My opinion is, said I, that I should studiously conceal myself from theknowledge of every body but Miss Howe; and that you should leave meout of hand; since they will certainly conclude, that where one is, theother is not far off: and it is easier to trace you than me. 

You would not surely wish, said he, to fall into your brother's handsby such a violent measure as this? I propose not to throw myselfofficiously in their way; but should they have reason to think I avoidedthem, would not that whet their diligence to find you, and their courageto attempt to carry you off, and subject me to insults that no man ofspirit can bear?

Lord bless me! said I, to what had this one fatal step that I have beenbetrayed into----

Dearest Madam, let me beseech you to forbear this harsh language, whenyou see, by this new scheme, how determined they were upon carryingtheir old ones, had you not been betrayed, as you call it. Have Ioffered to defy the laws of society, as this brother of yours must do, if any thing be intended by this project? I hope you will be pleased toobserve that there are as violent and as wicked enterprisers as myself. But this is so very wild a project, that I think there can be no roomfor apprehensions from it. I know your brother well. When at college, he had always a romantic turn: but never had a head for any thing but topuzzle and confound himself. A half-invention, and a whole conceit; butnot master of talents to do himself good, or others harm, but as thoseothers gave him the power by their own folly. 

This is very volubly run off, Sir!--But violent spirits are but too muchalike; at least in their methods of resenting. You will not presume tomake yourself a less innocent man, surely, who had determined to bravemy whole family in person, if my folly had not saved you the rashness, and them the insult--

Dear Madam!--Still must it be folly, rashness!--It is as impossible foryou to think tolerably of any body out of your own family, as it isfor any one in your family to deserve your love! Forgive me, dearestcreature! If I did not love you as never man loved a woman, I mightappear more indifferent to preferences so undeservedly made. But let meask you, Madam, What have you borne from me? What cause have I givenyou to treat me with so much severity and so little confidence? And whathave you not borne from them? Malice and ill-will, sitting in judgmentupon my character, may not give sentence in my favour: But what of yourown knowledge have you against me?

Spirited questions, were they not, my dear?--And they were asked withas spirited an air. I was startled. But I was resolved not to desertmyself. 

Is this a time, Mr. Lovelace, is this a proper occasion taken, togive yourself these high airs to me, a young creature destitute ofprotection? It is a surprising question you ask me--Had I aught againstyou of my own knowledge--I can tell you, Sir--And away I would haveflung. 

He snatched my hand, and besought me not to leave him in displeasure. Hepleaded his passion for me, and my severity to him, and partiality forthose from whom I had suffered so much; and whose intended violence, hesaid, was now the subject of our deliberation. 

I was forced to hear him. 

You condescended, dearest creature, said he, to ask my advice. It wasvery easy, give me leave to say, to advise you what to do. I hope I may, on this new occasion, speak without offence, notwithstanding your formerinjunctions--You see that there can be no hope of reconciliation withyour relations. Can you, Madam, consent to honour with your hand awretch whom you have never yet obliged with one voluntary favour!

What a recriminating, what a reproachful way, my dear, was this, ofputting a question of this nature!

I expected not from him, at the time, and just as I was very angry withhim, either the question or the manner. I am ashamed to recollect theconfusion I was thrown into; all your advice in my head at the moment:yet his words so prohibitory. He confidently seemed to enjoy myconfusion [indeed, my dear, he knows not what respectful love is!] andgazed upon me, as if he would have looked me through. 

He was still more declarative afterwards, as I shall mention by-and-by:but it was half extorted from him. 

My heart struggled violently between resentment and shame, to be thusteased by one who seemed to have all his passions at command, at a timewhen I had very little over mine! till at last I burst into tears, andwas going from him in high disgust: when, throwing his arms about me, with an air, however, the most tenderly respectful, he gave a stupidturn to the subject. 

It was far from his heart, he said, to take so much advantage of thestreight, which the discovery of my brother's foolish project hadbrought me into, as to renew, without my permission, a proposal which Ihad hitherto discountenanced, and which for that reason--

And then he came with his half-sentences, apologizing for what he hadnot so much as half-proposed. 

Surely he had not the insolence to intend to tease me, to see if I couldbe brought to speak what became me not to speak. But whether he had ornot, it did tease me; insomuch that my very heart was fretted, and Ibroke out, at last, into fresh tears, and a declaration that I was veryunhappy. And just then recollecting how like a tame fool I stood withhis arms about me, I flung from him with indignation. But he seized myhand, as I was going out of the room, and upon his knees besought mystay for one moment: and then, in words the most clear and explicit, tendered himself to my acceptance, as the most effectual means todisappoint my brother's scheme, and set all right. 

But what could I say to this?--Extorted from him, as it seemed to me, rather as the effect of his compassion than his love? What could I say?I paused, I looked silly--I am sure I looked very silly. He suffered meto pause, and look silly; waiting for me to say something: and at last(ashamed of my confusion, and aiming to make an excuse for it) I toldhim that I desired he would avoid such measures as might add to theuneasiness which it must be visible to him I had, when he reflected uponthe irreconcilableness of my friends, and upon what might follow fromthis unaccountable project of my brother. 

He promised to be governed by me in every thing. And again the wretch, instead of pressing his former question, asked me, If I forgave him forthe humble suit he had made to me? What had I to do but to try for apalliation of my confusion, since it served me not?

I told him I had hopes it would not be long before Mr. Morden arrived;and doubted not that that gentleman would be the readier to engage in myfavour, when he found that I made no other use of his (Mr. Lovelace's)assistance, than to free myself from the addresses of a man sodisagreeable to me as Mr. Solmes: I must therefore wish that every thingmight remain as it was till I could hear from my cousin. 

This, although teased by him as I was, was not, you see, my dear, a denial. But he must throw himself into a heat, rather than try topersuade; which any other man in his situation, I should think, wouldhave done; and this warmth obliged me to adhere to my seeming negative. 

This was what he said, with a vehemence that must harden any woman'smind, who had a spirit above being frighted into passiveness--

Good God! and will you, Madam, still resolve to show me that I amto hope for no share in your favour, while any the remotest prospectremains that you will be received by my bitterest enemies, at the priceof my utter rejection?

This was what I returned, with warmth, and with a salving art too--Youshould have seen, Mr. Lovelace, how much my brother's violence canaffect me: but you will be mistaken if you let loose yours upon me, witha thought of terrifying me into measures the contrary of which you haveacquiesced with. 

He only besought me to suffer his future actions to speak for him; andif I saw him worthy of any favour, that I would not let him be the onlyperson within my knowledge who was not entitled to my consideration. 

You refer to a future time, Mr. Lovelace, so do I, for the future proofof a merit you seem to think for the past time wanting: and justly youthink so. And I was again going from him. 

One word more he begged me to hear--He was determined studiously toavoid all mischief, and every step that might lead to mischief, let mybrother's proceedings, short of a violence upon my person, be what theywould: but if any attempt that should extend to that were to be made, would I have had him to be a quiet spectator of my being seized, orcarried back, or on board, by this Singleton; or, in case of extremity, was he not permitted to stand up in my defence?

Stand up in my defence, Mr. Lovelace!--I should be very miserable werethere to be a call for that. But do you think I might not be safe andprivate in London? By your friend's description of the widow's house, Ishould think I might be safe there. 

The widow's house, he replied, as described by his friend, being a backhouse within a front one, and looking to a garden, rather than to astreet, had the appearance of privacy: but if, when there, it was notapproved, it would be easy to find another more to my liking--though, asto his part, the method he would advise should be, to write to my uncleHarlowe, as one of my trustees, and wait the issue of it here at Mrs. Sorlings's, fearlessly directing it to be answered hither. To be afraidof little spirits was but to encourage insults, he said. The substanceof the letter should be, 'To demand as a right, what they would refuseif requested as a courtesy: to acknowledge that I had put myself [toowell, he said, did their treatment justify me] into the protection ofthe ladies of his family [by whose orders, and Lord M. 's, he himselfwould appear to act]: but that upon my own terms, which were such, thatI was under no obligation to those ladies for the favour; it beingno more than they would have granted to any one of my sex, equallydistressed. ' If I approved not of his method, happy should he thinkhimself, he said, if I would honour him with the opportunity of makingsuch a claim in his own name--but this was a point [with his but'sagain in the same breath!] that he durst but just touch upon. He hoped, however, that I would think their violence a sufficient inducement forme to take such a wished-for resolution. 

Inwardly vexed, I told him that he himself had proposed to leave me whenI was in town; that I expected he would: and that, when I was known tobe absolutely independent, I should consider what to write, and what todo: but that while he was with me, I neither would nor could. 

He would be very sincere with me, he said: this project of my brother'shad changed the face of things. He must, before he left me, see whetherI should or should not approve of the London widow and her family, if Ichose to go thither. They might be people whom my brother might buy. Butif he saw they were persons of integrity, he then might go for a dayor two, or so. But he must needs say, he could not leave me longer at atime. 

Do you propose, Sir, said I, to take up your lodgings in the house whereI shall lodge?

He did not, he said, as he knew the use I intended to make of hisabsence, and my punctilio--and yet the house where he had lodgings wasnew-fronting, and not in condition to receive him: but he could go tohis friend Belford's, in Soho; or perhaps he might reach to the samegentleman's house at Edgware, over night, and return on the mornings, till he had reason to think this wild project of my brother's laidaside. But to no greater distance till then should he care to venture. 

The result of all was, to set out on Monday next for town. I hope itwill be in a happy hour. 

CL. HARLOWE. 

LETTER XLVI

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. FRIDAY, APRIL 21. 

[As it was not probable that the Lady could give so particular anaccount of her own confusion, in the affecting scene she mentions on Mr. Lovelace's offering himself to her acceptance, the following extractsare made from his letter of the above date. ]

And now, Belford, what wilt thou say, if, like the fly buzzing about thebright taper, I had like to have singed the silken wings of my liberty?Never was man in greater danger of being caught in his own snares: allmy views anticipated; all my schemes untried; the admirable creature nobrought to town; nor one effort made to know if she be really angel orwoman. 

I offered myself to her acceptance, with a suddenness, 'tis true, thatgave her no time to wrap herself in reserves; and in terms less tenderthan fervent, tending to upbraid her for her past indifference, and toremind her of her injunctions: for it was the fear of her brother, not her love of me, that had inclined her to dispense with thoseinjunctions. 

I never beheld so sweet a confusion. What a glory to the pencil, could it do justice to it, and to the mingled impatience which visiblyinformed every feature of the most meaning and most beautiful facein the world! She hemmed twice or thrice: her look, now so charminglysilly, then so sweetly significant; till at last the lovely teaser, teased by my hesitating expectation of her answer, out of all powerof articulate speech, burst into tears, and was turning from me withprecipitation, when, presuming to fold her in my happy arms--O thinknot, best beloved of my heart, said I, think not, that this motion, which you may believe to be so contrary to your former injunctions, proceeds from a design to avail myself of the cruelty of your relations:if I have disobliged you by it, (and you know with what respectfultenderness I have presumed to hint it, ) it shall be my utmost care forthe future--There I stopped----

Then she spoke, but with vexation--I am--I am--very unhappy--Tearstrickling down her crimson cheeks, and her sweet face, as my arms stillencircled the finest waist in the world, sinking upon my shoulder; thedear creature so absent, that she knew not the honour she permitted me. 

But why, but why unhappy, my dearest life? said I:--all the gratitudethat ever overflowed the heart of the most obliged of men--

Justice to myself there stopped my mouth: for what gratitude did I oweher for obligations so involuntary?

Then recovering herself, and her usual reserves, and struggling to freeherself from my clasping arms, How now, Sir! said she, with a cheek moreindignantly glowing, and eyes of fiercer lustre. 

I gave way to her angry struggle; but, absolutely overcome by socharming a display of innocent confusion, I caught hold of her hand asshe was flying from me, and kneeling at her fee, O my angel, said I, (quite destitute of reserve, and hardly knowing the tenor of my ownspeech; and had a parson been there, I had certainly been a gone man, )receive the vows of your faithful Lovelace. Make him yours, and onlyyours, for ever. This will answer every end. Who will dare to form plotsand stratagems against my wife? That you are not so is the ground ofall their foolish attempts, and of their insolent hopes in Solmes'sfavour. --O be mine!--I beseech you (thus on my knee I beseech you) tobe mine. We shall then have all the world with us. And every body willapplaud an event that every body expects. 

Was the devil in me! I no more intended all this ecstatic nonsense, thanI thought the same moment of flying in the air! All power is with thischarming creature. It is I, not she, at this rate, that must fail in thearduous trial. 

Didst thou ever before hear of a man uttering solemn things by aninvoluntary impulse, in defiance of premeditation, and of all his proudschemes? But this sweet creature is able to make a man forego everypurpose of his heart that is not favourable to her. And I verily thinkI should be inclined to spare her all further trial (and yet what trialhas she had?) were it not for the contention that her vigilance has seton foot, which shall overcome the other. Thou knowest my generosityto my uncontending Rosebud--and sometimes do I qualify myardent aspirations after even this very fine creature, by thisreflection:--That the most charming woman on earth, were she an empress, can excel the meanest in the customary visibles only. Such is theequality of the dispensation, to the prince and the peasant, in thisprime gift WOMAN. 

Well, but what was the result of this involuntary impulse on mypart?--Wouldst thou not think; I was taken at my offer?--An offer sosolemnly made, and on one knee too?

No such thing! The pretty trifler let me off as easily as I could havewished. 

Her brother's project; and to find that there were no hopes of areconciliation for her; and the apprehension she had of the mischiefsthat might ensue; these, not my offer, nor love of me, were the causesto which she ascribed all her sweet confusion--an ascription that ishigh treason against my sovereign pride, --to make marriage with me buta second-place refuge; and as good as to tell me that her confusionwas owing to her concern that there were no hopes that my enemies wouldaccept of her intended offer to renounce a man who had ventured his lifefor her, and was still ready to run the same risque in her behalf!

I re-urged her to make me happy, but I was to be postponed to her cousinMorden's arrival. On him are now placed all her hopes. 

I raved; but to no purpose. 

Another letter was to be sent, or had been sent, to her aunt Hervey, towhich she hoped an answer. 

Yet sometimes I think that fainter and fainter would have been herprocrastinations, had I been a man of courage--but so fearful was I ofoffending!

A confounded thing! The man to be so bashful; the woman to want so muchcourting!--How shall two such come together--no kind mediatress in theway?

But I must be contented. 'Tis seldom, however, that a love so ardent asmine, meets with a spirit so resigned in the same person. But true love, I am now convinced, only wishes: nor has it any active will but that ofthe adored object. 

But, O the charming creature, again of herself to mention London! HadSingleton's plot been of my own contriving, a more happy expedient couldnot have been thought of to induce her to resume her purpose of goingthither; nor can I divine what could be her reason for postponing it. 

I enclose the letter from Joseph Leman, which I mentioned to thee inmine of Monday last, * with my answer to it. I cannot resist the vanitythat urges me to the communication. Otherwise, it were better, perhaps, that I suffer thee to imagine that this lady's stars fight againsther, and dispense the opportunities in my favour, which are only theconsequences of my own invention. 

LETTER XLVII

TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. HIS HONNER SAT. APRIL 15. 

MAY IT PLEASE YOUR HONNER, This is to let you Honner kno', as how I have been emploied in a bisnessI would have been excused from, if so be I could, for it is to gittevidense from a young man, who has of late com'd out to be my cuzzenby my grandmother's side; and but lately come to live in these partes, about a very vile thing, as younge master calls it, relating to yourHonner. God forbid I should call it so without your leafe. It is not forso plane a man as I be, to tacks my betters. It is consarning one MissBatirton, of Notingam; a very pretty crature, belike. 

Your Honner got her away, it seems, by a false letter to her, mackingbelieve as how her she-cuzzen, that she derely loved, was coming to seeher; and was tacken ill upon the rode: and so Miss Batirton set out ina shase, and one sarvant, to fet her cuzzen from the inne where she laidsick, as she thote: and the sarvant was tricked, and braute back theshase; but Miss Batirton was not harde of for a month, or so. Andwhen it came to passe, that her frends founde her out and would haveprossekutid your Honner, your Honner was gone abroad: and so she wasbroute to bed, as one may say, before your Honner's return: and she gotcolde in her lyin-inn, and lanquitched, and soon died: and the child isliving; but your Honner never troubles your Honner's hedd about itin the least. And this, and some other matters, of verry bad reporte, 'Squier Solmes was to tell my young lady of, if so be she would haveharde him speke, before we lost her sweet company, as I may say, fromheere. *

 * See Vol. II. Letters XV. And XVI. 

Your Honner helped me to many ugly stories to tell against you Honner tomy younge master, and younge mistriss; but did not tell me about this. 

I most humbelly beseche your Honner to be good and kinde and fethful tomy deerest younge lady, now you have her; or I shall brake my harte forhaving done some dedes that have helped to bringe things to this passe. Pray youre dere, good Honner, be just! Prayey do!--As God shall love ye!prayey do!--I cannot write no more for this pressent, for verry fear andgrief--

But now I am cumm'd to my writing agen, will your Honner be pleased totell me, if as how there be any danger to your Honner's life from thisbisness; for my cuzzen is actile hier'd to go down to Miss Batirton'sfrendes to see if they will stir in it: for you must kno' your Honner, as how he lived in the Batirton family at the time, and could be a goodevidense, and all that. 

I hope it was not so verry bad as Titus says it was; for he ses ashow there was a rape in the case betwixt you at furste, and plese yourHonner; and my cuzzen Titus is a very honist younge man as ever brockebred. This is his carackter; and this made me willinger to owne him formy relation, when we came to talck. 

If there should be danger of your Honner's life, I hope your Honner willnot be hanged like as one of us common men; only have your hedd cut off, or so: and yet it is pit such a hedd should be lossed: but if as howit should be prossekutid to that furr, which God forbid, be plesednatheless to thinck of youre fethful Joseph Leman, before your hedd becondemned; for after condemnation, as I have been told, all will be theking's or the shreeve's. 

I thote as how it was best to acquent you Honner of this; and for youto let me kno' if I could do any think to sarve your Honner, and preventmischief with my cuzzen Titus, on his coming back from Nottingam, beforehe mackes his reporte. 

I have gin him a hint already: for what, as I sed to him, cuzzen Titus, signifies stirring up the coles and macking of strife, to make richgentilfolkes live at varience, and to be cutting of throtes, andsuch-like?

Very trewe, sed little Titus. And this, and plese your Honner, gisme hopes of him, if so be your Honner gis me direction; sen', as Godkno'es, I have a poor, a verry poor invenshon; only a willing mind toprevent mischief, that is the chief of my aim, and always was, I blessmy God!--Els I could have made much mischief in my time; as indeedany sarvant may. Your Honner nathaless praises my invenshon everynow-and-then: Alas! and plese your Honner, what invenshon should such aplane man as I have?--But when your Honner sets me agoing by your fineinvenshon, I can do well enuff. And I am sure I have a hearty good willto deserve your Honner's faver, if I mought. 

Two days, as I may say, off and on, have I been writing this longletter. And yet I have not sed all I would say. For, be it knone untoyour Honner, as how I do not like that Captain Singleton, which I toldyou of in my last two letters. He is always laying his hedd and my youngmaster's hedd together; and I suspect much if so be some mischief is notgoing on between them: and still the more, as because my eldest youngelady seemes to be joined to them sometimes. 

Last week my younge master sed before my fase, My harte's blood boilsover, Capten Singleton, for revenge upon this--and he called your Honnerby a name it is not for such a won as me to say what. --Capten Singletonwhispred my younge master, being I was by. So young master sed, You maysay any thing before Joseph; for, althoff he looks so seelie, he has asgood a harte, and as good a hedd, as any sarvante in the world need tohave. My conscience touched me just then. But why shoulde it? when all Ido is to prevent mischeff; and seeing your Honner has so much patience, which younge master has not; so am not affeard of telling your Honnerany thing whatsomever. 

And furthermore, I have such a desire to desarve your Honner's bountyto me, as mackes me let nothing pass I can tell you of, to prevent harm:and too, besides, your Honner's goodness about the Blew Bore; which Ihave so good an accounte of!--I am sure I shall be bounden to bless yourHonner the longest day I have to live. 

And then the Blew Bore is not all neither: sen', and please your Honner, the pretty Sowe (God forgive me for gesting in so serus a matter) runsin my hedd likewise. I believe I shall love her mayhap more than yourHonner would have me; for she begins to be kind and good-humered, andlistens, and plese your Honour, licke as if she was among beans, when Italke about the Blew Bore, and all that. 

Prayey, your Honner, forgive the gesting of a poor plane man. We commonfokes have our joys, and plese your Honner, lick as our betters have;and if we be sometimes snubbed, we can find our underlings to snub themagen; and if not, we can get a wife mayhap, and snub her: so are masterssome how or other oursells. 

But how I try your Honner's patience!--Sarvants will shew their joyfulhartes, tho' off but in partinens, when encourag'd. 

Be plesed from the prems's to let me kno' if as how I can be put uponany sarvice to sarve your Honner, and to sarve my deerest younge lady;which God grant! for I begin to be affearde for her, hearing what pepletalck--to be sure your Honner will not do her no harme, as a man maysay. But I kno' your Honner must be good to so wonderous a younge lady. How can you help it?--But here my conscience smites me, that, but forsome of my stories, which your Honner taute me, my old master, and myold lady, and the two old 'squires, would not have been able to be halfso hardhearted as they be, for all my younge master and younge mistresssayes. 

And here is the sad thing; they cannot come to clere up matters with mydeerest young lady, because, as your Honner has ordered it, they havethese stories as if bribed by me out of your Honner's sarvant; whichmust not be known for fere you should kill'n and me too, and blacken thebriber!--Ah! your Honner! I doubte as tha I am a very vild fellow, (Lordbless my soil, I pray God!) and did not intend it. 

But if my deerest younge lady should come to harm, and plese yourHonner, the horsepond at the Blew Bore--but Lord preserve us all fromall bad mischeff, and all bad endes, I pray the Lord!--For tho'ff youHonner is kinde to me in worldly pelf, yet what shall a man get to looshis soul, as holy Skrittuer says, and plese your Honner?

But natheless I am in hope of reppentence hereafter, being but a youngeman, if I do wrong thro' ignorens: your Honner being a grate man, and agrave wit; and I a poor crature, not worthy notice; and your Honner ableto answer for all. But, howsomever, I am

Your Honner's fetheful sarvant in all dewtie, JOSEPH LEMAN. 

APRIL 15 AND 16. 

LETTER XLVIII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOSEPH LEMAN MONDAY, APRIL 17. 

HONEST JOSEPH, You have a worse opinion of your invention than you ought to have. I must praise it again. Of a plain man's head, I have not known manybetter than yours. How often have your forecast and discretion answeredmy wishes in cases which I could not foresee, not knowing how my generaldirections would succeed, or what might happen in the execution of them!You are too doubtful of your own abilities, honest Joseph; that's yourfault. --But it being a fault that is owing to natural modesty, you oughtrather to be pitied for it than blamed. 

The affair of Miss Betterton was a youthful frolic. I love dearly toexercise my invention. I do assure you, Joseph, that I have ever hadmore pleasure in my contrivances, than in the end of them. I am nosensual man: but a man of spirit--one woman is like another--youunderstand me, Joseph. --In coursing, all the sport is made by thewinding hare--a barn-door chick is better eating--now you take me, Joseph. 

Miss Betterton was but a tradesman's daughter. The family, indeed, wasgrown rich, and aimed at a new line of gentry; and were unreasonableenough to expect a man of my family would marry her. I was honest. I gave the young lady no hope of that; for she put it to me. Sheresented--kept up, and was kept up. A little innocent contrivance wasnecessary to get her out. But no rape in the case, I assure you, Joseph. She loved me--I loved her. Indeed, when I got her to the inn, I askedher no question. It is cruel to ask a modest woman for her consent. Itis creating difficulties to both. Had not her friends been officious, Ihad been constant and faithful to her to this day, as far as I know--forthen I had not known my angel. 

I went not abroad upon her account. She loved me too well to haveappeared against me; she refused to sign a paper they had drawn up forher, to found a prosecution upon; and the brutal creatures would notpermit the mid-wife's assistance, till her life was in danger; and, Ibelieve, to this her death was owing. 

I went into mourning for her, though abroad at the time. A distinction Ihave ever paid to those worthy creatures who dies in childbed by me. 

I was ever nice in my loves. --These were the rules I laid down to myselfon my entrance into active life:--To set the mother above want, if herfriends were cruel, and if I could not get her a husband worthy of her:to shun common women--a piece of justice I owed to innocent ladies, aswell as to myself: to marry off a former mistress, if possible, beforeI took to a new one: to maintain a lady handsomely in her lying-in: toprovide for the little-one, if it lived, according to the degree of itsmother: to go into mourning for the mother, if she died. And the promiseof this was a great comfort to the pretty dears, as they grew near theirtimes. 

All my errors, all my expenses, have been with and upon women. So Icould acquit my conscience (acting thus honourably by them) as well asmy discretion as to point of fortune. 

All men love women--and find me a man of more honour, in these points, if you can, Joseph. 

No wonder the sex love me as they do!

But now I am strictly virtuous. I am reformed. So I have been for along time, resolving to marry as soon as I can prevail upon the mostadmirable of women to have me. I think of nobody else--it is impossibleI should. I have spared very pretty girls for her sake. Very true, Joseph! So set your honest heart at rest--You see the pains I take tosatisfy your qualms. 

But, as to Miss Betterton--no rape in the case, I repeat: rapes areunnatural things, and more are than are imagined, Joseph. I should beloth to be put to such a streight; I never was. Miss Betterton was takenfrom me against her own will. In that case her friends, not I, committedthe rape. 

I have contrived to see the boy twice, unknown to the aunt whotakes care of him; loves him; and would not now part with him on anyconsideration. The boy is a fine boy I thank God. No father need beashamed of him. He will be well provided for. If not, I would takecare of him. He will have his mother's fortune. They curse the father, ungrateful wretches! but bless the boy--Upon the whole, there is nothingvile in this matter on my side--a great deal on the Bettertons. 

Wherefore, Joseph, be not thou in pain, either for my head, or for thyown neck; nor for the Blue Boar; nor for the pretty Sow. 

I love your jesting. Jesting better becomes a poor man than qualms. I love to have you jest. All we say, all we do, all we wish for, isa jest. He that makes life itself not so is a sad fellow, and has theworst of it. 

I doubt not, Joseph, but you have had your joys, as you say, as wellas your betters. May you have more and more, honest Joseph!--Hethat grudges a poor man joy, ought to have none himself. Jest on, therefore. --Jesting, I repeat, better becomes thee than qualms. 

I had no need to tell you of Miss Betterton. Did I not furnish you withstories enough, without hers, against myself, to augment your creditwith your cunning masters? Besides, I was loth to mention MissBetterton, her friends being all living, and in credit. I loved hertoo--for she was taken from me by her cruel friends, while our joys wereyoung. 

But enough of dear Miss Betterton. --Dear, I say; for deathendears. --Rest to her worthy soul!--There, Joseph, off went a deep sighto the memory of Miss Betterton!

As to the journey of little Titus, (I now recollect the fellow by hisname) let that take its course: a lady dying in childbed eighteenmonths ago; no process begun in her life-time; refusing herself to giveevidence against me while she lived--pretty circumstances to found anindictment for a rape upon!

As to your young lady, the ever-admirable Miss Clarissa Harlowe, Ialways courted her for a wife. Others rather expected marriage fromthe vanity of their own hearts, than from my promises; for I was alwayscareful of what I promised. You know, Joseph, that I have gone beyond mypromises to you. I do to every body; and why? because it is the bestway of showing that I have no grudging or narrow spirit. A promise isan obligation. A just man will keep his promise, a generous man will gobeyond it. --This is my rule. 

If you doubt my honour to your young lady, it is more than she does. Shewould not stay with me an hour if she did. Mine is the steadiestheart in the world. Hast thou not reason to think it so? Why thissqueamishness then, honest Joseph?

But it is because thou art honest--so I forgive thee. Whoever loves mydivine Clarissa, loves me. 

Let James Harlowe call me what names he will, for his sister's sake Iwill bear them. Do not be concerned for me; her favour will make me richamends; his own vilely malicious heart will make his blood boil overat any time; and when it does, thinkest thou that I will let it touchthine? Ah! Joseph, Joseph! what a foolish teaser is thy conscience! Sucha conscience as gives a plain man trouble, when he intends to do for thebest, is weakness, not conscience. 

But say what thou wilt, write all thou knowest or hearest of to me, I'llhave patience with every body. Why should I not, when it is as much thedesire of my heart, as it is of thine, to prevent mischief?

So now, Joseph, having taken all this pains to satisfy thy conscience, and answer all thy doubts, and to banish all thy fears, let me come to anew point. 

Your endeavours and mine, which were designed, by round-about ways, toreconcile all, even against the wills of the most obstinate, havenot, we see answered the end we hoped they would answer; but, on thecontrary, have widened the differences between our families. But thishas not been either your fault or mine: it is owing to the black, pitch-like blood of your venomous-hearted young master, boiling over, ashe owns, that our honest wishes have hitherto been frustrated. 

Yet we must proceed in the same course. We shall tire them out in time, and they will propose terms; and when they do, they shall find out howreasonable mine shall be, little as they deserve from me. 

Persevere, therefore, Joseph, honest Joseph, persevere; and unlikely asyou may imagine the means, our desires will at last be obtained. 

We have nothing for it now, but to go through with our work in the waywe have begun. For since (as I told you in my last) my beloved mistrustsyou, she will blow you up, if she be not mine; if she be, I can, andwill, protect you; and as, if there will be any fault, in her opinion, it will be rather mine than yours, she must forgive you, and keep herhusband's secrets, for the sake of his reputation; else she will beguilty of a great failure in her duty. So now you have set your hand tothe plough, Joseph, there is no looking back. 

And what is the consequence of all this: one labour more, and that willbe all that will fall to your lot; at least, of consequence. 

My beloved is resolved not to think of marriage till she has triedto move her friends to a reconciliation with her. You know they aredetermined not to be reconciled. She has it in her head, I doubt not, to make me submit to the people I hate; and if I did, they would ratherinsult me, than receive my condescension as they ought. She even owns, that she will renounce me, if they insist upon it, provided they willgive up Solmes: so, to all appearance, I am still as far as ever fromthe happiness of calling her mine; Indeed I am more likely than ever tolose her, (if I cannot contrive some way to avail myself of the presentcritical situation;) and then, Joseph, all I have been studying, and allyou have been doing, will signify nothing. 

At the place where we are, we cannot long be private. The lodgingsare inconvenient for us, while both together, and while she refusesto marry. She wants to get me at a distance from her; there areextraordinary convenient lodgings, in my eye, in London, where wecould be private, and all mischief avoided. When there, (if I gether thither, ) she will insist that I leave her. Miss Howe is for everputting her upon contrivances. That, you know, is the reason I have beenobliged, by your means, to play the family off at Harlowe-place uponMrs. Howe, and Mrs. Howe upon her daughter--Ah, Joseph! Little need foryour fears for my angel! I only am in danger: but were I the free-liverI am reported to be, all this could I get over with a wet finger, as thesaying is. 

But, by the help of one of your hints, I have thought of an expedientwhich will do ever thing, and raise your reputation, though alreadyso high, higher still. This Singleton, I hear, is a fellow who lovesenterprising: the view he has to get James Harlowe to be his principalowner in a large vessel which he wants to be put into the command of, may be the subject of their present close conversation. But since heis taught to have so good an opinion of you, Joseph, cannot you (stillpretending an abhorrence of me, and of my contrivances) propose toSingleton to propose to James Harlowe (who so much thirsts for revengeupon me) to assist him, with his whole ship's crew, upon occasion, tocarry off his sister to Leith, where both have houses, or elsewhere?

You may tell them, that if this can be effected, it will make me ravingmad; and bring your young lady into all their measures. 

You can inform them, as from my servant, of the distance she keeps meat, in hopes of procuring her father's forgiveness, by cruelly giving meup, if insisted upon. 

You can tell them, that as the only secret my servant has kept from youis the place we are in, you make no doubt, that a two-guinea bribe willbring that out, and also an information when I shall be at a distancefrom her, that the enterprise may be conducted with safety. 

You may tell them, (still as from my servant, ) that we are about toremove from inconvenient lodgings to others more convenient, (which istrue, ) and that I must be often absent from her. 

If they listen to your proposal, you will promote your interest withBetty, by telling it to her as a secret. Betty will tell Arabella ofit; Arabella will be overjoyed at any thing that will help forward herrevenge upon me; and will reveal it (if her brother do not) to her uncleAntony; he probably will whisper it to Mrs. Howe; she can keep nothingfrom her daughter, though they are always jangling. Her daughter willacquaint my beloved with it. And if it will not, or if it will, come tomy ears from some of those, you can write it to me, as in confidence, byway of preventing msicheif; which is the study of us both. 

I can then show it to my beloved; then will she be for placing a greaterconfidence in me--that will convince me of her love, which I am nowsometimes ready to doubt. She will be for hastening to the saferlodgings. I shall have a pretence to stay about her person, as a guard. She will be convinced that there is no expectation to be had of areconciliation. You can give James Harlowe and Singleton continual falsescents, as I shall direct you; so that no mischief can possibly happen. 

And what will be the happy, happy, thrice happy consequence?--The ladywill be mine in an honourable way, we shall all be friends in good time. The two guineas will be an agreeable addition to the many gratuities Ihave helped you to, by the like contrivances, from this stingy family. Your reputation, both for head and heart, as I hinted before, will beheightened. The Blue Boar also will be yours; nor shall you have theleast difficulty about raising money to buy the stock, if it be worthyour while to have it. 

Betty will likewise then be yours. You have both saved money, it seems. The whole Harlowe family, whom you have so faithfully served, ['tisserving them, surely, to prevent the mischief which their violentson would have brought upon them, ] will throw you in somewhat towardshousekeeping. I will still add to your store--so nothing but happinessbefore you!

Crow, Joseph, crow!--a dunghill of thy own in view; servants to snub atthy pleasure; a wife to quarrel with, or to love, as thy humour leadsthee; Landlord and Landlady at every word; to be paid, instead ofpaying, for thy eating and drinking. But not thus happy only in thyself:happy in promoting peace and reconciliation between two good families, in the long run, without hurting any christian soul. O Joseph, honestJoseph! what envy wilt thou raise, and who would be squeamish with suchprospects before him. 

This one labour, I repeat, crowns the work. If you can get but such adesign entertained by them, whether they prosecute it or not, it will beequally to the purpose of

Your loving friend, R. LOVELACE. 

LETTER XLIX

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. HERVEY [ENCLOSED IN HER LAST TO MISSHOWE. ] THURSDAY, APRIL 20. 

HONOURED MADAM, Having not had the favour of an answer to a letter I took the libertyto write to you on the 14th, I am in some hopes that it may havemiscarried: for I had much rather it should, than to have themortification to think that my aunt Hervey deemed me unworthy of thehonour of her notice. 

In this hope, having kept a copy of it, and not become able to expressmyself in terms better suited to the unhappy circumstances of things, Itranscribe and enclose what I then wrote. * And I humbly beseech you tofavour the contents of it with your interest. 

 * The contents of the Letter referred to are given in Letter XXIV. Ofthis volume. 

Hitherto it is in my power to perform what I undertake for in thisletter; and it would be very grievous to me to be precipitated uponmeasures, which may render the desirable reconciliation more difficult. 

If, Madam, I were permitted to write to you with the hopes of beinganswered, I could clear my intention with regard to the step I havetaken, although I could not perhaps acquit myself to some of my severestjudges, of an imprudence previous to it. You, I am sure, would pity me, if you knew all I could say, and how miserable I am in the forfeiture ofthe good opinion of all my friends. 

I flatter myself, that their favour is yet retrievable: but, whatever bethe determination at Harlowe-place, do not you, my dearest Aunt, denyme the favour of a few lines to inform me if there can be any hope ofa reconciliation upon terms less shocking than those heretoforeendeavoured to be imposed upon me; or if (which God forbid!) I am to befor ever reprobated. 

At least, my dear Aunt, procure for me the justice of my wearingapparel, and the little money and other things which I wrote to mysister for, and mention in the enclosed to you; that I may not bedestitute of common conveniencies, or be under a necessity to owe anobligation for such, where, at present, however, I would least of allowe it. 

Allow me to say, that had I designed what happened, I might (as to themoney and jewels at least) have saved myself some of the mortificationwhich I have suffered, and which I still further apprehend, if myrequest be not complied with. 

If you are permitted to encourage an eclaircissment of what I hint, Iwill open my whole heart to you, and inform you of every thing. 

If it be any pleasure to have me mortified, be pleased to let it beknown, that I am extremely mortified. And yet it is entirely from myown reflections that I am so, having nothing to find fault with in thebehaviour of the person from whom every evil was to be apprehended. 

The bearer, having business your way, will bring me your answer onSaturday morning, if you favour me according to my hopes. I knew notthat I should have this opportunity till I had written the above. 

I am, my dearest Aunt, Your ever dutiful, CL. HARLOWE. 

Be pleased to direct for me, if I am to be favoured with a few lines, tobe left at Mr. Osgood's, near Soho-square; and nobody shall ever know ofyour goodness to me, if you desire it to be kept a secret. 

LETTER L

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE SATURDAY, APRIL 22. 

I cannot for my life account for your wretch's teasing ways; but hecertainly doubts your love of him. In this he is a modest man, as wellas somebody else; and tacitly confesses that he does not deserve it. 

Your Israelitish hankerings after the Egyptian onion, (testified stillmore in your letter to your aunt, ) your often repeated regrets formeeting him, for being betrayed by him--these he cannot bear. 

I have been looking back on the whole of his conduct, and comparing itwith his general character; and find that he is more consistently, moreuniformly, mean, revengeful, and proud, than either of us once imagined. 

From his cradle, as I may say, as an only child, and a boy, humoursome, spoiled, mischievous; the governor of his governors. 

A libertine in his riper years, hardly regardful of appearances; anddespising the sex in general, for the faults of particulars of it, whomade themselves too cheap to him. 

What has been his behaviour in your family?--a CLARISSA in view, (fromthe time your foolish brother was obliged to take a life from him, )but defiance for defiances. Getting you into his power by terror, byartifice. What politeness can be expected from such a man?

Well, but what in such a situation is to be done? Why, you mustdespise him: you must hate him, if you can, and run away from him--Butwhither?--Whither indeed, now that your brother is laying foolish plotsto put you in a still worse condition, as it may happen. 

But if you cannot despise and hate him--if you care not to break withhim, you must part with some punctilio's. And if the so doing bringnot on the solemnity, you must put yourself into the protection of theladies of his family. 

Their respect for you is of itself a security for his honour to you, ifthere could be any room for doubt. And at least, you should remind himof his offer to bring one of the Miss Montagues to attend you at yournew lodgings in town, and accompany you till all is happily over. 

This, you'll say, will be as good as declaring yourself to be his. Andso let it. You ought not now to think of any thing else but to be his. Does not your brother's project convince you more and more of this?

Give over then, my dearest friend, any thoughts of this hopelessreconciliation, which has kept you balancing thus long. You own, in theletter before me, that he made very explicit offers, though you give menot the very words. And he gave his reasons, I perceive, with his wishesthat you should accept them; which very few of the sorry fellows do, whose plea is generally but a compliment to our self-love--That we mustlove them, however presumptuous and unworthy, because they love us. 

Were I in your place, and had your charming delicacies, I should, perhaps, do as you do. No doubt but I should expect that the manshould urge me with respectful warmth; that he should supplicate withconstancy, and that all his words and actions should tend to the oneprincipal point; nevertheless, if I suspected art or delay, founded uponhis doubts of my love, I would either condescend to clear up is doubtsor renounce him for ever. 

And in my last case, I, your Anna Howe, would exert myself, and eitherfind you a private refuge, or resolve to share fortunes with you. 

What a wretch! to be so easily answered by your reference to the arrivalof your cousin Morden! But I am afraid that you was too scrupulous: fordid he not resent that reference?

Could we have his account of the matter, I fancy, my dear, I shouldthink you over nice, over delicate. * Had you laid hold of hisacknowledged explicitness, he would have been as much in your power, asnow you seem to be in his: you wanted not to be told, that the personwho had been tricked into such a step as you had taken, must ofnecessity submit to many mortifications. 

 * The reader who has seen his account, which Miss Howe could not haveseen, when she wrote thus, will observe that it was not possible for aperson of her true delicacy of mind to act otherwise than she did, to aman so cruelly and so insolently artful. 

But were it to me, a girl of spirit as I am thought to be, I do assureyou, I would, in a quarter of an hour (all the time I would allow topunctilio in such a case as yours) know what he drives at: since eitherhe must mean well or ill; if ill, the sooner you know it, the better. Ifwell, whose modesty is it he distresses, but that of his own wife?

And methinks you should endeavour to avoid all exasperatingrecriminations, as to what you have heard of his failure in morals;especially while you are so happy as not to have occasion to speak ofthem by experience. 

I grant that it gives a worthy mind some satisfaction in having borneits testimony against the immoralities of a bad one. But that correctionwhich is unseasonably given, is more likely either to harden or make anhypocrite, than to reclaim. 

I am pleased, however, as well as you, with his making light of yourbrother's wise project. --Poor creature! and must Master Jemmy Harlowe, with his half-wit, pretend to plot, and contrive mischief, yet rail atLovelace for the same things?--A witty villain deserves hanging at once(and without ceremony, if you please): but a half-witted one deservesbroken bones first, and hanging afterwards. I think Lovelace has givenhis character in a few words. *

 * See Letter XLV. Of this volume. 

Be angry at me, if you please; but as sure as you are alive, now thatthis poor creature, whom some call your brother, finds he has succeededin making you fly your father's house, and that he has nothing to fearbut your getting into your own, and into an independence of him, he thinks himself equal to any thing, and so he has a mind to fightLovelace with his own weapons. 

Don't you remember his pragmatical triumph, as told you by your aunt, and prided in by that saucy Betty Barnes, from his own foolish mouth?*

 * See Vol. II. Letter XLVII. 

I expect nothing from your letter to your aunt. I hope Lovelace willnever know the contents of it. In every one of yours, I see that heas warmly resents as he dares the little confidence you have in him. Ishould resent it too, were I he; and knew that I deserved better. 

Don't be scrupulous about clothes, if you think of putting yourself intothe protection of the ladies of his family. They know how matters standbetween you and your relations, and love you never the worse for thesilly people's cruelty. 

I know you won't demand possession of your estate. But give him a rightto demand it for you; and that will be still better. 

Adieu, my dear! May heaven guide and direct you in all your steps, isthe daily prayer of

Your ever affectionate and faithful ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER LI

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. FRIDAY, APRIL 21. 

Thou, Lovelace, hast been long the entertainer; I the entertained. Norhave I been solicitous to animadvert, as thou wentest along, upon thyinventions, and their tendency. For I believed, that with all thy airs, the unequalled perfections and fine qualities of this lady would alwaysbe her protection and security. But now that I find thou hast so farsucceeded, as to induce her to come to town, and to choose her lodgingsin a house, the people of which will too probably damp and suppress anyhonourable motions which may arise in thy mind in her favour, I cannothelp writing, and that professedly in her behalf. 

My inducements to this are not owing to virtue: But if they were, whathope could I have of affecting thee by pleas arising from it?

Nor would such a man as thou art be deterred, were I to remind theeof the vengeance which thou mayest one day expect, if thou insultest awoman of her character, family, and fortune. 

Neither are gratitude and honour motives to be mentioned in a woman'sfavour, to men such as we are, who consider all those of the sex asfair prize, over honour, in the general acceptation of the word, are twothings. 

What then is my motive?--What, but the true friendship that I bear thee, Lovelace; which makes me plead thy own sake, and thy family's sake, inthe justice thou owest to this incomparable creature; who, however, so well deserves to have her sake to be mentioned as the principalconsideration. 

Last time I was at M. Hall, thy noble uncle so earnestly pressed me touse my interest to persuade thee to enter the pale, and gave me so manyfamily reasons for it, that I could not help engaging myself heartilyon his side of the question; and the rather, as I knew that thy ownintentions with regard to this fine woman were then worthy of her. Andof this I assured his Lordship; who was half afraid of thee, because ofthe ill usage thou receivedst from her family. But now, that the case isaltered, let me press the matter home to thee from other considerations. 

By what I have heard of this lady's perfections from every mouth, aswell as from thine, and from every letter thou hast written, wherewilt thou find such another woman? And why shouldst thou tempt hervirtue?--Why shouldst thou wish to try where there is no reason todoubt?

Were I in thy case, and designed to marry, and if I preferred a womanas I know thou dost this to all the women in the world, I should readto make further trial, knowing what we know of the sex, for fear ofsucceeding; and especially if I doubted not, that if there were a womanin the world virtuous at heart, it is she. 

And let me tell thee, Lovelace, that in this lady's situation, thetrial is not a fair trial. Considering the depth of thy plots andcontrivances: considering the opportunities which I see thou must havewith her, in spite of her own heart; all her relations' follies actingin concert, though unknown to themselves, with thy wicked, scheminghead: considering how destitute of protection she is: considering thehouse she is to be in, where she will be surrounded with thy implements;specious, well-bred and genteel creatures, not easily to be detectedwhen they are disposed to preserve appearances, especially by the younginexperienced lady wholly unacquainted with the town: considering allthese things, I say, what glory, what cause of triumph wilt thou have, if she should be overcome?--Thou, too, a man born for intrigue, fullof invention, intrepid, remorseless, able patiently to watch for thyopportunity, not hurried, as most men, by gusts of violent passion, which often nip a project in the bud, and make the snail, that was justputting out his horns to meet the inviter, withdraw into its shell--aman who has no regard to his word or oath to the sex; the ladyscrupulously strict to her word, incapable of art or design; apttherefore to believe well of others--it would be a miracle if she stoodsuch an attempter, such attempts, and such snares, as I see will belaid for her. And, after all, I see not when men are so frail withoutimportunity, that so much should be expected from women, daughters ofthe same fathers and mothers, and made up of the same brittle compounds, (education all the difference, ) nor where the triumph is in subduingthem. 

May there not be other Lovelaces, thou askest, who, attracted by herbeauty, may endeavour to prevail with her?*

 * See Letter XVIII. Of this volume. 

No; there cannot, I answer, be such another man, person, mind, fortune, and thy character, as above given, taken in. If thou imaginest therecould, such is thy pride, that thou wouldst think the worse of thyself. 

But let me touch upon thy predominant passion, revenge; for love is butsecond to that, as I have often told thee, though it has set thee intoraving at me: what poor pretences for revenge are the difficulties thouhadst in getting her off; allowing that she had run a risque of beingSolmes's wife, had she staid? If these are other than pretences, whythankest thou not those who, by their persecutions of her, answered thyhopes, and threw her into thy power?--Besides, are not the pretencesthou makest for further trial, most ungratefully, as well ascontradictorily founded upon the supposition of error in her, occasionedby her favour to thee?

And let me, for the utter confusion of thy poor pleas of this nature, ask thee--Would she, in thy opinion, had she willingly gone off withthee, have been entitled to better quarter?--For a mistress indeed shemight: but how wouldst thou for a wife have had cause to like her halfso well as now?

Has she not demonstrated, that even the highest provocations were notsufficient to warp her from her duty to her parents, though a native, and, as I may say, an originally involuntary duty, because native? Andis not this a charming earnest that she will sacredly observe a stillhigher duty into which she proposes to enter, when she does enter, byplighted vows, and entirely as a volunteer?

That she loves thee, wicked as thou art, and cruel as a panther, thereis no reason to doubt. Yet, what a command has she over herself, thatsuch a penetrating self-flatterer as thyself is sometimes ready to doubtit! Though persecuted on the one hand, as she was, by her own family, and attracted, on the other, by the splendour of thine; every one ofwhom courts her to rank herself among them!

Thou wilt perhaps think that I have departed from my proposition, andpleaded the lady's sake more than thine, in the above--but no suchthing. All that I have written is more in thy behalf than in her's;since she may make thee happy; but it is next to impossible, I shouldthink, if she preserve her delicacy, that thou canst make her so. Whatis the love of a rakish heart? There cannot be peculiarity in it. But Ineed not give my further reasons. Thou wilt have ingenuousness enough, Idare say, were there occasion for it, to subscribe to my opinion. 

I plead not for the state from any great liking to it myself. Nor haveI, at present, thoughts of entering into it. But, as thou art the lastof thy name; as thy family is of note and figure in thy country; and asthou thyself thinkest that thou shalt one day marry: Is it possible, letme ask thee, that thou canst have such another opportunity as thou nowhast, if thou lettest this slip? A woman in her family and fortune notunworthy of thine own (though thou art so apt, from pride of ancestry, and pride of heart, to speak slightly of the families thou dislikest);so celebrated for beauty; and so noted at the same time for prudence, for soul, (I will say, instead of sense, ) and for virtue?

If thou art not so narrow-minded an elf, as to prefer thine own singlesatisfaction to posterity, thou, who shouldst wish to beget children forduration, wilt not postpone till the rake's usual time; that is to say, till diseases or years, or both, lay hold of thee; since in that casethou wouldst entitle thyself to the curses of thy legitimate progenyfor giving them a being altogether miserable: a being which they willbe obliged to hold upon a worse tenure than that tenant-courtesy, which thou callest the worst;* to wit, upon the Doctor's courtesy;thy descendants also propagating (if they shall live, and be able topropagate) a wretched race, that shall entail the curse, or the reasonfor it, upon remote generations. 

Wicked as the sober world accounts you and me, we have not yet, it isto be hoped, got over all compunction. Although we find religion againstus, we have not yet presumed those who do. And we know better than tobe even doubters. In short, we believe a future state of rewards andpunishments. But as we have so much youth and health in hand, we hope tohave time for repentance. That is to say, in plain English, [nor thinkthou me too grave, Lovelace: thou art grave sometimes, though notoften, ] we hope to live to sense, as long as sense can relish, andpurpose to reform when we can sin no longer. 

And shall this admirable woman suffer for her generous endeavours to seton foot thy reformation; and for insisting upon proofs of the sincerityof thy professions before she will be thine?

Upon the whole matter, let me wish thee to consider well what thou artabout, before thou goest a step farther in the path which thou hastchalked out for thyself to tread, and art just going to enter upon. Hitherto all is so far right, that if the lady mistrusts thy honour, shehas no proofs. Be honest to her, then, in her sense of the word. None ofthy companions, thou knowest, will offer to laugh at what thou dost. And if they should (of thy entering into a state which has been so muchridiculed by thee, and by all of us) thou hast one advantage--it isthis, that thou canst not be ashamed. 

Deferring to the post-day to close my letter, I find one left at mycousin Osgood's, with directions to be forwarded to the lady. Itwas brought within these two hours by a particular hand, and has aHarlowe-seal upon it. As it may therefore be of importance, I dispatchit with my own, by my servant, post-haste. *

 * This letter was from Miss Arabella Harlowe. See Let. LV. 

I suppose you will soon be in town. Without the lady, I hope. Farewell. 

Be honest, and be happy, J. BELFORD. 

SAT. APRIL 22. 

LETTER LII

MRS. HERVEY, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [IN ANSWER TO LETTER XVIII. ]

DEAR NIECE, It would be hard not to write a few lines, so much pressed to write, toone I ever loved. Your former letter I received; yet was not at libertyto answer it. I break my word to answer you now. 

Strange informations are every day received about you. The wretch youare with, we are told, is every hour triumphing and defying--Must notthese informations aggravate? You know the uncontroulableness of theman. He loves his own humour better than he loves you--though so fine acreature as you are! I warned you over and over: no young lady was evermore warned!--Miss Clarissa Harlowe to do such a thing!

You might have given your friends the meeting. If you had held youraversion, it would have been complied with. As soon as I was intrustedmyself with their intention to give up the point, I gave you a hint--adark one perhaps*--but who would have thought--O Miss!--Such an artfulflight!--Such cunning preparations!

But you want to clear up things--what can you clear up? Are you not goneoff?--With a Lovelace too? What, my dear, would you clear up?

You did not design to go, you say. Why did you meet him then, chariotand six, horsemen, all prepared by him? O my dear, how art producesart!--Will it be believed?--If it would, what power will he bethought to have had over you!--He--Who?--Lovelace!--The vilest oflibertines!--Over whom? A Clarissa!--Was your love for such a man aboveyour reason? Above your resolution? What credit would a belief of this, if believed, bring you?--How mend the matter?--Oh! that you had stoodthe next morning!

I'll tell you all that was intended if you had. 

It was, indeed, imagined that you would not have been able to resistyour father's entreaties and commands. He was resolved to be allcondescension, if anew you had not provoked him. I love my ClaryHarlowe, said he, but an hour before the killing tidings were broughthim; I love her as my life: I will kneel to her, if nothing else willdo, to prevail upon her to oblige me. 

Your father and mother (the reverse of what should have been!) wouldhave humbled themselves to you: and if you could have denied them, andrefused to sign the settlements previous to the meeting, they would haveyielded, although with regret. 

But it was presumed, so naturally sweet your temper, so self-denyingas they thought you, that you could not have withstood them, notwithstanding all your dislike of the one man, without a greaterdegree of headstrong passion for the other, than you had given any of usreason to expect from you. 

If you had, the meeting on Wednesday would have been a lighter trial toyou. You would have been presented to all your assembled friends, witha short speech only, 'That this was the young creature, till very latelyfaultless, condescending, and obliging; now having cause to glory in atriumph over the wills of father, mother, uncles, the most indulgent;over family-interests, family-views; and preferring her own will toevery body's! and this for a transitory preference to person only; therebeing no comparison between the men in their morals. '

Thus complied with, and perhaps blessed, by your father and mother, andthe consequences of your disobedience deprecated in the solemnest mannerby your inimitable mother, your generosity would have been appealed to, since your duty would have been fount too weak an inducement, and youwould have been bid to withdraw for one half hour's consideration. Thenwould the settlements have been again tendered for your signing, bythe person least disobliging to you; by your good Norton perhaps; sheperhaps seconded by your father again; and, if again refused, youwould have again have been led in to declare such your refusal. Somerestrictions which you yourself had proposed, would have been insistedupon. You would have been permitted to go home with me, or with youruncle Antony, (with which of us was not agreed upon, because they hopedyou might be persuaded, ) there to stay till the arrival of your cousinMorden; or till your father could have borne to see you; or till assuredthat the views of Lovelace were at an end. 

This the intention, your father so set upon your compliance, so much inhopes that you would have yielded, that you would have been prevailedupon by methods so condescending and so gentle; no wonder that he, inparticular, was like a distracted man, when he heard of your flight--ofyour flight so premeditated;--with your ivy summer-house dinings, yourarts to blind me, and all of us!--Naughty, naughty, young creature!

I, for my part, would not believe it, when told of it. Your uncle Herveywould not believe it. We rather expected, we rather feared, a still moredesperate adventure. There could be but one more desperate; and Iwas readier to have the cascade resorted to, than the gardenback-door. --Your mother fainted away, while her heart was torn betweenthe two apprehensions. --Your father, poor man! your father wasbeside himself for near an hour--What imprecations!--What dreadfulimprecations!--To this day he can hardly bear your name: yet canthink of nobody else. Your merits, my dear, but aggravate yourfault. --Something of fresh aggravation every hour. --How can any favourbe expected?

I am sorry for it; but am afraid nothing you ask will be complied with. 

Why mention you, my dear, the saving you from mortifications, who havegone off with a man? What a poor pride is it to stand upon any thingelse!

I dare not open my lips in your favour. Nobody dare. Your letter muststand by itself. This has caused me to send it to Harlowe-place. Expecttherefore great severity. May you be enabled to support the lot you havedrawn! O my dear! how unhappy have you made every body! Can you expectto be happy? Your father wishes you had never been born. Your poormother--but why should I afflict you? There is now no help!--You must bechanged, indeed, if you are not very unhappy yourself in the reflectionsyour thoughtful mind must suggest to you. 

You must now make the best of your lot. Yet not married, it seems!

It is in your power, you say, to perform whatever you shall undertaketo do. You may deceive yourself: you hope that your reputation and thefavour of your friends may be retrieved. Never, never, both, I doubt, if either. Every offended person (and that is all who loved you, and arerelated to you) must join to restore you: when can these be of one mindin a case so notoriously wrong?

It would be very grievous, you say, to be precipitated upon measuresthat may make the desirable reconciliation more difficult. Is it now, mydear, a time for you to be afraid of being precipitated? At present, if ever, there can be no thought of reconciliation. The upshot of yourprecipitation must first be seen. There may be murder yet, as far as weknow. Will the man you are with part willingly with you? If not, whatmay be the consequence? If he will--Lord bless me! what shall wethink of his reasons for it?--I will fly this thought. I know yourpurity--But, my dear, are you not out of all protection?--Are you notunmarried?--Have you not (making your daily prayers useless) thrownyourself into temptation? And is not the man the most wicked ofplotters?

You have hitherto, you say, (and I think, my dear, with an airunbecoming to your declared penitence, ) no fault to find with thebehaviour of a man from whom every evil was apprehended: like Caesar tothe Roman augur, which I heard you tell of, who had bid him beware theIdes of March: the Ides of March, said Caesar, seeing the augur amongthe crowd, as he marched in state to the senate-house, from which hewas never to return alive, the Ides of March are come. But they are notpast, the augur replied. Make the application, my dear: may you be ableto make this reflection upon his good behaviour to the last of yourknowledge of him! May he behave himself better to you, than he ever didto any body else over whom he had power! Amen!

No answer, I beseech you. I hope your messenger will not tell any bodythat I have written to you. And I dare say you will not show what Ihave written to Mr. Lovelace--for I have written with the less reserve, depending upon your prudence. 

You have my prayers. 

My Dolly knows not that I write: nobody does*; not even Mr. Hervey. 

 * Notwithstanding what Mrs. Hervey here says, it will be hereafter seenthat this severe letter was written in private concert with theimplacable Arabella. 

Dolly would have several times written: but having defended your faultwith heat, and with a partiality that alarmed us, (such a fall asyour's, my dear, must be alarming to all parents, ) she has beenforbidden, on pain of losing our favour for ever: and this at yourfamily's request, as well as by her father's commands. 

You have the poor girl's hourly prayers, I will, however, tell you, though she knows not what I do, as well as those of

Your truly afflicted aunt, D. HERVEY. 

FRIDAY, APRIL 21. 

LETTER LIII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE [WITH THE PRECEDING. ] SAT. MORN. APRIL 22. 

I have just now received the enclosed from my aunt Hervey. Be pleased, my dear, to keep her secret of having written to the unhappy wretch herniece. 

I may go to London, I see, or where I will. No matter what becomes ofme. 

I was the willinger to suspend my journey thither till I heard fromHarlowe-place. I thought, if I could be encouraged to hope for areconciliation, I would let this man see, that he should not have me inhis power, but upon my own terms, if at all. 

But I find I must be his, whether I will or not; and perhaps throughstill greater mortifications than those great ones which I have alreadymet with--And must I be so absolutely thrown upon a man, with whom I amnot at all satisfied!

My letter is sent, you see, to Harlowe-place. My heart aches for thereception it may meet with there. 

One comfort only arises to me from its being sent; that my aunt willclear herself, by the communication, from the supposition of havingcorresponded with the poor creature whom they have all determine toreprobate. It is no small part of my misfortune that I have weakened theconfidence one dear friend has in another, and made one look cool uponanother. My poor cousin Dolly, you see, has reason to regret on thisaccount, as well as my aunt. Miss Howe, my dear Miss Howe, is but toosensible of the effects of my fault, having had more words with hermother on my account, than ever she had on any other. Yet the man whohas drawn me into all this evil I must be thrown upon!--Much did Iconsider, much did I apprehend, before my fault, supposing I were to beguilty of it: but I saw it not in all its shocking lights. 

And now, to know that my father, an hour before he received the tidingsof my supposed flight, owned that he loved me as his life: that he wouldhave been all condescension: that he would--Oh! my dear, how tender, howmortifyingly tender now in him! My aunt need not have been afraid, thatit should be known that she has sent me such a letter as this!--A fatherto kneel to his child!--There would not indeed have been any bearing ofthat!--What I should have done in such a case, I know not. Deathwould have been much more welcome to me than such a sight, on such anoccasion, in behalf of a man so very, very disgustful to me!--But I haddeserve annihilation, had I suffered my father to kneel in vain. 

Yet, had but the sacrifice of inclination and personal preference beenall, less than KNEELING should have been done. My duty should have beenthe conqueror of my inclination. But an aversion--an aversion sovery sincere!--The triumph of a cruel and ambitious brother, ever souncontroulable, joined with the insults of an envious sister, bringingwills to theirs, which otherwise would have been favourable to me: themarriage-duties, so absolutely indispensable, so solemnly to be engagedfor: the marriage-intimacies (permit me to say to you, my friend, whatthe purest, although with apprehension, must think of) so veryintimate: myself one who has never looked upon any duty, much less avoluntary-vowed one, with indifference; could it have been honest in meto have given my hand to an odious hand, and to have consented to such amore than reluctant, such an immiscible union, if I may so call it?--Forlife too!--Did not I think more and deeper than most young creaturesthink; did I not weigh, did I not reflect, I might perhaps have beenless obstinate. --Delicacy, (may I presume to call it?) thinking, weighing, reflection, are not blessings (I he not found them such) inthe degree I have them. I wish I had been able, in some very nicecases, to have known what indifference was; yet not to have my ignoranceimputable to me as a fault. Oh! my dear! the finer sensibilities, if Imay suppose mine to be such, make not happy. 

What a method had my friends intended to take with me! This, I daresay, was a method chalked out by my brother. He, I suppose, was to havepresented me to all my assembled friends, as the daughter capable ofpreferring her own will to the wills of them all. It would have been asore trial, no doubt. Would to Heaven, however, I had stood it--let theissue have been what it would, would to Heaven I had stood it!

There may be murder, my aunt says. This looks as if she knew ofSingleton's rash plot. Such an upshot, as she calls it, of this unhappyaffair, Heaven avert!

She flies a thought, that I can less dwell upon--a cruel thought--butshe has a poor opinion of the purity she compliments me with, if shethinks that I am not, by God's grace, above temptation from this sex. Although I never saw a man, whose person I could like, before thisman; yet his faulty character allowed me but little merit from theindifference I pretended to on his account. But, now I see him in nearerlights, I like him less than ever. Unpolite, cruel, insolent!--Unwise!A trifler with his own happiness; the destroyer of mine!--His lasttreatment--my fate too visibly in his power--master of his own wishes, [shame to say it, ] if he knew what to wish for. --Indeed I never likedhim so little as now. Upon my word, I think I could hate him, (if I donot already hate him) sooner than any man I ever thought tolerablyof--a good reason why: because I have been more disappointed in myexpectations of him; although they never were so high, as to have madehim my choice in preference to the single life, had that beenpermitted me. Still, if the giving him up for ever will make my path toreconciliation easy, and if they will signify as much to me, they shallsee that I never will be his: for I have the vanity to think my soul hissoul's superior. 

You will say I rave: forbidden to write to my aunt, and taught todespair of reconciliation, you, my dear, must be troubled with mypassionate resentments. What a wretch was I to give him a meeting, sinceby that I put it out of my power to meet my assembled friends!--Allwould now, if I had met them, been over; and who can tell when mypresent distresses will?--Rid of both men, I had been now perhaps at myaunt Hervey's or at my uncle Antony's; wishing for my cousin Morden'sarrival, who might have accommodated all. 

I intended, indeed, to have stood it: And, if I had, how know I by whosename I might now have been called? For how should I have resisted acondescending, a kneeling father, had he been able to have kept histemper with me?

Yet my aunt say he would have relented, if I had not. Perhaps he wouldhave been moved by my humility, before he could have shown such unduecondescension. Such temper as he would have received me with might havebeen improved upon in my favour. And that he had designed ultimately torelent, how it clears my friends (at least to themselves) and condemnsme! O why were my aunt's hints (I remember them now) so very dark?--YetI intended to have returned after the interview; and then perhapsshe would have explained herself. --O this artful, this designingLovelace--yet I must repeat, that most ought I to blame myself formeeting him. 

But far, far, be banished from me fruitless recrimination! Far banished, because fruitless! Let me wrap myself about in the mantle of my ownintegrity, and take comfort in my unfaulty intention! Since it is nowtoo late to look back, let me collect all my fortitude, and endeavour tostand those shafts of angry Providence, which it will not permit me toshun! That, whatever the trials may be which I am destined to undergo, Imay not behave unworthily in them, and may come out amended by them. 

Join with me in this prayer, my beloved friend; for your own honour'ssake, as well as for love's sake, join with me in it; lest a deviationon my side should, with the censorious, cast a shade upon a friendshipwhich has no levity in it; and the basis of which is improvement, aswell in the greater as lesser duties. 

CL. HARLOWE. 

LETTER LIV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE SATURDAY AFTERNOON, APRIL 22. 

O my best, my only friend! Now indeed is my heart broken! It hasreceived a blow it never will recover. Think not of corresponding witha wretch who now seems absolutely devoted. How can it be otherwise, ifa parent's curses have the weight I always attributed to them, and haveheard so many instances in confirmation of that weight!--Yes, my dearMiss Howe, superadded to all my afflictions, I have the consequencesof a father's curse to struggle with! How shall I support thisreflection!--My past and my present situation so much authorizing myapprehensions!

I have, at last, a letter from my unrelenting sister. Would to Heaven Ihad not provoked it by my second letter to my aunt Hervey! It lay readyfor me, it seems. The thunder slept, till I awakened it. I enclose theletter itself. Transcribe it I cannot. There is no bearing the thoughtsof it: for [shocking reflection!] the curse extends to the life beyondthis. 

I am in the depth of vapourish despondency. I can only repeat--shun, fly, correspond not with a wretch so devoted as

CL. HARLOWE. 

LETTER LV

TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO BE LEFT AT MR. OSGOOD'S, NEAR SOHO-SQUAREFRIDAY, APRIL 21. 

It was expected you would send again to me, or to my aunt Hervey. Theenclosed has lain ready for you, therefore, by direction. You will haveno answer from any body, write to whom you will, and as often as youwill, and what you will. 

It was designed to bring you back by proper authority, or to send youwhither the disgraces you have brought upon us all should be in thelikeliest way, after a while, to be forgotten. But I believe that designis over: so you may range securely--nobody will think it worth while togive themselves any trouble about you. Yet my mother has obtained leaveto send you your clothes of all sorts: but your clothes only. This isa favour you'll see by the within letter not designed you: and now notgranted for your sake, but because my poor mother cannot bear in hersight any thing you used to wear. Read the enclosed, and tremble. 

ARABELLA HARLOWE. 

TO THE MOST UNGRATEFUL AND UNDUTIFUL OF DAUGHTERS HARLOWE-PLACE, APRIL15. 

SISTER THAT WAS!

For I know not what name you are permitted, or choose to go by. 

You have filled us all with distraction. My father, in the firstagitations of his mind, on discovering your wicked, your shamefulelopement, imprecated on his knees a fearful curse upon you. Trembleat the recital of it!--No less, than 'that you may meet your punishmentboth here and hereafter, by means of the very wretch in whom you havechosen to place your wicked confidence. '

Your clothes will not be sent you. You seen, by leaving them behind you, to have been secure of them, whenever you demanded them, but perhaps youcould think of nothing but meeting your fellow:--nothing but how to getoff your forward self!--For every thing seems to have been forgottenbut what was to contribute to your wicked flight. --Yet you judged right, perhaps, that you would have been detected had you endeavoured to getaway with your clothes. --Cunning creature! not to make one step that wewould guess at you by! Cunning to effect your own ruin, and the disgraceof all the family!

But does the wretch put you upon writing for your things, for fear youshould be too expensive to him?--That's it, I suppose. 

Was there ever a giddier creature?--Yet this is the celebrated, theblazing Clarissa--Clarissa what? Harlowe, no doubt!--And Harlowe it willbe, to the disgrace of us all!

Your drawings and your pieces are all taken down; as is also yourwhole-length picture, in the Vandyke taste, from your late parlour: theyare taken down, and thrown into your closet, which will be nailed up, as if it were not a part of the house, there to perish together: For whocan bear to see them? Yet, how did they use to be shown to every body:the former, for the magnifying of your dainty finger-works; the latter, for the imputed dignity (dignity now in the dust!) of your boastedfigure; and this by those fond parents from whom you have run away withso much, yet with so little contrivance!

My brother vows revenge upon your libertine--for the family's sake hevows it--not for yours!--for he will treat you, he declares, like acommon creature, if ever he sees you: and doubts not that this will beyour fate. 

My uncle Harlowe renounces you for ever. 

So does my uncle Antony. 

So does my aunt Hervey. 

So do I, base, unworthy creature! the disgrace of a good family, andthe property of an infamous rake, as questionless you will soon findyourself, if you are not already. 

Your books, since they have not taught you what belongs to your family, to your sex, and to your education, will not be sent to you. Your moneyneither. Nor yet the jewels so undeservedly made yours. For it is wishedyou may be seen a beggar along London-streets. 

If all this is heavy, lay your hand to your heart, and ask yourself, whyyou have deserved it?

Every man whom your pride taught you to reject with scorn (Mr. Solmesexcepted, who, however, has reason to rejoice that he missed you)triumphs in your shameful elopement, and now knows how to account forhis being refused. 

Your worthy Norton is ashamed of you, and mingles her tears with yourmother's; both reproaching themselves for their shares in you, and in sofruitless an education. 

Every body, in short, is ashamed of you: but none more than

ARABELLA HARLOWE. 

LETTER LVI

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TUESDAY, APRIL 25. 

Be comforted; be not dejected; do not despond, my dearest andbest-beloved friend. God Almighty is just and gracious, and gives nothis assent to rash and inhuman curses. Can you think that Heaven willseal to the black passions of its depraved creatures? If it did, malice, envy, and revenge would triumph; and the best of the human race, blastedby the malignity of the worst, would be miserable in both worlds. 

This outrageousness shows only what manner of spirit they are of, andhow much their sordid views exceed their parental love. 'Tis all owingto rage and disappointment--disappointment in designs proper to befrustrated. 

If you consider this malediction as it ought to be considered, a personof your piety must and will rather pity and pray for your rash father, than terrify yourself on the occasion. None bug God can curse; parentsor others, whoever they be, can only pray to Him to curse: and suchprayers can have no weight with a just and all-perfect Being, themotives to which are unreasonable, and the end proposed by them cruel. 

Has not God commanded us to bless and curse not? Pray for your father, then, I repeat, that he incur not the malediction he has announced onyou; since he has broken, as you see, a command truly divine; while you, by obeying that other precept which enjoins us to pray for them thatpersecute and curse us, will turn the curse into a blessing. 

My mother blames them for this wicked letter of your sister; and shepities you; and, of her own accord, wished me to write to comfort you, for this once: for she says, it is pity your heart, which was so noble, (and when the sense of your fault, and the weight of a parent's curseare so strong upon you, ) should be quite broken. 

Lord bless me, how your aunt writes!--Can there be two rights and twowrongs in palpable cases!--But, my dear, she must be wrong: so they allhave been, justify themselves now as they will. They can only justifythemselves to themselves from selfish principles, resolving to acquit, not fairly to try themselves. Did your unkind aunt, in all the tediousprogress of your contentions with them, give you the least hope of theirrelenting?--Her dark hints now I recollect as well as you. But why wasany thing good or hopeful to be darkly hinted?--How easy was it for her, who pretended always to love you; for her, who can give such flowinglicense to her pen for your hurt; to have given you one word, one line(in confidence) of their pretended change of measures!

But do not mind their after-pretences, my dear--all of them serve butfor tacit confessions of their vile usage of you. I will keep youraunt's secret, never fear. I would not, on any consideration, that mymother should see her letter. 

You will now see that you have nothing left but to overcome allscrupulousness, and marry as son as you have an opportunity. Determineto do so, my dear. 

I will give you a motive for it, regarding myself. For this I haveresolved, and this I have vowed, [O friend, the best beloved of myheart, be not angry with me for it!] 'That so long as your happiness isin suspence, I will never think of marrying. ' In justice to the man Ishall have, I have vowed this: for, my dear, must I not be miserable, if you are so? And what an unworthy wife must I be to any man who cannothave interest enough in my heart to make his obligingness a balance foran affliction he has not caused!

I would show Lovelace your sister's abominable letter, were it to me. Ienclose it. It shall not have a place in this house. This will enter himof course into the subject which you now ought to have most in view. Let him see what you suffer for him. He cannot prove base to such anexcellence. I should never enjoy my head or my senses should thisman prove a villain to you!--With a merit so exalted, you may havepunishment more than enough for your involuntary fault in that husband. 

I would not have you be too sure that their project to seize you isover. The words intimating that it is over, in the letter of thatabominable Arabella, seem calculated to give you security. --She onlysays she believes that design is over. --And I do not yet find from MissLloyd that it is disavowed. So it will be best, when you are in London, to be private, and, for fear of the worst, to let every direction to bea third place; for I would not, for the world, have you fall into thehands of such flaming and malevolent spirits by surprize. 

I will myself be content to direct you at some third place; and I shallthen be able to aver to my mother, or to any other, if occasion be, thatI know not where you are. 

Besides, this measure will make you less apprehensive of theconsequences of their violence, should they resolve to attempt to carryyou of in spite of Lovelace. 

I would have you direct to Mr. Hickman, even your answer to this. I havea reason for it. Besides, my mother, notwithstanding this particularindulgence, is very positive. They have prevailed upon her, I know, togive her word to this purpose--Spiteful, poor wretches! How I hate inparticular your foolish uncle Antony. 

I would not have your thought dwell on the contents of your sister'sshocking letter; but pursue other subjects--the subjects before you. And let me know your progress with Lovelace, and what he says to thisdiabolical curse. So far you may enter into this hateful subject. Iexpect that this will aptly introduce the grant topic between you, without needing a mediator. 

Come, my dear, when things are at worst they will mend. Good often comeswhen evil is expected. --But if you despond, there can be no hopes ofcure. Don't let them break your heart; for that is plain to me, is nowwhat some people have in view for you to do. 

How poor to withhold from you your books, your jewels, and your money!As money is all you can at present want, since they will vouchsafeto send your clothes, I send fifty guineas by the bearer, enclosed insingle papers in my Norris's Miscellanies. I charge you, as you love me, return them not. 

I have more at your service. So, if you like not your lodgings or hisbehaviour when you get to town, leave both them and him out of hand. 

I would advise you to write to Mr. Morden without delay. If he intendsfor England, it may hasten him. And you will do very well till he cancome. But, surely Lovelace will be infatuated, if he secure not hishappiness by your consent, before that of Mr. Morden's is made needfulon his arrival. 

Once more, my dear, let me beg of you to be comforted. Manage withyour usual prudence the stake before you, and all will still be happy. Suppose yourself to be me, and me to be you, [you may--for your distressis mine, ] and then you will add full day to these but glimmering lightswhich are held out to you by

Your ever affectionate and faithful ANNA HOWE. 

I hurry this away by Robert. I will inquire into the truth of youraunt's pretences about the change of measures which she says theyintended in case you had not gone away. 

LETTER LVII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE WEDNESDAY MORNING, APRIL 26. 

Your letter, my beloved Miss Howe, gives me great comfort. How sweetlydo I experience the truth of the wise man's observation, That a faithfulfriend is the medicine of life!

Your messenger finds me just setting out for London: the chaise at thedoor. Already I have taken leave of the good widow, who has obligedme with the company of her eldest daughter, at Mr. Lovelace's request, while he rides by us. The young gentlewoman is to return in two or threedays with the chaise, in its way to my Lord M. 's Hertfordshire seat. 

I received my sister's dreadful letter on Sunday, when Mr. Lovelace wasout. He saw, on his return, my extreme anguish and dejection; and he wastold how much worse I had been: for I had fainted away more than once. 

I think the contents of it have touched my head as well as my heart. 

He would fain have seen it. But I would not permit that, because of thethreatenings he would have found in it against himself. As it was, theeffect it had upon me made him break out into execrations and menaces. Iwas so ill that he himself advised me to delay going to town on Monday, as I proposed to do. 

He is extremely regardful and tender of me. All that you supposed wouldfollow the violent letter, from him, has followed it. He has offeredhimself to my acceptance in so unreserved a manner, that I am concernedI have written so freely and diffidently of him. Pray, my dearestfriend, keep to yourself every thing that may appear disreputable of himfrom me. 

I must acquaint you that his kind behaviour, and my low-spiritedness, co-operating with your former advice, and my unhappy situation, made methat very Sunday evening receive unreservedly his declarations: and nowindeed I am more in his power than ever. 

He presses me every hour (indeed as needlessly, as unkindly) for freshtokens of my esteem for him, and confidence in him. And as I have beenbrought to some verbal concessions, if he should prove unworthy, I amsure I shall have great reason to blame this violent letter: for I haveno resolution at all. Abandoned thus of all my natural friends, of whosereturning favour I have now no hopes, and only you to pity me, and yourestrained, as I may say, I have been forced to turn my desolate heartto such protection as I could find. 

All my comfort is, that your advice repeatedly given me to the samepurpose, in your kind letter before me, warrants me. I now set out themore cheerfully to London on that account: for, before, a heavy weighthung upon my heart; and although I thought it best and safest to go, yet my spirits sunk, I know not why, at every motion I made towards apreparation for it. 

I hope no mischief will happen on the road. --I hope these violentspirits will not meet. 

Every one is waiting for me. --Pardon me, my best, my kindest friend, that I return your Norris. In these more promising prospects, I cannothave occasion for your favour. Besides, I have some hope that with myclothes they will send me the money I wrote for, although it is deniedme in the letter. If they do not, and if I should have occasion, I canbut signify my wants to so ready a friend. And I have promised to beobliged only to you. But I had rather methinks you should have it stillto say, if challenged, that nothing of this nature has been eitherrequested or done. I say this with a view entirely to my future hopesof recovering your mother's favour, which, next to that of my own fatherand mother, I am most solicitous to recover. 

I must acquaint you wit one thing more, notwithstanding my hurry; andthat is, that Mr. Lovelace offered either to attend me to Lord M. 's, orto send for his chaplain, yesterday. He pressed me to consent to thisproposal most earnestly, and even seemed desirous rather to have theceremony pass here than at London: for when there, I had told him, itwas time enough to consider of so weighty and important a matter. Now, upon the receipt of your kind, your consolatory letter, methinks Icould almost wish it had been in my power to comply with his earnestsolicitations. But this dreadful letter has unhinged my whole frame. Then some little punctilio surely is necessary. No preparation made. No articles drawn. No license ready. Grief so extreme: no pleasure inprospect, nor so much as in wish--O my dear, who could think of enteringinto so solemn an engagement? Who, so unprepared, could seem to be soready?

If I could flatter myself that my indifference to all the joys of thislife proceeded from proper motives, not rather from the disappointmentsand mortifications my pride has met with, how much rather, I think, should I choose to be wedded to my shroud than to any man on earth!

Indeed I have at present no pleasure but in your friendship. Continuethat to me, I beseech you. If my heart rises hereafter to a capacity ofmore, it must be built on that foundation. 

My spirits sink again on setting out. Excuse this depth of vapourishdejection, which forbids me even hope, the cordial that keeps lifefrom stagnating, and which never was denied me till within theseeight-and-forty hours. 

But 'tis time to relieve you. 

Adieu, my best beloved and kindest friend! Pray for your CLARISSA. 

LETTER LVIII

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE THURSDAY, APRIL 27. 

I am sorry you sent back my Norris. But you must be allowed to do as youplease. So must I, in my turn. We must neither of us, perhaps, expectabsolutely of the other what is the rightest thing to be done: andyet few folks, so young as we are, better know what the rightest is. Icannot separate myself from you; although I give a double instance of myvanity in joining myself with you in this particular assertion. 

I am most heartily rejoiced that your prospects are so much mended; andthat, as I hoped, good has been produced out of evil. What must the manhave been, what must have been his views, had he not taken such aturn, upon a letter so vile, and upon a treatment so unnatural, himselfprincipally the occasion of it?

You know best your motives for suspending: but I wish you could havetaken him at offers so earnest. * Why should you not have permitted himto send for Lord M. 's chaplain? If punctilio only was in the way, andwant of a license, and of proper preparations, and such like, my serviceto you, my dear: and there is ceremony tantamount to your ceremony. 

 * Mr. Lovelace, in his next Letter, tells his friend how extremely illthe Lady was, recovering from fits to fall into stronger fits, andnobody expecting her life. She had not, he says, acquainted Miss Howehow very ill she was. --In the next Letter, she tells Miss Howe, that hermotives for suspending were not merely ceremonious ones. 

Do not, do not, my dear friend, again be so very melancholy a declineras to prefer a shroud, when the matter you wish for is in your power;and when, as you have justly said heretofore, persons cannot die whenthey will. 

But it is a strange perverseness in human nature that we slight thatwhen near us which at a distance we wish for. 

You have now but one point to pursue: that is marriage: let that besolemnized. Leave the rest to Providence, and, to use your own words ina former letter, follow as that leads. You will have a handsome man, a genteel man; he would be a wise man, if he were not vain of hisendowments, and wild and intriguing: but while the eyes of many of oursex, taken by so specious a form and so brilliant a spirit, encouragethat vanity, you must be contented to stay till grey hairs and prudenceenter upon the stage together. You would not have every thing in thesame man. 

I believe Mr. Hickman treads no crooked paths; but he hobbles mostungracefully in a straight one. Yet Mr. Hickman, though he pleases notmy eye, nor diverts my ear, will not, as I believe, disgust the one, norshock the other. Your man, as I have lately said, will always keep upattention; you will always be alive with him, though perhaps more fromfears than hopes: while Mr. Hickman will neither say any thing to keepone awake, nor yet, by shocking adventures, make one's slumbers uneasy. 

I believe I now know which of the two men so prudent a person as youwould, at first, have chosen; nor doubt I that you can guess which Iwould have made choice of, if I might. But proud as we are, the proudestof us all can only refuse, and many of us accept the but half-worthy, for fear a still worse should offer. 

If men had chosen their mistresses for spirits like their own, althoughMr. Lovelace, at the long run, may have been too many for me, I don'tdoubt but I should have given heart-ach for heart-ach, for one half-yearat least; while you, with my dull-swift, would have glided on asserenely, as calmly, as unaccountably, as the succeeding seasons;and varying no otherwise than they, to bring on new beauties andconveniencies to all about you. 

*****

I was going on in this style--but my mother broke in upon me with aprohibitory aspect. 'She gave me leave for one letter only. '--Shehad just parted with your odious uncle, and they have been in closeconference again. 

She has vexed me. I must lay this by till I hear from you again, notknowing whither to send it. 

Direct me to a third place, as I desired in my former. 

I told my mother (on her challenging me) that I was writing indeed, andto you: but it was only to amuse myself; for I protested that I knew notwhere to send to you. 

I hope that your next may inform me of your nuptials, although the nextto that were to acquaint me that he was the most ungratefullest monsteron earth; as he must be, if not the kindest husband in it. 

My mother has vexed me. But so, on revising, I wrote before. --But shehas unhinged me, as you call it: pretended to catechise Hickman, Iassure you, for contributing to our supposed correspondence. Catechisedhim severely too, upon my word!--I believe I have a sneaking kindnessfor the sneaking fellow, for I cannot endure that any body should treathim like a fool but myself. 

I believe, between you and me, the good lady forgot herself. I heard herloud. She possibly imagined that my father was come to life again. Yetthe meekness of the man might have soon convinced her, I should havethought; for my father, it seems, would talk as loud as she, I suppose, (though within a few yards of each other, ) as if both were out of theirway, and were hallooing at half a mile's distance, to get in again. 

I know you'll blame me for this sauciness--but I told you I was vexed;and if I had not a spirit, my parentage on both sides might be doubted. 

You must not chide me too severely, however, because I have learned ofyou not to defend myself in an error: and I own I am wrong: and that'senough: you won't be so generous in this case as you are in every other, if you don't think it is. 

Adieu, my dear! I must, I will love you, and love you for ever! Sosubscribes your

ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER LIX

FROM MISS HOWE [ENCLOSED IN THE ABOVE. ] THURSDAY, APRIL 27. 

I have been making inquiry, as I told you I would, whether yourrelations had really (before you left them) resolved upon that change ofmeasures which your aunt mentions in her letter; and by laying togetherseveral pieces of intelligence, some drawn from my mother, through youruncle Antony's communications; some from Miss Lloyd, by your sister's;and some by a third way that I shall not tell you of; I have reason tothink the following a true state of the case. 

'That there was no intention of a change of measures till within two orthree days of your going away. On the contrary, your brother and sister, though they had no hope of prevailing with you in Solmes's favour, wereresolved never to give over their persecutions till they had pushed youupon taking some step, which, by help of their good offices, should bedeemed inexcusable by the half-witted souls they had to play upon. 

'But that, at last, your mother (tired with, and, perhaps, ashamed ofthe passive part she had acted) thought fit to declare to Miss Bell, that she was determined to try to put an end to the family feuds, and toget your uncle Harlowe to second her endeavours. 

'This alarmed your brother and sister, and then a change of measureswas resolved upon. Solmes's offers were, however, too advantageous tobe given up; and your father's condescension was now to be their soledependence, and (as they give it out) the trying of what that would dowith you, their last effort. '

And indeed, my dear, this must have succeeded, I verily think, with sucha daughter as they had to deal with, could that father, who never, Idare say, kneeled in his life but to his God, have so far condescendedas your aunt writes he would. 

But then, my dear, what would this have done?--Perhaps you wouldhave given Lovelace this meeting, in hopes to pacify him, and preventmischief; supposing that they had given you time, and not hurried youdirectly into the state. But if you had not met him, you see that he wasresolved to visit them, and well attended too: and what must have beenthe consequence?

So that, upon the whole, we know not but matters may be best as theyare, however disagreeable that best is. 

I hope your considerate and thoughtful mind will make a good use ofthis hint. Who would not with patience sustain even a great evil, if shecould persuade herself that it was kindly dispensed, in order to preventa still greater?--Especially, if she could sit down, as you can, andacquit her own heart?

Permit me one further observation--Do we not see, from the above stateof the matter, what might have been done before by the worthy personof your family, had she exerted the mother, in behalf of a child someritorious, yet so much oppressed?

Adieu, my dear. I will be ever yours. ANNA HOWE. 

*****

[Clarissa, in her answer to the first of the two last letters, chidesher friend for giving so little weight to her advice, in relation to her behaviour to her mother. It may be proper to insert here the following extracts from that answer, though a little before the time. ]

You assume, my dear, says she, your usual and ever-agreeable style inwhat you write of the two gentlemen, * and how unaptly you think theyhave chosen; Mr. Hickman in addressing you, Mr. Lovelace me. But I aminclinable to believe that, with a view to happiness, however two mildtempers might agree, two high ones would make sad work of it, both atone time violent and unyielding. You two might, indeed, have raquetedthe ball betwixt you, as you say. ** But Mr. Hickman, by his gentlemanners, seems formed for you, if you go not too far with him. If youdo, it would be a tameness in him to bear it, which would make a manmore contemptible than Mr. Hickman can ever deserve to be made. Nor isit a disgrace for even a brave man, who knows what a woman is to vow tohim afterwards, to be very obsequious beforehand. 

 * See Letter XXXV. And Letter XXXVI. Of this volume. ** See Letter XXXVI. Of this volume. 

Do you think it is to the credit of Mr. Lovelace's character that hecan be offensive and violent?--Does he not, as all such spirits must, subject himself to the necessity of making submissions for his excessesfar more mortifying to a proud hear than those condescensions which thehigh-spirited are so apt to impute as a weakness of mind in such a manas Mr. Hickman?

Let me tell you, my dear, that Mr. Hickman is such a one as would ratherbear an affront from a lady, than offer one to her. He had rather, Idare say, that she should have occasion to ask his pardon than he her's. But my dear, you have outlived your first passion; and had the secondman been an angel, he would not have been more than indifferent to you. 

My motives for suspending, proceeds she, were not merely ceremoniousones. I was really very ill. I could not hold up my head. The contentsof my sister's letters had pierced my heart. Indeed, my dear, I was veryill. And was I, moreover, to be as ready to accept his offer as if Iwere afraid he never would repeat it?

I see with great regret that your mamma is still immovably bent againstour correspondence. What shall I do about it?--It goes against me tocontinue it, or to wish you to favour me with returns. --Yet I have somanaged my matters that I have no friend but you to advise with. It isenough to make one indeed wish to be married to this man, though a manof errors, as he has worthy relations of my own sex; and I should havesome friends, I hope:--and having some, I might have more--for asmoney is said to increase money, so does the countenance of persons ofcharacter increase friends: while the destitute must be destitute. --Itgoes against my heart to beg of your to discontinue corresponding withme; and yet it is against my conscience to carry it on against parentalprohibition. But I dare not use all the arguments against it that Icould use--And why?--For fear I should convince you; and you shouldreject me as the rest of my friends have done. I leave therefore thedetermination of this point upon you. --I am not, I find, to be trustedwith it. But be mine all the fault, and all the punishment, if it bepunishable!--And certainly it must, when it can be the cause of theletter I have before me, and which I must no farther animadvert upon, because you forbid me to do so. 

[To the second letter, among other things, she says, ]

So, my dear, you seem to think that there was a fate in my error. Thecordial, the considerate friendship is seen in the observation you makeon this occasion. Yet since things have happened as they have, wouldto Heaven I could hear that all the world acquitted my father, or, atleast, my mother! whose character, before these family feuds broke out, was the subject of everyone's admiration. Don't let any body say fromyou, so that it may come to her ear, that she might, from a timelyexertion of her fine talents, have saved her unhappy child. You willobserve, my dear, that in her own good time, when she saw there was notlikely to be an end to my brother's persecutions, she resolved toexert herself. But the pragmatical daughter, by the fatal meeting, precipitated all, and frustrated her indulgent designs. O my love, I amnow convinced, by dear experience, that while children are so happyas to have parents or guardians whom they may consult, they should notpresume (no, not with the best and purest intentions) to follow theirown conceits in material cases. 

A ray of hope of future reconciliation darts in upon my mind, from theintention you tell me my mother had to exert herself in my favour, had Inot gone away. And my hope is the stronger, as this communication pointsout to me that my uncle Harlowe's interest is likely, in my mother'sopinion, to be of weight, if it could be engaged. It will behove me, perhaps, to apply to that dear uncle, if a proper occasion offer. 

LETTER LX

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. MONDAY, APRIL 24. 

Fate is weaving a whimsical web for thy friend; and I see not but Ishall be inevitably manacled. 

Here have I been at work, dig, dig, dig, like a cunning miner, at onetime, and spreading my snares, like an artful fowler, at another, andexulting in my contrivances to get this inimitable creature, absolutelyinto my power. Every thing made for me. Her brother and uncles were butmy pioneers: her father stormed as I directed him to storm: Mrs. Howewas acted by the springs I set at work; her daughter was moving for me, yet imagined herself plumb against me: and the dear creature herselfhad already run her stubborn neck into my gin, and knew not that she wascaught, for I had not drawn my sprindges close about her--And just asall this was completed, wouldst thou believe, that I should be my ownenemy, and her friend? That I should be so totally diverted from all myfavourite purposes, as to propose to marry her before I went to town, inorder to put it out of my own power to resume them. 

When thou knowest this, wilt thou not think that my black angel plays mebooty, and has taken it into his head to urge me on to the indissolubletie, that he might be more sure of me (from the complex transgressionsto which he will certainly stimulate me, when wedded) than perhapshe thought he could be from the simple sins, in which I have so longallowed myself, that they seem to have the plea of habit?

Thou wilt be still the more surprised, when I tell thee, that thereseems to be a coalition going forward between the black angels and thewhite ones; for here has her's induced her, in one hour, and by oneretrograde accident, to acknowledge what the charming creature neverbefore acknowledged, a preferable favour for me. She even avows anintention to be mine. --Mine! without reformation-conditions!--Shepermits me to talk of love to her!--of the irrevocable ceremony!--Yet, another extraordinary! postpones that ceremony; chooses to set out forLondon; and even to go to the widow's in town. 

Well, but how comes all this about? methinks thou askest. --Thou, Lovelace, dealest in wonders, yet aimest not at the marvellous!--How didall this come about?

I will tell thee--I was in danger of losing my charmer for ever! She wassoaring upward to her native skies! She was got above earth, by meanstoo, of the earth-born! And something extraordinary was to be done tokeep her with us sublunaries. And what so effectually as the soothingvoice of Love, and the attracting offer of matrimony from a mannot hated, can fix the attention of the maiden heart, aching withuncertainty, and before impatient of the questionable question?

This, in short, was the case: while she was refusing all manner ofobligation to me, keeping me at haughty distance, in hopes that hercousin Morden's arrival would soon fix her in a full and absoluteindependence of me--disgusted, likewise, at her adorer, for holdinghimself the reins of his own passions, instead of giving them up to hercontroul--she writes a letter, urging an answer to a letter before sent, for her apparel, her jewels, and some gold, which she had left behindher; all which was to save her pride from obligation, and to promote theindependence her heart was set upon. And what followed but a shockinganswer, made still more shocking by the communication of a father'scurse, upon a daughter deserving only blessings?--A curse upon thecurser's heart, and a double one upon the transmitter's, the spitefulthe envious Arabella!

Absent when it came--on my return I found her recovering from fits, again to fall into stronger fits; and nobody expecting her life; half adozen messengers dispatched to find me out. Nor wonder at her being soaffected; she, whose filial piety gave her dreadful faith in a father'scurses; and the curse of this gloomy tyrant extending (to use her ownwords, when she could speak) to both worlds--O that it had turned, inthe moment of its utterance, to a mortal quinsy, and, sticking in hisgullet, had choked the old execrator, as a warning to all such unnaturalfathers!

What a miscreant had I been, not to have endeavoured to bring her back, by all the endearments, by all the vows, by all the offers, that I couldmake her!

I did bring her back. More than a father to her: for I have given her alife her unnatural father had well-nigh taken away: Shall I not cherishthe fruits of my own benefaction? I was earnest in my vows to marry, and my ardour to urge the present time was a real ardour. But extremedejection, with a mingled delicacy, that in her dying moments I doubtnot she will preserve, have caused her to refuse me the time, though notthe solemnity; for she has told me, that now she must be wholly in myprotection [being destitute of every other!] More indebted, still, thyfriend, as thou seest, to her cruel relations, than to herself, for herfavour!

She has written to Miss Howe an account of their barbarity! but has notacquainted her how very ill she was. 

Low, very low, she remains; yet, dreading her stupid brother'senterprise, she wants to be in London, where, but for this accident, and(wouldst thou have believed it?) for my persuasions, seeing her so veryill, she would have been this night; and we shall actually set out onWednesday morning, if she be not worse. 

And now for a few words with thee, on the heavy preachment of Saturdaylast. 

Thou art apprehensive, that the lady is now truly in danger; and it is amiracle, thou tellest me, if she withstand such an attempter!--'Knowingwhat we know of the sex, thou sayest, thou shouldst dread, wert thoume, to make further trial, lest thou shouldst succeed. ' And, in anotherplace, tellest me, 'That thou pleadest not for the state for any favourthou hast for it. '

What an advocate art thou for matrimony--!

Thou wert ever an unhappy fellow at argument. Does the trite stuff withwhich the rest of thy letter abounds, in favour of wedlock, strike withthe force that this which I have transcribed does against it?

Thou takest great pains to convince me, and that from the distressesthe lady is reduced to (chiefly by her friend's persecutions andimplacableness, I hope thou wilt own, and not from me, as yet) that theproposed trial will not be a fair trial. But let me ask thee, Is notcalamity the test of virtue? And wouldst thou not have me value thischarming creature upon proof of her merits?--Do I not intend to rewardher by marriage, if she stand that proof?

But why repeat I what I have said before?--Turn back, thou egregiousarguer, turn back to my long letter of the 13th, * and thou wilt therefind every syllable of what thou hast written either answered orinvalidated. 

 * See Letter XVIII. Of this volume. 

But I am not angry with thee, Jack. I love opposition. As gold is triedby fire, and virtue by temptation, so is sterling wit by opposition. Have I not, before thou settest out as an advocate for my fair-one, often brought thee in, as making objections to my proceedings, for noother reason than to exalt myself by proving thee a man of straw? AsHomer raises up many of his champions, and gives them terrible names, only to have them knocked on the head by his heroes. 

However, take to thee this one piece of advice--Evermore be sure ofbeing in the right, when thou presumest to sit down to correct thymaster. 

And another, if thou wilt--Never offer to invalidate the force whicha virtuous education ought to have in the sex, by endeavouring to findexcuses for their frailty from the frailty of ours. For, are we notdevils to each other?--They tempt us--we tempt them. Because we mencannot resist temptation, is that a reason that women ought not, when the whole of their education is caution and warning against ourattempts? Do not their grandmothers give them one easy rule--Men are toask--Women are to deny?

Well, but to return to my principal subject; let me observe, that, be myfuture resolutions what they will, as to this lady, the contents of theviolent letter she has received have set me at least a month forwardwith her. I can now, as I hinted, talk of love and marriage, withoutcontroul or restriction; her injunctions no more my terror. 

In this sweetly familiar way shall we set out together for London. Mrs. Sorlings's eldest daughter, at my motion, is to attend her in thechaise, while I ride by way of escort: for she is extremely apprehensiveof the Singleton plot; and has engaged me to be all patience, if anything should happen on the road. But nothing I am sure will happen:for, by a letter received just now from Joseph, I understand, thatJames Harlowe has already laid aside his stupid project: and this by theearnest desire of all those of his friends to whom he had communicatedit; who were afraid of the consequences that might attend it. But it isnot over with me, however; although I am not determined at present as tothe uses I may make of it. 

My beloved tells me, she shall have her clothes sent her. She hopes alsoher jewels, and some gold, which she left behind her: but Joseph says, clothes only will be sent. I will not, however, tell her that: on thecontrary, I say, there is no doubt but they will send all she wrotefor. The greater her disappointment from them, the greater must be herdependence on me. 

But, after all, I hope I shall be enabled to be honest to a merit sotranscendent. The devil take thee, though, for thy opinion, given somal-a-propos, that she may be overcome. 

If thou designest to be honest, methinkst thou sayest, Why should notSingleton's plot be over with thee, as it is with her brother?

Because (if I must answer thee) where people are so modestly doubtful ofwhat they are able to do, it is good to leave a loop-hole. And, let meadd, that when a man's heart is set upon a point, and any thing occursto beat him off, he will find it very difficult, when the suspendingreason ceases, to forbear resuming it. 

LETTER LXI

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUESDAY, APRIL 25. 

All hands at work in preparation for London. --What makes my heart beatso strong? Why rises it to my throat in such half-choking flutters, whenI think of what this removal may do for me? I am hitherto resolved tobe honest, and that increases my wonder at these involuntary commotions. 'Tis a plotting villain of a heart: it ever was--and ever will be, Idoubt. Such a joy when any roguery is going forward!--I so little itsmaster!--A head, likewise, so well turned to answer the triangularvarlet's impulses!--No matter--I will have one struggle with thee, oldfriend; and if I cannot overcome thee now, I never will again attempt toconquer thee. 

The dear creature continues extremely low and dejected. Tender blossom!how unfit to contend with the rude and ruffling winds of passion, andhaughty and insolent control!--Never till now from under the wing (it isnot enough to say of indulging, but) of admiring parents; the mother'sbosom only fit to receive this charming flower!

This was the reflection, that, with mingled compassion, and augmentedlove, arose to my mind, when I beheld the charmer reposing her lovelyface upon the bosom of the widow Sorlings, from a recovered fit, as Ientered soon after she had received her execrable sister's letter. Howlovely in her tears!--And as I entered, her uplifted face significantlybespeaking my protection, as I thought. And can I be a villain to suchan angel!--I hope not--But why, Belford, why, once more, puttest thoume in mind, that she may be overcome? And why is her own reliance on myhonour so late and so reluctantly shown?

But, after all, so low, so dejected, continues she to be, that I amterribly afraid I shall have a vapourish wife, if I do marry. I shouldthen be doubly undone. Not that I shall be much at home with her, perhaps, after the first fortnight, or so. But when a man has beenranging, like the painful bee, from flower to flower, perhaps for amonth together, and the thoughts of home and a wife begin to have theircharms with him, to be received by a Niobe, who, like a wounded vine, weeps her vitals away, while she but involuntary curls about him; howshall I be able to bear that?

May Heaven restore my charmer to health and spirits, I hourly pray--thata man may see whether she can love any body but her father and mother!In their power, I am confident, it will be, at any time, to make herhusband joyless; and that, as I hate them so heartily, is a shockingthing to reflect upon. --Something more than woman, an angel, in somethings; but a baby in others: so father-sick! so family-fond!--What apoor chance stands a husband with such a wife! unless, forsooth, theyvouchsafe to be reconciled to her, and continue reconciled!

It is infinitely better for her and for me that we should not marry. What a delightful manner of life [O that I could persuade her toit!] would the life of honour be with such a woman! The fears, theinquietudes, the uneasy days, the restless nights; all arising fromdoubts of having disobliged me! Every absence dreaded to be anabsence for ever! And then how amply rewarded, and rewarding, by therapture-causing return! Such a passion as this keeps love in a continualfervour--makes it all alive. The happy pair, instead of sitting dozingand nodding at each other, in opposite chimney-corners, in a winterevening, and over a wintry love, always new to each other, and havingalways something to say. 

Thou knowest, in my verses to my Stella, my mind on this occasion. I will lay those verses in her way, as if undesignedly, when we aretogether at the widow's; that is to say, if we do not soon go to churchby consent. She will thence see what my notions are of wedlock. If shereceives them with any sort of temper, that will be a foundation--andlet me alone to build upon it. 

Many a girl has been carried, who never would have been attempted, hadshe showed a proper resentment, when her ears, or her eyes were firstinvaded. I have tried a young creature by a bad book, a light quotation, or an indecent picture; and if she has borne that, or only blushed, andnot been angry; and more especially if she has leered and smiled; thatgirl have I, and old Satan, put down for our own. O how I could warnthese little rogues, if I would! Perhaps envy, more than virtue, willput me upon setting up beacons for them, when I grow old and joyless. 

TUESDAY AFTERNOON. 

If you are in London when I get thither, you will see me soon. Mycharmer is a little better than she was: her eyes show it; and herharmonious voice, hardly audible last time I saw her, now begins tocheer my heart once more. But yet she has no love--no sensibility!There is no addressing her with those meaning, yet innocent freedoms(innocent, at first setting out, they may be called) which soften othersof her sex. The more strange this, as she now acknowledges preferablefavour for me; and is highly susceptible of grief. Grief mollifies, and enervates. The grieved mind looks round it, silently imploresconsolation, and loves the soother. Grief is ever an inmate with joy. Though they won't show themselves at the same window at one time; yetthey have the whole house in common between them. 

LETTER LXII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. WEDN. APRIL 26. 

At last my lucky star has directed us into the desired port, and we aresafely landed. --Well says Rowe:--

 The wise and active conquer difficulties, By daring to attempt them. Sloth and folly Shiver and shrink at sight of toil and hazard, And make th' impossibility they fear. 

But in the midst of my exultation, something, I know not what to callit, checks my joys, and glooms over my brighter prospects: if it be notconscience, it is wondrously like what I thought so, many, many yearsago. 

Surely, Lovelace, methinks thou sayest, thy good motions are not goneoff already! Surely thou wilt not now at last be a villain to this lady!

I can't tell what to say to it. Why would not the dear creature acceptof me, when I so sincerely offered myself to her acceptance? Thingsalready appear with a very different face now I have got her here. Already have our mother and her daughters been about me:--'Charminglady! What a complexion! What eyes! What majesty in her person!--OMr. Lovelace, you are a happy man! You owe us such a lady!'--Then theyremind me of my revenge, and of my hatred to her whole family. 

Sally was so struck with her, at first sight, that she broke out to mein these lines of Dryden:--

 ----Fairer to be seen Than the fair lily on the flow'ry green! More fresh than May herself in blossoms new!

I sent to thy lodgings within half an hour after our arrival, to receivethy congratulation upon it, but thou wert at Edgeware, it seems. 

My beloved, who is charmingly amended, is retired to her constantemployment, writing. I must content myself with the same amusement, tillshe shall be pleased to admit me to her presence: for already have Igiven to every one her cue. 

And, among the rest, who dost thou think is to be her maidservant?--Deb. Butler. 

Ah, Lovelace!

And Ah, Belford!--It can't be otherwise. But what dost think Deb's nameis to be? Why, Dorcas, Dorcas Wykes. And won't it be admirable, if, either through fear, fright, or good liking, we can get my beloved toaccept of Dorcas Wykes for a bed-fellow?

In so many ways will it be now in my power to have the dear creature, that I shall not know which of them to choose!

But here comes the widow with Dorcas Wykes in her hand, and I am tointroduce them both to my fair-one?

*****

So, the honest girl is accepted--of good parentage--but, through aneglected education, plaguy illiterate: she can neither write, norread writing. A kinswoman of Mrs. Sinclair--could not therefore well berefused, the widow in person recommending her; and the wench only takentill her Hannah can come. What an advantage has an imposing or forwardnature over a courteous one! So here may something arise to lead intocorrespondencies, and so forth. To be sure a person need not be so wary, so cautious of what she writes, or what she leaves upon her table, ortoilette, when her attendant cannot read. 

It would be a miracle, as thou sayest, if this lady can saveherself--And having gone so far, how can I recede? Then my revenge uponthe Harlowes!--To have run away with a daughter of theirs, to make hera Lovelace--to make her one of a family so superior to her own--what atriumph, as I have heretofore observed, * to them! But to run awaywith her, and to bring her to my lure in the other light, what amortification of their pride! What a gratification of my own!

Then these women are continually at me. These women, who, before mywhole soul and faculties were absorbed in the love of this singlecharmer, used always to oblige me with the flower and first fruits oftheir garden! Indeed, indeed, my goddess should not have chosen thisLondon widow's! But I dare say, if I had, she would not. People who willbe dealing in contradiction ought to pay for it. And to be punished bythe consequences of our own choice--what a moral lies there!--What adeal of good may I not be the occasion of from a little evil!

Dorcas is a neat creature, both in person and dress; her continuance notvulgar. And I am in hopes, as I hinted above, that her lady will acceptof her for her bedfellow, in a strange house, for a week or so. But Isaw she had a dislike to her at her very first appearance; yet I thoughtthe girl behaved very modestly--over-did it a little perhaps. Herladyship shrunk back, and looked shy upon her. The doctrine ofsympathies and antipathies is a surprising doctrine. But Dorcas will beexcessively obliging, and win her lady's favour soon, I doubt not. Iam secure in one of the wench's qualities however--she is not to becorrupted. A great point that! since a lady and her maid, when heartilyof one party, will be too hard for half a score devils. 

The dear creature was no less shy when the widow first accosted her ather alighting. Yet I thought that honest Doleman's letter had preparedher for her masculine appearance. 

And now I mention that letter, why dost thou not wish me joy, Jack?

Joy, of what?

Why, joy of my nuptials. Know then, that said, is done, with me, when Ihave a mind to have it so; and that we are actually man and wife! onlythat consummation has not passed: bound down to the contrary of that, by a solemn vow, till a reconciliation with her family take place. Thewomen here are told so. They know it before my beloved knows it; andthat, thou wilt say, is odd. 

But how shall I do to make my fair-one keep her temper on theintimation? Why, is she not here? At Mrs. Sinclair's?--But if she willhear reason, I doubt not to convince her, that she ought to acquiesce. 

She will insist, I suppose, upon my leaving her, and that I shall nottake up my lodgings under the same roof. But circumstances are changedsince I first made her that promise. I have taken all the vacantapartments; and must carry this point also. 

I hope in a while to get her with me to the public entertainments. Sheknows nothing of the town, and has seen less of its diversions thanever woman of her taste, her fortune, her endowments, did see. She has, indeed, a natural politeness, which transcends all acquirement. The mostcapable of any one I ever knew of judging what an hundred things are, byseeing one of a like nature. Indeed she took so much pleasure in herown chosen amusements, till persecuted out of them, that she had neitherleisure nor inclination for the town diversions. 

These diversions will amuse, and the deuce is in it, if a littlesusceptibility will not put forth, now she receives my address;especially if I can manage it so as to be allowed to live under one roofwith her. What though the sensibility be at first faint and reluctant, like the appearance of an early spring-flower in frosty winter, whichseems afraid of being nipt by an easterly blast! That will be enough forme. 

I hinted to thee in a former, * that I had provided books for the lady'sin-door amusement. Sally and Polly are readers. My beloved's lightcloset was their library. And several pieces of devotion have been putin, bought on purpose at second-hand. 

 * See Letter XXXIX. Of this volume. 

I was always for forming a judgment of the reading part of the sex bytheir books. The observations I have made on this occasion have been ofgreat use to me, as well in England as out of it. The sagacious lady maypossibly be as curious in this point as her Lovelace. 

So much for the present. Thou seest that I have a great deal of businessbefore me; yet I will write again soon. 

[Mr. Lovelace sends another letter with this; in which he takes noticeof young Miss Sorlings's setting out with them, and leaving them at Barnet: but as its contents are nearly the same with those in the Lady's next letter, it is omitted. ]

END OF VOL. 3