CLARISSA HARLOWE

or the

HISTORY OF A YOUNG LADY

Nine VolumesVolume IV. 

CONTENTS OF VOLUME IV

LETTER I. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Likes her lodgings; but not greatly the widow. Chides Miss Howe for herrash, though friendly vow. Catalogue of good books she finds in hercloset. Utterly dissatisfied with him for giving out to the women belowthat they were privately married. Has a strong debate with him on thissubject. He offers matrimony to her, but in such a manner that she couldnot close with his offer. Her caution as to doors, windows, and seals ofletters. 

LETTER II. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Her expedient to correspond with each other every day. Is glad she hadthoughts of marrying him had he repeated his offer. Wonders he did not. 

LETTER III. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Breakfasts with him and the widow, and her two nieces. Observations upontheir behaviour and looks. He makes a merit of leaving her, and hopes, ON HIS RETURN, that she will name his happy day. She is willing to makethe best constructions in his favour. 

In his next letter (extracts from which are only given) he triumphs onthe points he has carried. Stimulated by the women, he resumes hisresolution to try her to the utmost. 

LETTER IV. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Lovelace returns the next day. She thinks herself meanly treated, and isangry. He again urges marriage; but before she can return his answermakes another proposal; yet she suspects not that he means a studieddelay. He is in treaty for Mrs. Fretchville's house. Description of it. An inviting opportunity offers for him to propose matrimony to her. Shewonders he let it slip. He is very urgent for her company at a collationhe is to give to four of his select friends, and Miss Partington. Hegives an account who Miss Partington is. 

In Mr. Lovelace's next letter he invites Belford, Mowbray, Belton, andTourville, to his collation. His humourous instructions for theirbehaviour before the lady. Has two views in getting her into theircompany. 

LETTER V. Lovelace to Belford. --Has been at church with Clarissa. The sabbath a charming institution. The text startles him. Nathan the prophet he calls a good ingeniousfellow. She likes the women better than she did at first. Shereluctantly consents to honour his collation with her presence. Longsto have their opinions of his fair prize. Describes her to greatadvantage. 

LETTER VI. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --She praises his good behaviour at St. Paul's. Is prevailed on to dinewith Mrs. Sinclair and her nieces. Is better pleased with them than shethought she should be. Blames herself for her readiness to censure, where reputation is concerned. Her charitable allowances on this head. This day an agreeable day. Interprets ever thing she can fairlyinterpret in Mr. Lovelace's favour. She could prefer him to all the menshe ever knew, if he would always be what he had been that day. Isdetermined, as much as possible, by true merit, and by deeds. Datesagain, and is offended at Miss Partington's being introduced to her, andat his making her yield to be present at his intended collation. 

LETTER VII. From the same. --Disgusted wit her evening. Characterizes his four companions. Likes notMiss Partington's behaviour. 

LETTER VIII. From the same. --An attempt to induce her to admit Miss Partington to a share in her bedfor that night. She refuses. Her reasons. Is highly dissatisfied. 

LETTER IX. From the same. --Has received an angry letter from Mrs. Howe, forbidding her to correspondwith her daughter. She advises compliance, though against herself; and, to induce her to it, makes the best of her present prospects. 

LETTER X. Miss Howe. In answer. --Flames out upon this step of her mother. Insists upon continuing thecorrespondence. Her menaces if Clarissa write not. Raves againstLovelace. But blames her for not obliging Miss Partington: and why. Advises her to think of settlements. Likes Lovelace's proposal of Mrs. Fretchville's house. 

LETTER XI. Clarissa. In reply. --Terrified at her menaces, she promises to continue writing. Beseechesher to learn to subdue her passions. Has just received her clothes. 

LETTER XII. Mr. Hickman to Clarissa. --Miss Howe, he tells her, is uneasy for the vexation she has given her. If she will write on as before, Miss Howe will not think of doing whatshe is so apprehensive of. He offers her his most faithful services. 

LETTER XIII. XIV. Lovelace to Belford. --Tells him how much the lady dislikes the confraternity; Belford as wellas the rest. Has a warm debate with her in her behalf. Looks upon herrefusing a share in her bed to Miss Partington as suspecting and defyinghim. Threatens her. --Savagely glories in her grief, on receiving MissHowe's prohibitory letter: which appears to be instigated by himself. 

LETTER XV. Belford to Lovelace. --His and his compeer's high admiration of Clarissa. They all join toentreat him to do her justice. 

LETTER XVI. XVII. Lovelace. In answer. --He endeavours to palliate his purposes by familiar instances of crueltyto birds, &c. --Farther characteristic reasonings in support of his wickeddesigns. The passive condition to which he wants to bring the lady. 

LETTER XVIII. Belford. In reply. --Still warmly argues in behalf of the lady. Is obliged to attend a dyinguncle: and entreats him to write from time to time an account of all hisproceedings. 

LETTER XIX. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Lovelace, she says, complains of the reserves he gives occasion for. Hispride a dirty low pride, which has eaten up his prudence. He is sunk inher opinion. An afflicting letter sent her from her cousin Morden. 

Encloses the letter. In which her cousin (swayed by the representationsof her brother) pleads in behalf of Solmes, and the family-views; andsets before her, in strong and just lights, the character of a libertine. 

Her heavy reflections upon the contents. Her generous prayer. 

LETTER XX. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --He presses her to go abroad with him; yet mentions not the ceremony thatshould give propriety to his urgency. Cannot bear the life she lives. Wishes her uncle Harlowe to be sounded by Mr. Hickman, as to areconciliation. Mennell introduced to her. Will not take another stepwith Lovelace till she know the success of the proposed application toher uncle. 

Substance of two letters from Lovelace to Belford; in which he tells himwho Mennell is, and gives an account of many new contrivances andprecautions. Women's pockets ballast-bags. Mrs. Sinclair's wardrobe. Good order observed in her house. The lady's caution, he says, warrantshis contrivances. 

LETTER XXI. Lovelace to Belford. --Will write a play. The title of it, The Quarrelsome Lovers. Perseverance his glory; patience his hand-maid. Attempts to get a letterthe lady had dropt as she sat. Her high indignation upon it. Fartherplots. Paul Wheatly, who; and for what employed. Sally Martin'sreproaches. Has overplotted himself. Human nature a well-known rogue. 

LETTER XXII. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Acquaints her with their present quarrel. Finds it imprudent to staywith him. Re-urges the application to her uncle. Cautions her sex withregard to the danger of being misled by the eye. 

LETTER XXIII. Miss Howe. In answer. --Approves of her leaving Lovelace. New stories of his wickedness. Willhave her uncle sounded. Comforts her. How much her case differs fromthat of any other female fugitive. She will be an example, as well as awarning. A picture of Clarissa's happiness before she knew Lovelace. Brief sketches of her exalted character. Adversity her shining time. 

LETTER XXIV. Clarissa. In reply. --Has a contest with Lovelace about going to church. He obliges her againto accept of his company to St. Paul's. 

LETTER XXV. Miss Howe to Mrs. Norton. --Desiring her to try to dispose Mrs. Harlowe to forward a reconciliation. 

LETTER XXVI. Mrs. Norton. In answer. 

LETTER XXVII. Miss Howe. In reply. 

LETTER XXVIII. Mrs. Harlowe's pathetic letter to Mrs. Norton. 

LETTER XXIX. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Fruitless issue of Mr. Hickman's application to her uncle. Advises herhow to proceed with, and what to say to, Lovelace. Endeavours to accountfor his teasing ways. Who knows, she says, but her dear friend waspermitted to swerve, in order to bring about his reformation? Informsher of her uncle Antony's intended address to her mother. 

LETTER XXX. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Hard fate to be thrown upon an ungenerous and cruel man. Reasons why shecannot proceed with Mr. Lovelace as she advises. Affecting apostrophe toLovelace. 

LETTER XXXI. From the same. --Interesting conversation with Lovelace. He frightens her. He mentionssettlements. Her modest encouragements of him. He evades. Truegenerosity what. She requires his proposals of settlements in writing. Examines herself on her whole conduct to Lovelace. Maidenly niceness nother motive for the distance she has kept him at. What is. Invites hercorrection if she deceive herself. 

LETTER XXXII. From the same. --With Mr. Lovelace's written proposals. Her observations on the coldconclusion of them. He knows not what every wise man knows, of theprudence and delicacy required in a wife. 

LETTER XXXIII. From the same. --Mr. Lovelace presses for the day; yet makes a proposal which mustnecessarily occasion a delay. Her unreserved and pathetic answer to it. He is affected by it. She rejoices that he is penetrable. He pressesfor her instant resolution; but at the same time insinuates delay. Seeing her displeased, he urges for the morrow: but, before she cananswer, gives her the alternative of other days. Yet, wanting to rewardhimself, as if he had obliged her, she repulses him on a liberty he wouldhave taken. He is enraged. Her melancholy reflections on her futureprospects with such a man. The moral she deduces from her story. [Anote, defending her conduct from the censure which passed upon her asover nice. ]

Extracts from four of his letters: in which he glories in his cruelty. Hardheartedness he owns to be an essential of the libertine character. Enjoys the confusion of a fine woman. His apostrophe to virtue. Ashamedof being visibly affected. Enraged against her for repulsing him. Willsteel his own heart, that he may cut through a rock of ice to her's. Thewomen afresh instigate him to attempt her virtue. 

LETTER XXXIV. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Is enraged at his delays. Will think of some scheme to get her out ofhis hands. Has no notion that he can or dare to mean her dishonour. Women do not naturally hate such men as Lovelace. 

LETTER XXXV. Belford to Lovelace. --Warmly espouses the lady's cause. Nothing but vanity and nonsense in thewild pursuits of libertines. For his own sake, for his family's sake, and for the sake of their common humanity, he beseeches him to do thislady justice. 

LETTER XXXVI. Lord M. To Mr. Belford. --A proverbial letter in the lady's favour. 

LETTER XXXVII. Lovelace to Belford. --He ludicrously turns Belford's arguments against him. Resistanceinflames him. Why the gallant is preferred to the husband. Gives a pieceof advice to married women. Substance of his letter to Lord M. Desiringhim to give the lady to him in person. His view in this letter. Ridicules Lord M. For his proverbs. Ludicrous advice to Belford inrelation to his dying uncle. What physicians should do when a patient isgiven over. 

LETTER XXXVIII. Belford to Lovelace. --Sets forth the folly, the inconvenience, the impolicy of KEEPING, and thepreference of MARRIAGE, upon the foot of their own principles, aslibertines. 

LETTER XXXIX. Lovelace to Belford. --Affects to mistake the intention of Belford's letter, and thanks him forapproving his present scheme. The seduction progress is more delightfulto him, he says, than the crowning act. 

LETTER XL. From the same. --All extremely happy at present. Contrives a conversation for the lady tooverhear. Platonic love, how it generally ends. Will get her to a play;likes not tragedies. Has too much feeling. Why men of his cast prefercomedy to tragedy. The nymphs, and Mrs. Sinclair, and all theiracquaintances, of the same mind. Other artifices of his. Could he havebeen admitted in her hours of dishabille and heedlessness, he had beenlong ago master of his wishes. His view in getting her to a play: aplay, and a collation afterwards, greatly befriend a lover's designs; andwhy. She consents to go with him to see the tragedy of Venice Preserved. 

LETTER XLI. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Gives the particulars of the overheard conversation. Thinks herprospects a little mended. Is willing to compound for tolerableappearances, and to hope, when reason for hope offers. 

LETTER XLII. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Her scheme of Mrs. Townsend. Is not for encouraging dealers inprohibited goods; and why. Her humourous treatment of Hickman onconsulting him upon Lovelace's proposals of settlements. 

LETTER XLIII. From the same. --Her account of Antony Harlowe's address to her mother, and of what passedon her mother's communicating it to her. Copy of Mrs. Howe's answer tohis letter. 

LETTER XLIV. XLV. Lovelace to Belford. --Comes at several letters of Miss Howe. He is now more assured ofClarissa than ever; and why. Sparkling eyes, what they indicate. Shekeeps him at distance. Repeated instigations from the women. Account ofthe letters he has come at. All rage and revenge upon the contents ofthem. Menaces Hickman. Wishes Miss Howe had come up to town, as shethreatened. 

LETTER XLVI. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Is terrified by him. Disclaimsprudery. Begs of Miss Howe to perfect her scheme, that she may leavehim. She thinks her temper changed for the worse. Trembles to look backupon his encroachments. Is afraid, on the close self-examination whichher calamities have caused her to make, that even in the best actions ofher past life she has not been quite free from secret pride, &c. Tearsalmost in two the answer she had written to his proposals. Intends to goout next day, and not to return. Her farther intentions. 

LETTER XLVII. Lovelace to Belford. --Meets the lady at breakfast. Flings the tea-cup and saucer over hishead. The occasion. Alarms and terrifies her by his free address. Romping, the use of it by a lover. Will try if she will not yield tonightly surprises. A lion-hearted lady where her honour is concerned. Must have recourse to his master-strokes. Fable of the sun and northwind. Mrs. Fretchville's house an embarrass. He gives that pretendedlady the small-pox. Other contrivances in his head to bring Clarissaback, if she should get away. Miss Howe's scheme of Mrs. Townsend is, hesays, a sword hanging over his head. He must change his measures torender it abortive. He is of the true lady-make. What that is. Anotherconversation between them. Her apostrophe to her father. He istemporarily moved. Dorcas gives him notice of a paper she has come at, and is transcribing. In order to detain the lady, he presses for theday. Miss Howe he fancies in love with him; and why. He sees Clarissadoes not hate him. 

LETTER XLVIII. From the same. --Copy of the transcribed paper. It proves to be her torn answer to hisproposals. Meekness the glory of a woman. Ludicrous image of atermagant wife. He had better never to have seen this paper. Has verystrong remorses. Paints them in lively colours. Sets forth the lady'stranscendent virtue, and greatness of mind. Surprised into thesearguments in her favour by his conscience. Puts it to flight. 

LETTER XLIX. From the same. --Mennell scruples to aid him farther in his designs. Vapourish peoplethe physical tribe's milch-cows. Advice to the faculty. Has done withthe project about Mrs. Fretchville's house. The lady suspects him. Aseasonable letter for him from his cousin Charlotte. Sends up the letterto the lady. She writes to Miss Howe, upon perusing it, to suspend forthe present her application to Mrs. Townsend. 

LETTER L. From the same. --An interview all placid and agreeable. Now is he in a train. All he nowwaits for is a letter from Lord M. Inquires after their marriage by astranger of good appearance. The lady alarmed at them. 

LETTER LI. Lovelace to Belford. --Curses his uncle for another proverbial letter he has sent him. Permitsthe lady to see it. Nine women in ten that fall, fall, he says, throughtheir own fault. 

LETTER LII. Lord M. 's characteristic letter. 

LETTER LIII. Lovelace to Belford. --The lady now comes to him at the first word. Triumphs in her sweetnessof temper, and on her patience with him. Puts his writings intocounsellor Williams's hands, to prepare settlements. Shall now be doublyarmed. Boasts of his contrivances in petto. Brings patterns to her. Proposes jewels. Admires her for her prudence with regard to what heputs her upon doing for her Norton. What his wife must do and be. Shedeclines a public wedding. Her dutiful reasons. She is willing todispense with Lord M. 's presence. He writes to Lord M. Accordingly. 

Extract from a letter from Clarissa. --After giving Miss Howe an account of the present favourable appearances, she desires her to keep herself all such of the particulars which she hascommunicated to her as may discredit Mr. Lovelace. 

LETTER LIV. Lovelace to Belford. --His projected plot to revenge himself upon Miss Howe. 

LETTER LV. From the same. --Fresh contrivances crowd in upon him. He shall be very sick on themorrow; and why. Women below impertinently reproachful. He will be noman's successor. Will not take up with harlots. --History of the Frenchmarquis. 

THE HISTORY

OF

CLARISSA HARLOWE

LETTER I

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWEWEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, APRIL 26. 

At length, my dearest Miss Howe, I am in London, and in my new lodgings. They are neatly furnished, and the situation, for the town, is pleasant. 

But I think you must not ask me how I like the old gentlewoman. Yet sheseems courteous and obliging. --Her kinswomen just appeared to welcome meat my alighting. They seemed to be genteel young women. But more oftheir aunt and them, as I shall see more. 

Miss Sorlings has an uncle at Barnet, whom she found so very ill, thather uneasiness, on that account, (having large expectations from him, )made me comply with her desire to stay with him. Yet I wished, as heruncle did not expect her, that she would see me settled in London; andMr. Lovelace was still more earnest that she would, offering to send herback again in a day or two, and urging that her uncle's malady threatenednot a sudden change. But leaving the matter to her choice, after sheknew what would have been mine, she made me not the expected compliment. Mr. Lovelace, however, made her a handsome present at parting. 

His genteel spirit, on all occasions, makes he often wish him moreconsistent. 

As soon as he arrived, I took possession of my apartment. I shall makegood use of the light closet in it, if I stay here any time. 

One of his attendants returns in the morning to The Lawn; and I madewriting to you by him an excuse for my retiring. 

And now give me leave to chide you, my dearest friend, for your rash, and I hope revocable resolution not to make Mr. Hickman the happiest manin the world, while my happiness is in suspense. Suppose I were to beunhappy, what, my dear, would this resolution of yours avail me?Marriage is the highest state of friendship: if happy, it lessens ourcares, by dividing them, at the same time that it doubles our pleasuresby a mutual participation. Why, my dear, if you love me, will you notrather give another friend to one who has not two she is sure of? Hadyou married on your mother's last birth-day, as she would have had you, I should not, I dare say, have wanted a refuge; that would have saved memany mortifications, and much disgrace. 

***

Here I was broke in upon by Mr. Lovelace; introducing the widow leadingin a kinswoman of her's to attend me, if I approved of her, till myHannah should come, or till I had provided myself with some otherservant. The widow gave her many good qualities; but said, that she hadone great defect; which was, that she could not write, nor read writing;that part of her education having been neglected when she was young; butfor discretion, fidelity, obligingness, she was not to be out-done by anybody. So commented her likewise for her skill at the needle. 

As for her defect, I can easily forgive that. She is very likely andgenteel--too genteel indeed, I think, for a servant. But what I likeleast of all in her, she has a strange sly eye. I never saw such an eye;half-confident, I think. But indeed Mrs. Sinclair herself, (for that isthe widow's name, ) has an odd winking eye; and her respectfulness seemstoo much studied, methinks, for the London ease and freedom. But peoplecan't help their looks, you know; and after all she is extremely civiland obliging, --and as for the young woman, (Dorcas is her name, ) she willnot be long with me. 

I accepted her: How could I do otherwise, (if I had had a mind to makeobjections, which, in my present situation, I had not, ) her aunt present, and the young woman also present; and Mr. Lovelace officious in hisintroducing them, to oblige me? But, upon their leaving me, I told him, (who seemed inclinable to begin a conversation with me, ) that I desiredthat this apartment might be considered as my retirement: that when I sawhim it might be in the dining-room, (which is up a few stairs; for thisback-house, being once two, the rooms do not all of them veryconveniently communicate with each other, ) and that I might be as littlebroken in upon as possible, when I am here. He withdrew veryrespectfully to the door, but there stopt; and asked for my company thenin the dining-room. If he were about setting out for other lodgings, Iwould go with him now, I told him; but, if he did not just then go, Iwould first finish my letter to Miss Howe. 

I see he has no mind to leave me if he can help it. My brother's schememay give him a pretence to try to engage me to dispense with his promise. But if I now do I must acquit him of it entirely. 

My approbation of his tender behaviour in the midst of my grief, hasgiven him a right, as he seems to think, of addressing me with all thefreedom of an approved lover. I see by this man, that when once a womanembarks with this sex, there is no receding. One concession is but theprelude to another with them. He has been ever since Sunday lastcontinually complaining of the distance I keep him at; and thinks himselfentitled now to call in question my value for him; strengthening hisdoubts by my former declared readiness to give him up to a reconciliationwith my friends; and yet has himself fallen off from that obsequioustenderness, if I may couple the words, which drew from me the concessionshe builds upon. 

While we were talking at the door, my new servant came up with aninvitation to us both to tea. I said he might accept of it, if hepleased: but I must pursue my writing; and not choosing either tea orsupper, I desired him to make my excuses below, as to both; and informthem of my choice to be retired as much as possible; yet to promise forme my attendance on the widow and her nieces at breakfast in the morning. 

He objected particularly in the eye of strangers as to avoiding supper. 

You know, said I, and you can tell them, that I seldom eat suppers. Myspirits are low. You must never urge me against a declared choice. Pray, Mr. Lovelace, inform them of all my particularities. If they areobliging, they will allow for them--I come not hither to make newacquaintance. 

I have turned over the books I found in my closet; and am not a littlepleased with them; and think the better of the people of the house fortheir sakes. 

Stanhope's Gospels; Sharp's, Tillotson's, and South's Sermons; Nelson'sFeasts and Fasts; a Sacramental Piece of the Bishop of Man, and anotherof Dr. Gauden, Bishop of Exeter; and Inett's Devotions, are among thedevout books:--and among those of a lighter turn, the following not ill-chosen ones: A Telemachus, in French; another in English; Steel's, Rowe's, and Shakespeare's Plays; that genteel Comedy of Mr. Cibber, TheCareless Husband, and others of the same author; Dryden's Miscellanies;the Tatlers, Spectators, and Guardians; Pope's, and Swift's, andAddison's Works. 

In the blank leaves of the Nelson and Bishop Gauden, is Mrs. Sinclair'sname; and in those of most of the others, either Sarah Martin, or MaryHorton, the names of the two nieces. 

***

I am exceedingly out of humour with Mr. Lovelace: and have great reasonto be so, as you will allow, when you have read the conversation I amgoing to give you an account of; for he would not let me rest till I gavehim my company in the dining-room. 

He began with letting me know, that he had been out to inquire after thecharacter of the widow, which was the more necessary, he said, as hesupposed that I would expect his frequent absence. 

I did, I said; and that he would not think of taking up his lodging inthe same house with me. But what, said I, is the result of your inquiry?

Why, indeed, the widow's character was, in the main, what he liked wellenough. But as it was Miss Howe's opinion, as I had told him, that mybrother had not given over his scheme; as the widow lived by lettinglodgings, and had others to let in the same part of the house, whichmight be taken by an enemy; he knew no better way than for him to takethem all, as it could not be for a long time, unless I would think ofremoving to others. 

So far was well enough. But as it was easy for me to see, that he spokethe slighter of the widow, in order to have a pretence to lodge herehimself, I asked him his intention in that respect. And he franklyowned, that if I chose to stay here, he could not, as matters stood, think of leaving me for six hours together; and he had prepared the widowto expect, that we should be here but for a few days; only till we couldfix ourselves in a house suitable to our condition; and this, that Imight be under the less embarrassment, if I pleased to remove. 

Fix our-selves in a house, and we, and our, Mr. Lovelace--Pray, in whatlight--

He interrupted me--Why, my dearest life, if you will hear me withpatience--yet, I am half afraid that I have been too forward, as I havenot consulted you upon it--but as my friends in town, according to whatMr. Doleman has written, in the letter you have seen, conclude us to bemarried--

Surely, Sir, you have not presumed--

Hear me out, my dearest creature--you have received with favour, myaddresses: you have made me hope for the honour of your consenting hand:yet, by declining my most fervent tender of myself to you at Mrs. Sorlings's, have given me apprehensions of delay: I would not for theworld be thought so ungenerous a wretch, now you have honoured me withyour confidence, as to wish to precipitate you. Yet your brother'sschemes are not given up. Singleton, I am afraid, is actually in town;his vessel lies at Rotherhithe--your brother is absent from Harlowe-place; indeed not with Singleton yet, as I can hear. If you are knownto be mine, or if you are but thought to be so, there will probably be anend of your brother's contrivances. The widow's character may be asworthy as it is said to be. But the worthier she is, the more danger, if your brother's agent should find us out; since she may be persuaded, that she ought in conscience to take a parent's part against a child whostands in opposition to them. But if she believes us married, her goodcharacter will stand us instead, and give her a reason why two apartmentsare requisite for us at the hour of retirement. 

I perfectly raved at him. I would have flung from him in resentment; buthe would not let me: and what could I do? Whither go, the eveningadvanced?

I am astonished at you! said I. --If you are a man of honour, what need ofall this strange obliquity? You delight in crooked ways--let me know, since I must stay in your company (for he held my hand), let me know allyou have said to the people below. --Indeed, indeed, Mr. Lovelace, you area very unaccountable man. 

My dearest creature, need I to have mentioned any thing of this? andcould I not have taken up my lodgings in this house unknown to you, if Ihad not intended to make you the judge of all my proceedings?--But thisis what I have told the widow before her kinswomen, and before your newservant--'That indeed we were privately married at Hertford; but that youhad preliminarily bound me under a solemn vow, which I am mostreligiously resolved to keep, to be contented with separate apartments, and even not to lodge under the same roof, till a certain reconciliationshall take place, which is of high consequence to both. ' And furtherthat I might convince you of the purity of my intentions, and that mywhole view in this was to prevent mischief, I have acquainted them, 'thatI have solemnly promised to behave to you before every body, as if wewere only betrothed, and not married; not even offering to take any ofthose innocent freedoms which are not refused in the most punctiliousloves. '

And then he solemnly vowed to me the strictest observance of the samerespectful behaviour to me. 

I said, that I was not by any means satisfied with the tale he had told, nor with the necessity he wanted to lay me under of appearing what I wasnot: that every step he took was a wry one, a needless wry one: and sincehe thought it necessary to tell the people below any thing about me, Iinsisted that he should unsay all he had said, and tell them the truth. 

What he had told them, he said, was with so many circumstances, that hecould sooner die than contradict it. And still he insisted upon thepropriety of appearing to be married, for the reasons he had givenbefore--And, dearest creature, said he, why this high displeasure withme upon so well-intended an expedient? You know, that I cannot wish toshun your brother, or his Singleton, but upon your account. The firststep I would take, if left to myself, would be to find them out. I havealways acted in this manner, when any body has presumed to give outthreatenings against it. 

'Tis true I would have consulted you first, and had your leave. Butsince you dislike what I have said, let me implore you, dearest Madam, to give the only proper sanction to it, by naming an early day. Would toHeaven that were to be to-morrow!--For God's sake, let it be to-morrow!But, if not, [was it his business, my dear, before I spoke (yet he seemedto be afraid of me) to say, if not?] let me beseech you, Madam, if mybehaviour shall not be to your dislike, that you will not to-morrow, atbreakfast-time, discredit what I have told them. The moment I give youcause to think that I take any advantage of your concession, that momentrevoke it, and expose me, as I shall deserve. --And once more, let meremind you, that I have no view either to serve or save myself by thisexpedient. It is only to prevent a probable mischief, for your ownmind's sake; and for the sake of those who deserve not the leastconsideration from me. 

What could I say? What could I do?--I verily think, that had he urged meagain, in a proper manner, I should have consented (little satisfied as Iam with him) to give him a meeting to-morrow morning at a more solemnplace than in the parlour below. 

But this I resolve, that he shall not have my consent to stay a nightunder this roof. He has now given me a stronger reason for thisdetermination than I had before. 

***

Alas! my dear, how vain a thing to say, what we will, or what we will notdo, when we have put ourselves into the power of this sex!--He went downto the people below, on my desiring to be left to myself; and staid tilltheir supper was just ready; and then, desiring a moment's audience, ashe called it, he besought my leave to stay that one night, promising toset out either for Lord M. 's, or for Edgeware, to his friend Belford's, in the morning, after breakfast. But if I were against it, he said, hewould not stay supper; and would attend me about eight next day--yet headded, that my denial would have a very particular appearance to thepeople below, from what he had told them; and the more, as he hadactually agreed for all the vacant apartments, (indeed only for a month, )for the reasons he before hinted at: but I need not stay here two days, if, upon conversing with the widow and her nieces in the morning, Ishould have any dislike to them. 

I thought, notwithstanding my resolution above-mentioned, that it wouldseem too punctilious to deny him, under the circumstances he hadmentioned: having, besides, no reason to think he would obey me; for helooked as if he were determined to debate the matter with me. And now, as I see no likelihood of a reconciliation with my friends, and as I haveactually received his addresses, I thought I would not quarrel with him, if I could help it, especially as he asked to stay but for one night, andcould have done so without my knowing it; and you being of opinion, thatthe proud wretch, distrusting his own merits with me, or at least myregard for him, will probably bring me to some concessions in his favour--for all these reasons, I thought proper to yield this point: yet I wasso vexed with him on the other, that it was impossible for me to complywith that grace which a concession should be made with, or not made atall. 

This was what I said--What you will do, you must do, I think. You arevery ready to promise; very ready to depart from your promise. You say, however, that you will set out to-morrow for the country. You know howill I have been. I am not well enough now to debate with you upon yourencroaching ways. I am utterly dissatisfied with the tale you have toldbelow. Nor will I promise to appear to the people of the house to-morrowwhat I am not. 

He withdrew in the most respectful manner, beseeching me only to favourhim with such a meeting in the morning as might not make the widow andher nieces think he had given me reason to be offended with him. 

I retired to my own apartment, and Dorcas came to me soon after to takemy commands. I told her, that I required very little attendance, andalways dressed and undressed myself. 

She seemed concerned, as if she thought I had repulsed her; and said, itshould be her whole study to oblige me. 

I told her, that I was not difficult to be pleased: and should let herknow from time to time what assistance I should expect from her. But forthat night I had no occasion for her further attendance. 

She is not only genteel, but is well bred, and well spoken--she must havehad what is generally thought to be the polite part of education: but itis strange, that fathers and mothers should make so light, as theygenerally do, of that preferable part, in girls, which would improvetheir minds, and give a grace to all the rest. 

As soon as she was gone, I inspected the doors, the windows, thewainscot, the dark closet as well as the light one; and finding very goodfastenings to the door, and to all the windows, I again had recourse tomy pen. 

***

Mrs. Sinclair is just now gone from me. Dorcas, she told me, hadacquainted her, that I had dismissed her for the night. She came to askme how I liked my apartment, and to wish me good rest. She expressed herconcern, that they could not have my company at supper. Mr. Lovelace, she said, had informed them of my love of retirement. She assured me, that I should not be broken in upon. She highly extolled him, and gaveme a share in the praise as to person. But was sorry, she said, that shewas likely to lose us so soon as Mr. Lovelace talked of. 

I answered her with suitable civility; and she withdrew with great tokensof respect. With greater, I think, than should be from distance ofyears, as she was the wife of a gentleman; and as the appearance of everything about her, as well house as dress, carries the marks of such goodcircumstances, as require not abasement. 

If, my dear, you will write, against prohibition, be pleased to direct, To Miss Laetitia Beaumont; to be left till called for, at Mr. Wilson's, in Pall Mall. 

Mr. Lovelace proposed this direction to me, not knowing of your desirethat your letters should pass by a third hand. As his motive for it was, that my brother might not trace out where we are, I am glad, as well fromthis instance as from others, that he seems to think he has done mischiefenough already. 

Do you know how my poor Hannah does?

Mr. Lovelace is so full of his contrivances and expedients, that I thinkit may not be amiss to desire you to look carefully to the seals of myletters, as I shall to those of yours. If I find him base in thisparticular, I shall think him capable of any evil; and will fly him as myworst enemy. 

LETTER II

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE[WITH HER TWO LAST LETTERS, NO. LVIII. LIX. OF VOL. III. , ENCLOSED. ]THURSDAY NIGHT, APRIL 27. 

I have your's; just brought me. Mr. Hickman has helped me to a luckyexpedient, which, with the assistance of the post, will enable me tocorrespond with you every day. An honest higler, [Simon Collins hisname, ] by whom I shall send this, and the two enclosed, (now I have yourdirection whither, ) goes to town constantly on Mondays, Wednesdays, andFridays; and can bring back to me from Mr. Wilson's what you shall havecaused to be left for me. 

I congratulate you on your arrival in town, so much amended in spirits. I must be brief. I hope you'll have no cause to repent returning myNorris. It is forthcoming on demand. 

I am sorry your Hannah can't be with you. She is very ill still; but notdangerously. 

I long for your account of the women you are with. If they are not rightpeople, you will find them out in one breakfasting. 

I know not what to write upon his reporting to them that you are actuallymarried. His reasons for it are plausible. But he delights in oddexpedients and inventions. 

Whether you like the people or not, do not, by your noble sincerity andplain dealing, make yourself enemies. You are in the real world now youknow. 

I am glad you had thoughts of taking him at his offer, if he had re-urgedit. I wonder he did not. But if he do not soon, and in such a way asyou can accept of it, don't think of staying with him. 

Depend upon it, my dear, he will not leave you, either night or day, ifhe can help it, now he has got footing. 

I should have abhorred him for his report of your marriage, had he notmade it with such circumstances as leave it still in your power to keephim at distance. If once he offer at the least familiarity--but this isneedless to say to you. He can have, I think, no other design but whathe professes; because he must needs think, that his report of beingmarried to you must increase your vigilance. 

You may depend upon my looking narrowly into the sealings of yourletters. If, as you say, he be base in that point, he will be so inevery thing. But to a person of your merit, of your fortune, of yourvirtue, he cannot be base. The man is no fool. It is his interest, aswell with regard to his expectations from his own friends, as from you, to be honest. Would to Heaven, however, you were really married! Thisis now the predominant wish of

YourANNA HOWE. 

LETTER III

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWETHURSDAY MORNING, EIGHT O'CLOCK. 

I am more and more displeased with Mr. Lovelace, on reflection, for hisboldness in hoping to make me, though but passively, as I may say, testify to his great untruth. And I shall like him still less for it, ifhis view in it does not come out to be the hope of accelerating myresolution in his favour, by the difficulty it will lay me under as to mybehaviour to him. He has sent me his compliments by Dorcas, with arequest that I will permit him to attend me in the dining-room, --meet himin good humour, or not: but I have answered, that as I shall see him atbreakfast-time I desired to be excused. 

TEN O'CLOCK. 

I tried to adjust my countenance, before I went down, to an easier airthan I had a heart, and was received with the highest tokens of respectby the widow and her two nieces: agreeable young women enough in theirpersons; but they seemed to put on an air of reserve; while Mr. Lovelacewas easy and free to all, as if he were of long acquaintance with them:gracefully enough, I cannot but say; an advantage which travelledgentlemen have over other people. 

The widow, in the conversation we had after breakfast, gave us an accountof the military merit of the Colonel her husband, and, upon thisoccasion, put her handkerchief to her eyes twice or thrice. I hope forthe sake of her sincerity, she wetted it, because she would be thought tohave done so; but I saw not that she did. She wished that I might neverknow the loss of a husband so dear to me, as her beloved Colonel was toher: and she again put the handkerchief to her eyes. 

It must, no doubt, be a most affecting thing to be separated from a goodhusband, and to be left in difficult circumstances besides, and that notby his fault, and exposed to the insults of the base and ungrateful, asshe represented her case to be at his death. This moved me a good dealin her favour. 

You know, my dear, that I have an open and free heart; and naturally haveas open and free a countenance; at least my complimenters have told meso. At once, where I like, I mingle minds without reserve, encouragingreciprocal freedoms, and am forward to dissipate diffidences. But withthese two nieces of the widow I never can be intimate--I don't know why. 

Only that circumstances, and what passed in conversation, encouraged notthe notion, or I should have been apt to think, that the young ladies andMr. Lovelace were of longer acquaintance than of yesterday. For he, bystealth as it were, cast glances sometimes at them, when they returned;and, on my ocular notice, their eyes fell, as I may say, under my eye, asif they could not stand its examination. 

The widow directed all her talk to me, as to Mrs. Lovelace; and I, with avery ill grace bore it. And once she expressed more forwardly than Ithanked her for, her wonder that any vow, any consideration, howeverweighty, could have force enough with so charming a couple, as she calledhim and me, to make us keep separate beds. 

Their eyes, upon this hint, had the advantage of mine. Yet was I notconscious of guilt. How know I then, upon recollection, that my censuresupon there are not too rash? There are, no doubt, many truly modestpersons (putting myself out of the question) who, by blushes at aninjurious charge, have been suspected, by those who cannot distinguishbetween the confusion which guilt will be attended with, and the nobleconsciousness that overspreads the face of a fine spirit, to be thoughtbut capable of an imputed evil. 

The great Roman, as we read, who took his surname from one part in three(the fourth not then discovered) of the world he had triumphed over, being charged with a great crime to his soldiery, chose rather to sufferexile (the punishment due to it, had he been found guilty) than to haveit said, that Scipio was questioned in public, on so scandalous a charge. And think you, my dear, that Scipio did not blush with indignation, whenthe charge was first communicated to him?

Mr. Lovelace, when the widow expressed her forward wonder, looked sly andleering, as if to observe how I took it: and said, they might take noticethat his regard for my will and pleasure (calling me his dear creature)had greater force upon him than the oath by which he had bound himself. 

Rebuking both him and the widow, I said, it was strange to me to hear anoath or vow so lightly treated, as to have it thought but of secondconsideration, whatever were the first. 

The observation was just, Miss Martin said; for that nothing could excusethe breaking of a solemn vow, be the occasion of making it what it would. 

I asked her after the nearest church; for I have been too long a strangerto the sacred worship. They named St. James's, St. Anne's, and anotherin Bloomsbury; and the two nieces said they oftenest went to St. James'schurch, because of the good company, as well as for the excellentpreaching. 

Mr. Lovelace said, the Royal Chapel was the place he oftenest went to, when he was in town. Poor man! little did I expect to hear he went toany place of devotion. I asked, if the presence of the visible king of, comparatively, but a small territory, did not take off, too generally, the requisite attention to the service of the invisible King and Makerof a thousand worlds?

He believed this might be so with such as came for curiosity, when theroyal family were present. But otherwise, he had seen as many contritefaces at the Royal Chapel, as any where else: and why not? Since thepeople about court have as deep scores to wipe off, as any peoplewhatsoever. 

He spoke this with so much levity, that I could not help saying, thatnobody questioned but he knew how to choose his company. 

Your servant, my dear, bowing, were his words; and turning to them, youwill observe upon numberless occasions, ladies, as we are furtheracquainted, that my beloved never spares me upon these topics. But Iadmire her as much in her reproofs, as I am fond of her approbation. 

Miss Horton said, there was a time for every thing. She could not butsay, that she thought innocent mirth was mighty becoming in young people. 

Very true, joined in Miss Martin. And Shakespeare says well, that youthis the spring of life, the bloom of gaudy years [with a theatrical air, she spoke it:] and for her part, she could not but admire in my spousethat charming vivacity which so well suited his time of life. 

Mr. Lovelace bowed. The man is fond of praise. More fond of it, Idoubt, than of deserving it. Yet this sort of praise he does deserve. He has, you know, an easy free manner, and no bad voice: and this praiseso expanded his gay heart, that he sung the following lines fromCongreve, as he told us they were:

 Youth does a thousand pleasures bring, Which from decrepid age will fly; Sweets that wanton in the bosom of the spring, In winter's cold embraces die. 

And this for a compliment, as he said, to the two nieces. Nor was itthrown away upon them. They encored it; and his compliance fixed themin my memory. 

We had some talk about meals, and the widow very civilly offered toconform to any rules I would set her. I told her how easily I waspleased, and how much I chose to dine by myself, and that from a platesent me from any single dish. But I will not trouble you, my dear, withsuch particulars. 

They thought me very singular; and with reason: but as I liked them notso very well as to forego my own choice in compliment to them, I was theless concerned for what they thought. --And still the less, as Mr. Lovelacehad put me very much out of humour with him. 

They, however, cautioned me against melancholy. I said, I should be avery unhappy creature if I could not bear my own company. 

Mr. Lovelace said, that he must let the ladies into my story, and thenthey would know how to allow for my ways. But, my dear, as you love me, said the confident wretch, give as little way to melancholy as possible. Nothing but the sweetness of your temper, and your high notions of a dutythat never can be deserved where you place it, can make you so uneasy asyou are. --Be not angry, my dear love, for saying so, [seeing me frown, Isuppose:] and snatched my hand and kissed it. --I left him with them; andretired to my closet and my pen. 

Just as I have written thus far, I am interrupted by a message from him, that he is setting out on a journey, and desires to take my commands. --Sohere I will leave off, to give him a meeting in the dining-room. 

I was not displeased to see him in his riding-dress. 

He seemed desirous to know how I liked the gentlewomen below. I toldhim, that although I did not think them very exceptionable; yet as Iwanted not, in my present situation, new acquaintance, I should not befond of cultivating theirs. 

He urged me still farther on this head. 

I could not say, I told him, that I greatly liked either of the younggentlewomen, any more than their aunt: and that, were my situation everso happy, they had much too gay a turn for me. 

He did not wonder, he said, to hear me say so. He knew not any of thesex, who had been accustomed to show themselves at the town diversionsand amusements, that would appear tolerable to me. Silences and blushes, Madam, are now no graces with our fine ladies in town. Hardened byfrequent public appearances, they would be as much ashamed to be foundguilty of these weaknesses, as men. 

Do you defend these two gentlewomen, Sir, by reflections upon half thesex? But you must second me, Mr. Lovelace, (and yet I am not fond ofbeing thought particular, ) in my desire of breakfasting and supping (whenI do sup) by myself. 

If I would have it so, to be sure it should be so. The people of thehouse were not of consequence enough to be apologized to, in any pointwhere my pleasure was concerned. And if I should dislike them still moreon further knowledge of them, he hoped I would think of some otherlodgings. 

He expressed a good deal of regret at leaving me, declaring, that it wasabsolutely in obedience to my commands: but that he could not haveconsented to go, while my brother's schemes were on foot, if I had notdone him the credit of my countenance in the report he had made that wewere married; which, he said, had bound all the family to his interest, so that he could leave me with the greater security and satisfaction. 

He hoped, he said, that on his return I would name his happy day; and therather, as I might be convinced, by my brother's projects, that noreconciliation was to be expected. 

I told him, that perhaps I might write one letter to my uncle Harlowe. He once loved me. I should be easier when I had made one directapplication. I might possibly propose such terms, in relation to mygrandfather's estate, as might procure me their attention; and I hoped hewould be long enough absent to give me time to write to him, and receivean answer from him. 

That, he must beg my pardon, he could not promise. He would informhimself of Singleton's and my brother's motions; and if on his return hefound no reason for apprehension, he would go directly for Berks, andendeavour to bring up with him his cousin Charlotte, who, he hoped, wouldinduce me to give him an earlier day than at present I seemed to thinkof. --I seemed to think of, my dear, very acquiescent, as I shouldimagine!

I told him, that I should take that young lady's company for a greatfavour. 

I was the more pleased with this motion, as it came from himself, andwith no ill grace. 

He earnestly pressed me to accept of a bank note: but I declined it. Andthen he offered me his servant William for my attendant in his absence;who, he said, might be dispatched to him, if any thing extraordinary fellout. I consented to that. 

He took his leave of me in the most respectful manner, only kissing myhand. He left the bank note, unobserved by me, upon the table. You maybe sure, I shall give it him back at his return. 

I am in a much better humour with him than I was. 

Where doubts of any person are removed, a mind not ungenerous is willing, by way of amends for having conceived those doubts, to construe everything that happens, capable of a good instruction, in that person'sfavour. Particularly, I cannot but be pleased to observe, that althoughhe speaks of the ladies of his family with the freedom of relationship, yet it is always of tenderness. And from a man's kindness to hisrelations of the sex, a woman has some reason to expect his goodbehaviour to herself, when married, if she be willing to deserve it fromhim. 

And thus, my dear, am I brought to sit down satisfied with this man, where I find room to infer that he is not by nature a savage. But howcould a creature who (treating herself unpolitely) gave a man anopportunity to run away with her, expect to be treated by that man with avery high degree of politeness?

But why, now, when fairer prospects seem to open, why these melancholyreflections? will my beloved friend ask of her Clarissa?

Why? Can you ask why, my dearest Miss Howe, of a creature, who, in theworld's eye, had enrolled her name among the giddy and inconsiderate; wholabours under a parent's curse, and the cruel uncertainties, which mustarise from reflecting, that, equally against duty and principle, she hasthrown herself into the power of a man, and that man an immoral one?--Must not the sense she has of her inconsideration darken her most hopefulprospects? Must it not even rise strongest upon a thoughtful mind, whenher hopes are the fairest? Even her pleasures, were the man to provebetter than she expects, coming to her with an abatement, like that whichpersons who are in possession of ill-gotten wealth must then mostpoignantly experience (if they have reflecting and unseared minds) when, all their wishes answered, (if answered, ) they sit down in hopes to enjoywhat they have unjustly obtained, and find their own reflections theirgreatest torment. 

May you, my dear friend, be always happy in your reflections, prays

Your ever affectionateCL. HARLOWE. 

***

[Mr. Lovelace, in his next letter, triumphs on his having carried his two great points of making the Lady yield to pass for his wife to the people of the house, and to his taking up his lodging in it, though but for one night. He is now, he says, in a fair way, and doubts not but that he shall soon prevail, if not by persuasion, by surprise. Yet he pretends to have some little remorse, and censures himself as to acting the part of the grand tempter. But having succeeded thus far, he cannot, he says, forbear trying, according to the resolution he had before made, whether he cannot go farther. 

He gives the particulars of their debates on the above-mentioned subjects, to the same effect as in the Lady's last letters. 

It will by this time be seen that his whole merit, with regard to the Lady, lies in doing justice to her excellencies both of mind and person, though to his own condemnation. Thus he begins his succeeding letter:]

And now, Belford, will I give thee an account of our first breakfast-conversation. 

All sweetly serene and easy was the lovely brow and charming aspect of mygoddess, on her descending among us; commanding reverence from every eye, a courtesy from every knee, and silence, awful silence, from everyquivering lip: while she, armed with conscious worthiness andsuperiority, looked and behaved as an empress would look and behave amongher vassals; yet with a freedom from pride and haughtiness, as if born todignity, and to a behaviour habitually gracious. 

[He takes notice of the jealousy, pride, and vanity of Sally Martin and Polly Horton, on his respectful behaviour to the Lady: creatures who, brought up too high for their fortunes, and to a taste of pleasure, and the public diversions, had fallen an easy prey to his seducing arts (as will be seen in the conclusion of this work:) and who, as he observed, 'had not yet got over that distinction in their love, which makes a woman prefer one man to another. ']

How difficult is it, says he, to make a woman subscribe to a preferenceagainst herself, though ever so visible; especially where love isconcerned! This violent, this partial little devil, Sally, has theinsolence to compare herself with my angel--yet owns her to be an angel. I charge you, Mr. Lovelace, say she, show none of your extravagant actsof kindness before me to this sullen, this gloomy beauty--I cannot bearit. Then was I reminded of her first sacrifice. 

What a rout do these women make about nothing at all! Were it not forwhat the learned Bishop, in his Letter from Italy, calls theentanglements of amour, and I the delicacies of intrigue, what is there, Belford, in all they can do for us?

How do these creatures endeavour to stimulate me! A fallen woman is aworse devil than ever a profligate man. The former is incapable ofremorse: that am not I--nor ever shall they prevail upon me, though aidedby all the powers of darkness, to treat this admirable creature withindignity--so far, I mean, as indignity can be separated from the trialswhich will prove her to be either woman or angel. 

Yet with them I am a craven. I might have had her before now, if Iwould. If I would treat her as flesh and blood, I should find her such. They thought I knew, if any man living did, that if a man made a goddessof a woman, she would assume the goddess; that if power were given toher, she would exert that power to the giver, if to nobody else. AndD----r's wife is thrown into my dish, who, thou knowest, kept herceremonious husband at haughty distance, and whined in private to herinsulting footman. O how I cursed the blasphemous wretches! They willmake me, as I tell them, hate their house, and remove from it. And by mysoul, Jack, I am ready at times to think that I should not have broughther hither, were it but on Sally's account. And yet, without knowingeither Sally's heart, or Polly's, the dear creature resolves againsthaving any conversation with them but such as she can avoid. I am notsorry for this, thou mayest think; since jealousy in a woman is not to beconcealed from woman. And Sally has no command of herself. 

What dost think!--Here this little devil Sally, not being able, as shetold me, to support life under my displeasure, was going into a fit: butwhen I saw her preparing for it, I went out of the room; and so shethought it would not be worth her while to show away. 

[In this manner he mentions what his meaning was in making the Lady the compliment of his absence:]

As to leaving her: if I go but for one night, I have fulfilled mypromise: and if she think not, I can mutter and grumble, and yield again, and make a merit of it; and then, unable to live out of her presence, soon return. Nor are women ever angry at bottom for being disobeyedthrough excess of love. They like an uncontroulable passion. They liketo have every favour ravished from them, and to be eaten and drunk quiteup by a voracious lover. Don't I know the sex?--Not so, indeed, as yet, my Clarissa: but, however, with her my frequent egresses will make melook new to her, and create little busy scenes between us. At the least, I may surely, without exception, salute her at parting, and at return;and will not those occasional freedoms (which civility will warrant) bydegrees familiarize my charmer to them?

But here, Jack, what shall I do with my uncle and aunts, and all myloving cousins? For I understand that they are more in haste to have memarried than I am myself. 

LETTER IV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWEFRIDAY, APRIL 28. 

Mr. Lovelace is returned already. My brother's projects were hispretence. I could not but look upon this short absence as an evasion ofhis promise; especially as he had taken such precautions with the peoplebelow; and as he knew that I proposed to keep close within-doors. Icannot bear to be dealt meanly with; and angrily insisted that he shoulddirectly set out for Berkshire, in order to engage his cousin, as he hadpromised. 

O my dearest life, said he, why will you banish me from your presence? Icannot leave you for so long a time as you seem to expect I should. Ihave been hovering about town ever since I left you. Edgware was thefarthest place I went to, and there I was not able to stay two hours, forfear, at this crisis, any thing should happen. Who can account for theworkings of an apprehensive mind, when all that is dear and valuable toit is at stake? You may spare yourself the trouble of writing to any ofyour friends, till the solemnity has passed that shall entitle me to giveweight to your application. When they know we are married, yourbrother's plots will be at an end; and your father and mother, anduncles, must be reconciled to you. Why then should you hesitate a momentto confirm my happiness? Why, once more, would you banish me from you?Why will you not give the man who has brought you into difficulties, andwho so honourably wishes to extricate you from them, the happiness ofdoing so?

He was silent. My voice failed to second the inclination I had to saysomething not wholly discouraging to a point so warmly pressed. 

I'll tell you, my angel, resumed he, what I propose to do, if you approveof it. I will instantly go out to view some of the handsome new squaresor fine streets round them, and make a report to you of any suitablehouse I find to be let. I will take such a one as you shall choose, andset up an equipage befitting our condition. You shall direct the whole. And on some early day, either before, or after we fix, [it must be atyour own choice], be pleased to make me the happiest of men. And thenwill every thing be in a desirable train. You shall receive in your ownhouse (if it can be so soon furnished as I wish) the compliments of allmy relations. Charlotte shall visit you in the interim: and if it takeup time, you shall choose whom you will honour with your company, first, second, or third, in the summer months; and on your return you shall findall that was wanting in your new habitation supplied, and pleasures in aconstant round shall attend us. O my angel, take me to you, instead ofbanishing me from you, and make me your's for ever. 

You see, my dear, that here was no day pressed for. I was not uneasyabout that, and the sooner recovered myself, as there was not. But, however, I gave him no reason to upbraid me for refusing his offer ofgoing in search of a house. 

He is accordingly gone out for this purpose. But I find that he intendsto take up his lodging here tonight; and if to-night, no doubt on othernights, while he is in town. As the doors and windows of my apartmenthave good fastenings; as he has not, in all this time, given me cause forapprehension; as he has the pretence of my brother's schemes to plead; asthe people below are very courteous and obliging, Miss Horton especially, who seems to have taken a great liking to me, and to be of a gentlertemper and manners than Miss Martin; and as we are now in a tolerableway; I imagine it would look particular to them all, and bring me into adebate with a man, who (let him be set upon what he will) has always agreat deal to say for himself, if I were to insist upon his promise: onall these accounts, I think, I will take no notice of his lodging here, if he don't. --Let me know, my dear, your thoughts of every thing. 

You may believe I gave him back his bank note the moment I saw him. 

FRIDAY EVENING. 

Mr. Lovelace has seen two or three houses, but none to his mind. But hehas heard of one which looks promising, he says, and which he is toinquire about in the morning. 

SATURDAY MORNING. 

He has made his inquiries, and actually seen the house he was told oflast night. The owner of it is a young widow lady, who is inconsolablefor the death of her husband; Fretchville her name. It is furnishedquite in taste, every thing being new within these six months. Hebelieves, if I like not the furniture, the use of it may be agreed for, with the house, for a time certain: but, if I like it, he will endeavourto take the one, and purchase the other, directly. 

The lady sees nobody; nor are the best apartments above-stairs to beviewed, till she is either absent, or gone into the country; which shetalks of doing in a fortnight, or three weeks, at farthest, and to livethere retired. 

What Mr. Lovelace saw of the house (which were the saloon and twoparlours) was perfectly elegant; and he was assured all is of a piece. The offices are also very convenient; coach-house and stables at hand. 

He shall be very impatient, he says, till I see the whole; nor will he, if he finds he can have it, look farther till I have seen it, except anything else offer to my liking. The price he values not. 

He now does nothing but talk of the ceremony, but not indeed of the day. I don't want him to urge that--but I wonder he does not. 

He has just now received a letter from Lady Betty Lawrance, by aparticular hand; the contents principally relating to an affair she hasin chancery. But in the postscript she is pleased to say very respectfulthings of me. 

They are all impatient, she says, for the happy day being over; whichthey flatter themselves will ensure his reformation. 

He hoped, he told me, that I would soon enable him to answer their wishesand his own. 

But, my dear, although the opportunity was so inviting, he urged not forthe day. Which is the more extraordinary, as he was so pressing formarriage before we came to town. 

He was very earnest with me to give him, and four of his friends, mycompany on Monday evening, at a little collation. Miss Martin and MissHorton cannot, he says, be there, being engaged in a party of their own, with two daughters of Colonel Solcombe, and two nieces of Sir AnthonyHolmes, upon an annual occasion. But Mrs. Sinclair will be present, andshe gave him hope of the company of a young lady of very great fortuneand merit (Miss Partington), an heiress to whom Colonel Sinclair, itseems, in his lifetime was guardian, and who therefore calls Mrs. Sinclair Mamma. 

I desired to be excused. He had laid me, I said, under a mostdisagreeable necessity of appearing as a married person, and I would seeas few people as possible who were to think me so. 

He would not urge it, he said, if I were much averse: but they were hisselect friends; men of birth and fortune, who longed to see me. It wastrue, he added, that they, as well as his friend Doleman, believed wewere married: but they thought him under the restrictions that he hadmentioned to the people below. I might be assured, he told me, that hispoliteness before them should be carried into the highest degree ofreverence. 

When he is set upon any thing, there is no knowing, as I have saidheretofore, what one can do. * But I will not, if I can help it, be madea show of; especially to men of whose character and principles I have nogood opinion. I am, my dearest friend, Your ever affectionateCL. HARLOWE. 

* See Letter I. Of this volume. See also Vol. II. Letter XX. 

***

[Mr. Lovelace, in his next letter, gives an account of his quick return: of his reasons to the Lady for it: of her displeasure upon it: and of her urging his absence from the safety she was in from the situation of the house, except she were to be traced out by his visits. ]

I was confoundedly puzzled, says he, on this occasion, and on herinsisting upon the execution of a too-ready offer which I made her godown to Berks, to bring up my cousin Charlotte to visit and attend her. I made miserable excuses; and fearing that they would be mortallyresented, as her passion began to rise upon my saying Charlotte wasdelicate, which she took strangely wrong, I was obliged to screen myselfbehind the most solemn and explicit declarations. 

[He then repeats those declarations, to the same effect with the account she gives of them. ]

I began, says he, with an intention to keep my life of honour in view, inthe declaration I made her; but, as it has been said of a certain oratorin the House of Commons, who more than once, in a long speech, convincedhimself as he went along, and concluded against the side he set outintending to favour, so I in earnest pressed without reserve formatrimony in the progress of my harangue, which state I little thought ofurging upon her with so much strength and explicitness. 

[He then values himself upon the delay that his proposal of taking and furnishing a house must occasion. 

He wavers in his resolutions whether to act honourable or not by a merit so exalted. 

He values himself upon his own delicacy, in expressing his indignation against her friends, for supposing what he pretends his heart rises against them for presuming to suppose. ]

But have I not reason, says he, to be angry with her for not praising mefor this my delicacy, when she is so ready to call me to account for theleast failure in punctilio?--However, I believe I can excuse her too, upon this generous consideration, [for generous I am sure it is, becauseit is against myself, ] that her mind being the essence of delicacy, theleast want of it shocks her; while the meeting with what is so veryextraordinary to me, is too familiar to her to obtain her notice, as anextraordinary. 

[He glories in the story of the house, and of the young widow possessor of it, Mrs. Fretchville he calls her; and leaves it doubtful to Mr. Belford, whether it be a real or a fictitious story. 

He mentions his different proposals in relation to the ceremony, which he so earnestly pressed for; and owns his artful intention in avoiding to name the day. ]

And now, says he, I hope soon to have an opportunity to begin myoperations; since all is halcyon and security. 

It is impossible to describe the dear creature's sweet and silentconfusion, when I touched upon the matrimonial topics. 

She may doubt. She may fear. The wise in all important cases willdoubt, and will fear, till they are sure. But her apparent willingnessto think well of a spirit so inventive, and so machinating, is a happyprognostic for me. O these reasoning ladies!--How I love these reasoningladies!--'Tis all over with them, when once love has crept into theirhearts: for then will they employ all their reasoning powers to excuserather than to blame the conduct of the doubted lover, let appearancesagainst him be ever so strong. 

Mowbray, Belton, and Tourville, long to see my angel, and will be there. She has refused me; but must be present notwithstanding. So generous aspirit as mine is cannot enjoy its happiness without communication. If Iraise not your envy and admiration both at once, but half-joy will be thejoy of having such a charming fly entangled in my web. She thereforemust comply. And thou must come. And then will show thee the pride andglory of the Harlowe family, my implacable enemies; and thou shalt joinwith me in my triumph over them all. 

I know not what may still be the perverse beauty's fate: I want thee, therefore, to see and admire her, while she is serene and full of hope:before her apprehensions are realized, if realized they are to be; and ifevil apprehensions of me she really has; before her beamy eyes have losttheir lustre; while yet her charming face is surrounded with all itsvirgin glories; and before the plough of disappointment has thrown upfurrows of distress upon every lovely feature. 

If I can procure you this honour you will be ready to laugh out, as Ihave often much ado to forbear, at the puritanical behaviour of themother before this lady. Not an oath, not a curse, nor the least freeword, escapes her lips. She minces in her gait. She prims up herhorse-mouth. Her voice, which, when she pleases, is the voice ofthunder, is sunk into an humble whine. Her stiff hams, that have notbeen bent to a civility for ten years past, are now limbered intocourtesies three deep at ever word. Her fat arms are crossed beforeher; and she can hardly be prevailed upon to sit in the presence of mygoddess. 

I am drawing up instructions for ye all to observe on Monday night. 

SATURDAY NIGHT. 

Most confoundedly alarmed!--Lord, Sir, what do you think? cried Dorcas--My lady is resolved to go to church to-morrow! I was at quadrille withthe women below. --To church! said I, and down I laid my cards. Tochurch! repeated they, each looking upon the other. We had done playingfor that night. 

Who could have dreamt of such a whim as this?--Without notice, withoutquestions! Her clothes not come! No leave asked!--Impossible she shouldthink of being my wife!--Besides, she don't consider, if she go tochurch, I must go too!--Yet not to ask for my company! Her brother andSingleton ready to snap her up, as far as she knows!--Known by herclothes--her person, her features, so distinguished!--Not such anotherwoman in England!--To church of all places! Is the devil in the girl?said I, as soon as I could speak. 

Well, but to leave this subject till to-morrow morning, I will now giveyou the instructions I have drawn up for your's and your companions'behaviour on Monday night. 

***

Instructions to be observed by John Belford, Richard Mowbray, Thomas Belton, and James Tourville, Esquires of the Body to General Robert Lovelace, on their admission to the presence of his Goddess. 

Ye must be sure to let it sink deep into your heavy heads, that there isno such lady in the world as Miss Clarissa Harlowe; and that she isneither more nor less than Mrs. Lovelace, though at present, to my shamebe it spoken, a virgin. 

Be mindful also, that your old mother's name, after that of her motherwhen a maid, is Sinclair: that her husband was a lieutenant-colonel, andall that you, Belford, know from honest Doleman's letter of her, * thatlet your brethren know. 

* See Letter XXXVIII. Vol. III. 

Mowbray and Tourville, the two greatest blunderers of the four, I allowto be acquainted with the widow and nieces, from the knowledge they hadof the colonel. They will not forbear familiarities of speech to themother, as of longer acquaintance than a day. So I have suited theirparts to their capacities. 

They may praise the widow and the colonel for people of great honour--butnot too grossly; nor to labour the point so as to render themselvessuspected. 

The mother will lead ye into her own and the colonel's praises! andTourville and Mowbray may be both her vouchers--I, and you, and Belton, must be only hearsay confirmers. 

As poverty is generally suspectible, the widow must be got handsomelyaforehand; and no doubt but she is. The elegance of her house andfurniture, and her readiness to discharge all demands upon her, whichshe does with ostentation enough, and which makes her neighbours, Isuppose, like her the better, demonstrate this. She will propose to dohandsome things by her two nieces. Sally is near marriage--with aneminent woollen-draper in the Strand, if ye have a mind to it; for thereare five or six of them there. 

The nieces may be inquired after, since they will be absent, as personsrespected by Mowbray and Tourville, for their late worthy uncle's sake. 

Watch ye diligently every turn of my countenance, every motion of my eye;for in my eye, and in my countenance will ye find a sovereign regulator. I need not bid you respect me mightily: your allegiance obliges you tothat: And who that sees me, respects me not?

Priscilla Partington (for her looks so innocent, and discretion so deep, yet seeming so softly) may be greatly relied upon. She will accompanythe mother, gorgeously dressed, with all her Jew's extravagance flamingout upon her; and first induce, then countenance, the lady. She has hercue, and I hope will make her acquaintance coveted by my charmer. 

Miss Partington's history is this: the daughter of Colonel Sinclair'sbrother-in-law: that brother-in-law may have been a Turkey-merchant, orany merchant, who died confoundedly rich: the colonel one of herguardians [collateral credit in that to the old one:] whence she alwayscalls Mrs. Sinclair Mamma, though not succeeding to the trust. 

She is just come to pass a day or two, and then to return to hersurviving guardian's at Barnet. 

Miss Partington has suitors a little hundred (her grandmother, analderman's dowager, having left her a great additional fortune, ) and isnot trusted out of her guardian's house without an old governante, notedfor discretion, except to her Mamma Sinclair, with whom now-and-then sheis permitted to be for a week together. 

Pris. Will Mamma-up Mrs. Sinclair, and will undertake to court herguardian to let her pass a delightful week with her--Sir Edward Holden hemay as well be, if your shallow pates will not be clogged with too manycircumstantials. Lady Holden, perhaps, will come with her; for shealways delighted in her Mamma Sinclair's company, and talks of her, andher good management, twenty times a day. 

Be it principally thy part, Jack, who art a parading fellow, and aimestat wisdom, to keep thy brother-varlets from blundering; for, as thou musthave observed from what I have written, we have the most watchful andmost penetrating lady in the world to deal with; a lady worth deceiving!but whose eyes will piece to the bottom of your shallow souls the momentshe hears you open. Do you therefore place thyself between Mowbray andTourville: their toes to be played upon and commanded by thine, if theygo wrong: thy elbows to be the ministers of approbation. 

As to your general behaviour; no hypocrisy!--I hate it: so does mycharmer. If I had studied for it, I believe I could have been anhypocrite: but my general character is so well known, that I should havebeen suspected at once, had I aimed at making myself too white. But whatnecessity can there be for hypocrisy, unless the generality of the sexwere to refuse us for our immoralities? The best of them love to havethe credit for reforming us. Let the sweet souls try for it: if theyfail, their intent was good. That will be a consolation to them. And asto us, our work will be the easier; our sins the fewer: since they willdraw themselves in with a very little of our help; and we shall save aparcel of cursed falsehoods, and appear to be what we are both to angelsand men. --Mean time their very grandmothers will acquit us, and reproachthem with their self-do, self-have, and as having erred againstknowledge, and ventured against manifest appearances. What folly, therefore, for men of our character to be hypocrites!

Be sure to instruct the rest, and do thou thyself remember, not to talkobscenely. You know I never permitted any of you to talk obscenely. Time enough for that, when ye grow old, and can ONLY talk. Besides, yemust consider Prisc. 's affected character, my goddess's real one. Farfrom obscenity, therefore, do not so much as touch upon the doubleentendre. What! as I have often said, cannot you touch a lady's heartwithout wounding her ear?

It is necessary that ye should appear worse men than myself. You cannothelp appearing so, you'll say. Well, then, there will be the lessrestraint upon you--the less restraint, the less affectation. --And ifBelton begins his favourite subject in behalf of keeping, it may make metake upon myself to oppose him: but fear not; I shall not give theargument all my force. 

She must have some curiosity, I think, to see what sort of men mycompanions are: she will not expect any of you to be saints. Are younot men born to considerable fortunes, although ye are not all of youmen of parts? Who is it in this mortal life that wealth does notmislead? And as it gives people the power of being mischievous, does itnot require great virtue to forbear the use of that power? Is not thedevil said to be the god of this world? Are we not children of thisworld? Well, then! let me tell thee my opinion--It is this, that were itnot for the poor and the middling, the world would probably, long ago, have been destroyed by fire from Heaven. Ungrateful wretches the rest, thou wilt be apt to say, to make such sorry returns, as they generally domake, to the poor and the middling!

This dear lady is prodigiously learned in theories. But as to practices, as to experimentals, must be, as you know from her tender years, a merenovice. Till she knew me, I dare say, she did not believe, whatever shehad read, that there were such fellows in the world, as she will see inyou four. I shall have much pleasure in observing how she'll stare ather company, when she finds me the politest man of the five. 

And so much for instructions general and particular for your behaviour onMonday night. 

And let me add, that you must attend to every minute circumstance, whetheryou think there be reason for it, or not. Deep, like golden ore, frequently lies my meaning, and richly worth digging for. The hint ofleast moment, as you may imagine it, is often pregnant with events of thegreatest. Be implicit. Am I not your general? Did I ever lead you onthat I brought you not off with safety and success?--Sometimes to your ownstupid astonishment. 

And now, methinks, thou art curious to know, what can be my view inrisquing the displeasure of my fair-one, and alarming her fears, afterfour or five halcyon days have gone over our heads? I'll satisfy thee. 

The visiters of the two nieces will crowd the house. --Beds will bescarce:--Miss Partington, a sweet, modest, genteel girl, will beprodigiously taken with my charmer;--will want to begin a friendship withher--a share in her bed, for one night only, will be requested. Whoknows, but on that very Monday night I may be so unhappy as to givemortal offence to my beloved? The shyest birds may be caught napping. Should she attempt to fly me upon it, cannot I detain her? Should sheactually fly, cannot I bring her back, by authority civil or uncivil, ifI have evidence upon evidence that she acknowledged, though but tacitly, her marriage? And should I, or should I not succeed, and she forgive me, or if she but descend to expostulate, or if she bear me in her sight, then will she be all my own. All delicacy is my charmer. I long to seehow such a delicacy, on any of these occasions, will behave, and in mysituation it behoves me to provide against every accident. 

I must take care, knowing what an eel I have to do with, that the littleriggling rogue does not slip through my fingers. How silly should Ilook, staring after her, when she had shot from me into the muddy river, her family, from which with so much difficulty I have taken her!

Well then, here are--let me see--How many persons are there who, afterMonday night, will be able to swear that she has gone by my name, answered to my name, had no other view in leaving her friends but to goby my name? her own relations neither able nor willing to deny it. --First, here are my servants, her servant, Dorcas, Mrs. Sinclair, Mrs. Sinclair's two nieces, and Miss Partington. 

But for fear these evidences should be suspected, here comes the jet ofthe business--'No less than four worthy gentlemen of fortune and family, who were all in company such a night particularly, at a collation towhich they were invited by Robert Lovelace, of Sandoun-hall, in thecounty of Lancaster, esquire, in company with Magdalen Sinclair, widow, and Priscilla Partington, spinster, and the lady complainant, when thesaid Robert Lovelace addressed himself to the said lady, on a multitudeof occasions, as his wife; as they and others did, as Mrs. Lovelace;every one complimenting and congratulating her upon her nuptials; andthat she received such their compliments and congratulations with noother visible displeasure or repugnance, than such as a young bride, fullof blushes and pretty confusion, might be supposed to express upon suchcontemplative revolvings as those compliments would naturally inspire. 'Nor do thou rave at me, Jack, nor rebel. Dost think I brought the dearcreature hither for nothing?

And here's a faint sketch of my plot. --Stand by, varlets--tanta-ra-ra-ra!--Veil your bonnets, and confess your master!

LETTER V

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SUNDAY. 

Have been at church, Jack--behaved admirably well too! My charmer ispleased with me now: for I was exceedingly attentive to the discourse, and very ready in the auditor's part of the service. --Eyes did not muchwander. How could they, when the loveliest object, infinitely theloveliest in the whole church, was in my view!

Dear creature! how fervent, how amiable, in her devotions! I have gother to own that she prayed for me. I hope a prayer from so excellent amind will not be made in vain. 

There is, after all, something beautifully solemn in devotion. TheSabbath is a charming institution to keep the heart right, when it isright. One day in seven, how reasonable!--I think I'll go to church oncea day often. I fancy it will go a great way towards making me a reformedman. To see multitudes of well-appearing people all joining in onereverend act. An exercise how worthy of a rational being! Yet it adds asting or two to my former stings, when I think of my projects with regardto this charming creature. In my conscience, I believe, if I were to goconstantly to church, I could not pursue them. 

I had a scheme come into my head while there; but I will renounce it, because it obtruded itself upon me in so good a place. Excellentcreature! How many ruins has she prevented by attaching me to herself--by engrossing my whole attention. 

But let me tell thee what passed between us in my first visit of thismorning; and then I will acquaint thee more largely with my goodbehaviour at church. 

I could not be admitted till after eight. I found her ready prepared togo out. I pretended to be ignorant of her intention, having chargedDorcas not to own that she had told me of it. 

Going abroad, Madam?--with an air of indifference. 

Yes, Sir: I intend to go to church. 

I hope, Madam, I shall have the honour to attend you. 

No: she designed to take a chair, and go to the next church. 

This startled me:--A chair to carry her to the next church from Mrs. Sinclair's, her right name not Sinclair, and to bring her back hitherin the face of people who might not think well of the house!--There wasno permitting that. Yet I was to appear indifferent. But said, I shouldtake it for a favour, if she would permit me to attend her in a coach, asthere was time for it, to St. Paul's. 

She made objections to the gaiety of my dress; and told me, that if shewent to St. Paul's, she could go in a coach without me. 

I objected Singleton and her brother, and offered to dress in theplainest suit I had. 

I beg the favour of attending you, dear Madam, said I. I have not beenat church a great while; we shall sit in different stalls, and the nexttime I go, I hope it will be to give myself a title to the greatestblessing I can receive. 

She made some further objections: but at last permitted me the honour ofattending her. 

I got myself placed in her eye, that the time might not seem tedious tome, for we were there early. And I gained her good opinion, as Imentioned above, by my behaviour. 

The subject of the discourse was particular enough: It was about aprophet's story or parable of an ewe-lamb taken by a rich man from a poorone, who dearly loved it, and whose only comfort it was: designed tostrike remorse into David, on his adultery with Uriah's wife Bathsheba, and his murder of the husband. These women, Jack, have been the occasionof all manner of mischief from the beginning! Now, when David, full ofindignation, swore [King David would swear, Jack: But how shouldst thouknow who King David was?--The story is in the Bible, ] that the rich manshould surely die; Nathan, which was the prophet's name, and a goodingenious fellow, cried out, (which were the words of the text, ) Thou artthe man! By my soul I thought the parson looked directly at me; and atthat moment I cast my eye full on my ewe-lamb. --But I must tell thee too, that, that I thought a good deal of my Rosebud. --A better man than KingDavid, in that point, however, thought I!

When we came home we talked upon the subject; and I showed my charmer myattention to the discourse, by letting her know where the Doctor made themost of his subject, and where it might have been touched to greateradvantage: for it is really a very affecting story, and has as pretty acontrivance in it as ever I read. And this I did in such a grave way, that she seemed more and more pleased with me; and I have no doubt, thatI shall get her to favour me to-morrow night with her company at mycollation. 

SUNDAY EVENING. 

We all dined together in Mrs. Sinclair's parlour:--All excessively right!The two nieces have topped their parts--Mrs. Sinclair her's. Never wasso easy as now!--'She really thought a little oddly of these people atfirst, she said! Mrs. Sinclair seemed very forbidding! Her nieces werepersons with whom she could not wish to be acquainted. But really weshould not be too hasty in our censures. Some people improve upon us. The widow seems tolerable. ' She went no farther than tolerable. --'MissMartin and Miss Horton are young people of good sense, and have read agreat deal. What Miss Martin particularly said of marriage, and of herhumble servant, was very solid. She believes with such notions shecannot make a bad wife. ' I have said Sally's humble servant is a woolen-draper of great reputation; and she is soon to be married. 

I have been letting her into thy character, and into the characters of myother three esquires, in hopes to excite her curiosity to see youto-morrow night. I have told her some of the worst, as well as bestparts of your characters, in order to exalt myself, and to obviate anysudden surprizes, as well as to teach her what sort of men she may expectto see, if she will oblige me with her company. 

By her after-observation upon each of you, I shall judge what I may ormay not do to obtain or keep her good opinion; what she will like, orwhat not; and so pursue the one or avoid the other, as I see proper. So, while she is penetrating into your shallow heads, I shall enter herheart, and know what to bid my own to hope for. 

The house is to be taken in three weeks. --All will be over in threeweeks, or bad will be my luck!--Who knows but in three days?--Have I notcarried that great point of making her pass for my wife to the peoplebelow? And that other great one, of fixing myself here night and day?--What woman ever escaped me, who lodged under one roof with me?--Thehouse too, THE house; the people--people after my own heart; herservants, Will. And Dorcas, both my servants. --Three days, did I say!Pho! Pho! Pho!--three hours!

***

I have carried my third point: but so extremely to the dislike of mycharmer, that I have been threatened, for suffering Miss Partington to beintroduced to her without her leave. Which laid her under a necessity todeny or comply with the urgent request of so fine a young lady; who hadengaged to honour me at my collation, on condition that my beloved wouldbe present at it. 

To be obliged to appear before my friends as what she was not! She wasfor insisting, that I should acquaint the women here with the truth ofthe matter; and not go on propagating stories for her to countenance, making her a sharer in my guilt. 

But what points will not perseverance carry? especially when it iscovered over with the face of yielding now, and, Parthian-like, returningto the charge anon. Do not the sex carry all their points with their menby the same methods? Have I conversed with them so freely as I havedone, and learnt nothing of them? Didst thou ever know that a woman'sdenial of any favour, whether the least or the greatest, that my heartwas set upon, stood her in any stead? The more perverse she, the moresteady I--that is my rule. 

But the point thus so much against her will carried, I doubt thou willsee in her more of a sullen than of an obliging charmer: for, when MissPartington was withdrawn, 'What was Miss Partington to her? In hersituation she wanted no new acquaintances. And what were my four friendsto her in her present circumstances? She would assure me, if ever again'--And there she stopped, with a twirl of her hand. 

When we meet, I will, in her presence, tipping thee a wink, show thee themotion, for it was a very pretty one. Quite new. Yet have I seen anhundred pretty passionate twirls too, in my time, from other fair-ones. How universally engaging is it to put a woman of sense, to whom a man isnot married, in a passion, let the reception given to every rantingscene in our plays testify. Take care, my charmer, now thou art come todelight me with thy angry twirls, that thou temptest me not to provoke avariety of them from one, whose every motion, whose every air, carries init so much sense and soul. 

But, angry or pleased, this charming creature must be all loveliness. Her features are all harmony, and made for one another. No other featurecould be substituted in the place of any one of her's but most abate ofher perfection: And think you that I do not long to have your opinion ofmy fair prize?

If you love to see features that glow, though the heart is frozen, andnever yet was thawed; if you love fines sense, and adages flowing throughteeth of ivory and lips of coral; an eye that penetrates all things; avoice that is harmony itself; an air of grandeur, mingled with asweetness that cannot be described; a politeness that, if ever equaled, was never excelled--you'll see all these excellencies, and ten timesmore, in this my GLORIANA. 

 Mark her majestic fabric!--She's a temple, Sacred by birth, and built by hands divine; Her soul the deity that lodges there: Nor is the pile unworthy of the god. 

Or, to describe her in a softer style with Rowe, The bloom of op'ning flow'rs, unsully'd beauty, Softness, and sweetest innocence she wears, And looks like nature in the world's first spring. 

Adieu, varlets four!--At six, on Monday evening, I expect ye all. 

LETTER VI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWESUNDAY, APRIL 30. 

[Mr. Lovelace, in his last letters, having taken notice of the most material passages contained in this letter, the following extracts from it are only inserted. 

She gives pretty near the same account that he does of what passed between them on her resolution to go to church; and of his proposal of St. Paul's, and desire of attending her. --She praises his good behaviour there; as also the discourse, and the preacher. --Is pleased with its seasonableness. --Gives particulars of the conversation between them afterwards, and commends the good observations he makes upon the sermon. ]

I am willing, says she, to have hopes of him: but am so unable to knowhow to depend upon his seriousness for an hour together, that all myfavourable accounts of him in this respect must be taken with allowance. 

Being very much pressed, I could not tell how to refuse dining with thewidow and her nieces this day. I am better pleased with them than I everthought I should be. I cannot help blaming myself for my readiness togive severe censures where reputation is concerned. People's ways, humours, constitutions, education, and opportunities allowed for, mydear, many persons, as far as I know, may appear blameless, whom others, of different humours and educations, are too apt to blame; and who, fromthe same fault, may be as ready to blame them. I will therefore make ita rule to myself for the future--Never to judge peremptorily on firstappearances: but yet I must observe that these are not people I shouldchoose to be intimate with, or whose ways I can like: although, for thestations they are in, they may go through the world with tolerablecredit. 

Mr. Lovelace's behaviour has been such as makes me call this, so far asit is passed, an agreeable day. Yet, when easiest as to him, mysituation with my friends takes place in my thoughts, and causes me manya tear. 

I am the more pleased with the people of the house, because of thepersons of rank they are acquainted with, and who visits them. 

SUNDAY EVENING. 

I am still well pleased with Mr. Lovelace's behaviour. We have had agood deal of serious discourse together. The man has really just andgood notions. He confesses how much he is pleased with this day, andhopes for many such. Nevertheless, he ingenuously warned me, that hisunlucky vivacity might return: but, he doubted not, that he should befixed at last by my example and conversation. 

He has given me an entertaining account of the four gentlemen he is tomeet to-morrow night. --Entertaining, I mean for his humourous descriptionof their persons, manners, &c. But such a description as is far frombeing to their praise. Yet he seemed rather to design to divert mymelancholy by it than to degrade them. I think at bottom, my dear, thathe must be a good-natured man; but that he was spoiled young, for wantof check or controul. 

I cannot but call this, my circumstances considered, an happy day to theend of it. Indeed, my dear, I think I could prefer him to all the men Iever knew, were he but to be always what he has been this day. You seehow ready I am to own all you have charged me with, when I find myselfout. It is a difficult thing, I believe, sometimes, for a young creaturethat is able to deliberate with herself, to know when she loves, or whenshe hates: but I am resolved, as much as possible, to be determined bothin my hatred and love by actions, as they make the man worthy or unworthy. 

[She dates again Monday, and declares herself highly displeased at Miss Partington's being introduced to her: and still more for being obliged to promise to be present at Mr. Lovelace's collation. She foresees, she says, a murder'd evening. ]

LETTER VII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWEMONDAY NIGHT, MAY 1. 

I have just escaped from a very disagreeable company I was obliged, somuch against my will, to be in. As a very particular relation of thisevening's conversation would be painful to me, you must content yourselfwith what you shall be able to collect from the outlines, as I may callthem, of the characters of the persons; assisted by the little historiesMr. Lovelace gave me of each yesterday. 

The names of the gentlemen are Belton, Mowbray, Tourville, and Belford. These four, with Mrs. Sinclair, Miss Partington, the great heiressmentioned in my last, Mr. Lovelace, and myself, made up the company. 

I gave you before the favourable side of Miss Partington's character, such as it was given to me by Mrs. Sinclair, and her nieces. I will nowadd a few words from my own observation upon her behaviour in thiscompany. 

In better company perhaps she would have appeared to less disadvantage:but, notwithstanding her innocent looks, which Mr. Lovelace also highlypraised, he is the last person whose judgment I would take upon realmodesty. For I observed, that, upon some talk from the gentlemen, notfree enough to be easily censured, yet too indecent in its implication tocome from well-bred persons, in the company of virtuous prople [sic], this young lady was very ready to apprehend; and yet, by smiles andsimperings, to encourage, rather than discourage, the culpable freedomsof persons, who, in what they went out of their way to say, must eitherbe guilty of absurdity, meaning nothing, or meaning something ofrudeness. *

* Mr. Belford, in Letter XIII. Of Vol. V. Reminds Mr. Lovelace of someparticular topics which passed in their conversation, extremely to theLady's honour. 

But, indeed, I have seen no women, of whom I had a better opinion than Ican say of Mrs. Sinclair, who have allowed gentlemen, and themselves too, in greater liberties of this sort than I had thought consistent with thatpurity of manners which ought to be the distinguishing characteristic ofour sex: For what are words, but the body and dress of thought? And isnot the mind of a person strongly indicated by outward dress?

But to the gentlemen--as they must be called in right of their ancestors, it seems; for no other do they appear to have:--

Mr. BELTON has had university education, and was designed for the gown;but that not suiting with the gaiety of his temper, and an uncle dying, who devised to him a good estate, he quitted the college, came up totown, and commenced fine gentleman. He is said to be a man of sense. --Mr. Belton dresses gaily, but not quite foppishly; drinks hard; keeps allhours, and glories in doing so; games, and has been hurt by thatpernicious diversion: he is about thirty years of age: his face is afiery red, somewhat bloated and pimply; and his irregularities threaten abrief duration to the sensual dream he is in: for he has a shortconsumption cough, which seems to denote bad lungs; yet makes himself andhis friends merry by his stupid and inconsiderate jests upon verythreatening symptoms which ought to make him more serious. 

Mr. MOWBRAY has been a great traveller; speaks as many languages as Mr. Lovelace himself, but not so fluently: is of a good family: seems to beabout thirty-three or thirty-four: tall and comely in his person: boldand daring in his look: is a large-boned, strong man: has a great scar inhis forehead, with a dent, as if his skull had been beaten in there, anda seamed scar in his right cheek: he likewise dresses very gaily: has hisservants always about him, whom he is continually calling upon, andsending on the most trifling messages--half a dozen instances of which wehad in the little time I was among them; while they seem to watch theturn of his fierce eye, to be ready to run, before they have half hismessage, and serve him with fear and trembling. Yet to his equals theman seems tolerable: he talks not amiss upon public entertainments anddiversions, especially upon those abroad: yet has a romancing air, andavers things strongly which seem quite improbable. Indeed he doubtsnothing but what he ought to believe; for he jests upon sacred things;and professes to hate the clergy of all religions. He has high notionsof honour, a world hardly ever out of his mouth; but seems to have nogreat regard to morals. 

Mr. TOURVILLE occasionally told his age; just turned of thirty-one. Heis also of an ancient family; but, in his person and manners, more of whatI call the coxcomb than any of his companions. He dresses richly;would be thought elegant in the choice and fashion of what he wears; yet, after all, appears rather tawdry than fine. --One sees by the care hetakes of his outside, and the notice he bespeaks from every one by hisown notice of himself, that the inside takes up the least of hisattention. He dances finely, Mr. Lovelace says; is a master of music, and singing is one of his principal excellencies. They prevailed uponhim to sing, and he obliged them both in Italian and French; and, to dohim justice, his songs in both were decent. They were all highlydelighted with his performance; but his greatest admirers were, Mrs. Sinclair, Miss Partington, and himself. To me he appeared to have agreat deal of affectation. 

Mr. Tourville's conversation and address are insufferably full of thosereally gross affronts upon the understanding of our sex, which themoderns call compliments, and are intended to pass for so many instancesof good breeding, though the most hyperbolical, unnatural stuff that canbe conceived, and which can only serve to show the insincerity of thecomplimenter, and the ridiculous light in which the complimented appearsin his eyes, if he supposes a woman capable of relishing the romanticabsurdities of his speeches. 

He affects to introduce into his common talk Italian and French words;and often answer an English question in French, which language he greatlyprefers to the barbarously hissing English. But then he never fails totranslate into this his odious native tongue the words and the sentenceshe speaks in the other two--lest, perhaps, it should be questionedwhether he understands what he says. 

He loves to tell stories: always calls them merry, facetious, good, orexcellent, before he begins, in order to bespeak the attention of thehearers, but never gives himself concern in the progress or conclusion ofthem, to make good what he promises in his preface. Indeed he seldombrings any of them to a conclusion; for if his company have patience tohear him out, he breaks in upon himself by so many parentheticalintrusions, as one may call them, and has so many incidents springing inupon him, that he frequently drops his own thread, and sometimes sitsdown satisfied half way; or, if at other times he would resume it, heapplies to his company to help him in again, with a Devil fetch him if heremembers what he was driving at--but enough, and too much of Mr. Tourville. 

Mr. BELFORD is the fourth gentleman, and one of whom Mr. Lovelace seemsmore fond than any of the rest; for he is a man of tried bravery, itseems; and this pair of friends came acquainted upon occasion of aquarrel, (possibly about a woman, ) which brought on a challenge, and ameeting at Kensington Gravel-pits; which ended without unhappyconsequences, by the mediation of three gentlemen strangers, just as eachhad made a pass at the other. 

Mr. Belford, it seems, is about seven or eight and twenty. He is theyoungest of the five, except Mr. Lovelace, and they are perhaps thewickedest; for they seem to lead the other three as they please. Mr. Belford, as the others, dresses gaily; but has not those advantages ofperson, nor from his dress, which Mr. Lovelace is too proud of. He has, however, the appearance and air of a gentleman. He is well read inclassical authors, and in the best English poets and writers; and, by hismeans, the conversation took now and then a more agreeable turn. And I, who endeavoured to put the best face I could upon my situation, as Ipassed for Mrs. Lovelace with them, made shift to join in it, at suchtimes, and received abundance of compliments from all the company, on theobservations I made. *

* See Letter XIII. Of Vol. V. Above referred to. 

Mr. Belford seems good-natured and obliging; and although verycomplaisant, not so fulsomely so as Mr. Tourville; and has a polite andeasy manner of expressing his sentiments on all occasions. He seems todelight in a logical way of argumentation, as also does Mr. Belton. These two attacked each other in this way; and both looked at us women, as if to observe whether we did not admire this learning, or when theyhad said a smart thing, their wit. But Mr. Belford had visibly theadvantage of the other, having quicker parts, and by taking the worstside of the argument, seemed to think he had. Upon the whole of hisbehaviour and conversation, he put me in mind of that character ofMilton:--

 --------His tongue Dropt manna, and could make the worse appear The better reason, to perplex and dash Maturest counsels; for his thoughts were low; To vice industrious: but to nobler deeds Tim'rous and slothful: yet he pleased the ear. 

How little soever matters in general may be to our liking, we are apt, when hope is strong enough to permit it, to endeavour to make the best wecan of the lot we have drawn; and I could not but observe often, how muchMr. Lovelace excelled all his four friends in every thing they seemeddesirous to excel in. But as to wit and vivacity, he had no equal there. All the others gave up to him, when his lips began to open. The haughtyMowbray would call upon the prating Tourville for silence, when Lovelacewas going to speak. And when he had spoken, the words, Charming fellow!with a free word of admiration or envy, fell from every mouth. 

He has indeed so many advantages in his person and manner, that whatwould be inexcusable in another, would, if one watched not over one'sself, and did not endeavour to distinguish what is the essence of rightand wrong, look becoming in him. 

Mr. Belford, to my no small vexation and confusion, with the forwardnessof a favoured and intrusted friend, singled me out, on Mr. Lovelace'sbeing sent for down, to make me congratulatory compliments on my supposednuptials; which he did with a caution, not to insist too long on therigorous vow I had imposed upon a man so universally admired--

'See him among twenty men, ' said he, 'all of distinction, and nobody isregarded but Mr. Lovelace. '

It must, indeed, be confessed, that there is, in his whole deportment, anatural dignity, which renders all insolent or imperative demeanour asunnecessary as inexcusable. Then that deceiving sweetness which appearsin his smiles, in his accent, in his whole aspect, and address, when hethinks it worth his while to oblige, or endeavour to attract, how doesthis show that he was born innocent, as I may say; that he was notnaturally the cruel, the boisterous, the impetuous creature, which thewicked company he may have fallen into have made him! For he has, besides, as open, and, I think, an honest countenance. Don't you thinkso, my dear? On all these specious appearances, have I founded my hopesof seeing him a reformed man. 

But it is amazing to me, I own, that with so much of the gentleman, sucha general knowledge of books and men, such a skill in the learned as wellas modern languages, he can take so much delight as he does in thecompany of such persons as I have described, and in subjects of frothyimpertinence, unworthy of his talents, and his natural and acquiredadvantages. I can think but of one reason for it, and that must argue avery low mind, --his vanity; which makes him desirous of being consideredas the head of the people he consorts with. --A man to love praise, yet tobe content to draw it from such contaminated springs!

One compliment passed from Mr. Belford to Mr. Lovelace, which hastened myquitting the shocking company--'You are a happy man, Mr. Lovelace, ' saidhe, upon some fine speeches made him by Mrs. Sinclair, and assented to byMiss Partington:--'You have so much courage, and so much wit, thatneither man nor woman can stand before you. '

Mr. Belford looked at me when he spoke: yes, my dear, he smilingly lookedat me; and he looked upon his complimented friend; and all theirassenting, and therefore affronting eyes, both men's and women's, wereturned upon your Clarissa; at least, my self-reproaching heart made methink so; for that would hardly permit my eye to look up. 

Oh! my dear, were but a woman, who gives reason to the world to think herto be in love with a man, [And this must be believed to be my case; or towhat can my supposed voluntary going off with Mr. Lovelace be imputed?]to reflect one moment on the exaltation she gives him, and the disgraceshe brings upon herself, --the low pity, the silent contempt, the insolentsneers and whispers, to which she makes herself obnoxious from acensuring world of both sexes, --how would she despise herself! and howmuch more eligible would she think death itself than such a discovereddebasement!

What I have thus in general touched upon, will account to you why I couldnot more particularly relate what passed in this evening's conversation:which, as may be gathered from what I have written, abounded withapprobatory accusations, and supposed witty retorts. 

LETTER VIII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWEMONDAY MIDNIGHT. 

I am very much vexed and disturbed at an odd incident. Mrs. Sinclair hasjust now left me; I believe in displeasure, on my declining to complywith a request she made me: which was, to admit Miss Partington to ashare in my bed, her house being crowded by her nieces's guests and bytheir attendants, as well as by those of Miss Partington. 

There might be nothing in it; and my denial carried a stiff and ill-natured appearance. But instantly, upon her making the request, it cameinto my thought, 'that I was in a manner a stranger to every body in thehouse: not so much as a servant I could call my own, or of whom I had anygreat opinion: that there were four men of free manners in the house, avowed supporters of Mr. Lovelace in matters of offence; himself a man ofenterprise; all, as far as I knew, (and as I had reason to think by theirnoisy mirth after I left them, ) drinking deeply: that Miss Partingtonherself is not so bashful a person as she was represented to me to be:that officious pains were taken to give me a good opinion of her: andthat Mrs. Sinclair made a greater parade in prefacing the request, thansuch a request needed. To deny, thought I, can carry only an appearanceof singularity to people who already think me singular. To consent maypossibly, if not probably, be attended with inconveniencies. Theconsequences of the alternative so very disproportionate, I thought itmore prudent to incur the censure, than to risque the inconvenience. '

I told her that I was writing a long letter: that I should choose towrite till I were sleepy, and that a companion would be a restraint uponme, and I upon her. 

She was loth, she said, that so delicate a young creature, and so greata fortune as Miss Partington, should be put to lie with Dorcas in apress-bed. She should be very sorry, if she had asked an improper thing. She had never been so put to it before. And Miss would stay up with hertill I had done writing. 

Alarmed at this urgency, and it being easier to persist in a denialgiven, than to give it at first, I said, Miss Partington should bewelcome to my whole bed, and I would retire into the dining-room, andthere, locking myself in, write all the night. 

The poor thing, she said, was afraid to lie alone. To be sure MissPartington would not put me to such an inconvenience. 

She then withdrew, --but returned--begged my pardon for returning, but thepoor child, she said, was in tears. --Miss Partington had never seen ayoung lady she so much admired, and so much wished to imitate as me. Thedear girl hoped that nothing had passed in her behaviour to give medislike to her. --Should she bring her to me?

I was very busy, I said: the letter I was writing was upon a veryimportant subject. I hoped to see the young lady in the morning, when Iwould apologize to her for my particularity. And then Mrs. Sinclairhesitating, and moving towards the door, (though she turned round to meagain, ) I desired her, (lighting her, ) to take care how she went down. 

Pray, Madam, said she, on the stairs-head, don't give yourself all thistrouble. God knows my heart, I meant no affront: but, since you seem totake my freedom amiss, I beg you will not acquaint Mr. Lovelace with it;for he perhaps will think me bold and impertinent. 

Now, my dear, is not this a particular incident, either as I have madeit, or as it was designed? I don't love to do an uncivil thing. And ifnothing were meant by the request, my refusal deserves to be calleduncivil. Then I have shown a suspicion of foul usage by it, which surelydare not be meant. If just, I ought to apprehend every thing, and flythe house and the man as I would an infection. If not just, and if Icannot contrive to clear myself of having entertained suspicions, byassigning some other plausible reason for my denial, the very stayinghere will have an appearance not at all reputable to myself. 

I am now out of humour with him, --with myself, --with all the world, butyou. His companions are shocking creatures. Why, again I repeat, shouldhe have been desirous to bring me into such company? Once more I likehim not. --Indeed I do not like him!

LETTER IX

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWETUESDAY, MAY 2. 

With infinite regret I am obliged to tell you, that I can no longer writeto you, or receive letters from you. --Your mother has sent me a letterenclosed in a cover to Mr. Lovelace, directed for him at Lord M. 's, (andwhich was brought him just now, ) reproaching me on this subject in veryangry terms, and forbidding me, 'as I would not be thought to intend tomake her and you unhappy, to write to you without her leave. '

This, therefore, is the last you must receive from me, till happier days. And as my prospects are not very bad, I presume we shall soon have leaveto write again; and even to see each other: since an alliance with afamily so honourable as Mr. Lovelace's is will not be a disgrace. 

She is pleased to write, 'That if I would wish to inflame you, I shouldlet you know her written prohibition: but if otherwise, find some way ofmy own accord (without bringing her into the question) to decline acorrespondence, which I must know she has for some time past forbidden. 'But all I can say is, to beg of you not to be inflamed: to beg of you notto let her know, or even by your behaviour to her, on this occasion, guess, that I have acquainted you with my reason for declining to writeto you. For how else, after the scruples I have heretofore made on thisvery subject, yet proceeding to correspond, can I honestly satisfy youabout my motives for this sudden stop? So, my dear, I choose, you see, rather to rely upon your discretion, than to feign reasons with which youwould not be satisfied, but with your usual active penetration, sift tothe bottom, and at last find me to be a mean and low qualifier; and thatwith an implication injurious to you, that I supposed you had notprudence enough to be trusted with the naked truth. 

I repeat, that my prospects are not bad. 'The house, I presume, willsoon be taken. The people here are very respectful, notwithstanding mynicety about Miss Partington. Miss Martin, who is near marriage with aneminent tradesman in the Strand, just now, in a very respectful manner, asked my opinion of some patterns of rich silks for the occasion. Thewidow has a less forbidding appearance than at first. Mr. Lovelace, onmy declared dislike of his four friends, has assured me that neither theynor any body else shall be introduced to me without my leave. '

These circumstances I mention (as you will suppose) that your kind heartmay be at ease about me; that you may be induced by them to acquiescewith your mother's commands, (cheerfully acquiesce, ) and that for mysake, lest I should be thought an inflamer; who am, with very contraryintentions, my dearest and best beloved friend, Your ever obliged and affectionate, CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER X

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWEWEDN. MAY 3. 

I am astonished that my mother should take such a step--purely toexercise an unreasonable act of authority; and to oblige the mostremorseless hearts in the world. If I find that I can be of use to you, either by advice or information, do you think I will not give it!--Wereit to any other person, much less dear to me than you are, do you think, in such a case, I would forbear giving it?

Mr. Hickman, who pretends to a little casuistry in such nice matters, isof opinion that I ought not to decline such a correspondence thuscircumstanced. And it is well he is; for my mother having set me up, Imust have somebody to quarrel with. 

This I will come into if it will make you easy--I will forbear to writeto you for a few days, if nothing extraordinary happen, and till therigour of her prohibition is abated. But be assured that I will notdispense with your writing to me. My heart, my conscience, my honour, will not permit it. 

But how will I help myself?--How!--easily enough. For I do assure youthat I want but very little farther provocation to fly privately toLondon. And if I do, I will not leave you till I see you eitherhonourably married, or absolutely quit of the wretch: and, in this lastcase, I will take you down with me, in defiance of the whole world: or, if you refuse to go with me, stay with you, and accompany you as yourshadow whithersoever you go. 

Don't be frightened at this declaration. There is but one consideration, and but one hope, that withhold me, watched as I am in all myretirements; obliged to read to her without a voice; to work in herpresence without fingers; and to lie with her every night against mywill. The consideration is, lest you should apprehend that a step ofthis nature would look like a doubling of your fault, in the eyes of suchas think your going away a fault. The hope is, that things will stillend happily, and that some people will have reason to take shame tothemselves for the sorry part they have acted. Nevertheless I am oftenbalancing--but your resolving to give up the correspondence at thiscrisis will turn the scale. Write, therefore, or take the consequence. 

A few words upon the subject of your last letters. I know not whetheryour brother's wise project be given up or not. A dead silence reigns inyour family. Your brother was absent three days; then at home one; andis now absent: but whether with Singleton, or not, I cannot find out. 

By your account of your wretch's companions, I see not but they are a setof infernals, and he the Beelzebub. What could he mean, as you say, byhis earnestness to bring you into such company, and to give you such anopportunity to make him and them reflecting-glasses to one another? Theman's a fool, to be sure, my dear--a silly fellow, at least--the wretchesmust put on their best before you, no doubt--Lords of the creation!--noble fellows these!--Yet who knows how many poor despicable souls of oursex the worst of them has had to whine after him!

You have brought an inconvenience upon yourself, as you observe, by yourrefusal of Miss Partington for your bedfellow. Pity you had not admittedher! watchful as you are, what could have happened? If violence wereintended, he would not stay for the night. You might have sat up afterher, or not gone to bed. Mrs. Sinclair pressed it too far. You wasover-scrupulous. 

If any thing happen to delay your nuptials, I would advise you to remove:but, if you marry, perhaps you may think it no great matter to stay whereyou are till you take possession of your own estate. The knot once tied, and with so resolute a man, it is my opinion your relations will soonresign what they cannot legally hold: and, were even a litigation tofollow, you will not be able, nor ought you to be willing, to help it:for your estate will then be his right; and it will be unjust to wish itto be withheld from him. 

One thing I would advise you to think of; and that is, of propersettlements: it will be to the credit of your prudence and of his justice(and the more as matters stand) that something of this should be donebefore you marry. Bad as he is, nobody accounts him a sordid man. And Iwonder he has been hitherto silent on that subject. 

I am not displeased with his proposal about the widow lady's house. Ithink it will do very well. But if it must be three weeks before you canbe certain about it, surely you need not put off his day for that space:and he may bespeak his equipages. Surprising to me, as well as to you, that he could be so acquiescent!

I repeat--continue to write to me. I insist upon it; and that asminutely as possible: or, take the consequence. I send this by aparticular hand. I am, and ever will be, Your most affectionate, ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER XI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWETHURSDAY, MAY 4. 

I forego every other engagement, I suspend ever wish, I banish everyother fear, to take up my pen, to beg of you that you will not think ofbeing guilty of such an act of love as I can never thank you for; butmust for ever regret. If I must continue to write to you, I must. Iknow full well your impatience of control, when you have the leastimagination that your generosity or friendship is likely to be wonderedat. 

My dearest, dearest creature, would you incur a maternal, as I have apaternal, malediction? Would not the world think there was an infectionin my fault, if it were to be followed by Miss Howe? There are somepoints so flagrantly wrong that they will not bear to be argued upon. This is one of them. I need not give reasons against such a rashness. Heaven forbid that it should be known that you had it but once in yourthought, be your motives ever so noble and generous, to follow so bad anexample, the rather, as that you would, in such a case, want theextenuations that might be pleaded in my favour; and particularly thatone of being surprised into the unhappy step!

The restraint your mother lays you under would not have appeared heavy toyou but on my account. Would you had once thought it a hardship to beadmitted to a part of her bed?--How did I use to be delighted with sucha favour from my mother! how did I love to work in her presence!--So didyou in the presence of your's once. And to read to her in winterevenings I know was one of your joys. --Do not give me cause to reproachmyself on the reason that may be assigned for the change in you. 

Learn, my dear, I beseech you, learn to subdue your own passions. Be themotives what they will, excess is excess. Those passions in our sex, which we take pains to subdue, may have one and the same source withthose infinitely-blacker passions, which we used so often to condemn inthe violent and headstrong of the other sex; and which may only beheightened in them by custom, and their freer education. Let us both, my dear, ponder well this thought: look into ourselves, and fear. 

If I write, as I find I must, I insist upon your forbearing to write. Your silence to this shall be the sign to me that you will not think ofthe rashness you threaten me with: and that you will obey your mother asto your own part of the correspondence, however; especially as you caninform or advise me in every weighty case by Mr. Hickman's pen. 

My trembling writing will show you, my dear impetuous creature, what atrembling heart you have given to

Your ever obliged, Or, if you take so rash a step, Your for ever disobliged, CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

My clothes were brought to me just now. But you have so much discomposedme, that I have no heart to look into the trunks. Why, why, my dear, willyou fright me with your flaming love? discomposure gives distress to aweak heart, whether it arise from friendship or enmity. 

A servant of Mr. Lovelace carries this to Mr. Hickman for dispatch-sake. Let that worthy man's pen relieve my heart from this new uneasiness. 

LETTER XII

MR. HICKMAN, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE[SENT TO WILSON'S BY A PARTICULAR HAND. ]FRIDAY, MAY 5. 

MADAM, I have the honour of dear Miss Howe's commands to acquaint you, withoutknowing the occasion, 'That she is excessively concerned for the concernshe has given you in her last letter: and that, if you will but write toher, under cover as before, she will have no thoughts of what you are sovery apprehensive about. '--Yet she bid me write, 'That if she had bit theleast imagination that she can serve you, and save you, ' those are herwords, 'all the censures of the world will be but of second considerationwith her. ' I have great temptations, on this occasion, to express my ownresentments upon your present state; but not being fully apprized of whatthat is--only conjecturing from the disturbance upon the mind of thedearest lady in the world to me, and the most sincere of friends to you, that that is not altogether so happy as were to be wished; and being, moreover, forbid to enter into the cruel subject; I can only offer, as Ido, my best and faithfullest services! and wish you a happy deliverancefrom all your troubles. For I am, Most excellent young lady, Your faithful and most obedient servant, CH. HICKMAN. 

LETTER XIII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUESDAY, MAY 2. 

Mercury, as the fabulist tells us, having the curiosity to know theestimation he stood in among mortals, descended in disguise, and in astatuary's shop cheapened a Jupiter, then a Juno, then one, then another, of the dii majores; and, at last, asked, What price that same statue ofMercury bore? O Sir, says the artist, buy one of the others, and I'llthrow you in that for nothing. 

How sheepish must the god of thieves look upon this rebuff to his vanity!

So thou! a thousand pounds wouldst thou give for the good opinion of thissingle lady--to be only thought tolerably of, and not quite unworthy ofher conversation, would make thee happy. And at parting last night, orrather this morning, thou madest me promise a few lines to Edgware, tolet thee know what she thinks of thee, and of thy brethren. 

Thy thousand pounds, Jack, is all thy own: for most heartily does shedislike ye all--thee as much as any of the rest. 

I am sorry for it too, as to thy part; for two reasons--one, that I thinkthy motive for thy curiosity was fear of consciousness: whereas that ofthe arch-thief was vanity, intolerable vanity: and he was thereforejustly sent away with a blush upon his cheeks to heaven, and could notbrag--the other, that I am afraid, if she dislikes thee, she dislikes me:for are we not birds of a feather?

I must never talk of reformation, she told me, having such companions, and taking such delight, as I seemed to take, in their frothyconversation. 

I, no more than you, Jack, imagined she could possibly like ye: but then, as my friends, I thought a person of her education would have been moresparing of her censures. 

I don't know how it is, Belford; but women think themselves entitled totake any freedoms with us; while we are unpolite, forsooth, and I can'ttell what, if we don't tell a pack of cursed lies, and make black white, in their favour--teaching us to be hypocrites, yet stigmatizing us, atother times, for deceivers. 

I defended ye all as well as I could: but you know there was noattempting aught but a palliative defence, to one of her principles. 

I will summarily give thee a few of my pleas. 

'To the pure, every little deviation seemed offensive: yet I saw not, that there was any thing amiss the whole evening, either in the words orbehaviour of any of my friends. Some people could talk but upon one ortwo subjects: she upon every one: no wonder, therefore, they talked towhat they understood best; and to mere objects of sense. Had shehonoured us with more of her conversation, she would have been lessdisgusted with ours; for she saw how every one was prepared to admireher, whenever she opened her lips. You, in particular, had said, whenshe retired, that virtue itself spoke when she spoke, but that you hadsuch an awe upon you, after she had favoured us with an observation ortwo on a subject started, that you should ever be afraid in her companyto be found most exceptionable, when you intended to be least so. '

Plainly, she said, she neither liked my companions nor the house she wasin. 

I liked not the house any more than she: though the people were veryobliging, and she had owned they were less exceptionable to herself thanat first: And were we not about another of our own?

She did not like Miss Partington--let her fortune be what it would, andshe had heard a great deal said of her fortune, she should not choose anintimacy with her. She thought it was a hardship to be put upon such adifficulty as she was put upon the preceding night, when there werelodgers in the front-house, whom they had reason to be freer with, than, upon so short an acquaintance, with her. 

I pretended to be an utter stranger as to this particular; and, when sheexplained herself upon it, condemned Mrs. Sinclair's request, and calledit a confident one. 

She, artfully, made lighter of her denial of the girl for a bedfellow, than she thought of it, I could see that; for it was plain, she supposedthere was room for me to think she had been either over-nice, or over-cautious. 

I offered to resent Mrs. Sinclair's freedom. 

No; there was no great matter in it. It was best to let it pass. Itmight be thought more particular in her to deny such a request, than inMrs. Sinclair to make it, or in Miss Partington to expect it to becomplied with. But as the people below had a large acquaintance, she didnot know how often she might indeed have her retirements invaded, if shegave way. And indeed there were levities in the behaviour of that younglady, which she could not so far pass over as to wish an intimacy withher. 

I said, I liked Miss Partington as little as she could. Miss Partingtonwas a silly young creature; who seemed to justify the watchfulness of herguardians over her. --But nevertheless, as to her own, that I thought thegirl (for girl she was, as to discretion) not exceptionable; onlycarrying herself like a free good-natured creature who believed herselfsecure in the honour of her company. 

It was very well said of me, she replied: but if that young lady were sowell satisfied with her company, she must needs say, that I was very kindto suppose her such an innocent--for her own part, she had seen nothingof the London world: but thought, she must tell me plainly, that shenever was in such company in her life; nor ever again wished to be insuch. 

There, Belford!--Worse off than Mercury!--Art thou not?

I was nettled. Hard would be the lot of more discreet women, as far as Iknew, that Miss Partington, were they to be judged by so rigid a virtueas hers. 

Not so, she said: but if I really saw nothing exceptionable to a virtuousmind, in that young person's behaviour, my ignorance of better behaviourwas, she must needs tell me, as pitiable as hers: and it were to bewished, that minds so paired, for their own sakes should never beseparated. 

See, Jack, what I get by my charity!

I thanked her heartily. But said, that I must take the liberty toobserve, that good folks were generally so uncharitable, that, devil takeme, if I would choose to be good, were the consequence to be that I mustthink hardly of the whole world besides. 

She congratulated me upon my charity; but told me, that to enlarge herown, she hoped it would not be expected of her to approve of the lowcompany I had brought her into last night. 

No exception for thee, Belford!--Safe is thy thousand pounds. 

I saw not, I said, begging her pardon, that she liked any body. --[Plaindealing for plain dealing, Jack!--Why then did she abuse my friends?]However, let me but know whom and what she did or did not like; and, ifpossible, I would like and dislike the very same persons and things. 

She bid me then, in a pet, dislike myself. 

Cursed severe!--Does she think she must not pay for it one day, or onenight?--And if one, many; that's my comfort. 

I was in such a train of being happy, I said, before my earnestness toprocure her to favour my friends with her company, that I wished thedevil had had as well my friends as Miss Partington--and yet, I must say, that I saw not how good people could answer half their end, which is toreform the wicked by precept as well as example, were they to accompanyonly with the good. 

I had the like to have been blasted by two or three flashes of lightningfrom her indignant eyes; and she turned scornfully from me, and retiredto her own apartment. 

Once more, Jack, safe, as thou seest, is thy thousand pounds. 

She says, I am not a polite man. But is she, in the instance before us, more polite for a woman?

And now, dost thou not think that I owe my charmer some revenge for hercruelty in obliging such a fine young creature, and so vast a fortune, asMiss Partington, to crowd into a press-bed with Dorcas the maid-servantof the proud refuser?--Miss Partington too (with tears) declared, by Mrs. Sinclair, that would Mrs. Lovelace do her the honour of a visit atBarnet, the best bed and best room in her guardian's house should be ather service. Thinkest thou that I could not guess at her dishonourablefears of me?--that she apprehended, that the supposed husband wouldendeavour to take possession of his own?--and that Miss Partington wouldbe willing to contribute to such a piece of justice?

Thus, then, thou both remindest, and defiest me, charmer!--And since thoureliest more on thy own precaution than upon my honour; be it unto thee, fair one, as thou apprehendest. 

And now, Jack, let me know, what thy opinion, and the opinions of thybrother varlets, are of my Gloriana. 

I have just now heard, that Hannah hopes to be soon well enough to attendher young lady, when in London. It seems the girl has had no physician. I must send her one, out of pure love and respect to her mistress. Whoknows but medicine may weaken nature, and strengthen the disease?--As hermalady is not a fever, very likely it may do so. --But perhaps the wench'shopes are too forward. Blustering weather in this month yet. --And thatis bad for rheumatic complaints. 

LETTER XIV

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUESDAY, MAY 2. 

Just as I had sealed up the enclosed, comes a letter to my beloved, in acover to me, directed to Lord M. 's. From whom, thinkest thou?--From Mrs. Howe!

And what the contents?

How should I know, unless the dear creature had communicated them to me?But a very cruel letter I believe it is, by the effect it had upon her. The tears ran down her cheeks as she read it; and her colour changedseveral times. No end of her persecutions, I think!

'What a cruelty in my fate!' said the sweet lamenter. --'Now the onlycomfort of my life must be given up!'

Miss Howe's correspondence, no doubt. 

But should she be so much grieved at this? This correspondence wasprohibited before, and that, to the daughter, in the strongest terms:but yet carried on by both; although a brace of impeccables, an't pleaseye. Could they expect, that a mother would not vindicate her authority?--and finding her prohibition ineffectual with her perverse daughter, wasit not reasonable to suppose she would try what effect it would have uponher daughter's friend?--And now I believe the end will be effectuallyanswered: for my beloved, I dare say, will make a point of conscience ofit. 

I hate cruelty, especially in women; and should have been more concernedfor this instance of it Mrs. Howe, had I not had a stronger instance ofthe same in my beloved to Miss Partington: For how did she know, sinceshe was so much afraid for herself, whom Dorcas might let in to thatinnocent and less watchful young lady? But nevertheless I must needsown, that I am not very sorry for this prohibition, let it originallycome from the Harlowes, or from whom it will; because I make no doubt, that it is owing to Miss Howe, in a great measure, that my beloved is somuch upon her guard, and thinks so hardly of me. And who can tell, ascharacters here are so tender, and some disguises so flimsy, whatconsequences might follow this undutiful correspondence?--I say, therefore, I am not sorry for it: now will she not have any body tocompare notes with: any body to alarm her: and I may be saved the guiltand disobligation of inspecting into a correspondence that has long mademe uneasy. 

How every ting works for me!--Why will this charming creature make suchcontrivances necessary, as will increase my trouble, and my guilt too, assome will account it? But why, rather I should ask, will she fightagainst her stars?

LETTER XV

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. EDGWARE, TUESDAY NIGHT, MAY 2. 

Without staying for the promised letter from you to inform us what thelady says of us, I write to tell you, that we are all of one opinion withregard to her; which is, that there is not of her age a finer woman inthe world, as to her understanding. As for her person, she is at the ageof bloom, and an admirable creature; a perfect beauty: but this poorerpraise, a man, who has been honoured with her conversation, can hardlydescend to give; and yet she was brought amongst us contrary to her will. 

Permit me, dear Lovelace, to be a mean of saving this excellent creaturefrom the dangers she hourly runs from the most plotting heart in theworld. In a former, I pleaded your own family, Lord M. 's wishesparticularly; and then I had not seen her: but now, I join her sake, honour's sake, motives of justice, generosity, gratitude, and humanity, which are all concerned in the preservation of so fine a woman. Thouknowest not the anguish I should have had, (whence arising, I cannotdevise, ) had I not known before I set out this morning, that theincomparable creature had disappointed thee in thy cursed view of gettingher to admit the specious Partington for a bed-fellow. 

I have done nothing but talk of this lady ever since I saw her. There issomething so awful, and yet so sweet, in her aspect, that were I to havethe virtues and the graces all drawn in one piece, they should be taken, every one of them, from different airs and attributes in her. She wasborn to adorn the age she was given to, and would be an ornament to thefirst dignity. What a piercing, yet gentle eye; every glance I thoughtmingled with love and fear of you! What a sweet smile darting throughthe cloud that overspread her fair face, demonstrating that she had moreapprehensions and grief at her heart than she cared to express!

You may think what I am going to write too flighty: but, by my faith, Ihave conceived such a profound reverence for her sense and judgment, that, far from thinking the man excusable who should treat her basely, I am ready to regret that such an angel of a woman should even marry. She is in my eye all mind: and were she to meet with a man all mindlikewise, why should the charming qualities she is mistress of beendangered? Why should such an angel be plunged so low as into thevulgar offices of a domestic life? Were she mine, I should hardly wishto see her a mother, unless there were a kind of moral certainty, thatminds like hers could be propagated. For why, in short, should not thework of bodies be left to mere bodies? I know, that you yourself havean opinion of her little less exalted. Belton, Mowbray, Tourville, areall of my mind; are full of her praises; and swear, it would be a millionof pities to ruin a woman in whose fall none but devils can rejoice. 

What must that merit and excellence be which can extort this from us, freelivers, like yourself, and all of your just resentments against therest of her family, and offered our assistance to execute your vengeanceon them? But we cannot think it reasonable that you should punish aninnocent creature, who loves you so well, and who is your protection, andhas suffered so much for you, for the faults of her relations. 

And here let me put a serious question or two. Thinkest thou, trulyadmirable as this lady is, that the end thou proposest to thyself, ifobtained, is answerable to the means, to the trouble thou givest thyself, and to the perfidies, tricks, stratagems, and contrivances thou hasalready been guilty of, and still meditatest? In every real excellenceshe surpasses all her sex. But in the article thou seekest to subdue herfor, a mere sensualist, a Partington, a Horton, a Martin, would make asensualist a thousand times happier than she either will or can. 

 Sweet are the joys that come with willingness. 

And wouldst thou make her unhappy for her whole life, and thyself nothappy for a single moment?

Hitherto, it is not too late; and that perhaps is as much as can be said, if thou meanest to preserve her esteem and good opinion, as well asperson; for I think it is impossible she can get out of thy hands now sheis in this accursed house. O that damned hypocritical Sinclair, as thoucallest her! How was it possible she should behave so speciously as shedid all the time the lady staid with us!--Be honest, and marry; and bethankful that she will condescend to have thee. If thou dost not, thouwilt be the worst of men; and wilt be condemned in this world and thenext: as I am sure thou oughtest, and shouldest too, wert thou to bejudged by one, who never before was so much touched in a woman's favour;and whom thou knowest to be

Thy partial friend, J. BELFORD. 

Our companions consented that I should withdraw to write to the aboveeffect. They can make nothing of the characters we write in; and so Iread this to them. They approve of it; and of their own motion each manwould set his name to it. I would not delay sending it, for fear of somedetestable scheme taking place. THOMAS BELTON, RICHARD MOWBRAY, JAMES TOURVILLE. 

Just now are brought me both yours. I vary not my opinion, nor forbearmy earnest prayers to you in her behalf, notwithstanding her dislike ofme. 

LETTER XVI

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. WEDNESDAY, MAY 3. 

When I have already taken pains to acquaint thee in full with regard tomy views, designs, and resolutions, with regard to this admirable woman, it is very extraordinary that thou shouldst vapour as thou dost in herbehalf, when I have made no trial, no attempt: and yet, givest it as thyopinion in a former letter, that advantage may be taken of the situationshe is in; and that she may be overcome. 

Most of thy reflections, particularly that which respects the differenceas to the joys to be given by the virtuous and libertine of her sex, arefitter to come in as after-reflections than as antecedencies. 

I own with thee, and with the poet, that sweet are the joys that comewith willingness--But is it to be expected, that a woman of education, and a lover of forms, will yield before she is attacked? And have I somuch as summoned this to surrender? I doubt not but I shall meet withdifficulty. I must therefore make my first effort by surprise. Theremay possibly be some cruelty necessary: but there may be consent instruggle; there may be yielding in resistance. But the first conflictover, whether the following may not be weaker and weaker, tillwillingness ensue, is the point to be tried. I will illustrate what Ihave said by the simile of a bird new caught. We begin, when boys, withbirds; and when grown up, go on to women; and both perhaps, in turn, experience our sportive cruelty. 

Hast thou not observed, the charming gradations by which the ensnaredvolatile has been brought to bear with its new condition? how, at first, refusing all sustenance, it beats and bruises itself against its wires, till it makes its gay plumage fly about, and over-spread its well-securedcage. Now it gets out its head; sticking only at its beautifulshoulders: then, with difficulty, drawing back its head, it gasps forbreath, and erectly perched, with meditating eyes, first surveys, andthen attempts, its wired canopy. As it gets its pretty head and sides, bites the wires, and pecks at the fingers of its delighted tamer. Tillat last, finding its efforts ineffectual, quite tired and breathless, itlays itself down, and pants at the bottom of the cage, seeming to bemoanits cruel fate and forfeited liberty. And after a few days, itsstruggles to escape still diminishing as it finds it to no purpose toattempt it, its new habitation becomes familiar; and it hops about fromperch to perch, resumes its wonted cheerfulness, and every day sings asong to amuse itself and reward its keeper. 

Now le me tell thee, that I have known a bird actually starve itself, anddie with grief, at its being caught and caged. But never did I meet witha woman who was so silly. --Yet have I heard the dear souls mostvehemently threaten their own lives on such an occasion. But it issaying nothing in a woman's favour, if we do not allow her to have moresense than a bird. And yet we must all own, that it is more difficult tocatch a bird than a lady. 

To pursue the comparison--If the disappointment of the captivated lady bevery great, she will threaten, indeed, as I said: she will even refuseher sustenance for some time, especially if you entreat her much, and shethinks she gives you concern by her refusal. But then the stomach of thedear sullen one will soon return. 'Tis pretty to see how she comes to bydegrees: pressed by appetite, she will first steal, perhaps, a weepingmorsel by herself; then be brought to piddle and sigh, and sigh andpiddle before you; now-and-then, if her viands be unsavoury, swallowingwith them a relishing tear or two: then she comes to eat and drink, tooblige you: then resolves to live for your sake: her exclamations will, in the next place, be turned into blandishments; her vehement upbraidingsinto gentle murmuring--how dare you, traitor!--into how could you, dearest! She will draw you to her, instead of pushing you from her: nolonger, with unsheathed claws, will she resist you; but, like a pretty, playful, wanton kitten, with gentle paws, and concealed talons, tap yourcheek, and with intermingled smiles, and tears, and caresses, imploreyour consideration for her, and your constancy: all the favour she thenhas to ask of you!--And this is the time, were it given to man to confinehimself to one object, to be happier every day than another. 

Now, Belford, were I to go no farther than I have gone with my belovedMiss Harlowe, how shall I know the difference between her and anotherbird? To let her fly now, what a pretty jest would that be!--How do Iknow, except I try, whether she may not be brought to sing me a finesong, and to be as well contented as I have brought other birds to be, and very shy ones too?

But now let us reflect a little upon the confounded partiality of ushuman creatures. I can give two or three familiar, and if they were notfamiliar, they would be shocking, instances of the cruelty both of menand women, with respect to other creatures, perhaps as worthy as (atleast more innocent than) themselves. By my soul, Jack, there is more ofthe savage on human nature than we are commonly aware of. Nor is it, after all, so much amiss, that we sometimes avenge the more innocentanimals upon our own species. 

To particulars:

How usual a thing is it for women as well as men, without the leastremorse, to ensnare, to cage, and torment, and even with burningknitting-needles to put out the eyes of the poor feather'd songster [thouseest I have not yet done with birds]; which however, in proportion toits bulk, has more life than themselves (for a bird is all soul;) and ofconsequence has as much feeling as the human creature! when at the sametime, if an honest fellow, by the gentlest persuasion, and the softestarts, has the good luck to prevail upon a mew'd-up lady, to countenanceher own escape, and she consents to break cage, and be set a flying intothe all-cheering air of liberty, mercy on us! what an outcry is generallyraised against him!

Just like what you and I once saw raised in a paltry village nearChelmsford, after a poor hungry fox, who, watching his opportunity, hadseized by the neck, and shouldered a sleek-feathered goose: at what timewe beheld the whole vicinage of boys and girls, old men, and old women, all the furrows and wrinkles of the latter filled up with malice for thetime; the old men armed with prongs, pitch-forks, clubs, and catsticks;the old women with mops, brooms, fire-shovels, tongs, and pokers; and theyounger fry with dirt, stones, and brickbats, gathering as they ran likea snowball, in pursuit of the wind-outstripping prowler; all the mongrelcurs of the circumjacencies yelp, yelp, yelp, at their heels, completingthe horrid chorus. 

Rememebrest thou not this scene? Surely thou must. My imagination, inflamed by a tender sympathy for the danger of the adventurous marauder, represents it to my eye as if it were but yesterday. And dost thou notrecollect how generously glad we were, as if our own case, that honestreynard, by the help of a lucky stile, over which both old and youngtumbled upon one another, and a winding course, escaped their brutalfury, and flying catsticks; and how, in fancy, we followed him to hisundiscovered retreat; and imagined we beheld the intrepid thief enjoyinghis dear-earned purchase with a delight proportioned to his past danger?

I once made a charming little savage severely repent the delight she tookin seeing her tabby favourite make cruel sport with a pretty sleek bead-eyed mouse, before she devoured it. Egad, my love, said I to myself, asI sat meditating the scene, I am determined to lie in wait for a fitopportunity to try how thou wilt like to be tost over my head, and becaught again: how thou wilt like to be parted from me, and pulled to me. Yet will I rather give life than take it away, as this barbarousquadruped has at last done by her prey. And after all was over betweenmy girl and me, I reminded her of the incident to which my resolution wasowing. 

Nor had I at another time any mercy upon the daughter of an old epicure, who had taught the girl, without the least remorse, to roast lobstersalive; to cause a poor pig to be whipt to death; to scrape carp thecontrary way of the scales, making them leap in the stew-pan, anddressing them in their own blood for sauce. And this for luxury-sake, and to provoke an appetite; which I had without stimulation, in my way, and that I can tell thee a very ravenous one. 

Many more instances of the like nature could I give, were I to leavenothing to thyself, to shew that the best take the same liberties, andperhaps worse, with some sort of creatures, that we take with others; allcreatures still! and creatures too, as I have observed above, repletewith strong life, and sensible feeling!--If therefore people pretend tomercy, let mercy go through all their actions. I have heard somewhere, that a merciful man is merciful to his beast. 

So much at present for those parts of thy letter in which thou urgest tome motives of compassion for the lady. 

But I guess at thy principal motive in this thy earnestness in behalf ofthis charming creature. I know that thou correspondest with Lord M. Whois impatient, and has long been desirous to see me shackled. And thouwantest to make a merit with the uncle, with a view to one of his nieces. But knowest thou not, that my consent will be wanting to complete thywishes?--And what a commendation will it be of thee to such a girl asCharlotte, when I shall acquaint her with the affront thou puttest uponthe whole sex, by asking, Whether I think my reward, when I have subduedthe most charming woman in the world, will be equal to my trouble?--Which, thinkest thou, will a woman of spirit soonest forgive; theundervaluing varlet who can put such a question; or him, who prefers thepursuit and conquest of a fine woman to all the joys of life? Have I notknown even a virtuous woman, as she would be thought, vow everlastingantipathy to a man who gave out that she was too old for him to attempt?And did not Essex's personal reflection on Queen Elizabeth, that she wasold and crooked, contribute more to his ruin than his treason?

But another word or two, as to thy objection relating to my trouble andreward. 

Does not the keen fox-hunter endanger his neck and his bones in pursuitof a vermin, which, when killed, is neither fit food for men nor dogs?

Do not the hunters of the noble game value the venison less than thesport?

Why then should I be reflected upon, and the sex affronted, for mypatience and perseverance in the most noble of all chases; and for notbeing a poacher in love, as thy question be made to imply?

Learn of thy master, for the future, to treat more respectfully a sexthat yields us our principal diversions and delights. 

Proceed anon. 

LETTER XVII

MR. LOVELACE[IN CONTINUATION. ]

Well sayest thou, that mine is the most plotting heart in the world. Thou dost me honour; and I thank thee heartily. Thou art no bad judge. How like Boileau's parson I strut behind my double chin! Am I notobliged to deserve thy compliment? And wouldst thou have me repent of amurder before I have committed it?

'The Virtues and Graces are this Lady's handmaids. She was certainlyborn to adorn the age she was given to. '--Well said, Jack--'And would bean ornament to the first dignity. ' But what praise is that, unless thefirst dignity were adorned with the first merit?--Dignity! gew-gaw!--First dignity! thou idiot!--Art thou, who knowest me, so taken withermine and tinsel?--I, who have won the gold, am only fit to wear it. For the future therefore correct thy style, and proclaim her the ornamentof the happiest man, and (respecting herself and sex) the greatestconqueror in the world. 

Then, that she loves me, as thou imaginest, by no means appears clear tome. Her conditional offers to renounce me; the little confidence sheplaces in me; entitle me to ask, What merit can she have with a man, whowon her in spite of herself; and who fairly, in set and obstinate battle, took her prisoner?

As to what thou inferrest from her eye when with us, thou knowest nothingof her heart from that, if thou imaginest there was one glance of loveshot from it. Well did I note her eye, and plainly did I see, that itwas all but just civil disgust to me and to the company I had brought herinto. Her early retiring that night, against all entreaty, might haveconvinced thee, that there was very little of the gentle in her heart forme. And her eye never knew what it was to contradict her heart. 

She is, thou sayest, all mind. So say I. But why shouldst thou imaginethat such a mind as hers, meeting with such a one as mine, and, to dwellupon the word, meeting with an inclination in hers, should not propagateminds like her own?

Were I to take thy stupid advice, and marry; what a figure should I makein rakish annals! The lady in my power: yet not have intended to putherself in my power: declaring against love, and a rebel to it: so muchopen-eyed caution: no confidence in my honour: her family expecting theworst hath passed: herself seeming to expect that the worst will beattempted: [Priscilla Partington for that!] What! wouldst thou not haveme act in character?

But why callest thou the lady innocent? And why sayest thou she lovesme?

By innocent, with regard to me, and not taken as a general character, Imust insist upon it she is not innocent. Can she be innocent, who, bywishing to shackle me in the prime and glory of my youth, with such acapacity as I have for noble mischief, * would make my perdition morecertain, were I to break, as I doubt I should, the most solemn vow Icould make? I say no man ought to take even a common oath, who thinks hecannot keep it. This is conscience! This is honour!--And when I think Ican keep the marriage-vow, then will it be time to marry. 

* See Vol. III. Letter XXIII. Paragr. 4. 

No doubt of it, as thou sayest, the devils would rejoice in the fall ofsuch a woman. But this is my confidence, that I shall have it in mypower to marry when I will. And if I do her this justice, shall I nothave a claim of her gratitude? And will she not think herself theobliged, rather than the obliger? Then let me tell thee, Belford, it isimpossible so far to hurt the morals of this lady, as thou and thybrother varlets have hurt others of the sex, who now are casting aboutthe town firebrands and double death. Take ye that thistle to mumbleupon. 

***

A short interruption. I now resume. 

That the morals of this lady cannot fail, is a consideration that willlessen the guilt on both sides. And if, when subdued, she knows but howto middle the matter between virtue and love, then will she be a wife forme: for already I am convinced that there is not a woman in the worldthat is love-proof and plot-proof, if she be not the person. 

And now imagine (the charmer overcome) thou seest me sitting supinelycross-kneed, reclining on my sofa, the god of love dancing in my eyes, and rejoicing in every mantling feature; the sweet rogue, late such aproud rogue, wholly in my power, moving up slowly to me, at my beck, withheaving sighs, half-pronounced upbraidings from murmuring lips, herfinger in her eye, and quickening her pace at my Come hither, dearest!

One hand stuck in my side, the other extended to encourage her bashfulapproach--Kiss me, love!--sweet, as Jack Belford says, are the joys thatcome with willingness. 

She tenders her purple mouth [her coral lips will be purple then, Jack!]:sigh not so deeply, my beloved!--Happier hours await thy humble love, than did thy proud resistance. 

Once more bent to my ardent lips the swanny glossiness of a neck late sostately. --

There's my precious!

Again!

Obliging loveliness!

O my ever-blooming glory! I have tried thee enough. To-morrow's sun--

Then I rise, and fold to my almost-talking heart the throbbing-bosom'dcharmer. 

And now shall thy humble pride confess its obligation to me!

To-morrow's sun--and then I disengage myself from the bashful passive, and stalk about the room--to-morrow's sun shall gild the altar at whichmy vows shall be paid thee!

Then, Jack, the rapture! then the darted sun-beams from her gladdenedeye, drinking up, at one sip, the precious distillation from the pearl-dropt cheek! Then hands ardently folded, eyes seeming to pronounce, Godbless my Lovelace! to supply the joy-locked tongue: her transports toostrong, and expression too weak, to give utterance to her gratefulmeanings!--All--all the studies--all the studies of her future life vowedand devoted (when she can speak) to acknowledge and return the perpetualobligation!

If I could bring my charmer to this, would it not be the eligible ofeligibles?--Is it not worth trying for?--As I said, I can marry her whenI will. She can be nobody's but mine, neither for shame, nor by choice, nor yet by address: for who, that knows my character, believes that theworst she dreads is now to be dreaded?

I have the highest opinion that man can have (thou knowest I have) of themerit and perfections of this admirable woman; of her virtue and honourtoo, although thou, in a former, art of opinion that she may beovercome. * Am I not therefore obliged to go further, in order tocontradict thee, and, as I have often urged, to be sure that she is whatI really think her to be, and, if I am ever to marry her, hope to findher?

* See Vol. III. Letter LI. Paragr. 9. 

Then this lady is a mistress of our passions: no one ever had to so muchperfection the art of moving. This all her family know, and have equallyfeared and revered her for it. This I know too; and doubt not more andmore to experience. How charmingly must this divine creature warbleforth (if a proper occasion be given) her melodious elegiacs!--Infinitebeauties are there in a weeping eye. I first taught the two nymphs belowto distinguish the several accents of the lamentable in a new subject, and how admirably some, more than others, become their distresses. 

But to return to thy objections--Thou wilt perhaps tell me, in the namesof thy brethren, as well as in thy own name, that, among all the objectsof your respective attempts, there was not one of the rank and merit ofmy charming Miss Harlowe. 

But let me ask, Has it not been a constant maxim with us, that thegreater the merit on the woman's side, the nobler the victory on theman's? And as to rank, sense of honour, sense of shame, pride of family, may make rifled rank get up, and shake itself to rights: and if any thingcome of it, such a one may suffer only in her pride, by being obliged totake up with a second-rate match instead of a first; and, as it may fallout, be the happier, as well as the more useful, for the misadventure;since (taken off of her public gaddings, and domesticated by herdisgrace) she will have reason to think herself obliged to the man whohas saved her from further reproach; while her fortune and alliance willlay an obligation upon him; and her past fall, if she have prudence andconsciousness, will be his present and future security. 

But a poor girl [such a one as my Rosebud for instance] having no recallsfrom education; being driven out of every family that pretends toreputation; persecuted most perhaps by such as have only kept theirsecret better; and having no refuge to fly to--the common, the stews, thestreet, is the fate of such a poor wretch; penury, want, and disease, hersure attendants; and an untimely end perhaps closes the miserable scene. 

And will you not now all join to say, that it is more manly to attach alion than a sheep?--Thou knowest, that I always illustrated my eagleship, by aiming at the noblest quarries; and by disdaining to make a stoop atwrens, phyl-tits, * and wag-tails. 

* Phyl-tits, q. D. Phyllis-tits, in opposition to Tom-tits. It needs notnow be observed, that Mr. Lovelace, in this wanton gaiety of his heart, often takes liberties of coining words and phrases in his letters to thishis familiar friend. See his ludicrous reason for it in Vol. III. LetterXXV. Paragr. Antepenult. 

The worst respecting myself, in the case before me, is that my triumph, when completed, will be so glorious a one, that I shall never be able tokeep up to it. All my future attempts must be poor to this. I shall beas unhappy, after a while, from my reflections upon this conquest, as DonJuan of Austria was in his, on the renowned victory of Lepanto, when hefound that none of future achievements could keep pace with his earlyglory. 

I am sensible that my pleas and my reasoning may be easily answered, andperhaps justly censured; But by whom censured? Not by any of theconfraternity, whose constant course of life, even long before I becameyour general, to this hour, has justified what ye now in a fit ofsqueamishness, and through envy, condemn. Having, therefore, vindicatedmyself and my intentions to YOU, that is all I am at present concernedfor. 

Be convinced, then, that I (according to our principles) am right, thouwrong; or, at least, be silent. But I command thee to be convinced. Andin thy next be sure to tell me that thou art. 

LETTER XVIII

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. EDGEWARE, THURSDAY, MAY 4. 

I know that thou art so abandoned a man, that to give thee the bestreasons in the world against what thou hast once resolved upon will bebut acting the madman whom once we saw trying to buffet down a hurricanewith his hat. I hope, however, that the lady's merit will still avail herwith thee. But, if thou persistest; if thou wilt avenge thyself on thissweet lamb which thou hast singled out from a flock thou hatest, for thefaults of the dogs who kept it: if thou art not to be moved by beauty, bylearning, by prudence, by innocence, all shining out in one charmingobject; but she must fall, fall by the man whom she has chosen for herprotector; I would not for a thousand worlds have thy crime to answerfor. 

Upon my faith, Lovelace, the subject sticks with me, notwithstanding Ifind I have no the honour of the lady's good opinion. And the more, whenI reflect upon her father's brutal curse, and the villainous hard-heartedness of all her family. But, nevertheless, I should be desirousto know (if thou wilt proceed) by what gradations, arts, and contrivancesthou effectest thy ingrateful purpose. And, O Lovelace, I conjure thee, if thou art a man, let not the specious devils thou has brought her amongbe suffered to triumph over her; yield to fair seductions, if I may soexpress myself! if thou canst raise a weakness in her by love, or by artsnot inhuman; I shall the less pity her: and shall then conclude, thatthere is not a woman in the world who can resist a bold and resolutelover. 

A messenger is just now arrived from my uncle. The mortification, itseems, is got to his knee; and the surgeons declare that he cannot livemany days. He therefore sends for me directly, with these shockingwords, that I will come and close his eyes. My servant or his must ofnecessity be in town every day on his case, or other affairs; and one ofthem shall regularly attend you for any letter or commands. It will becharity to write to me as often as you can. For although I am likely tobe a considerable gainer by the poor man's death, yet I cannot say that Iat all love these scenes of death and the doctor so near me. The doctorand death I should have said; for that is the natural order, andgenerally speaking, the one is but the harbinger to the other. 

If, therefore, you decline to oblige me, I shall think you are displeasedwith my freedom. But let me tell you, at the same, that no man has aright to be displeased at freedoms taken with him for faults he is notashamed to be guilty of. 

J. BELFORD. 

LETTER XIX

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE

I thank you and Mr. Hickman for his letter, sent me with such kindexpedition; and proceed to obey my dear menacing tyranness. 

[She then gives the particulars of what passed between herself and Mr. Lovelace on Tuesday morning, in relation to his four friends, and to Miss Partington, pretty much to the same effect as in Mr. Lovelace's Letter, No. XIII. And then proceeds:]

He is constantly accusing me of over-scrupulousness. He says, 'I amalways out of humour with him: that I could not have behaved morereservedly to Mr. Solmes: and that it is contrary to all his hopes andnotions, that he should not, in so long a time, find himself able toinspire the person, whom he hoped so soon to have the honour to call his, with the least distinguishing tenderness for him before-hand. '

Silly and partial encroacher! not to know to what to attribute thereserve I am forced to treat him with! But his pride has eaten up hisprudence. It is indeed a dirty low pride, that has swallowed up the truepride which should have set him above the vanity that has overrun him. 

Yet he pretends that he has no pride but in obliging me: and is alwaystalking of his reverence and humility, and such sort of stuff: but ofthis I am sure that he has, as I observed the first time I saw him, * toomuch regard to his own person, greatly to value that of his wife, marryhe whom he will: and I must be blind, if I did not see that he isexceedingly vain of his external advantages, and of that address, which, if it has any merit in it to an outward eye, is perhaps owing more to hisconfidence that [sic] to any thing else. 

* See Vol. I. Letter III. 

Have you not beheld the man, when I was your happy guest, as he walked tohis chariot, looking about him, as if to observe what eyes his speciousperson and air had attracted?

But indeed we had some homely coxcombs as proud as if they had persons tobe proud of; at the same time that it was apparent, that the pains theytook about themselves but the more exposed their defects. 

The man who is fond of being thought more or better than he is, as I haveoften observed, but provokes a scrutiny into his pretensions; and thatgenerally produces contempt. For pride, as I believe I have heretoforesaid, is an infallible sign of weakness; of something wrong in the heador in both. He that exalts himself insults his neighbour; who isprovoked to question in him even that merit, which, were he modest, wouldperhaps be allowed to be his due. 

You will say that I am very grave: and so I am. Mr. Lovelace isextremely sunk in my opinion since Monday night: nor see I before me anything that can afford me a pleasing hope. For what, with a mind sounequal as his, can be my best hope?

I think I mentioned to you, in my former, that my clothes were broughtme. You fluttered me so, that I am not sure I did. But I know Idesigned to mention that they were. They were brought me on Thursday;but neither my few guineas with them, nor any of my books, except aDrexelius on Eternity, the good old Practice of Piety, and a FrancisSpira. My brother's wit, I suppose. He thinks he does well to point outdeath and despair to me. I wish for the one, and every now-and-then amon the brink of the other. 

You will the less wonder at my being so very solemn, when, added to theabove, and to my uncertain situation, I tell you, that they have sent mewith these books a letter form my cousin Morden. It has set my heartagainst Mr. Lovelace. Against myself too. I send it enclosed. If youplease, my dear, you may read it here:

COL. MORDEN, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE

Florence, April 13. 

I am extremely concerned to hear of a difference betwixt the rest of afamily so near and dear to me, and you still dearer to than any of therest. 

My cousin James has acquainted me with the offers you have had, and withyour refusals. I wonder not at either. Such charming promises at soearly an age as when I left England; and those promises, as I have oftenheard, so greatly exceeded, as well in your person as mind; how much mustyou be admired! how few must there be worthy of you!

Your parents, the most indulgent in the world, to a child the mostdeserving, have given way it seems to your refusal of several gentlemen. They have contented themselves at last to name one with earnestness toyou, because of the address of another whom they cannot approve. 

They had not reason, it seems, from your behaviour, to think you greatlyaverse: so they proceeded: perhaps too hastily for a delicacy likeyour's. But when all was fixed on their parts, and most extraordinaryterms concluded in your favour; terms, which abundantly show thegentleman's just value for you; you flew off with a warmth and vehemencelittle suited to that sweetness which gave grace to all your actions. 

I know very little of either of the gentlemen: but of Mr. Lovelace I knowmore than of Mr. Solmes. I wish I could say more to his advantage than Ican. As to every qualification but one, your brother owns there is nocomparison. But that one outweighs all the rest together. It cannot bethought that Miss Clarissa Harlowe will dispense with MORALS in ahusband. 

What, my dearest cousin, shall I plead first to you on this occasion?Your duty, your interest, your temporal and your eternal welfare, do, andmay all, depend upon this single point, the morality of a husband. Awoman who hath a wicked husband may find it difficult to be good, and outof her power to do good; and is therefore in a worse situation than theman can be in, who hath a bad wife. You preserve all your religiousregards, I understand. I wonder not that you do. I should have wonderedhad you not. But what can you promise youself, as to perseverance inthem, with an immoral husband?

If your parents and you differ in sentiment on this important occasion, let me ask you, my dear cousin, who ought to give way? I own to you, that I should have thought there could not any where have been a moresuitable match for you than Mr. Lovelace, had he been a moral man. Ishould have very little to say against a man, of whose actions I am notto set up myself as a judge, did he not address my cousin. But, on thisoccasion, let me tell you, my dear Clarissa, that Mr. Lovelace cannotpossibly deserve you. He may reform, you'll say: but he may not. Habitis not soon or easily shaken off. Libertines, who are libertines indefiance of talents, of superior lights, of conviction, hardly everreform but by miracle, or by incapacity. Well do I know mine own sex. Well am I able to judge of the probability of the reformation of alicentious young man, who has not been fastened upon by sickness, byaffliction, by calamity: who has a prosperous run of fortune before him:his spirits high: his will uncontroulable: the company he keeps, perhapssuch as himself, confirming him in all his courses, assisting him inall his enterprises. 

As to the other gentleman, suppose, my dear cousin, you do not like himat present, it is far from being unlikely that you will hereafter:perhaps the more for not liking him now. He can hardly sink lower inyour opinion: he may rise. Very seldom is it that high expectations areso much as tolerably answered. How indeed can they, when a fine andextensive imagination carries its expectation infinitely beyond reality, in the highest of our sublunary enjoyments? A woman adorned with such animagination sees no defect in a favoured object, (the less, if she be notconscious of any wilful fault in herself, ) till it is too late to rectifythe mistakes occasioned by her generous credulity. 

But suppose a person of your talents were to marry a man of inferiortalents; Who, in this case, can be so happy in herself as Miss ClarissaHarlowe? What delight do you take in doing good! How happily do youdevote the several portions of the day to your own improvement, and tothe advantage of all that move within your sphere!--And then, such isyour taste, such are your acquirements in the politer studies, and in thepoliter amusements; such your excellence in all the different parts ofeconomy fit for a young lady's inspection and practice, that your friendswould wish you to be taken off as little as possible by regards that maybe called merely personal. 

But as to what may be the consequence respecting yourself, respecting ayoung lady of your talents, from the preference you are suspected to giveto a libertine, I would have you, my dear cousin, consider what that maybe. A mind so pure, to mingle with a mind impure! And will not such aman as this engross all your solitudes? Will he not perpetually fill youwith anxieties for him and for yourself?--The divine and civil powersdefied, and their sanctions broken through by him, on every not merelyaccidental but meditated occasion. To be agreeable to him, and to hopeto preserve an interest in his affections, you must probably be obligedto abandon all your own laudable pursuits. You must enter into hispleasures and distastes. You must give up your virtuous companions forhis profligate ones--perhaps be forsaken by your's, because of thescandal he daily gives. Can you hope, cousin, with such a man as this tobe long so good as you now are? If not, consider which of your presentlaudable delights you would choose to give up! which of his culpable onesto follow him in! How could you brook to go backward, instead offorward, in those duties which you now so exemplarily perform? and how doyou know, if you once give way, where you shall be suffered, where youshall be able, to stop?

Your brother acknowledges that Mr. Solmes is not near so agreeable inperson as Mr. Lovelace. But what is person with such a lady as I havethe honour to be now writing to? He owns likewise that he has not theaddress of Mr. Lovelace: but what a mere personal advantage is aplausible address, without morals? A woman had better take a husbandwhose manners she were to fashion, than to find them ready-fashioned toher hand, at the price of her morality; a price that is often paid fortravelling accomplishments. O my dear cousin, were you but with us hereat Florence, or at Rome, or at Paris, (where also I resided for manymonths, ) to see the gentlemen whose supposed rough English manners atsetting out are to be polished, and what their improvement are in theirreturn through the same places, you would infinitely prefer the man inhis first stage to the same man in his last. You find the difference ontheir return--a fondness for foreign fashions, an attachment to foreignvices, a supercilious contempt of his own country and countrymen;(himself more despicable than the most despicable of those he despises;)these, with an unblushing effrontery, are too generally the attainmentsthat concur to finish the travelled gentleman!

Mr. Lovelace, I know, deserves to have an exception made in his favour;for he really is a man of parts and learning: he was esteemed so bothhere and at Rome; and a fine person, and a generous turn of mind, gavehim great advantages. But you need not be told, that a libertine of weakparts is able to do. And this I will tell you further, that it was Mr. Lovelace's own fault that he was not still more respected than he wasamong the literati here. There were, in short, some liberties in whichhe indulged himself, that endangered his person and his liberty; and madethe best and most worthy of those who honoured him with their notice givehim up, and his stay both at Florence and at Rome shorter than hedesigned. 

This is all I choose to say of Mr. Lovelace. I had much rather have hadreason to give him a quite contrary character. But as to rakes orlibertines in general, I, who know them well, must be allowed, because ofthe mischiefs they have always in their hearts, and too often in theirpower, to do your sex, to add still a few more words upon this topic. 

A libertine, my dear cousin, a plotting, an intriguing libertine, must begenerally remorseless--unjust he must always be. The noble rule of doingto others what he would have done to himself is the first rule he breaks;and every day he breaks it; the oftener, the greater his triumph. He hasgreat contempt for your sex. He believes no woman chaste, because he isa profligate. Every woman who favours him confirms him in his wickedincredulity. He is always plotting to extend the mischiefs he delightsin. If a woman loves such a man, how can she bear the thought ofdividing her interest in his affections with half the town, and thatperhaps the dregs of it? Then so sensual!--How will a young lady of yourdelicacy bear with so sensual a man? a man who makes a jest of his vows?and who perhaps will break your spirit by the most unmanly insults. Tobe a libertine, is to continue to be every thing vile and inhuman. Prayers, tears, and the most abject submission, are but fuel to hispride: wagering perhaps with lewd companions, and, not improbably, withlewder women, upon instances which he boast of to them of your patientsufferings, and broken spirit, and bringing them home to witness both. 

I write what I know has been. 

I mention not fortunes squandered, estates mortgaged or sold, andposterity robbed--nor yet a multitude of other evils, too gross, tooshocking, to be mentioned to a person of your delicacy. 

All these, my dear cousin, to be shunned, all the evils I have named tobe avoided; the power of doing all the good you have been accustomed to, preserved, nay, increased, by the separate provision that will be madefor you: your charming diversions, and exemplary employments, allmaintained; and every good habit perpetuated: and all by one sacrifice, the fading pleasure of the eye! who would not, (since every thing is notto be met with in one man, who would not, ) to preserve so manyessentials, give up to light, so unpermanent a pleasure!

Weigh all these things, which I might insist upon to more advantage, didI think it needful to one of your prudence--weigh them well, my belovedcousin; and if it be not the will of your parents that you shouldcontinue single, resolve to oblige them; and let it not be said that thepowers of fancy shall (as in many others of your sex) be too hard foryour duty and your prudence. The less agreeable the man, the moreobliging the compliance. Remember, that he is a sober man--a man who hasreputation to lose, and whose reputation therefore is a security for hisgood behaviour to you. 

You have an opportunity offered you to give the highest instance that canbe given of filial duty. Embrace it. It is worthy of you. It isexpected from you; however, for your inclination-sake, we may be sorrythat you are called upon to give it. Let it be said that you have beenable to lay an obligation upon your parents, (a proud word, my cousin!)which you could not do, were it not laid against your inclination!--uponparents who have laid a thousand upon you: who are set upon this point:who will not give it up: who have given up many points to you, even ofthis very nature: and in their turn, for the sake of their own authority, as well as judgment, expect to be obliged. 

I hope I shall soon, in person, congratulate you upon this yourmeritorious compliance. To settle and give up my trusteeship is one ofthe principal motives of my leaving these parts. I shall be glad tosettle it to every one's satisfaction; to yours particularly. 

If on my arrival I find a happy union, as formerly, reign in a family sodear to me, it will be an unspeakable pleasure to me; and I shall perhapsso dispose my affairs, as to be near you for ever. 

I have written a very long letter, and will add no more, than that I am, with the greatest respect, my dearest cousin, Your most affectionate and faithful servant, WM. MORDEN. 

***

I will suppose, my dear Miss Howe, that you have read my cousin's letter. It is now in vain to wish it had come sooner. But if it had, I mightperhaps have been so rash as to give Mr. Lovelace the fatal meeting, as Ilittle thought of going away with him. 

But I should hardly have given him the expectation of so doing, previousto the meeting, which made him come prepared; and the revocation of whichhe so artfully made ineffectual. 

Persecuted as I was, and little expecting so much condescension, as myaunt, to my great mortification, has told me (and you confirm) I shouldhave met with, it is, however, hard to say what I should or should nothave done as to meeting him, had it come in time: but this effect Iverily believe it would have had--to have made me insist with all mymight on going over, out of all their ways, to the kind writer of theinstructive letter, and on making a father (a protector, as well as afriend) of a kinsman, who is one of my trustees. This, circumstanced asI was, would have been a natural, at least an unexceptionable protection!--But I was to be unhappy! and how it cuts me to the heart to think, thatI can already subscribe to my cousin's character of a libertine, so welldrawn in the letter which I suppose you now to have read!

That a man of a character which ever was my abhorrence should fall to mylot!--But, depending on my own strength; having no reason to apprehenddanger from headstrong and disgraceful impulses; I too little perhapscast up my eyes to the Supreme Director: in whom, mistrusting myself, Iought to have placed my whole confidence--and the more, when I saw myselfso perserveringly addressed by a man of this character. 

Inexperience and presumption, with the help of a brother and sister whohave low ends to answer in my disgrace, have been my ruin!--A hard word, my dear! but I repeat it upon deliberation: since, let the best happenwhich now can happen, my reputation is destroyed; a rake is my portion:and what that portion is my cousin Morden's letter has acquainted you. 

Pray keep it by you till called for. I saw it not myself (having not theheart to inspect my trunks) till this morning. I would not for the worldthis man should see it; because it might occasion mischief between themost violent spirit, and the most settled brave one in the world, as mycousin's is said to be. 

This letter was enclosed (opened) in a blank cover. Scorn and detest meas they will, I wonder that one line was not sent with it--were it but tohave more particularly pointed the design of it, in the same generousspirit that sent me the spira. 

The sealing of the cover was with black wax. I hope there is no newoccasion in the family to give reason for black wax. But if there were, it would, to be sure, have been mentioned, and laid at my door--perhapstoo justly!

I had begun a letter to my cousin; but laid it by, because of theuncertainty of my situation, and expecting every day for several dayspast to be at a greater certainty. You bid me write to him some timeago, you know. Then it was I began it: for I have great pleasure inobeying you in all I may. So I ought to have; for you are the onlyfriend left me. And, moreover, you generally honour me with your ownobservance of the advice I take the liberty to offer you: for I pretendto say, I give better advice than I have taken. And so I had need. For, I know not how it comes about, but I am, in my own opinion, a poor lostcreature: and yet cannot charge myself with one criminal or faultyinclination. Do you know, my dear, how this can be?

Yet I can tell you how, I believe--one devious step at setting out!--that must be it:--which pursued, has led me so far out of my path, that Iam in a wilderness of doubt and error; and never, never, shall find myway out of it: for, although but one pace awry at first, it has led mehundreds and hundreds of miles out of my path: and the poor estray hasnot one kind friend, nor has met with one direct passenger, to help herto recover it. 

But I, presumptuous creature! must rely so much upon my own knowledge ofthe right path!--little apprehending that an ignus fatuus with its falsefires (and ye I had heard enough of such) would arise to mislead me! Andnow, in the midst of fens and quagmires, it plays around me, and aroundme, throwing me back again, whenever I think myself in the right track. But there is one common point, in which all shall meet, err widely asthey may. In that I shall be laid quietly down at last: and then willall my calamities be at an end. 

But how I stray again; stray from my intention! I would only have said, that I had begun a letter to my cousin Morden some time ago: but that nowI can never end it. You will believe I cannot: for how shall I tell himthat all his compliments are misbestowed? that all his advice is thrownaway? all his warnings vain? and that even my highest expectation is tobe the wife of that free-liver, whom he so pathetically warns me to shun?

Let me own, however, have your prayers joined with my own, (my fatedepending, as it seems, upon the lips of such a man) 'that, whatevershall be my destiny, that dreadful part of my father's malediction, thatI may be punished by the man in whom he supposes I put my confidence, maynot take place! that this for Mr. Lovelace's own sake, and for the sakeof human nature, may not be! or, if it be necessary, in support of theparental authority, that I should be punished by him, that it may not beby his premeditated or wilful baseness; but that I may be able to acquithis intention, if not his action!' Otherwise, my fault will appear to bedoubled in the eye of the event-judging world. And yet, methinks, Iwould be glad that the unkindness of my father and uncles, whose heartshave already been too much wounded by my error, may be justified in everyarticle, excepting in this heavy curse: and that my father will bepleased to withdraw that before it be generally known: at least the mostdreadful part of it which regards futurity!

I must lay down my pen. I must brood over these reflections. Once more, before I close my cousin's letter, I will peruse it. And then I shallhave it by heart. 

LETTER XX

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWESUNDAY NIGHT, MAY 7. 

When you reflect upon my unhappy situation, which is attended with somany indelicate and even shocking circumstances, some of which my pridewill not let me think of with patience; all aggravated by the contents ofmy cousin's affecting letter; you will not wonder that the vapourishnesswhich has laid hold of my heart should rise to my pen. And yet it wouldbe more kind, more friendly in me, to conceal from you, who take such agenerous interest in my concerns, that worst part of my griefs, whichcommunication and complaint cannot relieve. 

But to whom can I unbosom myself but to you: when the man who ought to bemy protector, as he has brought upon me all my distresses, adds to myapprehensions; when I have not even a servant on whose fidelity I canrely, or to whom I can break my griefs as they arise; and when hisbountiful temper and gay heart attach every one to him; and I am but acipher, to give him significance, and myself pain!--These griefs, therefore, do what I can, will sometimes burst into tears; and thesemingling with my ink, will blot my paper. And I know you will not grudgeme the temporary relief. 

But I shall go on in the strain I left off with in my last, when Iintended rather to apologize for my melancholy. But let what I haveabove written, once for all, be my apology. My misfortunes have givenyou a call to discharge the noblest offices of the friendship we havevowed to each other, in advice and consolation; and it would be an injuryto it, and to you, to suppose it needed even that call. 

[She then tells Miss Howe, that now her clothes are come, Mr. Lovelace is continually teasing her to go abroad with him in a coach, attended by whom she pleases of her own sex, either for the air, or to the public diversions. 

She gives the particulars of a conversation that has passed between them on that subject, and his several proposals. But takes notice, that he says not the least word of the solemnity which he so much pressed for before they came to town; and which, as she observes, was necessary to give propriety to his proposals. ]

Now, my dear, she says, I cannot bear the life I live. I would be gladat my heart to be out of his reach. If I were, he should soon find thedifference. If I must be humbled, it had better be by those to whom Iowe duty, than by him. My aunt writes in her letter, * that SHE dare notpropose any thing in my favour. You tell me, that upon inquiry, youfind, * that, had I not been unhappily seduced away, a change of measureswas actually resolved upon; and that my mother, particularly, wasdetermined to exert herself for the restoration of the family peace; and, in order to succeed the better, had thoughts of trying to engage my uncleHarlowe in her party. 

* See Vol. III. Letter LII. ** Ibid. Letter VIII. 

Let me build on these foundations. I can but try, my dear. It is myduty to try all probably methods to restore the poor outcast to favour. And who knows but that once indulgent uncle, who has very great weight inthe family, may be induced to interpose in my behalf? I will give up allright and title to my grandfather's devises and bequests, with all myheart and soul, to whom they please, in order to make my proposalpalatable to my brother. And that my surrender may be effectual, I willengage never to marry. 

What think you, my dear, of this expedient? Surely, they cannot resolveto renounce me for ever. If they look with impartial eyes upon what hashappened, they will have something to blame themselves for, as well asme. 

I presume, that you will be of opinion that this expedient is worthtrying. But here is my difficulty: If I should write, my hard-heartedbrother has so strongly confederated them all against me, that my letterwould be handed about from one to another, till he had hardened every oneto refuse my request; whereas could my uncle be engaged to espouse mycause, as from himself, I should have some hope, as I presume to think hewould soon have my mother and my aunt of his party. 

What, therefore, I am thinking of, is this--'Suppose Mr. Hickman, whosegood character has gained him every body's respect, should put himself inmy uncle Harlowe's way? And (as if from your knowledge of the state ofthings between Mr. Lovelace and me) assure him not only of the aboveparticulars, but that I am under no obligations that shall hinder me fromtaking his directions?'

I submit the whole to your consideration, whether to pursue it at all, orin what manner. But if it be pursued, and if my uncle refuses tointerest himself in my favour upon Mr. Hickman's application as from you, (for so, for obvious reasons, it must be put, ) I can then have no hope;and my next step, in the mind I am in, shall be to throw myself into theprotection of the ladies of his family. 

It were an impiety to adopt the following lines, because it would bethrowing upon the decrees of Providence a fault too much my own. Butoften do I revolve them, for the sake of the general similitude whichthey bear to my unhappy, yet undersigned error. 

 To you, great gods! I make my last appeal: Or clear my virtue, or my crimes reveal. If wand'ring in the maze of life I run, And backward tread the steps I sought to shun, Impute my error to your own decree: My FEET are guilty: but my HEART is free. 

[The Lady dates again on Monday, to let Miss Howe know, that Mr. Lovelace, on observing her uneasiness, had introduced to her Mr. Mennell, Mrs. Fretchville's kinsman, who managed all her affairs. She calls him a young officer of sense and politeness, who gave her an account of the house and furniture, to the same effect that Mr. Lovelace had done before;* as also of the melancholy way Mrs. Fretchville is in. 

* See Letter IV. Of this volume. 

She tells Miss Howe how extremely urgent Mr. Lovelace was with the gentleman, to get his spouse (as he now always calls her before company) a sight of the house: and that Mr. Mennell undertook that very afternoon to show her all of it, except the apartment Mrs. Fretchville should be in when she went. But that she chose not to take another step till she knew how she approved of her scheme to have her uncle sounded, and with what success, if tried, it would be attended. 

Mr. Lovelace, in his humourous way, gives his friend an account of the Lady's peevishness and dejection, on receiving a letter with her clothes. He regrets that he has lost her confidence; which he attributes to his bringing her into the company of his four companions. Yet he thinks he must excuse them, and censure her for over-niceness; for that he never saw men behave better, at least not them. 

Mentioning his introducing Mr. Mennell to her, ]

Now, Jack, says he, was it not very kind of Mr. Mennell [Captain MennellI sometimes called him; for among the military there is no such officer, thou knowest, as a lieutenant, or an ensign--was it not very kind in him]to come along with me so readily as he did, to satisfy my beloved aboutthe vapourish lady and the house?

But who is Capt. Mennell? methinks thou askest: I never heard of such aman as Captain Mennell. 

Very likely. But knowest thou not young Newcomb, honest Doleman'snewphew?

O-ho! Is it he?

It is. And I have changed his name by virtue of my own single authority. Knowest thou not, that I am a great name-father? Preferment I bestow, both military and civil. I give estates, and take them away at mypleasure. Quality too I create. And by a still more valuableprerogative, I degrade by virtue of my own imperial will, without anyother act of forfeiture than my own convenience. What a poor thing is amonarch to me!

But Mennell, now he has seen this angel of a woman, has qualms; that'sthe devil!--I shall have enough to do to keep him right. But it is theless wonder, that he should stagger, when a few hours' conversation withthe same lady could make four much more hardened varlets find hearts--only, that I am confident, that I shall at least reward her virtue, ifher virtue overcome me, or I should find it impossible to persevere--forat times I have confounded qualms myself. But say not a word of them tothe confraternity: nor laugh at me for them thyself. 

In another letter, dated Monday night, he writes as follows:

This perverse lady keeps me at such a distance, that I am sure somethingis going on between her and Miss Howe, notwithstanding the prohibitionfrom Mrs. Howe to both: and as I have thought it some degree of merit inmyself to punish others for their transgressions, I am of opinion thatboth these girls are punishable for their breach of parental injunctions. And as to their letter-carrier, I have been inquiring into his way ofliving; and finding him to be a common poacher, a deer-stealer, andwarren-robber, who, under pretence of haggling, deals with a set ofcustomers who constantly take all he brings, whether fish, fowl, orvenison, I hold myself justified (since Wilson's conveyance must atpresent be sacred) to have him stripped and robbed, and what money he hasabout him given to the poor; since, if I take not money as well asletters, I shall be suspected. 

To serve one's self, and punish a villain at the same time, is servingpublic and private. The law was not made for such a man as me. And Imust come at correspondences so disobediently carried on. 

But, on second thoughts, if I could find out that the dear creaturecarried any of her letters in her pockets, I can get her to a play or toa concert, and she may have the misfortune to lose her pockets. 

But how shall I find this out; since her Dorcas knows no more of herdressing and undressing than her Lovelace? For she is dressed for theday before she appears even to her servant. Vilely suspicious! Upon mysoul, Jack, a suspicious temper is a punishable temper. If a womansuspects a rogue in an honest man, is it not enough to make the honestman who knows it a rogue?

But, as to her pockets, I think my mind hankers after them, as the lessmischievous attempt. But they cannot hold all the letters I should wishto see. And yet a woman's pockets are half as deep as she is high. Tiedround the sweet levities, I presume, as ballast-bags, lest the wind, asthey move with full sail, from whale-ribbed canvass, should blow away thegypsies. 

[He then, in apprehension that something is meditating between the two ladies, or that something may be set on foot to get Miss Harlowe out of his hands, relates several of his contrivances, and boasts of his instructions given in writing to Dorcas, and to his servant Will. Summers; and says, that he has provided against every possible accident, even to bring her back if she should escape, or in case she should go abroad, and then refuse to return; and hopes so to manage, as that, should he make an attempt, whether he succeeded in it or not, he may have a pretence to detain her. ]

He then proceeds as follows:

I have ordered Dorcas to cultivate by all means her lady's favour; tolament her incapacity as to writing and reading; to shew letters to herlady, as from pretended country relations; to beg her advice how toanswer them, and to get them answered; and to be always aiming atscrawling with a pen, lest inky fingers should give suspicion. I havemoreover given the wench an ivory-leafed pocket-book, with a silverpencil, that she may make memoranda on occasion. 

And, let me tell thee, that the lady has already (at Mrs. Sinclair'smotion) removed her clothes out of the trunks they came in, into an amplemahogany repository, where they will lie at full length, and which hasdrawers in it for linen. A repository, that used to hold the richessuits which some of the nymphs put on, when they are to be dressed out, to captivate, or to ape quality. For many a countess, thou knowest, hasour mother equipped; nay, two or three duchesses, who live upon quality-terms with their lords. But this to such as will come up to her price, and can make an appearance like quality themselves on the occasion: forthe reputation of persons of birth must not lie at the mercy of everyunder-degreed sinner. 

A master-key, which will open every lock in this chest, is put intoDorcas's hands; and she is to take care, when she searches for papers, before she removes any thing, to observe how it lies, that she mayreplace all to a hair. Sally and Polly can occasionally help totranscribe. Slow and sure with such an Argus-eyed charmer must be allmy movements. 

It is impossible that one so young and so inexperienced as she is canhave all her caution from herself; the behaviour of the women sounexceptionable; no revellings, no company ever admitted into this inner-house; all genteel, quiet, and easy in it; the nymphs well-bred, andwell-read; her first disgusts to the old one got over. --It must be MissHowe, therefore, [who once was in danger of being taken in by one of ourclass, by honest Sir George Colmar, as thou hast heard, ] that makes myprogress difficult. 

Thou seest, Belford, by the above precautionaries, that I forget nothing. As the song says, it is not to be imagined

 On what slight strings Depend these things On which men build their glory!

So far, so good. I shall never rest till I have discovered in the firstplace, where the dear creature puts her letters; and in the next till Ihave got her to a play, to a concert, or to take an airing with me out oftown for a day or two. 

***

I gave thee just now some of my contrivances. Dorcas, who is everattentive to all her lady's motions, has given me some instances of hermistress's precautions. She wafers her letters, it seems, in two places;pricks the wafers; and then seals upon them. No doubt but the same careis taken with regard to those brought to her, for she always examines theseals of the latter before she opens them. 

I must, I must come at them. This difficulty augments my curiosity. Strange, so much as she writes, and at all hours, that not one sleepy orforgetful moment has offered in our favour!

A fair contention, thou seest: nor plead thou in her favour her youth, her beauty, her family, her fortune, CREDULITY, she has none; and withregard to her TENDER YEARS, Am I not a young fellow myself? As toBEAUTY; pr'ythee, Jack, do thou, to spare my modesty, make a comparisonbetween my Clarissa for a woman, and thy Lovelace for a man. For herFAMILY; that was not known to its country a century ago: and I hate themall but her. Have I not cause?--For her FORTUNE; fortune, thou knowest, was ever a stimulus with me; and this for reasons not ignoble. Do notgirls of fortune adorn themselves on purpose to engage our attention?Seek they not to draw us into their snares? Depend they not, generally, upon their fortunes, in the views they have upon us, more than on theirmerits? Shall we deprive them of the benefit of their principaldependence?--Can I, in particular, marry every girl who wishes to obtainmy notice? If, therefore, in support of the libertine principles forwhich none of the sweet rogues hate us, a woman of fortune is brought toyield homage to her emperor, and any consequences attend the subjugation, is not such a one shielded by her fortune, as well from insult andcontempt, as from indigence--all, then, that admits of debate between mybeloved and me is only this--which of the two has more wit, morecircumspection--and that remains to be tried. 

A sad life, however, this life of doubt and suspense, for the poor ladyto live, as well as for me; that is to say, if she be not naturallyjealous--if she be, her uneasiness is constitutional, and she cannot helpit; nor will it, in that case, hurt her. For a suspicious temper willmake occasion for doubt, if none were to offer to its hand. My fair onetherefore, if naturally suspicious, is obliged to me for saving her thetrouble of studying for these occasions--but, after all, the plainestpaths in our journeys through life are the safest and best I believe, although it is not given me to choose them; I am not, however, singularin the pursuit of the more intricate paths; since there are thousands, and ten thousands, who had rather fish in troubled waters than in smooth. 

LETTER XXI

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUESDAY, MAY 9. 

I am a very unhappy man. This lady is said to be one of the sweetest-tempered creatures in the world: and so I thought her. But to me she isone of the most perverse. I never was supposed to be an ill-naturedmortal neither. How can it be? I imagined, for a long while, that wewere born to make each other happy: but quite the contrary; we reallyseem to be sent to plague each other. 

I will write a comedy, I think: I have a title already; and that's halfthe work. The Quarrelsome Lovers. 'Twill do. There's something new andstriking in it. Yet, more or less, all lovers quarrel. Old Terence hastaken notice of that; and observes upon it, That lovers falling outoccasions lovers falling in; and a better understanding of course. 'Tisnatural that it should be so. But with us, we fall out so often, withoutfalling in once; and a second quarrel so generally happens before a firstis made up; that it is hard to guess what event our loves will beattended with. But perseverance is my glory, and patience my handmaid, when I have in view an object worthy of my attempts. What is there in aneasy conquest? Hudibras questions well, ------What mad lover ever dy'd To gain a soft and easy bride? Or, for a lady tender-hearted, In purling streams, or hemp, departed?

But I will lead to the occasion of this preamble. 

I had been out. On my return, meeting Dorcas on the stairs--Your lady inher chamber, Dorcas? In the dining-room, sir: and if ever you hope foran opportunity to come at a letter, it must be now. For at her feet Isaw one lie, which, as may be seen by its open fold, she had beenreading, with a little parcel of others she is now busied with--allpulled out of her pocket, as I believe: so, Sir, you'll know where tofind them another time. 

I was ready to leap for joy, and instantly resolved to bring forward anexpedient which I had held in petto; and entering the dining-room with anair of transport, I boldly clasped my arms about her, as she sat; shehuddling up her papers in her handkerchief all the time; the droppedpaper unseen. O my dearest life, a lucky expedient have Mr. Mennell andI hit upon just now. In order to hasten Mrs. Fretchville to quit thehouse, I have agreed, if you approve of it, to entertain her cook, herhousemaid, and two men-servants, (about whom she was very solicitous, )till you are provided to your mind. And, that no accommodations may bewanted, I have consented to take the household linen at an appraisement. 

I am to pay down five hundred pounds, and the remainder as soon as thebills can be looked up, and the amount of them adjusted. Thus will youhave a charming house entirely ready to receive you. Some of the ladiesof my family will soon be with you: they will not permit you long tosuspend my happy day. And that nothing may be wanting to gratify yourutmost punctilio, I will till then consent to stay here at Mrs. Sinclair's while you reside at your new house; and leave the rest to yourown generosity. O my beloved creature, will not this be agreeable toyou? I am sure it will--it must--and clasping her closer to me, I gaveher a more fervent kiss than ever I had dared to give her before. Ipermitted not my ardour to overcome my discretion, however; for I tookcare to set my foot upon the letter, and scraped it farther from her, asit were behind her chair. 

She was in a passion at the liberty I took. Bowing low, I begged herpardon; and stooping still lower, in the same motion took up the letter, and whipt it into my bosom. 

Pox on me for a puppy, a fool, a blockhead, a clumsy varlet, a mere JackBelford!--I thought myself a much cleverer fellow than I am!--Why could Inot have been followed in by Dorcas, who might have taken it up, while Iaddressed her lady?

For here, the letter being unfolded, I could not put it in my bosomwithout alarming her ears, as my sudden motion did her eyes--Up she flewin a moment: Traitor! Judas! her eyes flashing lightning, and aperturbation in her eager countenance, so charming!--What have you takenup?--and then, what for both my ears I durst not have done to her, shemade no scruple to seize the stolen letter, though in my bosom. 

What was to be done on so palpable a detection?--I clasped her hand, which had hold of the ravished paper, between mine: O my belovedcreature! said I, can you think I have not some curiosity? Is itpossible you can be thus for ever employed; and I, loving narrativeletter-writing above every other species of writing, and admiring yourtalent that way, should not (thus upon the dawn of my happiness, as Ipresume to hope) burn with a desire to be admitted into so sweet acorrespondence?

Let go my hand!--stamping with her pretty foot; How dare you, Sir!--Atthis rate, I see--too plainly I see--And more she could not say: but, gasping, was ready to faint with passion and affright; the devil a bitof her accustomed gentleness to be seen in her charming face, or to beheard in her musical voice. 

Having gone thus far, loth, very loth, was I to lose my prize--once moreI got hold of the rumpled-up letter!--Impudent man! were her words:stamping again. For God's sake, then it was. I let go my prize, lestshe should faint away: but had the pleasure first to find my hand withinboth hers, she trying to open my reluctant fingers. How near was myheart at that moment to my hand, throbbing to my fingers' ends, to bethus familiarly, although angrily, treated by the charmer of my soul!

When she had got it in her possession, she flew to the door. I threwmyself in her way, shut it, and, in the humblest manner, besought her toforgive me. And yet do you think the Harlowe-hearted charmer(notwithstanding the agreeable annunciation I came in with) would forgiveme?--No, truly; but pushing me rudely from the door, as if I had beennothing, [yet do I love to try, so innocently to try, her strength too!]she gained that force through passion, which I had lost through fear, outshe shot to her own apartment; [thank my stars she could fly no farther!]and as soon as she entered it, in a passion still, she double-locked anddouble-bolted herself in. This my comfort, on reflection, that, upon agreater offence, it cannot be worse. 

I retreated to my own apartment, with my heart full: and, my man Will notbeing near me, gave myself a plaguy knock on the forehead with my doublefist. 

And now is my charmer shut up from me: refusing to see me, refusing hermeals. She resolves not to see me; that's more:--never again, if she canhelp it; and in the mind she is in--I hope she has said. 

The dear creatures, whenever they quarrel with their humble servants, should always remember this saving clause, that they may not be forsworn. 

But thinkest thou that I will not make it the subject of one of my firstplots to inform myself of the reason why all this commotion was necessaryon so slight an occasion as this would have been, were not the letters thatpass between these ladies of a treasonable nature?

WEDNESDAY MORNING. 

No admission to breakfast, any more than to supper. I wish this lady isnot a simpleton, after all. 

I have sent up in Captain Mennell's name. 

A message from Captain Mennell, Madam. 

It won't do. She is of baby age. She cannot be--a Solomon, I was goingto say, in every thing. Solomon, Jack, was the wisest man. But didstever hear who was the wisest woman? I want a comparison for this lady. Cunning women and witches we read of without number. But I fancy wisdomnever entered into the character of a woman. It is not a requisite ofthe sex. Women, indeed, make better sovereigns than men: but why isthat?--because the women-sovereigns are governed by men; the men-sovereigns by women. --Charming, by my soul! For hence we guess at therudder by which both are steered. 

But to putting wisdom out of the question, and to take cunning in; thatis to say, to consider woman as a woman; what shall we do, if this ladyhas something extraordinary in her head? Repeated charges has she givento Wilson, by a particular messenger, to send any letter directed for herthe moment it comes. 

I must keep a good look-out. She is not now afraid of her brother'splot. I shan't be at all surprised, if Singleton calls upon Miss Howe, as the only person who knows, or is likely to know, where Miss Harloweis; pretending to have affairs of importance, and of particular serviceto her, if he can but be admitted to her speech--Of compromise, whoknows, from her brother?

Then will Miss Howe warn her to keep close. Then will my protection beagain necessary. This will do, I believe. Any thing from Miss Howemust. 

Joseph Leman is a vile fellow with her, and my implement. Joseph, honestJoseph, as I call him, may hang himself. I have played him off enough, and have very little further use for him. No need to wear one plot tothe stumps, when I can find new ones every hour. 

Nor blame me for the use I make of my talents. Who, that hath such, willlet 'em be idle?

Well, then, I will find a Singleton; that's all I have to do. 

Instantly find one!--Will!

Sir--

This moment call me hither thy cousin Paul Wheatly, just come from sea, whom thou wert recommending to my service, if I were to marry, and keepa pleasure-boat. 

Presto--Will's gone--Paul will be here presently. Presently to Mrs. Howe's. If Paul be Singleton's mate, coming from his captain, it will doas well as if it were Singleton himself. 

Sally, a little devil, often reproaches me with the slowness of myproceedings. But in a play does not the principal entertainment lie inthe first four acts? Is not all in a manner over when you come to thefifth? And what a vulture of a man must he be, who souses upon his prey, and in the same moment trusses and devours?

But to own the truth. I have overplotted myself. To my make my worksecure, as I thought, I have frighted the dear creature with the sight ofmy four Hottentots, and I shall be a long time, I doubt, before I canrecover my lost ground. And then this cursed family at Harlowe-placehave made her out of humour with me, with herself, and with all theworld, but Miss Howe, who, no doubt, is continually adding difficultiesto my other difficulties. 

I am very unwilling to have recourse to measures which these demons beloware continually urging me to take; because I am sure, that, at last, Ishall be brought to make her legally mine. 

One complete trial over, and I think I will do her noble justice. 

***

Well, Paul's gone--gone already--has all his lessons. A notable fellow!--Lord W. 's necessary-man was Paul before he went to sea. A moresensible rogue Paul than Joseph! Not such a pretender to piety neitheras the other. At what a price have I bought that Joseph! I believe Imust punish the rascal at last: but must let him marry first: then(though that may be punishment enough) I shall punish two at once in theman and his wife. And how richly does Betty deserve punishment for herbehaviour to my goddess!

But now I hear the rusty hinges of my beloved's door give me creakinginvitation. My heart creaks and throbs with respondent trepidations:Whimsical enough though! for what relation has a lover's heart to a rustypair of hinges? But they are the hinges that open and shut the door ofmy beloved's bed-chamber. Relation enough in that. 

I hear not the door shut again. I shall receive her commands I hopeanon. What signifies her keeping me thus at a distance? she must bemine, let me do or offer what I will. Courage whenever I assume, all isover: for, should she think of escaping from hence, whither can she flyto avoid me? Her parents will not receive her. Her uncles will notentertain her. Her beloved Norton is in their direction, and cannot. Miss Howe dare not. She has not one friend in town but me--is entirely astranger to the town. And what then is the matter with me, that I shouldbe thus unaccountably over-awed and tyrannized over by a dear creaturewho want sonly to know how impossible it is that she should escape me, inorder to be as humble to me as she is to her persecuting relations!

Should I ever make the grand attempt, and fail, and should she hate mefor it, her hatred can be but temporary. She has already incurred thecensure of the world. She must therefore choose to be mine, for the sakeof soldering up her reputation in the eye of that impudent world. For, who that knows me, and knows that she has been in my power, though butfor twenty-four hours, will think her spotless as to fact, let herinclination be what it will? And then human nature is such a well-knownrogue, that every man and woman judges by what each knows of him orherself, that inclination is no more to be trusted, where an opportunityis given, than I am; especially where a woman, young and blooming, lovesa man well enough to go off with him; for such will be the world'sconstruction in the present case. 

She calls her maid Dorcas. No doubt, that I may hear her harmoniousvoice, and to give me an opportunity to pour out my soul at her feet; torenew all my vows; and to receive her pardon for the past offence: andthen, with what pleasure shall I begin upon a new score, and afterwardswipe out that; and begin another, and another, till the last offencepasses; and there can be no other! And once, after that, to be forgiven, will be to be forgiven for ever. 

***

The door is again shut. Dorcas tells me, that her lady denies to admit meto dine with her; a favour I had ordered the wench to beseech her togrant me, the next time she saw her--not uncivilly, however, denies--coming-to by degrees! Nothing but the last offence, the honest wenchtells me, in the language of her principals below, will do with her. Thelast offence is meditating. Yet this vile recreant heart of mine playsme booty. 

But here I conclude; though the tyranness leaves me nothing to do but toread, write, and fret. 

Subscription is formal between us. Besides, I am so much her's, that Icannot say how much I am thine or any other person's. 

LETTER XXII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWETUESDAY, MAY 9. 

If, my dear, you approve of the application to my uncle Harlowe, I wishit to be made as soon as possible. We are quite out again. I have shutmyself up from him. The offence indeed not so very great--and yet it istoo. He had like to have got a letter. One of your's. But never willI write again, or re-peruse my papers, in an apartment where he thinkshimself entitled to come. He did not read a line of it. Indeed he didnot. So don't be uneasy. And depend upon future caution. 

Thus it was. The sun being upon my closet, and Mr. Lovelace abroad--

She then gives Miss Howe an account of his coming by surprise upon her: of his fluttering speech: of his bold address: of her struggle with him for the letter, &c. 

And now, my dear, proceeds she, I am more and more convinced, that I amtoo much in his power to make it prudent to stay with him. And if myfriends will but give me hope, I will resolve to abandon him for ever. 

O my dear! he is a fierce, a foolish, an insolent creature!--And, intruth, I hardly expect that we can accommodate. How much unhappier am Ialready with him than my mother ever was with my father after marriage!since (and that without any reason, any pretence in the world for it) heis for breaking my spirit before I am his, and while I am, or ought to be[O my folly, that I am not!] in my own power. 

Till I can know whether my friends will give me hope or not, I must dowhat I never studied to do before in any case; that is, try to keep thisdifference open: and yet it will make me look little in my own eyes;because I shall mean by it more than I can own. But this is one of theconsequences of all engagements, where the minds are unpaired--dispaired, in my case, I must say. 

Let this evermore be my caution to individuals of my sex--Guard your eye:'twill ever be in a combination against your judgment. If there are twoparts to be taken, it will be for ever, traitor as it is, take the wrongone. 

If you ask me, my dear, how this caution befits me? let me tell you asecret which I have but very lately found out upon self-examination, although you seem to have made the discovery long ago: That had not myfoolish eye been too much attached, I had not taken the pains to attempt, so officiously as I did, the prevention of mischief between him and someof my family, which first induced the correspondence between us, and wasthe occasion of bringing the apprehended mischief with double weight uponhimself. My vanity and conceit, as far as I know, might have part in theinconsiderate measure: For does it not look as if I thought myself morecapable of obviating difficulties than anybody else of my family?

But you must not, my dear, suppose my heart to be still a confederatewith my eye. That deluded eye now clearly sees its fault, and the misledheart despises it for it. Hence the application I am making to my uncle:hence it is, that I can say (I think truly) that I would atone for myfault at any rate, even by the sacrifice of a limb or two, if that woulddo. 

Adieu, my dearest friend!--May your heart never know the hundredth partof the pain mine at present feels! prays

YourCLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER XXIII

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWEWEDNESDAY, MAY 10. 

I WILL write! No man shall write for me. * No woman shall hinder me fromwriting. Surely I am of age to distinguish between reason and caprice. I am not writing to a man, am I?--If I were carrying on a correspondencewith a fellow, of whom my mother disapproved, and whom it might beimproper for me to encourage, my own honour and my duty would engage myobedience. But as the case is so widely different, not a word more onthis subject, I beseech you!

* Clarissa proposes Mr. Hickman to write for Miss Howe. See Letter XI. Of this volume, Paragr. 5, & ult. 

I much approve of your resolution to leave this wretch, if you can makeit up with your uncle. 

I hate the man--most heartily do I hate him, for his teasing ways. Thevery reading of your account of them teases me almost as much as they canyou. May you have encouragement to fly the foolish wretch!

I have other reasons to wish you may: for I have just made anacquaintance with one who knows a vast deal of his private history. Theman is really a villain, my dear! an execrable one! if all be true that Ihave heard! And yet I am promised other particulars. I do assure you, my dear friend, that, had he a dozen lives, he might have forfeited themall, and been dead twenty crimes ago. 

If ever you condescend to talk familiarly with him again, ask him afterMiss Betterton, and what became of her. And if he shuffle andprevaricate as to her, question him about Miss Lockyer. --O my dear, theman's a villain!

I will have your uncle sounded, as you desire, and that out of hand. Butyet I am afraid of the success; and this for several reasons. 'Tis hardto say what the sacrifice of your estate would do with some people: andyet I must not, when it comes to the test, permit you to make it. 

As your Hannah continues ill, I would advise you to try to attach Dorcasto your interest. Have you not been impoliticly shy of her?

I wish you could come at some of his letters. Surely a man of hisnegligent character cannot be always guarded. If he be, and if youcannot engage your servant, I shall suspect them both. Let him be calledupon at a short warning when he is writing, or when he has papers lyingabout, and so surprise him into negligence. 

Such inquiries, I know, are of the same nature with those we make at aninn in traveling, when we look into every corner and closet, for fear ofa villain; yet should be frighted out of our wits, were we to find one. But 'tis better to detect such a one when awake and up, than to beattacked by him when in bed and asleep. 

I am glad you have your clothes. But no money! No books but a Spira, aDrexelius, and a Practice of Piety! Those who sent the latter ought tohave kept it for themselves--But I must hurry myself from this subject. 

You have exceedingly alarmed me by what you hint of his attempt to getone of my letters. I am assured by my new informant, that he is the headof a gang of wretched (those he brought you among, no doubt, were some ofthem) who join together to betray innocent creatures, and to support oneanother afterwards by violence; and were he to come at the knowledge ofthe freedoms I take with him, I should be afraid to stir out without aguard. 

I am sorry to tell you, that I have reason to think, that your brotherhas not laid aside his foolish plot. A sunburnt, sailor-looking fellowwas with me just now, pretending great service to you from CaptainSingleton, could he be admitted to your speech. I pleaded ignorance asto the place of your abode. The fellow was too well instructed for me toget any thing out of him. 

I wept for two hours incessantly on reading your's, which enclosed thatfrom your cousin Morden. * My dearest creature, do not desert yourself. Let your Anna Howe obey the call of that friendship which has united usas one soul, and endeavour to give you consolation. 

* See Letter XIX. Of this volume. 

I wonder not at the melancholy reflections you so often cast uponyourself in your letters, for the step you have been forced upon onehand, and tricked into on the other. A strange fatality! As if it weredesigned to show the vanity of all human prudence. I wish, my dear, asyou hint, that both you and I have not too much prided ourselves in aperhaps too conscious superiority over others. But I will stop--how aptare weak minds to look out for judgments in any extraordinary event!'Tis so far right, that it is better, and safer, and juster, to arraignourselves, or our dearest friends, than Providence; which must alwayshave wise ends to answer its dispensations. 

But do not talk, as if one of your former, of being a warning only*--youwill be as excellent an example as ever you hoped to be, as well as awarning: and that will make your story, to all that shall come to knowit, of double efficacy: for were it that such a merit as yours could notensure to herself noble and generous usage from a libertine heart, whowill expect any tolerable behaviour from men of his character?

* See Vol. III. Letter XXVIII. 

If you think yourself inexcusable for taking a step that put you into theway of delusion, without any intention to go off with him, what mustthose giddy creatures think of themselves, who, without half yourprovocations and inducements, and without any regard to decorum, leapwalls, drop from windows, and steal away from their parents' house, tothe seducer's bed, in the same day?

Again, if you are so ready to accuse yourself for dispensing with theprohibitions of the most unreasonable parents, which yet were but half-prohibitions at first, what ought those to do, who wilfully shut theirears to the advice of the most reasonable; and that perhaps, whereapparent ruin, or undoubted inconvenience, is the consequence of thepredetermined rashness?

And lastly, to all who will know your story, you will be an excellentexample of watchfulness, and of that caution and reserve by which aprudent person, who has been supposed to be a little misled, endeavoursto mend her error; and, never once losing sight of her duty, does all inher power to recover the path she has been rather driven out of thanchosen to swerve from. 

Come, come, my dearest friend, consider but these things; and steadily, without desponding, pursue your earnest purposes to amend what you thinkhas been amiss; and it may not be a misfortune in the end that you haveerred; especially as so little of your will was in your error. 

And indeed I must say that I use the words misled, and error, and such-like, only in compliment to your own too-ready self-accusations, and tothe opinion of one to whom I owe duty: for I think in my conscience, thatevery part of your conduct is defensible: and that those only areblamable who have no other way to clear themselves but by condemning you. 

I expect, however, that such melancholy reflections as drop from your penbut too often will mingle with all your future pleasures, were you tomarry Lovelace, and were he to make the best of husbands. 

You was immensely happy, above the happiness of a mortal creature, beforeyou knew him: every body almost worshipped you: envy itself, which has oflate reared up its venomous head against you, was awed, by your superiorworthiness, into silence and admiration. You was the soul of everycompany where you visited. Your elders have I seen declining to offertheir opinions upon a subject till you had delivered yours; often, tosave themselves the mortification of retracting theirs, when they heardyours. Yet, in all this, your sweetness of manners, your humility andaffability, caused the subscription every one made to your sentiments, and to your superiority, to be equally unfeigned, and unhesitating; forthey saw that their applause, and the preference they gave you tothemselves, subjected not themselves to insults, nor exalted you into anyvisible triumph over them; for you had always something to say on everypoint you carried that raised the yielding heart, and left every onepleased and satisfied with themselves, though they carried not off thepalm. 

Your works were showed or referred to wherever fine works were talked of. Nobody had any but an inferior and second-hand praise for diligence, foreconomy, for reading, for writing, for memory, for facility in learningevery thing laudable, and even for the more envied graces of person anddress, and an all-surpassing elegance in both, where you were known, andthose subjects talked of. 

The poor blessed you every step you trod: the rich thought you theirhonour, and took a pride that they were not obliged to descend from theirown class for an example that did credit to it. 

Though all men wished for you, and sought you, young as you were; yet, had not those who were brought to address you been encouraged out ofsordid and spiteful views, not one of them would have dared to lift uphis eyes to you. 

Thus happy in all about you, thus making happy all within your circle, could you think that nothing would happen to you, to convince you thatyou were not to be exempted from the common lot?--To convinced you, thatyou were not absolutely perfect; and that you must not expect to passthrough life without trial, temptation, and misfortune?

Indeed, it must be owned that no trial, no temptation, worthy of yourvirtue, and of your prudence, could well have attacked you sooner, because of your tender years, and more effectually, than those heavy onesunder which you struggle; since it must be allowed, that you equanimityand foresight made you superior to common accidents; for are not most ofthe troubles that fall to the lot of common mortals brought uponthemselves either by their too large desires, or too little deserts?--Cases, both, from which you stood exempt. --It was therefore to be someman, or some worse spirit in the shape of one, that, formed on purpose, was to be sent to invade you; while as many other such spirits as thereare persons in your family were permitted to take possession, severally, in one dark hour, of the heart of every one of it, there to sit perching, perhaps, and directing every motion to the motions of the seducerwithout, in order to irritate, to provoke, to push you forward to meethim. 

Upon the whole, there seems, as I have often said, to have been a kind offate in your error, if it were an error; and this perhaps admitted forthe sake of a better example to be collected from your SUFFERINGS, thancould have been given, had you never erred: for my dear, the time ofADVERSITY is your SHINING-TIME. I see it evidently, that adversity mustcall forth graces and beauties which could not have been brought to lightin a run of that prosperous fortune which attended you from your cradletill now; admirably as you became, and, as we all thought, greatly as youdeserved that prosperity. 

All the matter is, the trial must be grievous to you. It is to me: it isto all who love you, and looked upon you as one set aloft to be admiredand imitated, and not as a mark, as you have lately found, for envy toshoot its shafts at. 

Let what I have written above have its due weight with you, my dear; andthen, as warm imaginations are not without a mixture of enthusiasm, yourAnna Howe, who, on reperusal of it, imagines it to be in a style superiorto her usual style, will be ready to flatter herself that she has been ina manner inspired with the hints that have comforted and raised thedejected heart of her suffering friend; who, from such hard trials, in abloom so tender, may find at times her spirits sunk too low to enable herto pervade the surrounding darkness, which conceals from her the hopefuldawning of the better day which awaits her. 

I will add no more at present, than that I amYour ever faithful and affectionateANNA HOWE. 

LETTER XXIV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWEFRIDAY, MAY 12. 

I must be silent, my exalted friend, under praises that oppress my heartwith a consciousness of not deserving them; at the same time that thegenerous design of those praises raises and comforts it: for it is acharming thing to stand high in the opinion of those we love; and to findthat there are souls that can carry their friendships beyond accidents, beyond body and ties of blood. Whatever, my dearest creature, is myshining-time, the time of a friend's adversity is yours. And it would bealmost a fault in me to regret those afflictions, which give you anopportunity so gloriously to exert those qualities, which not onlyennoble our sex, but dignify human nature. 

But let me proceed to subjects less agreeable. 

I am sorry you have reason to think Singleton's projects are not at anend. But who knows what the sailor had to propose?--Yet had any goodbeen intended me, this method would hardly have been fallen upon. 

Depend upon it, my dear, your letters shall be safe. 

I have made a handle of Mr. Lovelace's bold attempt and freedom, as Itold you I would, to keep him ever since at a distance, that I may havean opportunity to see the success of the application to my uncle, and tobe at liberty to embrace any favourable overtures that may arise from it. Yet he has been very importunate, and twice brought Mr. Mennell from Mrs. Fretchvill to talk about the house. --If I should be obliged to make upwith him again, I shall think I am always doing myself a spite. 

As to what you mention of his newly-detected crimes; and your advice toattach Dorcas to my interest; and to come at some of his letters; thesethings will require more or less of my attention, as I may hope favour ornot from my uncle Harlowe. 

I am sorry that my poor Hannah continues ill. Pray, my dear, informyourself, and let me know, whether she wants any thing that befits hercase. 

I will not close this letter till to-morrow is over; for I am resolved togo to church; and this as well for the sake of my duty, as to see if I amat liberty to go out when I please without being attended or accompanied. 

SUNDAY, MAY 14. 

I have not been able to avoid a short debate with Mr. Lovelace. I hadordered a coach to the door. When I had noticed that it was come, I wentout of my chamber to go to it; but met him dressed on the stairs head, with a book in his hand, but without his hat and sword. He asked, withan air very solemn yet respectful, if I were going abroad. I told him Iwas. He desired leave to attend me, if I were going to church. Irefused him. And then he complained heavily of my treatment of him; anddeclared that he would not live such another week as the past, for theworld. 

I owned to him very frankly, that I had made an application to myfriends; and that I was resolved to keep myself to myself till I knew theissue of it. 

He coloured, and seemed surprised. But checking himself in something hewas going to say, he pleaded my danger from Singleton, and again desiredto attend me. 

And then he told me, that Mrs. Fretchville had desired to continue afortnight longer in the house. She found, said he, that I was unable todetermine about entering upon it; and now who knows when such a vapourishcreature will come to a resolution? This, Madam, has been an unhappyweek; for had I not stood upon such bad terms with you, you might havebeen new mistress of that house; and probably had my cousin Montague, ifnot Lady Betty, actually with you. 

And so, Sir, taking all you say for granted, your cousin Montague cannotcome to Mrs. Sinclair's? What, pray, is her objection to Mrs. Sinclair's? Is this house fit for me to live in a month or two, and notfit for any of your relations for a few days?--And Mrs. Fretchville hastaken more time too!--Then, pushing by him, I hurried down stairs. 

He called to Dorcas to bring him his sword and hat; and following me downinto the passage, placed himself between me and the door; and againdesired leave to attend me. 

Mrs. Sinclair came out at that instant, and asked me, if I did not choosea dish of chocolate?

I wish, Mrs. Sinclair, said I, you would take this man in with you toyour chocolate. I don't know whether I am at liberty to stir out withouthis leave or not. 

Then turning to him, I asked, if he kept me there his prisoner?

Dorcas just then bringing him his sword and hat, he opened the street-door, and taking my reluctant hand, led me, in a very obsequious manner, to the coach. People passing by, stopped, stared, and whispered--But heis so graceful in his person and dress, that he generally takes everyeye. 

I was uneasy to be so gazed at; and he stepped in after me, and thecoachman drove to St. Paul's. 

He was very full of assiduities all the way; while I was as reserved aspossible: and when I returned, dined, as I had done the greatest part ofthe week, by myself. 

He told me, upon my resolving to do so, that although he would continuehis passive observance till I knew the issue of my application, yet Imust expect, that then I should not rest one moment till I had fixed hishappy day: for that his very soul was fretted with my slights, resentments, and delays. 

A wretch! when can I say, to my infinite regret, on a double account, that all he complains of is owing to himself!

O that I may have good tidings from my uncle!

Adieu, my dearest friend--This shall lie ready for an exchange (as I hopefor one to-morrow from you) that will decide, as I may say, the destinyof

YourCLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER XXV

MISS HOWE, TO MRS. JUDITH NORTONTHURSDAY, MAY 11. 

GOOD MRS. NORTON, Cannot you, without naming me as an adviser, who am hated by the family, contrive a way to let Mrs. Harlowe know, that in an accidentalconversation with me, you had been assured that my beloved friend pinesafter a reconciliation with her relations? That she has hitherto, inhopes of it, refused to enter into any obligation that shall be in theleast a hinderance [sic] to it: that she would fain avoid giving Mr. Lovelace a right to make her family uneasy in relation to hergrandfather's estate: that all she wishes for still is to be indulged inher choice of a single life, and, on that condition, would make herfather's pleasure her's with regard to that estate: that Mr. Lovelace iscontinually pressing her to marry him; and all his friends likewise: butthat I am sure she has so little liking to the man, because of his faultymorals, and of the antipathy of her relations to him, that if she had anyhope given her of a reconciliation, she would forego all thoughts of him, and put herself into her father's protection. But that their resolutionmust be speedy; for otherwise she would find herself obliged to give wayto his pressing entreaties; and it might then be out of her power toprevent disagreeable litigations. 

I do assure you, Mrs. Norton, upon my honour, that our dearest friendknows nothing of this procedure of mine: and therefore it is proper toacquaint you, in confidence, with my grounds for it. --These are they:

She had desired me to let Mr. Hickman drop hints to the above effect toher uncle Harlowe; but indirectly, as from himself, lest, if theapplication should not be attended with success, and Mr. Lovelace (whoalready takes it ill that he has so little of her favour) come to knowit, she may be deprived of every protection, and be perhaps subjected togreat inconveniencies from so haughty a spirit. 

Having this authority from her, and being very solicitous about thesuccess of the application, I thought, that if the weight of so good awife, mother, and sister, as Mrs. Harlowe is known to be, were throwninto the same scale with that of Mr. John Harlowe (supposing he could beengaged) it could hardly fail of making a due impression. 

Mr. Hickman will see Mr. John Harlowe to-morrow: by that time you may seeMrs. Harlowe. If Mr. Hickman finds the old gentleman favourable, he willtell him, that you will have seen Mrs. Harlowe upon the same account; andwill advise him to join in consultation with her how best to proceed tomelt the most obdurate heart in the world. 

This is the fair state of the matter, and my true motive for writing toyou. I leave all, therefore, to your discretion; and most heartily wishsuccess to it; being of opinion that Mr. Lovelace cannot possibly deserveour admirable friend: nor indeed know I the man who does. 

Pray acquaint me by a line of the result of your interposition. If itprove not such as may be reasonably hoped for, our dear friend shall knownothing of this step from me; and pray let her not from you. For, inthat case, it would only give deeper grief to a heart already too muchafflicted. I am, dear and worthy Mrs. Norton, Your true friend, ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER XXVI

MRS. NORTON, TO MISS HOWESATURDAY, MAY 13. 

DEAR MADAM, My heart is almost broken, to be obliged to let you know, that such isthe situation of things in the family of my ever-dear Miss Harlowe, thatthere can be at present no success expected from any application in herfavour. Her poor mother is to be pitied. I have a most affecting letterfrom her; but must not communicate it to you; and she forbids me to letit be known that she writes upon the subject; although she is compelled, as it were, to do it, for the ease of her own heart. I mention ittherefore in confidence. 

I hope in God that my beloved young lady has preserved her honourinviolate. I hope there is not a man breathing who could attempt asacrilege so detestable. I have no apprehension of a failure in a virtueso established. God for ever keep so pure a heart out of the reach ofsurprises and violence! Ease, dear Madam, I beseech you, my over-anxiousheart, by one line, by the bearer, although but one line, to acquaint me(as surely you can) that her honour is unsullied. --If it be not, adieu toall the comforts this life can give: since none will it be able to afford

To the poorJUDITH NORTON. 

LETTER XXVII

MISS HOWE, TO MRS. JUDITH NORTONSATURDAY EVENING, MAY 13. 

DEAR, GOOD WOMAN, Your beloved's honour is inviolate!--Must be inviolate! and will be so, in spite of men and devils. Could I have had hope of a reconciliation, all my view was, that she should not have had this man. --All that can besaid now, is, she must run the risk of a bad husband: she of whom no manliving is worthy!

You pity her mother--so do not I! I pity no mother that puts it out ofher power to show maternal love, and humanity, in order to patch up forherself a precarious and sorry quiet, which every blast of wind shalldisturb. 

I hate tyrants in ever form and shape: but paternal and maternal tyrantsare the worst of all: for they can have no bowels. 

I repeat, that I pity none of them. Our beloved friend only deservespity. She had never been in the hands of this man, but for them. She isquite blameless. You don't know all her story. Were I to tell you thatshe had no intention to go off with this man, it would avail her nothing. It would only deserve to condemn, with those who drove her toextremities, him who now must be her refuge. I am

Your sincere friend and servant, ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER XXVIII

MRS. HARLOWE, TO MRS. NORTON[NOT COMMUNICATED TILL THE LETTERS CAME TO BE COLLECTED. ]SATURDAY, MAY 13. 

I return an answer in writing, as I promised, to your communication. Buttake no notice either to my Bella's Betty, (who I understand sometimesvisits you, ) or to the poor wretch herself, nor to any body, that I dowrite. I charge you don't. My heart is full: writing may give some ventto my griefs, and perhaps I may write what lies most upon my heart, without confining myself strictly to the present subject. 

You know how dear this ungrateful creature ever was to us all. You knowhow sincerely we joined with every one of those who ever had seen her, orconversed with her, to praise and admire her; and exceeded in our praiseeven the bounds of that modesty, which, because she was our own, shouldhave restrained us; being of opinion, that to have been silent in thepraise of so apparent a merit must rather have argued blindness oraffectation in us, than that we should incur the censure of vainpartiality to our own. 

When therefore any body congratulated us on such a daughter, we receivedtheir congratulations without any diminution. If it was said, you arehappy in this child! we owned, that no parents ever were happier in achild. If, more particularly, they praised her dutiful behaviour to us, we said, she knew not how to offend. If it were said, Miss ClarissaHarlowe has a wit and penetration beyond her years; we, instead ofdisallowing it, would add--and a judgment no less extraordinary than herwit. If her prudence was praised, and a forethought, which every one sawsupplied what only years and experience gave to others--nobody need toscruple taking lessons from Clarissa Harlowe, was our proud answer. 

Forgive me, O forgive me, my dear Norton--But I know you will; for yours, when good, was this child, and your glory as well as mine. 

But have you not heard strangers, as she passed to and from church, stopto praise the angel of a creature, as they called her; when it was enoughfor those who knew who she was, to cry, Why, it is Miss Clarissa Harlowe!--as if every body were obliged to know, or to have heard of ClarissaHarlowe, and of her excellencies. While, accustomed to praise, it wastoo familiar to her, to cause her to alter either her look or her pace. 

For my own part, I could not stifle a pleasure that had perhaps a faultyvanity for its foundation, whenever I was spoken of, or addressed to, asthe mother of so sweet a child: Mr. Harlowe and I, all the time, lovingeach other the better for the share each had in such a daughter. 

Still, still indulge the fond, the overflowing heart of a mother! Icould dwell for ever upon the remembrance of what she was, would but thatremembrance banish from my mind what she is!

In her bosom, young as she was, could I repose all my griefs--sure ofreceiving from her prudence and advice as well as comfort; and bothinsinuated in so dutiful a manner, that it was impossible to take thoseexceptions which the distance of years and character between a mother anda daughter would have made one apprehensive of from any other daughter. She was our glory when abroad, our delight when at home. Every body waseven covetous of her company; and we grudged her to our brothers Harlowe, and to our sister and brother Hervey. No other contention among us, then, but who should be next favoured by her. No chiding ever knew shefrom us, but the chiding of lovers, when she was for shutting herself uptoo long together from us, in pursuit of those charming amusements anduseful employments, for which, however, the whole family was the better. 

Our other children had reason (good children as they always were) tothink themselves neglected. But they likewise were so sensible of theirsister's superiority, and of the honour she reflected upon the wholefamily, that they confessed themselves eclipsed, without envying theeclipser. Indeed, there was not any body so equal with her, in their ownopinions, as to envy what all aspired but to emulate. The dear creature, you know, my Norton, gave an eminence to us all!

Then her acquirements. Her skill in music, her fine needle-works, herelegance in dress; for which she was so much admired, that theneighbouring ladies used to say, that they need not fetch fashions fromLondon; since whatever Miss Clarissa Harlowe wore was the best fashion, because her choice of natural beauties set those of art far behind them. Her genteel ease, and fine turn of person; her deep reading, and these, joined to her open manners, and her cheerful modesty--O my good Norton, what a sweet child was once my Clary Harlowe!

This, and more, you knew her to be: for many of her excellencies wereowing to yourself; and with the milk you gave her, you gave her what noother nurse in the world could give her. 

And do you think, my worthy woman, do you think, that the wilful lapse ofsuch a child is to be forgiven? Can she herself think that she deservesnot the severest punishment for the abuse of such talents as wereintrusted to her?

Her fault was a fault of premeditation, of cunning, of contrivance. Shehad deceived every body's expectations. Her whole sex, as well as thefamily she sprung from, is disgraced by it. 

Would any body ever have believed that such a young creature as this, whohad by her advice saved even her over-lively friend from marrying a fop, and a libertine, would herself have gone off with one of the vilest andmost notorious of libertines? A man whose character she knew; and knewit to be worse than the character of him from whom she saved her friend;a man against whom she was warned: one who had her brother's life in herhands; and who constantly set our whole family at defiance. 

Think for me, my good Norton; think what my unhappiness must be both as awife and a mother. What restless days, what sleepless nights; yet my ownrankling anguish endeavoured to be smoothed over, to soften the anguishof fiercer spirits, and to keep them from blazing out to furthermischief! O this naughty, naughty girl, who knew so well what she did;and who could look so far into consequences, that we thought she wouldhave died rather than have done as she had done!

Her known character for prudence leaves her absolutely without excuse. How then can I offer to plead for her, if, through motherly indulgence, I would forgive her myself?--And have we not moreover suffered all thedisgrace that can befall us? Has not she?

If now she has so little liking to his morals, has she not reason beforeto have as little? Or has she suffered by them in her own person?--O mygood woman, I doubt--I doubt--Will not the character of the man make onedoubt an angel, if once in his power? The world will think the worst. Iam told it does. So likewise her father fears; her brother hears; andwhat can I do?

Our antipathy to him she knew before, as well as his character. Thesetherefore cannot be new motives without a new reason. --O my dear Mrs. Norton, how shall I, how can you, support ourselves under theapprehensions to which these thoughts lead!

He continually pressing her, you say, to marry him: his friends likewise. She has reason, no doubt she has reason, for this application to us: andher crime is glossed over, to bring her to us with new disgrace!Whither, whither, does one guilty step lead the misguided heart!--Andnow, truly, to save a stubborn spirit, we are only to be sounded, thatthe application may be occasionally retracted or denied!

Upon the whole: were I inclined to plead for her, it is now the mostimproper of all times. Now that my brother Harlowe has discouraged (ashe last night came hither on purpose to tell us) Mr. Hickman's insinuatedapplication; and been applauded for it. Now, that my brother Antony isintending to carry his great fortune, through her fault, into anotherfamily:--she expecting, no doubt, herself to be put into hergrandfather's estate, in consequence of a reconciliation, and as a rewardfor her fault: and insisting still upon the same terms which she offeredbefore, and which were rejected--Not through my fault, I am sure, rejected!

From all these things you will return such an answer as the caserequires. It might cost me the peace of my whole life, at this time, tomove for her. God forgive her! If I do, nobody else will. And let it, for your own sake, as well as mine, be a secret that you and I haveentered upon this subject. And I desire you not to touch upon it againbut by particular permission: for, O my dear, good woman, it sets myheart a bleeding in as many streams as there are veins in it!

Yet think me not impenetrable by a proper contrition and remorse--Butwhat a torment is it to have a will without a power!

Adieu! adieu! God give us both comfort; and to the once dear--the ever-dear creature (for can a mother forget her child?) repentance, deeprepentance! and as little suffering as may befit his blessed will, andher grievous fault, prays

Your real friend, CHARLOTTE HARLOWE. 

LETTER XXIX

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWESUNDAY, MAY 14. 

How it is now, my dear, between you and Mr. Lovelace, I cannot tell. But, wicked as the man is, I am afraid he must be your lord and master. 

I called him by several very hard names in my last. I had but just heardof some of his vilenesses, when I sat down to write; so my indignationwas raised. But on inquiry, and recollection, I find that the facts laidto his charge were all of them committed some time ago--not since he hashad strong hopes of your favour. 

This is saying something for him. His generous behaviour to theinnkeeper's daughter is a more recent instance to his credit; to saynothing of the universal good character he has as a kind landlord. Andthen I approve much of the motion he made to put you in possession ofMrs. Fretchville's house, while he continues at the other widow's, tillyou agree that one house shall hold you. I wish this were done. Be sureyou embrace this offer, (if you do not soon meet at the altar, ) and getone of his cousins with you. 

Were you once married, I should think you cannot be very unhappy, thoughyou may not be so happy with him as you deserve to be. The stake he hasin his country, and his reversions; the care he takes of his affairs; hisfreedom from obligation; nay, his pride, with your merit, must be atolerable security for you, I should think. Though particulars of hiswickedness, as they come to my knowledge, hurt and incense me; yet, afterall, when I give myself time to reflect, all that I have heard of him tohis disadvantage was comprehended in the general character given of himlong ago, by Lord M. 's and his own dismissed bailiff, * and which wasconfirmed to me by Mrs. Fortescue, as I heretofore told you, ** and to youby Mrs. Greme. ***

* See Vol. I. Letter IV. ** Ibid. Letter XII. *** See Vol. III. Letter VI. 

You can have nothing, therefore, I think, to be deeply concerned about, but his future good, and the bad example he may hereafter set to his ownfamily. These indeed are very just concerns: but were you to leave himnow, either with or without his consent, his fortunes and alliances soconsiderable, his person and address so engaging, (every one excusing younow on those accounts, and because of your relations' follies, ) it wouldhave a very ill appearance for your reputation. I cannot, therefore, onthe most deliberate consideration, advise you to think of that, while youhave no reason to doubt his honour. May eternal vengeance pursue thevillain, if he give room for an apprehension of this nature!

Yet his teasing ways are intolerable; his acquiescence with your slightdelays, and his resignedness to the distance you now keep him at, (for afault so much slighter, as he must think, than the punishment, ) areunaccountable: He doubts your love of him, that is very probable; but youhave reason to be surprised at his want of ardour; a blessing so greatwithin his reach, as I may say. 

By the time you have read to this place, you will have no doubt of whathas been the issue of the conference between the two gentlemen. I amequally shocked, and enraged against them all. Against them all, I say;for I have tried your good Norton's weight with your mother, (though atfirst I did not intend to tell you so, ) to the same purpose as thegentleman sounded your uncle. Never were there such determined brutes inthe world! Why should I mince the matter? Yet would I fain, methinks, make an exception for your mother. 

Your uncle will have it that you are ruined. 'He can believe every thingbad of a creature, he says, who could run away with a man; with such aone especially as Lovelace. They expected applications from you, whensome heavy distress had fallen upon you. But they are all resolved notto stir an inch in your favour; no, not to save your life!'

My dearest soul, resolve to assert your right. Claim your own, and goand live upon it, as you ought. Then, if you marry not, how will thewretches creep to you for your reversionary dispositions!

You were accused (as in your aunt's letter) 'of premeditation andcontrivance in your escape. ' Instead of pitying you, the mediatingperson was called upon 'to pity them; who once, your uncle said, doatedupon you: who took no joy but in your presence: who devoured your wordsas you spoke them: who trod over again your footsteps, as you walkedbefore them. '--And I know not what of this sort. 

Upon the whole, it is now evident to me, and so it must be to you, whenyou read this letter, that you must be his. And the sooner you are sothe better. Shall we suppose that marriage is not in your power?--Icannot have patience to suppose that. 

I am concerned, methinks, to know how you will do to condescend, (now yousee you must be his, ) after you have kept him at such a distance; and forthe revenge his pride may put him upon taking for it. But let me tellyou, that if my going up, and sharing fortunes with you, will preventsuch a noble creature from stooping too low; much more, were it likely toprevent your ruin, I would not hesitate a moment about it. What is thewhole world to me, weighed against such a friend as you are? Think you, that any of the enjoyments of this life could be enjoyments to me, wereyou involved in calamities, from which I could either alleviate orrelieve you, by giving up those enjoyments? And what in saying this, andacting up to it, do I offer you, but the frits of a friendship your worthhas created?

Excuse my warmth of expression. The warmth of my heart wants none. I amenraged at your relations; for, bad as what I have mentioned is, I havenot told you all; nor now, perhaps, ever will. I am angry at my ownmother's narrowness of mind, and at her indiscriminate adherence to oldnotions. And I am exasperated against your foolish, your low-vanity'dLovelace. But let us stoop to take the wretch as he is, and make thebest of him, since you are destined to stoop, to keep grovellers andworldlings in countenance. He had not been guilty of a direct indecencyto you. Nor dare he--not so much of a devil as that comes to neither. Had he such villainous intentions, so much in his power as you are, theywould have shewn themselves before now to such a penetrating and vigilanteye, and to such a pure heart as yours. Let us save the wretch then, ifwe can, though we soil our fingers in lifting him up his dirt. 

There is yet, to a person of your fortune and independence, a good dealto do, if you enter upon those terms which ought to be entered upon. Idon't find that he has once talked of settlements; nor yet of thelicense. A foolish wretch!--But as your evil destiny has thrown you outof all other protection and mediation, you must be father, mother, uncle, to yourself; and enter upon the requisite points for yourself. It ishard upon you; but indeed you must. Your situation requires it. Whatroom for delicacy now?--Or would you have me write to him? yet that wouldbe the same thing as if you were to write yourself. Yet write youshould, I think, if you cannot speak. But speaking is certainly best:for words leave no traces; they pass as breath; and mingle with air; andmay be explained with latitude. But the pen is a witness on record. 

I know the gentleness of your spirit; I know the laudable pride of yourheart; and the just notion you have of the dignity of our sex in thesedelicate points. But once more, all this in nothing now: your honour isconcerned that the dignity I speak of should not be stood upon. 

'Mr. Lovelace, ' would I say; yet hate the foolish fellow for his low, hisstupid pride, in wishing to triumph over the dignity of his own wife;--'I am by your means deprived of every friend I have in the world. Inwhat light am I to look upon you? I have well considered every thing. You have made some people, much against my liking, think me a wife:others know I am not married; nor do I desire any body should believe Iam: Do you think your being here in the same house with me can be to myreputation? You talked to me of Mrs. Fretchville's house. ' This willbring him to renew his last discourse on the subject, if he does notrevive it of himlsef. 'If Mrs. Fretchville knows not her own mind, whatis her house to me? You talked of bringing up your cousin Montague tobear me company: if my brother's schemes be your pretence for not goingyourself to fetch her, you can write to her. I insist upon bringingthese two points to an issue: off or on ought to be indifferent to me, ifso to them. '

Such a declaration must bring all forward. There are twenty ways, my dear, that you would find out for another in your circumstances. He willdisdain, from his native insolence, to have it thought he has any body toconsult. Well then, will he not be obliged to declare himself? And ifhe does, no delays on your side, I beseech you. Give him the day. Letit be a short one. It would be derogating from your own merit, not to beso explicit as he ought to be, to seem but to doubt his meaning; and towait for that explanation for which I should ever despise him, if hemakes it necessary. Twice already have you, my dear, if not oftenermodesty'd away such opportunities as you ought not to have slipped. Asto settlements, if they come not in naturally, e'en leave them to his ownjustice, and to the justice of his family, And there's an end of thematter. 

This is my advice: mend it as circumstances offer, and follow your own. But indeed, my dear, this, or something like it, would I do. And let himtell me afterwards, if he dared or would, that he humbled down to hisshoe-buckles the person it would have been his glory to exalt. 

Support yourself, mean time, with reflections worthy of yourself. Thoughtricked into this man's power, you are not meanly subjugated to it. Allhis reverence you command, or rather, as I may say, inspire; since it wasnever known, that he had any reverence for aught that was good, till youwas with him: and he professes now and then to be so awed and charmed byyour example, as that the force of it shall reclaim him. 

I believe you will have a difficult task to keep him to it; but the morewill be your honour, if you effect his reformation: and it is my belief, that if you can reclaim this great, this specious deceiver, who has, morally speaking, such a number of years before him, you will save fromruin a multitude of innocents; for those seem to me to have been the preyfor which he has spread his wicked snares. And who knows but, for thisvery purpose, principally, a person may have been permitted to swerve, whose heart or will never was in her error, and who has so much remorseupon her for having, as she thinks, erred at all? Adieu, my dearestfriend. 

ANNA HOWE. 

ENCLOSED IN THE ABOVE. 

I must trouble you with my concerns, though you own are so heavy uponyou. A piece of news I have to tell you. Your uncle Antony is disposedto marry. With whom, think you? with my mother. True indeed. Yourfamily knows it. All is laid with redoubled malice at your door. Andthere the old soul himself lays it. 

Take no notice of this intelligence, not so much as in your letters tome, for fear of accidents. 

I think it can't do. But were I to provoke my mother, that might afforda pretence. Else, I should have been with you before now, I fancy. 

The first likelihood that appears to me of encouragement, I dismissHickman, that's certain. If my mother disoblige me in so important anarticle, I shan't think of obliging her in such another. It isimpossible, surely, that the desire of popping me off to that honest mancan be with such a view. 

I repeat, that it cannot come to any thing. But these widows--Then sucha love in us all, both old and young, of being courted and admired!--andso irresistible to their elderships to be flattered, that all power isnot over with them; but that they may still class and prank it with theirdaughters. --It vexed me heartily to have her tell me of this proposalwith self-complaisant simperings; and yet she affected to speak of it asif she had no intention to encourage it. 

These antiquated bachelors (old before they believe themselves to be so)imagine that when they have once persuaded themselves to think of thestate, they have nothing more to do than to make their minds known to thewoman. 

Your uncle's overgrown fortune is indeed a bait; a tempting one. A saucydaughter to be got rid of! The memory of the father of that daughter notprecious enough to weigh much!--But let him advance if he dare--let herencourage--but I hope she won't. 

Excuse me, my dear. I am nettled. They have fearfully rumpled mygorget. You'll think me faulty. So, I won't put my name to thisseparate paper. Other hands may resemble mine. You did not see me writeit. 

LETTER XXX

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWEMONDAY AFTERNOON, MAY 15. 

Now indeed it is evident, my best, my only friend, that I have but onechoice to make. And now I do find that I have carried my resentmentagainst this man too far; since now I am to appear as if under anobligation to his patience with me for a conduct, which perhaps he willthink (if not humoursome and childish) plainly demonstrative of my littleesteem of him; of but a secondary esteem at least, where before, hispride, rather than his merit, had made him expect a first. O my dear! tobe cast upon a man that is not a generous man; that is indeed a cruelman! a man that is capable of creating a distress to a young creature, who, by her evil destiny is thrown into his power; and then of enjoyingit, as I may say! [I verily think I may say so, of this savage!]--Whata fate is mine!

You give me, my dear, good advice, as to the peremptory manner in which Iought to treat him: But do you consider to whom it is that you give it?--And then should I take it, and should he be capable of delay, Iunprotected, desolate, nobody to fly to, in what a wretched light must Istand in his eyes; and, what is still as bad, in my own! O my dear, seeyou not, as I do, that the occasion for this my indelicate, my shockingsituation should never have been given by me, of all creatures; since Iam unequal, utterly unequal, to the circumstances to which myinconsideration has reduced me?--What! I to challenge a man for ahusband!--I to exert myself to quicken the delayer in his resolutions!and, having as you think lost an opportunity, to begin to try to recallit, as from myself, and for myself! to threaten him, as I may say, intothe marriage state!--O my dear! if this be right to be done, howdifficult is it, where modesty and self (or where pride, if you please)is concerned, to do that right? or, to express myself in your words, tobe father, mother, uncle, to myself!--especially where one thinks atriumph over one is intended. 

You say, you have tried Mrs. Norton's weight with my mother--bad as thereturns are which my application by Mr. Hickman has met with, you tellme, 'that you have not acquainted me with all the bad, nor now, perhaps, ever will. ' But why so, my dear? What is the bad, what can be the bad, which now you will never tell me of?--What worse, than renounce me! andfor ever! 'My uncle, you say, believes me ruined: he declares that hecan believe every thing bad of a creature who could run away with a man:and they have all made a resolution not to stir an inch in my favour; no, not to save my life!'--Have you worse than this, my dear, behind?--Surelymy father has not renewed his dreadful malediction!--Surely, if so, mymother has not joined in it! Have my uncles given their sanction, andmade it a family act? And themselves thereby more really faulty, thanever THEY suppose me to be, though I the cause of that greater fault inthem?--What, my dear, is the worst, that you will leave for everunrevealed?

O Lovelace! why comest thou not just now, while these black prospects arebefore me? For now, couldst thou look into my heart, wouldst thou see adistress worthy of thy barbarous triumph!

***

I was forced to quit my pen. And you say you have tried Mrs. Norton'sweight with my mother?

What is done cannot be remedied: but I wish you had not taken a step ofthis importance to me without first consulting me. Forgive me, my dear, but I must tell you that that high-soul'd and noble friendship which youhave ever avowed with so obliging and so uncommon a warmth, although ithas been always the subject of my grateful admiration, has been often theground of my apprehension, because of its unbridled fervour. 

Well, but now to look forward, you are of opinion that I must be his: andthat I cannot leave him with reputation to myself, whether with orwithout his consent. I must, if so, make the best of the bad matter. 

He went out in the morning; intending not to return to dinner, unless (ashe sent me word) I would admit him to dine with me. 

I excused myself. The man, whose anger is now to be of such highimportance to me, was, it seems, displeased. 

As he (as well as I) expected that I should receive a letter from youthis day by Collins, I suppose he will not be long before he returns; andthen, possibly, he is to be mighty stately, mighty mannish, mighty coy, if you please! And then must I be very humble, very submissive, and tryto insinuate myself into his good graces: with downcast eye, if not byspeech, beg his forgiveness for the distance I have so perversely kepthim at?--Yes, I warrant!--But I shall see how this behaviour will situpon me!--You have always rallied me upon my meekness, I think: wellthen, I will try if I can be still meeker, shall I!--O my dear!--

But let me sit with my hands before me, all patience, all resignation;for I think I hear him coming up. Or shall I roundly accost him, in thewords, in the form, which you, my dear, prescribed?

He is come in. He has sent to me, all impatience, as Dorcas says, by hisaspect. --But I cannot, cannot see him!

MONDAY NIGHT. 

The contents of your letter, and my own heavy reflections, rendered meincapable of seeing this expecting man. The first word he asked Dorcas, was, If I had received a letter since he had been out? She told me this;and her answer, that I had; and was fasting, and had been in tears eversince. 

He sent to desire an interview with me. 

I answered by her, That I was not very well. In the morning, if better, I would see him as soon as he pleased. 

Very humble! was it not, my dear? Yet he was too royal to take it forhumility; for Dorcas told me, he rubbed one side of his face impatiently;and said a rash word, and was out of humour; stalking about the room. 

Half an hour later, he sent again; desiring very earnestly, that I shouldadmit him to supper with me. He would enter upon no subjects ofconversation but what I should lead to. 

So I should have been at liberty, you see, to court him!

I again desired to be excused. 

Indeed, my dear, my eyes were swelled: I was very low spirited; and couldnot think of entering all at once, after the distance I had kept him atfor several days, into the freedom of conversation which the utterrejection I have met with from my relations, as well as your advice, hasmade necessary. 

He sent up to tell me, that as he heard I was fasting, if I would promiseto eat some chicken which Mrs. Sinclair had ordered for supper, he wouldacquiesce. --Very kind in his anger! Is he not?

I promised that I would. Can I be more preparatively condescending?--Howhappy, I'll warrant, if I may meet him in a kind and forgiving humour!

I hate myself! But I won't be insulted. Indeed I won't, for all this. 

LETTER XXXI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWETUESDAY, MAY 16. 

I think once more we seem to be in a kind of train; but through a storm. I will give you the particulars. 

I heard him in the dining-room at five in the morning. I had rested veryill, and was up too. But opened not my door till six: when Dorcasbrought me his request for my company. 

He approached me, and taking my hand, as I entered the dining-room, Iwent not to bed, Madam, till two, said he; yet slept not a wink. ForGod's sake, torment me not, as you have done for a week past. 

He paused. I was silent. 

At first, proceeded he, I thought your resentment of a curiosity, inwhich I had been disappointed, could not be deep; and that it would gooff of itself: But, when I found it was to be kept up till you knew thesuccess of some new overtures which you had made, and which, compliedwith, might have deprived me of you for ever, how, Madam, could I supportmyself under the thoughts of having, with such an union of interests, made so little impression upon your mind in my favour?

He paused again. I was still silent. He went on. 

I acknowledge that I have a proud heart, Madam. I cannot but hope forsome instances of previous and preferable favour from the lady I amambitious to call mine; and that her choice of me should not appear, notflagrantly appear, directed by the perverseness of her selfishpersecutors, who are my irreconcilable enemies. 

More to the same purpose he said. You know, my dear, the room he hadgiven me to recriminate upon him in twenty instances. I did not sparehim. 

Every one of these instances, said I, (after I had enumerated them)convinces me of your pride indeed, Sir, but not of your merit. Iconfess, that I have as much pride as you can have, although I hope it isof another kind than that you so readily avow. But if, Sir, you have theleast mixture in yours of that pride which may be expected, and thoughtlaudable, in a man of your birth, alliances, and fortune, you shouldrather wish, I will presume to say, to promote what you call my pride, than either to suppress it, or to regret that I have it. It is this myacknowledged pride, proceeded I, that induces me to tell you, Sir, that Ithink it beneath me to disown what have been my motives for declining, for some days past, any conversation with you, or visit from Mr. Mennell, that might lead to points out of my power to determine upon, until Iheard from my uncle Harlowe; whom, I confess, I have caused to besounded, whether I might be favoured with his interest to obtain for mea reconciliation with my friends, upon terms which I had caused to beproposed. 

I know not, said he, and suppose must not presume to ask, what thoseterms were. But I can but too well guess at them; and that I was to havebeen the preliminary sacrifice. But you must allow me, Madam, to say, That as much as I admire the nobleness of your sentiments in general, andin particular that laudable pride which you have spoken of, I wish that Icould compliment you with such an uniformity in it, as had set you asmuch above all submission to minds implacable and unreasonable, (I hope Imay, without offence, say, that your brother's and sister's are such, ) asit has above all favour and condescension to me. 

Duty and nature, Sir, call upon me to make the submissions you speak of:there is a father, there is a mother, there are uncles in the one case, to justify and demand those submissions. What, pray, Sir, can be pleadedfor the condescension, as you call it? Will you say, your merits, eitherwith regard to them, or to myself, may?

This, Madam, to be said, after the persecutions of those relations!After what you have suffered! After what you have made me hope! Let me, my dearest creature, ask you, (we have been talking of pride, ) What sortof pride must his be, which can dispense with inclination and preferencein the lady whom he adores?--What must that love--

Love, Sir! who talks of love?--Was not merit the thing we were talkingof?--Have I ever professed, have I ever required of you professions of apassion of that nature?--But there is no end of these debatings; each sofaultless, each so full of self--

I do not think myself faultless, Madam:--but--

But what, Sir!--Would you ever more argue with me, as if you were achild?--Seeking palliations, and making promises?--Promises of what, Sir?Of being in future the man it is a shame a gentleman is not?--Of beingthe man--

Good God! interrupted he, with eyes lifted up, if thou wert to be thussevere--

Well, well, Sir! [impatiently] I need only to observe, that all thisvast difference in sentiment shows how unpaired our minds are--so letus--

Let us what, Madam?--My soul is rising into tumults! And he looked sowildly, that I was a good deal terrified--Let us what, Madam?----

I was, however, resolved not to desert myself--Why, Sir! let us resolveto quit every regard for each other. --Nay, flame not out--I am a poorweak-minded creature in some things: but where what I should be, or notdeserve to live, if I am not is in the question, I have a great andinvincible spirit, or my own conceit betrays me--let us resolve to quitevery regard for each other that is more than civil. This you may dependupon: I will never marry any other man. I have seen enough of your sex;at least of you. --A single life shall ever be my choice: while I willleave you at liberty to pursue your own. 

Indifference, worse than indifference! said he, in a passion--

Interrupting him--Indifference let it be--you have not (in my opinion atleast) deserved that it should be other: if you have in your own, youhave cause (at least your pride has) to hate me for misjudging you. 

Dearest, dearest creature! snatching my hand with fierceness, let mebeseech you to be uniformly noble! Civil regards, Madam!--Civil regards!--Can you so expect to narrow and confine such a passion as mine?

Such a passion as yours, Mr. Lovelace, deserves to be narrowed andconfined. It is either the passion you do not think it, or I do not. Iquestion whether your mind is capable of being so narrowed and sowidened, as is necessary to make it be what I wish it to be. Lift upyour hands and your eyes, Sir, in silent wonder, if you please; but whatdoes that wonder express, what does it convince me of, but that we arenot born for one another. 

By my soul, said he, and grasped my hand with an eagerness that hurt it, we were born for one another: you must be mine--you shall be mine [andput his other hand round me] although my damnation were to be thepurchase!

I was still more terrified--let me leave you, Mr. Lovelace, said I; or doyou be gone from me. Is the passion you boast of to be thus shockinglydemonstrated?

You must not go, Madam!--You must not leave me in anger--

I will return--I will return--when you can be less violent--lessshocking. 

And he let me go. 

The man quite frighted me; insomuch, that when I got into my chamber, Ifound a sudden flow of tears a great relief to me. 

In half an hour, he sent a little billet, expressing his concern for thevehemence of his behaviour, and prayed to see me. 

I went. Because I could not help myself, I went. 

He was full of excuses--O my dear, what would you, even you, do with sucha man as this; and in my situation?

It was very possible for him now, he said, to account for the workings ofa beginning phrensy. For his part, he was near distraction. All lastweek to suffer as he had suffered; and now to talk of civil regards only, when he had hoped, from the nobleness of my mind--

Hope what you will, interrupted I, I must insist upon it, that our mindsare by no means suited to each other. You have brought me intodifficulties. I am deserted by every friend but Miss Howe. My truesentiments I will not conceal--it is against my will that I must submitto owe protection from a brother's projects, which Miss Howe thinks arenot given over, to you, who have brought me into these straights: notwith my own concurrence brought me into them; remember that--

I do remember that, Madam!--So often reminded, how can I forget it?--

Yet I will owe to you this protection, if it be necessary, in the earnesthope that you will shun, rather than seek mischief, if any furtherinquiry after me be made. But what hinders you from leaving me?--CannotI send to you? The widow Fretchville, it is plain, knows not her ownmind: the people here are more civil to me every day than other: but Ihad rather have lodgings more agreeable to my circumstances. I best knowwhat will suit them; and am resolved not to be obliged to any body. Ifyou leave me, I will privately retire to some one of the neighbouringvillages, and there wait my cousin Morden's arrival with patience. 

I presume, Madam, replied he, from what you have said, that yourapplication to Harlowe-place has proved unsuccessful: I therefore hopethat you will now give me leave to mention the terms in the nature ofsettlements, which I have long intended to propose to you; and whichhaving till now delayed to do, through accidents not proceeding frommyself, I had thoughts of urging to you the moment you entered upon yournew house; and upon your finding yourself as independent in appearanceas you are in fact. Permit me, Madam, to propose these matters to you--not with an expectation of your immediate answer; but for yourconsideration. 

Were not hesitation, a self-felt glow, a downcast eye, encouragement morethan enough? and yet you will observe (as I now do on recollection) thathe was in no great hurry to solicit for a day; since he had no thoughtsof proposing settlements till I had got into my new house; and now, inhis great complaisance to me, he desired leave to propose his terms, notwith an expectation of my immediate answer; but for my consideration only--Yet, my dear, your advice was too much in my head at this time. Ihesitated. 

He urged on upon my silence; he would call God to witness to the justice, nay to the generosity of his intentions to me, if I would be so good asto hear what he had to propose to me, as to settlements. 

Could not the man have fallen into the subject without this parade? Manya point, you know, is refused, and ought to be refused, if leave be askedto introduce it; and when once refused, the refusal must in honour beadhered to--whereas, had it been slid in upon one, as I may say, it mighthave merited further consideration. If such a man as Mr. Lovelace knowsnot this, who should?

But he seemed to think it enough that he had asked my leave to proposehis settlements. He took no advantage of my silence, as I presume men asmodest as Mr. Lovelace would have done in a like case: yet, gazing in myface very confidently, and seeming to expect my answer, I thought myselfobliged to give the subject a more diffuse turn, in order to save myselfthe mortification of appearing too ready in my compliance, after such adistance as had been between us; and yet (in pursuance of your advice) Iwas willing to avoid the necessity of giving him such a repulse as mightagain throw us out of the course--a cruel alternative to be reduced to!

You talk of generosity, Mr. Lovelace, said I; and you talk of justice;perhaps, without having considered the force of the words, in the senseyou use them on this occasion. --Let me tell you what generosity is, in mysense of the word--TRUE GENEROSITY is not confined to pecuniaryinstances: it is more than politeness: it is more than good faith: it ismore than honour; it is more than justice; since all of these are butduties, and what a worthy mind cannot dispense with. But TRUE GENEROSITYis greatness of soul. It incites us to do more by a fellow-creature thancan be strictly required of us. It obliges us to hasten to the relief ofan object that wants relief; anticipating even such a one's hope orexpectation. Generosity, Sir, will not surely permit a worthy mind todoubt of its honourable and beneficent intentions: much less will itallow itself to shock, to offend any one; and, least of all, a personthrown by adversity, mishap, or accident, into its protection. 

What an opportunity had he to clear his intentions had he been sodisposed, from the latter part of this home observation!--but he ran awaywith the first, and kept to that. 

Admirably defined! he said--But who, at this rate, Madam, can be said tobe generous to you?--Your generosity I implore, while justice, as it mustbe my sole merit, shall be my aim. Never was there a woman of such niceand delicate sentiments!

It is a reflection upon yourself, Sir, and upon the company you havekept, if you think these notions either nice or delicate. Thousands ofmy sex are more nice than I; for they would have avoided the devious pathI have been surprised into; the consequences of which surprise have laidme under the sad necessity of telling a man, who has not delicacy enoughto enter into those parts of the female character which are its glory anddistinction, what true generosity is. 

His divine monitress, he called me. He would endeavour to form hismanners (as he had often promised) by my example. But he hoped I wouldnow permit him to mention briefly the justice he proposed to do me, inthe terms of the settlements; a subject so proper, before now, to haveentered upon; and which would have been entered upon long ago, had notmy frequent displeasure [I am ever in fault, my dear!] taken from him theopportunity he had often wished for: but now, having ventured to lay holdof this, nothing should divert him from improving it. 

I have no spirits, just now, Sir, to attend such weighty points. Whatyou have a mind to propose, write to me: and I shall know what answer toreturn. Only one thing let me remind you of, that if you touch upon asubject, in which my father has a concern, I shall judge by yourtreatment of the father what value you have for the daughter. 

He looked as if he would choose rather to speak than write: but had hesaid so, I had a severe return to have made upon him; as possibly hemight see by my looks. 

***

In this way are we now: a sort of calm, as I said, succeeding a storm. What may happen next, whether a storm or a calm, with such a spirit as Ihave to deal with, who can tell?

But, be that as it will, I think, my dear, I am not meanly off: and thatis a great point with me; and which I know you will be glad to hear: ifit were only, that I can see this man without losing any of that dignity[What other word can I use, speaking of myself, that betokens decency, and not arrogance?] which is so necessary to enable me to look up, orrather with the mind's eye, I may say, to look down upon a man of thisman's cast. 

Although circumstance have so offered, that I could not take your adviceas to the manner of dealing with him; yet you gave me so much courage byit, as has enabled me to conduct things to this issue; as well asdetermined me against leaving him: which, before, I was thinking to do, at all adventures. Whether, when it came to the point, I should havedone so, or not, I cannot say, because it would have depended upon hisbehaviour at the time. 

But let his behaviour be what it will, I am afraid, (with you, ) thatshould any thing offer at last to oblige me to leave him, I shall notmend my situation in the world's eye; but the contrary. And yet I willnot be treated by him with indignity while I have any power to helpmyself. 

You, my dear, have accused me of having modesty'd away, as you phrase it, several opportunities of being--Being what, my dear?--Why, the wife of alibertine: and what a libertine and his wife are my cousin Morden'sletter tells us. --Let me here, once for all, endeavour to account for themotives of behavior to this man, and for the principles I have proceededupon, as they appear to me upon a close self-examination. 

Be pleased to allow me to think that my motives on this occasion rise notaltogether from maidenly niceness; nor yet from the apprehension of whatmy present tormenter, and future husband, may think of a precipitatecompliance, on such a disagreeable behaviour as his: but they ariseprincipally from what offers to my own heart; respecting, as I may say, its own rectitude, its own judgment of the fit and the unfit; as I would, without study, answer for myself to myself, in the first place; to him, and to the world, in the second only. Principles that are in my mind;that I found there; implanted, no doubt, by the first gracious Planter:which therefore impel me, as I may say, to act up to them, that therebyI may, to the best of my judgment, be enabled to comport myself worthilyin both states, (the single and the married), let others act as they willby me. 

I hope, my dear, I do not deceive myself, and, instead of setting aboutrectifying what is amiss in my heart, endeavour to find excuses for habitsand peculiarities, which I am unwilling to cast off or overcome. The heart is very deceitful: do you, my dear friend, lay mine open, [butsurely it is always open before you!] and spare me not, if you think itculpable. 

This observation, once for all, as I said, I thought proper to make, toconvince you that, to the best of my judgment, my errors, in matters aswell of lesser moment as of greater, shall rather be the fault of myjudgment than of my will. 

I am, my dearest friend, Your ever obliged, CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER XXXII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWETUESDAY NIGHT, MAY 16. 

Mr. Lovelace has sent me, by Dorcas, his proposals, as follow:

'To spare a delicacy so extreme, and to obey you, I write: and the ratherthat you may communicate this paper to Miss Howe, who may consult any ofher friends you shall think proper to have intrusted on this occasion. Isay intrusted; because, as you know, I have given it out to severalpersons, that we are actually married. 

'In the first place, Madam, I offer to settle upon you, by way ofjointure, your whole estate: and moreover to vest in trustees such a partof mine in Lancashire, as shall produce a clear four hundred pounds ayear, to be paid to your sole and separate use quarterly. 

'My own estate is a clear not nominnal 2000l. Per annum. Lord M. Proposes to give me possession either of that which he has in Lancashire, [to which, by the way, I think I have a better title than he hashimself, ] or that we call The Lawn, in Hertfordshire, upon my nuptialswith a lady whom he so greatly admires; and to make that I shall choose aclear 1000l. Per annum. 

'My too great contempt of censure has subjected me to much slander. Itmay not therefore be improper to assure you, on the word of a gentleman, that no part of my estate was ever mortgaged: and that although I livedvery expensively abroad, and made large draughts, yet that Midsummer-daynext will discharge all that I owe in the world. My notions are not allbad ones. I have been thought, in pecuniary cases, generous. It wouldhave deserved another name, had I not first been just. 

'If, as your own estate is at present in your father's hands, you ratherchoose that I should make a jointure out of mine, tantamount to yours, beit what it will, it shall be done. I will engage Lord M. To write toyou, what he proposes to do on the happy occasion: not as your desire orexpectation, but to demonstrate, that no advantage is intended to betaken of the situation you are in with your own family. 

'To shew the beloved daughter the consideration I have for her, I willconsent that she shall prescribe the terms of agreement in relation tothe large sums, which must be in her father's hands, arising from hergrandfather's estate. I have no doubt, but he will be put upon makinglarge demands upon you. All those it shall be in your power to complywith, for the sake of your own peace. And the remainder shall be paidinto your hands, and be entirely at your disposal, as a fund to supportthose charitable donations, which I have heard you so famed for our ofyour family, and for which you have been so greatly reflected upon in it. 

'As to clothes, jewels, and the like, against the time you shall chooseto make your appearance, it will be my pride that you shall not bebeholden for such of these, as shall be answerable to the rank of both, to those who have had the stupid folly to renounce a daughter theydeserved not. You must excuse me, Madam: you would mistrust my sincerityin the rest, could I speak of these people without asperity, though sonearly related to you. 

'These, Madam, are my proposals. They are such as I always designed tomake, whenever you would permit me to enter into the delightful subject. But you have been so determined to try every method for reconcilingyourself to your relations, even by giving me absolutely up for ever, that you seemed to think it but justice to keep me at a distance, tillthe event of that your predominant hope could be seen. It is now seen!--and although I have been, and perhaps still am, ready to regret thewant of that preference I wished for from you as Miss Clarissa Harlowe, yet I am sure, as the husband of Mrs. Lovelace, I shall be more readyto adore than to blame you for the pangs you have given to a heart, thegenerosity, or rather, the justice of which, my implacable enemies havetaught you to doubt: and this still the readier, as I am persuaded thatthose pangs never would have been given by a mind so noble, had not thedoubt been entertained (perhaps with too great an appearance of reason);and as I hope I shall have it to reflect, that the moment the doubt shallbe overcome, the indifference will cease. 

'I will only add, that if I have omitted any thing, that would have givenyou farther satisfaction; or if the above terms be short of what youwould wish; you will be pleased to supply them as you think fit. Andwhen I know your pleasure, I will instantly order articles to be drawn upcomformably, that nothing in my power may be wanting to make you happy. 

'You will now, dearest Madam, judge, how far all the rest depends uponyourself. '

You see, my dear, what he offers. You see it is all my fault, that hehas not made these offers before. I am a strange creature!--to be toblame in every thing, and to every body; yet neither intend the ill atthe time, nor know it to be the ill too late, or so nearly too late, thatI must give up all the delicacy he talks of, to compound for my fault!

I shall now judge how far the rest depends upon myself! So coldlyconcludes he such warm, and, in the main, unobjectionably proposals:Would you not, as you read, have supposed, that the paper would concludewith the most earnest demand of a day?--I own, I had that expectation sostrong, resulting naturally, as I may say, from the premises, thatwithout studying for dissatisfaction, I could not help being dissatisfiedwhen I came to the conclusion. 

But you say there is no help. I must perhaps make further sacrifices. All delicacy it seems is to be at an end with me!--but, if so, this manknows not what every wise man knows, that prudence, and virtue, anddelicacy of mind in a wife, do the husband more real honour in the eye ofthe world, than the same qualities (were she destitute of them) inhimself, do him: as the want of them in her does him more dishonour: Forare not the wife's errors the husband's reproach? how justly hisreproach, is another thing. 

I will consider this paper; and write to it, if I am able: for it seemsnow, all the rest depends upon myself. 

LETTER XXXIII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWEWEDNESDAY MORNING, MAY 17. 

Mr. Lovelace would fain have engaged me last night. But as I was notprepared to enter upon the subject of his proposals, (intending toconsider them maturely, ) and was not highly pleased with his conclusion, I desired to be excused seeing him till morning; and the rather, as thereis hardly any getting from him in tolerable time overnight. 

Accordingly, about seven o'clock we met in the dining-room. 

I find he was full of expectation that I should meet him with a veryfavourable, who knows but with a thankful, aspect? and I immediatelyfound by his sullen countenance, that he was under no smalldisappointment that I did not. 

My dearest love, are you well? Why look you so solemn upon me? Willyour indifference never be over? If I have proposed terms in any respectshort of your expectation--

I told him, that he had very considerately mentioned my shewing hisproposals to Miss Howe; and as I should have a speedy opportunity to sendthem to her by Collins, I desired to suspend any talk upon that subjecttill I had her opinion upon them. 

Good God!--If there was but the least loop-hole! the least room fordelay!--But he was writing a letter to Lord M. To give him an account ofhis situation with me, and could not finish it so satisfactorily, eitherto my Lord or to himself, as if I would condescend to say, whether theterms he had proposed were acceptable, or not. 

Thus far, I told him, I could say, that my principal point was peace andreconciliation with my relations. As to other matters, the gentleness ofhis own spirit would put him upon doing more for me than I should ask, orexpect. Wherefore, if all he had to write about was to know what Lord M. Would do on my account, he might spare himself the trouble, for that myutmost wishes, as to myself, were much more easily gratified than heperhaps imagined. 

He asked me then, if I would so far permit him to touch upon the happyday, as to request the presence of Lord M. On the occasion, and to be myfather?

Father had a sweet and venerable sound with it, I said. I should be gladto have a father who would own me!

Was not this plain speaking, think you, my dear? Yet it rather, I mustown, appears so to me on reflection, than was designed freely at thetime. For I then, with a sigh from the bottom of my heart, thought of myown father; bitterly regretting, that I am an outcast from him and frommy mother. 

Mr. Lovelace I thought seemed a little affected at the manner of myspeaking, and perhaps at the sad reflection. 

I am but a very young creature, Mr. Lovelace, said I, [and wiped my eyesas I turned away my face, ] although you have kindly, and in love to me, introduced so much sorry to me already: so you must not wonder, that theword father strikes so sensibly upon the heart of a child ever dutifultill she knew you, and whose tender years still require the paternalwing. 

He turned towards the window--[rejoice with me, my dear, since I seem tobe devoted to him, that the man is not absolutely impenetrable!] Hisemotion was visible; yet he endeavoured to suppress it. Approaching meagain; again he was obliged to turn from me; angelic something, he said:but then, obtaining a heart more suitable to his wish, he once moreapproached me. --For his own part, he said, as Lord M. Was so subject togout, he was afraid, that the compliment he had just proposed to makehim, might, if made, occasion a larger suspension than he could bear tothink of; and if it did, it would vex him to the heart that he had madeit. 

I could not say a single word to this, you know, my dear. But you willguess at my thoughts of what he said--so much passionate love, lip-deep!so prudent, and so dutifully patient at heart to a relation he had tillnow so undutifully despised!--Why, why, am I thrown upon such a man, thought I!

He hesitated, as if contending with himself; and after taking a turn ortwo about the room, He was at a great loss what to determine upon, hesaid, because he had not the honour of knowing when he was to be made thehappiest of men--Would to God it might that very instant be resolvedupon!

He stopped a moment or two, staring in his usual confident way, in mydowncast face, [Did I not, O my beloved friend, think you, want a fatheror a mother just then?] But if he could not, so soon as he wished, procure my consent to a day; in that case, he thought the complimentmight as well be made to Lord M. As not, [See, my dear!] since thesettlements might be drawn and engrossed in the intervenient time, whichwould pacify his impatience, as no time would be lost. 

You will suppose how I was affected by this speech, by repeating thesubstance of what he said upon it; as follows. 

But, by his soul, he knew not, so much was I upon the reserve, and somuch latent meaning did my eye import, whether, when he most hoped toplease me, he was not farthest from doing so. Would I vouchsafe to say, whether I approved of his compliment to Lord M. Or not?

To leave it to me, to choose whether the speedy day he ought to haveurged for with earnestness, should be accelerated or suspended!--MissHowe, thought I, at that moment, says, I must not run away from this man!

To be sure, Mr. Lovelace, if this matter be ever to be, it must beagreeable to me to have the full approbation of one side, since I cannothave that of the other. 

If this matter be ever to be! Good God! what words are these at thistime of day! and full approbation of one side! Why that wordapprobation? when the greatest pride of all my family is, that of havingthe honour of so dear a creature for their relation? Would to heaven, mydearest life, added he, that, without complimenting any body, to-morrowmight be the happiest day of my life!--What say you, my angel? with atrembling impatience, that seemed not affected--What say you forto-morrow?

It was likely, my dear, I could say much to it, or name another day, hadI been disposed to the latter, with such an hinted delay from him. 

I was silent. 

Next day, Madam, if not to-morrow?--

Had he given me time to answer, it could not have been in theaffirmative, you must think--but, in the same breath, he went on--Or theday after that?--and taking both my hands in his, he stared me into ahalf-confusion--Would you have had patience with him, my dear?

No, no, said I, as calmly as possible, you cannot think that I shouldimagine there can be reason for such a hurry. It will be most agreeable, to be sure, for my Lord to be present. 

I am all obedience and resignation, returned the wretch, with a self-pluming air, as if he had acquiesced to a proposal made by me, and hadcomplimented me with a great piece of self denial. 

Is it not plain, my dear, that he designs to vex and tease me? Proud, yet mean and foolish man, if so!--But you say all punctilio is at an endwith me. Why, why, will he take pains to make a heart wrap itself up inreserve, that wishes only, and that for his sake as well as my own, toobserve due decorum?

Modesty, I think, required of me, that it should pass as he had put it:Did it not?--I think it did. Would to heaven--but what signifieswishing?

But when he would have rewarded himself, as he had heretofore called it, for this self-supposed concession, with a kiss, I repulsed him with ajust and very sincere disdain. 

He seemed both vexed and surprised, as one who had made the mostagreeable proposals and concessions, and thought them ungratefullyreturned. He plainly said, that he thought our situation would entitlehim to such an innocent freedom: and he was both amazed and grieved to bethus scornfully repulsed. 

No reply could be made be me on such a subject. 

I abruptly broke from him. I recollect, as I passed by one of the pier-glasses, that I saw in it his clenched hand offered in wrath to hisforehead: the words, Indifference, by his soul, next to hatred, I heardhim speak; and something of ice he mentioned: I heard not what. 

Whether he intends to write to my Lord, or Miss Montague, I cannot tell. But, as all delicacy ought to be over with me now, perhaps I am to blameto expect it from a man who may not know what it is. If he does not, andyet thinks himself very polite, and intends not to be otherwise, I amrather to be pitied, than he to be censured. 

And after all, since I must take him as I find him, I must: that is tosay, as a man so vain and so accustomed to be admired, that, not beingconscious of internal defect, he has taken no pains to polish more thanhis outside: and as his proposals are higher than my expectations; andas, in his own opinion, he has a great deal to bear from me, I will (nonew offence preventing) sit down to answer them; and, if possible, interms as unobjectionable to him, as his are to me. 

But after all, see you not, my dear, more and more, the mismatch thatthere is in our minds?

However, I am willing to compound for my fault, by giving up, (if thatmay be all my punishment) the expectation of what is deemed happiness inthis life, with such a husband as I fear he will make. In short, I willcontent myself to be a suffering person through the state to the end ofmy life. --A long one it cannot be!

This may qualify him (as it may prove) from stings of conscience frommisbehaviour to a first wife, to be a more tolerable one to a second, though not perhaps a better deserving one: while my story, to all whoshall know it, will afford these instructions: That the eye is a traitor, and ought ever to be mistrusted: that form is deceitful: in other words;that a fine person is seldom paired by a fine mind: and that soundprinciple and a good heart, are the only bases on which the hopes of ahappy future, either with respect to this world, or the other, can bebuilt. 

And so much at present for Mr. Lovelace's proposals: Of which I desireyour opinion. *

* We cannot forbear observing in this place, that the Lady has beenparticularly censured, even by some of her own sex, as over-nice in herpart of the above conversations: but surely this must be owing to wantof attention to the circumstances she was in, and to her character, aswell as to the character of the man she had to deal with: for, althoughshe could not be supposed to know so much of his designs as the readerdoes by means of his letters to Belford, yet she was but too wellconvinced of his faulty morals, and of the necessity there was, from thewhole of his behaviour to her, to keep such an encroacher, as shefrequently calls him, at a distance. In Letter XXXIII. Of Vol. III. Thereader will see, that upon some favourable appearances she blames herselffor her readiness to suspect him. But his character, his principles, said she, are so faulty!--He is so light, so vain, so various. ----Then, my dear, I have no guardian to depend upon. In Letter IX. Of Vol. III. Must I not with such a man, says she, be wanting to myself, were I notjealous and vigilant?

By this time the reader will see, that she had still greater reason forher jealousy and vigilance. And Lovelace will tell the sex, as he doesin Letter XI. Of Vol. V. , that the woman who resents not initiatoryfreedoms, must be lost. Love is an encroacher, says he: loves never goesbackward. Nothing but the highest act of love can satisfy an indulgedlove. 

But the reader perhaps is too apt to form a judgment of Clarissa'sconduct in critical cases by Lovelace's complaints of her coldness; notconsidering his views upon her; and that she is proposed as an example;and therefore in her trials and distresses must not be allowed todispense with those rules which perhaps some others of the sex, in herdelicate situation, would not have thought themselves so strictly boundto observe; although, if she had not observed them, a Lovelace would havecarried all his points. 

[Four letters are written by Mr. Lovelace from the date of his last, giving the state of affairs between him and the Lady, pretty much the same as in hers in the same period, allowing for the humour in his, and for his resentments expressed with vehemence on her resolution to leave him, if her friends could be brought to be reconciled to her. -- A few extracts from them will be only given. ]

What, says he, might have become of me, and of my projects, had not herfather, and the rest of the implacables, stood my friends?

[After violent threatenings of revenge, he says, ]

'Tis plain she would have given me up for ever: nor should I have beenable to prevent her abandoning of me, unless I had torn up the tree bythe roots to come at the fruit; which I hope still to bring down by agentle shake or two, if I can but have patience to stay the ripeningseasoning. 

[Thus triumphing in his unpolite cruelty, he says, ]

After her haughty treatment of me, I am resolved she shall speak out. There are a thousand beauties to be discovered in the face, in theaccent, in the bush-beating hesitations of a woman who is earnest about asubject she wants to introduce, yet knows not how. Silly fellows, calling themselves generous ones, would value themselves for sparing alady's confusion: but they are silly fellows indeed; and rob themselvesof prodigious pleasure by their forwardness; and at the same time depriveher of displaying a world of charms, which can only be manifested onthese occasions. 

I'll tell thee beforehand, how it will be with my charmer in this case--she will be about it, and about it, several times: but I will notunderstand her: at least, after half a dozen hem--ings, she will beobliged to speak out--I think, Mr. Lovelace--I think, Sir--I think youwere saying some days ago--Still I will be all silence--her eyes fixedupon my shoe-buckles, as I sit over-against her--ladies when put to itthus, always admire a man's shoe-buckles, or perhaps some particularbeauties in the carpet. I think you said that Mrs. Fretchville--Then acrystal tear trickles down each crimson cheek, vexed to have her virginpride so little assisted. But, come, my meaning dear, cry I to myself, remember what I have suffered for thee, and what I have suffered by thee!Thy tearful pausings shall not be helped out by me. Speak out, love!--Othe sweet confusion! Can I rob myself of so many conflicting beauties bythe precipitate charmer-pitying folly, by which a politer man [thouknowest, lovely, that I am no polite man!] betrayed by his owntenderness, and unused to female tears, would have been overcome? I willfeign an irresolution of mind on the occasion, that she may not quiteabhor me--that her reflections on the scene in my absence may bring toher remembrance some beauties in my part of it: an irresolution thatwill be owing to awe, to reverence, to profound veneration; and that willhave more eloquence in it than words can have. Speak out then, love, andspare not. 

Hard-heartedness, as it is called, is an essential of the libertine'scharacter. Familiarized to the distresses he occasions, he is seldombetrayed by tenderness into a complaisant weakness unworthy of himself. 

[Mentioning the settlements, he says, ]

I am in earnest as to the terms. If I marry her, [and I have no doubtthat I shall, after my pride, my ambition, my revenge, if thou wilt, isgratified, ] I will do her noble justice. The more I do for such aprudent, such an excellent economist, the more shall I do for myself. --But, by my soul, Belford, her haughtiness shall be brought down to ownboth love and obligation to me. Nor will this sketch of settlementsbring us forwarder than I would have it. Modesty of sex will stand myfriend at any time. At the very altar, our hands joined, I will engageto make this proud beauty leave the parson and me, and all my friends whoshould be present, though twenty in number, to look like fools upon oneanother, while she took wing, and flew out of the church door, or window, (if that were open, and the door shut); and this only by a single word. 

[He mentions his rash expression, That she should be his, although his damnation was to be the purchase. ]

At that instant, says he, I was upon the point of making a violentattempt, but was checked in the very moment, and but just in time to savemyself, by the awe I was struck with on again casting my eye upon herterrified but lovely face, and seeing, as I thought, her spotless heartin every line of it. 

O virtue, virtue! proceeds he, what is there in thee, that can thusagainst his will affect the heart of a Lovelace!--Whence theseinvoluntary tremors, and fear of giving mortal offence?--What art thou, that acting in the breast of a feeble woman, which never before, no, notin my first attempt, young as I then was, and frightened at my ownboldness (till I found myself forgiven, ) had such an effect upon me!

[He paints in lively colours, that part of the scene between him and the Lady, where she says, The word father has a sweet and venerable sound with it. ]

I was exceedingly affected, says he, upon the occasion, but was ashamedto be surprised into such a fit of unmanly weakness--so ashamed, that Iwas resolved to subdue it at the instant, and to guard against the likefor the future. Yet, at that moment, I more than half regretted that Icould not permit her to enjoy a triumph which she so well deserved toglory in--her youth, her beauty, her artless innocence, and her manner, equally beyond comparison or description. But her indifference, Belford!--That she could resolve to sacrifice me to the malice of my enemies; andcarry on the design in so clandestine a manner--and yet love her, as Ido, to phrensy!--revere her, as I do, to adoration!--These were therecollections with which I fortified my recreant heart against her!--Yet, after all, if she persevere, she must conquer!--Coward, as she has mademe, that never was a coward before!

[He concludes his fourth letter in a vehement rage, upon her repulsing him, when he offered to salute her; having supposed, as he owns, that she would have been all condescension on his proposals to her. ]

This, says he, I will for ever remember against her, in order to steel myheart, that I may cut through a rock of ice to hers; and repay her forthe disdain, the scorn, which glowed in her countenance, and was apparentin her air, at her abrupt departure for me, after such obliging behaviouron my side, and after I had so earnestly pressed her for an early day. The women below say she hates me; she despises me!--And 'tis true: shedoes; she must. --And why cannot I take their advice? I will not long, my fair-one, be despised by thee, and laughed at by them!

Let me acquaint thee, Jack, adds he, by way of postscript, that thiseffort of hers to leave me, if she could have been received; her sendingfor a coach on Sunday; no doubt, resolving not to return, if she had goneout without me, (for did she not declare that she had thoughts to retireto some of the villages about town, where she could be safe and private?)have, all together, so much alarmed me, that I have been adding to thewritten instructions for my fellow and the people below how to act incase she should elope in my absence: particularly letting Will. Know whathe shall report to strangers in case she shall throw herself upon anysuch with a resolution to abandon me. To these instructions I shallfurther add as circumstances offer. 

LETTER XXXIV

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWETHURSDAY, MAY 18. 

I have neither time nor patience, my dear friend, to answer everymaterial article in your last letters just now received. Mr. Lovelace'sproposals are all I like of him. And yet (as you do) I think, that heconcludes them not with the warmth and earnestness which we mightnaturally have expected from him. Never in my life did I hear or read ofso patient a man, with such a blessing in his reach. But wretches of hiscast, between you and me, my dear, have not, I fancy, the ardors thathonest men have. Who knows, as your Bell once spitefully said, but hemay have half a dozen creatures to quit his hands of before he engagesfor life?--Yet I believe you must not expect him to be honest on thisside of his grand climacteric. 

He, to suggest delay from a compliment to be made to Lord M. And to givetime for settlements! He, a part of whose character it is, not to knowwhat complaisance to his relations is--I have no patience with him! Youdid indeed want an interposing friend on the affecting occasion which youmention in yours of yesterday morning. But, upon my word, were I to havebeen that moment in your situation, and been so treated, I would havetorn his eyes out, and left it to his own heart, when I had done, tofurnish the reason for it. 

Would to Heaven to-morrow, without complimenting any body, might be hishappy day!--Villain! After he had himself suggested the compliment!--AndI think he accuses YOU of delaying!--Fellow, that he is!--How my heart iswrung--

But as matters now stand betwixt you, I am very unseasonable inexpressing my resentments against him. --Yet I don't know whether I am ornot, neither; since it is the most cruel of fates, for a woman to beforced to have a man whom her heart despises. You must, at least, despise him; at times, however. His clenched fist offered to hisforehead on your leaving him in just displeasure--I wish it had been apole-axe, and in the hand of his worst enemy. 

I will endeavour to think of some method, of some scheme, to get you fromhim, and to fix you safely somewhere till your cousin Morden arrives--Ascheme to lie by you, and to be pursued as occasion may be given. Youare sure, that you can go abroad when you please? and that ourcorrespondence is safe? I cannot, however (for the reasons heretoforementioned respecting your own reputation, ) wish you to leave him while hegives you not cause to suspect his honour. But your heart I know would bethe easier, if you were sure of some asylum in case of necessity. 

Yet once more, I say, I can have no notion that he can or dare mean yourdishonour. But then the man is a fool, my dear--that's all. 

However, since you are thrown upon a fool, marry the fool at the firstopportunity; and though I doubt that this man will be the mostungovernable of fools, as all witty and vain fools are, take him as apunishment, since you cannot as a reward: in short, as one given toconvince you that there is nothing but imperfection in this life. 

And what is the result of all I have written, but this--Either marry, my dear, or get from them all, and from him too. 

You intend the latter, you'll say, as soon as you have opportunity. That, as above hinted, I hope quickly to furnish you with: and then comeson a trial between you and yourself. 

These are the very fellows that we women do not naturally hate. We don'talways know what is, and what is not, in our power to do. When someprincipal point we have long had in view becomes so critical, that wemust of necessity choose or refuse, then perhaps we look about us; areaffrighted at the wild and uncertain prospect before us; and, after a fewstruggles and heart-aches, reject the untried new; draw in your horns, and resolve to snail-on, as we did before, in a track we are acquaintedwith. 

I shall be impatient till I have your next. I am, my dearest friend, Your ever affectionate and faithfulANNA HOWE. 

LETTER XXXV

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. WEDNESDAY, MAY 17. 

I cannot conceal from you any thing that relates to yourself so much asthe enclosed does. You will see what the noble writer apprehends fromyou, and wishes of you, with regard to Miss Harlowe, and how much atheart all your relations have it that you do honourably by her. Theycompliment me with an influence over you, which I wish with all my soulyou would let me have in this article. 

Let me once more entreat thee, Lovelace, to reflect, before it be toolate (before the mortal offence be given) upon the graces and merits ofthis lady. Let thy frequent remorses at last end in one effectualremorse. Let not pride and wantonness of heart ruin the fairerprospects. By my faith, Lovelace, there is nothing but vanity, conceit, and nonsense, in our wild schemes. As we grow older, we shall be wiser, and looking back upon our foolish notions of the present hour, (our youthdissipated, ) shall certainly despise ourselves when we think of thehonourable engagements we might have made: thou, more especially, if thoulettest such a matchless creature slide through thy fingers. A creaturepure from her cradle. In all her actions and sentiments uniformly noble. Strict in the performance of all her even unrewarded duties to the mostunreasonable of fathers; what a wife will she make the man who shall havethe honour to call her his!

What apprehensions wouldst thou have had reason for, had she beenprevailed upon by giddy or frail motives, for which one man, byimportunity, might prevail, as well as another?

We all know what an inventive genius thou art master of: we are allsensible, that thou hast a head to contrive, and a heart to execute. Have I not called thine the plotting'st heart in the universe? I calledit so upon knowledge. What woulds't thou more? Why should it be themost villainous, as well as the most able?--Marry the lady; and, whenmarried, let her know what a number of contrivances thou hadst inreadiness to play off. Beg of her not to hate thee for thecommunication; and assure her, that thou gavest them up for remorse, andin justice to her extraordinary merit: and let her have the opportunityof congratulating herself for subduing a heart so capable of what thoucallest glorious mischief. This will give her room for triumph; and eventhee no less: she, for hers over thee; thou, for thine over thyself. 

Reflect likewise upon her sufferings for thee. Actually at the time thouart forming schemes to ruin her, (at least in her sense of the word, ) isshe not labouring under a father's curse laid upon her by thy means, andfor thy sake? and wouldst thou give operation and completion to thatcurse, which otherwise cannot have effect?

And what, Lovelace, all the time is thy pride?--Thou that vainlyimaginest that the whole family of the Harlowes, and that of the Howestoo, are but thy machines, unknown to themselves, to bring about thypurposes, and thy revenge, what art thou more, or better, than theinstrument even of her implacable brother, and envious sister, toperpetuate the disgrace of the most excellent of sisters, to which theyare moved by vilely low and sordid motives?--Canst thou bear, Lovelace, to be thought the machine of thy inveterate enemy James Harlowe?--Nay, art thou not the cully of that still viler Joseph Leman, who serveshimself as much by thy money, as he does thee by the double part he actsby thy direction?--And further still, art thou not the devil's agent, whoonly can, and who certainly will, suitably reward thee, if thouproceedest, and if thou effectest thy wicked purpose?

Could any man but thee put together upon paper the following questionswith so much unconcern as thou seemest to have written them?--give thema reperusal, O heart of adamant! 'Whither can she fly to avoid me? Herparents will not receive her. Her uncles will not entertain her. Herbeloved Norton is in their direction, and cannot. Miss Howe dare not. She has not one friend in town but ME--is entirely a stranger to thetown. '*--What must that heart be that can triumph in a distress so deep, into which she has been plunged by thy elaborate arts and contrivances?And what a sweet, yet sad reflection was that, which had like to have hadits due effect upon thee, arising from thy naming Lord M. For her nuptialfather? her tender years inclining her to wish for a father, and to hopea friend. --O my dear Lovelace, canst thou resolve to be, instead of thefather thou hast robbed her of, a devil?

* See Letter XXI. Of this volume. 

Thou knowest, that I have no interest, that I can have no view, inwishing thee to do justice to this admirable creature. For thy own sake, once more I conjure thee, for thy family's sake, and for the sake of ourcommon humanity, let me beseech thee to be just to Miss Clarissa Harlowe. 

No matter whether these expostulations are in character from me, or not. I have been and am bad enough. If thou takest my advice, which is (asthe enclosed will shew thee) the advice of all thy family, thou wiltperhaps have it to reproach me (and but perhaps neither) that thou artnot a worse man than myself. But if thou dost not, and if thou ruinestsuch a virtue, all the complicated wickedness of ten devils, let looseamong the innocent with full power over them, will not do so much vileand base mischief as thou wilt be guilty of. 

It is said that the prince on his throne is not safe, if a mind sodesperate can be found, as values not its own life. So may it be said, that the most immaculate virtue is not safe, if a man can be met with whohas no regard to his own honour, and makes a jest of the most solemn vowsand protestations. 

Thou mayest by trick, chicane, and false colours, thou who art worse thana pickeroon in love, overcome a poor lady so entangled as thou hastentangled her; so unprotected as thou hast made her: but consider, howmuch more generous and just to her, and noble to thyself, it is, toovercome thyself. 

Once more, it is no matter whether my past or future actions countenancemy preachment, as perhaps thou'lt call what I have written: but this Ipromise thee, that whenever I meet with a woman of but one half of MissHarlowe's perfections, who will favour me with her acceptance, I willtake the advice I give, and marry. Nor will I offer to try her honourat the hazard of my own. 

In other words, I will not degrade an excellent creature in her own eyes, by trials, when I have no cause for suspicion. And let me add, withrespect to thy eagleship's manifestation, of which thou boastest, in thyattempts upon the innocent and uncorrupted, rather than upon those whomthou humourously comparest to wrens, wagtails, and phyl-tits, as thoucallest them, * that I hope I have it not once to reproach myself, that Iruined the morals of any one creature, who otherwise would have beenuncorrupted. Guilt enough in contributing to the continued guilt of otherpoor wretches, if I am one of those who take care she shall never riseagain, when she has once fallen. 

* See Letter XVII. Of this volume. 

Whatever the capital devil, under whose banner thou hast listed, will letthee do, with regard to this incomparable woman, I hope thou wilt actwith honour in relation to the enclosed, between Lord M. And me; sincehis Lordship, as thou wilt see, desires, that thou mayest not know hewrote on the subject; for reasons, I think, very far from beingcreditable to thyself: and that thou wilt take as meant, the honest zealfor thy service, of

Thy real friend, J. BELFORD. 

LETTER XXXVI

LORD M. , TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. [ENCLOSED IN THE PRECEDING. ]M. HALL, MONDAY, MAY 15. 

SIR, If any man in the world has power over my nephew, it is you. I thereforewrite this, to beg you to interfere in the affair depending between himand the most accomplished of women, as every one says; and what every onesays must be true. 

I don't know that he has any bad designs upon her; but I know his tempertoo well, not to be apprehensive upon such long delays: and the ladieshere have been for some time in fear for her: Lady Sarah in particular, who (as you must know) is a wise woman, says, that these delays, in thepresent case, must be from him, rather than from the lady. 

He had always indeed a strong antipathy to marriage, and may think ofplaying his dog's tricks by her, as he has by so many others. If there'sany danger of this, 'tis best to prevent it in time: for when a thing isdone, advice comes too late. 

He has always had the folly and impertinence to make a jest of me forusing proverbs: but as they are the wisdom of whole nations and agescollected into a small compass, I am not to be shamed out of sentencesthat often contain more wisdom in them than the tedious harangues of mostof our parsons and moralists. Let him laugh at them, if he pleases: youand I know better things, Mr. Belford--Though you have kept company witha wolf, you have not learnt to howl of him. 

But nevertheless, you must let him know that I have written to you onthis subject. I am ashamed to say it; but he has ever treated me as if Iwere a man of very common understanding; and would, perhaps, think neverthe better of the best advice in the world for coming from me. Those, Mr. Belford, who most love, are least set by. --But who would expectvelvet to be made out of a sow's ear?

I am sure he has no reason however to slight me as he does. He may andwill be the better for me, if he outlives me; though he once told me tomy face, that I might do as I would with my estate; for that he, for hispart, loved his liberty as much as he despised money. And at anothertime, twitting me with my phrases, that the man was above controul, whowanted not either to borrow or flatter. He thought, I suppose, that Icould not cover him with my wings, without pecking at him with my bill;though I never used to be pecking at him, without very great occasion:and, God knows, he might have my very heart, if he would but endeavourto oblige me, by studying his own good; for that is all I desire of him. Indeed, it was his poor mother that first spoiled him; and I have beenbut too indulgent to him since. A fine grateful disposition, you'll say, to return evil for good! but that was always his way. It is a goodsaying, and which was verified by him with a witness--Children whenlittle, make their parents fools; when great, mad. Had his parents livedto see what I have seen of him, they would have been mad indeed. 

This match, however, as the lady has such an extraordinary share ofwisdom and goodness, might set all to rights; and if you can forward it, I would enable him to make whatever settlements he could wish; and shouldnot be unwilling to put him in possession of another pretty estatebesides. I am no covetous man, he knows. And, indeed, what is acovetous man to be likened to so fitly, as to a dog in a wheel whichroasts meat for others? And what do I live for, (as I have often said, )but to see him and my two nieces well married and settled. May Heavensettle him down to a better mind, and turn his heart to more of goodnessand consideration!

If the delays are on his side, I tremble for the lady; and, if on hers, (as he tells my niece Charlotte, ) I could wish she were apprized thatdelays are dangerous. Excellent as she is, she ought not to depend onher merits with such a changeable fellow, and such a profest marriage-hater, as he has been. Desert and reward, I can assure her, seldom keepcompany together. 

But let him remember, that vengeance though it comes with leaden feet, strikes with iron hands. If he behaves ill in this case, he may find itso. What a pity it is, that a man of his talents and learning should beso vile a rake! Alas! alas! Une poign�e de bonne vie vaut mieux queplein muy de clerg�e; a handful of good life is better than a wholebushel of learning. 

You may throw in, too, as a friend, that, should he provoke me, it maynot be too late for me to marry. My old friend Wycherly did so, when hewas older than I am, on purpose to plague his nephew: and, in spite ofthis gout, I might have a child or two still. I have not been withoutsome thoughts that way, when he has angered me more than ordinary: butthese thoughts have gone off again hitherto, upon my considering, thatthe children of very young and very old men (though I am not so very oldneither) last not long; and that old men, when they marry young women, are said to make much of death: Yet who knows but that matrimony might begood against the gouty humours I am troubled with?

No man is every thing--you, Mr. Belford, are a learned man. I am a peer. And do you (as you best know how) inculcate upon him the force of thesewise sayings which follow, as well as those which went before; but yet soindiscreetly, as that he may not know that you borrow your darts from myquiver. These be they--Happy is the man who knows his follies in hisyouth. He that lives well, lives long. Again, He that lives ill oneyear, will sorrow for it seven. And again, as the Spaniards have it--Wholives well, sees afar off! Far off indeed; for he sees into eternity, asa man may say. Then that other fine saying, He who perishes in needlessdangers, is the Devil's martyr. Another proverb I picked up at Madrid, when I accompanied Lord Lexington in his embassy to Spain, which mightteach my nephew more mercy and compassion than is in his nature I doubtto shew; which is this, That he who pities another, remembers himself. And this that is going to follow, I am sure he has proved the truth of ahundred times, That he who does what he will seldom does what he ought. Nor is that unworthy of his notice, Young men's frolics old men feel. Mydevilish gout, God help me--but I will not say what I was going to say. 

I remember, that you yourself, complimenting me for my taste in pithy andwise sentences, said a thing that gave me a high opinion of you; and itwas this: 'Men of talents, ' said you, 'are sooner to be convinced byshort sentences than by long preachments, because the short sentencesdrive themselves into the heart and stay there, while long discourses, though ever so good, tire the attention; and one good thing drives outanother, and so on till all is forgotten. '

May your good counsel, Mr. Belford, founded upon these hints which I havegiven, pierce his heart, and incite him to do what will be so happy forhimself, and so necessary for the honour of that admirable lady whom Ilong to see his wife; and, if I may, I will not think of one for myself. 

Should he abuse the confidence she has placed in him, I myself shallpray, that vengeance may fall upon his head--Raro--I quite forget all myLatin; but I think it is, Raro antecedentem scelestum deseruit pede paeanclaudo: where vice goes before, vengeance (sooner or later) will follow. But why do I translate these things for you?

I shall make no apologies for this trouble. I know how well you love himand me; and there is nothing in which you could serve us both moreimportantly, than in forwarding this match to the utmost of your power. When it is done, how shall I rejoice to see you at M. Hall! Mean time, Ishall long to hear that you are likely to be successful with him; and am, Dear Sir, Your most faithful friend and servant, M. 

[Mr. Lovelace having not returned an answer to Mr. Belford's expostulary letter so soon as Mr. Belford expected, he wrote to him, expressing his apprehension that he had disobliged him by his honest freedom. Among other things, he says--]

I pass my time here at Watford, attending my dying uncle, very heavily. I cannot therefore, by any means, dispense with thy correspondence. Andwhy shouldst thou punish me, for having more conscience and more remorsethan thyself? Thou who never thoughtest either conscience or remorse anhonour to thee. And I have, besides, a melancholy story to tell thee, inrelation to Belton and his Thomasine; and which may afford a lesson toall the keeping-class. 

I have a letter from each of our three companions in the time. They haveall the wickedness that thou hast, but not the wit. Some new rogueriesdo two of them boast of, which, I think, if completed, deserve thegallows. 

I am far from hating intrigue upon principle. But to have awkwardfellows plot, and commit their plots to paper, destitute of theseasonings, of the acumen, which is thy talent, how extremely shockingmust their letters be!--But do thou, Lovelace, whether thou art, or artnot, determined upon thy measures with regard to the fine lady in thypower, enliven my heavy heart by thy communications; and thou wilt oblige

Thy melancholy friend, J. BELFORD. 

LETTER XXXVII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. FRIDAY NIGHT, MAY 19. 

When I have opened my view to thee so amply as I have done in my formerletters; and have told thee, that my principal design is but to bringvirtue to a trial, that, if virtue, it need not be afraid of; and thatthe reward of it will be marriage (that is to say, if, after I havecarried my point, I cannot prevail upon her to live with me the life ofhonour;* for that thou knowest is the wish of my heart); I am amazed atthe repetition of thy wambling nonsense. 

* See Vol. III. Letter XVIII. 

I am of opinion with thee, that some time hence, when I am grown wiser, Ishall conclude, that there is nothing but vanity, conceit, and nonsense, in my present wild schemes. But what is this saying, but that I mustbe first wiser?

I do not intend to let this matchless creature slide through my fingers. 

Art thou able to say half the things in her praise, that I have said, andam continually saying or writing?

Her gloomy father cursed the sweet creature, because she put it out ofhis wicked power to compel her to have the man she hated. Thou knowesthow little merit she has with me on this score. --And shall I not try thevirtue I intended, upon full proof, to reward, because her father is atyrant?--Why art thou thus eternally reflecting upon so excellent awoman, as if thou wert assured she would fail in the trial?--Nay, thoudeclarest, every time thou writest on the subject, that she will, thatshe must yield, entangled as she is: and yet makest her virtue thepretence of thy solicitude for her. 

An instrument of the vile James Harlowe, dost thou call me?--O Jack! howcould I curse thee!--I am instrument of that brother! of that sister!But mark the end--and thou shalt see what will become of that brother, and of that sister!

Play not against me my own acknowledged sensibilities, I desire thee. Sensibilities, which at the same time that they contradict thy charge ofan adamantine heart in thy friend, thou hadst known nothing of, had I notcommunicated them to thee. 

If I ruin such a virtue, sayest thou!--Eternal monotonist!--Again; themost immaculate virtue may be ruined by men who have no regard to theirhonour, and who make a jest of the most solemn oaths, &c. What must bethe virtue that will be ruined without oaths? Is not the world full ofthese deceptions? And are not lovers' oaths a jest of hundreds of years'standing? And are not cautions against the perfidy of our sex anecessary part of the female education?

I do intend to endeavour to overcome myself; but I must first try, if Icannot overcome this lady. Have I not said, that the honour of her sexis concerned that I should try?

Whenever thou meetest with a woman of but half her perfections, thou wiltmarry--Do, Jack. 

Can a girl be degraded by trials, who is not overcome?

I am glad that thou takest crime to thyself, for not endeavouring toconvert the poor wretches whom others have ruined. I will notrecriminate upon thee, Belford, as I might, when thou flatterest thyselfthat thou never ruinedst the morals of any young creature, who otherwisewould not have been corrupted--the palliating consolation of an Hottentotheart, determined rather to gluttonize on the garbage of other foulfeeders than to reform. --But tell me, Jack, wouldst thou have spared sucha girl as my Rosebud, had I not, by my example, engaged thy generosity?Nor was my Rosebud the only girl I spared:--When my power wasacknowledged, who more merciful than thy friend?

 It is resistance that inflames desire, Sharpens the darts of love, and blows its fire. Love is disarm'd that meets with too much ease; He languishes, and does not care to please. 

The women know this as well as the men. They love to be addressed withspirit:

 And therefore 'tis their golden fruit they guard With so much care, to make profession hard. 

Whence, for a by-reflection, the ardent, the complaisant gallant is sooften preferred to the cold, the unadoring husband. And yet the sex donot consider, that variety and novelty give the ardour and theobsequiousness; and that, were the rake as much used to them as thehusband is, he would be [and is to his own wife, if married] asindifferent to their favours, as their husbands are; and the husband, inhis turn, would, to another woman, be the rake. Let the women, upon thewhole, take this lesson from a Lovelace--'Always to endeavour to makethemselves as new to a husband, and to appear as elegant and as obligingto him, as they are desirous to appear to a lover, and actually were tohim as such; and then the rake, which all women love, will last longer inthe husband, than it generally does. '

But to return:--If I have not sufficiently cleared my conduct to thee inthe above; I refer thee once more to mine of the 13th of last month. *And pr'ythee, Jack, lay me not under a necessity to repeat the samethings so often. I hope thou readest what I write more than once. 

* See Vol. II. Letter XIV. 

I am not displeased that thou art so apprehensive of my resentment, thatI cannot miss a day without making thee uneasy. Thy conscience, 'tisplain, tells thee, that thou has deserved my displeasure: and if it hasconvinced thee of that, it will make thee afraid of repeating thy fault. See that this be the consequence. Else, now that thou hast told me how Ican punish thee, it is very likely that I do punish thee by my silence, although I have as much pleasure in writing on this charming subject, asthou canst have in reading what I write. 

When a boy, if a dog ran away from me through fear, I generally lookedabout for a stone, or a stick; and if neither offered to my hand, Iskinned my hat after him to make him afraid for something. Whatsignifies power, if we do not exert it?

Let my Lord know, that thou hast scribbled to me. But give him not thecontents of thy epistle. Though a parcel of crude stuff, he would thinkthere was something in it. Poor arguments will do, when brought infavour of what we like. But the stupid peer little thinks that this ladyis a rebel to Love. On the contrary, not only he, but all the worldbelieve her to be a volunteer in his service. --So I shall incur blame, and she will be pitied, if any thing happen amiss. 

Since my Lord's heart is set upon this match, I have written already tolet him know, 'That my unhappy character had given my beloved anungenerous diffidence of me. That she is so mother-sick and father-fond, that she had rather return to Harlowe-place than marry. That she is evenapprehensive that the step she has taken of going off with me will makethe ladies of a family of such rank and honour as ours think slightly ofher. That therefore I desire his Lordship (though this hint, I tell him, must be very delicately touched) to write me such a letter as I can shewher; (let him treat me in it ever so freely, I shall not take it amiss, Itell him, because I know his Lordship takes pleasure in writing to me ina corrective style). That he may make what offers he pleases on themarriage. That I desire his presence at the ceremony; that I may takefrom his hand the greatest blessing that mortal man can give me. '

I have not absolutely told the lady that I would write to his Lordship tothis effect; yet have given her reason to think I will. So that withoutthe last necessity I shall not produce the answer I expect from him: forI am very loth, I own, to make use of any of my family's names for thefurthering of my designs. And yet I must make all secure, before I pulloff the mask. Was not this my motive for bringing her hither?

Thus thou seest that the old peer's letter came very seasonably. I thankthee for that. But as to his sentences, they cannot possibly do me good. I was early suffocated with his wisdom of nations. When a boy, I neverasked anything of him, but out flew a proverb; and if the tendency ofthat was to deny me, I never could obtain the least favour. This gave meso great an aversion to the very word, that, when a child, I made it acondition with my tutor, who was an honest parson, that I would not readmy Bible at all, if he would not excuse me one of the wisest books in it:to which, however, I had no other objection, than that it was called TheProverbs. And as for Solomon, he was then a hated character with me, notbecause of his polygamy, but because I had conceived him to be suchanother musty old fellow as my uncle. 

Well, but let us leave old saws to old me. What signifies thy tediouswhining over thy departing relation? Is it not generally agreed that hecannot recover? Will it not be kind in thee to put him out of hismisery? I hear that he is pestered still with visits from doctors, andapothecaries, and surgeons; that they cannot cut so deep as themortification has gone; and that in every visit, in every scarification, inevitable death is pronounced upon him. Why then do they keeptormenting him? Is it not to take away more of his living fleece than ofhis dead flesh?--When a man is given over, the fee should surely berefused. Are they not now robbing his heirs?--What has thou to do, ifthe will be as thou'dst have it?--He sent for thee [did he not?] to closehis eyes. He is but an uncle, is he?

Let me see, if I mistake not, it is in the Bible, or some other goodbook: can it be in Herodotus?--O I believe it is in Josephus, a half-sacred, and half-profane author. He tells us of a king of Syria put outof his pain by his prime minister, or one who deserved to be so for hiscontrivance. The story says, if I am right, that he spread a wet clothover his face, which killing him, he reigned in his place. A notablefellow! Perhaps this wet cloth in the original, is what we now calllaudanum; a potion that overspreads the faculties, as the wet cloth didthe face of the royal patient; and the translator knew not how to renderit. 

But how like forlorn varlet thou subscribest, 'Thy melancholy friend, J. BELFORD!' Melancholy! For what? To stand by, and see fair play betweenan old man and death? I thought thou hadst been more of a man; that thouart not afraid of an acute death, a sword's point, to be so plaugilyhip'd at the consequences of a chronical one!--What though thescarificators work upon him day by day? It's only upon a caput mortuum:and pr'ythee go to, to use the stylum veterum, and learn of the royalbutchers; who, for sport, (an hundred times worse men than thy Lovelace, )widow ten thousand at a brush, and make twice as many fatherless--learnof them, I say, how to support a single death. 

But art thou sure, Jack, it is a mortification?--My uncle once gavepromises of such a root-and-branch distemper: but, alas! it turned to asmart gout-fit; and I had the mortification instead of him. --I have heardthat bark, in proper doses, will arrest a mortification in its progress, and at last cure it. Let thy uncle's surgeon know, that it is worth morethan his ears, if he prescribe one grain of the bark. 

I wish my uncle had given me the opportunity of setting thee a betterexample: thou shouldst have seen what a brave fellow I had been. And hadI had occasion to write, my conclusion would have been this: 'I hope theold Trojan's happy. In that hope, I am so; and

'Thy rejoicing friend, 'R. LOVELACE. '

Dwell not always, Jack, upon one subject. Let me have poor Belton's story. The sooner the better. If I can be of service to him, tell him he may command me either in purse or person. Yet the former with a freer will than the latter; for how can I leave my goddess? But I'll issue my commands to my other vassals to attend thy summons. 

If ye want head, let me know. If not, my quota, on this occasion, is money. 

LETTER XXXVIII

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. SATURDAY, MAY 20. 

Not one word will I reply to such an abandoned wretch, as thou hast shewnthyself to be in thine of last night. I will leave the lady to theprotection of that Power who only can work miracles; and to her ownmerits. Still I have hopes that these will save her. 

I will proceed, as thou desirest, to poor Belton's case; and the rather, as it has thrown me into such a train of thinking upon our past lives, our present courses, and our future views, as may be of service to usboth, if I can give due weight to the reflections that arise from it. 

The poor man made me a visit on Thursday, in this my melancholyattendance. He began with complaints of his ill health and spirits, hishectic cough, and his increased malady of spitting blood; and then led tohis story. 

A confounded one it is; and which highly aggravates his other maladies:for it has come out, that his Thomasine, (who, truly, would be newchristened, you know, that her name might be nearer in sound to thechristian name of the man whom she pretended to doat upon) has for manyyears carried on an intrigue with a fellow who had been hostler to herfather (an innkeeper at Darking); of whom, at the expense of poor Belton, she has made a gentleman; and managed it so, that having the art to makeherself his cashier, she has been unable to account for large sums, whichhe thought forthcoming at demand, and had trusted to her custody, inorder to pay off a mortgage upon his parental estate in Kent, which hisheart has run upon leaving clear, but which now cannot be done, and willsoon be foreclosed. And yet she has so long passed for his wife, that heknows not what to resolve upon about her; nor about the two boys he wasso fond of, supposing them to be his; whereas now he begins to doubt hisshare in them. 

So KEEPING don't do, Lovelace. 'Tis not the eligible wife. 'A man mustkeep a woman, said the poor fellow to me, but not his estate!--Twointerests!--Then, my tottering fabric!' pointing to his emaciatedcarcass. 

We do well to value ourselves upon our liberty, or to speak moreproperly, upon the liberties we take. We had need to run down matrimonyas we do, and to make that state the subject of our frothy jests; when wefrequently render ourselves (for this of Tom's is not a singular case)the dupes and tools of women who generally govern us (by arts our wiseheads penetrate not) more absolutely than a wife would attempt to do. 

Let us consider this point a little; and that upon our own principles, aslibertines, setting aside what is exacted from us by the laws of ourcountry, and its customs; which, nevertheless, we cannot get over, tillwe have got over almost all moral obligations, as members of society. 

In the first place, let us consider (we, who are in possession of estatesby legal descent) how we should have liked to have been such nakeddestitute varlets, as we must have been, had our fathers been as wise asourselves; and despised matrimony as we do--and then let us askourselves, If we ought not to have the same regard for our posterity, aswe are glad our fathers had for theirs?

But this, perhaps, is too moral a consideration. --To proceed therefore tothose considerations which will be more striking to us: How can wereasonably expect economy or frugality (or anything indeed but riot andwaste) from creatures who have an interest, and must therefore haveviews, different from our own?

They know the uncertain tenure (our fickle humours) by which they hold:And is it to be wondered at, supposing them to be provident harlots, thatthey should endeavour, if they have the power, to lay up against a rainyday? or, if they have not the power, that they should squander all theycan come at, when they are sure of nothing but the present hour; and whenthe life they live, and the sacrifices they have made, put conscience andhonour out of the question?

Whereas a wife, having the same family-interest with her husband, liesnot under either the same apprehensions or temptations; and has notbroken through (of necessity, at least, has not) those restraints whicheducation has fastened upon her: and if she makes a private purse, whichwe are told by anti-matrimonialists, all wives love to do, and haschildren, it goes all into the same family at the long-run. 

Then as to the great article of fidelity to your bed--Are not women offamily, who are well-educated, under greater restraints, than creatures, who, if they ever had reputation, sacrifice it to sordid interest, or tomore sordid appetite, the moment they give it up to you? Does not theexample you furnish, of having succeeded with her, give encouragementfor others to attempt her likewise? For with all her blandishments, canany man be so credulous, or so vain, as to believe, that the woman hecould persuade, another may not prevail upon?

Adultery is so capital a guilt, that even rakes and libertines, if notwholly abandoned, and as I may say, invited by a woman's levity, disavowand condemn it: but here, in a state of KEEPING, a woman is in no dangerof incurring (legally, at least) that guilt; and you yourself have brokenthrough and overthrown in her all the fences and boundaries of moralhonesty, and the modesty and reserves of her sex: And what tie shall holdher against inclination, or interest? And what shall deter an attempter?

While a husband has this security from legal sanctions, that if his wifebe detected in a criminal conversation with a man of fortune, (the mostlikely by bribes to seduce her, ) he may recover very great damages, andprocure a divorce besides: which, to say nothing of the ignominy, is aconsideration that must have some force upon both parties. And a wifemust be vicious indeed, and a reflection upon a man's own choice, who, for the sake of change, and where there are no qualities to seduce, noraffluence to corrupt, will run so many hazards to injure her husband inthe tenderest of all points. 

But there are difficulties in procuring a divorce--[and so there ought]--and none, says the rake, in parting with a mistress whenever you suspecther; or whenever you are weary of her, and have a mind to change her foranother. 

But must not the man be a brute indeed, who can cast off a woman whom hehas seduced, [if he take her from the town, that's another thing, ]without some flagrant reason; something that will better justify him tohimself, as well as to her, and to the world, than mere power andnovelty?

But I don't see, if we judge by fact, and by the practice of all we havebeen acquainted with of the keeping-class, that we know how to part withthem when we have them. 

That we know we can if we will, is all we have for it: and this leads usto bear many things from a mistress, which we would not from a wife. But, if we are good-natured and humane: if the woman has art: [and whatwoman wants it, who has fallen by art? and to whose precarious situationart is so necessary?] if you have given her the credit of being called byyour name: if you have a settled place of abode, and have received andpaid visits in her company, as your wife: if she has brought you children--you will allow that these are strong obligations upon you in theworld's eye, as well as to your own heart, against tearing yourself fromsuch close connections. She will stick to you as your skin: and it willbe next to flaying yourself to cast her off. 

Even if there be cause for it, by infidelity, she will have managed ill, if she have not her defenders. Nor did I ever know a cause or a personso bad, as to want advocates, either from ill-will to the one, or pity tothe other: and you will then be thought a hard-hearted miscreant: andeven were she to go off without credit to herself, she will leave you aslittle; especially with all those whose good opinion a man would wish tocultivate. 

Well, then, shall this poor privilege, that we may part with a woman ifwe will, be deemed a balance for the other inconveniencies? Shall it bethought by us, who are men of family and fortune, an equivalent forgiving up equality of degree; and taking for the partner of our bed, andvery probably more than the partner in our estates, (to the breach of allfamily-rule and order, ) a low-born, a low-educated creature, who has notbrought any thing into the common stock; and can possibly make no returnsfor the solid benefits she receives, but those libidinous ones, which aman cannot boast of, but to his disgrace, nor think of, but to the shameof both?

Moreover, as the man advances in years, the fury of his libertinism willgo off. He will have different aims and pursuits, which will diminishhis appetite to ranging, and make such a regular life as the matrimonialand family life, palatable to him, and every day more palatable. 

If he has children, and has reason to think them his, and if his lewdcourses have left him any estate, he will have cause to regret therestraint his boasted liberty has laid him under, and the valuableprivilege it has deprived him of; when he finds that it must descend tosome relation, for whom, whether near or distant, he cares not onefarthing; and who perhaps (if a man of virtue) has held him in theutmost contempt for his dissolute life. 

And were we to suppose his estate in his power to bequeath as he pleases;why should a man resolve, for the gratifying of his foolish humour only, to bastardize his race? Why should he wish to expose his children to thescorn and insults of the rest of the world? Why should he, whether theyare sons or daughters, lay them under the necessity of complying withproposals of marriage, either inferior as to fortune, or unequal as toage? Why should he deprive the children he loves, who themselves may beguilty of no fault, of the respect they would wish to have, and todeserve; and of the opportunity of associating themselves with proper, that is to say, with reputable company? and why should he make them thinkthemselves under obligation to every person of character, who willvouchsafe to visit them? What little reason, in a word, would suchchildren have to bless their father's obstinate defiance of the laws andcustoms of his country; and for giving them a mother, of whom they couldnot think with honour; to whose crime it was that they owed their verybeings, and whose example it was their duty to shun?

If the education and morals of these children are left to chance, as toogenerally they are, (for the man who has humanity and a feeling heart, and who is capable of fondness for his offspring, I take it for grantedwill marry, ) the case is still worse; his crime is perpetuated, as I maysay, by his children: and the sea, the army, perhaps the highway, for theboys; the common for the girls; too often point out the way to a worsecatastrophe. 

What therefore, upon the whole, do we get by treading in these crookedpaths, but danger, disgrace, and a too-late repentance?

And after all, do we not frequently become the cullies of our ownlibertinism; sliding into the very state with those half-worn-out doxies, which perhaps we might have entered into with their ladies; at least withtheir superiors both in degree and fortune? and all the time livedhandsomely like ourselves; not sneaking into holes and corners; and, whenwe crept abroad with our women, looking about us, and at ever one thatpassed us, as if we were confessedly accountable to the censures of allhonest people. 

My cousin Tony Jenyns, thou knewest. He had not the actively mischievousspirit, that thou, Belton, Mowbray, Tourville, and myself, have: but heimbibed the same notions we do, and carried them into practice. 

How did he prate against wedlock! how did he strut about as a wit and asmart! and what a wit and a smart did all the boys and girls of ourfamily (myself among the rest, then an urchin) think him, for the airs hegave himself?--Marry! No, not for the world; what man of sense wouldbear the insolences, the petulances, the expensiveness of a wife! Hecould not for the heart of him think it tolerable, that a woman of equalrank and fortune, and, as it might happen, superior talents to his own, should look upon herself to have a right to share the benefit of thatfortune which she brought him. 

So, after he had fluttered about the town for two or three years, in allwhich time he had a better opinion of himself than any body else had, what does he do, but enter upon an affair with his fencing-master'sdaughter?

He succeeds; takes private lodgings for her at Hackney; visits her bystealth; both of them tender of reputations that were extremely tender, but which neither had quite given up; for rakes of either sex are alwaysthe last to condemn or cry down themselves: visited by nobody, norvisiting: the life of a thief, or of a man bested by creditors, afraid tolook out of his own house, or to be seen abroad with her. And thus wenton for twelve years, and, though he had a good estate, hardly making bothends meet; for though no glare, there was no economy; and, beside, he hadever year a child, and very fond of his children was he. But none ofthem lived above three years. And being now, on the death of thedozenth, grown as dully sober, as if he had been a real husband, his goodMrs. Thomas (for he had not permitted her to take his own name) prevailedupon him to think the loss of their children a judgment upon the parentsfor their wicked way of life; [a time will come, Lovelace, if we live toadvanced years, in which reflection will take hold of the enfeebledmind;] and then it was not difficult for his woman to induce him, by wayof compounding with Heaven, to marry her. When this was done, he hadleisure to sit down, and contemplate; an to recollect the many offers ofpersons of family and fortune to which he had declined in the prime oflife: his expenses equal at least: his reputation not only less, butlost: his enjoyments stolen: his partnership unequal, and such as he hadalways been ashamed of. But the woman said, that after twelve orthirteen years' cohabitation, Tony did an honest thing by her. And thatwas all my poor cousin got by making his old mistress his new wife--not adrum, not a trumpet, not a fife, not a tabret, nor the expectation of anew joy, to animate him on!

What Belton will do with his Thomasine I know not! nor care I to advisehim: for I see the poor fellow does not like that any body should curseher but himself. This he does very heartily. And so low is he reduced, that he blubbers over the reflection upon his past fondness for her cubs, and upon his present doubts of their being his: 'What a damn'd thing isit, Belford, if Tom and Hal should be the hostler dog's puppies and notmine!'

Very true! and I think the strong health of the chubby-faced muscularwhelps confirms the too great probability. 

But I say not so to him. 

You, he says, are such a gay, lively mortal, that this sad tale wouldmake no impression upon you: especially now, that your whole heart isengaged as it is. Mowbray would be too violent upon it: he has not, hesays, a feeling heart. Tourville has no discretion: and, a pretty jest!although he and his Thomasine lived without reputation in the world, (people guessing that they were not married, notwithstanding she went byhis name, ) yet 'he would not too much discredit the cursed ingrateneither!'

Could a man act a weaker part, had he been really married; and were hesure he was going to separate from the mother of his own children?

I leave this as a lesson upon thy heart, without making any application:only with this remark, 'That after we libertines have indulged ourlicentious appetites, reflecting, (in the conceit of our vain hearts, )both with our lips and by our lives, upon our ancestors and the good oldways, we find out, when we come to years of discretion, if we live tillthen (what all who knew us found out before, that is to say, we foundout), our own despicable folly; that those good old ways would have beenbest for us, as well as for the rest of the world; and that in every stepwe have deviated from them we have only exposed our vanity and ourignorance at the same time. '

J. BELFORD. 

LETTER XXXIX

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SATURDAY, MAY 20. 

I am pleased with the sober reflection with which thou concludest thylast; and I thank thee for it. Poor Belton!--I did not think hisThomasine would have proved so very a devil. But this must everlastinglybe the risk of a keeper, who takes up with a low-bred girl. This I neverdid. Nor had I occasion to do it. Such a one as I, Jack, needed only, till now, to shake the stateliest tree, and the mellowed fruit dropt intomy mouth:--always of Montaigne's taste thou knowest:--thought it a gloryto subdue a girl of family. --More truly delightful to me the seduction-progress than the crowned act: for that's a vapour, a bubble! and mostcordially do I thank thee for thy indirect hint, that I am right in mypursuit. 

From such a woman as Miss Harlowe, a man is secured from all theinconveniencies thou expatiatest upon. 

Once more, therefore, do I thank thee, Belford, for thy approbation!--Aman need not, as thou sayest, sneak into holes and corners, and shun theday, in the company of such a woman as this. How friendly in thee, thusto abet the favourite purpose of my heart!--nor can it be a disgrace tome, to permit such a lady to be called by my name!--nor shall I be at allconcerned about the world's censure, if I live to the years ofdiscretion, which thou mentionest, should I be taken in, and prevailedupon to tread with her the good old path of my ancestors. 

A blessing on thy heart, thou honest fellow! I thought thou wert injest, and but acquitting thyself of an engagement to Lord M. When thouwert pleading for matrimony in behalf of this lady!--It could not beprinciple, I knew, in thee: it could not be compassion--a little envyindeed I suspected!--But now I see thee once more thyself: and once more, say I, a blessing on thy heart, thou true friend, and very honest fellow!

Now will I proceed with courage in all my schemes, and oblige thee withthe continued narrative of my progressions towards bringing them toeffect!--but I could not forbear to interrupt my story, to show mygratitude. 

LETTER XL

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. 

And now will I favour thee with a brief account of our present situation. 

From the highest to the lowest we are all extremely happy. --Dorcas standswell in her lady's graces. Polly has asked her advice in relation to acourtship-affair of her own. No oracle ever gave better. Sally has hada quarrel with her woollen-draper; and made my charmer lady-chancellor init. She blamed Sally for behaving tyrannically to a man who loves her. Dear creature! to stand against a glass, and to shut her eyes because shewill not see her face in it!--Mrs. Sinclair has paid her court to sounerring a judge, by requesting her advice with regard to both nieces. 

This the way we have been in for several days with the people below. Yetsola generally at her meals, and seldom at other times in their company. They now, used to her ways, [perseverance must conquer, ] never press her;so when they meet, all is civility on both sides. Even married people, Ibelieve, Jack, prevent abundance of quarrels, by seeing one another butseldom. 

But how stands it between thyself and the lady, methinks thou askest, since her abrupt departure from thee, and undutiful repulse of Wednesdaymorning?

Why, pretty well in the main. Nay, very well. For why? the dear saucy-face knows not how to help herself. Can fly to no other protection. Andhas, besides, overheard a conversation [who would have thought she hadbeen so near?] which passed between Mrs. Sinclair, Miss Martin, andmyself, that very Wednesday afternoon; which has set her heart at easewith respect to several doubtful points. 

Such as, particularly, 'Mrs. Fretchville's unhappy state of mind--mosthumanely pitied by Miss Martin, who knows her very well--the husband shehas lost, and herself, (as Sally says, ) lovers from their cradles. Pityfrom one begets pity from another, be the occasion for it either strongor weak; and so many circumstances were given to poor Mrs. Fretchville'sdistress, that it was impossible but my beloved must extremely pity herwhom the less tender-hearted Miss Martin greatly pitied. 

'My Lord M. 's gout his only hindrance from visiting my spouse. LadyBetty and Miss Montague soon expected in town. 

'My earnest desire signified to have my spouse receive those ladies inher own hose, if Mrs. Fretchville would but know her own mind; and Ipathetically lamented the delay occasioned by her not knowing it. 

'My intention to stay at Mrs. Sinclair's, as I said I had told thembefore, while my spouse resides in her own hose, (when Mrs. Fretchvillecould be brought to quit it, ) in order to gratify her utmost punctilio. 

'My passion for my beloved (which, as I told them in a high and ferventaccent, was the truest that man could have for woman) I boasted of. Itwas, in short, I said, of the true platonic kind; or I had no notion ofwhat platonic love was. '

So it is, Jack; and must end as platonic love generally does end. 

'Sally and Mrs. Sinclair next praised, but not grossly, my beloved. Sally particularly admired her purity; called it exemplary; yet (to avoidsuspicion) expressed her thoughts that she was rather over-nice, if shemight presume to say so before me. But nevertheless she applauded me forthe strict observation I made of my vow. 

'I more freely blamed her reserves to me; called her cruel; inveighedagainst her relations; doubted her love. Every favour I asked of herdenied me. Yet my behaviour to her as pure and delicate when alone, aswhen before them. Hinted at something that had passed between us thatvery day, that shewed her indifference to me in so strong a light, that Icould not bear it. But that I would ask her for her company to the playof Venice Preserved, given out for Sunday night as a benefit-play; theprime actors to be in it; and this, to see if I were to be denied everyfavour. --Yet, for my own part, I loved not tragedies; though she did, forthe sake of the instruction, the warning, and the example generally givenin them. 

'I had too much feeling, I said. There was enough in the world to makeour hearts sad, without carrying grief in our diversions, and making thedistresses of others our own. '

True enough, Belford; and I believe, generally speaking, that all the menof our cast are of my mind--They love not any tragedies but those inwhich they themselves act the parts of tyrants and executioners; and, afraid to trust themselves with serious and solemn reflections, run tocomedies, in order to laugh away compunction on the distresses they haveoccasioned, and to find examples of men as immoral as themselves. Forvery few of our comic performances, as thou knowest, give us good ones. --I answer, however, for myself--yet thou, I think, on recollection, lovestto deal in the lamentable. 

Sally answered for Polly, who was absent; Mrs. Sinclair for herself, andfor all her acquaintance, even for Miss Partington, in preferring thecomic to the tragic scenes. --And I believe they are right; for thedevil's in it, if a confided-in rake does not give a girl enough oftragedy in his comedy. 

'I asked Sally to oblige my fair-one with her company. She was engaged, [that was right, thou'lt suppose]. I asked Mrs. Sinclair's leave forPolly. To be sure, she answered, Polly would think it an honour toattend Mrs. Lovelace: but the poor thing was tender-hearted; and as thetragedy was deep, would weep herself blind. 

'Sally, meantime, objected Singleton, that I might answer the objection, and save my beloved the trouble of making it, or debating the point withme; and on this occasion I regretted that her brother's projects were notlaid aside; since, if they had been given up, I would have gone in personto bring up the ladies of my family to attend my spouse. 

'I then, from a letter just before received from one in her father'sfamily, warned them of a person who had undertaken to find us out, andwhom I thus in writing [having called for pen and ink] described, thatthey might arm all the family against him--"A sun-burnt, pock-frettensailor, ill-looking, big-boned; his stature about six foot; an heavy eye, an overhanging brow, a deck-treading stride in his walk; a couteaugenerally by his side; lips parched from his gums, as if by staring atthe sun in hot climates; a brown coat; a coloured handkerchief about hisneck; an oaken plant in his hand near as long as himself, andproportionately thick. "

'No questions asked by this fellow must be answered. They should call meto him. But not let my beloved know a tittle of this, so long as itcould be helped. And I added, that if her brother or Singleton came, andif they behaved civilly, I would, for her sake, be civil to them: and inthis case, she had nothing to do but to own her marriage, and there couldbe no pretence for violence on either side. But most fervently I swore, that if she was conveyed away, either by persuasion or force, I woulddirectly, on missing her but one day, go to demand her at Harlowe-place, whether she were there or not; and if I recovered not a sister, I wouldhave a brother; and should find out a captain of a ship as well as he. '

And now, Jack, dost thou think she'll attempt to get from me, do what Iwill?

'Mrs. Sinclair began to be afraid of mischief in her house--I wasapprehensive that she would over-do the matter, and be out of character. I therefore winked at her. She primed; nodded, to show she took me;twanged out a high-ho through her nose, lapped one horse-lip over theother, and was silent. '

Here's preparation, Belford!--Dost think I will throw it all away for anything thou canst say, or Lord M. Write?--No, indeed--as my charmer says, when she bridles. 

***

And what must necessarily be the consequence of all this with regard tomy beloved's behaviour to me? Canst thou doubt, that it was allcomplaisance next time she admitted me into her presence?

Thursday we were very happy. All the morning extremely happy. I kissedher charming hand. --I need not describe to thee her hand and arm. Whenthou sawest her, I took notice that thy eyes dwelt upon them wheneverthou couldst spare them from that beauty spot of wonders, her face--fiftytimes kissed her hand, I believe--once her cheek, intending her lip, butso rapturously, that she could not help seeming angry. 

Had she not thus kept me at arms-length; had she not denied me thoseinnocent liberties which our sex, from step to step, aspire to; could Ibut have gained access to her in her hours of heedlessness anddishabille, [for full dress creates dignity, augments consciousness, andcompels distance;] we had familiarized to each other long ago. But keepher up ever so late, meet her ever so early, by breakfast-time she isdressed for the day, and at her earliest hour, as nice as others dressed. All her forms thus kept up, wonder not that I have made so littleprogress in the proposed trial. --But how must all this distancestimulate!

Thursday morning, as I said, we were extremely happy--about noon, shenumbered the hours she had been with me; all of them to be but as oneminute; and desired to be left to herself. I was loth to comply: butobserving the sun-shine began to shut in, I yielded. 

I dined out. Returning, I talked of the house, and of Mrs. Fretchville--had seen Mennell--had pressed him to get the widow to quit: she pitiedMrs. Fretchville [another good effect of the overheard conversation]--hadwritten to Lord M. , expected an answer soon from him. I was admitted tosup with her. I urged for her approbation or correction of my writtenterms. She again promised an answer as soon as she had heard from MissHowe. 

Then I pressed for her company to the play on Saturday night. She madeobjections, as I had foreseen: her brother's projects, warmth of theweather, &c. But in such a manner, as if half afraid to disoblige me[another happy effect of the overheard conversation]. I soon got overthese, therefore; and she consented to favour me. 

Friday passed as the day before. 

Here were two happy days to both. Why cannot I make every day equallyhappy? It looks as if it were in my power to do so. Strange, I shouldthus delight in teasing a woman I so dearly love! I must, I doubt, havesomething in my temper like Miss Howe, who loves to plague the man whoputs himself in her power. --But I could not do thus by such an angel asthis, did I not believe that, after her probation time shall be expired, and if she be not to be brought to cohabitation, (my darling view, ) Ishall reward her as she wishes. 

Saturday is half over. We are equally happy--preparing for the play. Polly has offered her company, and is accepted. I have directed herwhere to weep: and this not only to show her humanity, [a weeping eyeindicates a gentle heart, ] but to have a pretence to hide her face with afan or handkerchief. --Yet Polly is far from being every man's girl; andwe shall sit in the gallery green-box. 

The woes of others, so well represented as those of Belvideraparticularly will be, must, I hope, unlock and open my charmer's heart. Whenever I have been able to prevail upon a girl to permit me to attendher to a play, I have thought myself sure of her. The female heart (allgentleness and harmony by nature) expands, and forgets its forms, whenits attention is carried out of itself at an agreeable or affectingentertainment--music, and perhaps a collation afterwards, co-operating. 

Indeed, I have no hope of such an effect here; but I have more than oneend to answer by getting her to a play. To name but one. --Dorcas has amaster-key, as I have told thee. --But it were worth while to carry her tothe play of Venice Preserved, were it but to show her, that there havebeen, and may be, much deeper distresses than she can possibly know. 

Thus exceedingly happy are we at present. I hope we shall not find anyof Nat. Lee's left-handed gods at work, to dash our bowl of joy withwormwood. 

R. LOVELACE. 

LETTER XLI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWEFRIDAY, MAY 19. 

I would not, if I could help it, be so continually brooding over the darkand gloomy face of my condition [all nature, you know, my dear, and everything in it, has a bright and a gloomy side] as to be thought unable toenjoy a more hopeful prospect. And this, not only for my own sake, butfor yours, who take such generous concern in all that befalls me. 

Let me tell you then, my dear, that I have known four-and-twenty hourstogether not unhappy ones, my situation considered. 

[She then gives the particulars of the conversation which she had overheard between Mr. Lovelace, Mrs. Sinclair, and Miss Martin; but accounts more minutely than he had done for the opportunity she had of overhearing it, unknown to them. 

She gives the reasons she has to be pleased with what she heard from each: but is shocked at the measure he is resolved to take, if he misses her but for one day. Yet is pleased that he proposes to avoid aggressive violence, if her brother and he meet in town. ]

Even Dorcas, says she, appears less exceptionable to me than before; andI cannot but pity her for her neglected education, as it is matter of somuch regret to herself: else, there would not be much in it; as the lowand illiterate are the most useful people in the common-wealth (sincesuch constitute the labouring part of the public); and as a letterededucation but too generally sets people above those servile offices bywhich the businesses of the world is carried on. Nor have I any doubtbut there are, take the world through, twenty happy people among theunlettered, to one among those who have had a school-education. 

This, however, concludes not against learning or letters; since one wouldwish to lift to some little distinction, and more genteel usefulness, those who have capacity, and whose parentage one respects, or whoseservices one would wish to reward. 

Were my mind quite at ease, I could enlarge, perhaps not unusefully, uponthis subject; for I have considered it with as much attention as myyears, and little experience and observation, will permit. 

But the extreme illiterateness and indocility of this maid aresurprising, considering that she wants not inquisitiveness, appearswilling to learn, and, in other respects, has quick parts. This confirmsto me what I have heard remarked, That there is a docible season, alearning-time, as I may say, for every person, in which the mind may beled, step by step, from the lower to the higher, (year by year, ) toimprovement. How industriously ought these seasons, as they offer, to betaken hold of by tutors, parents, and other friends, to whom thecultivation of the genius of children and youth is committed; since, oneelapsed, and no foundation laid, they hardly ever return!--And yet itmust be confessed, that there are some geniuses, which, like some fruits, ripen not till late. And industry and perseverance will do prodigiousthings--but for a learner to have those first rudiments to master attwenty years of age, suppose, which others are taught, and theythemselves might have attained, at ten, what an uphill labour!

These kind of observations you have always wished me to intersperse, asthey arise to my thoughts. But it is a sign that my prospects are alittle mended, or I should not, among so many more interesting ones thatmy mind has been of late filled with, have had heart's ease enough tomake them. 

Let me give you my reflections on my more hopeful prospects. 

I am now, in the first place, better able to account for the delays aboutthe house than I was before--Poor Mrs. Fretchville!--Though I know hernot, I pity her!--Next, it looks well, that he had apprized the women(before this conversation with them, of his intention to stay in thishouse, after I was removed to the other. By the tone of his voice heseemed concerned for the appearance of this new delay would have with me. 

So handsomely did Miss Martin express herself of me, that I am sorry, methinks, that I judged so hardly of her, when I first came hither--freepeople may go a great way, but not all the way: and as such are generallyunguarded, precipitate, and thoughtless, the same quickness, changeableness, and suddenness of spirit, as I may call it, may intervene(if the heart be not corrupted) to recover them to thought and duty. 

His reason for declining to go in person to bring up the ladies of hisfamily, while my brother and Singleton continue their machinations, carries no bad face with it; and one may the rather allow for theirexpectations, that so proud a spirit as his should attend them for thispurpose, as he speaks of them sometimes as persons of punctilio. 

Other reasons I will mention for my being easier in my mind than I wasbefore I overheard this conversation. 

Such as, the advice he had received in relation to Singleton's mate;which agrees but too well with what you, my dear, wrote to me in your'sof May the 10th. *

* See Letter XXIII. Of this volume. 

His not intending to acquaint me with it. 

His cautions to the servants about the sailor, if he should come and makeinquiries about us. 

His resolution to avoid violence, were he to fall in either with mybrother, or this Singleton; and the easy method he has chalked out, inthis case, to prevent mischief; since I need only not to deny my beinghis. But yet I should be driven into such a tacit acknowledgement to anynew persons, till I am so, although I have been led (so much against myliking) to give countenance to the belief of the persons below that weare married. 

I think myself obliged, from what passed between Mr. Lovelace and me onWednesday, and from what I overheard him say, to consent to go with himto the play; and the rather, as he had the discretion to propose one ofthe nieces to accompany me. 

I cannot but acknowledge that I am pleased to find that he has actuallywritten to Lord M. 

I have promised to give Mr. Lovelace an answer to his proposals as soonas I have heard from you, my dear, on the subject. 

I hope that in my next letter I shall have reason to confirm thesefavourable appearances. Favourable I must think them in the wreck I havesuffered. 

I hope, that in the trial which you hint may happen between me andmyself, (as you* express it, ) if he should so behave as to oblige me toleave him, I shall be able to act in such a manner as to bring nodiscredit upon myself in your eye; and that is all now that I have towish for. But, if I value him so much as you are pleased to suppose Ido, the trial, which you imagine will be so difficult to me, will not, Iconceive, be upon getting from him, when the means to affect my escapeare lent me; but how I shall behave when got from him; and if, like theIsraelites of old, I shall be so weak as to wish to return to my Egyptianbondage. 

* See Letter XXXIV. Of this volume. 

I think it will not be amiss, notwithstanding the present favourableappearances, that you should perfect the scheme (whatever it be) whichyou tell me* you have thought of, in order to procure for me an asylum, in case of necessity. Mr. Lovelace is certainly a deep and dangerousman; and it is therefore but prudence to be watchful, and to be providedagainst the worst. Lord bless me, my dear, how I am reduced!--Could Iever have thought to be in such a situation, as to be obliged to staywith a man, of whose honour by me I could have but the shadow of a doubt!--But I will look forward, and hope the best. 

* Ibid. 

I am certain that your letters are safe. Be perfectly easy, therefore, on that head. 

Mr. Lovelace will never be out of my company by his good will, otherwiseI have no doubt that I am mistress of my goings-out and comings-in; anddid I think it needful, and were I not afraid of my brother and CaptainSingleton, I would oftener put it to trial. 

LETTER XLII

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWESATURDAY, MAY 20. 

I did not know, my dear, that you deferred giving an answer to Mr. Lovelace's proposals till you had my opinion of them. A particular hand, occasionally going to town, will leave this at Wilson's, that no delaymay be made on that account. 

I never had any doubt of the man's justice and generosity in matters ofsettlement; and all his relations are as noble in their spirits as intheir descent; but now, it may not be amiss for you to wait, to see whatreturns my Lord makes to his letter of invitation. 

The scheme I think of is this:

There is a person, whom I believe you have seen with me, her nameTownsend, who is a great dealer in Indian silks, Brussels and Frenchlaces, cambricks, linen, and other valuable goods; which she has a wayof coming at duty-free; and has a great vend for them (and for othercuriosities which she imports) in the private families of the gentryround us. 

She has her days of being in town, and then is at a chamber she rents atan inn in Southwark, where she keeps patters of all her silks, and muchof her portable goods, for the conveniency of her London customers. Buther place of residence, and where she has her principal warehouse, is atDepford, for the opportunity of getting her goods on shore. 

She was first brought to me by my mother, to whom she was recommended onthe supposal of my speedy marriage, 'that I might have an opportunity tobe as fine as a princess, ' was my mother's expression, 'at a moderateexpense. '

Now, my dear, I must own, that I do not love to encourage thesecontraband traders. What is it, but bidding defiance to the laws of ourcountry, when we do, and hurting fair traders; and at the same timerobbing our prince of his legal due, to the diminution of those dutieswhich possibly must be made good by new levities upon the public?

But, however, Mrs. Townsend and I, though I have not yet had dealingswith her, are upon a very good foot of understanding. She is a sensiblewoman; she has been abroad, and often goes abroad in the way of herbusiness, and gives very entertaining accounts of all she has seen. 

And having applied to me to recommend her to you, (as it is her view tobe known to young ladies who are likely to change their condition, ) I amsure I can engage her to give you protection at her house at Deptford;which she says is a populous village, and one of the last, I shouldthink, in which you would be sought for. She is not much there, you willbelieve, by the course of her dealings, but, no doubt, must have somebodyon the spot, in whom she can confide: and there, perhaps, you might besafe till your cousin comes. And I should not think it amiss that youwrite to him out of hand. I cannot suggest to you what you should write. That must be left to your own discretion. For you will be afraid, nodoubt, of the consequence of a variance between the two men. 

But, notwithstanding all this, and were I sure of getting you safely outof his hands, I will nevertheless forgive you, were you to make all upwith him, and marry to-morrow. Yet I will proceed with my projectedscheme in relation to Mrs. Townsend; though I hope there will be nooccasion to prosecute it, since your prospects seem to be changed, andsince you have had twenty-four not unhappy hours together. How myindignation rises for this poor consolation in the courtship [courtshipmust I call it?] of such a woman! let me tell you, my dear, that were youonce your own absolute and independent mistress, I should be tempted, notwithstanding all I have written, to wish you to be the wife of any manin the world, rather than the wife either of Lovelace or of Solmes. 

Mrs. Townsend, as I have recollected, has two brothers, each a master ofa vessel; and who knows, as she and they have concerns together, butthat, in case of need, you may have a whole ship's crew at your devotion?If Lovelace give you cause to leave him, take no thought for the peopleat Harlowe-place. Let them take care of one another. It is a care theyare used to. The law will help to secure them. The wretch is noassassin, no night-murderer. He is an open, because a fearless enemy;and should he attempt any thing that would make him obnoxious to the lawsof society, you might have a fair riddance of him, either by flight orthe gallows; no matter which. 

Had you not been so minute in your account of the circumstances thatattended the opportunity you had of overhearing the dialogue between Mr. Lovelace and two of the women, I should have thought the conferencecontrived on purpose for your ear. 

I showed Mr. Lovelace's proposals to Mr. Hickman, who had chambers oncein Lincoln's-inn, being designed for the law, had his elder brotherlived. He looked so wise, so proud, and so important, upon the occasion;and wanted to take so much consideration about them--Would take them homeif I pleased--and weigh them well--and so forth--and the like--and allthat--that I had no patience with him, and snatched them back with anger. 

O dear!--to be so angry, an't please me, for his zeal!--

Yes, zeal without knowledge, I said--like most other zeals--if there wereno objections that struck him at once, there were none. 

So hasty, dearest Madam--

And so slow, un-dearest Sir, I could have said--But SURELY, said I, witha look that implied, Would you rebel, Sir!

He begged my pardon--Saw no objection, indeed!--But might he be allowedonce more--

No matter--no matter--I would have shown them to my mother, I said, who, though of no inn of court, knew more of these things than half thelounging lubbers of them; and that at first sight--only that she wouldhave been angry at the confession of our continued correspondence. 

But, my dear, let the articles be drawn up, and engrossed; and solemnizeupon them; and there's no more to be said. 

Let me add, that the sailor-fellow has been tampering with my Kitty, andoffered a bribe, to find where to direct to you. Next time he comes, Iwill have him laid hold of; and if I can get nothing out of him, willhave him drawn through one of our deepest fishponds. His attempt tocorrupt a servant of mine will justify my orders. 

I send this letter away directly. But will follow it by another; whichshall have for its subject only my mother, myself, and your uncle Antony. And as your prospects are more promising than they have been, I willendeavour to make you smile upon the occasion. For you will be pleasedto know, that my mother has had a formal tender from that grey goose, which may make her skill in settlements useful to herself, were she toencourage it. 

May your prospects be still more and more happy, prays

Your own, ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER XLIII

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWESAT. SUNDAY, MAY 20, 21. 

Now, my dear, for the promised subject. You must not ask me how I cameby the originals [such they really are] that I am going to present youwith: for my mother would not read to me those parts of your uncle'sletter which bore hard upon myself, and which leave him without any titleto mercy from me: nor would she let me hear but what she pleased of her'sin answer; for she has condescended to answer him--with a denial, however; but such a denial as no one but an old bachelor would take froma widow. 

Any body, except myself, who could have been acquainted with such afal-lal courtship as this must have been had it proceeded, would havebeen glad it had gone on: and I dare say, but for the saucy daughter, ithad. My good mamma, in that case, would have been ten years the youngerfor it, perhaps: and, could I but have approved of it, I should have beenconsidered by her as if ten years older than I am: since, very likely, itwould have been: 'We widows, my dear, know not how to keep men at adistance--so as to give them pain, in order to try their love. --You mustadvise me, child: you must teach me to be cruel--yet not too cruelneither--so as to make a man heartless, who has no time, God wot, tothrow away. '--Then would my behaviour to Mr. Hickman have been betterliked; and my mother would have bridled like her daughter. 

O my dear, how might we have been diverted by the practisings for therecovery of the long forgottens! could I have been sure that it wouldhave been in my power to have put them asunder, in the Irish style, before they had come together. But there's no trusting to the widowwhose goods and chattels are in her own hands, addressed by an oldbachelor who has fine things, and offers to leave her ten thousand poundsbetter than he found her, and sole mistress, besides, of all hernotables! for these, as you will see by-and-by, are his proposals. 

The old Triton's address carries the writer's marks upon the verysubscription--To the equally amiable and worthy admired [there's foryou!] Mrs. ANABELLA HOWE, widow, the last word added, I suppose asEsquire to a man, as a word of honour; or for fear the bella to Anna, should not enough distinguish the person meant from the spinster: [vainhussy you'll call me, I know:] And then follows;--These humbly present. --Put down as a memorandum, I presume, to make a leg, and behavehandsomely at presenting it, he intending, very probably, to deliver ithimself. 

And now stand by--to see

ENTER OLD NEPTUNE. 

His head adorned with sea-weed, and a crown of cockle-shells; as we see him decked out in Mrs. Robinson's grotto. 

MONDAY, MAY 15. 

MADAM, I did make a sort of resolution ten years ago never to marry. I saw inother families, where they lived best, you will be pleased to mark that, queernesses I could not away with. Then liked well enough to live singlefor the sake of my brother's family; and for one child in it more thanthe rest. But that girl has turned us all off the hinges: and why shouldI deny myself any comforts for them, as will not thank me for so doing, Idon't know. 

So much for my motives as from self and family: but the dear Mrs. Howemakes me go farther. 

I have a very great fortune, I bless God for it, all of my own getting, or most of it; you will be pleased to mark that; for I was the youngestbrother of three. You have also, God be thanked, a great estate, whichyou have improved by your own frugality and wise management. Frugality, let me stop to say, is one of the greatest virtues in this mortal life, because it enables us to do justice to all, and puts it in our power tobenefit some by it, as we see they deserve. 

You have but one child; and I am a bachelor, and have never a one--allbachelors cannot say so: wherefore your daughter may be the better forme, if she will keep up with my humour; which was never thought bad:especially to my equals. Servants, indeed, I don't matter being angrywith, when I please; they are paid for bearing it, and too-too oftendeserve it; as we have frequently taken notice of to one another. And, moreover, if we keep not servants at distance, they will be familiar. I always made it a rule to find fault, whether reasonable or not, that soI might have no reason to find fault. Young women and servants ingeneral (as worthy Mr. Solmes observes) are better governed by fear thanlove. But this my humour as to servants will not effect either you orMiss, you know. 

I will make very advantageous settlements; such as any common friendshall judge to be so. But must have all in my own power, while I live:because, you know, Madam, it is as creditable to the wife, as to thehusband, that it should be so. 

I am not at fine words. We are not children; though it is hoped we mayhave some; for I am a very healthy sound man. I bless God for it: andnever brought home from my voyages and travels a worser constitution thanI took out with me. I was none of those, I will assure you. But this Iwill undertake, that, if you are the survivor, you shall be at the leastten thousand pounds the better for me. What, in the contrary case, Ishall be the better for you, I leave to you, as you shall think mykindness to you shall deserve. 

But one thing, Madam, I shall be glad of, that Miss Howe might not livewith us then--[she need not know I write thus]--but go home to Mr. Hickman, as she is upon the point of marriage, I hear: and if she behavesdutifully, as she should do, to us both, she shall be the better; for Isaid so before. 

You shall manage all things, both mine and your own; for I know butlittle of land-matters. All my opposition to you shall be out of love, when I think you take too much upon you for your health. 

It will be very pretty for you, I should think, to have a man ofexperience, in a long winter's evening, to sit down by you, and tell youstories of foreign parts, and the customs of the nations he has consortedwith. And I have fine curiosities of the Indian growth, such as ladieslove, and some that even my niece Clary, when she was good, never saw. These, one by one, as you are kind to me, (which I make no question of, because I shall be kind to you, ) shall be all yours. Prettierentertainment by much, than sitting with a too smartish daughter, sometimes out of humour; and thwarting, and vexing, as daughters will, (when women-grown especially, as I have heard you often observe;) andthinking their parents old, without paying them the reverence due toyears; when, as in your case, I make no sort of doubt, they are youngenough to wipe their noses. You understand me, Madam. 

As for me myself, it will be very happy, and I am delighted with thethinking of it, to have, after a pleasant ride, or so, a lady of likeexperience with myself to come home to, and but one interest betwixt us:to reckon up our comings-in together; and what this day and this week hasproduced--O how this will increase love!--most mightily will it increaseit!--and I believe I shall never love you enough, or be able to show youall my love. 

I hope, Madam, there need not be such maiden niceties and hangings-off, as I may call them, between us, (for hanging-off sake, ) as that you willdeny me a line or two to this proposal, written down, although you wouldnot answer me so readily when I spoke to you; your daughter being, Isuppose, hard by; for you looked round you, as if not willing to beoverheard. So I resolved to write: that my writing may stand as uponrecord for my upright meaning; being none of your Lovelaces; you willmark that, Madam; but a downright, true, honest, faithful Englishman. Sohope you will not disdain to write a line or two to this my proposal: andI shall look upon it as a great honour, I will assure you, and be proudthereof. What can I say more?--for you are your own mistress, as I am myown master: and you shall always be your own mistress, be pleased to markthat; for so a lady of your prudence and experience ought to be. 

This is a long letter. But the subject requires it; because I would notwrite twice where once would do. So would explain my sense and meaningat one time. 

I have had writing in my head two whole months very near; but hardly knewhow (being unpracticed in these matters) to begin to write. And now, good lady, be favourable to

Your most humble lover, and obedient servant, ANT. HARLOWE. 

***

Here's a letter of courtship, my dear!--and let me subjoin to it, that ifnow, or hereafter, I should treat this hideous lover, who is so free withme to my mother, with asperity, and you should be disgusted at it, Ishall think you don't give me that preference in your love which you havein mine. 

And now, which shall I first give you; the answer of my good mamma; orthe dialogue that passed between the widow mother, and the pert daughter, upon her letting the latter know that she had a love-letter?

I think you shall have the dialogue. But let me promise one thing; thatif you think me too free, you must not let it run in your head that I amwriting of your uncle, or of my mother; but of a couple of old lovers, nomatter whom. Reverence is too apt to be forgotten by children, where thereverends forget first what belongs to their own characters. A graveremark, and therefore at your service, my dear. 

Well then, suppose my mamma, (after twice coming into my closet to me, and as often going out, with very meaning features, and lips ready toburst open, but still closed, as if by compulsion, a speech going off ina slight cough, that never went near the lungs, ) grown more resolute thethird time of entrance, and sitting down by me, thus begin:

Mother. I have a very serious matter to talk with you upon, Nancy, whenyou are disposed to attend to matters within ourselves, and not letmatters without ourselves wholly engross you. 

A good selve-ish speech!--But I thought that friendship, gratitude, andhumanity, were matters that ought to be deemed of the most intimateconcern to us. But not to dwell upon words. 

Daughter. I am now disposed to attend to ever thing my manna isdisposed to say to me. 

M. Why then, child--why then, my dear--[and the good lady's face lookedso plump, so smooth, and so shining!]--I see you are all attention, Nancy!--But don't be surprised!--don't be uneasy!--But I have--I have--Where is it?--[and yet it lay next her heart, never another near it--sono difficulty to have found it]--I have a letter, my dear!--[And out fromher bosom it came: but she still held it in her hand]--I have a letter, child. --It is--it is--it is from--from a gentleman, I assure you!--[lifting up her head, and smiling. ]

There is no delight to a daughter, thought I, in such surprises as seemto be collecting. I will deprive my mother of the satisfaction of makinga gradual discovery. 

D. From Mr. Antony Harlowe, I suppose, Madam?

M. [Lips drawn closer: eye raised] Why, my dear!--I cannot but own--But how, I wonder, could you think of Mr. Anthony Harlowe?

D. How, Madam, could I think of any body else?

M. How could you think of any body else?--[angry, and drawing back herface]. But do you know the subject, Nancy?

D. You have told it, Madam, by your manner of breaking it to me. But, indeed, I question not that he had two motives in his visits--bothequally agreeable to me; for all that family love me dearly. 

M. No love lost, if so, between you and them. But this [rising] iswhat I get--so like your papa!--I never could open my heart to him!

D. Dear Madam, excuse me. Be so good as to open your heart to me. --I don't love the Harlowes--but pray excuse me. 

M. You have put me quite out with your forward temper! [angrily sittingdown again. ]

D. I will be all patience and attention. May I be allowed to read hisletter?

M. I wanted to advise with you upon it. --But you are such a strangecreature!--you are always for answering one before one speaks!

D. You'll be so good as to forgive me, Madam. --But I thought every body(he among the rest) knew that you had always declared against a secondmarriage. 

M. And so I have. But then it was in the mind I was in. Things mayoffer----

I stared. 

M. Nay, don't be surprised!--I don't intend--I don't intend--

D. Not, perhaps, in the mind you are in, Madam. 

M. Pert creature! [rising again]----We shall quarrel, I see!--There'sno----

D. Once more, dear Madam, I beg your excuse. I will attend in silence. --Pray, Madam, sit down again--pray do [she sat down. ]--May I see theletter?

No; there are some things in it you won't like. --Your temper is known, Ifind, to be unhappy. But nothing bad against you; intimations, on thecontrary, that you shall be the better for him, if you oblige him. 

Not a living soul but the Harlowes, I said, thought me ill-tempered: andI was contented that they should, who could do as they had done by themost universally acknowledged sweetness in the world. 

Here we broke out a little; but at last she read me some of the passagesin the letter. But not the most mightily ridiculous: yet I could hardlykeep my countenance neither, especially when she came to that passagewhich mentions his sound health; and at which she stopped; she best knewwhy--But soon resuming:

M. Well now, Nancy, tell me what you think of it. 

D. Nay, pray, Madam, tell me what you think of it. 

M. I expect to be answered by an answer; not by a question! You don'tuse to be so shy to speak your mind. 

D. Not when my mamma commands me to do so. 

M. Then speak it now. 

D. Without hearing the whole of the letter?

M. Speak to what you have heard. 

D. Why then, Madam----you won't be my mamma HOWE, if you give way toit. 

M. I am surprised at your assurance, Nancy!

D. I mean, Madam, you will then be my mamma Harlowe. 

M. O dear heart!--But I am not a fool. 

And her colour went and came. 

D. Dear Madam, [but, indeed, I don't love a Harlowe--that's what Imean, ] I am your child, and must be your child, do what you will. 

M. A very pert one, I am sure, as ever mother bore! And you must bemy child, do what I will!--as much as to say, you would not, if you couldhelp it, if I--

D. How could I have such a thought!--It would be forward, indeed, if Ihad--when I don't know what your mind is as to the proposal:--when theproposal is so very advantageous a one too. 

M. [Looking a little less discomposed] why, indeed, ten thousandpounds----

D. And to be sure of outliving him, Madam!

M. Sure!--nobody can be sure--but it is very likely that----

D. Not at all, Madam. You was going to read something (but stopped)about his constitution: his sobriety is well known--Why, Madam, thesegentlemen who have used the sea, and been in different climates, and comehome to relax from cares in a temperate one, and are sober--are thelikeliest to live long of any men in the world. Don't you see that hisvery skin is a fortification of buff?

M. Strange creature!

D. God forbid, that any body I love and honour should marry a man inhopes to bury him--but suppose, Madam, at your time of life----

M. My time of life?--Dear heart!--What is my time of life, pray?

D. Not old, Madam; and that you are not, may be your danger!

As I hope to live (my dear) my mother smiled, and looked not displeasedwith me. 

M. Why, indeed, child--why, indeed, I must needs say--and then I shouldchoose to do nothing (forward as you are sometimes) to hurt you. 

D. Why, as to that, Madam, I can't expect that you should depriveyourself of any satisfaction--

M. Satisfaction, my dear!--I don't say it would be a satisfaction--butcould I do any thing that would benefit you, it would perhaps be aninducement to hold one conference upon the subject. 

D. My fortune already will be more considerable than my match, if I amto have Mr. Hickman. 

M. Why so?--Mr. Hickman has fortune enough to entitle him to your's. 

D. If you think so, that's enough. 

M. Not but I should thin the worse of myself, if I desired any body'sdeath; but I think, as you say, Mr. Antony Harlowe is a healthy man, andbids fair for a long life. 

Bless me, thought I, how shall I do to know whether this be an objectionor a recommendation!

D. Will you forgive me, Madam?

M. What would the girl say? [looking as if she was half afraid to hearwhat. ]

D. Only, that if you marry a man of his time of life, you stand twochances instead of one, to be a nurse at your time of life. 

M. Saucebox!

D. Dear Madam!--What I mean is only that these healthy old mensometimes fall into lingering disorders all at once. And I humblyconceive, that the infirmities of age are uneasily borne with, where theremembrance of the pleasanter season comes not in to relieve thehealthier of the two. 

M. A strange girl!--Yet his healthy constitution an objection just now!---But I have always told you, that you know either too much to be arguedwith, or too little for me to have patience with you. 

D. I can't but say, I should be glad of your commands, Madam, how tobehave myself to Mr. Antony Harlowe next time he comes. 

M. How to behave yourself!--Why, if you retire with contempt of him, when he comes next, it will be but as you have been used to do of late. 

D. Then he is to come again, Madam?

M. And suppose he be?

D. I can't help it, if it be your pleasure, Madam. He desires a linein answer to his fine letter. If he come, it will be in pursuance ofthat line, I presume?

M. None of your arch and pert leers, girl!--You know I won't bear them. I had a mind to hear what you would say to this matter. I have notwritten; but I shall presently. 

D. It is mighty good of you, Madam, (I hope the man will think so, ) toanswer his first application by letter. --Pity he should write twice, ifonce will do. 

M. That fetch won't let you into my intention as to what I shall write. It is too saucily put. 

D. Perhaps I can guess at your intention, Madam, were it to become meso to do. 

M. Perhaps I would not make Mr. Hickman of any man; using him the worsefor respecting me. 

D. Nor, perhaps, would I, Madam, if I liked his respects. 

M. I understand you. But, perhaps, it is in your power to make mehearken, or not, to Mr. Harlowe. 

D. Young men, who have probably a good deal of time before them neednot be in haste for a wife. Mr. Hickman, poor man! must stay his time, or take his remedy. 

M. He bears more from you than a man ought. 

D. Then, I doubt, he gives a reason for the treatment he meets with. 

M. Provoking creature!

D. I have but one request to make to you, Madam. 

M. A dutiful one, I suppose. What is it, pray?

D. That if you marry, I may be permitted to live single. 

M. Perverse creature, I'm sure!

D. How can I expect, Madam, that you should refuse such terms? Tenthousand pounds!--At the least ten thousand pounds!--A very handsomeproposal!--So many fine things too, to give you one by one!--DearestMadam, forgive me!--I hope it is not yet so far gone, that rallying thisman will be thought want of duty to you. 

M. Your rallying of him, and your reverence to me, it is plain, haveone source. 

D. I hope not, Madam. But ten thousand pounds----

M. Is no unhandsome proposal. 

D. Indeed I think so. I hope, Madam, you will not be behind-hand withhim in generosity. 

M. He won't be ten thousand pounds the better for me, if he survive me. 

D. No, Madam; he can't expect that, as you have a daughter, and as heis a bachelor, and has not a child!--Poor old soul!

M. Old soul, Nancy!--And thus to call him for being a bachelor, nothaving a child!--Does this become you?

D. Not old soul for that, Madam--but half the sum; five thousandpounds; you can't engage for less, Madam. 

M. That sum has your approbation then? [Looking as if she'd be evenwith me]. 

D. As he leaves it to your generosity, Madam, to reward his kindness toyou, it can't be less. --Do, dear Madam, permit me, without incurring yourdispleasure, to call him poor old soul again. 

M. Never was such a whimsical creature!--[turning away to hide herinvoluntary smile, for I believe I looked very archly; at least Iintended to do so]--I hate that wicked sly look. You give yourself veryfree airs--don't you?

D. I snatched her hand, and kissed it--My dear Mamma, be not angry withyour girl!--You have told me, that you was very lively formerly. 

M. Formerly! Good lack!--But were I to encourage his proposals, youmay be sure, that for Mr. Hickman's sake, as well as your's, I shouldmake a wise agreement. 

D. You have both lived to years of prudence, Madam. 

M. Yes, I suppose I am an old soul too. 

D. He also is for making a wise agreement, or hinting at one, at least. 

M. Well, the short and the long I suppose is this: I have not yourconsent to marry. 

D. Indeed, Madam, you have not my wishes to marry. 

M. Let me tell you, that if prudence consists in wishing well to one'sself, I see not but the young flirts are as prudent as the old souls. 

D. Dear Madam, would you blame me, if to wish you not to marry Mr. Antony Harlowe, is to wish well to myself?

M. You are mighty witty. I wish you were as dutiful. 

D. I am more dutiful, I hope, than witty; or I should be a fool as wellas a saucebox. 

M. Let me be judge of both--Parents are only to live for theirchildren, let them deserve it or not. That's their dutiful notion!

D. Heaven forbid that I should wish, if there be two interests betweenmy mother and me, that my mother postpone her own for mine!--or give upany thing that would add to the real comforts of her life to oblige me!--Tell me, my dear Mamma, if you think the closing with this proposal will?

M. I say, that ten thousand pounds is such an acquisition to one'sfamily, that the offer of it deserves a civil return. 

D. Not the offer, Madam: the chance only!--if indeed you have a view toan increase of family, the money may provide--

M. You can't keep within tolerable bounds!--That saucy fleer I cannotaway with--

D. Dearest, dearest Madam, forgive me; but old soul ran in my headagain!--Nay, indeed, and upon my word, I will not be robbed of thatcharming smile! And again I kissed her hand. 

M. Away, bold creature! Nothing can be so provoking as to be made tosmile when one would choose, and ought, to be angry. 

D. But, dear Madam, if it be to be, I presume you won't think of itbefore next winter. 

M. What now would the pert one be at?

D. Because he only proposes to entertain you with pretty stories offoreign nations in a winter's evening. --Dearest, dearest Madam, let mehave all the reading of his letter through. I will forgive him all hesays about me. 

M. It may be a very difficult thing, perhaps, for a man of the bestsense to write a love-letter that may not be cavilled at. 

D. That's because lovers in their letters hit not the medium. Theyeither write too much nonsense, or too little. But do you call this oddsoul's letter [no more will I call him old soul, if I can help it] alove-letter?

M. Well, well, I see you are averse to this matter. I am not to beyour mother; you will live single, if I marry. I had a mind to see ifgenerosity govern you in your views. I shall pursue my own inclinations;and if they should happen to be suitable to yours, pray let me for thefuture be better rewarded by you than hitherto I have been. 

And away she flung, without staying for a reply. --Vexed, I dare say, thatI did not better approve of the proposal--were it only that the merit ofdenying might have been all her own, and to lay the stronger obligationupon her saucy daughter. 

She wrote such a widow-like refusal when she went from me, as might notexclude hope in any other wooer; whatever it may do in Mr. Tony Harlowe. 

It will be my part, to take care to beat her off the visit she half-promises to make him (as you will see in her answer) upon condition thathe will withdraw his suit. For who knows what effect the old bachelor'sexotics [far-fetched and dear-bought you know is a proverb] mightotherwise have upon a woman's mind, wanting nothing but unnecessaries, gewgaws, and fineries, and offered such as are not easily to be met with, or purchased?

Well, but now I give you leave to read here, in this place, the copy ofmy mother's answer to your uncle's letter. Not one comment will I makeupon it. I know my duty better. And here, therefore, taking the libertyto hope, that I may, in your present less disagreeable, though not whollyagreeable situation, provoke a smile from you, I conclude myself, Your ever affectionate and faithful, ANNA HOWE. 

MRS. ANNABELLA HOWE, TO ANTONY HARLY, ESQ. 

MR. ANTONY HARLOWE, FRIDAY, MAY 19. 

SIR, It is not usual I believe for our sex to answer by pen and ink the firstletter on these occasions. The first letter! How odd is that! As if Iexpected another; which I do not. But then I think, as I do not judgeproper to encourage your proposal, there is no reason why I should notanswer in civility, where so great a civility is intended. Indeed, I wasalways of opinion that a person was entitled to that, and not to illusage, because he had a respect for me. And so I have often and oftentold my daughter. 

A woman I think makes but a poor figure in a man's eye afterwards, anddoes no reputation to her sex neither, when she behaves like a tyrant tohim beforehand. 

To be sure, Sir, if I were to change my condition, I know not a gentlemanwhose proposal could be more agreeable. Your nephew and your nieces haveenough without you: my daughter has a fine fortune without me, and Ishould take care to double it, living or dying, were I to do such athing: so nobody need to be the worse for it. But Nancy would not thinkso. 

All the comfort I know of in children, is, that when young they do withus what they will, and all is pretty in them to their very faults; andwhen they are grown up, they think their parents must live for them only;and deny themselves every thing for their sakes. I know Nancy could notbear a father-in-law. She would fly at the very thought of my being inearnest to give her one. Not that I stand in fear of my daughterneither. It is not fit I should. But she has her poor papa's spirit. A very violent one that was. And one would not choose, you know, Sir, toenter into any affair, that, one knows, one must renounce a daughter for, or she a mother--except indeed one's heart were much in it; which, Ibless God, mine is not. 

I have now been a widow these ten years; nobody to controul me: and I amsaid not to bear controul: so, Sir, you and I are best as we are, Ibelieve: nay, I am sure of it: for we want not what either has; havingboth more than we know what to do with. And I know I could not be in theleast accountable for any of my ways. 

My daughter indeed, though she is a fine girl, as girls go, (she has toomuch sense indeed for one of her sex, and knows she has it, ) is more acheck to me than one would wish a daughter to be: for who would choose tobe always snapping at each other? But she will soon be married; andthen, not living together, we shall only come together when we arepleased, and stay away when we are not; and so, like other lovers, neversee any thing but the best sides of each other. 

I own, for all this, that I love her dearly; and she me, I dare say: sowould not wish to provoke her to do otherwise. Besides, the girl is somuch regarded every where, that having lived so much of my prime a widow, I would not lay myself open to her censures, or even to her indifference, you know. 

Your generous proposal requires all this explicitness. I thank you foryour good opinion of me. When I know you acquiesce with this my civilrefusal [and indeed, Sir, I am as much in earnest in it, as if I hadspoken broader] I don't know but Nancy and I may, with your permission, come to see your fine things; for I am a great admirer of rarities thatcome from abroad. 

So, Sir, let us only converse occasionally as we meet, as we used to do, without any other view to each other than good wishes: which I hope maynot be lessened for this declining. And then I shall always think myself

Your obliged servant, ANNABELLA HOWE. 

P. S. I sent word by Mrs. Lorimer, that I would write an answer: but would take time for consideration. So hope, Sir, you won't think it a slight, I did not write sooner. 

LETTER XLIV

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SUNDAY, MAY 21. 

I am too much disturbed in my mind to think of any thing but revenge; orI did intend to give thee an account of Miss Harlowe's observations onthe play. Miss Harlowe's I say. Thou knowest that I hate the name ofHarlowe; and I am exceedingly out of humour with her, and with her saucyfriend. 

What's the matter now? thou'lt ask. 

Matter enough; for while we were at the play, Dorcas, who had her orders, and a key to her lady's chamber, as well as a master-key to her drawersand mahogany chest, closet-key and all, found means to come at some ofMiss Howe's last-written letters. The vigilant wench was directed tothem by seeing her lady take a letter out of her stays, and put it to theothers, before she went out with me--afraid, as the women upbraidinglytell me, that I should find it there. 

Dorcas no sooner found them, than she assembled three ready writers ofthe non-apparents; and Sally, and she, and they employed themselves withthe utmost diligence, in making extracts, according to former directions, from these cursed letters, for my use. Cursed, may I well call them--Such abuses!--Such virulence!--O this little fury Miss Howe!--Well mighther saucy friend (who has been equally free with me, or the occasioncould not have been given) be so violent as she lately was, at myendeavouring to come at one of these letters. 

I was sure, that this fair-one, at so early an age, with a constitutionso firm, health so blooming, eyes so sparkling, expectations therefore solively, and hope so predominating, could not be absolutely, and from herown vigilance, so guarded, and so apprehensive, as I have found her tobe. 

Sparkling eyes, Jack, when the poetical tribe have said all they can forthem, are an infallible sign of a rogue, or room for a rogue, in theheart. 

Thou mayest go on with thy preachments, and Lord M. With his wisdom ofnations, I am now more assured of her than ever. And now my revenge isup, and joined with my love, all resistance must fall before it. Andmost solemnly do I swear, that Miss Howe shall come in for her snack. 

And here, just now, is another letter brought from the same littlevirulent devil. I hope to procure scripts from that too, very speedily, if it be put to the test; for the saucy fair-one is resolved to go tochurch this morning; no so much from a spirit of devotion, I have reasonto think, as to try whether she can go out without check, controul, ormy attention. 

***

I have been denied breakfasting with her. Indeed she was a littledispleased with me last night: because, on our return from the play, Iobliged her to pass the rest of the night with the women and me, in theirparlour, and to stay till near one. She told me at parting, that sheexpected to have the whole next day to herself. I had not read theextracts then; so I had resolved to begin a new course, and, if possible, to banish all jealousy and suspicion from her heart: and yet I had noreason to be much troubled at her past suspicions; since, if a woman willcontinue with a man whom she suspects, when she can get from him, orthinks she can, I am sure it is a very hopeful sign. 

***

She is gone. Slipt down before I was aware. She had ordered a chair, onpurpose to exclude my personal attendance. But I had taken properprecautions. Will. Attended her by consent; Peter, the house-servant, was within Will. 's call. 

I had, by Dorcas, represented her danger from Singleton, in order todissuade her from going at all, unless she allowed me to attend her; butI was answered, with her usual saucy smartness, that if there were nocause of fear of being met with at the playhouse, when there were but twoplayhouses, surely there was less at church, when there were so manychurches. The chairmen were ordered to carry her to St. James's Church. 

But she would not be so careless of obliging me, if she knew what I havealready come at, and how the women urge me on; for they are continuallycomplaining of the restraint they lie under in their behaviour; in theirattendance; neglecting all their concerns in the front house; and keepingthis elegant back one entirely free from company, that she may have nosuspicion of them. They doubt not my generosity, they say: But why formy own sake, in Lord M. 's style, should I make so long a harvest of solittle corn?

Women, ye reason well. I think I will begin my operations the moment shecomes in. 

***

I have come at the letter brought her from Miss Howe to-day. Plot, conjuration, sorcery, witchcraft, all going forward! I shall not be ableto see this Miss Harlowe with patience. As the nymphs below ask, so doI, Why is night necessary? And Sally and Polly upbraidingly remind me ofmy first attempts upon themselves. Yet force answers not my end--and yetit may, if there be truth in that part of the libertine's creed, Thatonce subdued, is always subdued! And what woman answers affirmatively tothe question?

***

She is returned: But refuses to admit me: and insists upon having the dayto herself. Dorcas tells me, that she believes her denial is frommotives of piety. --Oons, Jack, is there impiety in seeing me?--Would itnot be the highest act of piety to reclaim me? And is this to be done byher refusing to see me when she is in a devouter frame than usual?--But Ihate her, hate her heartily! She is old, ugly, and deformed. --But O theblasphemy! yet she is a Harlowe: and I do and can hate her for that. 

But since I must not see her, [she will be mistress of her own will, andof her time, truly!] let me fill up my time, by telling thee what I havecome at. 

The first letter the women met with, is dated April 27. * Where can shehave put the preceding ones!--It mentions Mr. Hickman as a busy fellowbetween them. Hickman had best take care of himself. She says in it, 'Ihope you have no cause to repent returning my Norris--it is forthcomingon demand. ' Now, what the devil can this mean!--Her Norris forthcomingon demand!--the devil take me, if I am out-Norris'd!--If such innocentscan allow themselves to plot (to Norris), well may I. 

* See Vol. IV. Letter II. 

She is sorry, that 'her Hannah can't be with her. '--And what if shecould?--What could Hannah do for her in such a house as this?

'The women in the house are to be found out in one breakfasting. ' Thewomen are enraged at both the correspondents for this; and more than evermake a point of my subduing her. I had a good mind to give Miss Howe tothem in full property. Say but the word, Jack, and it shall be done. 

'She is glad that Miss Harlowe had thoughts of taking me at my word. Shewondered I did not offer again. ' Advises her, if I don't soon, 'not tostay with me. ' Cautions her, 'to keep me at a distance; not to permitthe least familiarity. '--See, Jack! see Belford!--Exactly as I thought!--Her vigilance all owing to a cool friend; who can sit down quietly, andgive that advice, which in her own case she could not take. What anencouragement to me to proceed in my devices, when I have reason to thinkthat my beloved's reserves are owing more to Miss Howe's cautions than toher own inclinations! But 'it is my interest to be honest, ' Miss Howetells her. --INTEREST, fools!--I thought these girls knew, that myinterest was ever subservient to my pleasure. 

What would I give to come at the copies of the letters to which those ofMiss Howe are answers!

The next letter is dated May 3. * In this the little termagant expressesher astonishment, that her mother should write to Miss Harlowe, to forbidher to correspond with her daughter. Mr. Hickman, she says, is ofopinion, 'that she ought not to obey her mother. ' How the creepingfellow trims between both! I am afraid, that I must punish him, as wellas this virago; and I have a scheme rumbling in my head, that wants buthalf an hour's musing to bring into form, that will do my business uponboth. I cannot bear, that the parental authority should be thusdespised, thus trampled under foot. But observe the vixen, ''Tis well heis of her opinion; for her mother having set her up, she must havesomebody to quarrel with. '--Could a Lovelace have allowed himself agreater license? This girl's a devilish rake in her heart. Had she beena man, and one of us, she'd have outdone us all in enterprise and spirit. 

* See Vol. IV. Letter X. 

'She wants but very little farther provocation, ' she says, 'to flyprivately to London. And if she does, she will not leave her till shesees her either honourably married, or quit of the wretch. ' Here, Jack, the transcriber Sally has added a prayer--'For the Lord's sake, dear Mr. Lovealce, get this fury to London!'--Her fate, I can tell thee, Jack, ifwe had her among us, should not be so long deciding as her friend's. What a gantelope would she run, when I had done with her, among a dozenof her own pitiless sex, whom my charmer shall never see!--But more ofthis anon. 

I find by this letter, that my saucy captive has been drawing thecharacters of every varlet of ye. Nor am I spared in it more than you. 'The man's a fool, to be sure, my dear. ' Let me perish, if they eitherof them find me one!--'A silly fellow, at least. ' Cursed contemptible!--'I see not but they are a set of infernals!' There's one for thee, Lovelace! and yet she would have her friend marry a Beelzebub. --And whathave any of us done, (within the knowledge of Miss Harlowe, ) that sheshould give such an account of us, as should excuse so much abuse fromMiss Howe!--But the occasion that shall warrant this abuse is to come!

She blames her, for 'not admitting Miss Partington to her bed--watchful, as you are, what could have happened?--If violence were intended, hewould not stay for the night. ' I am ashamed to have this hinted to me bythis virago. Sally writes upon this hint--'See, Sir, what is expectedfrom you. An hundred, and an hundred times have we told you of this. '--And so they have. But to be sure, the advice from them was not half theefficacy as it will be from Miss Howe. --'You might have sat up after her, or not gone to bed, ' proceeds she. 

But can there be such apprehensions between them, yet the one advise herto stay, and the other resolve to wait my imperial motion for marriage?I am glad I know that. 

She approves of my proposal of Mrs. Fretchville's house. She puts herupon expecting settlements; upon naming a day: and concludes withinsisting upon her writing, notwithstanding her mother's prohibitions;or bids her 'take the consequence. ' Undutiful wretches! How I long tovindicate against them both the insulted parental character!

Thou wilt say to thyself, by this time, And can this proud and insolentgirl be the same Miss Howe, who sighed for an honest Sir George Colmar;and who, but for this her beloved friend, would have followed him in allhis broken fortunes, when he was obliged to quit the kingdom?

Yes, she is the very same. And I always found in others, as well as inmyself, that a first passion thoroughly subdued, made the conqueror of ita rover; the conqueress a tyrant. 

Well, but now comes mincing in a letter, from one who has 'the honour ofdear Miss Howe's commands'* to acquaint Miss Harlowe, that Miss Howe is'excessively concerned for the concern she has given her. '

* See Vol. IV. Letter XII. 

'I have great temptations, on this occasion, ' says the prim Gothamite, 'to express my own resentments upon your present state. '

'My own resentments!'----And why did he not fall into this temptation?--Why, truly, because he knew not what that state was which gave him sotempting a subject--only by a conjecture, and so forth. 

He then dances in his style, as he does in his gait! To be sure, to besure, he must have made the grand tour, and come home by way ofTipperary. 

'And being moreover forbid, ' says the prancer, 'to enter into the cruelsubject. '--This prohibition was a mercy to thee, friend Hickman!--But whycruel subject, if thou knowest not what it is, but conjecturest only fromthe disturbance it gives to a girl, that is her mother's disturbance, will be thy disturbance, and the disturbance, in turn, of every body withwhom she is intimately acquainted, unless I have the humbling of her?

In another letter, * the little fury professes, 'that she will write, andthat no man shall write for her, ' as if some medium of that kind had beenproposed. She approves of her fair friend's intention 'to leave me, ifshe can be received by her relations. I am a wretch, a foolish wretch. She hates me for my teasing ways. She has just made an acquaintance withone who knows a vast deal of my private history. ' A curse upon her, andupon her historiographer!--'The man is really a villain, an execrableone. ' Devil take her!--'Had I a dozen lives, I might have forfeited themall twenty crimes ago. ' An odd way of reckoning, Jack!

* See Letter XXIII. Of this volume. 

Miss Betterton, Miss Lockyer, are named--the man, (she irreverentlyrepeats) she again calls a villain. Let me perish, I repeat, if I amcalled a villain for nothing!--She 'will have her uncle, ' as Miss Harlowerequests, 'sounded about receiving her. Dorcas is to be attached to herinterest: my letters are to be come at by surprise or trick'--

What thinkest thou of this, Jack?

Miss Howe is alarmed at my attempt to come at a letter of hers. 

'Were I to come at the knowledge of her freedoms with my character, ' shesays, 'she should be afraid to stir out without a guard. ' I would advisethe vixen to get her guard ready. 

'I am at the head of a gang of wretches, ' [thee, Jack, and thy brothervarlets, she owns she means, ] 'who join together to betray innocentcreatures, and to support one another in their villanies. '--What sayestthou to this, Belford?

'She wonders not at her melancholy reflections for meeting me, for beingforced upon me, and tricked by me. '--I hope, Jack, thou'lt have donepreaching after this!

But she comforts her, 'that she will be both a warning and an example toall her sex. ' I hope the sex will thank me for this!

The nymphs had not time, they say, to transcribe all that was worthy ofmy resentment in this letter: so I must find an opportunity to come at itmyself. Noble rant, they say, it contains--But I am a seducer, and ahundred vile fellows, in it. --'And the devil, it seems, took possessionof my heart, and of the hearts of all her friends, in the same dark hour, in order to provoke her to meet me. ' Again, 'There is a fate in hererror, ' she says--Why then should she grieve?--'Adversity is her shiningtime, ' and I can't tell what; yet never to thank the man to whom she owesthe shine!

In the next letter, * wicked as I am, 'she fears I must be her lord andmaster. '

* See Letter XXIX. Of this volume. 

I hope so. 

She retracts what she said against me in her last. --My behaviour to myRosebud; Miss Harlowe to take possession of Mrs. Fretchville's house; Ito stay at Mrs. Sinclair's; the stake I have in my country; myreversions; my economy; my person; my address; [something like in allthis!] are brought in my favour, to induce her now not to leave me. Howdo I love to puzzle these long-sighted girls!

Yet 'my teasing ways, ' it seems, 'are intolerable. '--Are women only totease, I trow? The sex may thank themselves for teaching me to out-teasethem. So the headstrong Charles XII. Of Sweden taught the Czar Peter tobeat him, by continuing a war with the Muscovites against the ancientmaxims of his kingdom. 

'May eternal vengeance PURSUE the villain, [thank heaven, she does notsay overtake, ] if he give room to doubt his honour!'--Women can't swear, Jack--sweet souls! they can only curse. 

I am said, to doubt her love--Have I not reason? And she, to doubt myardour--Ardour, Jack!--why, 'tis very right--women, as Miss Howe says, and as every rake knows, love ardours!

She apprizes her, of the 'ill success of the application made to heruncle. '--By Hickman no doubt!--I must have this fellow's ears in mypocket, very quickly I believe. 

She says, 'she is equally shocked and enraged against all her family:Mrs. Norton's weight has been tried upon Mrs. Harlowe, as well as Mr. Hickman's upon the uncle: but never were there, ' says the vixen, 'suchdetermined brutes in the world. Her uncle concludes her ruined already. 'Is not that a call upon me, as well as a reproach?--'They all expectedapplications from her when in distress--but were resolved not to stir aninch to save her life. ' Miss Howe 'is concerned, ' she tells her, 'forthe revenge my pride may put me upon taking for the distance she has keptme at'--and well she may. --It is now evident to her, that she must bemine (for her cousin Morden, it seems, is set against her too)--an act ofnecessity, of convenience!--thy friend, Jack, to be already made awoman's convenience! Is this to be borne by a Lovelace?

I shall make great use of this letter. From Miss Howe's hints of whatpassed between her uncle Harlowe and Hickman, [it must be Hickman, ] I cangive room for my invention to play; for she tells her, that 'she will notreveal all. ' I must endeavour to come at this letter myself. I musthave the very words: extracts will not do. This letter, when I have it, must be my compass to steer by. 

The fire of friendship then blazes and crackles. I never before imaginedthat so fervent a friendship could subsist between two sister-beauties, both toasts. But even here it may be inflamed by opposition, and by thatcontradiction which gives vigour to female spirits of a warm and romanticturn. 

She raves about 'coming up, if by doing so she could prevent so noble acreature from stooping too low, or save her from ruin. '--One reed tosupport another! I think I will contrive to bring her up. 

How comes it to pass, that I cannot help being pleased with this virago'sspirit, though I suffer by it? Had I her but here, I'd engage, in aweek's time, to teach her submission without reserve. What pleasureshould I have in breaking such a spirit! I should wish for her but forone month, I think. She would be too tame and spiritless for me afterthat. How sweetly pretty to see the two lovely friends, when humbled andtame, both sitting in the darkest corner of a room, arm in arm, weepingand sobbing for each other!--and I their emperor, their then acknowledgedemperor, reclined at my ease in the same room, uncertain to which Ishould first, grand signor like, throw out my handkerchief!

Again mind the girl: 'She is enraged at the Harlowes;' she is 'angry ather own mother;' she is exasperated against her foolish and low-vanity'dLovelace. ' FOOLISH, a little toad! [God forgive me for calling such avirtuous girl a toad!]--'Let us stoop to lift the wretch out of his dirt, though we soil our fingers in doing it! He has not been guilty of directindecency to you. ' It seems extraordinary to Miss Howe that I have not. --'Nor dare he!' She should be sure of that. If women have such thingsin their heads, why should not I in my heart? Not so much of a devil asthat comes to neither. Such villainous intentions would have shownthemselves before now if I had them. --Lord help them!--

She then puts her friend upon urging for settlements, license, and soforth. --'No room for delicacy now, ' she says; and tells her what sheshall say, 'to bring all forward from me. ' Is it not as clear to thee, Jack, as it is to me, that I should have carried my point long ago, butfor this vixen?--She reproaches her for having MODESTY'D away, as shecalls it, more than one opportunity, that she ought not to have slipt. --Thus thou seest, that the noblest of the sex mean nothing in the worldby their shyness and distance, but to pound the poor fellow they dislikenot, when he comes into their purlieus. 

Though 'tricked into this man's power, ' she tells her, she is 'not meanlysubjugated to it. ' There are hopes of my reformation, it seems, 'from myreverence for her; since before her I never had any reverence for whatwas good!' I am 'a great, a specious deceiver. ' I thank her for this, however. A good moral use, she says, may be made of my 'having prevailedupon her to swerve. ' I am glad that any good may flow from my actions. 

Annexed to this letter is a paper the most saucy that ever was written ofa mother by a daughter. There are in it such free reflections uponwidows and bachelors, that I cannot but wonder how Miss Howe came by herlearning. Sir George Colmar, I can tell thee, was a greater fool thanthy friend, if she had it all for nothing. 

The contents of this paper acquaint Miss Harlowe, that her uncle Antonyhas been making proposals of marriage to her mother. 

The old fellow's heart ought to be a tough one, if he succeed; or she whobroke that of a much worthier man, the late Mr. Howe, will soon get ridof him. 

But be this as it may, the stupid family is made more irreconcilable thanever to their goddess-daughter for old Antony's thoughts of marrying: soI am more secure of her than ever. And yet I believe at last, that mytender heart will be moved in her favour. For I did not wish that sheshould have nothing but persecution and distress. --But why loves she thebrutes, as Miss Howe justly calls them, so much; me so little?

I have still more unpardonable transcripts from other letters. 

LETTER XLV

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. 

The next letter is of such a nature, that, I dare say, these proud rougeswould not have had it fall into my hands for the world. *

* See Letter XXXIV. Of this volume. 

I see by it to what her displeasure with me, in relation to my proposals, was owing. They were not summed up, it seems, with the warmth, with theardour, which she had expected. 

This whole letter was transcribed by Dorcas, to whose lot it fell. Thoushalt have copies of them all at full length shortly. 

'Men of our cast, ' this little devil says, 'she fancies, cannot have theardours that honest men have. ' Miss Howe has vey pretty fancies, Jack. Charming girl! Would to Heaven I knew whether my fair-one answers her asfreely as she writes! 'Twould vex a man's heart, that this virago shouldhave come honestly by her fancies. 

Who knows but I may have half a dozen creatures to get off my hands, before I engage for life?--Yet, lest this should mean me a compliment, asif I would reform, she adds her belief, that she 'must not expect me tobe honest on this side my grand climacteric. ' She has an high opinion ofher sex, to think they can charm so long a man so well acquainted withtheir identicalness. 

'He to suggest delays, ' she says, 'from a compliment to be made to LordM. !'--Yes, I, my dear. --Because a man has not been accustomed to bedutiful, must he never be dutiful?--In so important a case as this too!the hearts of his whole family are engaged in it!--'You did, indeed, 'says she, 'want an interposing friend--but were I to have been in yoursituation, I would have torn his eyes out, and left it to his heart tofurnish the reason for it. ' See! See! What sayest thou to this, Jack?

'Villain--fellow that he is!' follow. And for what? Only for wishingthat the next day were to be my happy one; and for being dutiful to mynearest relation. 

'It is the cruelest of fates, ' she says, 'for a woman to be forced tohave a man whom her heart despises. '--That is what I wanted to be sureof. --I was afraid, that my beloved was too conscious of her talents; ofher superiority! I was afraid that she indeed despises me. --And I cannotbear to think that she does. But, Belford, I do not intend that thislady shall be bound down to so cruel a fate. Let me perish if I marry awoman who has given her most intimate friend reason to say, she despisesme!--A Lovelace to be despised, Jack!

'His clenched fist to his forehead on your leaving him in justdispleasure'--that is, when she was not satisfied with my ardours, if itplease ye!--I remember the motion: but her back was towards me at thetime. * Are these watchful ladies all eye?--But observe what follows; 'Iwish it had been a poll-axe, and in the hands of his worst enemy. '--

* She tells Miss Howe, that she saw this motion in the pier-glass. SeeLetter XXXIII. Of this volume. 

I will have patience, Jack; I will have patience! My day is at hand. --Then will I steel my heart with these remembrances. 

But here is a scheme to be thought of, in order to 'get my fair prize outof my hands, in case I give her reason to suspect me. '

This indeed alarms me. Now the contention becomes arduous. Now wiltthou not wonder, if I let loose my plotting genius upon them both. Iwill not be out-Norris'd, Belford. 

But once more, 'She has no notion, ' she says, 'that I can or dare to meanher dishonour. But then the man is a fool--that's all. '--I should indeedbe a fool, to proceed as I do, and mean matrimony!--'However, since youare thrown upon a fool, ' says she, 'marry the fool at the firstopportunity; and though I doubt that this man will be the mostunmanageable of fools, as all witty and vain fools are, take him as apunishment, since you cannot as a reward. '--Is there any bearing this, Belford?

But, 'such men as myself, are the men that women do not naturally hate. '--True as the gospel, Jack!--The truth is out at last. Have I not alwaystold thee so? Sweet creatures and true christians these young girls!They love their enemies. But rakes in their hearts all of them! Liketurns to like; that's the thing. Were I not well assured of the truth ofthis observation of the vixen, I should have thought it worth while, ifnot to be a good man, to be more of an hypocrite, than I found it needfulto be. 

But in the letter I came at to-day, while she was at church, her schemeis further opened; and a cursed one it is. 

[Mr. Lovelace then transcribes, from his short-hand notes, that part of Miss Howe's letter, which relates to the design of engaging Mrs. Townsend (in case of necessity) to give her protection till Colonel Morden come:* and repeats his vows of revenge; especially for these words; 'That should he attempt any thing that would make him obnoxious to the laws of society, she might have a fair riddance of him, either by flight or the gallows, no matter which. ' He then adds]--

* See Letter XLII. Of this volume. 

'Tis my pride to subdue girls who know too much to doubt their knowledge;and to convince them, that they know too little, to defend themselvesfrom the inconveniencies of knowing too much. 

How passion drives a man on! (proceeds he). --I have written a prodigiousquantity in a very few hours! Now my resentments are warm, I will see, and perhaps will punish, this proud, this double-armed beauty. I havesent to tell her, that I must be admitted to sup with her. We haveneither of us dined. She refused to drink tea in the afternoon: and Ibelieve neither of us will have much stomach to our supper. 

LETTER XLVI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWESUNDAY MORNING, SEVEN O'CLOCK. 

I was at the play last night with Mr. Lovelace and Miss Horton. It is, you know, a deep and most affecting tragedy in the reading. You have myremarks upon it, in the little book you made me write upon the principalacting-plays. You will not wonder, that Miss Horton, as well as I, wasgreatly moved at the representation, when I tell you, and have somepleasure in telling you, that Mr. Lovelace himself was very sensiblytouched with some of the most affecting scenes. I mention this in praiseof the author's performance; for I take Mr. Lovelace to be one of themost hard-hearted men in the world. Upon my word, my dear, I do. 

His behaviour, however, on this occasion, and on our return, wasunexceptionable; only that he would oblige me to stay to supper with thewomen below, when we came back, and to sit up with him and them till nearone o'clock this morning. I was resolved to be even with him; and indeedI am not very sorry to have the pretence; for I love to pass the Sundaysby myself. 

To have the better excuse to avoid his teasing, I am ready dressed to goto church this morning. I will go only to St. James's church, and in achair; that I may be sure I can go out and come in when I please, withoutbeing intruded upon by him, as I was twice before. 

***

NEAR NINE O'CLOCK. 

I have your kind letter of yesterday. He knows I have. And I shallexpect, that he will be inquisitive next time I see him after youropinions of his proposals. I doubted not your approbation of them, andhad written an answer on that presumption; which is ready for him. Hemust study for occasions of procrastination, and to disoblige me, if nowany thing happens to set us at variance again. 

He is very importunate to see me. He has desired to attend me to church. He is angry that I have declined to breakfast with him. I am sure that Ishould not have been at my own liberty if I had. I bid Dorcas tell him, that I desired to have this day to myself. I would see him in themorning as early as he pleased. She says, she knows not what ails him, but that he is out of humour with every body. 

He has sent again in a peremptory manner. He warns me of Singleton. Isent him word, that if he was not afraid of Singleton at the playhouselast night, I need not at church to-day: so many churches to oneplayhouse. I have accepted of his servant's proposed attendance. But heis quite displeased, it seems. I don't care. I will not be perpetuallyat his insolent beck. --Adieu my dear, till I return. The chair waits. He won't stop me, sure, as I go down to it. 

***

I did not see him as I went down. He is, it seems, excessively out ofhumour. Dorcas says, not with me neither, she believes: but somethinghas vexed him. This is perhaps to make me dine with him. But I willnot, if I can help it. I shan't get rid of him for the rest of the day, if I do. 

***

He was very earnest to dine with me. But I was resolved to carry thisone small point; and so denied to dine myself. And indeed I wasendeavouring to write to my cousin Morden; and had begun three differenttimes, without being able to please myself. 

He was very busy in writing, Dorcas says; and pursued it without dining, because I denied him my company. 

H afterwards demanded, as I may say, to be admitted to afternoon-tea withme: and appealed by Dorcas to his behaviour to me last night; as if Isent him word by her, he thought he had a merit in being unexceptionable. However, I repeated my promise to meet him as early as he pleased in themorning, or to breakfast with him. 

Dorcas says, he raved: I heard him loud, and I heard his servant fly fromhim, as I thought. You, my dearest friend, say, in one of yours, * thatyou must have somebody to be angry at, when your mother sets you up. Ishould be very loth to draw comparisons; but the workings of passion, when indulged, are but too much alike, whether in man or woman. 

* See Letter X. Of this volume, Parag. 2. 

***

He has just sent me word, that he insists upon supping with me. As wehad been in a good train for several days past, I thought it not prudentto break with him for little matters. Yet, to be, in a manner, threatened into his will, I know not how to bear that. 

While I was considering, he came up, and, tapping at my door, told me, ina very angry tone, he must see me this night. He could not rest, till hehad been told what he had done to deserve the treatment I gave him. 

Treatment I gave him! a wretch! Yet perhaps he has nothing new to say tome. I shall be very angry with him. 

***

[As the Lady could not know what Mr. Lovelace's designs were, nor the cause of his ill humour, it will not be improper to pursue the subject from his lette. 

Having described his angry manner of demanding, in person, her company at supper, he proceeds as follows:]

''Tis hard, answered the fair perverse, that I am to be so little my ownmistress. I will meet you in the dining-room half an hour hence. 

'I went down to wait the half hour. All the women set me hard to giveher cause for this tyranny. They demonstrated, as well from the natureof the sex, as of the case, that I had nothing to hope for from mytameness, and could meet with no worse treatment, were I to be guilty ofthe last offence. They urge me vehemently to try at least what effectsome greater familiarities than I had ever taken with her would have: andtheir arguments being strengthened by my just resentments on thediscoveries I had made, I was resolved to take some liberties, as theywere received, to take still greater, and lay all the fault upon hertyranny. In this humour I went up, and never had paralytic so littlecommand of his joints, as I had, while I walked about the dining-room, attending her motions. 

'With an erect mien she entered, her face averted, her lovely bosomswelling, and the more charmingly protuberant for the erectness of hermien. O Jack! that sullenness and reserve should add to the charms ofthis haughty maid! but in every attitude, in every humour, in everygesture, is beauty beautiful. By her averted face, and indignant aspect, I saw the dear insolent was disposed to be angry--but by the fiercenessof mine, as my trembling hand seized hers, I soon made fear herpredominant passion. And yet the moment I beheld her, my heart wasdastardized; and my reverence for the virgin purity, so visible in herwhole deportment, again took place. Surely, Belford, this is an angel. And yet, had she not been known to be a female, they would not frombabyhood have dressed her as such, nor would she, but upon thatconviction, have continued the dress. 

'Let me ask you, Madam, I beseech you tell me, what I have done todeserve this distant treatment?

'And let me ask you, Mr. Lovelace, why are my retirements to be thusinvaded?--What can you have to say to me since last night, that I wentwith you so much against my will to the play? and after sitting up withyou, equally against my will, till a very late hour?

'This I have to say, Madam, that I cannot bear to be kept at thisdistance from you under the same roof. 

'Under the same roof, Sir!--How came you----

'Hear me out, Madam--[letting go her trembling hands, and snatching themback again with an eagerness that made her start]--I have a thousandthings to say, to talk of, relating to our present and future prospects;but when I want to open my whole soul to you, you are always contrivingto keep me at a distance. You make me inconsistent with myself. Yourheart is set upon delays. You must have views that you will not own. Tell me, Madam, I conjure you to tell me, this moment, without subterfugeor reserve, in what light am I to appear to you in future? I cannot bearthis distance. The suspense you hold me in I cannot bear. 

'In what light, Mr. Lovelace! [visibly terrified. ] In no bad light, Ihope. --Pray, Mr. Lovelace, do not grasp my hands so hard [endeavouring towithdraw them. ] Pray let me go. --

'You hate me, Madam--

'I hate nobody, Sir--

'You hate me, Madam, repeated I. 

'Instigated and resolved, as I came up, I wanted some new provocation. The devil indeed, as soon as my angel made her appearance, crept out ofmy heart; but he had left the door open, and was no farther off than myelbow. 

'You come up in no good temper, I see, Mr. Lovelace. --But pray be notviolent--I have done you no hurt. --Pray be not violent--

'Sweet creature! and I clasped one arm about her, holding one hand in myother. --You have done me no hurt. --I could have devoured her--butrestraining myself--You have done me the greatest hurt!--In what have Ideserved the distance you keep me at?--I knew not what to say. 

'She struggled to disengage herself. --Pray, Mr. Lovelace, let mewithdraw. I know not why this is. I know not what I have done to offendyou. I see you are come with a design to quarrel with me. If you wouldnot terrify me by the ill humour you are in, permit me to withdraw. Iwill hear all you have to say another time--to-morrow morning, as I sentyou word. --But indeed you frighten me--I beseech you, if you have anyvalue for me, permit me to withdraw. 

'Night, mid-night, is necessary, Belford. Surprise, terror, must benecessary to the ultimate trial of this charming creature, say the womenbelow what they will. I could not hold my purposes. This was not thefirst time that I had intended to try if she could forgive. 

'I kissed her hand with a fervour, as if I would have left my lips uponit. --Withdraw, then, dearest, and ever-dear creature. Indeed I enteredin a very ill humour. I cannot bear the distance at which you socauselessly keep me. Withdraw, Madam, since it is your will to withdraw;and judge me generously; judge me but as I deserve to be judged; and letme hope to meet you to-morrow morning early in such a temper as becomesour present situation, and my future hopes. 

'And so saying, I conducted her to the door, and left her there. But, instead of going down to the women, I went into my own chamber, andlocked myself in; ashamed of being awed by her majestic loveliness, andapprehensive virtue, into so great a change of purpose, notwithstanding Ihad such just provocations from the letters of her saucy friend, formedon her own representations of facts and situations between herself andme. 

***

[The Lady (dated Sunday night) thus describes her terrors, and Mr. Lovelace's behaviour, on the occasion. ]

On my entering the dining-room, he took my hand in his, in such a humour, I saw plainly he was resolved to quarrel with me--And for what?--What hadI done to him?--I never in my life beheld in any body such wild, suchangry, such impatient airs. I was terrified; and instead of being asangry as I intended to be, I was forced to be all mildness. I can hardlyremember what were his first words, I was so frighted. But you hate me, Madam! you hate me, Madam! were some of them--with such a fierceness--Iwished myself a thousand miles distant from him. I hate nobody, said I:I thank God I hate nobody--You terrify me, Mr. Lovelace--let me leaveyou. --The man, my dear, looked quite ugly--I never saw a man look so uglyas passion made him look--and for what?--And so he grasped my hands!--fierce creature;--he so grasped my hands! In short, he seemed by hislooks, and by his words (once putting his arms about me) to wish me toprovoke him. So that I had nothing to do but to beg of him (which I didrepeatedly) to permit me to withdraw: and to promise to meet him at hisown time in the morning. 

It was with a very ill grace that he complied, on that condition; and atparting he kissed my hand with such a savageness, that a redness remainsupon it still. 

Do you not think, my dear, that I have reason to be incensed at him, mysituation considered? Am I not under a necessity, as it were, ofquarrelling with him; at least every other time I see him? No prudery, no coquetry, no tyranny in my heart, or in my behaviour to him, that Iknow of. No affected procrastination. Aiming at nothing but decorum. He as much concerned, and so he ought to think, as I, to have thatobserved. Too much in his power: cast upon him by the cruelty of myrelations. No other protection to fly to but his. One plain path beforeus; yet such embarrasses, such difficulties, such subjects for doubt, forcavil, for uneasiness; as fast as one is obviated, another to beintroduced, and not by myself--know not how introduced--What pleasure canI propose to myself in meeting such a wretch?

Perfect for me, my dearest Miss Howe, perfect for me, I beseech you, yourkind scheme with Mrs. Townsend; and I will then leave this man. 

My temper, I believe, is changed. No wonder if it be. I questionwhether ever it will be what it was. But I cannot make him half souneasy by the change, as I am myself. See you not how, from step tostep, he grows upon me?--I tremble to look back upon his encroachments. And now to give me cause to apprehend more evil from him, thanindignation will permit me to express!--O my dear, perfect your scheme, and let me fly from so strange a wretch!

Yet, to be first an eloper from my friends to him, as the world supposes;and now to be so from him [to whom I know not!] how hard to one who everendeavoured to shun intricate paths! But he must certainly have views inquarrelling with me thus, which he dare not own!--Yet what can they be?--I am terrified but to think of what they may be!

Let me but get from him!--As to my reputation, if I leave him--that isalready too much wounded for me, now, to be careful about any thing, buthow to act so as that my own heart shall not reproach me. As to theworld's censure, I must be content to suffer that--an unhappycomposition, however. --What a wreck have my fortunes suffered, to beobliged to throw overboard so many valuables, to preserve, indeed, theonly valuable!--A composition that once it would have half broken myheart to think there would have been the least danger that I should beobliged to submit to. 

You, my dear, could not be a stranger to my most secret failings, although you would not tell me of them. What a pride did I take in theapplause of every one!--What a pride even in supposing I had not thatpride!--Which concealed itself from my unexamining heart under thespecious veil of humility, doubling the merit to myself by the supposed, and indeed imputed, gracefulness in the manner of conferring benefits, when I had not a single merit in what I did, vastly overpaid by thepleasure of doing some little good, and impelled, as I may say, bytalents given me--for what!--Not to be proud of. 

So, desirous, in short, to be considered as an example! A vanity whichmy partial admirers put into my head!--And so secure in my own virtue!

I am punished enough, enough mortified, for this my vanity--I hope, enough, if it so please the all-gracious inflictor: since now, I verilythink, I more despise myself for my presumptuous self-security, as wellas vanity, than ever I secretly vaunted myself on my good inclinations:secretly, I say, however; for, indeed, I had not given myself leisure toreflect, till I was thus mortified, how very imperfect I was; nor howmuch truth there is in what divines tell us, that we sin in our bestperformances. 

But I was very young. --But here let me watch over myself again: for inthose four words, I was very young, is there not a palliation couched, that were enough to take all efficacy from the discovery and confession?

What strange imperfect beings!--but self here, which is at the bottom ofall we do, and of all we wish, is the grand misleader. 

I will not apologize to you, my dear, for these grave reflections. Is itnot enough to make the unhappy creature look into herself, and endeavourto detect herself, who, from such a high reputation, left to proud andpresumptuous self, should by one thoughtless step, be brought to thedreadful situation I am in?

Let me, however, look forward: to despond would be to add sin to sin. And whom have I to raise me up, whom to comfort me, if I desert myself?--Thou, O Father, who, I hope, hast not yet deserted, hast not yet cursedme!--For I am thine!--It is fit that mediation should supply the rest. --

***

I was so disgusted with him, as well as frighted by him, that on myreturn to my chamber, in a fit of passionate despair, I tore almost intwo the answer I had written to his proposals. 

I will see him in the morning, because I promised I would. But I will goout, and that without him, or any attendant. If he account not tolerablyfor his sudden change of behaviour, and a proper opportunity offer of aprivate lodging in some creditable house, I will not any more return tothis:--at present I think so. --And there will I either attend theperfecting of your scheme; or, by your epistolary mediation, make my ownterms with the wretch; since it is your opinion, that I must be his, andcannot help myself: or, perhaps, take a resolution to throw myself atonce into Lady Betty's protection; and this will hinder him from makinghis insolently-threatened visit to Harlowe-place. 

[The Lady writes again on Monday evening; and gives her friend an account of all that passed between herself and Mr. Lovelace that day; and of her being terrified out of her purpose, of going out: but Mr. Lovelace's next letters giving a more ample account of all, hers are omitted. 

It is proper, however, to mention, that she re-urges Miss Howe (from the dissatisfaction she has reason for from what passed between Mr. Lovelace and herself) to perfect her scheme in relation to Mrs. Townsend. She concludes this letter in these words:]

I should say something of your last favour (but a few hours ago received)and of your dialogue with your mother--Are you not very whimsical, mydear? I have but two things to wish for on this occasion. --The one, thatyour charming pleasantry had a better subject than that you find for itin this dialogue--the other, that my situation were not such, as must toooften damp that pleasantry in you, and will not permit me to enjoy it, asI used to do. Be, however, happy in yourself, though you cannot in

YourCLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER XLVII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. MONDAY MORNING, MAY 22. 

No generosity in this lady. None at all. Wouldst thou not have thought, that after I had permitted her to withdraw, primed for mischief as I was, she would meet me next morning early; and that with a smile; making meone of her best courtesies?

I was in the dining-room before six, expecting her. She opened not herdoor. I went up stairs and down; and hemm'd; and called Will. ; calledDorcas; threw the doors hard to; but still she opened not her door. Thustill half an hour after eight, fooled I away my time; and then (breakfastready) I sent Dorcas to request her company. 

But I was astonished, when (following the wench, as she did at the firstinvitation) I saw her enter dressed, all but her gloves, and those andher fan in her hand; in the same moment bidding Dorcas direct Will. Toget her a chair to the door. 

Cruel creature, thought I, to expose me thus to the derision of the womenbelow!

Going abroad, Madam!

I am, Sir. 

I looked cursed silly, I am sure. You will breakfast first, I hope, Madam; and a very humble strain; yet with an hundred tender looks in myheart. 

Had she given me more notice of her intention, I had perhaps wroughtmyself up to the frame I was in the day before, and begun my vengeance. And immediately came into my head all the virulence that had beentranscribed for me from Miss Howe's letters, and in that letter which Ihad transcribed myself. 

Yes, she would drink one dish; and then laid her gloves and fan in thewindow just by. 

I was perfectly disconcerted. I hemm'd, and was going to speak severaltimes; but I knew not in what key. Who's modest now! thought I. Who'sinsolent now!--How a tyrant of a woman confounds a bashful man! She wasacting Miss Howe, I thought; and I the spiritless Hickman. 

At last, I will begin, thought I. 

She a dish--I a dish. 

Sip, her eyes her own, she; like a haughty and imperious sovereign, conscious of dignity, every look a favour. 

Sip, like her vassal, I; lips and hands trembling, and not knowing that Isipp'd or tasted. 

I was--I was--I sipp'd--(drawing in my breath and the liquor together, though I scalded my mouth with it) I was in hopes, Madam--

Dorcas came in just then. --Dorcas, said she, is a chair gone for?

Damn'd impertinence, thought I, thus to put me out in my speech! And Iwas forced to wait for the servant's answer to the insolent mistress'squestion. 

William is gone for one, Madam. 

This cost me a minute's silence before I could begin again. And then itwas with my hopes, and my hopes, and my hopes, that I should have beenearly admitted to--

What weather is it, Dorcas? said she, as regardless of me as if I had notbeen present. 

A little lowering, Madam--The sun is gone in--it was very fine half anhour ago. 

I had no patience. Up I rose. Down went the tea-cup, saucer and all--Confound the weather, the sunshine, and the wench!--Begone for a devil, when I am speaking to your lady, and have so little opportunity given me. 

Up rose the saucy-face, half-frighted; and snatched from the window hergloves and fan. 

You must not go, Madam!--Seizing her hand--by my soul you must not--

Must not, Sir!--But I must--you can curse your maid in my absence, aswell as if I were present----Except--except--you intend for me, what youdirect to her. 

Dearest creature, you must not go--you must not leave me--Such determinedscorn! such contempts!--Questions asked your servant of no meaning but tobreak in upon me--I cannot bear it!

Detain me not [struggling. ] I will not be withheld. I like you not, noryour ways. You sought to quarrel with me yesterday, for no reason in theworld that I can think of, but because I was too obliging. You are anungrateful man; and I hate you with my whole heart, Mr. Lovelace!

Do not make me desperate, Madam. Permit me to say, that you shall notleave me in this humour. Wherever you go, I will attend you. Had MissHowe been my friend, I had not been thus treated. It is but too plain towhom my difficulties are owing. I have long observed, that every letteryou received from her, makes an alteration in your behaviour to me. Shewould have you treat me, as she treats Mr. Hickman, I suppose: butneither does that treatment become your admirable temper to offer, nor meto receive. 

This startled her. She did not care to have me think hardly of MissHowe. 

But recollecting herself, Miss Howe, said she, is a friend to virtue, andto good men. If she like not you, it is because you are not one ofthose. 

Yes, Madam; and therefore to speak of Mr. Hickman and myself, as youboth, I suppose, think of each, she treats him as she would not treat aLovelace. --I challenge you, Madam, to shew me but one of the many lettersyou have received from her, where I am mentioned. 

Miss Howe is just; Miss Howe is good, replied she. She writes, shespeaks, of every body as they deserve. If you point me out but any oneoccasion, upon which you have reason to build a merit to yourself, aseither just or good, or even generous, I will look out for her letter onthat occasion [if such an occasion there be, I have certainly acquaintedher with it]; and will engage it shall be in your favour. 

Devilish severe! And as indelicate as severe, to put a modish man uponhunting backward after his own merits. 

She would have flung from me: I will not be detained, Mr. Lovelace. Iwill go out. 

Indeed you must not, Madam, in this humour. And I placed myself betweenher and the door. ----And then, fanning, she threw herself into a chair, her sweet face all crimsoned over with passion. 

I cast myself at her feet. --Begone, Mr. Lovelace, said she, with arejecting motion, her fan in her hand; for your own sake leave me!--Mysoul is above thee, man! with both her hands pushing me from her!--Urgeme not to tell thee, how sincerely I think my soul above thee!--Thouhast, in mine, a proud, a too proud heart to contend with!--Leave me, andleave me for ever!--Thou has a proud heart to contend with!

Her air, her manner, her voice, were bewitchingly noble, though her wordswere so severe. 

Let me worship an angel, said I, no woman. Forgive me, dearest creature!--creature if you be, forgive me!--forgive my inadvertencies!--forgive myinequalities!--pity my infirmities!--Who is equal to my Clarissa?

I trembled between admiration and love; and wrapt my arms about herknees, as she sat. She tried to rise at the moment; but my claspinground her thus ardently, drew her down again; and never was woman moreaffrighted. But free as my clasping emotion might appear to herapprehensive heart, I had not, at the instant, any thought but whatreverence inspired. And till she had actually withdrawn [which Ipermitted under promise of a speedy return, and on her consent to dismissthe chair] all the motions of my heart were as pure as her own. 

She kept not her word. An hour I waited before I sent to claim herpromise. She could not possibly see me yet, was her answer. As soon asshe could, she would. 

Dorcas says, she still excessively trembled; and ordered her to give herhartshorn and water. 

A strange apprehensive creature! Her terror is too great for theoccasion. Evils are often greater in apprehension than in reality. Hastthou never observed, that the terrors of a bird caught, and actually inthe hand, bear no comparison to what we might have supposed those terrorswould be, were we to have formed a judgment of the same bird by itsshyness before it was taken?

Dear creature!--Did she never romp? Did she never, from girlhood to now, hoyden? The innocent kinds of freedom taken and allowed on theseoccasions, would have familiarized her to greater. Sacrilege but totouch the hem of her garment!--Excess of delicacy!--O the consecratedbeauty! How can she think to be a wife?

But how do I know till I try, whether she may not by a less alarmingtreatment be prevailed upon, or whether [day, I have done with thee!] shemay not yield to nightly surprises? This is still the burden of my song, I can marry her when I will. And if I do, after prevailing (whether bysurprise, or by reluctant consent) whom but myself shall I have injured?

***

It is now eleven o'clock. She will see me as soon as she can, she tellsPolly Horton, who made her a tender visit, and to whom she is lessreserved than to any body else. Her emotion, she assures her, was notowing to perverseness, to nicety, to ill humour; but to weakness ofheart. She has not strength of mind sufficient, she says, to enable herto support her condition. 

Yet what a contradiction!--Weakness of heart, says she, with such astrength of will!--O Belford! she is a lion-hearted lady, in every casewhere her honour, her punctilio rather, calls for spirit. But I have hadreason more than once in her case, to conclude, that the passions of thegentle, slower to be moved than those of the quick, are the most flaming, the most irresistible, when raised. --Yet her charming body is not equallyorganized. The unequal partners pull two ways; and the divinity withinher tears her silken frame. But had the same soul informed a masculinebody, never would there have been a truer hero. 

MONDAY, TWO O'CLOCK. 

Not yet visible!--My beloved is not well. What expectations had she frommy ardent admiration of her!--More rudeness than revenge apprehended. Yet, how my soul thirsts for revenge upon both these ladies? I must haverecourse to my master-strokes. This cursed project of Miss Howe and herMrs. Townsend (if I cannot contrive t render it abortive) will be alwaysa sword hanging over my head. Upon every little disobligations mybeloved will be for taking wing; and the pains I have taken to depriveher of every other refuge or protection, in order to make her absolutelydependent upon me, will be all thrown away. But perhaps I shall find outa smuggler to counterplot Miss Howe. 

Thou remembrest the contention between the Sun and the North-wind, in thefable; which should first make an honest traveller throw off his cloak. 

Boreas began first. He puffed away most vehemently; and often made thepoor fellow curve and stagger; but with no other effect, than to causehim to wrap his surtout the closer about him. 

But when it came to Phoebus's turn, he so played upon the traveller withhis beams, that he made him first unbutton, and then throw it quite off:--Nor left he, till he obliged him to take to the friendly shade of aspreading beech; where, prostrating himself on the thrown-off cloak, hetook a comfortable nap. 

The victor-god then laughed outright, both at Boreas and the traveller, and pursued his radiant course, shining upon, and warming and cherishinga thousand new objects, as he danced along: and at night, when he put uphis fiery coursers, he diverted his Thetis with the relation of hispranks in the passed day. 

I, in like manner, will discard all my boisterous inventions: and if Ican oblige my sweet traveller to throw aside, but for one moment, thecloak of her rigid virtue, I shall have nothing to do, but, like the sun, to bless new objects with my rays. But my chosen hours of conversationand repose, after all my peregrinations, will be devoted to my goddess. 

***

And now, Belford, according to my new system, I think this house of Mrs. Fretchville an embarrass upon me. I will get rid of it; for some time atleast. Mennell, when I am out, shall come to her, inquiring for me. What for? thou'lt ask. What for--hast thou not heard what has befallenpoor Mrs. Fretchville?--Then I'll tell thee. 

One of her maids, about a week ago, was taken with the small-pox. Therest kept their mistress ignorant of it till Friday; and then she came toknow of it by accident. The greater half of the plagues poor mortals ofcondition are tormented with, proceed from the servants they take, partlyfor show, partly for use, and with a view to lessen their cares. 

This has so terrified the widow, that she is taken with all the symptomsthat threaten an attack from that dreadful enemy of fair faces. --So mustnot think of removing: yet cannot expect, that we should be furtherdelayed on her account. 

She now wishes, with all her heart, that she had known her own mind, andgone into the country at first when I treated about the house. This evilthen had not happened! a cursed cross accident for us, too!--Heigh-ho!nothing else, I think, in this mortal life! people need not study tobring crosses upon themselves by their petulancies. 

So this affair of the house will be over; at least for one while. Butthen I can fall upon an expedient which will make amends for thisdisappointment. I must move slow, in order to be sure. I have acharming contrivance or two in my head, even supposing my beloved shouldget away, to bring her back again. 

But what is become of Lord M. I trow, that he writes not to me, inanswer to my invitation? If he would send me such a letter as I couldshow, it might go a great way towards a perfect reconciliation. I havewritten to Charlotte about it. He shall soon hear from me, and that in away he won't like, if he writes not quickly. He has sometimes threatenedto disinherit me. But if I should renounce him, it would be but justice, and would vex him ten times more than any thing he can do will vex me. Then, the settlements unavoidably delayed, by his neglect!--How shall Ibear such a life of procrastination!--I, who, as to my will, andimpatience, and so forth, am of the true lady-make, and can as littlebear controul and disappointment as the best of them!

***

Another letter from Miss Howe. I suppose it is that which she promisesin her last to send her relating to the courtship between old Tony theuncle, and Annabella the mother. I should be extremely rejoiced to seeit. No more of the smuggler-plot in it, surely! This letter, it seems, she has put in her pocket. But I hope I shall soon find it depositedwith the rest. 

MONDAY MORNING. 

At my repeated request she condescended to meet me in the dining-room toafternoon-tea, and not before. 

She entered with bashfulness, as I thought; in a pretty confusion, forhaving carried her apprehensions too far. Sullen and slow moved shetowards the tea-table. --Dorcas present, busy in tea-cup preparations. Itook her reluctant hand, and pressed it to my lips. --Dearest, loveliestof creatures, why this distance? why this displeasure?--How can you thustorture the faithfullest heart in the world?

She disengaged her hand. Again I would have snatched it. 

Be quiet, [peevishly withdrawing it. ] And down she sat; a gentlepalpitation in the beauty of beauties indicating a mingled sullenness andresentment; her snowy handkerchief rising and falling, and a sweet flushoverspreading her charming cheeks. 

For God's sake, Madam!--[And a third time I would have taken herrepulsing hand. ]

And for the same sake, Sir, no more teasing. 

Dorcas retired; I drew my chair nearer her's, and with the mostrespectful tenderness took her hand; and told her, that I could notforbear to express my apprehensions (from the distance she was sodesirous to keep me at) that if any man in the world was more indifferentto her, to use no harsher word, than another, it was the unhappy wretchbefore her. 

She looked steadily upon me for a moment, and with her other hand, notwithdrawing that I held, pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket; andby a twinkling motion urged forward a tear or two, which having arisen ineach sweet eye, it was plain by that motion she would rather havedissipated: but answered me only with a sigh, and an averted face. 

I urged her to speak; to look up at me; to bless me with an eye morefavourable. 

I had reason, she told me, for my complaint of her indifference. She sawnothing in my mind that was generous. I was not a man to be obliged orfavoured. My strange behaviour to her since Saturday night, for no causeat all that she knew of, convinced her of this. Whatever hopes she hadconceived of me were utterly dissipated: all my ways were disgustful toher. 

This cut me to the heart. The guilty, I believe, in every case, lesspatiently bear the detecting truth, than the innocent do the degradingfalshood. 

I bespoke her patience, while I took the liberty to account for thischange on my part. --I re-acknowledged the pride of my heart, which couldnot bear the thought of that want of preference in the heart of a ladywhom I hoped to call mine, which she had always manifested. Marriage, Isaid, was a state that was not to be entered upon with indifference oneither side. 

It is insolence, interrupted she, it is a presumption, Sir, to expecttokens of value, without resolving to deserve them. You have no whiningcreature before you, Mr. Lovelace, overcome by weak motives, to lovewhere there is no merit. Miss Howe can tell you, Sir, that I never lovedthe faults of my friend; nor ever wished her to love me for mine. It wasa rule with us not to spare each other. And would a man who has nothingbut faults (for pray, Sir, what are your virtues?) expect that I shouldshow a value for him? Indeed, if I did, I should not deserve even hisvalue; but ought to be despised by him. 

Well have you, Madam, kept up to this noble manner of thinking. You arein no danger of being despised for any marks of tenderness or favourshown to the man before you. You have been perhaps, you'll think, laudably studious of making and taking occasions to declare, that it wasfar from being owing to your choice, that you had any thoughts of me. Mywhole soul, Madam, in all its errors, in all its wishes, in all itsviews, had been laid open and naked before you, had I been encouraged bysuch a share in your confidence and esteem, as would have secured meagainst your apprehended worst constructions of what I should from timeto time have revealed to you, and consulted you upon. For never wasthere a franker heart; nor a man so ready to accuse himself. [This, Belford, is true. ] But you know, Madam, how much otherwise it has beenbetween us. --Doubt, distance, reserve, on your part, begat doubt, fear, awe, on mine. --How little confidence! as if we apprehended each other tobe a plotter rather than a lover. How have I dreaded every letter thathas been brought you from Wilson's!--and with reason: since the last, from which I expected so much, on account of the proposals I had made youin writing, has, if I may judge by the effects, and by your denial ofseeing me yesterday, (though you could go abroad, and in a chair too, toavoid my attendance on you, ) set you against me more than ever. 

I was guilty, it seems, of going to church, said the indignant charmer;and without the company of a man, whose choice it would not have been togo, had I not gone--I was guilty of desiring to have the whole Sunday tomyself, after I had obliged you, against my will, at a play; and afteryou had detained me (equally to my dislike) to a very late hour over-night. --These were my faults: for these I was to be punished: I was to becompelled to see you, and to be terrified when I did see you, by the mostshocking ill humour that was ever shown to a creature in mycircumstances, and not bound to bear it. You have pretended to find freefault with my father's temper, Mr. Lovelace: but the worst that he evershowed after marriage, was not in the least to be compared to what youhave shown twenty times beforehand. --And what are my prospects with you, at the very best?--My indignation rises against you, Mr. Lovelace, whileI speak to you, when I recollect the many instances, equally ungenerousand unpolite, of your behaviour to one whom you have brought intodistress--and I can hardly bear you in my sight. 

She turned from me, standing up; and, lifting up her folded hands, andcharming eyes swimming in tears, O my father, said the inimitablecreature, you might have spared your heavy curse, had you known how Ihave been punished ever since my swerving feet led me out of yourgarden-doors to meet this man!--Then, sinking into her chair, a burstof passionate tears forced their way down her glowing cheeks. 

My dearest life, [taking her still folded hands in mine, ] who can bearan invocation so affecting, though so passionate?

And, as I hope to live, my nose tingled, as I once, when a boy, rememberit did (and indeed once more very lately) just before some tears cameinto my eyes; and I durst hardly trust my face in view of her's. 

What have I done to deserve this impatient exclamation?--Have I, at anytime, by word, by deeds, by looks, given you cause to doubt my honour, myreverence, my adoration, I may call it, of your virtues? All is owing tomisapprehension, I hope, on both sides. Condescend to clear up but yourpart, as I will mine, and all must speedily be happy. --Would to Heaven Iloved that Heaven as I love you! and yet, if I doubted a return in love, let me perish if I should know how to wish you mine!--Give me hope, dearest creature, give me but hope, that I am your preferable choice!--Give me but hope, that you hate me not: that you do not despise me. 

O Mr. Lovelace, we have been long enough together to be tired of eachother's humours and ways; ways and humours so different, that perhapsyou ought to dislike me, as much as I do you. --I think, I think, that Icannot make an answerable return to the value you profess for me. Mytemper is utterly ruined. You have given me an ill opinion of allmankind; of yourself in particular: and withal so bad a one of myself, that I shall never be able to look up, having utterly and for ever lostall that self-complacency, and conscious pride, which are so necessary tocarry a woman through this life with tolerable satisfaction to herself. 

She paused. I was silent. By my soul, thought I, this sweet creaturewill at last undo me!

She proceeded: What now remains, but that you pronounce me free of allobligation to you? and that you hinder me not from pursuing the destinythat shall be allotted me?

Again she paused. I was still silent; meditating whether to renounce allfurther designs upon her; whether I had not received sufficient evidenceof a virtue, and of a greatness of soul, that could not be questioned orimpeached. 

She went on: Propitious to me be your silence, Mr. Lovelace!--Tell me, that I am free of all obligation to you. You know, I never made youpromises. You know, that you are not under any to me. --My brokenfortunes I matter not--

She was proceeding--My dearest life, said I, I have been all this time, though you fill me with doubts of your favour, busy in the nuptialpreparations. I am actually in treaty for equipage. 

Equipage, Sir!--Trappings, tinsel!--What is equipage; what is life; whatis any thing; to a creature sunk so low as I am in my own opinion!--Labouring under a father's curse!--Unable to look backward without self-reproach, or forward without terror!--These reflections strengthened byevery cross accident!--And what but cross accidents befal me!--All mydarling schemes dashed in pieces, all my hopes at an end; deny me not theliberty to refuge myself in some obscure corner, where neither theenemies you have made me, nor the few friends you have left me, may everhear of the supposed rash-one, till those happy moments are at hand, which shall expiate for all!

I had not a word to say for myself. Such a war in my mind had I neverknown. Gratitude, and admiration of the excellent creature before me, combating with villanous habit, with resolutions so premeditatedly made, and with view so much gloried in!--An hundred new contrivances in myhead, and in my heart, that to be honest, as it is called, must all begiven up, by a heart delighting in intrigue and difficulty--Miss Howe'svirulences endeavoured to be recollected--yet recollection refusing tobring them forward with the requisite efficacy--I had certainly been alost man, had not Dorcas come seasonably in with a letter. --On thesuperscription written--Be pleased, Sir, to open it now. 

I retired to the window--opened it--it was from Dorcas herself. --Thesethe contents--'Be pleased to detain my lady: a paper of importance totranscribe. I will cough when I have done. '

I put the paper in my pocket, and turned to my charmer, lessdisconcerted, as she, by that time, had also a little recovered herself. --One favour, dearest creature--Let me but know, whether Miss Howeapproves or disapproves of my proposals? I know her to be my enemy. Iwas intending to account to you for the change of behaviour you accusedme of at the beginning of the conversation; but was diverted from it byyour vehemence. Indeed, my beloved creature, you were very vehement. Doyou think it must not be matter of high regret to me, to find my wishesso often delayed and postponed in favour of your predominant view to areconciliation with relations who will not be reconciled to you?--To thiswas owing your declining to celebrate our nuptials before we came totown, though you were so atrociously treated by your sister, and yourwhole family; and though so ardently pressed to celebrate by me--to thiswas owing the ready offence you took at my four friends; and at theunavailing attempt I made to see a dropt letter; little imagining, fromwhat two such ladies could write to each other, that there could be roomfor mortal displeasure--to this was owing the week's distance you held meat, till you knew the issue of another application. --But, when they hadrejected that; when you had sent my cold-received proposals to Miss Howefor her approbation or advice, as indeed I advised; and had honoured mewith your company at the play on Saturday night; (my whole behaviourunobjectionable to the last hour;) must not, Madam, the sudden change inyour conduct the very next morning, astonish and distress me?--and thispersisted in with still stronger declarations, after you had received theimpatiently-expected letter from Miss Howe; must I not conclude, that allwas owing to her influence; and that some other application or projectwas meditating, that made it necessary to keep me again at a distancetill the result were known, and which was to deprive me of you for ever?For was not that your constantly-proposed preliminary?--Well, Madam, might I be wrought up to a half-phrensy by this apprehension; and wellmight I charge you with hating me. --And now, dearest creature, let meknow, I once more ask you, what is Miss Howe's opinion of my proposals?

Were I disposed to debate with you, Mr. Lovelace, I could very easilyanswer your fine harangue. But at present, I shall only say, that yourways have been very unaccountable. You seem to me, if your meanings werealways just, to have taken great pains to embarrass them. Whether owingin you to the want of a clear head, or a sound heart, I cannot determine;but it is to the want of one of them, I verily think, that I am toascribe the greatest part of your strange conduct. 

Curse upon the heart of the little devil, said I, who instigates you tothink so hardly of the faithfullest heart in the world!

How dare you, Sir! And there she stopt; having almost overshot herself;as I designed she should. 

How dare I what, Madam? And I looked with meaning. How dare I what?

Vile man--And do you--And there again she stopt. 

Do I what, Madam?--And why vile man?

How dare you curse any body in my presence?

O the sweet receder! But that was not to go off so with a Lovelace. 

Why then, dearest creature, is there any body that instigates you?--Ifthere be, again I curse them, be they whom they will. 

She was in a charming pretty passion. And this was the first time that Ihad the odds in my favour. 

Well, Madam, it is just as I thought. And now I know how to account fora temper that I hope is not natural to you. 

Artful wretch! and is it thus you would entrap me? But know, Sir, that Ireceived letters from nobody but Miss Howe. Miss Howe likes some of yourways as little as I do; for I have set every thing before her. Yet sheis thus far your enemy, as she is mine. She thinks I could not refuseyour offers; but endeavour to make the best of my lot. And now you havethe truth. Would to heaven you were capable of dealing with equalsincerity!

I am, Madam. And here, on my knee, I renew my vows, and my supplication, that you will make me your's. Your's for ever. And let me have cause tobless you and Miss Howe in the same breath. 

To say the truth, Belford, I had before begun to think that the vixen ofa girl, who certainly likes not Hickman, was in love with me. 

Rise, Sir, from your too-ready knees; and mock me not!

Too-ready knees, thought I! Though this humble posture so little affectsthis proud beauty, she knows not how much I have obtained of others ofher sex, nor how often I have been forgiven for the last attempts, bykneeling. 

Mock you, Madam! And I arose, and re-urged her for the day. I blamedmyself, at the same time, for the invitation I had given to Lord M. , asit might subject me to delay from his infirmities: but told her, that Iwould write to him to excuse me, if she had no objection; or to give himthe day she would give me, and not wait for him, if he could not come intime. 

My day, Sir, said she, is never. Be not surprised. A person ofpoliteness judging between us, would not be surprised that I say so. Butindeed, Mr. Lovelace, [and wept through impatience, ] you either know nothow to treat with a mind of the least degree of delicacy, notwithstandingyour birth and education, or you are an ungrateful man; and [after apause] a worse than ungrateful one. But I will retire. I will see youagain to-morrow. I cannot before. I think I hate you. And if, upon are-examination of my own heart, I find I do, I would not for the worldthat matters should go on farther between us. 

But I see, I see, she does not hate me! How it would mortify my vanity, if I thought there was a woman in the world, much more this, that couldhate me! 'Tis evident, villain as she thinks me, that I should not be anodious villain, if I could but at last in one instance cease to be avillain! She could not hold it, determined as she had thought herself, Isaw by her eyes, the moment I endeavoured to dissipate her apprehensions, on my too-ready knees, as she calls them. The moment the rough coveringmy teasing behaviour has thrown over her affections is quite removed, Idoubt not to find all silk and silver at the bottom, all soft, bright, and charming. 

I was however too much vexed, disconcerted, mortified, to hinder her fromretiring. And yet she had not gone, if Dorcas had not coughed. 

The wench came in, as soon as her lady had retired, and gave me the copyshe had taken. And what should it be but of the answer the trulyadmirable creature had intended to give to my written proposals inrelation to settlements?

I have but just dipt my pen into this affecting paper. Were I to read itattentively, not a wink should I sleep this night. To-morrow it shallobtain my serious consideration. 

LETTER XLVIII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUESDAY MORNING, MAY 23. 

The dear creature desires to be excused seeing me till evening. She isnot very well, as Dorcas tells me. 

Read here, if thou wilt, the paper transcribed by Dorcas. It isimpossible that I should proceed with my projects against this admirablewoman, were it not that I am resolved, after a few trials more, if asnobly sustained as those she has passed through, to make her (if shereally hate me not) legally mine. 

TO MR. LOVELACE

'When a woman is married, that supreme earthly obligation requires, thatin all instances, where her husband's real honour is concerned, sheshould yield her own will to his. But, beforehand, I could be glad, conformably to what I have always signified, to have the most explicitassurances, that every possible way should be tried to avoid litigationwith my father. Time and patience will subdue all things. My prospectsof happiness are extremely contracted. A husband's right will be alwaysthe same. In my lifetime I could wish nothing to be done of this sort. Your circumstances, Sir, will not oblige you to extort violently from himwhat is in his hands. All that depends upon me, either with regard to myperson, to my diversions, or to the economy that no married woman, ofwhatever rank or quality, should be above inspecting, shall be done, toprevent a necessity for such measures being taken. And if there will beno necessity for them, it is to be hoped that motives less excusable willnot have force--motives which must be founded in a littleness of mind, which a woman, who has not that littleness of mind, will be under suchtemptations, as her duty will hardly be able at all times to check, todespise her husband for having; especially in cases where her own family, so much a part of herself, and which will have obligations upon her(though then but secondary ones) from which she can never be freed, isintimately concerned. 

'This article, then, I urge to your most serious consideration, as whatlies next my heart. I enter not here minutely into the fatalmisunderstanding between them and you: the fault may be in both. But, Sir, your's was the foundation-fault: at least, you gave a too-plausiblepretence for my brother's antipathy to work upon. Condescension was nopart of your study. You chose to bear the imputations laid to yourcharge, rather than to make it your endeavour to obviate them. 

'But this may lead into hateful recrimination. --Let it be remembered, Iwill only say, in this place, that, in their eye, you have robbed them ofa daughter they doated upon; and that their resentments on this occasionrise but in proportion to their love and their disappointment. If theywere faulty in some of the measures they took, while they themselves didnot think so, who shall judge for them? You, Sir, who will judge everybody as you please, and will let nobody judge you in your own particular, must not be their judge. --It may therefore be expected that they willstand out. 

'As for myself, Sir, I must leave it (so seems it to be destined) to yourjustice, to treat me as you shall think I deserve: but, if your futurebehaviour to them is not governed by that harsh-sounding implacableness, which you charge upon some of their tempers, the splendour of yourfamily, and the excellent character of some of them (of all indeed, unless your own conscience furnishes you with one only exception) will, on better consideration, do every thing with them: for they may beovercome; perhaps, however, with the more difficulty, as the greatlyprosperous less bear controul and disappointment than others: for I willown to you, that I have often in secret lamented, that their greatacquirements have been a snare to them; perhaps as great a snare, as someother accidentals have been to you; which being less immediately your owngifts, you have still less reason than they to value yourself upon them. 

'Let me only, on this subject, further observe, that condescension is notmeanness. There is a glory in yielding, that hardly any violent spiritcan judge of. My brother, perhaps, is no more sensible of this than you. But as you have talents, which he has not, (who, however, has, as I hope, that regard for morals, the want of which makes one of his objections toyou, ) I could wish it may not be owing to you, that your mutual dislikesto each other do not subside! for it is my earnest hope, that in time youmay see each other, without exciting the fears of a wife and a sister forthe consequence. Not that I should wish you to yield in points thattruly concerned your honour: no, Sir; I would be as delicate in such, asyou yourself: more delicate, I will venture to say, because moreuniformly so. How vain, how contemptible, is that pride, which showsitself in standing upon diminutive observances; and gives up, and makes ajest of, the most important duties!

'This article being considered as I wish, all the rest will be easy. Were I to accept of the handsome separate provision you seem to intendme; added to the considerate sums arisen from my grandfather's estatesince his death (more considerable than perhaps you may suppose from youroffer); I should think it my duty to lay up for the family good, and forunforseen events, out of it: for, as to my donations, I would generallyconfine myself in them to the tenth of my income, be it what it would. Iaim at no glare in what I do of that sort. All I wish for, is the powerof relieving the lame, the blind, the sick, and the industrious poor, andthose whom accident has made so, or sudden distress reduced. The commonor bred beggars I leave to others, and to the public provision. Theycannot be lower: perhaps they wish not to be higher: and, not able to dofor every one, I aim not at works of supererogation. Two hundred poundsa year would do all I wish to do of the separate sort: for all above, Iwould content myself to ask you; except, mistrusting your own economy, you would give up to my management and keeping, in order to provide forfuture contingencies, a larger portion; for which, as your steward, Iwould regularly account. 

'As to clothes, I have particularly two suits, which, having been only ina manner tried on, would answer for any present occasion. Jewels I haveof my grandmother's, which want only new-setting: another set I have, which on particular days I used to wear. Although these are not sent me, I have no doubt, being merely personals, but they will, when I shouldsend for them in another name: till when I should not choose to wear any. 

'As to your complaints of my diffidences, and the like, I appeal to yourown heart, if it be possible for you to make my case your own for onemoment, and to retrospect some parts of your behaviour, words, andactions, whether I am not rather to be justified than censured: andwhether, of all the men in the world, avowing what you avow, you oughtnot to think so. If you do not, let me admonish you, Sir, from the verygreat mismatch that then must appear to be in our minds, never to seek, nor so much as to wish, to bring about the most intimate union ofinterests between yourself and

CLARISSA HARLOWE. MAY 20. '

***

The original of this charming paper, as Dorcas tells me, was torn almostin two. In one of her pets, I suppose! What business have the sex, whose principal glory is meekness, and patience, and resignation, to bein a passion, I trow?--Will not she who allows herself such liberties asa maiden take greater when married?

And a wife to be in a passion!--Let me tell the ladies, it is animpudent thing, begging their pardon, and as imprudent as impudent, for awife to be in a passion, if she mean not eternal separation, or wickeddefiance, by it: For is it not rejecting at once all that expostulatorymeekness, and gentle reasoning, mingled with sighs as gentle, and gracedwith bent knees, supplicating hands, and eyes lifted up to your imperialcountenance, just running over, that you should make a reconciliationspeedy, and as lasting as speedy? Even suppose the husband is in thewrong, will not this being so give the greater force to herexpostulation?

Now I think of it, a man should be in the wrong now-and-then, to make hiswife shine. Miss Howe tells my charmer, that adversity is her shining-time. 'Tis a generous thing in a man to make his wife shine at his ownexpense: to give her leave to triumph over him by patient reasoning: forwere he to be too imperial to acknowledge his fault on the spot, she willfind the benefit of her duty and submission in future, and in the highopinion he will conceive of her prudence and obligingness--and so, bydegrees, she will become her master's master. 

But for a wife to come up with kemboed arm, the other hand thrown out, perhaps with a pointing finger--Look ye here, Sir!--Take notice!--If youare wrong, I'll be wrong!--If you are in a passion, I'll be in a passion!--Rebuff, for rebuff, Sir!--If you fly, I'll tear!--If you swear, I'llcurse!--And the same room, and the same bed, shall not hold us, Sir!-For, remember, I am married, Sir!--I am a wife, Sir!--You can't helpyourself, Sir!--Your honour, as well as your peace, is in my keeping!And, if you like not this treatment, you may have worse, Sir!

Ah! Jack! Jack! What man, who has observed these things, either impliedor expressed, in other families, would wish to be a husband!

Dorcas found this paper in one of the drawers of her lady's dressing-table. She was reperusing it, as she supposes, when the honest wenchcarried my message to desire her to favour me at the tea-table; for shesaw her pop a paper into the drawer as she came in; and there, on hermistress's going to meet me in the dining-room, she found it; and to bethis. 

But I had better not to have had a copy of it, as far as I know: for, determined as I was before upon my operations, it instantly turned all myresolutions in her favour. Yet I would give something to be convincedthat she did not pop it into her drawer before the wench, in order for meto see it; and perhaps (if I were to take notice of it) to discoverwhether Dorcas, according to Miss Howe's advice, were most my friend, orher's. 

The very suspicion of this will do her no good: for I cannot bear to beartfully dealt with. People love to enjoy their own peculiar talents inmonopoly, as arguments against me in her behalf. But I know ever tittlethou canst say upon it. Spare therefore thy wambling nonsense, I desirethee; and leave this sweet excellence and me to our fate: that willdetermine for us, as it shall please itself: for as Cowley says, An unseen hand makes all our moves: And some are great, and some are small; Some climb to good, some from great fortunes fall: Some wise men, and some fools we call: Figures, alas! of speech!--For destiny plays us all. 

But, after all, I am sorry, almost sorry (for how shall I do to be quitesorry, when it is not given to me to be so?) that I cannot, until I havemade further trials, resolve upon wedlock. 

I have just read over again this intended answer to my proposals: and howI adore her for it!

But yet; another yet!--She has not given it or sent it to me. --It is nottherefore her answer. It is not written for me, though to me. 

Nay, she has not intended to send it to me: she has even torn it, perhapswith indignation, as thinking it too good for me. By this action sheabsolutely retracts it. Why then does my foolish fondness seek toestablish for her the same merit in my heart, as if she avowed it?Pr'ythee, dear Belford, once more, leave us to our fate; and do not thouinterpose with thy nonsense, to weaken a spirit already too squeamish, and strengthen a conscience that has declared itself of her party. 

Then again, remember thy recent discoveries, Lovelace! Remember herindifference, attended with all the appearance of contempt and hatred. View her, even now, wrapt up in reserve and mystery; meditating plots, asfar as thou knowest, against the sovereignty thou hast, by right ofconquest, obtained over her. Remember, in short, all thou hastthreatened to remember against this insolent beauty, who is a rebel tothe power she has listed under. 

But yet, how dost thou propose to subdue thy sweet enemy!--Abhorred beforce, be the necessity of force, if that can be avoided! There is notriumph in force--no conquest over the will--no prevailing by gentledegrees over the gentle passions!--force is the devil!

My cursed character, as I have often said, was against me at setting out--Yet is she not a woman? Cannot I find one yielding or but half-yielding moment, if she do not absolutely hate me?

But with what can I tempt her?--RICHES she was born to, and despises, knowing what they are. JEWELS and ornaments, to a mind so much a jewel, and so richly set, her worthy consciousness will not let her value. LOVE--if she be susceptible of love, it seems to be so much under thedirection of prudence, that one unguarded moment, I fear, cannot bereasonably hoped for: and so much VIGILANCE, so much apprehensiveness, that her fears are ever aforehand with her dangers. Then her LOVE orVIRTUE seems to be principle, native principle, or, if not native, sodeeply rooted, that its fibres have struck into her heart, and, as shegrew up, so blended and twisted themselves with the strings of life, thatI doubt there is no separating of the one without cutting the othersasunder. 

What then can be done to make such a matchless creature get over thefirst tests, in order to put her to the grand proof, whether onceovercome, she will not be always overcome?

Our mother and her nymphs say, I am a perfect Craven, and no Lovelace:and so I think. But this is no simpering, smiling charmer, as I havefound others to be, when I have touched upon affecting subjects at adistance; as once or twice I have tried to her, the mother introducingthem (to make sex palliate the freedom to sex) when only we threetogether. She is above the affectation of not seeming to understand you. She shows by her displeasure, and a fierceness not natural to her eye, that she judges of an impure heart by an impure mouth, and darts dead atonce even the embryo hopes of an encroaching lover, however distantlyinsinuated, before the meaning hint can dawn into double entendre. 

By my faith, Jack, as I sit gazing upon her, my whole soul in my eyes, contemplating her perfections, and thinking, when I have seen her easyand serene, what would be her thoughts, did she know my heart as well asI know it; when I behold her disturbed and jealous, and think of thejustness of her apprehensions, and that she cannot fear so much as thereis room for her to fear; my heart often misgives me. 

And must, think I, O creature so divinely excellent, and so beloved of mysoul, those arms, those encircling arms, that would make a monarch happy, be used to repel brutal force; all their strength, unavailingly perhaps, exerted to repel it, and to defend a person so delicately framed? Canviolence enter into the heart of a wretch, who might entitle himself toall her willing yet virtuous love, and make the blessings he aspirethafter, her duty to confer?--Begone, villain-purposes! Sink ye all to thehell that could only inspire ye! And I am then ready to throw myself ather feet, to confess my villainous designs, to avow my repentance, andput it out of my power to act unworthily by such an excellence. 

How then comes it, that all these compassionate, and, as some would callthem, honest sensibilities go off!--Why, Miss Howe will tell thee: shesays, I am the devil. --By my conscience, I think he has at present agreat share in me. 

There's ingenuousness!--How I lay myself open to thee!--But seest thou not, that the more I say against myself, the less room there is for theeto take me to task?--O Belford, Belford! I cannot, cannot (at least atpresent) I cannot marry. 

Then her family, my bitter enemies--to supple to them, or if I do not, tomake her as unhappy as she can be from my attempts----

Then does she not love them too much, me too little?

She now seems to despise me: Miss Howe declares, that she really doesdespise me. To be despised by a WIFE--What a thought is that!--To beexcelled by a WIFE too, in every part of praise-worthy knowledge!--Totake lessons, to take instructions, from a WIFE!--More than despise me, she herself has taken time to consider whether she does not hate me:--I hate you, Lovelace, with my whole heart, said she to me but yesterday!My soul is above thee, man!--Urge me not to tell thee how sincerely Ithink my soul above thee!--How poor indeed was I then, even in my ownheart!--So visible a superiority, to so proud a spirit as mine!--And herefrom below, from BELOW indeed! from these women! I am so goaded on----

Yet 'tis poor too, to think myself a machine in the hands of suchwretches. --I am no machine. --Lovelace, thou art base to thyself, but tosuppose thyself a machine. 

But having gone thus far, I should be unhappy, if after marriage, in thepetulance of ill humour, I had it to reproach myself, that I did not tryher to the utmost. And yet I don't know how it is, but this lady, themoment I come into her presence, half-assimilates me to her own virtue. --Once or twice (to say nothing of her triumph over me on Sunday night) Iwas prevailed upon to fluster myself, with an intention to make someadvances, which, if obliged to recede, I might lay upon raised spirits:but the instant I beheld her, I was soberized into awe and reverence: andthe majesty of her even visible purity first damped, and then extinguished, my double flame. 

What a surprisingly powerful effect, so much and so long in my power she!so instigated by some of her own sex, and so stimulated by passion I!--How can this be accounted for in a Lovelace!

But what a heap of stuff have I written!--How have I been run away with!--By what?--Canst thou say by what?--O thou lurking varletess CONSCIENCE!--Is it thou that hast thus made me of party against myself?--How camestthou in?--In what disguise, thou egregious haunter of my more agreeablehours?--Stand thou, with fate, but neuter in this controversy; and, if Icannot do credit to human nature, and to the female sex, by bringing downsuch an angel as this to class with and adorn it, (for adorn it she doesin her very foibles, ) then I am all your's, and never will resist youmore. 

Here I arose. I shook myself. The window was open. Always thetroublesome bosom-visiter, the intruder, is flown. --I see it yet!--Andnow it lessens to my aching eye!--And now the cleft air is closed after it, and it is out of sight!--and once more I am

ROBERT LOVELACE. 

LETTER XLIX

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUESDAY, MAY 23. 

Well did I, and but just in time to conclude to have done with Mrs. Fretchville and the house: for here Mennell has declared, that he cannotin conscience and honour go any farther. --He would not for the world beaccessory to the deceiving of such a lady!--I was a fool to let eitheryou or him see her; for ever since ye have both had scruples, whichneither would have had, were a woman to have been in the question. 

Well, I can't help it!

Mennell has, however, though with some reluctance, consented to write mea letter, provided I will allow it to be the last step he shall take inthis affair. 

I presumed, I told him, that if I could cause Mrs. Fretchville's woman tosupply his place, he would have no objection to that. 

None, he says--But is it not pity--

A pitiful fellow! Such a ridiculous kind of pity his, as those sillysouls have, who would not kill an innocent chicken for the world; butwhen killed to their hands, are always the most greedy devourers of it. 

Now this letter gives the servant the small-pox: and she has given it toher unhappy vapourish lady. Vapourish people are perpetual subjects fordiseases to work upon. Name but the malady, and it is theirs in amoment. Ever fitted for inoculation. --The physical tribe's milch-cows. --A vapourish or splenetic patient is a fiddle for the doctors; and theyare eternally playing upon it. Sweet music does it make them. All theirdifficulty, except a case extraordinary happens, (as poor Mrs. Fretchville's, who has realized her apprehensions, ) is but to hold theircountenance, while their patient is drawing up a bill of indictmentagainst himself;--and when they have heard it, proceed to punish--theright word for prescribe. Why should they not, when the criminal hasconfessed his guilt?--And punish they generally do with a vengeance. 

Yet, silly toads too, now I think of it. For why, when they know theycannot do good, may they not as well endeavour to gratify, as tonauseate, the patient's palate?

Were I a physician, I'd get all the trade to myself: for Malmsey, andCyprus, and the generous product of the Cape, a little disguised, shouldbe my principal doses: as these would create new spirits, how would therevived patient covet the physic, and adore the doctor!

Give all the paraders of the faculty whom thou knowest this hint. --Therecould but one inconvenience arise from it. The APOTHECARIES would findtheir medicines cost them something: but the demand for quantities wouldanswer that: since the honest NURSE would be the patient's taster;perpetually requiring repetitions of the last cordial julap. 

Well, but to the letter--Yet what need of further explanation after thehints in my former? The widow can't be removed; and that's enough: andMennell's work is over; and his conscience left to plague him for his ownsins, and not another man's: and, very possibly, plague enough will givehim for those. 

This letter is directed, To Robert Lovelace, Esq. Or, in his absence, tohis Lady. She has refused dining with me, or seeing me: and I was outwhen it came. She opened it: so is my lady by her own consent, proud andsaucy as she is. 

I am glad at my heart that it came before we entirely make up. She wouldelse perhaps have concluded it to be contrived for a delay: and now, moreover, we can accommodate our old and new quarrels together; andthat's contrivance, you know. But how is her dear haughty heart humbledto what it was when I knew her first, that she can apprehend any delaysfrom me; and have nothing to do but to vex at them!

I came in to dinner. She sent me down the letter, desiring my excuse foropening it. --Did it before she was aware. Lady-pride, Belford!recollection, then retrogradation!

I requested to see her upon it that moment. --But she desires to suspendour interview till morning. I will bring her to own, before I have donewith her, that she can't see me too often. 

My impatience was so great, on an occasion so unexpected, that I couldnot help writing to tell her, 'how much vexed I was at the accident: butthat it need not delay my happy day, as that did not depend upon thehouse. [She knew that before, she'll think; and so did I. ] And as Mrs. Fretchville, by Mr. Mennell, so handsomely expressed her concern upon it, and her wishes that it could suit us to bear with the unavoidable delay, I hoped, that going down to The Lawn for two or three of the summer-months, when I was made the happiest of men, would be favourable to allround. '

The dear creature takes this incident to heart, I believe: She has sentword to my repeated request to see her notwithstanding her denial, thatshe cannot till the morning: it shall be then at six o'clock, if Iplease!

To be sure I do please!

Can see her but once a day now, Jack!

Did I tell thee, that I wrote a letter to my cousin Montague, wonderingthat I heard not from Lord M. As the subject was so very interesting! Init I acquainted her with the house I was about taking; and with Mrs. Fretchville's vapourish delays. 

I was very loth to engage my own family, either man or woman, in thisaffair; but I must take my measures securely: and already they all thinkas bad of me as they well can. You observe by my Lord M. 's letter toyourself, that the well-manner'd peer is afraid I should play thisadmirable creature one of my usual dog's tricks. 

I have received just now an answer from Charlotte. 

Charlot i'n't well. A stomach disorder!

No wonder a girl's stomach should plague her. A single woman; that's it. When she has a man to plague, it will have something besides itself toprey upon. Knowest thou not moreover, that man is the woman's sun; womanis the man's earth?--How dreary, how desolate, the earth, that the sunsshines not upon!

Poor Charlotte! But I heard she was not well: that encouraged me towrite to her; and to express myself a little concerned, that she had not, of her own accord, thought of a visit in town to my charmer. 

Here follows a copy of her letter. Thou wilt see by it that every littlemonkey is to catechise me. They all depend upon my good-nature. 

M. HALL, MAY 22. 

DEAR COUSIN, We have been in daily hope for a long time, I must call it, of hearingthat the happy knot was tied. My Lord has been very much out of order:and yet nothing would serve him, but he would himself write an answer toyour letter. It was the only opportunity he should ever have, perhaps, to throw in a little good advice to you, with the hope of its being ofany signification; and he has been several hours in a day, as his goutwould let him, busied in it. It wants now only his last revisal. Hehopes it will have the greater weight with you, as it appear all in hisown hand-writing. 

Indeed, Mr. Lovelace, his worthy heart is wrapt up in you. I wish youloved yourself but half as well. But I believe too, that if all thefamily loved you less, you would love yourself more. 

His Lordship has been very busy, at the times he could not write, inconsulting Pritchard about those estates which he proposes to transfer toyou on the happy occasion, that he may answer your letter in the mostacceptable manner; and show, by effects, how kindly he takes yourinvitation. I assure you he is mighty proud of it. 

As for myself, I am not at all well, and have not been for some weekspast, with my old stomach-disorder. I had certainly else before now havedone myself the honour you wonder I have not done myself. Lady Betty, who would have accompanied me, (for we have laid it all out, ) has beenexceedingly busy in her law-affair; her antagonist, who is actually onthe spot, having been making proposals for an accommodation. But you mayassure yourself, that when our dear relation-elect shall be entered uponthe new habitation you tell me of, we will do ourselves the honour ofvisiting her; and if any delay arises from the dear lady's want ofcourage, (which considering her man, let me tell you, may very well be, )we will endeavour to inspire her with it, and be sponsors for you;--for, cousin, I believe you have need to be christened over again before youare entitled to so great a blessing. What think you?

Just now, my Lord tells me, he will dispatch a man on purpose with hisletter to-morrow: so I needed not to have written. But now I have, letit go; and by Empson, who sets out directly on his return to town. 

My best compliments, and sister's, to the most deserving lady in theworld [you will need no other direction to the person meant] conclude me

Your affectionate cousin and servant, CHARL. MONTAGUE. 

***

Thou seest how seasonably this letter comes. I hope my Lord will writenothing but what I may show to my beloved. I have actually sent her upthis letter of Charlotte's, and hope for happy effects from it. 

R. L. 

***

[The Lady, in her next letter, gives Miss Howe an account of what passed between Mr. Lovelace and herself. She resents his behaviour with her usual dignity. But when she comes to mention Mr. Mennell's letter, she re-urges Miss Howe to perfect her scheme for her deliverance; being resolved to leave him. But, dating again, on his sending up to her Miss Montague's letter, she alters her mind, and desires her to suspend for the present her application to Mrs. Townsend. ]

I had begun, says she, to suspect all he had said of Mrs. Fretchville andher house; and even Mr. Mennell himself, though so well-appearing a man. But now that I find Mr. Lovelace has apprized his relations of his intentto take it, and had engaged some of the ladies to visit me there, I couldhardly forbear blaming myself for censuring him as capable of so vile animposture. But may he not thank himself for acting so veryunaccountably, and taking such needlessly-awry steps, as he had done, embarrassing, as I told him, his own meanings, if they were good?

LETTER L

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. WEDNESDAY, MAY 24. 

[He gives his friend an account of their interview that morning; and of the happy effects of his cousin Montague's letter in his favour. Her reserves, however, he tells him, are not absolutely banished. But this he imputes to form. ]

It is not in the power of woman, says he, to be altogether sincere onthese occasions. But why?--Do they think it so great a disgrace to befound out to be really what they are?

I regretted the illness of Mrs. Fretchville; as the intention I had tofix her dear self in the house before the happy knot was tied, would haveset her in that independence in appearance, as well as fact, which wasnecessary to show to all the world that her choice was free; and as theladies of my family would have been proud to make their court to herthere, while the settlements and our equipages were preparing. But, onany other account, there was no great matter in it; since when my happyday was over, we could, with so much convenience, go down to The Lawn, tomy Lord M. 's, and to Lady Sarah's or Lady Betty's, in turn; which wouldgive full time to provide ourselves with servants and otheraccommodations. 

How sweetly the charmer listened!

I asked her, if she had had the small-pox?

Ten thousand pounds the worse in my estimation, thought I, if she hasnot; for no one of her charming graces can I dispense with. 

'Twas always a doubtful point with her mother and Mrs. Norton, she owned. But although she was not afraid of it, she chose not unnecessarily torush into places where it was. 

Right, thought I--Else, I said, it would not have been amiss for her tosee the house before she went into the country; for if she liked it not, I was not obliged to have it. 

She asked, if she might take a copy of Miss Montague's letter?

I said, she might keep the letter itself, and send it to Miss Howe, ifshe pleased; for that, I suppose, was her intention. 

She bowed her head to me. 

There, Jack! I shall have her courtesy to me by-and-by, I question not. What a-devil had I to do, to terrify the sweet creature by my termagantprojects!--Yet it was not amiss, I believe, to make her afraid of me. She says, I am an unpolite man. And every polite instance from such aone is deemed a favour. 

Talking of the settlements, I told her I had rather that Pritchard(mentioned by my cousin Charlotte) had not been consulted on thisoccasion. Pritchard, indeed, was a very honest man; and had been for ageneration in the family; and knew of the estates, and the condition ofthem, better than either my Lord or myself: but Pritchard, like other oldmen, was diffident and slow; and valued himself upon his skill as adraughts-man; and, for the sake of the paltry reputation, must have allhis forms preserved, were an imperial crown to depend upon his dispatch. 

I kissed her unrepulsing hand no less than five times during thisconversation. Lord, Jack, how my generous heart ran over!--She was quiteobliging at parting. --She in a manner asked me leave to retire; toreperuse Charlotte's letter. --I think she bent her knees to me; but Iwon't be sure. --How happy might we both have been long ago, had the dearcreature been always as complaisant to me! For I do love respect, and, whether I deserve it or not, always had it, till I knew this proudbeauty. 

And now, Belford, are we in a train, or the deuce is in it. Everyfortified town has its strong and its weak place. I have carried on myattacks against the impregnable parts. I have not doubt but I shalleither shine or smuggle her out of her cloke, since she and Miss Howehave intended to employ a smuggler against me. --All we wait for now ismy Lord's letter. 

But I had like to have forgot to tell thee, that we have been not alittle alarmed, by some inquiries that have been made after me and mybeloved by a man of good appearance; who yesterday procured a tradesmanin the neighbourhood to send for Dorcas: of whom he asked severalquestions relating to us; particularly (as we boarded and lodged in onehouse) whether we were married?

This has given my beloved great uneasiness. And I could not helpobserving upon it, to her, how right a thing it was that we had given outbelow that we were married. The inquiry, most probably, I said, was fromher brother's quarter; and now perhaps that our marriage was owned, weshould hear no more of his machinations. The person, it seems, wascurious to know the day that the ceremony was performed. But Dorcasrefused to give him any other particulars than that we were married; andshe was the more reserved, as he declined to tell her the motives of hisinquiry. 

LETTER LI

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. MAY 24. 

The devil take this uncle of mine! He has at last sent me a letter whichI cannot show, without exposing the head of our family for a fool. Aconfounded parcel of pop-guns has he let off upon me. I was in hopes hehad exhausted his whole stock of this sort in his letter to you. --To keepit back, to delay sending it, till he had recollected all this farrago ofnonsense--confound his wisdom of nations, if so much of it is to bescraped together, in disgrace of itself, to make one egregious simpleton!--But I am glad I am fortified with this piece of flagrant folly, however; since, in all human affairs, the convenient are so mingled, thatthere is no having the one without the other. 

I have already offered the bill enclosed in it to my beloved; and read toher part of the letter. But she refused the bill: and, as I am in cashmyself, I shall return it. She seemed very desirous to peruse the wholeletter. And when I told her, that, were it not for exposing the writer, I would oblige her, she said, it would not be exposing his Lordship toshow it to her; and that she always preferred the heart to the head. Iknew her meaning; but did not thank her for it. 

All that makes for me in it I will transcribe for her--yet, hang it, sheshall have the letter, and my soul with it, for one consenting kiss. 

***

She has got the letter from me without the reward. Deuce take me, if Ihad the courage to propose the condition. A new character this ofbashfulness in thy friend. I see, that a truly modest woman may makeeven a confident man keep his distance. By my soul, Belford, I believe, that nine women in ten, who fall, fall either from their own vanity orlevity, or for want of circumspection and proper reserves. 

***

I did intend to take my reward on her returning a letter so favourableto us both. But she sent it to me, sealed up, by Dorcas. I might havethought that there were two or three hints in it, that she would be toonice immediately to appear to. I send it to thee; and here will stop, to give thee time to read it. Return it as soon as thou hast perused it. 

LETTER LII

LORD M. TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. TUESDAY, MAY 23. 

It is a long lane that has no turning. --Do not despise me for my proverbs--you know I was always fond of them; and if you had been so too, itwould have been the better for you, let me tell you. I dare swear, thefine lady you are so likely to be soon happy with, will be far fromdespising them; for I am told, that she writes well, and that all herletters are full of sentences. God convert you! for nobody but he andthis lady can. 

I have no manner of doubt but that you will marry, as your father, andall your ancestors, did before you: else you would have had no title tobe my heir; nor can your descendants have any title to be your's, unlessthey are legitimate; that's worth your remembrance, Sir!--No man isalways a fool, every man is sometimes. --But your follies, I hope, are nowat an end. 

I know, you have vowed revenge against this fine lady's family: but nomore of that, now. You must look upon them all as your relations; andforgive and forget. And when they see you make a good husband and a goodfather, [which God send, for all our sakes!] they will wonder at theirnonsensical antipathy, and beg your pardon: But while they think you avile fellow, and a rake, how can they either love you, or excuse theirdaughter?

And methinks I could wish to give a word of comfort to the lady, who, doubtless, must be under great fears, how she shall be able to hold insuch a wild creature as you have hitherto been. I would hint to her, that by strong arguments, and gentle words, she may do any thing withyou; for though you are apt to be hot, gentle words will cool you, andbring you into the temper that is necessary for your cure. 

Would to God, my poor lady, your aunt, who is dead and gone, had been aproper patient for the same remedy! God rest her soul! No reflectionsupon her memory! Worth is best known by want! I know her's now; and ifI had went first, she would by this time have known mine. 

There is great wisdom in that saying, God send me a friend, that may tellme of my faults: if not, an enemy, and he will. Not that I am yourenemy; and that you well know. The more noble any one is, the morehumble; so bear with me, if you would be thought noble. --Am I not youruncle? and do I not design to be better to you than your father could be?Nay, I will be your father too, when the happy day comes; since youdesire it: and pray make my compliments to my dear niece; and tell her, Iwonder much that she has so long deferred your happiness. 

Pray let her know as that I will present HER (not you) either myLancashire seat or The Lawn in Hertfordshire, and settle upon her athousand pounds a year penny-rents; to show her, that we are not a familyto take base advantages: and you may have writings drawn, and settle asyou will. --Honest Pritchard has the rent-roll of both these estates; andas he has been a good old servant, I recommend him to your lady's favour. I have already consulted him: he will tell you what is best for you, andmost pleasing to me. 

I am still very bad with my gout, but will come in a litter, as soon asthe day is fixed; it would be the joy of my heart to join your hands. And, let me tell you, if you do not make the best of husbands to so gooda young lady, and one who has had so much courage for your sake, I willrenounce you; and settle all I can upon her and her's by you, and leaveyou out of the question. 

If any thing be wanting for your further security, I am ready to give it;though you know, that my word has always been looked upon as my bond. And when the Harlowes know all this, let us see whether they are able toblush, and take shame to themselves. 

Lady Sarah and Lady Betty want only to know the day, to make all thecountry round them blaze, and all their tenants mad. And, if any one ofmine be sober upon the occasion, Pritchard shall eject him. And, on thebirth of the first child, if a son, I will do something more for you, andrepeat all our rejoicings. 

I ought indeed to have written sooner. But I knew, that if you thoughtme long, and were in haste as to your nuptials, you would write and tellme so. But my gout was very troublesome: and I am but a slow writer, youknow, at best: for composing is a thing that, though formerly I was veryready at it, (as my Lord Lexington used to say, ) yet having left it off agreat while, I am not so now. And I chose, on this occasion, to writeall out of my own hand and memory; and to give you my best advice; for Imay never have such an opportunity again. You have had [God mend you!] astrange way of turning your back upon all I have said: this once, I hope, you will be more attentive to the advice I give you for your own good. 

I have still another end; nay, two other ends. 

The one was, that now you are upon the borders of wedlock, as I may say, and all your wild oats will be sown, I would give you some instructionsas to your public as well as private behaviour in life; which, intendingyou so much good as I do, you ought to hear; and perhaps would never havelistened to, on any less extraordinary occasion. 

The second is, that your dear lady-elect (who is it seems herself so fineand so sententious a writer) will see by this, that it is not our faults, nor for want of the best advice, that you was not a better man than youhave hitherto been. 

And now, in a few words, for the conduct I would wish you to follow inpublic, as well as in private, if you would think me worthy of advising. --It shall be short; so be not uneasy. 

As to the private life: Love your lady as she deserves. Let your actionspraise you. Be a good husband; and so give the lie to all your enemies;and make them ashamed of their scandals. And let us have pride insaying, that Miss Harlowe has not done either herself or family anydiscredit by coming among us. Do this; and I, and Lady Sarah, and LadyBetty, will love you for ever. 

As to your public conduct: This as follows is what I could wish: but Ireckon your lady's wisdom will put us both right--no disparagement, Sir;since, with all your wit, you have not hitherto shown much wisdom, youknow. 

Get into parliament as soon as you can: for you have talons to make agreat figure there. Who so proper to assist in making new holding laws, as those whom no law in being could hold?

Then, for so long as you will give attendance in St. Stephen's chapel--its being called a chapel, I hope, will not disgust you: I am sure I haveknown many a riot there--a speaker has a hard time of it! but we peershave more decorum--But what was I going to say?--I must go back. 

For so long as you will give your attendance in parliament, for so longwill you be out of mischief; out of private mischief, at least: and maySt. Stephen's fate be your's, if you wilfully do public mischief!

When a new election comes, you will have two or three boroughs, you know, to choose out of:--but if you stay till then, I had rather you were forthe shire. 

You will have interest enough, I am sure; and being so handsome a man, the women will make their husbands vote for you. 

I shall long to read your speeches. I expect you will speak, if occasionoffer, the very first day. You want no courage, and think highly enoughof yourself, and lowly enough of every body else, to speak on alloccasions. 

As to the methods of the house, you have spirit enough, I fear, to be toomuch above them: take care of that. --I don't so much fear your want ofgood-manners. To men, you want no decency, if they don't provoke you: asto that, I wish you would only learn to be as patient of contradictionfrom others, as you would have other people be to you. 

Although I would not have you to be a courtier; neither would I have youto be a malcontent. I remember (for I have it down) what my old friendArchibald Hutcheson said; and it was a very good saying--(to Mr. Secretary Craggs, I think it was)--'I look upon an administration, asentitled to every vote I can with good conscience give it; for a house ofcommons should not needlessly put drags upon the wheels of government:and when I have not given it my vote, it was with regret: and, for mycountry's sake, I wished with all my heart the measure had been such as Icould have approved. '

And another saying he had, which was this: 'Neither can an opposition, neither can a ministry, be always wrong. To be a plumb man thereforewith either, is an infallible mark, that that man must mean more andworse than he will own he does mean. '

Are these sayings bad, Sir? are they to be despised?--Well, then, whyshould I be despised for remembering them, and quoting them, as I love todo? Let me tell you, if you loved my company more than you do, you wouldnot be the worse for it. I may say so without any vanity; since it isother men's wisdom, and not my own, that I am so fond of. 

But to add a word or two more on this occasion; and I may never have suchanother; for you must read this through--Love honest men, and herd withthem, in the house and out of the house; by whatever names they bedignified or distinguished: Keep good men company, and you shall be outof their number. But did I, or did I not, write this before?--Writing, at so many different times, and such a quantity, one may forget. 

You may come in for the title when I am dead and gone--God help me!--So Iwould have you keep an equilibrium. If once you get the name of being afine speaker, you may have any thing: and, to be sure, you have naturallya great deal of elocution; a tongue that would delude an angel, as thewomen say--to their sorrow, some of them, poor creatures!--A leading manin the house of commons is a very important character; because that househas the giving of money: and money makes the mare to go; ay, and queensand kings too, sometimes, to go in a manner very different from what theymight otherwise choose to go, let me tell you. 

However, methinks, I would not have you take a place neither--it willdouble your value, and your interest, if it be believed, that you willnot: for, as you will then stand in no man's way, you will have no envy;but pure sterling respect; and both sides will court you. 

For your part, you will not want a place, as some others do, to piece uptheir broken fortunes. If you can now live reputably upon two thousandpounds a year, it will be hard if you cannot hereafter live upon seven oreight--less you will not have, if you oblige me; as now, by marrying sofine a lady, very much you will--and all this, and above Lady Betty's andLady Sarah's favours! What, in the name of wonder, could possiblypossess the proud Harlowes!--That son, that son of theirs!--But, for hisdear sister's sake, I will say no more of him. 

I never was offered a place myself: and the only one I would have taken, had I been offered it, was master of the buckhounds; for I loved huntingwhen I was young; and it carries a good sound with it for us who live inthe country. Often have I thought of that excellent old adage; He thateats the king's goose, shall be choked with his feathers. I wish to theLord, this was thoroughly considered by place-hunters! it would be betterfor them, and for their poor families. 

I could say a great deal more, and all equally to the purpose. Butreally I am tired; and so I doubt are you. And besides, I would reservesomething for conversation. 

My nieces Montague, and Lady Sarah and Lady Betty, join in compliments tomy niece that is to be. If she would choose to have the knot tied amongus, pray tell her that we shall all see it securely done: and we willmake all the country ring and blaze for a week together. But so Ibelieve I said before. 

If any thing further may be needful toward promoting your reciprocalfelicity, let me know it; and how you order about the day; and all that. The enclosed bill is very much at your service. 'Tis payable at sight, as whatever else you may have occasion for shall be. 

So God bless you both; and make things as convenient to my gout as youcan; though, be it whenever it will, I will hobble to you; for I long tosee you; and still more to see my niece; and am (in expectation of thathappy opportunity)

Your most affectionate UncleM. 

LETTER LIII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. THURSDAY, MAY 25. 

Thou seest, Belford, how we now drive before the wind. --The dear creaturenow comes almost at the first word, whenever I desire the honour of hercompany. I told her last night, that apprehending delay from Pritchard'sslowness, I was determined to leave it to my Lord to make his complimentsin his own way; and had actually that afternoon put my writings into thehands of a very eminent lawyer, Counsellor Willians, with directions forhim to draw up settlements from my own estate, and conformably to thoseof my mother! which I put into his hands at the same time. It had been, I assured her, no small part of my concern, that her frequentdispleasure, and our mutual misapprehensions, had hindered me fromadvising with her before on this subject. Indeed, indeed, my dearestlife, said I, you have hitherto afforded me but a very thorny courtship. 

She was silent. Kindly silent. For well know I, that she could haverecriminated upon me with a vengeance. But I was willing to see if shewere not loth to disoblige me now. I comforted myself, I said, with thehopes that all my difficulties were now over; and that every pastdisobligations would be buried in oblivion. 

Now, Belford, I have actually deposited these writings with CounsellorWilliams; and I expect the draughts in a week at farthest. So shall bedoubly armed. For if I attempt, and fail, these shall be ready to throwin, to make her have patience with me till I can try again. 

I have more contrivances still in embryo. I could tell thee of anhundred, and yet hold another hundred in petto, to pop in as I go along, to excite thy surprize, and to keep up thy attention. Nor rave thou atme; but, if thou art my friend, think of Miss Howe's letters, and of hersmuggling scheme. All owing to my fair captive's informationsincitements. Am I not a villain, a fool, a Beelzebub, with them already?--Yet no harm done by me, nor so much as attempted?

Every thing of this nature, the dear creature answered, (with a downcasteye, and a blushing cheek, ) she left to me. 

I proposed my Lord's chapel for the celebration, where we might have thepresence of Lady Betty, Lady Sarah, and my two cousins Montague. 

She seemed not to favour a public celebration! and waved this subject forthe present. I doubted not but she would be as willing as I to decline apublic wedding; so I pressed not this matter farther just then. 

But patterns I actually produced; and a jeweller was to bring as this dayseveral sets of jewels for her choice. But the patterns she would notopen. She sighed at the mention of them: the second patterns, she said, that had been offered to her:* and very peremptorily forbid thejeweller's coming; as well as declined my offer of causing my mother's tobe new-set, at least for the present. 

* See Vol. I. Letter XLI. 

I do assure thee, Belford, I was in earnest in all this. My whole estateis nothing to me, put in competition with her hoped-for favour. 

She then told me, that she had put into writing her opinion of my generalproposals; and there had expressed her mind as to clothes and jewels: buton my strange behaviour to her (for no cause that she knew of) on Sundaynight, she had torn the paper in two. 

I earnestly pressed her to let me be favoured with a sight of this paper, torn as it was. And, after some hesitation, she withdrew, and sent it tome by Dorcas. 

I perused it again. It was in a manner new to me, though I had read itso lately: and, by my soul, I could hardly stand it. An hundredadmirable creatures I called her to myself. But I charge thee, write nota word to me in her favour, if thou meanest her well; for, if I spareher, it must be all ex mero motu. 

You may easily suppose, when I was re-admitted to her presence, that Iran over in her praises, and in vows of gratitude, and everlasting love. But here's the devil; she still receives all I say with reserve; or ifit be not with reserve, she receives it so much as her due, that she isnot at all raised by it. Some women are undone by praise, by flattery. I myself, a man, am proud of praise. Perhaps thou wilt say, that thoseare most proud of it who least deserve it; as those are of riches andgrandeur who are not born to either. I own, that to be superior to thesefoibles, it requires a soul. Have I not then a soul?--Surely, I have. --Let me then be considered as an exception to the rule. 

Now have I foundation to go upon in my terms. My Lord, in the exuberanceof his generosity, mentions a thousand pounds a year penny-rents. This Iknow, that were I to marry this lady, he would rather settle upon her allhe has a mind to settle, than upon me. He has event threatened, that ifI prove not a good husband to her, he will leave all he can at his deathfrom me to her. Yet considers not that a woman so perfect can never bedispleased with her husband but to his disgrace: For who will blame her?--Another reason why a LOVELACE should not wish to marry a CLARISSA. 

But what a pretty fellow of an uncle is this foolish peer, to think ofmaking a wife independent of her emperor, and a rebel of course; yetsmarted himself for an error of this kind!

My beloved, in her torn paper, mentions but two hundred pounds a year, for her separate use. I insisted upon her naming a larger sum. She saidit might be three; and I, for fear she should suspect very large offers, named only five; but added the entire disposal of all arrears in herfather's hands for the benefit of Mrs. Norton, or whom she pleased. 

She said, that the good woman would be uneasy if any thing more than acompetency were done for her. She was more for suiting all herdispositions of this kind, she said, to the usual way of life of theperson. To go beyond it, was but to put the benefited upon projects, or to make them awkward in a new state; when they might shine in that towhich they were accustomed. And to put it into so good a mother's powerto give her son a beginning in his business at a proper time; yet toleave her something for herself, to set her above want, or above thenecessity of taking back from her child what she had been enabled tobestow upon him; would be the height of such a worthy parent's ambition. 

Here's prudence! Here's judgment in so young a creature! How do I hatethe Harlowes for producing such an angel!--O why, why, did she refuse mysincere address to tie the knot before we came to this house!

But yet, what mortifies my pride is, that this exalted creature, if Iwere to marry her, would not be governed in her behaviour to me by love, but by generosity merely, or by blind duty; and had rather live single, than be mine. 

I cannot bear this. I would have the woman whom I honour with my name, if ever I confer this honour upon any, forego even her superior dutiesfor me. I would have her look after me when I go out as far as she cansee me, as my Rosebud after her Johnny; and meet me at my return withrapture. I would be the subject of her dreams, as well as of her wakingthoughts. I would have her think every moment lost that is not passedwith me: sing to me, read to me, play to me when I pleased: no joy sogreat as in obeying me. When I should be inclined to love, overwhelm mewith it; when to be serious or solitary, if apprehensive of intrusion, retiring at a nod; approaching me only if I smiled encouragement: stealinto my presence with silence; out of it, if not noticed, on tiptoe. Bea lady easy to all my pleasures, and valuing those most who mostcontributed to them; only sighing in private, that it was not herself atthe time. Thus of old did the contending wives of the honest patriarchs;each recommending her handmaid to her lord, as she thought it wouldoblige him, and looking upon the genial product as her own. 

The gentle Waller says, women are born to be controuled. Gentle as hewas, he knew that. A tyrant husband makes a dutiful wife. And why dothe sex love rakes, but because they know how to direct their uncertainwills, and manage them?

***

Another agreeable conversation. The day of days the subject. As tofixing a particular one, that need not be done, my charmer says, till thesettlements are completed. As to marrying at my Lord's chapel, theLadies of my family present, that would be making a public affair of it;and the dear creature observed, with regret, that it seemed to be myLord's intention to make it so. 

It could not be imagined, I said, but that his Lordship's setting out ina litter, and coming to town, as well as his taste for glare, and the joyhe would take to see me married at last, and to her dear self, would giveit as much the air of a public marriage as if the ceremony were performedat his own chapel, all the Ladies present. 

I cannot, said she, endure the thoughts of a public day. It will carrywith it an air of insult upon my whole family. And for my part, if myLord will not take it amiss, [and perhaps he will not, as the motion camenot from himself, but from you, Mr. Lovelace, ] I will very willinglydispense with his Lordship's presence; the rather, as dress andappearance will then be unnecessary; for I cannot bear to think ofdecking my person while my parents are in tears. 

How excellent this! Yet do not her parents richly deserve to be intears?

See, Belford, with so charming a niceness, we might have been a long timeago upon the verge of the state, and yet found a great deal to do beforewe entered into it. 

All obedience, all resignation--no will but her's. I withdrew, and wrotedirectly to my Lord; and she not disapproving of it, I sent it away. Thepurport as follows; for I took no copy. 

'That I was much obliged to his Lordship for his intended goodness to meon an occasion the most solemn of my life. That the admirable Lady, whomhe so justly praised, thought his Lordship's proposals in her favour toohigh. That she chose not to make a public appearance, if, withoutdisobliging my friends, she could avoid it, till a reconciliation withher own could be effected. That although she expressed a grateful senseof his Lordship's consent to give her to me with his own hand; yet, presuming that the motive to this kind intention was rather to do herhonour, than it otherwise would have been his own choice, (especially astravelling would be at this time so inconvenient to him, ) she thought itadvisable to save his Lordship trouble on this occasion; and hoped hewould take as meant her declining the favour. 

'That The Lawn will be most acceptable to us both to retire to; and therather, as it is so to his Lordship. 

'But, if he pleases, the jointure may be made from my own estate; leavingto his Lordship's goodness the alternative. '

I conclude with telling him, 'that I had offered to present the Lady hisLordship's bill; but on her declining to accept of it (having myself nopresent occasion for it) I return it enclosed, with my thanks, &c. '

And is not this going a plaguy length? What a figure should I make inrakish annals, if at last I should be caught in my own gin?

The sex may say what they will, but a poor innocent fellow had need totake great care of himself, when he dances upon the edge of thematrimonial precipice. Many a faint-hearted man, when he began to jest, or only designed to ape gallantry, has been forced into earnest, by beingover-prompt, and taken at his word, not knowing how to own that he meantless than the lady supposed he meant. I am the better enabled to judgethat this must have been the case of many a sneaking varlet; because I, who know the female world as well as any man in it of my standing, am sofrequently in doubt of myself, and know not what to make of the matter. 

Then these little sly rogues, how they lie couchant, ready to spring uponus harmless fellows the moment we are in their reach!--When the ice isonce broken for them, how swiftly can they make to port!--Mean time, thesubject they can least speak to, they most think of. Nor can you talk ofthe ceremony, before they have laid out in their minds how it is all tobe. Little saucy-faced designers! how first they draw themselves in, then us!

But be all these things as they will, Lord M. Never in his life receivedso handsome a letter as this from his nephew

LOVELACE. 

***

[The Lady, after having given to Miss Howe on the particulars contained in Mr. Lovelace's last letter, thus expresses herself:]

A principal consolation arising from these favourable appearances, is, that I, who have now but one only friend, shall most probably, and if itbe not my own fault, have as many new ones as there are persons in Mr. Lovelace's family; and this whether Mr. Lovelace treat me kindly or not. And who knows, but that, by degrees, those new friends, by their rank andmerit, may have weight enough to get me restored to the favour of myrelations? till which can be effected, I shall not be tolerably easy. Happy I never expect to be. Mr. Lovelace's mind and mine are vastlydifferent; different in essentials. 

But as matters are at present circumstanced, I pray you, my dear friend, to keep to yourself every thing that might bring discredit to him, ifrevealed. --Better any body expose a man than a wife, if I am to be his;and what is said by you will be thought to come from me. 

It shall be my constant prayer, that all the felicities which this worldcan afford may be your's: and that the Almighty will never suffer you noryour's, to the remotest posterity, to want such a friend as my Anna Howehas been to

HerCLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER LIV

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. 

And now, that my beloved seems secure in my net, for my project upon thevixen Miss Howe, and upon her mother: in which the officious prancerHickman is to come in for a dash. 

But why upon her mother, methinks thou askest, who, unknown to herself, has only acted, by the impulse, through thy agent Joseph Leman, upon thefolly of old Tony the uncle?

No matter for that: she believes she acts upon her own judgment: anddeserves to be punished for pretending to judgment, when she has none. --Every living soul, but myself, I can tell thee, shall be punished, thattreats either cruelly or disrespectfully so adored a lady. --What aplague! is it not enough that she is teased and tormented in person byme?

I have already broken the matter to our three confederates; as asupposed, not a resolved-on case indeed. And yet they know, that withme, in a piece of mischief, execution, with its swiftest feel, is seldomthree paces behind projection, which hardly ever limps neither. 

MOWBRAY is not against it. It is a scheme, he says, worthy of us: and wehave not done any thing for a good while that has made a noise. 

BELTON, indeed, hesitates a little, because matters go wrong between himand his Thomasine; and the poor fellow has not the courage to have hissore place probed to the bottom. 

TOURVILLE has started a fresh game, and shrugs his shoulders, and shouldnot choose to go abroad at present, if I please. For I apprehend that(from the nature of the project) there will be a kind of necessity totravel, till all is blown over. 

To ME, one country is as good as another; and I shall soon, I suppose, choose to quit this paltry island; except the mistress of my fate willconsent to cohabit at home; and so lay me under no necessity ofsurprising her into foreign parts. TRAVELLING, thou knowest, gives thesexes charming opportunities of being familiar with one another. A veryfew days and nights must now decide all matters betwixt me and my fairinimitable. 

DOLEMAN, who can act in these causes only as chamber-counsel, will informus by pen and ink [his right hand and right side having not yet beenstruck, and the other side beginning to be sensible] of all that shalloccur in our absence. 

As for THEE, we had rather have thy company than not; for, although thouart a wretched fellow at contrivance, yet art thou intrepid at execution. But as thy present engagements make thy attendance uncertain, I am notfor making thy part necessary to our scheme; but for leaving thee to comeafter us when abroad. I know thou canst not long live without us. 

The project, in short, is this:--Mrs. Howe has an elder sister in theIsle of Wight, who is lately a widow; and I am well informed, that themother and daughter have engaged, before the latter is married, to pay avisit to this lady, who is rich, and intends Miss for her heiress; and inthe interim will make her some valuable presents on her approachingnuptials; which, as Mrs. Howe, who loves money more than any thing butherself, told one of my acquaintance, would be worth fetching. 

Now, Jack, nothing more need be done, than to hire a little trim vessel, which shall sail a pleasuring backward and forward to Portsmouth, Spithead, and the Isle of Wight, for a week or fortnight before we enterupon our parts of the plot. And as Mrs. Howe will be for making the bestbargain she can for her passage, the master of the vessel may have orders(as a perquisite allowed him by his owners) to take what she will give:and the master's name, be it what it will, shall be Ganmore on theoccasion; for I know a rogue of that name, who is not obliged to be ofany country, any more than we. 

Well, then, we will imagine them on board. I will be there in disguise. They know not any of ye four--supposing (the scheme so inviting) thatthou canst be one. 

'Tis plaguy hard, if we cannot find, or make a storm. 

Perhaps they will be sea-sick: but whether they be or not, no doubt theywill keep their cabin. 

Here will be Mrs. Howe, Miss Howe, Mr. Hickman, a maid, and a footman, Isuppose: and thus we will order it. 

I know it will be hard weather: I know it will: and, before there can bethe least suspicion of the matter, we shall be in sight of Guernsey, Jersey, Dieppe, Cherbourg, or any where on the French coast that it shallplease us to agree with the winds to blow us: and then, securing thefootman, and the women being separated, one of us, according to lots thatmay be cast, shall overcome, either by persuasion or force, the maidservant: that will be no hard task; and she is a likely wench, [I haveseen her often:] one, Mrs. Howe; nor can there be much difficulty there;for she is full of health and life, and has been long a widow: another, [that, says the princely lion, must be I!] the saucy daughter; who willbe much too frightened to make great resistance, [violent spirits, inthat sex, are seldom true spirits--'tis but where they can:] and afterbeating about the coast for three or four days for recreation's sake, andto make sure work, till we see our sullen birds begin to eat and sip, wewill set them all ashore where it will be most convenient; sell thevessel, [to Mrs. Townsend's agents, with all my heart, or to some othersmugglers, ] or give it to Ganmore; and pursue our travels, and tarryabroad till all is hushed up. 

Now I know thou wilt make difficulties, as it is thy way; while it ismine to conquer them. My other vassals made theirs; and I condescendedto obviate them: as thus I will thine, first stating them for theeaccording to what I know of thy phlegm. 

What, in the first place, wilt thou ask, shall be done with Hickman? whowill be in full parade of dress and primness, in order to show the oldaunt what a devilish clever fellow of a nephew she is to have. 

What!--I'll tell thee--Hickman, in good manners, will leave the women intheir cabin--and, to show his courage with his breeding, be upon deck--

Well, and suppose he is!--Why then I hope it is easy for Ganmore, or anybody else, myself suppose in my pea-jacket and great watch coat, (if anyother make scruple to do it), while he stands in the way, gaping andstaring like a novice, to stumble against him, and push him overboard!--A rich thought--is it not, Belford?--He is certainly plaguy officiousin the ladies' correspondence; and I am informed, plays double betweenmother and daughter, in fear of both. --Dost not see him, Jack?--I do--popping up and down, his wig and hat floating by him; and paddling, pawing, and dashing, like a frighted mongrel--I am afraid he neverventured to learn to swim. 

But thou wilt not drown the poor fellow; wilt thou?

No, no!--that is not necessary to the project--I hate to do mischiefssupererogatory. The skiff shall be ready to save him, while the vesselkeeps its course: he shall be set on shore with the loss of wig and hatonly, and of half his little wits, at the place where he embarked, or anywhere else. 

Well, but shall we not be in danger of being hanged for three suchenormous rapes, although Hickman should escape with only a bellyful ofsea-water?

Yes, to be sure, when caught--But is there any likelihood of that?--Besides, have we not been in danger before now for worse facts? and whatis there in being only in danger?--If we actually were to appear in openday in England before matters are made up, there will be greaterlikelihood that these women will not prosecute that they will. --For myown part, I should wish they may. Would not a brave fellow choose toappear in court to such an arraignment, confronting women who would docredit to his attempt? The country is more merciful in these cases, thanin any others: I should therefore like to put myself upon my country. 

Let me indulge in a few reflections upon what thou mayest think the worstthat can happen. I will suppose that thou art one of us; and that allfive are actually brought to trial on this occasion: how bravely shall weenter a court, I at the head of you, dressed out each man, as if to hiswedding appearance!--You are sure of all the women, old and young, ofyour side. --What brave fellows!--what fine gentlemen!--There goes acharming handsome man!--meaning me, to be sure!--who could find in theirhearts to hang such a gentleman as that? whispers one lady, sittingperhaps on the right hand of the recorder: [I suppose the scene to be inLondon:] while another disbelieves that any woman could fairly swearagainst me. All will crowd after me: it will be each man's happiness (ifye shall chance to be bashful) to be neglected: I shall be found to bethe greatest criminal; and my safety, for which the general voice will beengaged, will be yours. 

But then comes the triumph of triumphs, that will make the accused lookup, while the accusers are covered with confusion. 

Make room there!--stand by!--give back!--One receiving a rap, another anelbow, half a score a push a piece!--

Enter the slow-moving, hooded-faced, down-looking plaintiffs. --

And first the widow, with a sorrowful countenance, though half-veiled, pitying her daughter more than herself. The people, the womenespecially, who on this occasion will be five-sixths of the spectators, reproaching her--You'd have the conscience, would you, to have five suchbrave gentlemen as these hanged for you know not what?

Next comes the poor maid--who, perhaps, has been ravished twenty timesbefore; and had not appeared now, but for company-sake; mincing, simpering, weeping, by turns; not knowing whether she should be sorryor glad. 

But every eye dwells upon Miss!--See, see, the handsome gentleman bows toher!

To the very ground, to be sure, I shall bow; and kiss my hand. 

See her confusion! see! she turns from him!--Ay! that's because it is inopen court, cries an arch one!--While others admire her--Ay! that's agirl worth venturing one's neck for!

Then we shall be praised--even the judges, and the whole crowded bench, will acquit us in their hearts! and every single man wish he had been me!--the women, all the time, disclaiming prosecution, were the case to betheir own. To be sure, Belford, the sufferers cannot put half so good aface upon the matter as we. 

Then what a noise will this matter make!--Is it not enough, suppose usmoving from the prison to the sessions-house, * to make a noble heartthump it away most gloriously, when such an one finds himself attended tohis trial by a parade of guards and officers, of miens and aspectswarlike and unwarlike; himself of their whole care, and their business!weapons in their hands, some bright, some rusty, equally venerable fortheir antiquity and inoffensiveness! others of more authoritativedemeanour, strutting before with fine painted staves! shoals of peoplefollowing, with a Which is he whom the young lady appears against?--Then, let us look down, look up, look round, which way we will, we shallsee all the doors, the shops, the windows, the sign-irons, and balconies, (garrets, gutters, and chimney-tops included, ) all white-capt, black-hooded, and periwigg'd, or crop-ear'd up by the immobile vulgus: whilethe floating street-swarmers, who have seen us pass by at one place, runwith stretched-out necks, and strained eye-balls, a roundabout way, andelbow and shoulder themselves into places by which we have not passed, inorder to obtain another sight of us; every street continuing to pour outits swarms of late-comers, to add to the gathering snowball; who arecontent to take descriptions of our persons, behaviour, and countenances, from those who had the good fortune to have been in time to see us. 

* Within these few years past, a passage has been made from the prison tothe sessions-house, whereby malefactors are carried into court withoutgoing through the street. Lovelace's triumph on their supposed marchshows the wisdom of this alteration. 

Let me tell thee, Jack, I see not why (to judge according to ourprinciples and practices) we should not be as much elated in our march, were this to happen to us, as others may be upon any other the most mob-attracting occasion--suppose a lord-mayor on his gawdy--suppose avictorious general, or ambassador, on his public entry--suppose (as Ibegan with the lowest) the grandest parade that can be supposed, acoronation--for, in all these, do not the royal guard, the heroictrained-bands, the pendent, clinging throngs of spectators, with theirwaving heads rolling to-and-fro from house-tops to house-bottoms andstreet-ways, as I have above described, make the principal part of theraree-show?

And let me ask thee, if thou dost not think, that either the mayor, theambassador, or the general would not make very pitiful figures on theirgalas, did not the trumpets and tabrets call together the canaille togaze at them?--Nor perhaps should we be the most guilty heroes neither:for who knows how the magistrate may have obtained his gold chain? whilethe general probably returns from cutting of throats, and from murders, sanctified by custom only. --Caesar, we are told, * had won, at the age offifty-six, when he was assassinated, fifty pitched battles, had taken byassault above a thousand towns, and slain near 1, 200, 000 men; I supposeexclusive of those who fell on his own side in slaying them. Are not youand I, Jack, innocent men, and babes in swaddling-clothes, compared toCaesar, and to his predecessor in heroism, Alexander, dubbed, for murdersand depredation, Magnus?

* Pliny gives this account, putting the number of men slain at 1, 100, 092. See also Lipsius de Constandia. 

The principal difference that strikes me in the comparison between us andthe mayor, the ambassador, the general, on their gawdies, is, that themob make a greater noise, a louder huzzaing, in the one case than theother, which is called acclamation, and ends frequently in higher taste, by throwing dead animals at one another, before they disperse; in whichthey have as much joy, as in the former part of the triumph: while theywill attend us with all the marks of an awful or silent (at most only awhispering) respect; their mouths distended, as if set open with gags, and their voices generally lost in goggle-ey'd admiration. 

Well, but suppose, after all, we are convicted; what have we to do, butin time make over our estates, that the sheriffs may not revel in ourspoils?--There is no fear of being hanged for such a crime as this, whilewe have money or friends. --And suppose even the worst, that two or threewere to die, have we not a chance, each man of us, to escape? Thedevil's in them, if they'll hang five for ravishing three!

I know I shall get off for one--were it but for family sake: and being ahandsome fellow, I shall have a dozen or two young maidens, all dressedin white, go to court to beg my life--and what a pretty show they willmake, with their white hoods, white gowns, white petticoats, whitescarves, white gloves, kneeling for me, with their white handkerchiefsat their eyes, in two pretty rows, as his Majesty walks through them andnods my pardon for their sakes!--And, if once pardoned, all is over: for, Jack, in a crime of this nature there lies no appeal, as in a murder. 

So thou seest the worst that can happen, should we not make the grandtour upon this occasion, but stay and take our trials. But it is mostlikely, that they will not prosecute at all. If not, no risque on ourside will be run; only taking our pleasure abroad, at the worst; leavingfriends tired of us, in order, after a time, to return to the samefriends endeared to us, as we to them, by absence. 

This, Jack, is my scheme, at the first running. I know it is capable ofimprovement--for example: I can land these ladies in France; whip overbefore they can get a passage back, or before Hickman can have recoveredhis fright; and so find means to entrap my beloved on board--and then allwill be right; and I need not care if I were never to return to England. 

Memorandum, To be considered of--Whether, in order to complete my vengeance, I cannot contrive to kidnap away either James Harlowe or Solmes? or both? A man, Jack, would not go into exile for nothing. 

LETTER LV

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. 

If, Belford, thou likest not my plot upon Miss Howe, I have three or fourmore as good in my own opinion; better, perhaps, they will be in thine:and so 'tis but getting loose from thy present engagement, and thou shaltpick and choose. But as for thy three brethren, they must do as I wouldhave them: and so, indeed, must thou--Else why am I your general? But Iwill refer this subject to its proper season. Thou knowest, that I neverabsolutely conclude upon a project, till 'tis time for execution; andthen lightning strikes not quicker than I. 

And now to the subject next my heart. 

Wilt thou believe me, when I tell thee, that I have so many contrivancesrising up and crowding upon me for preference, with regard to myGloriana, that I hardly know which to choose?--I could tell thee of noless than six princely ones, any of which must do. But as the dearcreature has not grudged giving me trouble, I think I ought not, ingratitude, to spare combustibles for her; but, on the contrary, to makeher stare and stand aghast, by springing three or four mines at once. 

Thou remembrest what Shakespeare, in his Troilus and Cressida, makesHector, who, however, is not used to boast, say to Achilles in aninterview between them; and which, applied to this watchful lady, and tothe vexation she has given me, and to the certainty I now think I have ofsubduing her, will run thus: supposing the charmer before me; and Imeditating her sweet person from head to foot:

 Henceforth, O watchful fair-one, guard thee well: For I'll not kill thee there! nor there! nor there! But, by the zone that circles Venus' waist, I'll kill thee ev'ry where; yea, o'er and o'er. -- Thou, wisest Belford, pardon me this brag: Her watchfulness draws folly from my lips; But I'll endeavour deeds to match the words, Or I may never----

Then I imagine thee interposing to qualify my impatience, as Ajax did toAchilles:

 ----Do not chafe thee, cousin: ----And let these threats alone, Till accident or purpose bring thee to it. 

All that vexes me, in the midst of my gloried-in devices, is, that thereis a sorry fellow in the world, who has presumed to question, whether theprize, when obtained, is worthy of the pains it costs me: yet knows, withwhat patience and trouble a bird-man will spread an acre of ground withgins and snares; set up his stalking horse, his glasses; plant his decoy-birds, and invite the feathered throng by his whistle; and all his prizeat last (the reward of early hours, and of a whole morning's pains) onlya simple linnet. 

To be serious, Belford, I must acknowledge, that all our pursuits, fromchildhood to manhood, are only trifles of different sort and sizes, proportioned to our years and views: but then is not a fine woman thenoblest trifle, that ever was or could be obtained by man?--And to whatpurpose do we say obtained, if it be not in the way we wish for?--If a manis rather to be her prize, than she his?

***

And now, Belford, what dost think?

That thou art a cursed fellow, if--

If--no if's--but I shall be very sick to-morrow. I shall, 'faith. 

Sick!--Why sick? What a-devil shouldst thou be sick for?

For more good reasons than one, Jack. 

I should be glad to hear but one. --Sick, quotha! Of all thy roguishinventions I should not have thought of this. 

Perhaps thou thinkest my view to be, to draw the lady to my bedside. That's a trick of three or four thousand years old; and I should find itmuch more to my purpose, if I could get to her's. However, I'llcondescend to make thee as wise as myself. 

I am excessively disturbed about this smuggling scheme of Miss Howe. Ihave no doubt, that my fair-one, were I to make an attempt, and miscarry, will fly from me, if she can. I once believed she loved me: but now Idoubt whether she does or not: at least, that it is with such an ardour, as Miss Howe calls it, as will make her overlook a premeditated fault, should I be guilty of one. 

And what will being sick do for thee?

Have patience. I don't intend to be so very bad as Dorcas shallrepresent me to be. But yet I know I shall reach confoundedly, and bringup some clotted blood. To be sure, I shall break a vessel: there's nodoubt of that: and a bottle of Eaton's styptic shall be sent for; but nodoctor. If she has humanity, she will be concerned. But if she haslove, let it have been pushed ever so far back, it will, on thisoccasion, come forward, and show itself; not only in her eye, but inevery line of her sweet face. 

I will be very intrepid. I will not fear death, or any thing else. Iwill be sure of being well in an hour or two, having formerly found greatbenefit by this astringent medicine, on occasion of an inward bruise by afall from my horse in hunting, of which perhaps this malady may be theremains. And this will show her, that though those about me may make themost of it, I do not; and so can have no design in it. 

Well, methinks thou sayest, I begin to think tolerably of this device. 

I knew thou wouldst, when I explained myself. Another time prepare towonder; and banish doubt. 

Now, Belford, I shall expect, that she will show some concern at thebroken vessel, as it may be attended with fatal effects, especially toone so fiery in his temper as I have the reputation to be thought to be:and the rather, as I shall calmly attribute the accident to the harassesand doubts under which I have laboured for some time past. And this willbe a further proof of my love, and will demand a grateful return--

And what then, thou egregious contriver?

Why then I shall have the less remorse, if I am to use a little violence:for can she deserve compassion, who shows none?

And what if she shows a great deal of concern?

Then shall I be in hopes of building on a good foundation. Love hides amultitude of faults, and diminishes those it cannot hide. Love, whenacknowledged, authorizes freedom; and freedom begets freedom; and I shallthen see how far I can go. 

Well but, Lovelace, how the deuce wilt thou, with that full health andvigour of constitution, and with that bloom in thy face, make any bodybelieve thou art sick?

How!--Why, take a few grains of ipecacuanha; enough to make me reach likea fury. 

Good!--But how wilt thou manage to bring up blood, and not hurt thyself?

Foolish fellow! Are there no pigeons and chickens in every poulterer'sshop?

Cry thy mercy. 

But then I will be persuaded by Mrs. Sinclair, that I have of lateconfined myself too much; and so will have a chair called, and be carriedto the Park; where I will try to walk half the length of the Mall, or so;and in my return, amuse myself at White's or the Cocoa. 

And what will this do?

Questioning again!--I am afraid thou'rt an infidel, Belford--Why thenshall I not know if my beloved offers to go out in my absence?--And shallI not see whether she receives me with tenderness at my return? But thisis not all: I have a foreboding that something affecting will happenwhile I am out. But of this more in its place. 

And now, Belford, wilt thou, or wilt thou not, allow, that it is a rightthing to be sick?--Lord, Jack, so much delight do I take in mycontrivances, that I shall be half sorry when the occasion for them isover; for never, never, shall I again have such charming exercise for myinvention. 

Mean time these plaguy women are so impertinent, so full of reproaches, that I know not how to do any thing but curse them. And then, truly, they are for helping me out with some of their trite and vulgarartifices. Sally, particularly, who pretends to be a mighty contriver, has just now, in an insolent manner, told me, on my rejecting herproffered aids, that I had no mind to conquer; and that I was so wickedas to intend to marry, though I would not own it to her. 

Because this little devil made her first sacrifice at my altar, shethinks she may take any liberty with me: and what makes her outrageous attimes is, that I have, for a long time, studiously, as she says, slightedher too-readily-offered favours: But is it not very impudent in her tothink, that I will be any man's successor? It is not come to thatneither. This, thou knowest, was always my rule--Once any other man's, and I know it, and never more mine. It is for such as thou, and thybrethren, to take up with harlots. I have been always aiming at themerit of a first discoverer. 

The more devil I, perhaps thou wilt say, to endeavour to corrupt theuncorrupted. 

But I say, not; since, hence, I have but very few adulteries to answerfor. 

One affair, indeed, at Paris, with a married lady [I believe I never toldthee of it] touched my conscience a little: yet brought on by the spiritof intrigue, more than by sheer wickedness. I'll give it thee in brief:

'A French marquis, somewhat in years, employed by his court in a publicfunction at that of Madrid, had put his charming young new-married wifeunder the controul and wardship, as I may say, of his insolent sister, anold prude. 

'I saw the lady at the opera. I liked her at first sight, and better atsecond, when I knew the situation she was in. So, pretending to make myaddresses to the prude, got admittance to both. 

'The first thing I had to do, was to compliment the prude into shyness bycomplaints of shyness: next, to take advantage of the marquise'ssituation, between her husband's jealousy and his sister's arrogance; andto inspire her with resentment; and, as I hoped, with a regard to myperson. The French ladies have no dislike to intrigue. 

'The sister began to suspect me: the lady had no mind to part with thecompany of the only man who had been permitted to visit her; and told meof her sister's suspicions. I put her upon concealing the prude, as ifunknown to me, in a closet in one of her own apartments, locking her in, and putting the key in her own pocket: and she was to question me on thesincerity of my professions to her sister, in her sister's hearing. 

'She complied. My mistress was locked up. The lady and I took ourseats. I owned fervent love, and made high professions: for the marquiseput it home to me. The prude was delighted with what she heard. 

'And how dost thou think it ended?--I took my advantage of the ladyherself, who durst not for her life cry out; and drew her after me to thenext apartment, on pretence of going to seek her sister, who all the timewas locked up in the closet. '

No woman ever gave me a private meeting for nothing; my dearest MissHarlowe excepted. 

'My ingenuity obtained my pardon: the lady being unable to forbearlaughing throughout the whole affair, to find both so uncommonly tricked;her gaoleress her prisoner, safe locked up, and as much pleased as eitherof us. '

The English, Jack, do not often out-wit the French. 

'We had contrivances afterwards equally ingenious, in which the lady, theice once broken [once subdued, always subdued] co-operated. But a moretender tell-tale revealed the secret--revealed it, before the marquisecould cover the disgrace. The sister was inveterate; the husbandirreconcilable; in every respect unfit for a husband, even for a Frenchone--made, perhaps, more delicate to these particulars by the customs ofa people among whom he was then resident, so contrary to those of his owncountrymen. She was obliged to throw herself into my protection--northought herself unhappy in it, till childbed pangs seized her: thenpenitence, and death, overtook her the same hour!'

Excuse a tear, Belford!--She deserved a better fate! What hath such avile inexorable husband to answer for!--The sister was punishedeffectually--that pleases me on reflection--the sister effectuallypunished!--But perhaps I have told thee this story before. 

END OF VOL. 4