CLARISSA HARLOWE

or the

HISTORY OF A YOUNG LADY

Nine VolumesVolume VII. 

CONTENTS OF VOLUME VII

LETTER I. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Beseeches her to take comfort, and not despair. Is dreadfullyapprehensive of her own safety from Mr. Lovelace. An instruction tomothers. 

LETTER II. Clarissa To Miss Howe. --Averse as she is to appear in a court of justice against Lovelace, shewill consent to prosecute him, rather than Miss Howe shall live interror. Hopes she shall not despair: but doubts not, from so manyconcurrent circumstances, that the blow is given. 

LETTER III. IV. Lovelace to Belford. --Has no subject worth writing upon now he has lost his Clarissa. Half injest, half in earnest, [as usual with him when vexed or disappointed, ] hedeplores the loss of her. --Humourous account of Lord M. , of himself, andof his two cousins Montague. His Clarissa has made him eyeless andsenseless to every other beauty. 

LETTER V. VI. VII. VIII. From the same. --Lady Sarah Sadleir and Lady Betty Lawrance arrive, and engage Lord M. Andhis two cousins Montague against him, on account of his treatment of thelady. His trial, as he calls it. After many altercations, they obtainhis consent that his two cousins should endeavour to engage Miss Howe toprevail upon Clarissa to accept of him, on his unfeigned repentance. Itis some pleasure to him, he however rakishly reflects, to observe howplacable the ladies of his family would have been, had they met with aLovelace. MARRIAGE, says he, with these women, is an atonement for theworst we can do to them; a true dramatic recompense. He makes severalother whimsical, but characteristic observations, some of which may serveas cautions and warnings to the sex. 

LETTER IX. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Has had a visit from the two Miss Montague's. Their errand. Advises herto marry Lovelace. Reasons for her advice. 

LETTER X. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Chides her with friendly impatience for not answering her letter. Re-urges her to marry Lovelace, and instantly to put herself under LadyBetty's protection. 

LETTER XI. Miss Howe to Miss Montague. --In a phrensy of her soul, writes to her to demand news of her belovedfriend, spirited away, as she apprehends, by the base arts of theblackest of men. 

LETTER XII. Lovelace to Belford. --The suffering innocent arrested and confined, by the execrable woman, ina sham action. He curses himself, and all his plots and contrivances. Conjures him to fly to her, and clear him of this low, this dirtyvillany; to set her free without conditions; and assure her, that he willnever molest her more. Horribly execrates the diabolical women, whothought to make themselves a merit with him by this abominable insult. 

LETTER XIII. XIV. Miss Montague to Miss Howe, with the particulars of all that has happened to the lady. --Mr. Lovelacethe most miserable of men. Reflections on libertines. She, her sister, Lady Betty, Lady Sarah, Lord M. , and Lovelace himself, all sign lettersto Miss Howe, asserting his innocence of this horrid insult, andimploring her continued interest in his and their favour with Clarissa. 

LETTER XV. Belford to Lovelace. --Particulars of the vile arrest. Insolent visits of the wicked women toher. Her unexampled meekness and patience. Her fortitude. He admiresit, and prefers it to the false courage of men of their class. 

LETTER XVI. From the same. --Goes to the officer's house. A description of the horrid prison-room, and of the suffering lady on her knees in one corner of it. Her greatand moving behaviour. Breaks off, and sends away his letter, on purposeto harass him by suspense. 

LETTER XVII. Lovelace to Belford. --Curses him for his tormenting abruption. Clarissa never suffered halfwhat he suffers. That sex made to bear pain. Conjures him to hasten tohim the rest of his soul-harrowing intelligence. 

LETTER XVIII. Belford to Lovelace. --His farther proceedings. The lady returns to her lodgings at Smith's. Distinction between revenge and resentment in her character. Sends her, from the vile women, all her apparel, as Lovelace had desired. 

LETTER XIX. Belford to Lovelace. --Rejoices to find he can feel. Will endeavour from time to time to add tohis remorse. Insists upon his promise not to molest the lady. 

LETTER XX. From the same. --Describes her lodgings, and gives a character of the people, and of thegood widow Lovick. She is so ill, that they provide her an honest nurse, and send for Mr. Goddard, a worthy apothecary. Substance of a letter toMiss Howe, dictated by the lady. 

LETTER XXI. From the same. --Admitted to the lady's presence. What passed on the occasion. Reallybelieves that she still loves him. Has a reverence, and even a holy lovefor her. Astonished that Lovelace could hold his purposes against suchan angel of a woman. Condemns him for not timely exerting himself tosave her. 

LETTER XXII. From the same. --Dr. H. Called in. Not having a single guinea to give him, she accepts ofthree from Mrs. Lovick on a diamond ring. Her dutiful reasons foradmitting the doctor's visit. His engaging and gentlemanly behaviour. She resolves to part with some of her richest apparel. Her reasons. 

LETTER XXIII. Lovelace to Belford. --Raves at him. For what. Rallies him, with his usual gayety, on severalpassages in his letters. Reasons why Clarissa's heart cannot be brokenby what she has suffered. Passionate girls easily subdued. Sedate oneshardly ever pardon. He has some retrograde motions: yet is in earnest tomarry Clarissa. Gravely concludes, that a person intending to marryshould never be a rake. His gay resolutions. Renews, however, hispromises not to molest her. A charming encouragement for a man ofintrigue, when a woman is known not to love her husband. Advantageswhich men have over women, when disappointed in love. He knows she willpermit him to make her amends, after she has plagued him heartily. 

LETTER XXIV. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Is shocked at receiving a letter from her written by another hand. Tenderly consoles her, and inveighs against Lovelace. Re-urges her, however, to marry him. Her mother absolutely of her opinion. PraisesMr. Hickman's sister, who, with her Lord, had paid her a visit. 

LETTER XXV. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Her condition greatly mended. In what particulars. Her mind begins tostrengthen; and she finds herself at times superior to her calamities. In what light she wishes her to think of her. Desires her to love herstill, but with a weaning love. She is not now what she was when theywere inseparable lovers. Their views must now be different. 

LETTER XXVI. Belford to Lovelace. --A consuming malady, and a consuming mistress, as in Belton's case, dreadful things to struggle with. Farther reflections on the life ofkeeping. The poor man afraid to enter into his own house. Belfordundertakes his cause. Instinct in brutes equivalent to natural affectionin men. Story of the ancient Sarmatians, and their slaves. Reflects onthe lives of rakes, and free-livers; and how ready they are in sicknessto run away from one another. Picture of a rake on a sick bed. Willmarry and desert them all. 

LETTER XXVII. From the same. --The lady parts with some of her laces. Instances of the worthiness ofDr. H. And Mr. Goddard. He severely reflects upon Lovelace. 

LETTER XXVIII. Lovelace to Belford. --Has an interview with Mr. Hickman. On what occasion. He endeavours todisconcert him, by assurance and ridicule; but finds him to behave withspirit. 

LETTER XXIX. From the same. --Rallies him on his intentional reformation. Ascribes the lady's illhealth entirely to the arrest, (in which, he says, he had no hand, ) andto her relations' cruelty. Makes light of her selling her clothes andlaces. Touches upon Belton's case. Distinguishes between companionshipand friendship. How he purposes to rid Belton of his Thomasine and hercubs. 

LETTER XXX. Belford to Lovelace. --The lady has written to her sister, to obtain a revocation of herfather's malediction. Defends her parents. He pleads with the utmostearnestness to her for his friend. 

LETTER XXXI. From the same. --Can hardly forbear prostration to her. Tenders himself as her banker. Conversation on this subject. Admires her magnanimity. No wonder that avirtue so solidly based could baffle all his arts. Other instances ofher greatness of mind. Mr. Smith and his wife invite him, and beg of herto dine with them, it being their wedding day. Her affecting behaviouron the occasion. She briefly, and with her usual noble simplicity, relates to them the particulars of her life and misfortunes. 

LETTER XXXII. Lovelace to Belford. --Ridicules him on his address to the lady as her banker, and on hisaspirations and prostrations. Wants to come at letters she has written. Puts him upon engaging Mrs. Lovick to bring this about. Weight thatproselytes have with the good people that convert them. Reasons for it. He has hopes still of the lady's favour; and why. Never adored her somuch as now. Is about to go to a ball at Colonel Ambrose's. Who to bethere. Censures affectation and finery in the dress of men; andparticularly with a view to exalt himself, ridicules Belford on thissubject. 

LETTER XXXIII. XXXIV. XXXV. XXXVI. XXXVII. Sharp letters that pass between Miss Howe and Arabella Harlowe. 

LETTER XXXVIII. Mrs. Harlowe to Mrs. Howe. --Sent with copies of the five foregoing letters. 

LETTER XXXIX. Mrs. Howe to Mrs. Harlowe. In answer. 

LETTER XL. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Desires an answer to her former letters for her to communicate to MissMontague. Farther enforces her own and her mother's opinion, that sheshould marry Lovelace. Is obliged by her mother to go to a ball atColonel Ambrose's. Fervent professions of her friendly love. 

LETTER XLI. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Her noble reasons for refusing Lovelace. Desires her to communicateextracts from this letter to the Ladies of his family. 

LETTER XLII. From the same. --Begs, for her sake, that she will forbear treating her relations withfreedom and asperity. Endeavours, in her usual dutiful manner, to defendtheir conduct towards her. Presses her to make Mr. Hickman happy. 

LETTER XLIII. Mrs. Norton to Clarissa. --Excuses her long silence. Her family, who were intending to favour her, incensed against her by means of Miss Howe's warm letters to her sister. 

LETTER XLIV. Clarissa to Mrs. Norton. --Is concerned that Miss Howe should write about her to her friends. Givesher a narrative of all that has befallen her since her last. Her trulychristian frame of mind. Makes reflections worthy of herself, upon herpresent situation, and upon her hopes, with regard to a happy futurity. 

LETTER XLV. Copy of Clarissa's humble letter to her sister, imploring the revocationof her father's heavy malediction. 

LETTER XLVI. Belford to Lovelace. --Defends the lady from the perverseness he (Lovelace) imputes to her onparting with some of her apparel. Poor Belton's miserable state both ofbody and mind. Observations on the friendship of libertines. Admiresthe noble simplicity, and natural ease and dignity of style, of thesacred books. Expatiates upon the pragmatical folly of man. Those whoknow least, the greatest scoffers. 

LETTER XLVII. From the same. --The lady parts with one of her best suits of clothes. Reflections uponsuch purchasers as take advantage of the necessities of theirfellow-creatures. Self an odious devil. A visible alteration in thelady for the worse. She gives him all Mr. Lovelace's letters. He(Belford) takes this opportunity to plead for him. Mr. Hickman comes tovisit her. 

LETTER XLVIII. From the same. --Breakfasts next morning with the lady and Mr. Hickman. His advantageousopinion of that gentleman. Censures the conceited pride andnarrow-mindedness of rakes and libertines. Tender and affecting partingbetween Mr. Hickman and the lady. Observations in praise of intellectualfriendship. 

LETTER XLIX. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Has no notion of coldness in friendship. Is not a daughter of those whomshe so freely treats. Delays giving the desired negative to thesolicitation of the ladies of Lovelace's family; and why. Has beenexceedingly fluttered by the appearance of Lovelace at the ball given byColonel Ambrose. What passed on that occasion. Her mother and all theladies of their select acquaintance of opinion that she should accept ofhim. 

LETTER L. Clarissa. In answer. --Chides her for suspending the decisive negative. Were she sure sheshould live many years, she would not have Mr. Lovelace. Censures of theworld to be but of second regard with any body. Method as to devotionand exercise she was in when so cruelly arrested. 

LETTER LI. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Designed to be communicated to Mr. Lovelace's relations. 

LETTER LII. LIII. Lovelace to Belford. --Two letters entirely characteristic yet intermingled with lessons andobservations not unworthy of a better character. He has great hopes fromMiss Howe's mediation in his favour. Picture of two rakes turnedHermits, in their penitentials. 

LETTER LIV. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --She now greatly approves of her rejection of Lovelace. Admires the nobleexample she has given her sex of a passion conquered. Is sorry she wroteto Arabella: but cannot imitate her in her self-accusations, andacquittals of others who are all in fault. Her notions of a husband'sprerogative. Hopes she is employing herself in penning down theparticulars of her tragical story. Use to be made of it to the advantageof her sex. Her mother earnest about it. 

LETTER LV. Miss Howe to Miss Montague. --With Clarissa's Letter, No. XLI. Of this volume. Her own sentiments ofthe villanous treatment her beloved friend had met with from theirkinsman. Prays for vengeance upon him, if she do not recover. 

LETTER LVI. Mrs. Norton to Clarissa. --Acquaints her with some of their movements at Harlowe-place. Almostwishes she would marry the wicked man; and why. Useful reflections onwhat has befallen a young lady so universally beloved. Must try to moveher mother in her favour. But by what means, will not tell her, unlessshe succeed. 

LETTER LVII. Mrs. Norton to Mrs. Harlowe. 

LETTER LVIII. Mrs. Harlowe's affecting answer. 

LETTER LIX. Clarissa to Mrs. Norton. --Earnestly begs, for reasons equally generous and dutiful, that she may beleft to her own way of working with her relations. Has received hersister's answer to her letter, No. XLV. Of this volume. She tries tofind an excuse for the severity of it, though greatly affected by it. Other affecting and dutiful reflections. 

LETTER LX. Her sister's cruel letter, mentioned in the preceding. 

LETTER LXI. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Is pleased that she now at last approved of her rejecting Lovelace. Desires her to be comforted as to her. Promises that she will not runaway from life. Hopes she has already got above the shock given her bythe ill treatment she has met with from Lovelace. Has had an escape, rather than a loss. Impossible, were it not for the outrage, that shecould have been happy with him; and why. Sets in the most affecting, themost dutiful and generous lights, the grief of her father, mother, andother relations, on her account. Had begun the particulars of hertragical story; but would fain avoid proceeding with it; and why. Opensher design to make Mr. Belford her executor, and gives her reasons forit. Her father having withdrawn his malediction, she now has only a lastblessing to supplicate for. 

LETTER LXII. Clarissa to her sister. --Beseeching her, in the most humble and earnest manner, to procure her alast blessing. 

LETTER LXIII. Mrs. Norton to Clarissa. --Mr. Brand to be sent up to inquire after her way of life and health. Hispedantic character. Believes they will withhold any favour till theyhear his report. Doubts not that matters will soon take a happy turn. 

LETTER LXIV. Clarissa. In answer. --The grace she asks for is only a blessing to die with, not to live with. Their favour, if they design her any, may come too late. Doubts hermother can do nothing for her of herself. A strong confederacy against apoor girl, their daughter, sister, niece. Her brother perhaps got itrenewed before he went to Edinburgh. He needed not, says she: his workis done, and more than done. 

LETTER LXV. Lovelace to Belford. --Is mortified at receiving letters of rejection. Charlotte writes to thelady in his favour, in the name of all the family. Every body approvesof what she has written; and he has great hopes from it. 

LETTER LXVI. Copy of Miss Montague's letter to Clarissa. --Beseeching her, in the names of all their noble family, to receiveLovelace to favour. 

LETTER LXVII. Belford to Lovelace. --Proposes to put Belton's sister into possession of Belton's house forhim. The lady visibly altered for the worse. Again insists upon hispromise not to molest her. 

LETTER LXVIII. Clarissa to Miss Montague. --In answer to her's, No. LXVI. 

LETTER LXIX. Belford to Lovelace. --Has just now received a letter from the lady, which he encloses, requesting extracts form the letters written to him by Mr. Lovelacewithin a particular period. The reasons which determine him to obligeher. 

LETTER LXX. Belford to Clarissa. --With the requested extracts; and a plea in his friend's favour. 

LETTER LXXI. Clarissa to Belford. --Thanks him for his communications. Requests that he will be herexecutor; and gives her reasons for her choice of him for that solemnoffice. 

LETTER LXXII. Belford to Clarissa. --His cheerful acceptance of the trust. 

LETTER LXXIII. Belford to Lovelace. --Brief account of the extracts delivered to the lady. Tells him of herappointing him her executor. The melancholy pleasure he shall have inthe perusal of her papers. Much more lively and affecting, says he, mustbe the style of those who write in the height of a present distress thanthe dry, narrative, unanimated style of a person relating difficultiessurmounted, can be. 

LETTER LXXIV. Arabella to Clarissa. --In answer to her letter, No. LXII. , requesting a last blessing. 

LETTER LXXV. Clarissa to her mother. --Written in the fervour of her spirit, yet with the deepest humility, andon her knees, imploring her blessing, and her father's, as what willsprinkle comfort through her last hours. 

LETTER LXXVI. Miss Montague to Clarissa. --In reply to her's, No. LXVIII. --All their family love and admire her. Their kinsman has not one friend among them. Beseech her to oblige themwith the acceptance of an annuity, and the first payment now sent her, atleast till she can be put in possession of her own estate. This lettersigned by Lord M. , Lady Sarah, Lady Betty, and her sister and self. 

LETTER LXXVII. Lovelace to Belford. --Raves against the lady for rejecting him; yet adores her the more for it. Has one half of the house to himself, and that the best; having forbidLord M. And the ladies to see him, in return for their forbidding him tosee them. Incensed against Belford for the extracts he has promised fromhis letters. Is piqued to death at her proud refusal of him. Curses thevile women, and their potions. But for these latter, the majesty of hervirtue, he says, would have saved her, as it did once before. 

LETTER LXXVIII. Lovelace to Belford. --He shall not, he tells him, be her executor. Nobody shall be any thingto her but himself. What a reprobation of a man, who was once so dear toher! Farther instances of his raving impatience. 

LETTER LXXIX. Lovelace to Clarissa. --A letter full of penitence, promises, praises, and admiration of hervirtue. Has no hopes of escaping from perdition but by her precepts andexample. All he begs for the present is a few lines to encourage him tohope for forgiveness, if he can justify his vows by his future conduct. 

LETTER LXXX. Clarissa to Lord M. And the ladies of the house. --Thankfully declines accepting of their offered bounty. Pleads for theirbeing reconciled to their kinsman, for reasons respecting her own peace. Hopes that they may be enabled to rejoice in the effects of hisreformation many years after she is laid low and forgotten. 

LETTER LXXXI. Belford to Lovelace. --Brief account of his expelling Thomasine, her sons, and her gallant. Farther reflections on keeping. A state not calculated for a sick bed. Gives a short journal of what had passed relating to the lady since hislast. Mr. Brand inquires after her character and behaviour of Mrs. Smith. His starchedness, conceit, and pedantry. 

LETTER LXXXII. From the same. --Farther particulars relating to the lady. Power left her by hergrandfather's will. 

LETTER LXXXIII. Clarissa to Lovelace. --In answer to his letter, No. LXXIX. 

LETTER LXXXIV. Her uncle Harlowe's cruel answer, in answer to her's to her mother, No. LXXV. Meditation stitched to itwith black silk. 

LETTER LXXXV. Clarissa to her uncle Harlowe. In reply. 

THE HISTORY

OF

CLARISSA HARLOWE

LETTER I

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWEWED. NIGHT, JULY 12. 

I write, my dearest creature, I cannot but write, to express my concernon your dejection. Let me beseech you, my charming excellence, let mebeseech you, not to give way to it. 

Comfort yourself, on the contrary, in the triumphs of a virtue unsullied;a will wholly faultless. Who could have withstood the trials you havesurmounted?--Your cousin Morden will soon come. He will see justice doneyou, I make no doubt, as well with regard to what concerns your person asyour estate. And many happy days may you yet see; and much good may youstill do, if you will not heighten unavoidable accidents into guiltydespondency. 

But why, why, my dear, this pining solicitude continued after areconciliation with relations as unworthy as implacable; whose wills aregoverned by an all-grasping brother, who finds his account in keeping thebreach open? On this over-solicitude it is now plain to me, that thevilest of men built all his schemes. He saw that you thirsted after itbeyond all reason for hope. The view, the hope, I own, extremelydesirable, had your family been Christians: or even had they been Paganswho had had bowels. 

I shall send this short letter [I am obliged to make it a short one] byyoung Rogers, as we call him; the fellow I sent to you to Hampstead; aninnocent, though pragmatical rustic. Admit him, I pray you, into youpresence, that he may report to me how you look, and how you are. 

Mr. Hickman should attend you; but I apprehend, that all his motions, andmine own too, are watched by the execrable wretch: and indeed his are byan agent of mine; for I own, that I am so apprehensive of his plots andrevenge, now I know that he has intercepted my vehement letters againsthim, that he is the subject of my dreams, as well as of my waking fears. 

***

My mother, at my earnest importunity, has just given me leave to write, and to receive your letters--but fastened this condition upon theconcession, that your's must be under cover to Mr. Hickman, [this is aview, I suppose, to give him consideration with me]; and upon thisfurther consideration, that she is to see all we write. --'When girls areset upon a point, ' she told one who told me again, 'it is better for amother, if possible, to make herself of their party, than to oppose them;since there will be then hopes that she will still hold the reins in herown hands. '

Pray let me know what the people are with whom you lodge?--Shall I sendMrs. Townsend to direct you to lodgings either more safe or moreconvenient for you?

Be pleased to write to me by Rogers; who will wait on you for youranswer, at your own time. 

Adieu, my dearest creature. Comfort yourself, as you would in the likeunhappy circumstances comfort

Your ownANNA HOWE. 

LETTER II

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWETHURSDAY, JULY 13. 

I am extremely concerned, my dear Miss Howe, for being primarily theoccasion of the apprehensions you have of this wicked man's vindictiveattempts. What a wide-spreading error is mine!----

If I find that he has set foot on any machination against you, or againstMr. Hickman, I do assure you I will consent to prosecute him, although Iwere sure I could not survive my first appearance at the bar he should bearraigned at. 

I own the justice of your mother's arguments on that subject; but mustsay, that I think there are circumstances in my particular case, whichwill excuse me, although on a slighter occasion than that you areapprehensive of I should decline to appear against him. I have said, that I may one day enter more particularly into this argument. 

Your messenger has now indeed seen me. I talked with him on the cheatput upon him at Hampstead: and am sorry to have reason to say, that hadnot the poor young man been very simple, and very self-sufficient, he hadnot been so grossly deluded. Mrs. Bevis has the same plea to make forherself. A good-natured, thoughtless woman; not used to converse with sovile and so specious a deceiver as him, who made his advantage of boththese shallow creatures. 

I think I cannot be more private than where I am. I hope I am safe. Allthe risque I run, is in going out, and returning from morning-prayers;which I have two or three times ventured to do; once at Lincoln's-innchapel, at eleven; once at St. Dunstan's, Fleet-street, at seven in themorning, * in a chair both times; and twice, at six in the morning, at theneighbouring church in Covent-garden. The wicked wretches I have escapedfrom, will not, I hope, come to church to look for me; especially at soearly prayers; and I have fixed upon the privatest pew in the latterchurch to hide myself in; and perhaps I may lay out a little matter in anordinary gown, by way of disguise; my face half hid by my mob. --I am verycareless, my dear, of my appearance now. Neat and clean takes up thewhole of my attention. 

* The seven-o'clock prayers at St. Dunstan's have been sincediscontinued. 

The man's name at whose house I belong, is Smith--a glove maker, as wellas seller. His wife is the shop-keeper. A dealer also in stockings, ribbands, snuff, and perfumes. A matron-like woman, plain-hearted, andprudent. The husband an honest, industrious man. And they live in goodunderstanding with each other: a proof with me that their hearts areright; for where a married couple live together upon ill terms, it is asign, I think, that each knows something amiss of the other, either withregard to temper or morals, which if the world knew as well asthemselves, it would perhaps as little like them as such people like eachother. Happy the marriage, where neither man nor wife has any wilful orpremeditated evil in their general conduct to reproach the other with!--for even persons who have bad hearts will have a veneration for those whohave good ones. 

Two neat rooms, with plain, but clean furniture, on the first floor, aremine; one they call the dining-room. 

There is, up another pair of stairs, a very worthy widow-lodger, Mrs. Lovick by name; who, although of low fortunes, is much respected, as Mrs. Smith assures me, by people of condition of her acquaintance, for herpiety, prudence, and understanding. With her I propose to be wellacquainted. 

I thank you, my dear, for your kind, your seasonable advice andconsolation. I hope I shall have more grace given me than to despond, inthe religious sense of the word: especially as I can apply to myself thecomfort you give me, that neither my will, nor my inconsiderateness, hascontributed to my calamity. But, nevertheless, the irreconcilableness ofmy relations, whom I love with an unabated reverence; my apprehensions offresh violences, [this wicked man, I doubt, will not let me rest]; mybeing destitute of protection; my youth, my sex, my unacquaintedness withthe world, subjecting me to insults; my reflections on the scandal I havegiven, added to the sense of the indignities I have received from a man, of whom I deserved not ill; all together will undoubtedly bring on theeffect that cannot be undesirable to me. --The situation; and, as Ipresume to imagine, from principles which I hope will, in due time, andby due reflection, set me above the sense of all worldly disappointments. 

At present, my head is much disordered. I have not indeed enjoyed itwith any degree of clearness, since the violence done to that, and to myheart too, by the wicked arts of the abandoned creatures I was castamong. 

I must have more conflicts. At times I find myself not subdued enough tomy condition. I will welcome those conflicts as they come, asprobationary ones. --But yet my father's malediction--the temporary partso strangely and so literally completed!--I cannot, however, think, whenmy mind is strongest--But what is the story of Isaac, and Jacob, andEsau, and of Rebekah's cheating the latter of the blessing designed forhim, (in favour of Jacob, ) given us for in the 27th chapter of Genesis?My father used, I remember, to enforce the doctrine deducible from it, onhis children, by many arguments. At least, therefore, he must believethere is great weight in the curse he has announced; and shall I not besolicitous to get it revoked, that he may not hereafter be grieved, formy sake, that he did not revoke it?

All I will at present add, are my thanks to your mother for herindulgence to us; due compliments to Mr. Hickman; and my request, thatyou will believe me to be, to my last hour, and beyond it, if possible, my beloved friend, and my dearer self (for what is now myself!)

Your obliged and affectionateCLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER III

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. FRIDAY, JULY 7. 

I have three of thy letters at once before me to answer; in each of whichthou complainest of my silence; and in one of them tallest me, that thoucanst not live without I scribble to thee every day, or every other dayat least. 

Why, then, die, Jack, if thou wilt. What heart, thinkest thou, can Ihave to write, when I have lost the only subject worth writing upon?

Help me again to my angel, to my CLARISSA; and thou shalt have a letterfrom me, or writing at least part of a letter, every hour. All that thecharmer of my heart shall say, that will I put down. Every motion, everyair of her beloved person, every look, will I try to describe; and whenshe is silent, I will endeavour to tell thee her thoughts, either whatthey are, or what I would have them to be--so that, having her, I shallnever want a subject. Having lost her, my whole soul is a blank: thewhole creation round me, the elements above, beneath, and every thing Ibehold, (for nothing can I enjoy, ) are a blank without her. 

Oh! return, return, thou only charmer of my soul! return to thy adoringLovelace! What is the light, what the air, what the town, what thecountry, what's any thing, without thee? Light, air, joy, harmony, in mynotion, are but parts of thee; and could they be all expressed in oneword, that word would be CLARISSA. 

O my beloved CLARISSA, return thou then; once more return to bless thyLOVELACE, who now, by the loss of thee, knows the value of the jewel hehas slighted; and rises every morning but to curse the sun that shinesupon every body but him!

***

Well, but, Jack, 'tis a surprising thing to me, that the dear fugitivecannot be met with; cannot be heard of. She is so poor a plotter, (forplotting is not her talent, ) that I am confident, had I been at liberty, I should have found her out before now; although the different emissariesI have employed about town, round the adjacent villages, and in MissHowe's vicinage, have hitherto failed of success. But my Lord continuesso weak and low-spirited, that there is no getting from him. I would notdisoblige a man whom I think in danger still: for would his gout, now ithas got him down, but give him, like a fair boxer, the rising-blow, allwould be over with him. And here [pox of his fondness for me! it happensat a very bad time] he makes me sit hours together entertaining him withmy rogueries: (a pretty amusement for a sick man!) and yet, whenever hehas the gout, he prays night and morning with his chaplain. But whatmust his notions of religion be, who after he has nosed and mumbled overhis responses, can give a sigh or groan of satisfaction, as if he thoughthe had made up with Heaven; and return with a new appetite to my stories?--encouraging them, by shaking his sides with laughing at them, andcalling me a sad fellow, in such an accent as shows he takes no smalldelight in his kinsman. 

The old peer has been a sinner in his day, and suffers for it now: asneaking sinner, sliding, rather than rushing into vices, for fear of hisreputation. --Paying for what he never had, and never daring to rise tothe joy of an enterprise at first hand, which could bring him within viewof a tilting, or of the honour of being considered as a principal man ina court of justice. 

To see such an old Trojan as this, just dropping into the grave, which Ihoped ere this would have been dug, and filled up with him; crying outwith pain, and grunting with weakness; yet in the same moment crack hisleathern face into an horrible laugh, and call a young sinner charmingvarlet, encoreing him, as formerly he used to do to the Italian eunuchs;what a preposterous, what an unnatural adherence to old habits!

My two cousins are generally present when I entertain, as the old peercalls it. Those stories must drag horribly, that have not more hearersand applauders than relaters. 

Applauders!

Ay, Belford, applauders, repeat I; for although these girls pretend toblame me sometimes for the facts, they praise my manner, my invention, myintrepidity. --Besides, what other people call blame, that call I praise:I ever did; and so I very early discharged shame, that cold-water damperto an enterprising spirit. 

These are smart girls; they have life and wit; and yesterday, uponCharlotte's raving against me upon a related enterprise, I told her, thatI had had in debate several times, whether she were or were not too nearof kin to me: and that it was once a moot point with me, whether I couldnot love her dearly for a month or so: and perhaps it was well for her, that another pretty little puss started up, and diverted me, just as Iwas entering upon the course. 

They all three held up their hands and eyes at once. But I observedthat, though the girls exclaimed against me, they were not so angry atthis plain speaking as I have found my beloved upon hints so dark thatI have wondered at her quick apprehension. 

I told Charlotte, that, grave as she pretended to be in her smilingresentments on this declaration, I was sure I should not have been put tothe expense of above two or three stratagems, (for nobody admired a goodinvention more than she, ) could I but have disentangled her consciencefrom the embarrasses of consanguinity. 

She pretended to be highly displeased: so did her sister for her. I toldher, she seemed as much in earnest as if she had thought me so; and daredthe trial. Plain words, I said, in these cases, were more shocking totheir sex than gradatim actions. And I bid Patty not be displeased at mydistinguishing her sister; since I had a great respect for her likewise. 

An Italian air, in my usual careless way, a half-struggled-for kiss fromme, and a shrug of the shoulder, by way of admiration, from each prettycousin, and sad, sad fellow, from the old peer, attended with aside-shaking laugh, made us all friends. 

There, Jack!--Wilt thou, or wilt thou not, take this for a letter?there's quantity, I am sure. --How have I filled a sheet (not a short-handone indeed) without a subject! My fellow shall take this; for he isgoing to town. And if thou canst think tolerably of such execrablestuff, I will send thee another. 

LETTER IV

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SIX, SATURDAY MORNING, JULY 8. 

Have I nothing new, nothing diverting, in my whimsical way, thou askest, in one of thy three letters before me, to entertain thee with?--And thoutallest me, that, when I have least to narrate, to speak, in the Scottishphrase, I am most diverting. A pretty compliment, either to thyself, orto me. To both indeed!--a sign that thou hast as frothy a heart as I ahead. But canst thou suppose that this admirable woman is not all, isnot every thing with me? Yet I dread to think of her too; for detectionof all my contrivances, I doubt, must come next. 

The old peer is also full of Miss Harlowe: and so are my cousins. Hehopes I will not be such a dog [there's a specimen of his peer-likedialect] as to think of doing dishonourably by a woman of so much merit, beauty, and fortune; and he says of so good a family. But I tell him, that this is a string he must not touch: that it is a very tender point:in short, is my sore place; and that I am afraid he would handle it tooroughly, were I to put myself in the power of so ungentle an operator. 

He shakes his crazy head. He thinks all is not as it should be betweenus; longs to have me present her to him as my wife; and often tells mewhat great things he will do, additional to his former proposals; andwhat presents he will make on the birth of the first child. But I hopethe whole of his estate will be in my hands before such an event takesplace. No harm in hoping, Jack! Lord M. Says, were it not for hope, theheart would break. 

***

Eight o'clock at Midsummer, and these lazy varletesses (in full health)not come down yet to breakfast!--What a confounded indecency in youngladies, to let a rake know that they love their beds so dearly, and, atthe same time, where to have them! But I'll punish them--they shallbreakfast with their old uncle, and yawn at one another as if for awager; while I drive my phaėton to Colonel Ambroses's, who yesterday gaveme an invitation both to breakfast and dine, on account of two Yorkshirenieces, celebrated toasts, who have been with him this fortnight past;and who, he says, want to see me. So, Jack, all women do not run awayfrom me, thank Heaven!--I wish I could have leave of my heart, since thedear fugitive is so ungrateful, to drive her out of it with anotherbeauty. But who can supplant her? Who can be admitted to a place in itafter Miss Clarissa Harlowe?

At my return, if I can find a subject, I will scribble on, to obligethee. 

My phaėton's ready. My cousins send me word they are just coming down:so in spite I'll be gone. 

SATURDAY AFTERNOON. 

I did stay to dine with the Colonel, and his lady, and nieces: but Icould not pass the afternoon with them, for the heart of me. There wasenough in the persons and faces of the two young ladies to set me uponcomparisons. Particular features held my attention for a few moments:but these served but to whet my impatience to find the charmer of mysoul; who, for person, for air, for mind, never had any equal. My heartrecoiled and sickened upon comparing minds and conversation. Pert wit, atoo-studied desire to please; each in high good humour with herself; anopen-mouth affectation in both, to show white teeth, as if the principalexcellence; and to invite amorous familiarity, by the promise of a sweetbreath; at the same time reflecting tacitly upon breaths arrogantlyimplied to be less pure. 

Once I could have borne them. 

They seemed to be disappointed that I was so soon able to leave them. Yet have I not at present so much vanity [my Clarissa has cured me of myvanity] as to attribute their disappointment so much to particular likingof me, as to their own self-admiration. They looked upon me as aconnoisseur in beauty. They would have been proud of engaging myattention, as such: but so affected, so flimsy-witted, mere skin-deepbeauties!--They had looked no farther into themselves than what theirglasses were flattering-glasses too; for I thought them passive-faced, and spiritless; with eyes, however, upon the hunt for conquests, andbespeaking the attention of others, in order to countenance their own. ----I believe I could, with a little pains, have given them life andsoul, and to every feature of their faces sparkling information--but myClarissa!--O Belford, my Clarissa has made me eyeless and senseless toevery other beauty!--Do thou find her for me, as a subject worthy of mypen, or this shall be the last from

ThyLOVELACE. 

LETTER V

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SUNDAY NIGHT, JULY 9. 

Now, Jack, have I a subject with a vengeance. I am in the very height ofmy trial for all my sins to my beloved fugitive. For here to-day, atabout five o'clock, arrived Lady Sarah Sadleir and Lady Betty Lawrance, each in her chariot-and-six. Dowagers love equipage; and these cannottravel ten miles without a sett, and half a dozen horsemen. 

My time had hung heavy upon my hands; and so I went to church afterdinner. Why may not handsome fellows, thought I, like to be looked at, as well as handsome wenches? I fell in, when service was over, withMajor Warneton; and so came not home till after six; and was surprised, at entering the court-yard here, to find it littered with equipages andservants. I was sure the owners of them came for no good to me. 

Lady Sarah, I soon found, was raised to this visit by Lady Betty; who hashealth enough to allow her to look out to herself, and out of her ownaffairs, for business. Yet congratulation to Lord M. On his amendment, [spiteful devils on both accounts!] was the avowed errand. But coming inmy absence, I was their principal subject; and they had opportunity toset each other's heart against me. 

Simon Parsons hinted this to me, as I passed by the steward's office; forit seems they talked loud; and he was making up some accounts with oldPritchard. 

However, I hastened to pay my duty to them--other people not performingtheirs, is no excuse for the neglect of our own, you know. 

 And now I enter upon my TRIAL. 

With horrible grave faces was I received. The two antiquities only bowedtheir tabby heads; making longer faces than ordinary; and all the oldlines appearing strong in their furrowed foreheads and fallen cheeks; Howdo you, Cousin? And how do you, Mr. Lovelace? looking all round at oneanother, as who should say, do you speak first: and, do you: for theyseemed resolved to lose no time. 

I had nothing for it, but an air as manly, as theirs was womanly. Yourservant, Madam, to Lady Betty; and, Your servant, Madam, I am glad to seeyou abroad, to Lady Sarah. 

I took my seat. Lord M. Looked horribly glum; his fingers claspt, andturning round and round, under and over, his but just disgouted thumb;his sallow face, and goggling eyes, on his two kinswomen, by turns; butnot once deigning to look upon me. 

Then I began to think of the laudanum, and wet cloth, I told thee of longago; and to call myself in question for a tenderness of heart that willnever do me good. 

At last, Mr. Lovelace!----Cousin Lovelace!----Hem!--Hem!--I am sorry, very sorry, hesitated Lady Sarah, that there is no hope of your evertaking up----

What's the matter now, Madam?

The matter now!----Why Lady Betty has two letters from Miss Harlowe, which have told us what's the matter----Are all women alike with you?

Yes; I could have answered; 'bating the difference which pride makes. 

Then they all chorus'd upon me--Such a character as Miss Harlowe's!cried one----A lady of so much generosity and good sense! Another--Howcharmingly she writes! the two maiden monkeys, looking at her findhandwriting: her perfections my crimes. What can you expect will be theend of these things! cried Lady Sarah--d----d, d----d doings! vociferatedthe Peer, shaking his loose-fleshe'd wabbling chaps, which hung on hisshoulders like an old cow's dewlap. 

For my part, I hardly knew whether to sing or say what I had to reply tothese all-at-once attacks upon me!-Fair and softly, Ladies--one at atime, I beseech you. I am not to be hunted down without being heard, Ihope. Pray let me see these letters. I beg you will let me see them. 

There they are:--that's the first--read it out, if you can. 

I opened a letter from my charmer, dated Thursday, June 29, ourwedding-day, that was to be, and written to Lady Betty Lawrance. By thecontents, to my great joy, I find the dear creature is alive and well, and in charming spirits. But the direction where to send an answer towas so scratched out that I could not read it; which afflicted me much. 

She puts three questions in it to Lady Betty. 

1st. About a letter of her's, dated June 7, congratulating me on mynuptials, and which I was so good as to save Lady Betty the trouble ofwriting----A very civil thing of me, I think!

Again--'Whether she and one of her nieces Montague were to go to town, onan old chancery suit?'--And, 'Whether they actually did go to townaccordingly, and to Hampstead afterwards?' and, 'Whether they brought totown from thence the young creature whom they visited?' was the subjectof the second and third questions. 

A little inquisitive, dear rogue! and what did she expect to be thebetter for these questions?----But curiosity, d----d curiosity, is theitch of the sex--yet when didst thou know it turned to their benefit?--For they seldom inquire, but what they fear--and the proverb, as my Lordhas it, says, It comes with a fear. That is, I suppose, what they feargenerally happens, because there is generally occasion for the fear. 

Curiosity indeed she avows to be her only motive for theseinterrogatories: for, though she says her Ladyship may suppose thequestions are not asked for good to me, yet the answer can do me no harm, nor her good, only to give her to understand, whether I have told her aparcel of d----d lyes; that's the plain English of her inquiry. 

Well, Madam, said I, with as much philosophy as I could assume; and may Iask--Pray, what was your Ladyship's answer?

There's a copy of it, tossing it to me, very disrespectfully. 

This answer was dated July 1. A very kind and complaisant one to thelady, but very so-so to her poor kinsman--That people can give up theirown flesh and blood with so much ease!--She tells her 'how proud all ourfamily would be of an alliance with such an excellence. ' She does mejustice in saying how much I adore her, as an angel of a woman; and begsof her, for I know not how many sakes, besides my soul's sake, 'that shewill be so good as to have me for a husband:' and answers--thou wiltguess how--to the lady's questions. 

Well, Madam; and pray, may I be favoured with the lady's other letter?I presume it is in reply to your's. 

It is, said the Peer: but, Sir, let me ask you a few questions, beforeyou read it--give me the letter, Lady Betty. 

There it is, my Lord. 

Then on went the spectacles, and his head moved to the lines--a charmingpretty hand!--I have often heard that this lady is a genius. 

And so, Jack, repeating my Lord's wise comments and questions will letthee into the contents of this merciless letter. 

'Monday, July 3, ' [reads my Lord. ]--Let me see!--that was last Monday; nolonger ago! 'Monday, July the third--Madam--I cannot excuse myself'--um, um, um, um, um, um, [humming inarticulately, and skipping, ]--'I must ownto you, Madam, that the honour of being related'----

Off went the spectacles--Now, tell me, Sir-r, Has not this lady lost allthe friends she had in the world for your sake?

She has very implacable friends, my Lord: we all know that. 

But has she not lost them all for your sake?--Tell me that. 

I believe so, my Lord. 

Well then!--I am glad thou art not so graceless as to deny that. 

On went the spectacles again--'I must own to you, Madam, that the honourof being related to ladies as eminent for their virtue as for theirdescent. '--Very pretty, truly! saith my Lord, repeating, 'as eminent fortheir virtue as for their descent, was, at first, no small inducementwith me to lend an ear to Mr. Lovelace's address. '

There is dignity, born-dignity, in this lady, cried my Lord. 

Lady Sarah. She would have been a grace to our family. 

Lady Betty. Indeed she would. 

Lovel. To a royal family, I will venture to say. 

Lord M. Then what a devil---

Lovel. Please to read on, my Lord. It cannot be her letter, if it doesnot make you admire her more and more as you read. Cousin Charlotte, Cousin Patty, pray attend----Read on, my Lord. 

Miss Charlotte. Amazing fortitude!

Miss Patty only lifted up her dove's eyes. 

Lord M. [Reading. ] 'And the rather, as I was determined, had it cometo effect, to do every thing in my power to deserve your favourableopinion. '

Then again they chorus'd upon me!

A blessed time of it, poor I!--I had nothing for it but impudence!

Lovel. Pray read on, my Lord--I told you how you would all admire her----or, shall I read?

Lord M. D----d assurance! [Then reading. ] 'I had another motive, which I knew would of itself give me merit with your whole family: [theywere all ear:] a presumptuous one; a punishably-presumptuous one, as ithas proved: in the hope that I might be an humble mean, in the hand ofProvidence, to reclaim a man who had, as I thought, good sense enough atbottom to be reclaimed; or at least gratitude enough to acknowledge theintended obligation, whether the generous hope were to succeed or not. '--Excellent young creature!--

Excellent young creature! echoed the Ladies, with their handkerchiefs attheir eyes, attended with music. 

Lovel. By my soul, Miss Patty, you weep in the wrong place: you shallnever go with me to a tragedy. 

Lady Betty. Hardened wretch. 

His Lordship had pulled off his spectacles to wipe them. His eyes weremisty; and he thought the fault in his spectacles. 

I saw they were all cocked and primed--to be sure that is a very prettysentence, said I----that is the excellency of this lady, that in everyline, as she writes on, she improves upon herself. Pray, my Lord, proceed--I know her style; the next sentence will still rise upon us. 

Lord M. D----d fellow! [Again saddling, and reading. ] 'But I havebeen most egregiously mistaken in Mr. Lovelace!' [Then they allclamoured again. ]--'The only man, I persuade myself'----

Lovel. Ladies may persuade themselves to any thing: but how can sheanswer for what other men would or would not have done in the samecircumstances?

I was forced to say any thing to stifle their outcries. Pox take yealtogether, thought I; as if I had not vexation enough in losing her!

Lord M. [Reading. ] 'The only man, I persuade myself, pretending to bea gentleman, in whom I could have been so much mistaken. '

They were all beginning again--Pray, my Lord, proceed!--Hear, hear--pray, Ladies, hear!--Now, my Lord, be pleased to proceed. The Ladies aresilent. 

So they were; lost in admiration of me, hands and eyes uplifted. 

Lord M. I will, to thy confusion; for he had looked over the nextsentence. 

What wretches, Belford, what spiteful wretches, are poor mortals!--Sorejoiced to sting one another! to see each other stung!

Lord M. [Reading. ] 'For while I was endeavouring to save a drowningwretch, I have been, not accidentally, but premeditatedly, and of setpurpose, drawn in after him. '--What say you to that, Sir-r?

Lady S. | Ay, Sir, what say you to this?Lady B. |

Lovel. Say! Why I say it is a very pretty metaphor, if it would buthold. --But, if you please, my Lord, read on. Let me hear what is furthersaid, and I will speak to it all together. 

Lord M. I will. 'And he has had the glory to add to the list of thosehe has ruined, a name that, I will be bold to say, would not havedisparaged his own. '

They all looked at me, as expecting me to speak. 

Lovel. Be pleased to proceed, my Lord: I will speak to this by-and-by--How came she to know I kept a list?--I will speak to this by-and-by. 

Lord M. [Reading on. ] 'And this, Madam, by means that would shockhumanity to be made acquainted with. '

Then again, in a hurry, off went the spectacles. 

This was a plaguy stroke upon me. I thought myself an oak in impudence;but, by my troth, this almost felled me. 

Lord M. What say you to this, SIR-R!

Remember, Jack, to read all their Sirs in this dialogue with a double rr, Sir-r! denoting indignation rather than respect. 

They all looked at me as if to see if I could blush. 

Lovel. Eyes off, my Lord!----Eyes off, Ladies! [Looking bashfully, Ibelieve. ]--What say I to this, my Lord!--Why, I say, that this lady has astrong manner of expressing herself!--That's all. --There are many thingsthat pass among lovers, which a man cannot explain himself upon beforegrave people. 

Lady Betty. Among lovers, Sir-r! But, Mr. Lovelace, can you say thatthis lady behaved either like a weak, or a credulous person?--Can you say--

Lovel. I am ready to do the lady all manner of justice. --But, pray now, Ladies, if I am to be thus interrogated, let me know the contents of therest of the letter, that I may be prepared for my defence, as you are allfor my arraignment. For, to be required to answer piecemeal thus, without knowing what is to follow, is a cursed ensnaring way ofproceeding. 

They gave me the letter: I read it through to myself:--and by therepetition of what I said, thou wilt guess at the remaining contents. 

You shall find, Ladies, you shall find, my Lord, that I will not sparemyself. Then holding the letter in my hand, and looking upon it, as alawyer upon his brief, Miss Harlowe says, 'That when your Ladyship, ' [turning to Lady Betty, ]'shall know, that, in the progress to her ruin, wilful falsehoods, repeated forgeries, and numberless perjuries, were not the least of mycrimes, you will judge that she can have no principles that will make herworthy of an alliance with ladies of your's, and your noble sister'scharacter, if she could not, from her soul, declare, that such analliance can never now take place. '

Surely, Ladies, this is passion! This is not reason. If our familywould not think themselves dishonoured by my marrying a person whom I hadso treated; but, on the contrary, would rejoice that I did her thisjustice: and if she has come out pure gold from the assay; and hasnothing to reproach herself with; why should it be an impeachment of herprinciples, to consent that such an alliance take place?

She cannot think herself the worse, justly she cannot, for what was doneagainst her will. 

Their countenances menaced a general uproar--but I proceeded. 

Your Lordship read to us, that she had an hope, a presumptuous one: nay, a punishably-presumptuous one, she calls it; 'that she might be a mean, in the hand of Providence, to reclaim me; and that this, she knew, ifeffected, would give her a merit with you all. ' But from what would shereclaim me?--She had heard, you'll say, (but she had only heard, at thetime she entertained that hope, ) that, to express myself in the women'sdialect, I was a very wicked fellow!--Well, and what then?--Why, truly, the very moment she was convinced, by her own experience, that the chargeagainst me was more than hearsay; and that, of consequence, I was a fitsubject for her generous endeavours to work upon; she would needs give meup. Accordingly, she flies out, and declares, that the ceremony whichwould repair all shall never take place!--Can this be from any othermotive than female resentment?

This brought them all upon me, as I intended it should: it was as a tubto a whale; and after I had let them play with it a while, I claimedtheir attention, and, knowing that they always loved to hear me prate, went on. 

The lady, it is plain, thought, that the reclaiming of a man from badhabits was a much easier task than, in the nature of things, it can be. 

She writes, as your Lordship has read, 'That, in endeavouring to save adrowning wretch, she had been, not accidentally, but premeditatedly, andof set purpose, drawn in after him. ' But how is this, Ladies?--You seeby her own words, that I am still far from being out of danger myself. Had she found me, in a quagmire suppose, and I had got out of it by hermeans, and left her to perish in it; that would have been a crime indeed. --But is not the fact quite otherwise? Has she not, if her allegoryprove what she would have it prove, got out herself, and left mefloundering still deeper and deeper in?--What she should have done, hadshe been in earnest to save me, was, to join her hand with mine, that sowe might by our united strength help one another out. --I held out my handto her, and besought her to give me her's:--But, no truly! she wasdetermined to get out herself as fast as she could, let me sink or swim:refusing her assistance (against her own principles) because she saw Iwanted it. --You see, Ladies, you see, my Lord, how pretty tinkling wordsrun away with ears inclined to be musical. 

They were all ready to exclaim again: but I went on, proleptically, as arhetorician would say, before their voices would break out into words. 

But my fair accuser says, that, 'I have added to the list of those I haveruined, a name that would not have disparaged my own. ' It is true, Ihave been gay and enterprising. It is in my constitution to be so. Iknow not how I came by such a constitution: but I was never accustomed tocheck or controul; that you all know. When a man finds himself hurriedby passion into a slight offence, which, however slight, will not beforgiven, he may be made desperate: as a thief, who only intends arobbery, is often by resistance, and for self-preservation, drawn in tocommit murder. 

I was a strange, a horrid wretch, with every one. But he must be a sillyfellow who has not something to say for himself, when every cause has itsblack and its white side. --Westminster-hall, Jack, affords every day asconfident defences as mine. 

But what right, proceeded I, has this lady to complain of me, when she asgood as says--Here, Lovelace, you have acted the part of a villain by me!--You would repair your fault: but I won't let you, that I may have thesatisfaction of exposing you; and the pride of refusing you. 

But, was that the case? Was that the case? Would I pretend to say, Iwould now marry the lady, if she would have me?

Lovel. You find she renounces Lady Betty's mediation----

Lord M. [Interrupting me. ] Words are wind; but deeds are mind: Whatsignifies your cursed quibbling, Bob?--Say plainly, if she will haveyou, will you have her? Answer me, yes or no; and lead us not awild-goose chace after your meaning. 

Lovel. She knows I would. But here, my Lord, if she thus goes on toexpose herself and me, she will make it a dishonour to us both to marry. 

Charl. But how must she have been treated--

Lovel. [Interrupting her. ] Why now, Cousin Charlotte, chucking herunder the chin, would you have me tell you all that has passed betweenthe lady and me? Would you care, had you a bold and enterprizing lover, that proclamation should be made of every little piece of amorousroguery, that he offered to you?

Charlotte reddened. They all began to exclaim. But I proceeded. 

The lady says, 'She has been dishonoured' (devil take me, if I sparemyself!) 'by means that would shock humanity to be made acquainted withthem. ' She is a very innocent lady, and may not be a judge of the meansshe hints at. Over-niceness may be under-niceness: Have you not such aproverb, my Lord?--tantamount to, One extreme produces another!----Sucha lady as this may possibly think her case more extraordinary than it is. This I will take upon me to say, that if she has met with the only man inthe world who would have treated her, as she says I have treated her, Ihave met in her with the only woman in the world who would have made sucha rout about a case that is uncommon only from the circumstances thatattend it. 

This brought them all upon me; hands, eyes, voices, all lifted at once. But my Lord M. Who has in his head (the last seat of retreating lewdness)as much wickedness as I have in my heart, was forced (upon the air Ispoke this with, and Charlotte's and all the rest reddening) to make amouth that was big enough to swallow up the other half of his face;crying out, to avoid laughing, Oh! Oh!--as if under the power of a goutytwinge. 

Hadst thou seen how the two tabbies and the young grimalkins looked atone another, at my Lord, and at me, by turns, thou would have been readyto split thy ugly face just in the middle. Thy mouth hath already donehalf the work. And, after all, I found not seldom in this conversation, that my humourous undaunted airs forced a smile into my service from theprim mouths of the young ladies. They perhaps, had they met with suchanother intrepid fellow as myself, who had first gained upon theiraffections, would not have made such a rout as my beloved has done, aboutsuch an affair as that we were assembled upon. Young ladies, as I haveobserved on an hundred occasions, fear not half so much for themselvesas their mothers do for them. But here the girls were forced to put ongrave airs, and to seem angry, because the antiques made the matter ofsuch high importance. Yet so lightly sat anger and fellow-feeling attheir hearts, that they were forced to purse in their mouths, tosuppress the smiles I now-and-then laid out for: while the eldershaving had roses (that is to say, daughters) of their own, and knowinghow fond men are of a trifle, would have been very loth to have hadthem nipt in the bud, without saying to the mother of them, By yourleave, Mrs. Rose-bush. 

The next article of my indictment was for forgery; and for personatingof Lady Betty and my cousin Charlotte. 

Two shocking charges, thou'lt say: and so they were!--The Peer wasoutrageous upon the forgery charge. The Ladies vowed never to forgivethe personating part. 

Not a peace-maker among them. So we all turned women, and scolded. 

My Lord told me, that he believed in his conscience there was not aviler fellow upon God's earth than me. --What signifies mincing thematter? said he--and that it was not the first time I had forged hishand. 

To this I answered, that I supposed, when the statute of ScandalumMagnatum was framed, there were a good many in the peerage who knewthey deserved hard names; and that that law therefore was rather madeto privilege their qualities, than to whiten their characters. 

He called upon me to explain myself, with a Sir-r, so pronounced, as toshow that one of the most ignominious words in our language was in hishead. 

People, I said, that were fenced in by their quality, and by theiryears, should not take freedoms that a man of spirit could not put upwith, unless he were able heartily to despise the insulter. 

This set him in a violent passion. He would send for Pritchardinstantly. Let Pritchard be called. He would alter his will; and allhe could leave from me, he would. 

Do, do, my Lord, said I: I always valued my own pleasure above yourestate. But I'll let Pritchard know, that if he draws, he shall signand seal. 

Why, what would I do to Pritchard?--shaking his crazy head at me. 

Only, what he, or any man else, writes with his pen, to despoil me ofwhat I think my right, he shall seal with his ears; that's all, myLord. 

Then the two Ladies interposed. 

Lady Sarah told me, that I carried things a great way; and that neitherLord M. Nor any of them, deserved the treatment I gave them. 

I said, I could not bear to be used ill by my Lord, for two reasons;first, because I respected his Lordship above any man living; and next, because it looked as if I were induced by selfish considerations totake that from him, which nobody else would offer to me. 

And what, returned he, shall be my inducement to take what I do at yourhands?--Hay, Sir?

Indeed, Cousin Lovelace, said Lady Betty, with great gravity, we do notany of us, as Lady Sarah says, deserve at your hands the treatment yougive us: and let me tell you, that I don't think my character and yourcousin Charlotte's ought to be prostituted, in order to ruin an innocentlady. She must have known early the good opinion we all have of her, andhow much we wished her to be your wife. This good opinion of ours hasbeen an inducement to her (you see she says so) to listen to youraddress. And this, with her friends' folly, has helped to throw her intoyour power. How you have requited her is too apparent. It becomes thecharacter we all bear, to disclaim your actions by her. And let me tellyou, that to have her abused by wicked people raised up to personate us, or any of us, makes a double call upon us to disclaim them. 

Lovel. Why this is talking somewhat like. I would have you alldisclaim my actions. I own I have done very vilely by this lady. Onestep led to another. I am curst with an enterprizing spirit. I hateto be foiled--

Foiled! interrupted Lady Sarah. What a shame to talk at thisrate!--Did the lady set up a contention with you? All nobly sincere, and plain-hearted, have I heard Miss Clarissa Harlowe is: above art, above disguise; neither the coquette, nor the prude!--Poor lady! shedeserved a better fare from the man for whom she took the step whichshe so freely blames!

This above half affected me. --Had this dispute been so handled by everyone, I had been ashamed to look up. I began to be bashful. 

Charlotte asked if I did not still seem inclinable to do the ladyjustice, if she would accept of me? It would be, she dared to say, thegreatest felicity the family could know (she would answer for one) thatthis fine lady were of it. 

They all declared to the same effect; and Lady Sarah put the matterhome to me. 

But my Lord Marplot would have it that I could not be serious for sixminutes together. 

I told his Lordship that he was mistaken; light as he thought I made ofhis subject, I never knew any that went so near my heart. 

Miss Patty said she was glad to hear that: and her soft eyes glistenedwith pleasure. 

Lord M. Called her sweet soul, and was ready to cry. 

Not from humanity neither, Jack. This Peer has no bowels; as thoumayest observe by this treatment of me. But when people's minds areweakened by a sense of their own infirmities, and when they are drawingon to their latter ends, they will be moved on the slightest occasions, whether those offer from within or without them. And this, frequently, the unpenetrating world, calls humanity; when all the time, incompassionating the miseries of human nature, they are but pityingthemselves; and were they in strong health and spirits, would care aslittle for any body else as thou or I do. 

Here broke they off my trial for this sitting. Lady Sarah was muchfatigued. It was agreed to pursue the subject in the morning. Theyall, however, retired together, and went into private conference. 

LETTER VI

MR. LOVELACE[IN CONTINUATION. ]

The Ladies, instead of taking up the subject where we had laid it down, must needs touch upon passage in my fair accuser's letter, which I was inhopes they would have let rest, as we were in a tolerable way. But, truly, they must hear all they could hear of our story, and what I had tosay to those passages, that they might be better enabled to mediatebetween us, if I were really and indeed inclined to do her the hoped-forjustice. 

These passages were, 1st, 'That, after I had compulsorily tricked herinto the act of going off with me, I carried her to one of the worsthouses in London. '

2nd, 'That I had made a wicked attempt upon her; in resentment of whichshe fled to Hampstead privately. '

3dly, Came the forgery, and personating charges again; and we were uponthe point of renewing out quarrel, before we could get to the nextcharge: which was still worse. 

For that (4thly) was 'That having betrayed her back to the vile house, Ifirst robbed her of her senses, and then her honour; detaining herafterwards a prisoner there. '

Were I to tell thee the glosses I put upon these heavy charges, whatwould it be, but repeat many of the extenuating arguments I have used inmy letters to thee?--Suffice it, therefore, to say, that I insisted much, by way of palliation, on the lady's extreme niceness: on her diffidencein my honour: on Miss Howe's contriving spirit; plots on their partsbegetting plots on mine: on the high passions of the sex. I asserted, that my whole view, in gently restraining her, was to oblige her toforgive me, and to marry me; and this for the honour of both families. I boasted of my own good qualities; some of which none that knew me deny;and to which few libertines can lay claim. 

They then fell into warm admirations and praises of the lady; all of thempreparatory, as I knew, to the grand question: and thus it was introducedby Lady Sarah. 

We have said as much as I think we can say upon these letters of the poorlady. To dwell upon the mischiefs that may ensue from the abuse of aperson of her rank, if all the reparation be not made that now can bemade, would perhaps be to little purpose. But you seem, Sir, still tohave a just opinion of her, as well as affection for her. Her virtue isnot in the least questionable. She could not resent as she does, had sheany thing to reproach herself with. She is, by every body's account, afine woman; has a good estate in her own right; is of no contemptiblefamily; though I think, with regard to her, they have acted asimprudently as unworthily. For the excellency of her mind, for goodeconomy, the common speech of her, as the worthy Dr. Lewen once told me, is that her prudence would enrich a poor man, and her piety reclaim alicentious one. I, who have not been abroad twice this twelvemonth, camehither purposely, so did Lady Betty, to see if justice may not be doneher; and also whether we, and my Lord M. (your nearest relations, Sir, )have, or have not, any influence over you. And, for my own part, as yourdetermination shall be in this article, such shall be mine, with regardto the disposition of all that is within my power. 

Lady Betty. And mine. 

And mine, said my Lord: and valiantly he swore to it. 

Lovel. Far be it from me to think slightly of favours you may any ofyou be glad I would deserve! but as far be it from me to enter intoconditions against my own liking, with sordid views!--As to futuremischiefs, let them come. I have not done with the Harlowes yet. Theywere the aggressors; and I should be glad they would let me hear fromthem, in the way they should hear from me in the like case. Perhaps Ishould not be sorry to be found, rather than be obliged to seek, on thisoccasion. 

Miss Charlotte. [Reddening. ] Spoke like a man of violence, rather thana man of reason! I hope you'll allow that, Cousin. 

Lady Sarah. Well, but since what is done, and cannot be undone, let usthink of the next best, Have you any objection against marrying MissHarlowe, if she will have you?

Lovel. There can possibly be but one: That she is to every body, nodoubt, as well as to Lady Betty, pursuing that maxim peculiar to herself, (and let me tell you so it ought to be:) that what she cannot concealfrom herself, she will publish to the world. 

Miss Patty. The lady, to be sure, writes this in the bitterness of hergrief, and in despair. ----

Lovel. And so when her grief is allayed; when her despairing fit isover--and this from you, Cousin Patty!--Sweet girl! And would you, mydear, in the like case [whispering her] have yielded to entreaty--wouldyou have meant no more by the like exclamations?

I had a rap with her fan, and blush; and from Lord M. A reflection, ThatI turn'd into jest every thing they said. 

I asked, if they thought the Harlowes deserved any consideration from me?And whether that family would not exult over me, were I to marry theirdaughter, as if I dared not to do otherwise?

Lady Sarah. Once I was angry with that family, as we all were. But nowI pity them; and think, that you have but too well justified the worsetreatment they gave you. 

Lord M. Their family is of standing. All gentlemen of it, and rich, and reputable. Let me tell you, that many of our coronets would be gladthey could derive their descents from no worse a stem than theirs. 

Lovel. The Harlowes are a narrow-souled and implacable family. I hatethem: and, though I revere the lady, scorn all relation to them. 

Lady Betty. I wish no worse could be said of him, who is such a scornerof common failings in others. 

Lord M. How would my sister Lovelace have reproached herself for allher indulgent folly to this favourite boy of her's, had she lived tillnow, and been present on this occasion!

Lady Sarah. Well, but, begging your Lordship's pardon, let us see ifany thing can be done for this poor lady. 

Miss Ch. If Mr. Lovelace has nothing to object against the lady'scharacter, (and I presume to think he is not ashamed to do her justice, though it may make against himself, ) I cannot but see her honour andgenerosity will compel from him all that we expect. If there be anylevities, any weaknesses, to be charged upon the lady, I should not openmy lips in her favour; though in private I would pity her, and deploreher hard hap. And yet, even then, there might not want arguments, fromhonour to gratitude, in so particular a case, to engage you, Sir, to makegood the vows it is plain you have broken. 

Lady Betty. My niece Charlotte has called upon you so justly, and hasput the question to you so properly, that I cannot but wish you wouldspeak to it directly, and without evasion. 

All in a breath then bespoke my seriousness, and my justice: and in thismanner I delivered myself, assuming an air sincerely solemn. 

'I am very sensible that the performance of the task you have put me uponwill leave me without excuse: but I will not have recourse either toevasion or palliation. 

'As my cousin Charlotte has severely observed, I am not ashamed to dojustice to Miss Harlowe's merit. 

'I own to you all, and, what is more, with high regret, (if not withshame, cousin Charlotte, ) that I have a great deal to answer for in myusage of this lady. The sex has not a nobler mind, nor a lovelier personof it. And, for virtue, I could not have believed (excuse me, Ladies)that there ever was a woman who gave, or could have given, suchillustrious, such uniform proofs of it: for, in her whole conduct, shehas shown herself to be equally above temptation and art; and, I hadalmost said, human frailty. 

'The step she so freely blames herself for taking, was truly what shecalls compulsatory: for though she was provoked to think of going offwith me, she intended it not, nor was provided to do so: neither wouldshe ever have had the thought of it, had her relations left her free, upon her offered composition to renounce the man she did not hate, inorder to avoid the man she did. 

'It piqued my pride, I own, that I could so little depend upon the forceof those impressions which I had the vanity to hope I had made in a heartso delicate; and, in my worst devices against her, I encouraged myselfthat I abused no confidence; for none had she in my honour. 

'The evils she has suffered, it would have been more than a miracle hadshe avoided. Her watchfulness rendered more plots abortive than thosewhich contributed to her fall; and they were many and various. And allher greater trials and hardships were owing to her noble resistance andjust resentment. 

'I know, proceeded I, how much I condemn myself in the justice I am doingto this excellent creature. But yet I will do her justice, and cannothelp it if I would. And I hope this shows that I am not so totallyabandoned as I have been thought to be. 

'Indeed, with me, she has done more honour to her sex in her fall, if itbe to be called a fall, (in truth it ought not, ) than ever any othercould do in her standing. 

'When, at length, I had given her watchful virtue cause of suspicion, Iwas then indeed obliged to make use of power and art to prevent herescaping from me. She then formed contrivances to elude mine; but allher's were such as strict truth and punctilious honour would justify. She could not stoop to deceit and falsehood, no, not to save herself. More than once justly did she tell me, fired by conscious worthiness, that her soul was my soul's superior!--Forgive me, Ladies, for saying, that till I knew her, I questioned a soul in a sex, created, as I waswilling to suppose, only for temporary purposes. --It is not to beimagined into what absurdities men of free principle run in order tojustify to themselves their free practices; and to make a religion totheir minds: and yet, in this respect, I have not been so faulty as someothers. 

'No wonder that such a noble creature as this looked upon every studiedartifice as a degree of baseness not to be forgiven: no wonder that shecould so easily become averse to the man (though once she beheld him withan eye not wholly indifferent) whom she thought capable of premeditatedguilt. Nor, give me leave, on the other hand, to say, is it to bewondered at, that the man who found it so difficult to be forgiven forthe slighter offences, and who had not the grace to recede or repent, (made desperate, ) should be hurried on to the commission of the greater. 

'In short, Ladies, in a word, my Lord, Miss Clarissa Harlowe is an angel;if ever there was or could be one in human nature: and is, and ever was, as pure as an angel in her will: and this justice I must do her, althoughthe question, I see by every glistening eye, is ready to be asked, Whatthen, Lovelace, art thou?'--

Lord M. A devil!--a d----d devil! I must answer. And may the curse ofGod follow you in all you undertake, if you do not make her the bestamends now in your power to make her!

Lovel. From you, my Lord, I could expect no other: but from the LadiesI hope for less violence from the ingenuousness of my confession. 

The Ladies, elder and younger, had their handkerchiefs to their eyes, atthe just testimony which I bore to the merits of this exalted creature;and which I would make no scruple to bear at the bar of a court ofjustice, were I to be called to it. 

Lady Betty. Well, Sir, this is a noble character. If you think as youspeak, surely you cannot refuse to do the lady all the justice now inyour power to do her. 

They all joined in this demand. 

I pleaded, that I was sure she would not have me: that, when she hadtaken a resolution, she was not to be moved. Unpersuadableness was anHarlowe sin: that, and her name, I told them, were all she had of theirs. 

All were of opinion, that she might, in her present desolatecircumstances, be brought to forgive me. Lady Sarah said, that LadyBetty and she would endeavour to find out the noble sufferer, as theyjustly called her; and would take her into their protection, and beguarantees of the justice that I would do her; as well after marriage asbefore. 

It was some pleasure to me, to observe the placability of these ladies ofmy own family, had they, any or either of them, met with a LOVELACE. But'twould be hard upon us honest fellows, Jack, if all women wereCLARISSAS. 

Here I am obliged to break off. 

LETTER VII

MR. LOVELACE[IN CONTINUATION. ]

It is much better, Jack, to tell your own story, when it must be known, than to have an adversary tell it for you. Conscious of this, I gavethem a particular account how urgent I had been with her to fix upon theThursday after I left her (it being her uncle Harlowe's anniversarybirth-day, and named to oblige her) for the private celebration; havingsome days before actually procured a license, which still remained withher. 

That, not being able to prevail upon her to promise any thing, whileunder a supposed restraint! I offered to leave her at full liberty, ifshe would give me the least hope for that day. But neither did thisoffer avail me. 

That this inflexibleness making me desperate, I resolved to add to myformer fault, by giving directions that she should not either go orcorrespond out of the house, till I returned from M. Hall; well knowing, that if she were at full liberty, I must for ever lose her. 

That this constraint had so much incensed her, that although I wrote noless than four different letters, I could not procure a single word inanswer; though I pressed her but for four words to signify the day andthe church. 

I referred to my two cousins to vouch for me the extraordinary methods Itook to send messengers to town, though they knew not the occasion; whichnow I told them was this. 

I acquainted them, that I even had wrote to you, Jack, and to anothergentleman of whom I thought she had a good opinion, to attend her, inorder to press for her compliance; holding myself in readiness the lastday, at Salt-hill, to meet the messenger they should send, and proceed toLondon, if his message were favourable. But that, before they couldattend her, she had found means to fly away once more: and is now, saidI, perched perhaps somewhere under Lady Betty's window at Glenham-hall;and there, like the sweet Philomela, a thorn in her breast, warbles forthher melancholy complaints against her barbarous Tereus. 

Lady Betty declared that she was not with her; nor did she know where shewas. She should be, she added, the most welcome guest to her that sheever received. 

In truth, I had a suspicion that she was already in their knowledge, andtaken into their protection; for Lady Sarah I imagined incapable of beingroused to this spirit by a letter only from Miss Harlowe, and that notdirected to herself; she being a very indolent and melancholy woman. Buther sister, I find had wrought her up to it: for Lady Betty is asofficious and managing a woman as Mrs. Howe; but of a much more generousand noble disposition--she is my aunt, Jack. 

I supposed, I said, that her Ladyship might have a private directionwhere to send to her. I spoke as I wished: I would have given the worldto have heard that she was inclined to cultivate the interest of any ofmy family. 

Lady Betty answered that she had no direction but what was in the letter;which she had scratched out, and which, it was probable, was only atemporary one, in order to avoid me: otherwise she would hardly havedirected an answer to be left at an inn. And she was of opinion, that toapply to Miss Howe would be the only certain way to succeed in anyapplication for forgiveness, would I enable that young lady to interestherself in procuring it. 

Miss Charlotte. Permit me to make a proposal. ----Since we are all ofone mind, in relation to the justice due to Miss Harlowe, if Mr. Lovelacewill oblige himself to marry her, I will make Miss Howe a visit, littleas I am acquainted with her; and endeavour to engage her interest toforward the desired reconciliation. And if this can be done, I make noquestion but all may be happily accommodated; for every body knows thelove there is between Miss Harlowe and Miss Howe. 

MARRIAGE, with these women, thou seest, Jack, is an atonement for all wecan do to them. A true dramatic recompense!

This motion was highly approved of; and I gave my honour, as desired, inthe fullest manner they could wish. 

Lady Sarah. Well then, Cousin Charlotte, begin your treaty with MissHowe, out of hand. 

Lady Betty. Pray do. And let Miss Harlowe be told, that I am ready toreceive her as the most welcome of guests: and I will not have her out ofmy sight till the knot is tied. 

Lady Sarah. Tell her from me, that she shall be my daughter, instead ofmy poor Betsey!----And shed a tear in remembrance of her lost daughter. 

Lord M. What say you, Sir, to this?

Lovel. CONTENT, my Lord, I speak in the language of your house. 

Lord M. We are not to be fooled, Nephew. No quibbling. We will haveno slur put upon us. 

Lovel. You shall not. And yet, I did not intend to marry, if sheexceeded the appointed Thursday. But, I think (according to her ownnotions) that I have injured her beyond reparation, although I were tomake her the best of husbands; as I am resolved to be, if she willcondescend, as I will call it, to have me. And be this, CousinCharlotte, my part of your commission to say. 

This pleased them all. 

Lord M. Give me thy hand, Bob!--Thou talkest like a man of honour atlast. I hope we may depend upon what thou sayest!

The Ladies eyes put the same question to me. 

Lovel. You may, my Lord--You may, Ladies--absolutely you may. 

Then was the personal character of the lady, as well as her moreextraordinary talents and endowments again expatiated upon: and MissPatty, who had once seen her, launched out more than all the rest in herpraise. These were followed by such inquiries as are never forgotten tobe made in marriage-treaties, and which generally are the principalmotives with the sages of a family, though the least to be mentioned bythe parties themselves, and yet even by them, perhaps, the first thoughtof: that is to say, inquisition into the lady's fortune; into theparticulars of the grandfather's estate; and what her father, and hersingle-souled uncles, will probably do for her, if a reconciliation beeffected; as, by their means, they make no doubt but it will be betweenboth families, if it be not my fault. The two venerables [no longertabbies with me now] hinted at rich presents on their own parts; and myLord declared that he would make such overtures in my behalf, as shouldrender my marriage with Miss Harlowe the best day's work I ever made;and what, he doubted not, would be as agreeable to that family as tomyself. 

Thus, at present, by a single hair, hangs over my head the matrimonialsword. And thus ended my trial. And thus are we all friends, and Cousinand Cousin, and Nephew and Nephew, at every word. 

Did ever comedy end more happily than this long trial?

LETTER VIII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. WEDN. JULY 12. 

So, Jack, they think they have gained a mighty point. But, were I tochange my mind, were I to repent, I fancy I am safe. --And yet this verymoment it rises to my mind, that 'tis hard trusting too; for surely theremust be some embers, where there was fire so lately, that may be stirredup to give a blaze to combustibles strewed lightly upon them. Love, likesome self-propagating plants, or roots, (which have taken strong hold inthe earth) when once got deep into the heart, is hardly ever totallyextirpated, except by matrimony indeed, which is the grave of love, because it allows of the end of love. Then these ladies, all advocatesfor herself, with herself, Miss Howe at their head, perhaps, ----not infavour to me--I don't expect that from Miss Howe--but perhaps in favourto herself: for Miss Howe has reason to apprehend vengeance from me, Iween. Her Hickman will be safe too, as she may think, if I marry herbeloved friend: for he has been a busy fellow, and I have long wished tohave a slap at him!--The lady's case desperate with her friends too; andlikely to be so, while single, and her character exposed to censure. 

A husband is a charming cloke, a fig-leaved apron for a wife: and for alady to be protected in liberties, in diversions, which her heart pantsafter--and all her faults, even the most criminal, were she to bedetected, to be thrown upon the husband, and the ridicule too; a charmingprivilege for a wife!

But I shall have one comfort, if I marry, which pleases me not a little. If a man's wife has a dear friend of her sex, a hundred liberties may betaken with that friend, which could not be taken, if the single lady(knowing what a title to freedoms marriage had given him with her friend)was not less scrupulous with him than she ought to be as to herself. Then there are broad freedoms (shall I call them?) that may be taken bythe husband with his wife, that may not be quite shocking, which, if thewife bears before her friends, will serve for a lesson to that friend;and if that friend bears to be present at them without check orbashfulness, will show a sagacious fellow that she can bear as muchherself, at proper time and place. 

Chastity, Jack, like piety, is an uniform thing. If in look, if inspeech, a girl give way to undue levity, depend upon it the devil hasgot one of his cloven feet in her heart already--so, Hickman, take careof thyself, I advise thee, whether I marry or not. 

Thus, Jack, have I at once reconciled myself to all my relations--and ifthe lady refuses me, thrown the fault upon her. This, I knew, would bein my power to do at any time: and I was the more arrogant to them, inorder to heighten the merit of my compliance. 

But, after all, it would be very whimsical, would it not, if all my plotsand contrivances should end in wedlock? What a punishment should thiscome out to be, upon myself too, that all this while I have beenplundering my own treasury?

And then, can there be so much harm done, if it can be so easily repairedby a few magical words; as I Robert take thee, Clarissa; and I Clarissatake thee, Robert, with the rest of the for-better and for-worselegerdemain, which will hocus pocus all the wrongs, the crying wrongs, that I have done to Miss Harlowe, into acts of kindness and benevolenceto Mrs. Lovelace?

But, Jack, two things I must insist upon with thee, if this is to be thecase. --Having put secrets of so high a nature between me and my spouseinto thy power, I must, for my own honour, and for the honour of my wifeand illustrious progeny, first oblige thee to give up the letters I haveso profusely scribbled to thee; and in the next place, do by thee, as Ihave head whispered in France was done by the true father of a certainmonarque; that is to say, cut thy throat, to prevent thy telling oftales. 

I have found means to heighten the kind opinion my friends here havebegun to have of me, by communicating to them the contents of the fourlast letters which I wrote to press my elected spouse to solemnize. MyLord repeated one of his phrases in my favour, that he hopes it will comeout, that the devil is not quite so black as he is painted. 

Now pr'ythee, dear Jack, since so many good consequences are to flow fromthese our nuptials, (one of which to thyself; since the sooner thoudiest, the less thou wilt have to answer for); and that I now-and-then amapt to believe there may be something in the old fellow's notion, whoonce told us, that he who kills a man, has all that man's sins to answerfor, as well as his own, because he gave him not the time to repent ofthem that Heaven designed to allow him, [a fine thing for thee, if thouconsentest to be knocked of the head; but a cursed one for themanslayer!] and since there may be room to fear that Miss Howe will notgive us her help; I pr'ythee now exert thyself to find out my ClarissaHarlowe, that I may make a LOVELACE of her. Set all the city bellmen, and the country criers, for ten miles round the metropolis, at work, withtheir 'Oye's! and if any man, woman, or child can give tale or tidings. '--Advertise her in all the news-papers; and let her know, 'That if shewill repair to Lady Betty Lawrance, or to Miss Charlotte Montague, shemay hear of something greatly to her advantage. '

***

My two cousins Montague are actually to set out to-morrow to Mrs. Howe's, to engage her vixen daughter's interest with her friend. They willflaunt it away in a chariot-and-six, for the greater state andsignificance. 

Confounded mortification to be reduced this low!--My pride hardly knowshow to brook it. 

Lord M. Has engaged the two venerables to stay here to attend the issue:and I, standing very high at present in their good graces, am to gallantthem to Oxford, to Blenheim, and to several other places. 

LETTER IX

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWETHURSDAY NIGHT, JULY 13. 

Collins sets not out to-morrow. Some domestic occasion hinders him. Rogers is but now returned from you, and cannot be well spared. Mr. Hickman is gone upon an affair of my mother's, and has taken both hisservants with him, to do credit to his employer: so I am forced toventure this by post, directed by your assumed name. 

I am to acquaint you, that I have been favoured with a visit from MissMontague and her sister, in Lord M. 's chariot-and-six. My Lord'sgentleman rode here yesterday, with a request that I would receive avisit from the two young ladies, on a very particular occasion; thegreater favour if it might be the next day. 

As I had so little personal knowledge of either, I doubted not but itmust be in relation to the interests of my dear friend; and so consultingwith my mother, I sent them an invitation to favour me (because of thedistance) with their company at dinner; which they kindly accepted. 

I hope, my dear, since things have been so very bad, that their errand tome will be as agreeable to you, as any thing that can now happen. Theycame in the name of Lord M. And Lady Sarah and Lady Betty his twosisters, to desire my interest to engage you to put yourself into theprotection of Lady Betty; who will not part with you till she sees allthe justice done you that now can be done. 

Lady Sarah had not stirred out for a twelve-month before; never since shelost her agreeable daughter whom you and I saw at Mrs. Benson's: but wasinduced to take this journey by Lady Betty, purely to procure youreparation, if possible. And their joint strength, united with LordM. 's, has so far succeeded, that the wretch has bound himself to them, and to these young ladies, in the solemnest manner, to wed you in theirpresence, if they can prevail upon you to give him your hand. 

This consolation you may take to yourself, that all this honourablefamily have a due (that is, the highest) sense of your merit, and greatlyadmire you. The horrid creature has not spared himself in doing justiceto your virtue; and the young ladies gave us such an account of hisconfessions, and self-condemnation, that my mother was quite charmed withyou; and we all four shed tears of joy, that there is one of our sex [I, that that one is my dearest friend, ] who has done so much honour to it, as to deserve the exalted praises given you by a wretch soself-conceited; though pity for the excellent creature mixed with ourjoy. 

He promises by them to make the best of husbands; and my Lord, and LadySarah, and Lady Betty, are all three to be guarantees that he will be so. Noble settlements, noble presents, they talked of: they say, they leftLord M. And his two sisters talking of nothing else but of those presentsand settlements, how most to do you honour, the greater in proportion forthe indignities you have suffered; and of changing of names by act ofparliament, preparative to the interest they will all join to make to getthe titles to go where the bulk of the estate must go, at my Lord'sdeath, which they apprehend to be nearer than they wish. Nor doubt theyof a thorough reformation in his morals, from your example and influenceover him. 

I made a great many objections for you--all, I believe, that you couldhave made yourself, had you been present. But I have no doubt to adviseyou, my dear, (and so does my mother, ) instantly to put yourself intoLady Betty's protection, with a resolution to take the wretch for yourhusband. All his future grandeur [he wants not pride] depends upon hissincerity to you; and the young ladies vouch for the depth of his concernfor the wrongs he has done you. 

All his apprehension is, in your readiness to communicate to every one, as he fears, the evils you have suffered; which he thinks will expose youboth. But had you not revealed them to Lady Betty, you had not had sowarm a friend; since it is owing to two letters you wrote to her, thatall this good, as I hope it will prove, was brought about. But I adviseyou to be more sparing in exposing what is past, whether you havethoughts of accepting him or not: for what, my dear, can that avail now, but to give a handle to vile wretches to triumph over your friends; sinceevery one will not know how much to your honour your very sufferings havebeen?

Your melancholy letter brought by Rogers, * with his account of yourindifferent health, confirmed to him by the woman of the house, as wellas by your looks and by your faintness while you talked with him, wouldhave given me inexpressible affliction, had I not bee cheered by thisagreeable visit from the young ladies. I hope you will be equally so onmy imparting the subject of it to you. 

* See Letter II. Of this volume. 

Indeed, my dear, you must not hesitate. You must oblige them. Thealliance is splendid and honourable. Very few will know any thing of hisbrutal baseness to you. All must end, in a little while, in a generalreconciliation; and you will be able to resume your course of doing thegood to every deserving object, which procured you blessings wherever youset your foot. 

I am concerned to find, that your father's inhuman curse affects you somuch as it does. Yet you are a noble creature to put it, as you put it--I hope you are indeed more solicitous to get it revoked for their sakesthan for your own. It is for them to be penitent, who hurried you intoevils you could not well avoid. You are apt to judge by the unhappyevent, rather than upon the true merits of your case. Upon my honour, Ithink you faultless almost in every step you have taken. What has notthat vilely-insolent and ambitious, yet stupid, brother of your's toanswer for?--that spiteful thing your sister too!

But come, since what is past cannot be helped, let us look forward. Youhave now happy prospects opening to you: a family, already noble, prepared to receive you with open arms and joyful heart; and who, bytheir love to you, will teach another family (who know not what anexcellence they have confederated to persecute) how to value you. Yourprudence, your piety, will crown all. You will reclaim a wretch that, for an hundred sakes more than for his own, one would wish to bereclaimed. 

Like a traveller, who has been put out of his way, by the overflowing ofsome rapid stream, you have only had the fore-right path you were inoverwhelmed. A few miles about, a day or two only lost, as I may say, and you are in a way to recover it; and, by quickening your speed, willget up the lost time. The hurry upon your spirits, mean time, will beall your inconvenience; for it was not your fault you were stopped inyour progress. 

Think of this, my dear; and improve upon the allegory, as you know how. If you can, without impeding your progress, be the means of assuaging theinundation, of bounding the waters within their natural channel, andthereby of recovering the overwhelmed path for the sake of futurepassengers who travel the same way, what a merit will your's be!

I shall impatiently expect your next letter. The young ladies proposedthat you should put yourself, if in town, or near it, into the Readingstage-coach, which inns somewhere in Fleet-street: and, if you givenotice of the day, you will be met on the road, and that pretty early inyour journey, by some of both sexes; one of whom you won't be sorry tosee. 

Mr. Hickman shall attend you at Slough; and Lady Betty herself, and oneof the Miss Montagues, with proper equipages, will be at Reading toreceive you; and carry you directly to the seat of the former: for I haveexpressly stipulated, that the wretch himself shall not come into yourpresence till your nuptials are to be solemnized, unless you give leave. 

Adieu, my dearest friend. Be happy: and hundreds will then be happy ofconsequence. Inexpressibly so, I am sure, will then be

Your ever affectionateANNA HOWE. 

LETTER X

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWESUNDAY NIGHT, JULY 16. 

MY DEAREST FRIEND, Why should you permit a mind, so much devoted to your service, to labourunder such an impatience as you must know it would labour under, for wantof an answer to a letter of such consequence to you, and therefore to me, as was mine of Thursday night?--Rogers told me, on Thursday, you were soill; your letter sent by him was so melancholy!--Yet you must be illindeed, if you could not write something to such a letter; were it but aline, to say you would write as soon as you could. Sure you havereceived it. The master of your nearest post-office will pawn hisreputation that it went safe: I gave him particular charge of it. 

God send me good news of your health, of your ability to write; and thenI will chide you--indeed I will--as I never yet did chide you. 

I suppose your excuse will be, that the subject required consideration--Lord! my dear, so it might; but you have so right a mind, and the matterin question is so obvious, that you could not want half an hour todetermine. --Then you intended, probably, to wait Collins's call for yourletter as on to-morrow!--Suppose something were to happen, as it did onFriday, that he should not be able to go to town to-morrow?--How, child, could you serve me so!--I know not how to leave off scolding you!

Dear, honest Collins, make haste: he will: he will. He sets out, andtravels all night: for I have told him, that the dearest friend I have inthe world has it in her own choice to be happy, and to make me so; andthat the letter he will bring from her will assure it to me. 

I have ordered him to go directly (without stopping at theSaracen's-head-inn) to you at your lodgings. Matters are now in so gooda way, that he safely may. 

Your expected letter is ready written I hope: if it can be not, he willcall for it at your hour. 

You can't be so happy as you deserve to be: but I doubt not that you willbe as happy as you can; that is, that you will choose to put yourselfinstantly into Lady Betty's protection. If you would not have the wretchfor your own sake; have him you must, for mine, for your family's, foryour honour's, sake!--Dear, honest Collins, make haste! make haste! andrelieve the impatient heart of my beloved's

Ever faithful, ever affectionate, ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER XI

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CHARLOTTE MONTAGUETUESDAY MORN. JULY 18. 

MADAM, I take the liberty to write to you, by this special messenger. In thephrensy of my soul I write to you, to demand of you, and of any of yourfamily who can tell news of my beloved friend, who, I doubt, has beenspirited away by the base arts of one of the blackest--O help me to aname black enough to call him by! Her piety is proof againstself-attempts. It must, it must be he, the only wretch, who could injuresuch an innocent; and now--who knows what he has done with her!

If I have patience, I will give you the occasion of this distractedvehemence. 

I wrote to her the very moment you and your sister left me. But beingunable to procure a special messenger, as I intended, was forced to sendby the post. I urged her, [you know I promised that I would: I urgedher, ] with earnestness, to comply with the desires of all your family. Having no answer, I wrote again on Sunday night; and sent it by aparticular hand, who travelled all night; chiding her for keeping a heartso impatient as mine in such cruel suspense, upon a matter of so muchimportance to her, and therefore to me. And very angry I was with her inmy mind. 

But, judge my astonishment, my distraction, when last night, themessenger, returning post-haste, brought me word, that she had not beenheard of since Friday morning! and that a letter lay for her at herlodgings, which came by the post; and must be mine!

She went out about six that morning; only intending, as they believe, togo to morning-prayers at Covent-Garden church, just by her lodgings, asshe had done divers times before--Went on foot!--Left word she should beback in an hour!--Very poorly in health!

Lord, have mercy upon me! What shall I do!--I was a distracted creatureall last night!

O Madam! you know not how I love her!--My own soul is not dearer to me, than my Clarissa Harlowe!--Nay! she is my soul--for I now have none--onlya miserable one, however--for she was the joy, the stay, the prop of mylife. Never woman loved woman as we love one another. It is impossibleto tell you half her excellencies. It was my glory and my pride, that Iwas capable of so fervent a love of so pure and matchless a creature. --But now--who knows, whether the dear injured has not all her woes, herundeserved woes, completed in death; or is not reserved for a worse fate!--This I leave to your inquiry--for--your--[shall I call the man----your?] relation I understand is still with you. 

Surely, my good Ladies, you were well authorized in the proposals youmade in presence of my mother!--Surely he dare not abuse your confidence, and the confidence of your noble relations! I make no apology for givingyou this trouble, nor for desiring you to favour with a line, by thismessenger, Your almost distractedANNA HOWE. 

LETTER XII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. M. HALL, SAT. NIGHT, JUNE 15. 

All undone, undone, by Jupiter!--Zounds, Jack, what shall I do now! acurse upon all my plots and contrivances!--But I have it----in the veryheart and soul of me I have it!

Thou toldest me, that my punishments were but beginning--Canst thou, Ofatal prognosticator, cans thou tell me, where they will end?

Thy assistance I bespeak. The moment thou receivest this, I bespeak thyassistance. This messenger rides for life and death--and I hope he'llfind you at your town-lodgings; if he meet not with you at Edgware;where, being Sunday, he will call first. 

This cursed, cursed woman, on Friday dispatched man and horse with thejoyful news (as she thought it would be to me) in an exulting letter fromSally Martin, that she had found out my angel as on Wednesday last; andon Friday morning, after she had been at prayers at Covent-Garden church--praying for my reformation perhaps--got her arrested by two sheriff'sofficers, as she was returning to her lodgings, who (villains!) put herinto a chair they had in readiness, and carried her to one of the cursedfellow's houses. 

She has arrested her for 150£. Pretendedly due for board and lodging: asum (besides the low villany of the proceeding) which the dear soul couldnot possibly raise: all her clothes and effects, except what she had onand with her when she went away, being at the old devil's. 

And here, for an aggravation, has the dear creature lain already twodays; for I must be gallanting my two aunts and my two cousins, andgiving Lord M. An airing after his lying-in--pox upon the whole familyof us! and returned not till within this hour: and now returned to mydistraction, on receiving the cursed tidings, and the exulting letter. 

Hasten, hasten, dear Jack; for the love of God, hasten to the injuredcharmer! my heart bleeds for her!--she deserved not this!--I dare notstir. It will be thought done by my contrivance--and if I am absent fromthis place, that will confirm the suspicion. 

Damnation seize quick this accursed woman!--Yet she thinks she has madeno small merit with me. Unhappy, thrice unhappy circumstances!--At atime too, when better prospects were opening for the sweet creature!

Hasten to her!--Clear me of this cursed job. Most sincerely, by allthat's sacred, I swear you may!----Yet have I been such a villanousplotter, that the charming sufferer will hardly believe it: although theproceeding be so dirtily low. 

Set her free the moment you see her: without conditioning, free!--On yourknees, for me, beg her pardon: and assure her, that, wherever she goes, Iwill not molest her: no, nor come near her without her leave: and be sureallow not any of the d----d crew to go near her--only let her permit youto receive her commands from time to time. --You have always been herfriend and advocate. What would I now give, had I permitted you to havebeen a successful one!

Let her have all her clothes and effects sent her instantly, as a smallproof of my sincerity. And force upon the dear creature, who must bemoneyless, what sums you can get her to take. Let me know how she hasbeen treated. If roughly, woe be to the guilty!

Take thy watch in thy hand, after thou hast freed her, and d--n the wholebrood, dragon and serpents, by the hour, till thou'rt tired; and tellthem, I bid thee do so for their cursed officiousness. 

They had nothing to do when they had found her, but to wait my orders howto proceed. 

The great devil fly away with them all, one by one, through the roof oftheir own cursed house, and dash them to pieces against the tops ofchimneys as he flies; and let the lesser devils collect the scatteredscraps, and bag them up, in order to put them together again in theirallotted place, in the element of fire, with cements of molten lead. 

A line! a line! a kingdom for a line! with tolerable news, the firstmoment thou canst write!--This fellow waits to bring it. 

LETTER XIII

MISS CHARLOTTE MONTAGUE, TO MISS HOWEM. HALL, TUESDAY AFTERNOON. 

DEAR MISS HOWE, Your letter has infinitely disturbed us all. 

This wretched man has been half distracted ever since Saturday night. 

We knew not what ailed him, till your letter was brought. 

Vile wretch, as he is, he is however innocent of this new evil. 

Indeed he is, he must be; as I shall more at large acquaint you. 

But will not now detain your messenger. 

Only to satisfy your just impatience, by telling you, that the dear younglady is safe, and we hope well. 

A horrid mistake of his general orders has subjected her to the terrorand disgrace of an arrest. 

Poor dear Miss Harlowe!--Her sufferings have endeared her to us, almostas much as her excellencies can have endeared her to you. 

But she must now be quite at liberty. 

He has been a distracted man, ever since the news was brought him; and weknew not what ailed him. 

But that I said before. 

My Lord M. My lady Sarah Sadleir, and my Lady Betty Lawrance, will allwrite to you this very afternoon. 

And so will the wretch himself. 

And send it by a servant of their own, not to detain your's. 

I know not what I write. 

But you shall have all the particulars, just, and true, and fair, from

Dear Madam, Your most faithful and obedient servant, CH. MONTAGUE. 

LETTER XIV

MISS MONTAGUE, TO MISS HOWEM. HALL, JULY 18. 

DEAR MADAM, In pursuance of my promise, I will minutely inform you of every thing weknow relating to this shocking transaction. 

When we returned from you on Thursday night, and made our report of thekind reception both we and our message met with, in that you had been sogood as to promise to use your interest with your dear friend, it put usall into such good humour with one another, and with my cousin Lovelace, that we resolved upon a little tour of two days, the Friday and Saturday, in order to give an airing to my Lord, and Lady Sarah, both having beenlong confined, one by illness, the other by melancholy. My Lord, LadySarah, Lady Betty, and myself, were in the coach; and all our talk was ofdear Miss Harlowe, and of our future happiness with her: Mr. Lovelace andmy sister (who is his favourite, as he is her's) were in his phaėton:and, whenever we joined company, that was still the subject. 

As to him, never man praised woman as he did her: Never man gave greaterhopes, and made better resolutions. He is none of those that aregoverned by interest. He is too proud for that. But most sincerelydelighted was he in talking of her; and of his hopes of her returningfavour. He said, however, more than once, that he feared she would notforgive him; for, from his heart, he must say, he deserved not herforgiveness: and often and often, that there was not such a woman in theworld. 

This I mention to show you, Madam, that he could not at this time beprivy to such a barbarous and disgraceful treatment of her. 

We returned not till Saturday night, all in as good humour with oneanother as we went out. We never had such pleasure in his companybefore. If he would be good, and as he ought to be, no man would bebetter beloved by relations than he. But never was there a greateralteration in man when he came home, and received a letter from amessenger, who, it seems, had been flattering himself in hopes of areward, and had been waiting for his return from the night before. Insuch a fury!--The man fared but badly. He instantly shut himself up towrite, and ordered man and horse to be ready to set out before day-lightthe next morning, to carry the letter to a friend in London. 

He would not see us all that night; neither breakfast nor dine with usnext day. He ought, he said, never to see the light; and bid my sister, whom he called an innocent, (and who was very desirous to know theoccasion of all this, ) shun him, saying, he was a wretch, and made so byhis own inventions, and the consequences of them. 

None of us could get out of him what so disturbed him. We should toosoon hear, he said, to the utter dissipation of all his hopes, and of allours. 

We could easily suppose that all was not right with regard to the worthyyoung lady and him. 

He went out each day; and said he wanted to run away from himself. 

Late on Monday night he received a letter from Mr. Belford, his mostfavoured friend, by his own messenger; who came back in a foam, man andhorse. Whatever were the contents, he was not easier, but like a madmanrather: but still would not let us know the occasion. But to my sisterhe said, nobody, my dear Patsey, who can think but of half the plaguesthat pursue an intriguing spirit, would ever quit the fore-right path. 

He was out when your messenger came: but soon came in; and bad enough washis reception from us all. And he said, that his own torments weregreater than ours, than Miss Harlowe's, or your's, Madam, all puttogether. He would see your letter. He always carries every thingbefore him: and said, when he had read it, that he thanked God, he wasnot such a villain, as you, with too great an appearance of reason, thought him. 

Thus, then, he owned the matter to be. 

He had left general instructions to the people of the lodgings the dearlady went from, to find out where she was gone to, if possible, that hemight have an opportunity to importune her to be his, before theirdifference was public. The wicked people (officious at least, if notwicked) discovered where she was on Wednesday; and, for fear she shouldremove before they could have his orders, they put her under a gentlerestraint, as they call it; and dispatched away a messenger to acquainthim with it; and to take his orders. 

This messenger arrived Friday afternoon; and staid here till we returnedon Saturday night:--and, when he read the letter he brought--I have toldyou, Madam, what a fury he was in. 

The letter he retired to write, and which he dispatched away so early onSunday morning, was to conjure his friend, Mr. Belford, on receipt of it, to fly to the lady, and set her free; and to order all her things to besent to her; and to clear him of so black and villanous a fact, as hejustly called it. 

And by this time he doubts not that all is happily over; and the belovedof his soul (as he calls her at ever word) in an easier and happier waythan she was before the horrid fact. And now he owns that the reason whyMr. Belford's letter set him into stronger ravings was, because of hiskeeping him wilfully (and on purpose to torment him) in suspense; andreflecting very heavily upon him, (for Mr. Belford, he says, was ever thelady's friend and advocate); and only mentioning, that he had waited uponher; referring to his next for further particulars; which Mr. Belfordcould have told him at the time. 

He declares, and we can vouch for him, that he has been, ever since lastSaturday night, the most miserable of men. 

He forbore going up himself, that it might not be imagined he was guiltyof so black a contrivance; and that he went up to complete any base viewsin consequence of it. 

Believe us all, dear Miss Howe, under the deepest concern at this unhappyaccident; which will, we fear, exasperate the charming sufferer; not toomuch for the occasion, but too much for our hopes. 

O what wretches are these free-living men, who love to tread in intricatepaths; and, when once they err, know not how far out of the way theirheadstrong course may lead them!

My sister joins her thanks with mine to your good mother and self, forthe favours you heaped upon us last Thursday. We beseech your continuedinterest as to the subject of our visit. It shall be all our studies tooblige and recompense the dear lady to the utmost of our power, and forwhat she has suffered from the unhappy man. 

We are, dear Madam, Your obliged and faithful servants, CHARLOTTE | MONTAGUE. MARTHA |

***

DEAR MISS HOWE, We join in the above request of Miss Charlotte and Miss Patty Montague, for your favour and interest; being convinced that the accident was anaccident, and no plot or contrivance of a wretch too full of them. Weare, Madam, Your most obedient humble servants, M. SARAH SADLEIR. ELIZ. LAWRANCE. 

***

DEAR MISS HOWE, After what is written above, by names and characters of unquestionablehonour, I might have been excused signing a name almost as hateful tomyself, as I KNOW it is to you. But the above will have it so. Since, therefore, I must write, it shall be the truth; which is, that if I maybe once more admitted to pay my duty to the most deserving and mostinjured of her sex, I will be content to do it with a halter about myneck; and, attended by a parson on my right hand, and the hangman on myleft, be doomed, at her will, either to the church or the gallows. 

Your most humble servant, ROBERT LOVELACE. 

TUESDAY, JULY 18. 

LETTER XV

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. SUNDAY NIGHT, JULY 16. 

What a cursed piece of work hast thou made of it, with the most excellentof women! Thou mayest be in earnest, or in jest, as thou wilt; but thepoor lady will not be long either thy sport, or the sport of fortune!

I will give thee an account of a scene that wants but her affecting pento represent it justly; and it would wring all the black blood out of thycallous heart. 

Thou only, who art the author of her calamities, shouldst have attendedher in her prison. I am unequal to such a task: nor know I any other manbut would. 

This last act, however unintended by thee, yet a consequence of thygeneral orders, and too likely to be thought agreeable to thee, by thosewho know thy other villanies by her, has finished thy barbarous work. And I advise thee to trumpet forth every where, how much in earnest thouart to marry her, whether true or not. 

Thou mayest safely do it. She will not live to put thee to the trial;and it will a little palliate for thy enormous usage of her, and be amean to make mankind, who know not what I know of the matter, herd alittle longer with thee, and forbear to hunt thee to thy fellow-savagesin the Lybian wilds and desarts. 

Your messenger found me at Edgware expecting to dinner with me severalfriends, whom I had invited three days before. I sent apologies to them, as in a case of life and death; and speeded to town to thewoman's: for how knew I but shocking attempts might be made upon her bythe cursed wretches: perhaps by your connivance, in order to mortify herinto your measures?

Little knows the public what villanies are committed by vile wretches, inthese abominable houses upon innocent creatures drawn into their snares. 

Finding the lady not there, I posted away to the officer's, althoughSally told me that she had but just come from thence; and that she hadrefused to see her, or (as she sent down word) any body else; beingresolved to have the remainder of that Sunday to herself, as it might, perhaps, be the last she should ever see. 

I had the same thing told me, when I got thither. 

I sent up to let her know, that I came with a commission to set her atliberty. I was afraid of sending up the name of a man known to be yourfriend. She absolutely refused to see any man, however, for that day, orto answer further to any thing said from me. 

Having therefore informed myself of all that the officer, and his wife, and servant, could acquaint me with, as well in relation to the horridarrest, as to her behaviour, and the women's to her; and her ill state ofhealth; I went back to Sinclair's, as I will still call her, and heardthe three women's story. From all which I am enabled to give you thefollowing shocking particulars: which may serve till I can see theunhappy lady herself to-morrow, if then I gain admittance to her. Youwill find that I have been very minute in my inquiries. 

Your villain it was that set the poor lady, and had the impudence toappear, and abet the sheriff's officers in the cursed transaction. Hethought, no doubt, that he was doing the most acceptable service to hisblessed master. They had got a chair; the head ready up, as soon asservice was over. And as she came out of the church, at the doorfronting Bedford-street, the officers, stepping up to her, whispered thatthey had an action against her. 

She was terrified, trembled, and turned pale. 

Action, said she! What is that!----I have committed no bad action!----Lord bless me! men, what mean you?

That you are our prisoner, Madam. 

Prisoner, Sirs!--What--How--Why--What have I done?

You must go with us. Be pleased, Madam, to step into this chair. 

With you!--With men! Must go with men!--I am not used to go with strangemen!----Indeed you must excuse me!

We can't excuse you. We are sheriff's officers, We have a writ againstyou. You must go with us, and you shall know at whose suit. 

Suit! said the charming innocent; I don't know what you mean. Pray, men, don't lay hands upon me; (they offering to put her into the chair. ) I amnot used to be thus treated--I have done nothing to deserve it. 

She then spied thy villain--O thou wretch, said she, where is thy vilemaster?--Am I again to be his prisoner? Help, good people!

A crowd had begun to gather. 

My master is in the country, Madam, many miles off. If you please to gowith these men, they will treat you civilly. 

The people were most of them struck with compassion. A fine youngcreature!--A thousand pities cried some. While some few threw out vileand shocking reflections! But a gentleman interposed, and demanded tosee the fellow's authority. 

They showed it. Is your name Clarissa Harlowe, Madam? said he. 

Yes, yes, indeed, ready to sink, my name was Clarissa Harlowe:--but it isnow Wretchedness!----Lord be merciful to me, what is to come next?

You must go with these men, Madam, said the gentleman: they haveauthority for what they do. 

He pitied her, and retired. 

Indeed you must, said one chairman. 

Indeed you must, said the other. 

Can nobody, joined in another gentleman, be applied to, who will see thatso fine a creature is not ill used?

Thy villain answered, orders were given particularly for that. She hadrich relations. She need but ask and have. She would only be carried tothe officer's house till matters could be made up. The people she hadlodged with loved her:--but she had left her lodgings privately. 

Oh! had she those tricks already? cried one or two. 

She heard not this--but said--Well, if I must go, I must--I cannot resist--but I will not be carried to the woman's! I will rather die at yourfeet, than be carried to the woman's. 

You won't be carried there, Madam, cried thy fellow. 

Only to my house, Madam, said one of the officers. 

Where is that?

In High-Holborn, Madam. 

I know not where High-Holborn is: but any where, except to the woman's. ----But am I to go with men only?

Looking about her, and seeing the three passages, to wit, that leading toHenrietta-street, that to King-street, and the fore-right one, toBedford-street, crowded, she started--Any where--any where, said she, butto the woman's! And stepping into the chair, threw herself on the seat, in the utmost distress and confusion--Carry me, carry me out of sight--cover me--cover me up--for ever--were her words. 

Thy villain drew the curtain: she had not power: and they went away withher through a vast crowd of people. 

Here I must rest. I can write no more at present. 

Only, Lovelace, remember, all this was to a Clarissa. 

***

The unhappy lady fainted away when she was taken out of the chair at theofficer's house. 

Several people followed the chair to the very house, which is in awretched court. Sally was there; and satisfied some of the inquirers, that the young gentlewoman would be exceedingly well used: and they soondispersed. 

Dorcas was also there; but came not in her sight. Sally, as a favour, offered to carry her to her former lodgings: but she declared they shouldcarry her thither a corpse, if they did. 

Very gentle usage the women boast of: so would a vulture, could it speak, with the entrails of its prey upon its rapacious talons. Of this you'lljudge from what I have to recite. 

She asked, what was meant by this usage of her? People told me, saidshe, that I must go with the men: that they had authority to take me: soI submitted. But now, what is to be the end of this disgracefulviolence?

The end, said the vile Sally Martin, is, for honest people to come attheir own. 

Bless me! have I taken away any thing that belongs to those who haveobtained the power over me?--I have left very valuable things behind me;but have taken away that is not my own. 

And who do you think, Miss Harlowe; for I understand, said the cursedcreature, you are not married; who do you think is to pay for your boardand your lodgings! such handsome lodgings! for so long a time as you wereat Mrs. Sinclair's?

Lord have mercy upon me!--Miss Martin, (I think you are Miss Martin!)--And is this the cause of such a disgraceful insult upon me in the openstreets?

And cause enough, Miss Harlowe! (fond of gratifying her jealous revenge, by calling her Miss, )--One hundred and fifty guineas, or pounds, is nosmall sum to lose--and by a young creature who would have bilked herlodgings. 

You amaze me, Miss Martin!--What language do you talk in?--Bilk mylodgings?--What is that?

She stood astonished and silent for a few moments. 

But recovering herself, and turning from her to the window, she wrung herhands [the cursed Sally showed me how!] and lifting them up--Now, Lovelace: now indeed do I think I ought to forgive thee!--But who shallforgive Clarissa Harlowe!----O my sister!--O my brother!--Tender mercieswere your cruelties to this!

After a pause, her handkerchief drying up her falling tears, she turnedto Sally: Now, have I noting to do but acquiesce--only let me say, thatif this aunt of your's, this Mrs. Sinclair, or this man, this Mr. Lovelace, come near me; or if I am carried to the horrid house; (forthat, I suppose, is the design of this new outrage;) God be merciful tothe poor Clarissa Harlowe!----Look to the consequence!----Look, I chargeyou, to the consequence!

The vile wretch told her, it was not designed to carry her any whereagainst her will: but, if it were, they should take care not to befrighted again by a penknife. 

She cast up her eyes to Heaven, and was silent--and went to the farthestcorner of the room, and, sitting down, threw her handkerchief over herface. 

Sally asked her several questions; but not answering her, she told her, she would wait upon her by-and-by, when she had found her speech. 

She ordered the people to press her to eat and drink. She must befasting--nothing but her prayers and tears, poor thing!--were themerciless devil's words, as she owned to me. --Dost think I did not curseher?

She went away; and, after her own dinner, returned. 

The unhappy lady, by this devil's account of her, then seemed eithermortified into meekness, or to have made a resolution not to be provokedby the insults of this cursed creature. 

Sally inquired, in her presence, whether she had eat or drank any thing;and being told by the woman, that she could not prevail upon her to tastea morsel, or drink a drop, she said, this is wrong, Miss Harlowe! Verywrong!--Your religion, I think, should teach you, that starving yourselfis self-murder. 

She answered not. 

The wretch owned she was resolved to make her speak. 

She asked if Mabell should attend her, till it were seen what her friendswould do for her in discharge of the debt? Mabell, said she, had not yetearned the clothes you were so good as to give her. 

Am I not worthy an answer, Miss Harlowe?

I would answer you (said the sweet sufferer, without any emotion) if Iknew how. 

I have ordered pen, ink, and paper, to be brought you, Miss Harlowe. There they are. I know you love writing. You may write to whom youplease. Your friend, Miss Howe, will expect to hear from you. 

I have no friend, said she, I deserve none. 

Rowland, for that's the officer's name, told her, she had friends enow topay the debt, if she would write. 

She would trouble nobody; she had no friends; was all they could get fromher, while Sally staid: but yet spoken with a patience of spirit, as ifshe enjoyed her griefs. 

The insolent creature went away, ordering them, in the lady's hearing, tobe very civil to her, and to let her want for nothing. Now had she, sheowned, the triumph of her heart over this haughty beauty, who kept themall at such a distance in their own house!

What thinkest thou, Lovelace, of this!--This wretch's triumph was over aClarissa!

About six in the evening, Rowland's wife pressed her to drink tea. Shesaid, she had rather have a glass of water; for her tongue was ready tocleave to the roof of her mouth. 

The woman brought her a glass, and some bread and butter. She tried totaste the latter; but could not swallow it: but eagerly drank the water;lifting up her eyes in thankfulness for that!!!

The divine Clarissa, Lovelace, --reduced to rejoice for a cup of coldwater!--By whom reduced?

About nine o'clock she asked if any body were to be her bedfellow. 

Their maid, if she pleased; or, as she was so weak and ill, the girlshould sit up with her, if she chose she should. 

She chose to be alone both night and day, she said. But might she not betrusted with the key of the room where she was to lie down; for sheshould not put off her clothes!

That, they told her, could not be. 

She was afraid not, she said. --But indeed she would not get away, if shecould. 

They told me, that they had but one bed, besides that they lay inthemselves, (which they would fain have had her accept of, ) and besidesthat their maid lay in, in a garret, which they called a hole of agarret: and that that one bed was the prisoner's bed; which they madeseveral apologies to me about. I suppose it is shocking enough. 

But the lady would not lie in theirs. Was she not a prisoner? she said--let her have the prisoner's room. 

Yet they owned that she started, when she was conducted thither. Butrecovering herself, Very well, said she--why should not all be of apiece?--Why should not my wretchedness be complete?

She found fault, that all the fastenings were on the outside, and nonewithin; and said, she could not trust herself in a room where otherscould come in at their pleasure, and she not go out. She had not beenused to it!!!

Dear, dear soul!--My tears flow as I write!----Indeed, Lovelace, she hadnot been used to such treatment. 

They assured her, that it was as much their duty to protect her fromother persons' insults, as from escaping herself. 

Then they were people of more honour, she said, than she had been of lateused to. 

She asked if they knew Mr. Lovelace?

No, was their answer. 

Have you heard of him?

No. 

Well, then, you may be good sort of folks in your way. 

Pause here for a moment, Lovelace!--and reflect--I must. 

***

Again they asked her if they should send any word to her lodgings?

These are my lodgings now; are they not?--was all her answer. 

She sat up in a chair all night, the back against the door; having, itseems, thrust a piece of a poker through the staples where a bolt hadbeen on the inside. 

***

Next morning Sally and Polly both went to visit her. 

She had begged of Sally, the day before, that she might not see Mrs. Sinclair, nor Dorcas, nor the broken-toothed servant, called William. 

Polly would have ingratiated herself with her; and pretended to beconcerned for her misfortunes. But she took no more notice of her thanof the other. 

They asked if she had any commands?--If she had, she only need to mentionwhat they were, and she should be obeyed. 

None at all, she said. 

How did she like the people of the house? Were they civil to her?

Pretty well, considering she had no money to give them. 

Would she accept of any money? they could put it to her account. 

She would contract no debts. 

Had she any money about her?

She meekly put her hand in her pocket, and pulled out half a guinea, anda little silver. Yes, I have a little. ----But here should be fees paid, I believe. Should there not? I have heard of entrance-money to compoundfor not being stript. But these people are very civil people, I fancy;for they have not offered to take away my clothes. 

They have orders to be civil to you. 

It is very kind. 

But we two will bail you, Miss, if you will go back with us to Mrs. Sinclair's. 

Not for the world!

Her's are very handsome apartments. 

The fitter for those who own them!

These are very sad ones. 

The fitter for me!

You may be happy yet, Miss, if you will. 

I hope I shall. 

If you refuse to eat or drink, we will give bail, and take you with us. 

Then I will try to eat and drink. Any thing but go with you. 

Will you not send to your new lodgings; the people will be frighted. 

So they will, if I send. So they will, if they know where I am. 

But have you no things to send for from thence?

There is what will pay for their lodgings and trouble: I shall not lessentheir security. 

But perhaps letters or messages may be left for you there. 

I have very few friends; and to those I have I will spare themortification of knowing what has befallen me. 

We are surprised at your indifference, Miss Harlowe! Will you not writeto any of your friends?

No. 

Why, you don't think of tarrying here always?

I shall not live always. 

Do you think you are to stay here as long as you live?

That's as it shall please God, and those who have brought me hither. 

Should you like to be at liberty?

I am miserable!--What is liberty to the miserable, but to be moremiserable. 

How miserable, Miss?--You may make yourself as happy as you please. 

I hope you are both happy. 

We are. 

May you be more and more happy!

But we wish you to be so too. 

I shall never be of your opinion, I believe, as to what happiness is. 

What do you take our opinion of happiness to be?

To live at Mrs. Sinclair's. 

Perhaps, said Sally, we were once as squeamish and narrow-minded as you. 

How came it over with you?

Because we saw the ridiculousness of prudery. 

Do you come hither to persuade me to hate prudery, as you call it, asmuch as you do?

We came to offer our service to you. 

It is out of your power to serve me. 

Perhaps not. 

It is not in my inclination to trouble you. 

You may be worse offered. 

Perhaps I may. 

You are mighty short, Miss. 

As I wish your visit to be, Ladies. 

They owned to me, that they cracked their fans, and laughed. 

Adieu, perverse beauty!

Your servant, Ladies. 

Adieu, haughty airs!

You see me humbled--

As you deserve, Miss Harlowe. Pride will have a fall. 

Better fall, with what you call pride, than stand with meanness. 

Who does?

I had once a better opinion of you, Miss Horton!--Indeed you should notinsult the miserable. 

Neither should the miserable, said Sally, insult people for theircivility. 

I should be sorry if I did. 

Mrs. Sinclair shall attend you by-and-by, to know if you have anycommands for her. 

I have no wish for any liberty, but that of refusing to see her, and onemore person. 

What we came for, was to know if you had any proposals to make for yourenlargement. 

Then, it seems, the officer put in. You have very good friends, Madam, I understand. Is it not better that you make it up? Charges will runhigh. A hundred and fifty guineas are easier paid than two hundred. Letthese ladies bail you, and go along with them; or write to your friendsto make it up. 

Sally said, There is a gentleman who saw you taken, and was so much movedfor you, Miss Harlowe, that he would gladly advance the money for you, and leave you to pay it when you can. 

See, Lovelace, what cursed devils these are! This is the way, we know, that many an innocent heart is thrown upon keeping, and then upon thetown. But for these wretches thus to go to work with such an angel asthis!--How glad would have been the devilish Sally, to have had the leasthandle to report to thee a listening ear, or patient spirit, upon thishint!

Sir, said she, with high indignation, to the officer, did not you say, last night, that it was as much your business to protect me from theinsults of others, as from escaping?--Cannot I be permitted to see whomI please? and to refuse admittance to those I like not?

Your creditors, Madam, will expect to see you. 

Not if I declare I will not treat with them. 

Then, Madam, you will be sent to prison. 

Prison, friend!--What dost thou call thy house?

Not a prison, Madam. 

Why these iron-barred windows, then? Why these double locks and boltsall on the outside, none on the in?

And down she dropt into her chair, and they could not get another wordfrom her. She threw her handkerchief over her face, as one before, whichwas soon wet with tears; and grievously, they own, she sobbed. 

Gentle treatment, Lovelace!--Perhaps thou, as well as these wretches, will think it so!

Sally then ordered a dinner, and said, They would soon be back a gain, and see that she eat and drank, as a good christian should, comportingherself to her condition, and making the best of it. 

What has not this charming creature suffered, what has she not gonethrough, in these last three months, that I know of!--Who would thinksuch a delicately-framed person could have sustained what she hassustained! We sometimes talk of bravery, of courage, of fortitude!--Herethey are in perfection!--Such bravoes as thou and I should never havebeen able to support ourselves under half the persecutions, thedisappointments, and contumelies, that she has met with; but, likecowards, should have slid out of the world, basely, by some back-door;that is to say, by a sword, by a pistol, by a halter, or knife;--but hereis a fine-principled woman, who, by dint of this noble consideration, asI imagine, [What else can support her?] that she has not deserved theevils she contends with; and that this world is designed but as atransitory state of the probation; and that she is travelling to anotherand better; puts up with all the hardships of the journey; and is not tobe diverted from her course by the attacks of thieves and robbers, or anyother terrors and difficulties; being assured of an ample reward at theend of it. 

If thou thinkest this reflection uncharacteristic from a companion andfriend of thine, imaginest thou, that I profited nothing by my longattendance on my uncle in his dying state; and from the pious reflectionsof the good clergyman, who, day by day, at the poor man's own request, visited and prayed by him?--And could I have another such instance, asthis, to bring all these reflections home to me?

Then who can write of good persons, and of good subjects, and be capableof admiring them, and not be made serious for the time? And hence may wegather what a benefit to the morals of men the keeping of good companymust be; while those who keep only bad, must necessarily more and moreharden, and be hardened. 

***

'Tis twelve of the clock, Sunday night--I can think of nothing but thisexcellent creature. Her distresses fill my head and my heart. I wasdrowsy for a quarter of an hour; but the fit is gone off. And I willcontinue the melancholy subject from the information of these wretches. Enough, I dare say, will arise in the visit I shall make, if admittedto-morrow, to send by thy servant, as to the way I am likely to find herin. 

After the women had left her, she complained of her head and her heart;and seemed terrified with apprehensions of being carried once more toSinclair's. 

Refusing any thing for breakfast, Mrs. Rowland came up to her, and toldher, (as these wretches owned they had ordered her, for fear she shouldstarve herself, ) that she must and should have tea, and bread and butter:and that, as she had friends who could support her, if she wrote to them, it was a wrong thing, both for herself and them, to starve herself thus. 

If it be for your own sakes, said she, that is another thing: let coffee, or tea, or chocolate, or what you will, be got: and put down a chicken tomy account every day, if you please, and eat it yourselves. I will tasteit, if I can. I would do nothing to hinder you. I have friends will payyou liberally, when they know I am gone. 

They wondered, they told her, at her strange composure in suchdistresses. 

They were nothing, she said, to what she had suffered already from thevilest of all men. The disgrace of seizing her in the street; multitudesof people about her; shocking imputations wounding her ears; had indeedbeen very affecting to her. But that was over. --Every thing soon would!--And she should be still more composed, were it not for theapprehensions of seeing one man, and one woman; and being tricked orforced back to the vilest house in the world. 

Then were it not better to give way to the two gentlewoman's offer tobail her?--They could tell her, it was a very kind proffer; and what wasnot to be met every day. 

She believed so. 

The ladies might, possibly, dispense with her going back to the house towhich she had such an antipathy. Then the compassionate gentleman, whowas inclined to make it up with her creditors on her own bond--it wasvery strange to them she hearkened not to so generous a proposal. 

Did the two ladies tell you who the gentleman was?--Or, did they say anymore on the subject?

Yes, they did! and hinted to me, said the woman, that you had nothing todo but to receive a visit from the gentleman, and the money, theybelieved, would be laid down on your own bond or note. 

She was startled. 

I charge you, said she, as you will answer it one day to my friends, Icharge you don't. If you do, you know not what may be the consequence. 

They apprehended no bad consequence, they said, in doing their duty: andif she knew not her own good, her friends would thank them for taking anyinnocent steps to serve her, though against her will. 

Don't push me upon extremities, man!--Don't make me desperate, woman!--Ihave no small difficulty, notwithstanding the seeming composure you justnow took notice of, to bear, as I ought to bear, the evils I suffer. Butif you bring a man or men to me, be the pretence what it will----

She stopt there, and looked so earnestly, and so wildly, they said, thatthey did not know but she would do some harm to herself, if theydisobeyed her; and that would be a sad thing in their house, and might betheir ruin. They therefore promised, that no man should be brought toher but by her own consent. 

Mrs. Rowland prevailed on her to drink a dish of tea, and taste somebread and butter, about eleven on Saturday morning: which she probablydid to have an excuse not to dine with the women when they returned. 

But she would not quit her prison-room, as she called it, to go intotheir parlour. 

'Unbarred windows, and a lightsomer apartment, ' she said, 'had toocheerful an appearance for her mind. '

A shower falling, as she spoke, 'What, ' said she, looking up, 'do theelements weep for me?'

At another time, 'The light of the sun was irksome to her. The sunseemed to shine in to mock her woes. '

'Methought, ' added she, 'the sun darting in, and gilding these iron bars, plays upon me like the two women, who came to insult my haggard looks, bythe word beauty; and my dejected heart, by the word haughty airs!'

Sally came again at dinner-time, to see how she fared, as she told her;and that she did not starve herself: and, as she wanted to have some talkwith her, if she gave her leave, she would dine with her. 

I cannot eat. 

You must try, Miss Harlowe. 

And, dinner being ready just then, she offered her hand, and desired herto walk down. 

No; she would not stir out of her prison-room. 

These sullen airs won't do, Miss Harlowe: indeed they won't. 

She was silent. 

You will have harder usage than any you have ever yet known, I can tellyou, if you come not into some humour to make matters up. 

She was still silent. 

Come, Miss, walk down to dinner. Let me entreat you, do. Miss Horton isbelow: she was once your favourite. 

She waited for an answer: but received none. 

We came to make some proposals to you, for your good; though youaffronted us so lately. And we would not let Mrs. Sinclair come inperson, because we thought to oblige you. 

This is indeed obliging. 

Come, give me your hand. Miss Harlowe: you are obliged to me, I can tellyou that: and let us go down to Miss Horton. 

Excuse me: I will not stir out of this room. 

Would you have me and Miss Horton dine in this filthy bed-room?

It is not a bed-room to me. I have not been in bed; nor will, while I amhere. 

And yet you care not, as I see, to leave the house. --And so, you won't godown, Miss Harlowe?

I won't, except I am forced to it. 

Well, well, let it alone. I sha'n't ask Miss Horton to dine in thisroom, I assure you. I will send up a plate. 

And away the little saucy toad fluttered down. 

When they had dined, up they came together. 

Well, Miss, you would not eat any thing, it seems?--Very pretty sullenairs these!--No wonder the honest gentleman had such a hand with you. 

She only held up her hands and eyes; the tears trickling down her cheeks. 

Insolent devils!--how much more cruel and insulting are bad women eventhan bad men!

Methinks, Miss, said Sally, you are a little soily, to what we have seenyou. Pity such a nice lady should not have changes of apparel! Whywon't you send to your lodgings for linen, at least?

I am not nice now. 

Miss looks well and clean in any thing, said Polly. But, dear Madam, whywon't you send to your lodgings? Were it but in kindness to the people?They must have a concern about you. And your Miss Howe will wonderwhat's become of you; for, no doubt, you correspond. 

She turned from them, and, to herself, said, Too much! Too much!--Shetossed her handkerchief, wet before with her tears, from her, and heldher apron to her eyes. 

Don't weep, Miss! said the vile Polly. 

Yet do, cried the viler Sally, it will be a relief. Nothing, as Mr. Lovelace once told me, dries sooner than tears. For once I too weptmightily. 

I could not bear the recital of this with patience. Yet I cursed themnot so much as I should have done, had I not had a mind to get from themall the particulars of their gentle treatment: and this for two reasons;the one, that I might stab thee to the heart with the repetition; and theother, that I might know upon what terms I am likely to see the unhappylady to-morrow. 

Well, but, Miss Harlowe, cried Sally, do you think these forlorn airspretty? You are a good christian, child. Mrs. Rowland tells me, she hasgot you a Bible-book. --O there it lies!--I make no doubt but you havedoubled down the useful places, as honest Matt. Prior says. 

Then rising, and taking it up. --Ay, so you have. --The Book of Job! Oneopens naturally here, I see--My mamma made me a fine Bible-scholar. --Yousee, Miss Horton, I know something of the book. 

They proposed once more to bail her, and to go home with them. A motionwhich she received with the same indignation as before. 

Sally told her, That she had written in a very favourable manner, in herbehalf, to you; and that she every hour expected an answer; and made nodoubt, that you would come up with a messenger, and generously pay thewhole debt, and ask her pardon for neglecting it. 

This disturbed her so much, that they feared she would have fallen intofits. She could not bear your name, she said. She hoped she shouldnever see you more: and, were you to intrude yourself, dreadfulconsequences might follow. 

Surely, they said, she would be glad to be released from her confinement. 

Indeed she should, now they had begun to alarm her with his name, who wasthe author of all her woes: and who, she now saw plainly, gave way tothis new outrage, in order to bring her to his own infamous terms. 

Why then, they asked, would she not write to her friends, to pay Mrs. Sinclair's demand?

Because she hoped she should not trouble any body; and because she knewthat the payment of the money if she should be able to pay it, was notwhat was aimed at. 

Sally owned that she told her, That, truly, she had thought herself aswell descended, and as well educated, as herself, though not entitled tosuch considerable fortunes. And had the impudence to insist upon it tome to be truth. 

She had the insolence to add, to the lady, That she had as much reason asshe to expect Mr. Lovelace would marry her; he having contracted to do sobefore he knew Miss Clarissa Harlowe: and that she had it under his handand seal too--or else he had not obtained his end: therefore it was notlikely she should be so officious as to do his work against herself, ifshe thought Mr. Lovelace had designs upon her, like what she presumed tohint at: that, for her part, her only view was, to procure liberty to ayoung gentlewoman, who made those things grievous to her which would notbe made such a rout about by any body else--and to procure the payment ofa just debt to her friend Mrs. Sinclair. 

She besought them to leave her. She wanted not these instances, shesaid, to convince her of the company she was in; and told them, that, toget rid of such visiters, and of the still worse she was apprehensive of, she would write to one friend to raise the money for her; though it wouldbe death for her to do so; because that friend could not do it withouther mother, in whose eye it would give a selfish appearance to afriendship that was above all sordid alloys. 

They advised her to write out of hand. 

But how much must I write for? What is the sum? Should I not have had abill delivered me? God knows, I took not your lodgings. But he thatcould treat me as he has done, could do this!

Don't speak against Mr. Lovelace, Miss Harlowe. He is a man I greatlyesteem. [Cursed toad!] And, 'bating that he will take his advantage, where he can, of US silly credulous women, he is a man of honour. 

She lifted up her hands and eyes, instead of speaking: and well shemight! For any words she could have used could not have expressed theanguish she must feel on being comprehended in the US. 

She must write for one hundred and fifty guineas, at least: two hundred, if she were short of more money, might well be written for. 

Mrs. Sinclair, she said, had all her clothes. Let them be sold, fairlysold, and the money go as far as it would go. She had also a few othervaluables; but no money, (none at all, ) but the poor half guinea, and thelittle silver they had seen. She would give bond to pay all that herapparel, and the other maters she had, would fall short of. She hadgreat effects belonging to her of right. Her bond would, and must bepaid, were it for a thousand pounds. But her clothes she should neverwant. She believed, if not too much undervalued, those, and her fewvaluables, would answer every thing. She wished for no surplus but todischarge the last expenses; and forty shillings would do as well forthose as forty pounds. 'Let my ruin, said she, lifting up her eyes, beLARGE! Let it be COMPLETE, in this life!--For a composition, let it beCOMPLETE. '--And there she stopped. 

The wretches could not help wishing to me for the opportunity of makingsuch a purchase for their own wear. How I cursed them! and, in my heart, thee!--But too probable, thought I, that this vile Sally Martin may hope, [though thou art incapable of it, ] that her Lovelace, as she has theassurance, behind thy back, to call thee, may present her with some ofthe poor lady's spoils!

Will not Mrs. Sinclair, proceeded she, think my clothes a security, tillthey can be sold? They are very good clothes. A suit or two but justput on, as it were; never worn. They cost much more than it demanded ofme. My father loved to see me fine. --All shall go. But let me have theparticulars of her demand. I suppose I must pay for my destroyer [thatwas her well-adapted word!] and his servants, as well as for myself. Iam content to do so--I am above wishing that any body, who could thusact, should be so much as expostulated with, as to the justice and equityof this payment. If I have but enough to pay the demand, I shall besatisfied; and will leave the baseness of such an action as this, as anaaggravation of a guilt which I thought could not be aggravated. 

I own, Lovelace, I have malice in this particularity, in order to stingthee on the heart. And, let me ask thee, what now thou can'st think ofthy barbarity, thy unprecedented barbarity, in having reduced a person ofher rank, fortune, talents, and virtue, so low?

The wretched women, it must be owned, act but in their profession: aprofession thou hast been the principal means of reducing these two toact in. And they know what thy designs have been, and how farprosecuted. It is, in their opinions, using her gently, that they haveforborne to bring her to the woman so justly odious to her: and that theyhave not threatened her with the introducing to her strange men: nor yetbrought into her company their spirit-breakers, and humbling-drones, (fellows not allowed to carry stings, ) to trace and force her back totheir detested house; and, when there, into all their measures. 

Till I came, they thought thou wouldst not be displeased at any thing shesuffered, that could help to mortify her into a state of shame anddisgrace; and bring her to comply with thy views, when thou shouldst cometo release her from these wretches, as from a greater evil thancohabiting with thee. 

When thou considerest these things, thou wilt make no difficulty ofbelieving, that this their own account of their behaviour to thisadmirable woman has been far short of their insults: and the less, when Itell thee, that, all together, their usage had such effect upon her, thatthey left her in violent hysterics; ordering an apothecary to be sentfor, if she should continue in them, and be worse; and particularly (asthey had done from the first) that they kept out of her way any edged orpointed instrument; especially a pen-knife; which, pretending to mend apen, they said, she might ask for. 

At twelve, Saturday night, Rowland sent to tell them, that she was soill, that he knew not what might be the issue; and wished her out of hishouse. 

And this made them as heartily wish to hear from you. For theirmessenger, to their great surprise, was not then returned from M. Hall. And they were sure he must have reached that place by Friday night. 

Early on Sunday morning, both devils went to see how she did. They hadsuch an account of her weakness, lowness, and anguish, that they forebore(out of compassion, they said, finding their visits so disagreeable toher) to see her. But their apprehension of what might be the issue was, no doubt, their principal consideration: nothing else could have softenedsuch flinty bosoms. 

They sent for the apothecary Rowland had had to her, and gave him, andRowland, and his wife and maid, strict orders, many times repeated, forthe utmost care to be taken of her--no doubt, with an Old-Baileyforecast. And they sent up to let her know what orders they had given:but that, understanding she had taken something to compose herself, theywould not disturb her. 

She had scrupled, it seems, to admit the apothecary's visit over night, because he was a MAN. Nor could she be prevailed upon to see him, tillthey pleaded their own safety to her. 

They went again, from church, [Lord, Bob. , these creatures go to church!]but she sent them down word that she must have all the remainder of theday to herself. 

When I first came, and told them of thy execrations for what they haddone, and joined my own to them, they were astonished. The mother said, she had thought she had known Mr. Lovelace better; and expected thanks, and not curses. 

While I was with them, came back halting and cursing, most horribly, their messenger; by reason of the ill-usage he had received from you, instead of the reward he had been taught to expect for the supposed goodnews that he carried down. --A pretty fellow, art thou not, to abusepeople for the consequences of thy own faults?

Dorcas, whose acquaintance this fellow is, and who recommended him forthe journey, had conditioned with him, it seems, for a share in theexpected bounty from you. Had she been to have had her share made good, I wish thou hadst broken every bone in his skin. 

Under what shocking disadvantages, and with this addition to them, that Iam thy friend and intimate, am I to make a visit to this unhappy ladyto-morrow morning! In thy name, too!--Enough to be refused, that I am ofa sex, to which, for thy sake, she has so justifiable an aversion: nor, having such a tyrant of a father, and such an implacable brother, has shethe reason to make an exception in favour of any of it on their accounts. 

It is three o'clock. I will close here; and take a little rest: what Ihave written will be a proper preparative for what shall offer by-and-by. 

Thy servant is not to return without a letter, he tells me; and that thouexpectest him back in the morning. Thou hast fellows enough where thouart at thy command. If I find any difficulty in seeing the lady, thymessenger shall post away with this. --Let him look to broken bones, andother consequences, if what he carries answer not thy expectation. But, if I am admitted, thou shalt have this and the result of my audience bothtogether. In the former case, thou mayest send another servant to waitthe next advices from

J. BELFORD. 

LETTER XVI

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. MONDAY, JULY 17. 

About six this morning, I went to Rowland's. Mrs. Sinclair was to followme, in order to dismiss the action; but not to come in sight. 

Rowland, upon inquiry, told me, that the lady was extremely ill; and thatshe had desired, that no one but his wife or maid should come near her. 

I said, I must see her. I had told him my business over-night, and Imust see her. 

His wife went up: but returned presently, saying, she could not get herto speak to her; yet that her eyelids moved; though she either would not, or could not, open them, to look up at her. 

Oons, woman, said I, the lady may be in a fit: the lady may be dying--letme go up. Show me the way. 

A horrid hole of a house, in an alley they call a court; stairswretchedly narrow, even to the first-floor rooms: and into a den they ledme, with broken walls, which had been papered, as I saw by a multitude oftacks, and some torn bits held on by the rusty heads. 

The floor indeed was clean, but the ceiling was smoked with variety offigures, and initials of names, that had been the woeful employment ofwretches who had no other way to amuse themselves. 

A bed at one corner, with coarse curtains tacked up at the feet to theceiling; because the curtain-rings were broken off; but a coverlid uponit with a cleanish look, though plaguily in tatters, and the corners tiedup in tassels, that the rents in it might go no farther. 

The windows dark and double-barred, the tops boarded up to save mending;and only a little four-paned eyelet-hole of a casement to let in air;more, however, coming in at broken panes than could come in at that. 

Four old Turkey-worked chairs, bursten-bottomed, the stuffing staringout. 

An old, tottering, worm-eaten table, that had more nails bestowed inmending it to make it stand, than the table cost fifty years ago, whennew. 

On the mantle-piece was an iron shove-up candlestick, with a lightedcandle in it, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, four of them, I suppose, for apenny. 

Near that, on the same shelf, was an old looking-glass, cracked throughthe middle, breaking out into a thousand points; the crack given it, perhaps, in a rage, by some poor creature, to whom it gave therepresentation of his heart's woes in his face. 

The chimney had two half-tiles in it on one side, and one whole one onthe other; which showed it had been in better plight; but now the verymortar had followed the rest of the tiles in every other place, and leftthe bricks bare. 

An old half-barred stove grate was in the chimney; and in that a largestone-bottle without a neck, filled with baleful yew, as an evergreen, withered southern-wood, dead sweet-briar, and sprigs of rue in flower. 

To finish the shocking description, in a dark nook stood an oldbroken-bottomed cane couch, without a squab, or coverlid, sunk at onecorner, and unmortised by the failing of one of its worm-eater legs, which lay in two pieces under the wretched piece of furniture it couldno longer support. 

And this, thou horrid Lovelace, was the bed-chamber of the divineClarissa!!!

I had leisure to cast my eye on these things: for, going up softly, thepoor lady turned not about at our entrance; nor, till I spoke, moved herhead. 

She was kneeling in a corner of the room, near the dismal window, againstthe table, on an old bolster (as it seemed to be) of the cane couch, half-covered with her handkerchief; her back to the door; which was onlyshut to, [no need of fastenings;] her arms crossed upon the table, thefore-finger of her right-hand in her Bible. She had perhaps been readingin it, and could read no longer. Paper, pens, ink, lay by her book onthe table. Her dress was white damask, exceeding neat; but her staysseemed not tight-laced. I was told afterwards, that her laces had beencut, when she fainted away at her entrance into this cursed place; andshe had not been solicitous enough about her dress to send for others. Her head-dress was a little discomposed; her charming hair, in naturalringlets, as you have heretofore described it, but a little tangled, asif not lately combed, irregularly shading one side of the loveliest neckin the world; as her disordered rumpled handkerchief did the other. Herface [O how altered from what I had seen it! yet lovely in spite of allher griefs and sufferings!] was reclined, when we entered, upon hercrossed arms; but so, as not more than one side of it could be hid. 

When I surveyed the room around, and the kneeling lady, sunk with majestytoo in her white flowing robes, (for she had not on a hoop, ) spreadingthe dark, though not dirty, floor, and illuminating that horrid corner;her linen beyond imagination white, considering that she had not beenundressed every since she had been here; I thought my concern would havechoked me. Something rose in my throat, I know not what, which made me, for a moment, guggle, as it were, for speech: which, at last, forcing itsway, con--con--confound you both, said I, to the man and woman, is thisan apartment for such a lady? and could the cursed devils of her own sex, who visited this suffering angel, see her, and leave her, in so d----d anook?

Sir, we would have had the lady to accept of our own bed-chamber: but sherefused it. We are poor people--and we expect nobody will stay with uslonger than they can help it. 

You are people chosen purposely, I doubt not, by the d----d woman who hasemployed you: and if your usage of this lady has been but half as bad asyour house, you had better never to have seen the light. 

Up then raised the charming sufferer her lovely face; but with such asignificance of woe overspreading it, that I could not, for the soul ofme, help being visibly affected. 

She waved her hand two or three times towards the door, as if commandingme to withdraw; and displeased at my intrusion; but did not speak. 

Permit me, Madam--I will not approach one step farther without your leave--permit me, for one moment, the favour of your ear!

No--no--go, go, MAN! with an emphasis--and would have said more; but, asif struggling in vain for words, she seemed to give up speech for lost, and dropped her head down once more, with a deep sigh, upon her left arm;her right, as if she had not the use of it (numbed, I suppose)self-moved, dropping on her side. 

O that thou hadst been there! and in my place!--But by what I then felt, in myself, I am convinced, that a capacity of being moved by thedistresses of our fellow creatures, is far from being disgraceful to amanly heart. With what pleasure, at that moment, could I have given upmy own life, could I but first have avenged this charming creature, andcut the throat of her destroyer, as she emphatically calls thee, thoughthe friend that I best love: and yet, at the same time, my heart and myeyes gave way to a softness of which (though not so hardened a wretch asthou) they were never before so susceptible. 

I dare not approach you, dearest lady, without your leave: but on myknees I beseech you to permit me to release you from this d----d house, and out of the power of the cursed woman, who was the occasion of yourbeing here!

She lifted up her sweet face once more, and beheld me on my knees. Neverknew I before what it was to pray so heartily. 

Are you not--are you not Mr. Belford, Sir? I think your name is Belford?

It is, Madam, and I ever was a worshipper of your virtues, and anadvocate for you; and I come to release you from the hands you are in. 

And in whose to place me?--O leave me, leave me! let me never rise fromthis spot! let me never, never more believe in man!

This moment, dearest lady, this very moment, if you please, you maydepart whithersoever you think fit. You are absolutely free, and yourown mistress. 

I had now as lieve die here in this place, as any where. I will owe noobligation to any friend of him in whose company you have seen me. So, pray, Sir, withdraw. 

Then turning to the officer, Mr. Rowland I think your name is? I ambetter reconciled to your house than I was at first. If you can butengage that I shall have nobody come near me but your wife, (no man!)and neither of those women who have sported with my calamities, I willdie with you, and in this very corner. And you shall be well satisfiedfor the trouble you have had with me--I have value enough for that--for, see, I have a diamond ring; taking it out of her bosom; and I havefriends will redeem it at a high price, when I am gone. 

But for you, Sir, looking at me, I beg you to withdraw. If you mean wellby me, God, I hope, will reward you for your good meaning; but to thefriend of my destroyer will I not owe an obligation. 

You will owe no obligation to me, nor to any body. You have beendetained for a debt you do not owe. The action is dismissed; and youwill only be so good as to give me your hand into the coach, which standsas near to this house as it could draw up. And I will either leave youat the coach-door, or attend you whithersoever you please, till I see yousafe where you would wish to be. 

Will you then, Sir, compel me to be beholden to you?

You will inexpressibly oblige me, Madam, to command me to do you eitherservice or pleasure. 

Why then, Sir, [looking at me]--but why do you mock me in that humbleposture! Rise, Sir! I cannot speak to you else. 

I rose. 

Only, Sir, take this ring. I have a sister, who will be glad to have it, at the price it shall be valued at, for the former owner's sake!--Out ofthe money she gives, let this man be paid! handsomely paid: and I have afew valuables more at my lodging, (Dorcas, or the MAN William, can tellwhere that is;) let them, and my clothes at the wicked woman's, where youhave seen me, be sold for the payment of my lodging first, and next ofyour friend's debts, that I have been arrested for, as far as they willgo; only reserving enough to put me into the ground, any where, or anyhow, no matter----Tell your friend, I wish it may be enough to satisfythe whole demand; but if it be not, he must make it up himself; or, if hethink fit to draw for it on Miss Howe, she will repay it, and withinterest, if he insist upon it. ----And this, Sir, if you promise toperform, you will do me, as you offer, both pleasure and service: and sayyou will, and take the ring and withdraw. If I want to say any thingmore to you (you seem to be an humane man) I will let you know----and so, Sir, God bless you!

I approached her, and was going to speak----

Don't speak, Sir: here's the ring. 

I stood off. 

And won't you take it? won't you do this last office for me?--I have noother person to ask it of; else, believe me, I would not request it ofyou. But take it, or not, laying it upon the table----you must withdraw, Sir: I am very ill. I would fain get a little rest, if I could. I findI am going to be bad again. 

And offering to rise, she sunk down through excess of weakness and grief, in a fainting fit. 

Why, Lovelace, was thou not present thyself?----Why dost thou commit suchvillanies, as even thou art afraid to appear in; and yet puttest a weakerheart and head upon encountering with them?

The maid coming in just then, the woman and she lifted her up on adecrepit couch; and I withdrew with this Rowland; who wept like a child, and said, he never in his life was so moved. 

Yet so hardened a wretch art thou, that I question whether thou wilt sheda tear at my relation. 

They recovered her by hartshorn and water. I went down mean while; forthe detestable woman had been below some time. O how I did curse her! Inever before was so fluent in curses. 

She tried to wheedle me; but I renounced her; and, after she haddismissed the action, sent her away crying, or pretending to cry, becauseof my behaviour to her. 

You will observe, that I did not mention one word to the lady about you. I was afraid to do it. For 'twas plain, that she could not bear yourname: your friend, and the company you have seen me in, were the wordsnearest to naming you she could speak: and yet I wanted to clear yourintention of this brutal, this sordid-looking villany. 

I sent up again, by Rowland's wife, when I heard that the lady wasrecovered, beseeching her to quit that devilish place; and the womanassured her that she was at liberty to do so, for that the action wasdismissed. 

But she cared not to answer her: and was so weak and low, that it wasalmost as much out of her power as inclination, the woman told me, tospeak. 

I would have hastened away for my friend Doctor H. , but the house is sucha den, and the room she was in such a hole, that I was ashamed to be seenin it by a man of his reputation, especially with a woman of such anappearance, and in such uncommon distress; and I found there was noprevailing upon her to quit it for the people's bed-room, which was neatand lightsome. 

The strong room she was in, the wretches told me, should have been inbetter order, but that it was but the very morning that she was broughtin that an unhappy man had quitted it; for a more eligible prison, nodoubt; since there could hardly be a worse. 

Being told that she desired not to be disturbed, and seemed inclined todoze, I took this opportunity to go to her lodgings in Covent-garden: towhich Dorcas (who first discovered her there, as Will. Was the setterfrom church) had before given me a direction. 

The man's name is Smith, a dealer in gloves, snuff, and such pettymerchandize: his wife the shopkeeper: he a maker of the gloves they sell. Honest people, it seems. 

I thought to have got the woman with me to the lady; but she was notwithin. 

I talked with the man, and told him what had befallen the lady; owing, asI said, to a mistake of orders; and gave her the character she deserved;and desired him to send his wife, the moment she came in, to the lady;directing him whither; not doubting that her attendance would be verywelcome to her; which he promised. 

He told me that a letter was left for her there on Saturday; and, abouthalf an hour before I came, another, superscribed by the same hand; thefirst, by the post; the other, by a countryman; who having been informedof her absence, and of all the circumstances they could tell him of it, posted away, full of concern, saying, that the lady he was sent fromwould be ready to break her heart at the tidings. 

I thought it right to take the two letters back with me; and, dismissingmy coach, took a chair, as a more proper vehicle for the lady, if I (thefriend of her destroyer) could prevail upon her to leave Rowland's. 

And here, being obliged to give way to an indispensable avocation, I willmake thee taste a little, in thy turn, of the plague of suspense; andbreak off, without giving thee the least hint of the issue of my furtherproceedings. I know, that those least bear disappointment, who love mostto give it. In twenty instances, hast thou afforded me proof of thetruth of this observation. And I matter not thy raving. 

Another letter, however, shall be ready, send for it a soon as thou wilt. But, were it not, have I not written enough to convince thee, that I am

Thy ready and obliging friend, J. BELFORD. 

LETTER XVII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. MONDAY, JULY 17, ELEVEN AT NIGHT. 

Curse upon thy hard heart, thou vile caitiff! How hast thou tortured me, by thy designed abruption! 'tis impossible that Miss Harlowe should haveever suffered as thou hast made me suffer, and as I now suffer!

That sex is made to bear pain. It is a curse that the first of itentailed upon all her daughters, when she brought the curse upon us all. And they love those best, whether man or child, who give them most--Butto stretch upon thy d----d tenter-hooks such a spirit as mine--No rack, no torture, can equal my torture!

And must I still wait the return of another messenger?

Confound thee for a malicious devil! I wish thou wert a post-horse, andI upon the back of thee! how would I whip and spur, and harrow up thyclumsy sides, till I make thee a ready-roasted, ready-flayed, mess ofdog's meat; all the hounds in the country howling after thee, as I drovethee, to wait my dismounting, in order to devour thee piece-meal; lifestill throbbing in each churned mouthful!

Give this fellow the sequel of thy tormenting scribble. 

Dispatch him away with it. Thou hast promised it shall be ready. Everycushion or chair I shall sit upon, the bed I shall lie down upon (if I goto bed) till he return, will be stuffed with bolt-upright awls, bodkins, corking-pins, and packing needles: already I can fancy that, to pink mybody like my mind, I need only to be put into a hogshead stuck full ofsteel-pointed spikes, and rolled down a hill three times as high as theMonument. 

But I lose time; yet know not how to employ it till this fellow returnswith the sequel of thy soul-harrowing intelligence!

LETTER XVIII

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. MONDAY NIGHT, JULY 17. 

On my return to Rowland's, I found that the apothecary was just gone up. Mrs. Rowland being above with him, I made the less scruple to go up too, as it was probable, that to ask for leave would be to ask to be denied;hoping also, that the letters had with me would be a good excuse. 

She was sitting on the side of the broken couch, extremely weak and low;and, I observed, cared not to speak to the man: and no wonder; for Inever saw a more shocking fellow, of a profession tolerably genteel, norheard a more illiterate one prate--physician in ordinary to this house, and others like it, I suppose! He put me in mind of Otway's apothecaryin his Caius Marius; as borrowed from the immortal Shakspeare:

 Meagre and very rueful were his looks: Sharp misery had worn him to the bones. ------------ Famine in his cheeks: Need and oppression staring in his eyes: Contempt and beggary hanging on his back: The world no friend of his, nor the world's law. 

As I am in black, he took me, at my entrance, I believe, to be a doctor;and slunk behind me with his hat upon his two thumbs, and looked as if heexpected the oracle to open, and give him orders. 

The lady looked displeased, as well at me as at Rowland, who followed me, and at the apothecary. It was not, she said, the least of her presentmisfortunes, that she could not be left to her own sex; and to her optionto see whom she pleased. 

I besought her excuse; and winking for the apothecary to withdraw, [whichhe did, ] told her, that I had been at her new lodgings, to order everything to be got ready for reception, presuming she would choose to gothither: that I had a chair at the door: that Mr. Smith and his wife [Inamed their names, that she should not have room for the least fear ofSinclair's] had been full of apprehensions for her safety: that I hadbrought two letters, which were left there fore her; the one by the post, the other that very morning. 

This took her attention. She held out her charming hand for them; tookthem, and, pressing them to her lips--From the only friend I have in theworld! said she; kissing them again; and looking at the seals, as if tosee whether they had been opened. I can't read them, said she, my eyesare too dim; and put them into her bosom. 

I besought her to think of quitting that wretched hole. 

Whither could she go, she asked, to be safe and uninterrupted for theshort remainder of her life; and to avoid being again visited by thecreatures who had insulted her before?

I gave her the solemnest assurances that she should not be invaded in hernew lodgings by any body; and said that I would particularly engage myhonour, that the person who had most offended her should not come nearher, without her own consent. 

Your honour, Sir! Are you not that man's friend!

I am not a friend, Madam, to his vile actions to the most excellent ofwomen. 

Do you flatter me, Sir? then you are a MAN. --But Oh, Sir, your friend, holding her face forward with great earnestness, your barbarous friend, what has he not to answer for!

There she stopt: her heart full; and putting her hand over her eyes andforehead, the tears tricked through her fingers: resenting thy barbarity, it seemed, as Caesar did the stab from his distinguished Brutus!

Though she was so very much disordered, I thought I would not lose thisopportunity to assert your innocence of this villanous arrest. 

There is no defending the unhappy man in any of his vile actions by you, Madam; but of this last outrage, by all that's good and sacred, he isinnocent. 

O wretches; what a sex is your's!--Have you all one dialect? good andsacred!--If, Sir, you can find an oath, or a vow, or an adjuration, thatmy ears have not been twenty times a day wounded with, then speak it, andI may again believe a MAN. 

I was excessively touched at these words, knowing thy baseness, and thereason she had for them. 

But say you, Sir, for I would not, methinks, have the wretch capable ofthis sordid baseness!--Say you, that he is innocent of this lastwickedness? can you truly say that he is?

By the great God of Heaven!----

Nay, Sir, if you swear, I must doubt you!--If you yourself think yourWORD insufficient, what reliance can I have on your OATH!--O that this myexperience had not cost me so dear! but were I to love a thousand years, I would always suspect the veracity of a swearer. Excuse me, Sir; but isit likely, that he who makes so free with his GOD, will scruple any thingthat may serve his turn with his fellow creature?

This was a most affecting reprimand!

Madam, said I, I have a regard, a regard a gentleman ought to have, to myword; and whenever I forfeit it to you----

Nay, Sir, don't be angry with me. It is grievous to me to question agentleman's veracity. But your friend calls himself a gentleman--youknow not what I have suffered by a gentleman!----And then again she wept. 

I would give you, Madam, demonstration, if your grief and your weaknesswould permit it, that he has no hand in this barbarous baseness: and thathe resents it as it ought to be resented. 

Well, well, Sir, [with quickness, ] he will have his account to make upsomewhere else; not to me. I should not be sorry to find him able toacquit his intention on this occasion. Let him know, Sir, only onething, that when you heard me in the bitterness of my spirit, mostvehemently exclaim against the undeserved usage I have met with from him, that even then, in that passionate moment, I was able to say [and neverdid I see such an earnest and affecting exultation of hands and eyes, ]'Give him, good God! repentance and amendment; that I may be the lastpoor creature, who shall be ruined by him!--and, in thine own good time, receive to thy mercy the poor wretch who had none on me!--'

By my soul, I could not speak. --She had not her Bible before her fornothing. 

I was forced to turn my head away, and to take out my handkerchief. 

What an angel is this!--Even the gaoler, and his wife and maid, wept. 

Again I wish thou hadst been there, that thou mightest have sunk down ather feet, and begun that moment to reap the effect of her generous wishesfor thee; undeserving, as thou art, of any thing but perdition. 

I represented to her that she would be less free where she was fromvisits she liked not, than at her own lodgings. I told her, that itwould probably bring her, in particular, one visiter, who, otherwise Iwould engage, [but I durst not swear again, after the severe reprimandshe had just given me, ] should not come near her, without her consent. And I expressed my surprize, that she should be unwilling to quit such aplace as this; when it was more than probable that some of her friends, when it was known how bad she was, would visit her. 

She said the place, when she was first brought into it, was indeed veryshocking to her: but that she had found herself so weak and ill, and hergriefs had so sunk her, that she did not expect to have lived till now:that therefore all places had been alike to her; for to die in a prison, was to die; and equally eligible as to die in a palace, [palaces, shesaid, could have no attractions for a dying person:] but that, since shefeared she was not so soon to be released, as she had hoped; since shewas suffered to be so little mistress of herself here; and since shemight, by removal, be in the way of her dear friend's letters; she wouldhope that she might depend upon the assurances I gave her of being atliberty to return to her last lodgings, (otherwise she would provideherself with new ones, out of my knowledge, as well as your's;) and thatI was too much of a gentleman, to be concerned in carrying her back tothe house she had so much reason to abhor, and to which she had been oncebefore most vilely betrayed to her ruin. 

I assured her, in the strongest terms [but swore not, ] that you wereresolved not to molest her: and, as a proof of the sincerity of myprofessions, besought her to give me directions, (in pursuance of myfriend's express desire, ) about sending all her apparel, and whateverbelonged to her, to her new lodgings. 

She seemed pleased; and gave me instantly out of her pocket her keys;asking me, If Mrs. Smith, whom I had named, might not attend me; and shewould give her further directions? To which I cheerfully assented; andthen she told me that she would accept of the chair I had offered her. 

I withdrew; and took the opportunity to be civil to Rowland and his maid;for she found no fault with their behaviour, for what they were; and thefellow seems to be miserably poor. I sent also for the apothecary, whois as poor as the officer, (and still poorer, I dare say, as to the skillrequired in his business, ) and satisfied him beyond his hopes. 

The lady, after I had withdrawn, attempted to read the letters I hadbrought her. But she could read but a little way in one of them, and hadgreat emotions upon it. 

She told the woman she would take a speedy opportunity to acknowledge hercivilities and her husband's, and to satisfy the apothecary, who mightsend her his bill to her lodgings. 

She gave the maid something; probably the only half-guinea she had: andthen with difficulty, her limbs trembling under her, and supported byMrs. Rowland, got down stairs. 

I offered my arm: she was pleased to lean upon it. I doubt, Sir, saidshe, as she moved, I have behaved rudely to you: but, if you knew all, you would forgive me. 

I know enough, Madam, to convince me, that there is not such purity andhonour in any woman upon earth; nor any one that has been so barbarouslytreated. 

She looked at me very earnestly. What she thought, I cannot say; but, ingeneral, I never saw so much soul in a woman's eyes as in her's. 

I ordered my servant, (whose mourning made him less observable as such, and who had not been in the lady's eye, ) to keep the chair in view; andto bring me word, how she did, when set down. The fellow had the thoughtto step into the shop, just before the chair entered it, under pretenceof buying snuff; and so enabled himself to give me an account, that shewas received with great joy by the good woman of the house; who told her, she was but just come in; and was preparing to attend her in HighHolborn. --O Mrs. Smith, said she, as soon as she saw her, did you notthink I was run away?--You don't know what I have suffered since I sawyou. I have been in a prison!----Arrested for debts I owe not!--But, thank God, I am here!--Will your maid--I have forgot her name already----

Catharine, Madam----

Will you let Catharine assist me to bed?--I have not had my clothes offsince Thursday night. 

What she further said the fellow heard not, she leaning upon the maid, and going up stairs. 

But dost thou not observe, what a strange, what an uncommon openness ofheart reigns in this lady? She had been in a prison, she said, before astranger in the shop, and before the maid-servant: and so, probably, shewould have said, had there been twenty people in the shop. 

The disgrace she cannot hide from herself, as she says in her letter toLady Betty, she is not solicitous to conceal from the world!

But this makes it evident to me, that she is resolved to keep no termswith thee. And yet to be able to put up such a prayer for thee, as shedid in her prison; [I will often mention the prison-room, to tease thee!]Does this not show, that revenge has very little sway in her mind; thoughshe can retain so much proper resentment?

And this is another excellence in this admirable woman's character: forwhom, before her, have we met with in the whole sex, or in ours either, that knew how, in practice, to distinguish between REVENGE andRESENTMENT, for base and ungrateful treatment?

'Tis a cursed thing, after all, that such a woman as this should betreated as she has been treated. Hadst thou been a king, and done asthou hast done by such a meritorious innocent, I believe, in my heart, itwould have been adjudged to be a national sin, and the sword, thepestilence, or famine, must have atoned for it!--But as thou art aprivate man, thou wilt certainly meet with thy punishment, (besides whatthou mayest expect from the justice of the country, and the vengeance ofher friends, ) as she will her reward, HEREAFTER. 

It must be so, if there be really such a thing as future remuneration; asnow I am more and more convinced there must:--Else, what a hard fate isher's, whose punishment, to all appearance, has so much exceeded herfault? And, as to thine, how can temporary burnings, wert thou by someaccident to be consumed in thy bed, expiate for thy abominable vilenessto her, in breach of all obligations moral and divine?

I was resolved to lose no time in having every thing which belonged tothe lady at the cursed woman's sent her. Accordingly, I took coach toSmith's, and procured the lady, (to whom I sent up my compliments, andinquiries how she bore her removal, ) ill as she sent down word she was, to give proper direction to Mrs. Smith: whom I took with me toSinclair's: and who saw every thing looked out, and put into the trunksand boxes they were first brought in, and carried away in two coaches. 

Had I not been there, Sally and Polly would each of them have taken toherself something of the poor lady's spoils. This they declared: and Ihad some difficulty to get from Sally a fine Brussels-lace head, whichshe had the confidence to say she would wear for Miss Harlowe's sake. Nor should either I or Mrs. Smith have known she had got it, had she notbeen in search of the ruffles belonging to it. 

My resentment on this occasion, and the conversation which Mrs. Smith andI had, (in which I not only expatiated on the merits of the lady, butexpressed my concern for her sufferings; though I left her room tosuppose her married, yet without averring it, ) gave me high credit withthe good woman: so that we are perfectly well acquainted already: bywhich means I shall be enabled to give you accounts from time to time ofall that passes; and which I will be very industrious to do, provided Imay depend upon the solemn promises I have given the lady, in your name, as well as in my own, that she shall be free from all personalmolestation from you. And thus shall I have it in my power to return inkind your writing favours; and preserve my short-hand besides: which, till this correspondence was opened, I had pretty much neglected. 

I ordered the abandoned women to make out your account. They answered, That they would do it with a vengeance. Indeed they breathe nothing butvengeance. For now, they say, you will assuredly marry; and your examplewill be followed by all your friends and companions--as the old one says, to the utter ruin of her poor house. 

LETTER XIX

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. TUESDAY MORN. JULY 18, SIX O'CLOCK. 

Having sat up so late to finish and seal in readiness my letter to theabove period, I am disturbed before I wished to have risen, by thearrival of thy second fellow, man and horse in a foam. 

While he baits, I will write a few lines, most heartily to congratulatethee on thy expected rage and impatience, and on thy recovery of mentalfeeling. 

How much does the idea thou givest me of thy deserved torments, by thyupright awls, bodkins, pins, and packing-needles, by thy rolling hogsheadwith iron spikes, and by thy macerated sides, delight me!

I will, upon every occasion that offers, drive more spikes into thyhogshead, and roll thee down hill, and up, as thou recoverest to sense, or rather returnest back to senselessness. Thou knowest therefore theterms on which thou art to enjoy my correspondence. Am not I, who haveall along, and in time, protested against thy barbarous and ungratefulperfidies to a woman so noble, entitled to drive remorse, if possible, into thy hitherto-callous heart?

Only let me repeat one thing, which perhaps I mentioned too slightlybefore. That the lady was determined to remove to new lodgings, whereneither you nor I should be able to find her, had I not solemnly assuredher, that she might depend upon being free from your visits. 

These assurances I thought I might give her, not only because of yourpromise, but because it is necessary for you to know where she is, inorder to address yourself to her by your friends. 

Enable me therefore to make good to her this my solemn engagement; oradieu to all friendship, at least to all correspondence, with thee forever. 

J. BELFORD. 

LETTER XX

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. TUESDAY, JULY 18. AFTERNOON. 

I renewed my inquiries after the lady's health, in the morning, by myservant: and, as soon as I had dined, I went myself. 

I had but a poor account of it: yet sent up my compliments. She returnedme thanks for all my good offices; and her excuses, that they could notbe personal just then, being very low and faint: but if I gave myself thetrouble of coming about six this evening, she should be able, she hoped, to drink a dish of tea with me, and would then thank me herself. 

I am very proud of this condescension; and think it looks not amiss foryou, as I am your avowed friend. Methinks I want fully to remove fromher mind all doubts of you in this last villanous action: and who knowsthen what your noble relations may be able to do for you with her, if youhold your mind? For your servant acquainted me with their havingactually engaged Miss Howe in their and your favour, before this cursedaffair happened. And I desire the particulars of all from yourself, thatI may the better know how to serve you. 

She has two handsome apartments, a bed-chamber and dining-room, withlight closets in each. She has already a nurse, (the people of the househaving but one maid, ) a woman whose care, diligence, and honesty, Mrs. Smith highly commends. She has likewise the benefit of a widowgentlewoman, Mrs. Lovick her name, who lodges over her apartment, and ofwhom she seems very fond, having found something in her, she thinks, resembling the qualities of her worthy Mrs. Norton. 

About seven o'clock this morning, it seems, the lady was so ill, that sheyielded to their desires to have an apothecary sent for--not the fellow, thou mayest believe, she had had before at Rowland's; but one Mr. Goddard, a man of skill and eminence; and of conscience too; demonstratedas well by general character, as by his prescriptions to this lady: forpronouncing her case to be grief, he ordered, for the present, onlyinnocent juleps, by way of cordial; and, as soon as her stomach should beable to bear it, light kitchen-diet; telling Mrs. Lovick, that that, withair, moderate exercise, and cheerful company, would do her more good thanall the medicines in his shop. 

This has given me, as it seems it has the lady, (who also praises hismodest behaviour, paternal looks, and genteel address, ) a very goodopinion of the man; and I design to make myself acquainted with him, and, if he advises to call in a doctor, to wish him, for the fair patient'ssake, more than the physician's, (who wants not practice, ) my worthyfriend Dr. H. --whose character is above all exception, as his humanity, Iam sure, will distinguish him to the lady. 

Mrs. Lovick gratified me with an account of a letter she had written fromthe lady's mouth to Miss Howe; she being unable to write herself withsteadiness. 

It was to this effect; in answer, it seems, to her two letters, whateverwere the contents of them:

'That she had been involved in a dreadful calamity, which she was sure, when known, would exempt her from the effects of her friendlydispleasure, for not answering her first; having been put under anarrest. --Could she have believed it?--That she was released but the daybefore: and was now so weak and so low, that she was obliged to accountthus for her silence to her [Miss Howe's] two letters of the 13th and16th: that she would, as soon as able, answer them--begged of her, meantime, not to be uneasy for her; since (only that this was a calamitywhich came upon her when she was far from being well, a load laid uponthe shoulders of a poor wretch, ready before to sink under too heavy aburden) it was nothing to the evil she had before suffered: and onefelicity seemed likely to issue from it; which was, that she would beat rest, in an honest house, with considerate and kind-hearted people;having assurance given her, that she should not be molested by thewretch, whom it would be death for her to see: so that now she, [MissHowe, ] needed not to send to her by private and expensive conveyances:nor need Collins to take precautions for fear of being dogged to herlodgings; nor need she write by a fictitious name to her, but by herown. '

You can see I am in a way to oblige you: you see how much she dependsupon my engaging for your forbearing to intrude yourself into hercompany: let not your flaming impatience destroy all; and make me looklike a villain to a lady who has reason to suspect every man she sees tobe so. --Upon this condition, you may expect all the services that canflow from

Your sincere well-wisher, J. BELFORD. 

LETTER XXI

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. TUESDAY NIGHT, JULY 18. 

I am just come from the lady. I was admitted into the dining-room, whereshe was sitting in an elbow-chair, in a very weak and low way. She madean effort to stand up when I entered; but was forced to keep her seat. You'll excuse me, Mr. Belford: I ought to rise to thank you for all yourkindness to me. I was to blame to be so loth to leave that sad place;for I am in heaven here, to what I was there; and good people about metoo!--I have not had good people about me for a long, long time before;so that [with a half-smile] I had begun to wonder whither they were allgone. 

Her nurse and Mrs. Smith, who were present, took occasion to retire: and, when we were alone, You seem to be a person of humanity, Sir, said she:you hinted, as I was leaving my prison, that you were not a stranger tomy sad story. If you know it truly, you must know that I have been mostbarbarously treated; and have not deserved it at the man's hands by whomI have suffered. 

I told her I knew enough to be convinced that she had the merit of asaint, and the purity of an angel: and was proceeding, when she said, Noflighty compliments! no undue attributes, Sir!

I offered to plead for my sincerity; and mentioned the word politeness;and would have distinguished between that and flattery. Nothing can bepolite, said she, that is not just: whatever I may have had; I have nowno vanity to gratify. 

I disclaimed all intentions of compliment: all I had said, and what Ishould say, was, and should be, the effect of sincere veneration. Myunhappy friend's account of her had entitled her to that. 

I then mentioned your grief, your penitence, your resolutions of makingher all the amends that were possible now to be made her: and in the mostearnest manner, I asserted your innocence as to the last villanousoutrage. 

Her answer was to this effect--It is painful to me to think of him. Theamends you talk of cannot be made. This last violence you speak of, isnothing to what preceded it. That cannot be atoned for: nor palliated:this may: and I shall not be sorry to be convinced that he cannot beguilty of so very low a wickedness. ----Yet, after his vile forgeries ofhands--after his baseness in imposing upon me the most infamous personsas ladies of honour of his own family--what are the iniquities he is notcapable of?

I would then have given her an account of the trial you stood with yourfriends: your own previous resolutions of marriage, had she honoured youwith the requested four words: all your family's earnestness to have thehonour of her alliance: and the application of your two cousins to MissHowe, by general consent, for that young lady's interest with her: but, having just touched upon these topics, she cut me short, saying, that wasa cause before another tribunal: Miss Howe's letters to her were upon thesubject; and as she would write her thoughts to her as soon as she wasable. 

I then attempted more particularly to clear you of having any hand in thevile Sinclair's officious arrest; a point she had the generosity to wishyou cleared of: and, having mentioned the outrageous letter you hadwritten to me on this occasion, she asked, If I had that letter about me?

I owned I had. 

She wished to see it. 

This puzzled me horribly: for you must needs think that most of the freethings, which, among us rakes, pass for wit and spirit, must be shockingstuff to the ears or eyes of persons of delicacy of that sex: and thensuch an air of levity runs through thy most serious letters; such a falsebravery, endeavouring to carry off ludicrously the subjects that mostaffect thee; that those letters are generally the least fit to be seen, which ought to be most to thy credit. 

Something like this I observed to her; and would fain have excused myselffrom showing it: but she was so earnest, that I undertook to read someparts of it, resolving to omit the most exceptionable. 

I know thou'lt curse me for that; but I thought it better to oblige herthan to be suspected myself; and so not have it in my power to serve theewith her, when so good a foundation was laid for it; and when she knowsas bad of thee as I can tell her. 

Thou rememberest the contents, I suppose, of thy furious letter. * Herremarks upon the different parts of it, which I read to her, were to thefollowing effect:

* See Letter XII. Of this volume. 

Upon the last two lines, All undone! undone, by Jupiter! Zounds, Jack, what shall I do now? a curse upon all my plots and contrivances! thus sheexpressed herself:

'O how light, how unaffected with the sense of its own crimes, is theheart that could dictate to the pen this libertine froth?'

The paragraph which mentions the vile arrest affected her a good deal. 

In the next I omitted thy curse upon thy relations, whom thou wertgallanting: and read on the seven subsequent paragraphs down to thyexecrable wish; which was too shocking to read to her. What I readproduced the following reflections from her:

'The plots and contrivances which he curses, and the exultings of thewicked wretches on finding me out, show me that all his guilt waspremeditated: nor doubt I that his dreadful perjuries, and inhuman arts, as he went along, were to pass for fine stratagems; for witty sport; andto demonstrate a superiority of inventive talents!--O my cruel, cruelbrother! had it not been for thee, I had not been thrown upon sopernicious and so despicable a plotter!--But proceed, Sir; pray proceed. '

At that part, Canst thou, O fatal prognosticator! tell me where mypunishment will end?--she sighed. And when I came to that sentence, praying for my reformation, perhaps--Is that there? said she, sighingagain. Wretched man!--and shed a tear for thee. --By my faith, Lovelace, I believe she hates thee not! she has at least a concern, a generousconcern for thy future happiness--What a noble creature hast thouinjured!

She made a very severe reflection upon me, on reading the words--On yourknees, for me, beg her pardon--'You had all your lessons, Sir, said she, when you came to redeem me--You was so condescending as to kneel: Ithought it was the effect of your own humanity, and good-naturedearnestness to serve me--excuse me, Sir, I knew not that it was inconsequence of a prescribed lesson. '

This concerned me not a little; I could not bear to be thought such awretched puppet, such a Joseph Leman, such a Tomlinson. I endeavoured, therefore, with some warmth, to clear myself of this reflection; and sheagain asked my excuse: 'I was avowedly, she said, the friend of a man, whose friendship, she had reason to be sorry to say, was no credit to anybody. '--And desired me to proceed. 

I did; but fared not much better afterwards: for on that passage whereyou say, I had always been her friend and advocate, this was herunanswerable remark: 'I find, Sir, by this expression, that he had alwaysdesigns against me; and that you all along knew that he had. Would toHeaven, you had had the goodness to have contrived some way, that mightnot have endangered your own safety, to give me notice of his baseness, since you approved not of it! But you gentlemen, I suppose, had rathersee an innocent fellow-creature ruined, than be thought capable of anaction, which, however generous, might be likely to loosen the bands of awicked friendship!'

After this severe, but just reflection, I would have avoided reading thefollowing, although I had unawares begun the sentence, (but she held meto it:) What would I now give, had I permitted you to have been asuccessful advocate! And this was her remark upon it--'So, Sir, you see, if you had been the happy means of preventing the evils designed me, youwould have had your friend's thanks for it when he came to hisconsideration. This satisfaction, I am persuaded every one, in the longrun, will enjoy, who has the virtue to withstand, or prevent, a wickedpurpose. I was obliged, I see, to your kind wishes--but it was a pointof honour with you to keep his secret; the more indispensable with you, perhaps, the viler the secret. Yet permit me to wish, Mr. Belford, thatyou were capable of relishing the pleasures that arise to a benevolentmind from VIRTUOUS friendship!--none other is worthy of the sacred name. You seem an humane man: I hope, for your own sake, you will one dayexperience the difference: and, when you do, think of Miss Howe andClarissa Harlowe, (I find you know much of my sad story, ) who were thehappiest creatures on earth in each other's friendship till this friendof your's'--And there she stopt, and turned from me. 

Where thou callest thyself a villanous plotter; 'To take a crime tohimself, said she, without shame, O what a hardened wretch is this man!'

On that passage, where thou sayest, Let me know how she has been treated:if roughly, woe be to the guilty! this was her remark, with an air ofindignation: 'What a man is your friend, Sir!--Is such a one as he to sethimself up to punish the guilty?--All the rough usage I could receivefrom them, was infinitely less'--And there she stopt a moment or two:then proceeding--'And who shall punish him? what an assuming wretch!--Nobody but himself is entitled to injure the innocent;--he is, I suppose, on the earth, to act the part which the malignant fiend is supposed toact below--dealing out punishments, at his pleasure, to every inferiorinstrument of mischief!'

What, thought I, have I been doing! I shall have this savage fellowthink I have been playing him booty, in reading part of his letter tothis sagacious lady!--Yet, if thou art angry, it can only, in reason, be at thyself; for who would think I might not communicate to her someof thy sincerity in exculpating thyself from a criminal charge, whichthou wrotest to thy friend, to convince him of thy innocence? But a badheart, and a bad cause are confounded things: and so let us put it to itsproper account. 

I passed over thy charge to me, to curse them by the hour; and thy namesof dragon and serpents, though so applicable; since, had I read them, thou must have been supposed to know from the first what creatures theywere; vile fellow as thou wert, for bringing so much purity among them!And I closed with thy own concluding paragraph, A line! a line! a kingdomfor a line! &c. However, telling her (since she saw that I omitted somesentences) that there were farther vehemences in it; but as they werebetter fitted to show to me the sincerity of the writer than for sodelicate an ear as her's to hear, I chose to pass them over. 

You have read enough, said she--he is a wicked, wicked man!--I see heintended to have me in his power at any rate; and I have no doubt of whathis purposes were, by what his actions have been. You know his vileTomlinson, I suppose--You know--But what signifies talking?--Never wasthere such a premeditated false heart in man, [nothing can be truer, thought I!] What has he not vowed! what has he not invented! and all forwhat?--Only to ruin a poor young creature, whom he ought to haveprotected; and whom he had first deceived of all other protection!

She arose and turned from me, her handkerchief at her eyes: and, after apause, came towards me again--'I hope, said she, I talk to a man who hasa better heart: and I thank you, Sir, for all your kind, thoughineffectual pleas in my favour formerly, whether the motives for themwere compassion, or principle, or both. That they were ineffectual, might very probably be owing to your want of earnestness; and that, asyou might think, to my want of merit. I might not, in your eye, deserveto be saved!--I might appear to you a giddy creature, who had run awayfrom her true and natural friends; and who therefore ought to take theconsequence of the lot she had drawn. '

I was afraid, for thy sake, to let her know how very earnest I had been:but assured her that I had been her zealous friend; and that my motiveswere founded upon a merit, that, I believed, was never equaled: that, however indefensible Mr. Lovelace was, he had always done justice to hervirtue: that to a full conviction of her untainted honour it was owingthat he so earnestly desired to call so inestimable a jewel his--and wasproceeding, when she again cut me short--

Enough, and too much, of this subject, Sir!--If he will never more let mebehold his face, that is all I have now to ask of him. --Indeed, indeed, clasping her hands, I never will, if I can, by any means not criminallydesperate, avoid it. 

What could I say for thee?--There was no room, however, at that time, totouch this string again, for fear of bringing upon myself a prohibition, not only of the subject, but of ever attending her again. 

I gave some distant intimations of money-matters. I should have toldthee, when I read to her that passage, where thou biddest me force whatsums upon her I can get her to take--she repeated, No, no, no, no!several times with great quickness; and I durst no more than justintimate it again--and that so darkly, as left her room to seem not tounderstand me. 

Indeed I know not the person, man or woman, I should be so much afraidof disobliging, or incurring a censure from, as from her. She has somuch true dignity in her manner, without pride or arrogance, (which, inthose who have either, one is tempted to mortify, ) such a piercing eye, yet softened so sweetly with rays of benignity, that she commands allone's reverence. 

Methinks I have a kind of holy love for this angel of a woman; and it ismatter of astonishment to me, that thou couldst converse with her aquarter of an hour together, and hold thy devilish purposes. 

Guarded as she was by piety, prudence, virtue, dignity, family, fortune, and a purity of heart that never woman before her boasted, what a realdevil must he be (yet I doubt I shall make thee proud!) who could resolveto break through so many fences!

For my own part, I am more and more sensible that I ought not to havecontented myself with representing against, and expostulating with theeupon, thy base intentions: and indeed I had it in my head, more thanonce, to try to do something for her. But, wretch that I was! I waswith-held by notions of false honour, as she justly reproached me, because of thy own voluntary communications to me of thy purposes: andthen, as she was brought into such a cursed house, and was so watched bythyself, as well as by thy infernal agents, I thought (knowing my man!)that I should only accelerate the intended mischiefs. --Moreover, findingthee so much over-awed by her virtue, that thou hadst not, at thy firstcarrying her thither, the courage to attempt her; and that she had, morethan once, without knowing thy base views, obliged thee to abandon them, and to resolve to do her justice, and thyself honour; I hardly doubted, that her merit would be triumphant at last. 

It is my opinion, (if thou holdest thy purposes to marry, ) that thoucanst not do better than to procure thy real aunts, and thy real cousins, to pay her a visit, and to be thy advocates. But if they declinepersonal visits, letters from them, and from my Lord M. Supported by MissHowe's interest, may, perhaps, effect something in thy favour. 

But these are only my hopes, founded on what I wish for thy sake. Thelady, I really think, would choose death rather than thee: and the twowomen are of opinion, though they knew not half of what she has suffered, that her heart is actually broken. 

At taking my leave, I tendered my best services to her, and besought herto permit me frequently to inquire after her health. 

She made me no answer, but by bowing her head. 

LETTER XXII

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. WEDNESDAY, JULY 19. 

This morning I took a chair to Smith's; and, being told that the lady hada very bad night, but was up, I sent for her worthy apothecary; who, onhis coming to me, approving of my proposal of calling in Dr. H. , I bidthe woman acquaint her with the designed visit. 

It seems she was at first displeased; yet withdrew her objection: but, after a pause, asked them, What she should do? She had effects of value, some of which she intended, as soon as she could, to turn into money, but, till then, had not a single guinea to give the doctor for his fee. 

Mrs. Lovick said, she had five guineas by her; they were at her service. 

She would accept of three, she said, if she would take that (pulling adiamond ring from her finger) till she repaid her; but on no other terms. 

Having been told I was below with Mr. Goddard, she desired to speak oneword with me, before she saw the Doctor. 

She was sitting in an elbow-chair, leaning her head on a pillow; Mrs. Smith and the widow on each side her chair; her nurse, with a phial ofhartshorn, behind her; in her own hand her salts. 

Raising her head at my entrance, she inquired if the Doctor knew Mr. Lovelace. 

I told her no; and that I believed you never saw him in your life. 

Was the Doctor my friend?

He was; and a very worthy and skilful man. I named him for his eminencein his profession: and Mr. Goddard said he knew not a better physician. 

I have but one condition to make before I see the gentleman; that herefuse not his fees from me. If I am poor, Sir, I am proud. I will notbe under obligation, you may believe, Sir, I will not. I suffer thisvisit, because I would not appear ungrateful to the few friends I haveleft, nor obstinate to such of my relations, as may some time hence, fortheir private satisfaction, inquire after my behaviour in my sick hours. So, Sir, you know the condition. And don't let me be vexed. 'I am veryill! and cannot debate the matter. '

Seeing her so determined, I told her, if it must be so, it should. 

Then, Sir, the gentleman may come. But I shall not be able to answermany questions. Nurse, you can tell him at the window there what a nightI have had, and how I have been for two days past. And Mr. Goddard, ifhe be here, can let him know what I have taken. Pray let me be as littlequestioned as possible. 

The Doctor paid his respects to her with the gentlemanly address forwhich he is noted: and she cast up her sweet eyes to him with thatbenignity which accompanies her every graceful look. 

I would have retired: but she forbid it. 

He took her hand, the lily not of so beautiful a white: Indeed, Madam, you are very low, said he: but give me leave to say, that you can do morefor yourself than all the faculty can do for you. 

He then withdrew to the window. And, after a short conference with thewomen, he turned to me, and to Mr. Goddard, at the other window: We cando nothing here, (speaking low, ) but by cordials and nourishment. Whatfriends has the lady? She seems to be a person of condition; and, ill asshe is, a very fine woman. ----A single lady, I presume?

I whisperingly told him she was. That there were extraordinarycircumstances in her case; as I would have apprized him, had I met withhim yesterday: that her friends were very cruel to her; but that shecould not hear them named without reproaching herself; though they weremuch more to blame than she. 

I knew I was right, said the Doctor. A love-case, Mr. Goddard! alove-case, Mr. Belford! there is one person in the world who can do hermore service than all the faculty. 

Mr. Goddard said he had apprehended her disorder was in her mind; and hadtreated her accordingly: and then told the Doctor what he had done: whichhe approving of, again taking her charming hand, said, My good younglady, you will require very little of our assistance. You must, in agreat measure, be your own assistance. You must, in a great measure, beyour own doctress. Come, dear Madam, [forgive me the familiartenderness; your aspect commands love as well as reverence; and a fatherof children, some of them older than yourself, may be excused for hisfamiliar address, ] cheer up your spirits. Resolve to do all in yourpower to be well; and you'll soon grow better. 

You are very kind, Sir, said she. I will take whatever you direct. Myspirits have been hurried. I shall be better, I believe, before I amworse. The care of my good friends here, looking at the women, shall notmeet with an ungrateful return. 

The Doctor wrote. He would fain have declined his fee. As her malady, he said, was rather to be relieved by the soothings of a friend, than bythe prescriptions of a physician, he should think himself greatlyhonoured to be admitted rather to advise her in the one character, thanto prescribe to her in the other. 

She answered, That she should be always glad to see so humane a man: thathis visits would keep her in charity with his sex: but that, where [sic]she able to forget that he was her physician, she might be apt to abateof the confidence in his skill, which might be necessary to effect theamendment that was the end of his visits. 

And when he urged her still further, which he did in a very politemanner, and as passing by the door two or three times a day, she said sheshould always have pleasure in considering him in the kind light heoffered himself to her: that that might be very generous in one person tooffer, which would be as ungenerous in another to accept: that indeed shewas not at present high in circumstance; and he saw by the tender, (whichhe must accept of, ) that she had greater respect to her own conveniencethan to his merit, or than to the pleasure she should take in his visits. 

We all withdrew together; and the Doctor and Mr. Goddard having a greatcuriosity to know something more of her story, at the motion of thelatter we went into a neighbouring coffee-house, and I gave them, inconfidence, a brief relation of it; making all as light for you as Icould; and yet you'll suppose, that, in order to do but common justiceto the lady's character, heavy must be that light. 

THREE O'CLOCK, AFTERNOON. 

I just now called again at Smith's; and am told she is somewhat better;which she attributed to the soothings of her Doctor. She expressedherself highly pleased with both gentlemen; and said that their behaviourto her was perfectly paternal. ----

Paternal, poor lady!----never having been, till very lately, from underher parents' wings, and now abandoned by all her friends, she is forfinding out something paternal and maternal in every one, (the latterqualities in Mrs. Lovick and Mrs. Smith, ) to supply to herself the fatherand mother her dutiful heart pants after. 

Mrs. Smith told me, that, after we were gone, she gave the keys of hertrunk and drawers to her and the widow Lovick, and desired them to takean inventory of them; which they did in her presence. 

They also informed me, that she had requested them to find her apurchaser for two rich dressed suits; one never worn, the other not aboveonce or twice. 

This shocked me exceedingly--perhaps it may thee a little!!!--Her reasonfor so doing, she told them, was, that she should never live to wearthem: that her sister, and other relations, were above wearing them: thather mother would not endure in her sight any thing that was her's: thatshe wanted the money: that she would not be obliged to any body, when shehad effects by her for which she had no occasion: and yet, said she, Iexpect not that they will fetch a price answerable to their value. 

They were both very much concerned, as they owned; and asked my adviceupon it: and the richness of her apparel having given them a still highernotion of her rank than they had before, they supposed she must be ofquality; and again wanted to know her story. 

I told them, that she was indeed a woman of family and fortune: I stillgave them room to suppose her married: but left it to her to tell themall in her own time and manner: all I would say was, that she had beenvery vilely treated; deserved it not; and was all innocence and purity. 

You may suppose that they both expressed their astonishment, that therecould be a man in the world who could ill treat so fine a creature. 

As to the disposing of the two suits of apparel, I told Mrs. Smith thatshe should pretend that, upon inquiry, she had found a friend who wouldpurchase the richest of them; but (that she might not mistrust) wouldstand upon a good bargain. And having twenty guineas about me, I leftthem with her, in part of payment; and bid her pretend to get her to partwith it for as little more as she could induce her to take. 

I am setting out for Edgeware with poor Belton--more of whom in my next. I shall return to-morrow; and leave this in readiness for your messenger, if he call in my absence. 

ADIEU. 

LETTER XXIII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. [IN ANSWER TO LETTER XXI. OF THIS VOLUME. ]M. HALL, WED. NIGHT, JULY 19. 

You might well apprehend that I should think you were playing me booty incommunicating my letter to the lady. 

You ask, Who would think you might not read to her the leastexceptionable parts of a letter written in my own defence?--I'll tell youwho--the man who, in the same letter that he asks this question, tellsthe friend whom he exposes to her resentment, 'That there is such an airof levity runs through his most serious letters, that those of this areleast fit to be seen which ought to be most to his credit:' And now whatthinkest thou of thyself-condemned folly? Be, however, I charge thee, more circumspect for the future, that so this clumsy error may standsingly by itself. 

'It is painful to her to think of me!' 'Libertine froth!' 'So perniciousand so despicable a plotter!' 'A man whose friendship is no credit to anybody!' 'Hardened wretch!' 'The devil's counterpart!' 'A wicked, wickedman!'--But did she, could she, dared she, to say, or imply all this?--andsay it to a man whom she praises for humanity, and prefers to myself forthat virtue; when all the humanity he shows, and she knows it too, is bymy direction--so robs me of the credit of my own works; admirablyentitled, all this shows her, to thy refinement upon the words resentmentand revenge. But thou wert always aiming and blundering at some thingthou never couldst make out. 

The praise thou givest to her ingenuousness, is another of thy peculiars. I think not as thou dost, of her tell-tale recapitulations andexclamations:--what end can they answer?--only that thou hast a holy lovefor her, [the devil fetch thee for thy oddity!] or it is extremelyprovoking to suppose one sees such a charming creature stand uprightbefore a libertine, and talk of the sin against her, that cannot beforgiven!--I wish, at my heart, that these chaste ladies would have alittle modesty in their anger!--It would sound very strange, if I RobertLovelace should pretend to have more true delicacy, in a point thatrequires the utmost, than Miss Clarissa Harlowe. 

I think I will put it into the head of her nurse Norton, and her MissHowe, by some one of my agents, to chide the dear novice for herproclamations. 

But to be serious: let me tell thee, that, severe as she is, and saucy, in asking so contemptuously, 'What a man is your friend, Sir, to sethimself to punish guilty people!' I will never forgive the cursed woman, who could commit this last horrid violence on so excellent a creature. 

The barbarous insults of the two nymphs, in their visits to her; thechoice of the most execrable den that could be found out, in order, nodoubt, to induce her to go back to theirs; and the still more execrableattempt, to propose to her a man who would pay the debt; a snare, I makeno question, laid for her despairing and resenting heart by that devilishSally, (thinking her, no doubt, a woman, ) in order to ruin her with me;and to provoke me, in a fury, to give her up to their remorselesscruelty; are outrages, that, to express myself in her style, I never can, never will forgive. 

But as to thy opinion, and the two women's at Smith's, that her heart isbroken! that is the true women's language: I wonder how thou camest intoit: thou who hast seen and heard of so many female deaths and revivals. 

I'll tell thee what makes against this notion of theirs. 

Her time of life, and charming constitution: the good she ever delightedto do, and fancified she was born to do; and which she may still continueto do, to as high a degree as ever; nay, higher: since I am no sordidvarlet, thou knowest: her religious turn: a turn that will always teachher to bear inevitable evils with patience: the contemplation upon herlast noble triumph over me, and over the whole crew; and upon hersucceeding escape from us all: her will unviolated: and the inward prideof having not deserved the treatment she has met with. 

How is it possible to imagine, that a woman, who has all theseconsolations to reflect upon, will die of a broken heart?

On the contrary, I make no doubt, but that, as she recovers from thedejection into which this last scurvy villany (which none but wretchesof her own sex could have been guilty of) has thrown her, returning lovewill re-enter her time-pacified mind: her thoughts will then turn oncemore on the conjugal pivot: of course she will have livelier notions inher head; and these will make her perform all her circumvolutions withease and pleasure; though not with so high a degree of either, as if thedear proud rogue could have exalted herself above the rest of her sex, asshe turned round. 

Thou askest, on reciting the bitter invectives that the lady made againstthy poor friend, (standing before her, I suppose, with thy fingers in thymouth, ) What couldst thou say FOR me?

Have I not, in my former letters, suggested an hundred things, which afriend, in earnest to vindicate or excuse a friend, might say on such anoccasion?

But now to current topics, and the present state of matters here. --It istrue, as my servant told thee, that Miss Howe had engaged, before thiscursed woman's officiousness, to use her interest with her friend in mybehalf: and yet she told my cousins, in the visit they made her, that itwas her opinion that she would never forgive me. I send to thee enclosedcopies of all that passed on this occasion between my cousins Montague, Miss Howe, myself, Lady Betty, Lady Sarah, and Lord M. 

I long to know what Miss Howe wrote to her friend, in order to induce herto marry the despicable plotter; the man whose friendship is no credit toany body; the wicked, wicked man. Thou hadst the two letters in thyhand. Had they been in mine, the seal would have yielded to the touch ofmy warm finger, (perhaps without the help of the post-office bullet;) andthe folds, as other placations have done, opened of themselves to obligemy curiosity. A wicked omission, Jack, not to contrive to send them downto me by man and horse! It might have passed, that the messenger whobrought the second letter, took them both back. I could have returnedthem by another, when copied, as from Miss Howe, and nobody but myselfand thee the wiser. 

That's a charming girl! her spirit, her delightful spirit!--not to bemarried to it--how I wish to get that lively bird into my cage! how wouldI make her flutter and fly about!--till she left a feather upon everywire!

Had I begun there, I am confident, as I have heretofore said, * that Ishould not have had half the difficulty with her as I have had with hercharming friend. For these passionate girls have high pulses, and aclever fellow may make what sport he pleases with their unevenness--nowtoo high, now too low, you need only to provoke and appease them byturns; to bear with them, and to forbear to tease and ask pardon; andsometimes to give yourself the merit of a sufferer from them; thencatching them in the moment of concession, conscious of their ill usageof you, they are all your own. 

* See Vol. VI. Letter VII. 

But these sedate, contemplative girls, never out of temper but withreason; when that reason is given them, hardly ever pardon, or afford youanother opportunity to offend. 

It was in part the apprehension that this would be so with my dear MissHarlowe, that made me carry her to a place where I believed she would beunable to escape me, although I were not to succeed in my first attempts. Else widow Sorlings's would have been as well for me as widow Sinclair's. For early I saw that there was no credulity in her to graft upon: nopretending to whine myself into her confidence. She was proof againstamorous persuasion. She had reason in her love. Her penetration andgood sense made her hate all compliments that had not truth and nature inthem. What could I have done with her in any other place? and yet howlong, even there, was I kept in awe, in spite of natural incitement, andunnatural instigations, (as I now think them, ) by the mere force of thatnative dignity, and obvious purity of mind and manners, which fill everyone with reverence, if not with holy love, as thou callest it, * themoment he sees her!--Else, thinkest thou not, it was easy for me to be afine gentleman, and a delicate lover, or, at least a specious andflattering one?

* See Letter XXI. Of this volume. 

Lady Sarah and Lady Betty, finding the treaty, upon the success of whichthey have set their foolish hearts, likely to run into length, are aboutdeparting to their own seats; having taken from me the best security thenature of the case will admit of, that is to say, my word, to marry thelady, if she will have me. 

And after all, (methinks thou asked, ) art thou still resolved to repair, if reparation be put into thy power?

Why, Jack, I must needs own that my heart has now-and-then someretrograde motions upon thinking seriously of the irrevocable ceremony. We do not easily give up the desire of our hearts, and what we imagineessential to our happiness, let the expectation or hope of compassing itbe ever so unreasonable or absurd in the opinion of others. Recurringsthere will be; hankerings that will, on every but-remotely-favourableincident, (however before discouraged and beaten back by ill success, )pop up, and abate the satisfaction we should otherwise take incontrariant overtures. 

'Tis ungentlemanly, Jack, man to man, to lie. ----But matrimony I do notheartily love--although with a CLARISSA--yet I am in earnest to marryher. 

But I am often thinking that if now this dear creature, suffering time, and my penitence, my relations' prayers, and Miss Howe's mediation tosoften her resentments, (her revenge thou hast prettily* distinguishedaway, ) and to recall repulsed inclination, should consent to meet me atthe altar--How vain will she then make all thy eloquent periods ofexecration!--How many charming interjections of her own will she spoil!And what a couple of old patriarchs shall we become, going in themill-horse round; getting sons and daughters; providing nurses for themfirst, governors and governesses next; teaching them lessons theirfathers never practised, nor which their mother, as her parents will say, was much the better for! And at last, perhaps, when life shall be turnedinto the dully sober stillness, and I become desirous to forget all mypast rogueries, what comfortable reflections will it afford to find themall revived, with equal, or probably greater trouble and expense, in thepersons and manners of so many young Lovelaces of the boys; and to havethe girls run away with varlets, perhaps not half so ingenious as myself;clumsy fellows, as it might happen, who could not afford the baggages oneexcuse for their weakness, besides those disgraceful ones of sex andnature!--O Belford! who can bear to think of these things!----Who, at mytime of life especially, and with such a bias for mischief!

* See Letter XVIII. Of this volume. 

Of this I am absolutely convinced, that if a man ever intends to marry, and to enjoy in peace his own reflections, and not be afraidretribution, or of the consequences of his own example, he should neverbe a rake. 

This looks like conscience; don't it, Belford?

But, being in earnest still, as I have said, all I have to do in mypresent uncertainty, is, to brighten up my faculties, by filing off therust they have contracted by the town smoke, a long imprisonment in myclose attendance to so little purpose on my fair perverse; and to braceup, if I can, the relaxed fibres of my mind, which have been twitched andconvulsed like the nerves of some tottering paralytic, by means of thetumults she has excited in it; that so I may be able to present to her ahusband as worthy as I can be of her acceptance; or, if she reject me, bein a capacity to resume my usual gaiety of heart, and show others of themisleading sex, that I am not discouraged, by the difficulties I have metwith from this sweet individual of it, from endeavouring to make myselfas acceptable to them as before. 

In this latter case, one tour to France and Italy, I dare say, will dothe business. Miss Harlowe will by that time have forgotten all she hassuffered from her ungrateful Lovelace: though it will be impossible thather Lovelace should ever forget a woman, whose equal he despairs to meetwith, were he to travel from one end of the world to the other. 

If thou continuest paying off the heavy debts my long letters, for somany weeks together, have made thee groan under, I will endeavour torestrain myself in the desires I have, (importunate as they are, ) ofgoing to town, to throw myself at the feet of my soul's beloved. Policyand honesty, both join to strengthen the restraint my own promise and thyengagement have laid me under on this head. I would not afresh provoke:on the contrary, would give time for her resentments to subside, that soall that follows may be her own act and deed. 

***

Hickman, [I have a mortal aversion to that fellow!] has, by a line whichI have just now received, requested an interview with me on Friday at Mr. Dormer's, as at a common friend's. Does the business he wants to meet meupon require that it should be at a common friend's?--A challengeimplied: Is it not, Belford?--I shall not be civil to him, I doubt. Hehas been an intermeddler?--Then I envy him on Miss Howe's account: for ifI have a right notion of this Hickman, it is impossible that that viragocan ever love him. 

Every one knows that the mother, (saucy as the daughter sometimes is, )crams him down her throat. Her mother is one of the mostviolent-spirited women in England. Her late husband could not stand inthe matrimonial contention of Who should? but tipt off the perch in it, neither knowing how to yield, nor knowing how to conquer. 

A charming encouragement for a man of intrigue, when he has reason tobelieve that the woman he has a view upon has no love for her husband!What good principles must that wife have, who is kept in againsttemptation by a sense of her duty, and plighted faith, where affectionhas no hold of her!

Pr'ythee let's know, very particularly, how it fares with poor Belton. 'Tis an honest fellow. Something more than his Thomasine seems to stickwith him. 

Thou hast not been preaching to him conscience and reformation, hastthou?--Thou shouldest not take liberties with him of this sort, unlessthou thoughtest him absolutely irrecoverable. A man in ill health, andcrop-sick, cannot play with these solemn things as thou canst, and beneither better nor worse for them. --Repentance, Jack, I have a notion, should be set about while a man is in health and spirits. What's a manfit for, [not to begin a new work, surely!] when he is not himself, normaster of his faculties?--Hence, as I apprehend, it is that a death-bedrepentance is supposed to be such a precarious and ineffectual thing. 

As to myself, I hope I have a great deal of time before me; since Iintend one day to be a reformed man. I have very serious reflectionsnow-and-then. Yet am I half afraid of the truth of what my charmer oncetold me, that a man cannot repent when he will. --Not to hold it, Isuppose she meant! By fits and starts I have repented a thousand times. 

Casting my eye over the two preceding paragraphs, I fancy there issomething like contradiction in them. But I will not reconsider them. The subject is a very serious one. I don't at present quite understandit. But now for one more airy. 

Tourville, Mowbray, and myself, pass away our time as pleasantly aspossibly we can without thee. I wish we don't add to Lord M. 's goutydays by the joy we give him. 

This is one advantage, as I believe I have elsewhere observed, that wemale-delinquents in love-matters have of the other sex:--for while they, poor things! sit sighing in holes and corners, or run to woods and grovesto bemoan themselves on their baffled hopes, we can rant and roar, huntand hawk; and, by new loves, banish from our hearts all remembrance ofthe old ones. 

Merrily, however, as we pass our time, my reflections upon the injuriesdone to this noble creature bring a qualm upon my heart very often. ButI know she will permit me to make her amends, after she has plagued meheartily; and that's my consolation. 

An honest fellow still--clap thy wings, and crow, Jack!----

LETTER XXIV

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWETHURSDAY MORN. JUNE* 20. 

* Text error: should be JULY. 

What, my dearest creature, have been your sufferings!--What must havebeen your anguish on so disgraceful an insult, committed in the openstreets, and in the broad day!

No end, I think, of the undeserved calamities of a dear soul, who hadbeen so unhappily driven and betrayed into the hands of a vile libertine!--How was I shocked at the receiving of your letter written by anotherhand, and only dictated by you!--You must be very ill. Nor is it to bewondered at. But I hope it is rather from hurry, and surprise, andlowness, which may be overcome, than from a grief given way to, which maybe attended with effects I cannot bear to think of. 

But whatever you do, my dear, you must not despond! Indeed you must notdespond! Hitherto you have been in no fault: but despair would be allyour own: and the worst fault you can be guilty of. 

I cannot bear to look upon another hand instead of your's. My dearcreature, send me a few lines, though ever so few, in your own hand, ifpossible. --For they will revive my heart; especially if they can acquaintme of your amended health. 

I expect your answer to my letter of the 13th. We all expect it withimpatience. 

His relations are persons of so much honour--they are so very earnest torank you among them--the wretch is so very penitent: every one of hisfamily says he is--your own are so implacable--your last distress, thoughthe consequence of his former villany, yet neither brought on by hisdirection nor with his knowledge; and so much resented by him--that mymother is absolutely of opinion that you should be his--especially if, yielding to my wishes, as expressed in my letter, and those of all hisfriends, you would have complied, had it not been for this horrid arrest. 

I will enclose the copy of the letter I wrote to Miss Montague lastTuesday, on hearing that nobody knew what was become of you; and theanswer to it, underwritten and signed by Lord M. , Lady Sarah Sadleir, andLady Betty Lawrance, as well as by the young Ladies; and also by thewretch himself. 

I own, that I like not the turn of what he has written to me; and, beforeI will further interest myself in his favour, I have determined to informmyself, by a friend, from his own mouth, of his sincerity, and whetherhis whole inclination be, in his request to me, exclusive of the wishesof his relations. Yet my heart rises against him, on the suppositionthat there is the shadow of a reason for such a question, the woman MissClarissa Harlowe. But I think, with my mother, that marriage is now theonly means left to make your future life tolerably easy--happy there isno saying. --His disgraces, in that case, in the eye of the world itself, will be more than your's: and, to those who know you, glorious will beyour triumph. 

I am obliged to accompany my mother soon to the Isle of Wight. My auntHarman is in a declining way, and insists upon seeing us both--and Mr. Hickman too, I think. 

His sister, of whom we had heard so much, with her lord, were broughtt'other day to visit us. She strangely likes me, or says she does. 

I can't say but that I think she answers the excellent character we heardof her. 

It would be death to me to set out for the little island, and not see youfirst: and yet my mother (fond of exerting an authority that she herself, by that exertion, often brings into question) insists, that my next visitto you must be a congratulatory one as Mrs. Lovelace. 

When I know what will be the result of the questions to be put in my nameto that wretch, and what is your mind on my letter of the 13th, I shalltell you more of mine. 

The bearer promises to make so much dispatch as to attend you this veryafternoon. May he return with good tidings to

Your ever affectionateANNA HOWE. 

LETTER XXV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWETHURSDAY AFTERNOON. 

You pain me, Miss Howe, by the ardour of your noble friendship. I willbe brief, because I am not well; yet a good deal better than I was; andbecause I am preparing an answer to your's of the 13th. But, beforehand, I must tell you, my dear, I will not have that man--don't be angrywith me. But indeed I won't. So let him be asked no questions about me, I beseech you. 

I do not despond, my dear. I hope I may say, I will not despond. Is notmy condition greatly mended? I thank Heaven it is!

I am no prisoner now in a vile house. I am not now in the power of thatman's devices. I am not now obliged to hide myself in corners for fearof him. One of his intimate companions is become my warm friend, andengages to keep him from me, and that by his own consent. I am amonghonest people. I have all my clothes and effects restored to me. Thewretch himself bears testimony to my honour. 

Indeed I am very weak and ill: but I have an excellent physician, Dr. H. And as worthy an apothecary, Mr. Goddard. --Their treatment of me, mydear, is perfectly paternal!--My mind too, I can find, begins tostrengthen: and methinks, at times, I find myself superior to mycalamities. 

I shall have sinkings sometimes. I must expect such. And my father'smaledict----But you will chide me for introducing that, now I amenumerating my comforts. 

But I charge you, my dear, that you do not suffer my calamities to sittoo heavily upon your own mind. If you do, that will be to new-pointsome of those arrows that have been blunted and lost their sharpness. 

If you would contribute to my happiness, give way, my dear, to your own;and to the cheerful prospects before you!

You will think very meanly of your Clarissa, if you do not believe, thatthe greatest pleasure she can receive in this life is in your prosperityand welfare. Think not of me, my only friend, but as we were in timespast: and suppose me gone a great, great way off!--A long journey!----Howoften are the dearest of friends, at their country's call, thus parted--with a certainty for years--with a probability for ever. 

Love me still, however. But let it be with a weaning love. I am not whatI was, when we were inseparable lovers, as I may say. --Our views must nowbe different--Resolve, my dear, to make a worthy man happy, because aworthy man make you so. --And so, my dearest love, for the present adieu!--adieu, my dearest love!--but I shall soon write again, I hope!

LETTER XXVI

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. [IN ANSWER TO LETTER XXIII. OF THIS VOLUME. ]THURDAY, JULY 20. 

I read that part of your conclusion to poor Belton, where you inquireafter him, and mention how merrily you and the reset pass your time atM. Hall. He fetched a deep sigh: You are all very happy! were his words. --I am sorry they were his words; for, poor fellow, he is going veryfast. Change of air, he hopes, will mend him, joined to the cheerfulcompany I have left him in. But nothing, I dare say, will. 

A consuming malady, and a consuming mistress, to an indulgent keeper, aredreadful things to struggle with both together: violence must be used toget rid of the latter; and yet he has not spirit enough left him to exerthimself. His house is Thomasine's house; not his. He has not beenwithin his doors for a fortnight past. Vagabonding about from inn toinn; entering each for a bait only; and staying two or three days withoutpower to remove; and hardly knowing which to go to next. His malady iswithin him; and he cannot run away from it. 

Her boys (once he thought them his) are sturdy enough to shoulder him inhis own house as they pass by him. Siding with the mother, they in amanner expel him; and, in his absence, riot away on the remnant of hisbroken fortunes. As to their mother, (who was once so tender, sosubmissive, so studious to oblige, that we all pronounced him happy, andhis course of life the eligible, ) she is now so termagant, so insolent, that he cannot contend with her, without doing infinite prejudice to hishealth. A broken-spirited defensive, hardly a defensive, therefore, reduced to: and this to a heart, for so many years waging offensive war, (not valuing whom the opponent, ) what a reduction! now comparing himselfto the superannuated lion in the fable, kicked in the jaws, and laidsprawling, by the spurning heel of an ignoble ass!

I have undertaken his cause. He has given me leave, yet not withoutreluctance, to put him into possession of his own house; and to place init for him his unhappy sister, whom he has hitherto slighted, becauseunhappy. It is hard, he told me, (and wept, poor fellow, when he saidit, ) that he cannot be permitted to die quietly in his own house!--Thefruits of blessed keeping these!----

Though but lately apprized of her infidelity, it now comes out to havebeen of so long continuance, that he has no room to believe the boys tobe his: yet how fond did he use to be of them!

To what, Lovelace, shall we attribute the tenderness which a reputedfather frequently shows to the children of another man?--What is that, Ipray thee, which we call nature, and natural affection? And what has manto boast of as to sagacity and penetration, when he is as easily broughtto cover and rear, and even to love, and often to prefer, the product ofanother's guilt with his wife or mistress, as a hen or a goose the eggs, and even young, of others of their kind?

Nay, let me ask, if instinct, as it is called, in the animal creation, does not enable them to distinguish their own, much more easily than we, with our boasted reason and sagacity, in this nice particular, can do?

If some men, who have wives but of doubtful virtue, considered thismatter duly, I believe their inordinate ardour after gain would be a gooddeal cooled, when they could not be certain (though their mates could)for whose children they were elbowing, bustling, griping, and perhapscheating, those with whom they have concerns, whether friends, neighbours, or more certain next-of-kin, by the mother's side however. 

But I will not push this notion so far as it might be carried; because, if propagated, it might be of unsocial or unnatural consequence; sincewomen of virtue would perhaps be more liable to suffer by the mistrustsand caprices or bad-hearted and foolish-headed husbands, than those whocan screen themselves from detection by arts and hypocrisy, to which awoman of virtue cannot have recourse. And yet, were this notion duly andgenerally considered, it might be attended with no bad effects; as goodeducation, good inclinations, and established virtue, would be theprincipally-sought-after qualities; and not money, when a man (notbiased by mere personal attractions) was looking round him for a partnerin his fortunes, and for a mother of his future children, which are to bethe heirs of his possessions, and to enjoy the fruits of his industry. 

But to return to poor Belton. 

If I have occasion for your assistance, and that of our compeers, inre-instating the poor fellow, I will give you notice. Mean time, I havejust now been told that Thomasine declares she will not stir; for, itseems, she suspects that measures will be fallen upon to make her quit. She is Mrs. Belton, she says, and will prove her marriage. 

If she would give herself these airs in his life-time, what would sheattempt to do after his death?

Her boy threatens any body who shall presume to insult their mother. Their father (as they call poor Belton) they speak of as an unnaturalone. And their probably true father is for ever there, hostilely there, passing for her cousin, as usual: now her protecting cousin. 

Hardly ever, I dare say, was there a keeper that did not makekeeperess; who lavished away on her kept-fellow what she obtained fromthe extravagant folly of him who kept her. 

I will do without you, if I can. The case will be only, as I conceive, that like of the ancient Sarmatians, their wives then in possession oftheir slaves. So that they had to contend not only with those wives, conscious of their infidelity, and with their slaves, but with thechildren of those slaves, grown up to manhood, resolute to defend theirmothers and their long-manumitted fathers. But the noble Sarmatians, scorning to attack their slaves with equal weapons, only providedthemselves with the same sort of whips with which they used formerly tochastise them. And attacking them with them, the miscreants fled beforethem. --In memory of which, to this day, the device on the coin inNovogrod, in Russia, a city of the antient Sarmatia, is a man onhorseback, with a whip in his hand. 

The poor fellow takes it ill, that you did not press him more than youdid to be of your party at M. Hall. It is owing to Mowbray, he is sure, that he had so very slight an invitation from one whose invitations usedto be so warm. 

Mowbray's speech to him, he says, he never will forgive: 'Why, Tom, ' saidthe brutal fellow, with a curse, 'thou droopest like a pip orroup-cloaking chicken. Thou shouldst grow perter, or submit to asolitary quarantine, if thou wouldst not infect the whole brood. '

For my own part, only that this poor fellow is in distress, as well inhis affairs as in his mind, or I should be sick of you all. Such is therelish I have of the conversation, and such my admiration of thedeportment and sentiments of this divine lady, that I would forego amonth, even of thy company, to be admitted into her's but for one hour:and I am highly in conceit with myself, greatly as I used to value thine, for being able, spontaneously as I may say, to make this preference. 

It is, after all, a devilish life we have lived. And to consider how itall ends in a very few years--to see to what a state of ill health thispoor fellow is so soon reduced--and then to observe how every one of yerun away from the unhappy being, as rats from a falling house, is finecomfort to help a man to look back upon companions ill-chosen, and a lifemis-spent!

It will be your turns by-and-by, every man of ye, if the justice of yourcountry interpose not. 

Thou art the only rake we have herded with, if thou wilt not exceptthyself, who hast preserved entire thy health and thy fortunes. 

Mowbray indeed is indebted to a robust constitution that he has not yetsuffered in his health; but his estate is dwindled away year by year. 

Three-fourths of Tourville's very considerable fortunes are alreadydissipated; and the remaining fourth will probably soon go after theother three. 

Poor Belton! we see how it is with him!--His own felicity is, that hewill hardly live to want. 

Thou art too proud, and too prudent, ever to be destitute; and, to dothee justice, hath a spirit to assist such of thy friends as may bereduced; and wilt, if thou shouldest then be living. But I think thoumust, much sooner than thou imaginest, be called to thy account--knockedon the head perhaps by the friends of those whom thou hast injured; forif thou escapest this fate from the Harlowe family, thou wilt go ontempting danger and vengeance, till thou meetest with vengeance; andthis, whether thou marriest, or not: for the nuptial life will not, Idoubt, till age join with it, cure thee of that spirit for intrigue whichis continually running away with thee, in spite of thy better sense, andtransitory resolutions. 

Well, then, I will suppose thee laid down quietly among thy worthierancestors. 

And now let me look forward to the ends of Tourville and Mowbray, [Beltonwill be crumbled into dust before thee, perhaps, ] supposing thy earlyexit has saved thee from gallows intervention. 

Reduced, probably, by riotous waste to consequential want, behold themrefuged in some obscene hole or garret; obliged to the careless care ofsome dirty old woman, whom nothing but her poverty prevails upon toattend to perform the last offices for men, who have made such shockingravage among the young ones. 

Then how miserably will they whine through squeaking organs; their bigvoices turned into puling pity-begging lamentations! their now-offensivepaws, how helpless then!--their now-erect necks then denying support totheir aching heads; those globes of mischief dropping upon their quakingshoulders. Then what wry faces will they make! their hearts, and theirheads, reproaching each other!--distended their parched mouths!--sunktheir unmuscled cheeks!--dropt their under jaws!--each grunting like theswine he had resembled in his life! Oh! what a vile wretch have I been!Oh! that I had my life to come over again!--Confessing to the poor oldwoman, who cannot shrive them! Imaginary ghosts of deflowered virgins, and polluted matrons, flitting before their glassy eyes! And old Satan, to their apprehensions, grinning behind a looking-glass held up beforethem, to frighten them with the horror visible in their own countenances!

For my own part, if I can get some good family to credit me with a sisteror daughter, as I have now an increased fortune, which will enable me topropose handsome settlements, I will desert ye all; marry, and live alife of reason, rather than a life of a brute, for the time to come. 

LETTER XXVII

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. THURSDAY NIGHT. 

I was forced to take back my twenty guineas. How the women managed it Ican't tell, (I suppose they too readily found a purchaser for the richsuit;) but she mistrusted, that I was the advancer of the money; andwould not let the clothes go. But Mrs. Lovick has actually sold, forfifteen guineas, some rich lace worth three times the sum; out of whichshe repaid her the money she borrowed for fees to the doctor, in anillness occasioned by the barbarity of the most savage of men. Thouknowest his name!

The Doctor called on her in the morning it seems, and had a short debatewith her about fees. She insisted that he should take one every time hecame, write or not write; mistrusting that he only gave verbal directionsto Mrs. Lovick, or the nurse, to avoid taking any. 

He said that it would be impossible for him, had he not been a physician, to forbear inquiries after the health and welfare of so excellent aperson. He had not the thought of paying her a compliment in decliningthe offered fee: but he knew her case could not so suddenly vary as todemand his daily visits. She must permit him, therefore, to inquire ofthe women below after her health; and he must not think of coming up, ifhe were to be pecuniarily rewarded for the satisfaction he was sodesirous to give himself. 

It ended in a compromise for a fee each other time; which she unwillinglysubmitted to; telling him, that though she was at present desolate and indisgrace, yet her circumstances were, of right, high; and no expensescould rise so as to be scrupled, whether she lived or died. But shesubmitted, she added, to the compromise, in hopes to see him as often ashe had opportunity; for she really looked upon him, and Mr. Goddard, fromtheir kind and tender treatment of her, with a regard next to filial. 

I hope thou wilt make thyself acquainted with this worthy Doctor whenthou comest to town; and give him thy thanks, for putting her intoconceit with the sex that thou hast given her so much reason to execrate. 

Farewell. 

LETTER XXVIII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. M. HALL, FRIDAY, JULY 21. 

Just returned from an interview with this Hickman: a precise fop of afellow, as starched as his ruffles. 

Thou knowest I love him not, Jack; and whom we love not we cannot allow amerit to! perhaps not the merit they should be granted. However, I am inearnest, when I say, that he seems to me to be so set, so prim, soaffected, so mincing, yet so clouterly in his person, that I dare engagefor thy opinion, if thou dost justice to him, and to thyself, that thounever beheldest such another, except in a pier-glass. 

I'll tell thee how I play'd him off. 

He came in his own chariot to Dormer's; and we took a turn in the garden, at his request. He was devilish ceremonious, and made a bushel ofapologies for the freedom he was going to take: and, after half a hundredhums and haws, told me, that he came--that he came--to wait on me--at therequest of dear Miss Howe, on the account--on the account--of MissHarlowe. 

Well, Sir, speak on, said I: but give me leave to say, that if your bookbe as long as your preface, it will take up a week to read it. 

This was pretty rough, thou'lt say: but there's nothing like balkingthese formalities at first. When they are put out of their road, theyare filled with doubts of themselves, and can never get into it again: sothat an honest fellow, impertinently attacked, as I was, has all the gamein his own hand quite through the conference. 

He stroked his chin, and hardly knew what to say. At last, afterparenthesis within parenthesis, apologizing for apologies, in imitation, I suppose, of Swift's digression in praise of digressions--I presume--Ipresume, Sir, you were privy to the visit made to Miss Howe by the youngLadies your cousins, in the name of Lord M. , and Lady Sarah Sadleir, andLady Betty Lawrance. 

I was, Sir: and Miss Howe had a letter afterwards, signed by his Lordshipand by those Ladies, and underwritten by myself. Have you seen it, Sir?

I can't say but I have. It is the principal cause of this visit: forMiss Howe thinks your part of it is written with such an air of levity--pardon me, Sir--that she knows not whether you are in earnest or not, inyour address to her for her interest to her friend. *

* See Mr. Lovelace's billet to Miss Howe, Letter XIV. Of this volume. 

Will Miss Howe permit me to explain myself in person to her, Mr. Hickman?

O Sir, by no means. Miss Howe, I am sure, would not give you thattrouble. 

I should not think it a trouble. I will most readily attend you, Sir, toMiss Howe, and satisfy her in all her scruples. Come, Sir, I will waitupon you now. You have a chariot. Are alone. We can talk as we ride. 

He hesitated, wriggled, winced, stroked his ruffles, set his wig, andpulled his neckcloth, which was long enough for a bib. --I am not goingdirectly back to Miss Howe, Sir. It will be as well if you will be sogood as to satisfy Miss Howe by me. 

What is it she scruples, Mr. Hickman?

Why, Sir, Miss Howe observes, that in your part of the letter, you say--but let me see, Sir--I have a copy of what you wrote, [pulling it out, ]will you give me leave, Sir?--Thus you begin--Dear Miss Howe--

No offence, I hope, Mr. Hickman?

None in the least, Sir!--None at all, Sir!--Taking aim, as it were, toread. 

Do you use spectacles, Mr. Hickman?

Spectacles, Sir! His whole broad face lifted up at me: Spectacles!--Whatmakes you ask me such a question? such a young man as I use spectacles, Sir!--

They do in Spain, Mr. Hickman: young as well as old, to save their eyes. --Have you ever read Prior's Alma, Mr. Hickman?

I have, Sir--custom is every thing in nations, as well as withindividuals: I know the meaning of your question--but 'tis not theEnglish custom. --

Was you ever in Spain, Mr. Hickman?

No, Sir: I have been in Holland. 

In Holland, Sir?--Never to France or Italy?--I was resolved to travelwith him into the land of puzzledom. 

No, Sir, I cannot say I have, as yet. 

That's a wonder, Sir, when on the continent!

I went on a particular affair: I was obliged to return soon. 

Well, Sir; you was going to read--pray be pleased to proceed. 

Again he took aim, as if his eyes were older than the rest of him; andread, After what is written above, and signed by names and characters ofsuch unquestionable honour--to be sure, (taking off his eye, ) nobodyquestions the honour of Lord M. Nor that of the good Ladies who signedthe letter. 

I hope, Mr. Hickman, nobody questions mine neither?

If you please, Sir, I will read on. --I might have been excused signing aname, almost as hateful to myself [you are pleased to say]--as I KNOW itis to YOU--

Well, Mr. Hickman, I must interrupt you at this place. In what I wroteto Miss Howe, I distinguished the word KNOW. I had a reason for it. Miss Howe has been very free with my character. I have never done herany harm. I take it very ill of her. And I hope, Sir, you come in hername to make excuses for it. 

Miss Howe, Sir, is a very polite young lady. She is not accustomed totreat any man's character unbecomingly. 

Then I have the more reason to take it amiss, Mr. Hickman. 

Why, Sir, you know the friendship--

No friendship should warrant such freedoms as Miss Howe has taken with mycharacter. 

(I believed he began to wish he had not come near me. He seemed quitedisconcerted. )

Have you not heard Miss Howe treat my name with great--

Sir, I come not to offend or affront you: but you know what a love thereis between Miss Howe and Miss Harlowe. --I doubt, Sir, you have nottreated Miss Harlowe as so fine a young lady deserved to be treated. Andif love for her friend has made Miss Howe take freedoms, as you callthem, a mind not ungenerous, on such an occasion, will rather be sorryfor having given the cause, than--

I know your consequence, Sir!--but I'd rather have this reproof from alady than from a gentleman. I have a great desire to wait upon MissHowe. I am persuaded we should soon come to a good understanding. Generous minds are always of kin. I know we should agree in every thing. Pray, Mr. Hickman, be so kind as to introduce me to Miss Howe. 

Sir--I can signify your desire, if you please, to Miss Howe. 

Do so. Be pleased to read on, Mr. Hickman. 

He did very formally, as if I remembered not what I had written; and whenhe came to the passage about the halter, the parson, and the hangman, reading it, Why, Sir, says he, does not this look like a jest?--Miss Howethinks it does. It is not in the lady's power, you know, Sir, to doomyou to the gallows. 

Then, if it were, Mr. Hickman, you think she would?

You say here to Miss Howe, proceeded he, that Miss Harlowe is the mostinjured of her sex. I know, from Miss Howe, that she highly resents theinjuries you own: insomuch that Miss Howe doubts that she shall neverprevail upon her to overlook them: and as your family are all desirousyou should repair her wrongs, and likewise desire Miss Howe'sinterposition with her friend; Miss Howe fears, from this part of yourletter, that you are too much in jest; and that your offer to do herjustice is rather in compliment to your friends' entreaties, thanproceeding form your own inclinations: and she desires to know your truesentiments on this occasion, before she interposes further. 

Do you think, Mr. Hickman, that, if I am capable of deceiving my ownrelations, I have so much obligation to Miss Howe, who has always treatedme with great freedom, as to acknowledge to her what I don't to them?

Sir, I beg pardon: but Miss Howe thinks that, as you have written to her, she may ask you, by me, for an explanation of what you have written. 

You see, Mr. Hickman, something of me. --Do you think I am in jest, or inearnest?

I see, Sir, you are a gay gentleman, of fine spirits, and all that. AllI beg in Miss Howe's name is, to know if you really and bonā fide joinwith your friends in desiring her to use her interest to reconcile you toMiss Harlowe?

I should be extremely glad to be reconciled to Miss Harlowe; and shouldowe great obligations to Miss Howe, if she could bring about so happy anevent. 

Well, Sir, and you have no objections to marriage, I presume, as thecondition of that reconciliation?

I never liked matrimony in my life. I must be plain with you, Mr. Hickman. 

I am sorry for it: I think it a very happy state. 

I hope you will find it so, Mr. Hickman. 

I doubt not but I shall, Sir. And I dare say, so would you, if you wereto have Miss Harlowe. 

If I could be happy in it with any body, it would be with Miss Harlowe. 

I am surprised, Sir!----Then, after all, you don't think of marrying MissHarlowe!----After the hard usage----

What hard usage, Mr. Hickman? I don't doubt but a lady of her nicenesshas represented what would appear trifles to any other, in a very stronglight. 

If what I have had hinted to me, Sir--excuse me--had been offered to thelady, she has more than trifles to complain of. 

Let me know what you have heard, Mr. Hickman? I will very truly answerto the accusations. 

Sir, you know best what you have done: you own the lady is the mostinjured, as well as the most deserving of her sex. 

I do, Sir; and yet I would be glad to know what you have heard: for onthat, perhaps, depends my answer to the questions Miss Howe puts to me byyou. 

Why then, Sir, since you ask it, you cannot be displeased if I answeryou:--in the first place, Sir, you will acknowledge, I suppose, that youpromised Miss Harlowe marriage, and all that?

Well, Sir, and I suppose what you have to charge me with is, that I wasdesirous to have all that, without marriage?

Cot-so, Sir, I know you are deemed to be a man of wit: but may I not askif these things sit not too light upon you?

When a thing is done, and cannot be helped, 'tis right to make the bestof it. I wish the lady would think so too. 

I think, Sir, ladies should not be deceived. I think a promise to a ladyshould be as binding as to any other person, at the least. 

I believe you think so, Mr. Hickman: and I believe you are a very honest, good sort of a man. 

I would always keep my word, Sir, whether to man or woman. 

You say well. And far be it from me to persuade you to do otherwise. But what have you farther heard?

(Thou wilt think, Jack, I must be very desirous to know in what light myelected spouse had represented things to Miss Howe; and how far Miss Howehad communicated them to Mr. Hickman. )

Sir, this is no part of my present business. 

But, Mr. Hickman, 'tis part of mine. I hope you would not expect that Ishould answer your questions, at the same time that you refused to answermine. What, pray, have you farther heard?

Why then, Sir, if I must say, I am told, that Miss Harlowe was carried toa very bad house. 

Why, indeed, the people did not prove so good as they should be. --Whatfarther have you heard?

I have heard, Sir, that the lady had strange advantages taken of her, very unfair ones: but what I cannot say. 

And cannot you say? Cannot you guess?--Then I'll tell you, Sir. Perhapssome liberty was taken with her when she was asleep. Do you think nolady ever was taken at such an advantage?--You know, Mr. Hickman, thatladies are very shy of trusting themselves with the modestest of our sex, when they are disposed to sleep; and why so, if they did not expect thatadvantages would be taken of them at such times?

But, Sir, had not the lady something given her to make her sleep?

Ay, Mr. Hickman, that's the question: I want to know if the lady says shehad?

I have not seen all she has written; but, by what I have heard, it is avery black affair--Excuse me, Sir. 

I do excuse you, Mr. Hickman: but, supposing it were so, do you think alady was never imposed upon by wine, or so?--Do you not think the mostcautious woman in the world might not be cheated by a stronger liquor fora smaller, when she was thirsty, after a fatigue in this very warmweather? And do you think, if she was thus thrown into a profound sleep, that she is the only lady that was ever taken at such an advantage?

Even as you make it, Mr. Lovelace, this matter is not a light one. But Ifear it is a great deal heavier than as you put it. 

What reasons have you to fear this, Sir? What has the lady said? Praylet me know. I have reason to be so earnest. 

Why, Sir, Miss Howe herself knows not the whole. The lady promises togive her all the particulars at a proper time, if she lives; but has saidenough to make it out to be a very bad affair. 

I am glad Miss Harlowe has not yet given all the particulars. And, sinceshe has not, you may tell Miss Howe from me, that neither she, nor anywoman in the world can be more virtuous than Miss Harlowe is to thishour, as to her own mind. Tell her, that I hope she never will know theparticulars; but that she has been unworthily used: tell her, that thoughI know not what she has said, yet I have such an opinion of her veracity, that I would blindly subscribe to the truth of every tittle of it, thoughit make me ever so black. Tell her, that I have but three things toblame her for; one, that she won't give me an opportunity of repairingher wrongs: the second, that she is so ready to acquaint every body withwhat she has suffered, that it will put it out of my power to redressthose wrongs, with any tolerable reputation to either of us. Will this, Mr. Hickman, answer any part of the intention of this visit?

Why, Sir, this is talking like a man of honour, I own. But you say thereis a third thing you blame the lady for: May I ask what that is?

I don't know, Sir, whether I ought to tell it you, or not. Perhaps youwon't believe it, if I do. But though the lady will tell the truth, andnothing but the truth, yet, perhaps, she will not tell the whole truth. 

Pray, Sir--But it mayn't be proper--Yet you give me great curiosity. Sure there is no misconduct in the lady. I hope there is not. I amsure, if Miss Howe did not believe her to be faultless in everyparticular, she would not interest herself so much in her favour as shedoes, dearly as she loves her. 

I love Miss Harlowe too well, Mr. Hickman, to wish to lessen her in MissHowe's opinion; especially as she is abandoned of every other friend. But, perhaps, it would hardly be credited, if I should tell you. 

I should be very sorry, Sir, and so would Miss Howe, if this poor lady'sconduct had laid her under obligation to you for this reserve. --You haveso much the appearance of a gentleman, as well as are so muchdistinguished in your family and fortunes, that I hope you are incapableof loading such a young lady as this, in order to lighten yourself----Excuse me, Sir. 

I do, I do, Mr. Hickman. You say you came not with any intention toaffront me. I take freedom, and I give it. I should be very loth, Irepeat, to say any thing that may weaken Miss Harlowe in the good opinionof the only friend she thinks she has left. 

It may not be proper, said he, for me to know your third article againstthis unhappy lady: but I never heard of any body, out of her ownimplacable family, that had the least doubt of her honour. Mrs. Howe, indeed, once said, after a conference with one of her uncles, that shefeared all was not right on her side. --But else, I never heard--

Oons, Sir, in a fierce tone, and with an erect mien, stopping short uponhim, which made him start back--'tis next to blasphemy to question thislady's honour. She is more pure than a vestal; for vestals have oftenbeen warmed by their own fires. No age, from the first to the present, ever produced, nor will the future, to the end of the world, I dare aver, ever produce, a young blooming lady, tried as she has been tried, who hasstood all trials, as she has done. --Let me tell you, Sir, that you neversaw, never knew, never heard of, such another woman as Miss Harlowe. 

Sir, Sir, I beg your pardon. Far be it from me to question the lady. You have not heard me say a word that could be so construed. I have theutmost honour for her. Miss Howe loves her, as she loves her own soul;and that she would not do, if she were not sure she were as virtuous asherself. 

As herself, Sir!--I have a high opinion of Miss Howe, Sir--but, I daresay--

What, Sir, dare you say of Miss Howe!--I hope, Sir, you will not presumeto say any thing to the disparagement of Miss Howe. 

Presume, Mr. Hickman!--that is presuming language, let me tell you, Mr. Hickman!

The occasion for it, Mr. Lovelace, if designed, is presuming, if youplease. --I am not a man ready to take offence, Sir--especially where I amemployed as a mediator. But no man breathing shall say disparagingthings of Miss Howe, in my hearing, without observation. 

Well said, Mr. Hickman. I dislike not your spirit, on such a supposedoccasion. But what I was going to say is this. That there is not, in myopinion, a woman in the world, who ought to compare herself with MissClarissa Harlowe till she has stood her trials, and has behaved underthem, and after them, as she has done. You see, Sir, I speak againstmyself. You see I do. For, libertine as I am thought to be, I neverwill attempt to bring down the measures of right and wrong to thestandard of my actions. 

Why, Sir, this is very right. It is very noble, I will say. But 'tispity, that the man who can pronounce so fine a sentence, will not squarehis actions accordingly. 

That, Mr. Hickman, is another point. We all err in some things. I wishnot that Miss Howe should have Miss Harlowe's trials: and I rejoice thatshe is in no danger of any such from so good a man. 

(Poor Hickman!--he looked as if he knew not whether I meant a complimentor a reflection!)

But, proceeded I, since I find that I have excited your curiosity, thatyou may not go away with a doubt that may be injurious to the mostadmirable of women, I am enclined to hint to you what I have in the thirdplace to blame her for. 

Sir, as you please--it may not be proper--

It cannot be very improper, Mr. Hickman--So let me ask you, What wouldMiss Howe think, if her friend is the more determined against me, becauseshe thinks (to revenge to me, I verily believe that!) of encouraginganother lover?

How, Sir!--Sure this cannot be the case!--I can tell you, Sir, if MissHowe thought this, she would not approve of it at all: for, little as youthink Miss Howe likes you, Sir, and little as she approves of youractions by her friend, I know she is of opinion that she ought to havenobody living but you: and should continue single all her life, if she benot your's. 

Revenge and obstinacy, Mr. Hickman, will make women, the best of them, dovery unaccountable things. Rather than not put out both eyes of a manthey are offended with, they will give up one of their own. 

I don't know what to say to this, Sir: but sure she cannot encourage anyother person's address!--So soon too--Why, Sir, she is, as we are told, so ill, and so weak----

Not in resentment weak, I'll assure you. I am well acquainted with allher movements--and I tell you, believe it, or not, that she refuses me inview of another lover. 

Can it be?

'Tis true, by my soul!--Has she not hinted this to Miss Howe, do youthink?

No, indeed, Sir. If she had I should not have troubled you at this timefrom Miss Howe. 

Well then, you see I am right: that though she cannot be guilty of afalsehood, yet she has not told her friend the whole truth. 

What shall a man say to these things!--(looking most stupidly perplexed. )

Say! Say! Mr. Hickman!--Who can account for the workings and ways of apassionate and offended woman? Endless would be the histories I couldgive you, within my own knowledge, of the dreadful effects of woman'spassionate resentments, and what that sex will do when disappointed. 

There was Miss DORRINGTON, [perhaps you know her not, ] who run away withher father's groom, because he would not let her have a half-pay officer, with whom (her passions all up) she fell in love at first sight, as heaccidentally passed under her window. 

There was MISS SAVAGE; she married her mother's coachman, because hermother refused her a journey to Wales; in apprehension that miss intendedto league herself with a remote cousin of unequal fortunes, of whom shewas not a little fond when he was a visiting-guest at their house for aweek. 

There was the young widow SANDERSON, who believing herself slighted by ayounger brother of a noble family, (Sarah Stout like, ) took it into herhead to drown herself. 

Miss SALLY ANDERSON, [You have heard of her, no doubt?] being checked byher uncle for encouraging an address beneath her, in spite, threw herselfinto the arms of an ugly dog, a shoe-maker's apprentice, running awaywith him in a pair of shoes he had just fitted to her feet, though shenever saw the fellow before, and hated him ever after: and, at last, tooklaudanum to make her forget for ever her own folly. 

But can there be a stronger instance in point than what the unaccountableresentments of such a lady as Miss Clarissa Harlowe afford us? Who atthis instant, ill as she is, not only encourages, but, in a manner, makescourt to one of the most odious dogs that ever was seen? I think MissHowe should not be told this--and yet she ought too, in order to dissuadeher from such a preposterous rashness. 

O fie! O strange! Miss Howe knows nothing of this! To be sure shewon't look upon her, if this be true!

'Tis true, very true, Mr. Hickman! True as I am here to tell you so!--And he is an ugly fellow too; uglier to look at than me. 

Than you, Sir! Why, to be sure, you are one of the handsomest men inEngland. 

Well, but the wretch she so spitefully prefers to me is a mis-shapen, meagre varlet; more like a skeleton than a man! Then he dresses--younever saw a devil so bedizened! Hardly a coat to his back, nor a shoeto his foot. A bald-pated villain, yet grudges to buy a peruke to hisbaldness: for he is as covetous as hell, never satisfied, yet plaguyrich. 

Why, Sir, there is some joke in this, surely. A man of common partsknows not how to take such gentleman as you. But, Sir, if there be anytruth in the story, what is he? Some Jew or miserly citizen, I suppose, that may have presumed on the lady's distressful circumstances; and yourlively wit points him out as it pleases. 

Why, the rascal has estates in every county in England, and out ofEngland too. 

Some East India governor, I suppose, if there be any thing in it. Thelady once had thoughts of going abroad. But I fancy all this time youare in jest, Sir. If not, we must surely have heard of him----

Heard of him! Aye, Sir, we have all heard of him--But none of us care tobe intimate with him--except this lady--and that, as I told you, in spiteof me--his name, in short, is DEATH!--DEATH! Sir, stamping, and speakingloud, and full in his ears; which made him jump half a yard high. 

(Thou never beheldest any man so disconcerted. He looked as if thefrightful skeleton was before him, and he had not his accounts ready. When a little recovered, he fribbled with his waistcoat buttons, as if hehad been telling his beads. )

This, Sir, proceeded I, is her wooer!--Nay, she is so forward a girl, that she wooes him: but I hope it never will be a match. 

He had before behaved, and now looked with more spirit than I expectedfrom him. 

I came, Sir, said he, as a mediator of differences. --It behoves me tokeep my temper. But, Sir, and turned short upon me, as much as I lovepeace, and to promote it, I will not be ill-used. 

As I had played so much upon him, it would have been wrong to take him athis more than half-menace: yet I think I owe him a grudge, for hispresuming to address Miss Howe. 

You mean no defiance, I presume, Mr. Hickman, any more than I do offence. On that presumption, I ask your excuse. But this is my way. I mean noharm. I cannot let sorrow touch my heart. I cannot be grave six minutestogether, for the blood of me. I am a descendant of old ChancellorMoore, I believe; and should not forbear to cut a joke, were I upon thescaffold. But you may gather, from what I have said, that I prefer MissHarlowe, and that upon the justest grounds, to all the women in theworld: and I wonder that there should be any difficulty to believe, fromwhat I have signed, and from what I have promised to my relations, andenabled them to promise for me, that I should be glad to marry thatexcellent creature upon her own terms. I acknowledge to you, Mr. Hickman, that I have basely injured her. If she will honour me with herhand, I declare that is my intention to make her the best of husbands. --But, nevertheless, I must say that if she goes on appealing her case, andexposing us both, as she does, it is impossible to think the knot can beknit with reputation to either. And although, Mr. Hickman, I havedelivered my apprehensions under so ludicrous a figure, I am afraid thatshe will ruin her constitution: and, by seeking Death when she may shunhim, will not be able to avoid him when she would be glad to do so. 

This cool and honest speech let down his stiffened muscles intocomplacence. He was my very obedient and faithful humble servant severaltimes over, as I waited on him to his chariot: and I was his almost asoften. 

And so exit Hickman. 

LETTER XXIX

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. [IN ANSWER TO LETTERS XXII. XXVI. XXVII. OF THIS VOLUME. ]FRIDAY NIGHT, JULY 21. 

I will throw away a few paragraphs upon the contents of thy last shockingletters just brought me; and send what I shall write by the fellow whocarries mine on the interview with Hickman. 

Reformation, I see, is coming fast upon thee. Thy uncle's slow death, and thy attendance upon him through every stage towards it, prepared theefor it. But go thou on in thine own way, as I will in mine. Happinessconsists in being pleased with what we do: and if thou canst find delightin being sad, it will be as well for thee as if thou wert merry, thoughno other person should join to keep thee in countenance. 

I am, nevertheless, exceedingly disturbed at the lady's ill health. Itis entirely owing to the cursed arrest. She was absolutely triumphantover me and the whole crew before. Thou believest me guiltless of that:so, I hope, does she. --The rest, as I have often said, is a common case;only a little uncommonly circumstanced; that's all: Why, then, all thesesevere things from her, and from thee?

As to selling her clothes, and her laces, and so forth, it has, I own, ashocking sound to it. What an implacable as well as unjust set ofwretches are those of her unkindredly kin, who have money of her's intheir hands, as well as large arrears of her own estate; yet with-holdboth, avowedly to distress her! But may she not have money of that proudand saucy friend of her's, Miss Howe, more than she wants?--And shouldnot I be overjoyed, thinkest thou, to serve her?----What then is there inthe parting with her apparel but female perverseness?--And I am not sure, whether I ought not to be glad, if she does this out of spite to me. --Some disappointed fair-ones would have hanged, some drowned themselves. My beloved only revenges herself upon her clothes. Different ways ofworking has passion in different bosoms, as humours or complexion induce. --Besides, dost think I shall grudge to replace, to three times thevalue, what she disposes of? So, Jack, there is no great matter in this. 

Thou seest how sensible she is of the soothings of the polite doctor:this will enable thee to judge how dreadfully the horrid arrest, and hergloomy father's curse, must have hurt her. I have great hope, if shewill but see me, that my behaviour, my contrition, my soothings, may havesome happy effect upon her. 

But thou art too ready to give up. Let me seriously tell thee that, allexcellence as she is, I think the earnest interposition of my relations;the implored mediation of that little fury Miss Howe; and the commissionsthou actest under from myself; are such instances of condescension andhigh value in them, and such contrition in me, that nothing farther canbe done. --So here let the matter rest for the present, till she considersbetter of it. 

But now a few words upon poor Belton's case. I own I was at first alittle startled at the disloyalty of his Thomasine. Her hypocrisy to befor so many years undetected!--I have very lately had some intimationsgiven me of her vileness; and had intended to mention them to thee when Isaw thee. To say the truth, I always suspected her eye: the eye, thouknowest, is the casement at which the heart generally looks out. Manya woman, who will not show herself at the door, has tipt the sly, theintelligible wink from the windows. 

But Tom. Had no management at all. A very careless fellow. Would neverlook into his own affairs. The estate his uncle left him was his ruin:wife, or mistress, whoever was, must have had his fortune to sport with. 

I have often hinted his weakness of this sort to him; and the danger hewas in of becoming the property of designing people. But he hated totake pains. He would ever run away from his accounts; as now, poorfellow! he would be glad to do from himself. Had he not had a woman tofleece him, his coachman or valet, would have been his prime-minister, and done it as effectually. 

But yet, for many years, I thought she was true to his bed. At least Ithought the boys were his own. For though they are muscular, andbig-boned, yet I supposed the healthy mother might have furnished themwith legs and shoulders: for she is not of a delicate frame; and thenTom. , some years ago, looked up, and spoke more like a man, than he hasdone of late; squeaking inwardly, poor fellow! for some time past, fromcontracted quail-pipes, and wheezing from lungs half spit away. 

He complains, thou sayest, that we all run away from him. Why, afterall, Belford, it is no pleasant thing to see a poor fellow one loves, dying by inches, yet unable to do him good. There are friendships whichare only bottle-deep: I should be loth to have it thought that mine forany of my vassals is such a one. Yet, with gay hearts, which becomeintimate because they were gay, the reason for their first intimacyceasing, the friendship will fade: but may not this sort of friendship bemore properly distinguished by the word companionship?

But mine, as I said, is deeper than this: I would still be as ready asever I was in my life, to the utmost of my power, to do him service. 

As once instance of this my readiness to extricate him from all hisdifficulties as to Thomasine, dost thou care to propose to him anexpedient, that is just come into my head?

It is this: I would engage Thomasine and her cubs (if Belton be convincedthey are neither of them his) in a party of pleasure. She was alwayscomplaisant to me. It should be in a boat, hired for the purpose, tosail to Tilbury, to the Isle Shepey, or pleasuring up the Medway; and'tis but contriving to turn the boat bottom upward. I can swim like afish. Another boat shall be ready to take up whom I should direct, forfear of the worst: and then, if Tom. Has a mind to be decent, one suit ofmourning will serve for all three: Nay, the hostler-cousin may take hisplunge from the steerage: and who knows but they may be thrown up on thebeach, Thomasine and he, hand in hand?

This, thou'lt say, is no common instance of friendship. 

Mean time, do thou prevail on him to come down to us: he never was morewelcome in his life than he shall be now. If he will not, let him findme some other service; and I will clap a pair of wings to my shoulders, and he shall see me come flying in at his windows at the word of command. 

Mowbray and Tourville each intend to give thee a letter; and I leave tothose rough varlets to handle thee as thou deservest, for the shockingpicture thou hast drawn of their last ends. Thy own past guilt hasstared thee full in the face, one may see by it; and made thee, inconsciousness of thy demerits, sketch out these cursed out-lines. I amglad thou hast got the old fiend to hold the glass* before thy own faceso soon. Thou must be in earnest surely, when thou wrotest it, and havesevere conviction upon thee: for what a hardened varlet must he be, whocould draw such a picture as this in sport?

* See Letter XXVI. Of this volume. 

As for thy resolution of repenting and marrying; I would have theeconsider which thou wilt set about first. If thou wilt follow my advice, thou shalt make short work of it: let matrimony take place of the other;for then thou wilt, very possibly, have repentance come tumbling in fastupon thee, as a consequence, and so have both in one. 

LETTER XXX

MR. BELFORD, TO MR. ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. FRIDAY NOON, JULY 21. 

This morning I was admitted, as soon as I sent up my name, into thepresence of the divine lady. Such I may call her; as what I have torelate will fully prove. 

She had had a tolerable night, and was much better in spirits; thoughweak in person; and visibly declining in looks. 

Mrs. Lovick and Mrs. Smith were with her; and accused her, in a gentlemanner, of having applied herself too assiduously to her pen for herstrength, having been up ever since five. She said, she had restedbetter than she had done for many nights: she had found her spirits free, and her mind tolerably easy: and having, as she had reason to think, buta short time, and much to do in it, she must be a good housewife of herhours. 

She had been writing, she said, a letter to her sister: but had notpleased herself in it; though she had made two or three essays: but thatthe last must go. 

By hints I had dropt from time to time, she had reason, she said, tothink that I knew every thing that concerned her and her family; and, ifso, must be acquainted with the heavy curse her father had laid upon her;which had been dreadfully fulfilled in one part, as to her prospects inthis life, and that in a very short time; which gave her greatapprehensions of the other part. She had been applying herself to hersister, to obtain a revocation of it. I hope my father will revoke it, said she, or I shall be very miserable--Yet [and she gasped as she spoke, with apprehension]--I am ready to tremble at what the answer may be; formy sister is hard-hearted. 

I said something reflecting upon her friends; as to what they woulddeserve to be thought of, if the unmerited imprecation were notwithdrawn. Upon which she took me up, and talked in such a dutifulmanner of her parents as must doubly condemn them (if they remainimplacable) for their inhuman treatment of such a daughter. 

She said, I must not blame her parents: it was her dear Miss Howe's faultto do so. But what an enormity was there in her crime, which could setthe best of parents (they had been to her, till she disobliged them) in abad light, for resenting the rashness of a child from whose educationthey had reason to expect better fruits! There were some hardcircumstances in her case, it was true: but my friend could tell me, thatno one person, throughout the whole fatal transaction, had acted out ofcharacter, but herself. She submitted therefore to the penalty she hadincurred. If they had any fault, it was only that they would not informthemselves of such circumstances, which would alleviate a little hermisdeed; and that supposing her a more guilty creature than she was, theypunished her without a hearing. 

Lord!--I was going to curse thee, Lovelace! How every instance ofexcellence, in this all excelling creature, condemns thee;--thou wilthave reason to think thyself of all men the most accursed, if she die!

I then besought her, while she was capable of such glorious instances ofgenerosity, and forgiveness, to extend her goodness to a man, whose heartbled in every vein of it for the injuries he had done her; and who wouldmake it the study of his whole life to repair them. 

The women would have withdrawn when the subject became so particular. But she would not permit them to go. She told me, that if after thistime I was for entering with so much earnestness into a subject so verydisagreeable to her, my visits must not be repeated. Nor was thereoccasion, she said, for my friendly offices in your favour; since shehad begun to write her whole mind upon that subject to Miss Howe, inanswer to letters from her, in which Miss Howe urged the same arguments, in compliment to the wishes of your noble and worthy relations. 

Mean time, you may let him know, said she, that I reject him with mywhole heart:--yet, that although I say this with such a determination asshall leave no room for doubt, I say it not however with passion. On thecontrary, tell him, that I am trying to bring my mind into such a frameas to be able to pity him; [poor perjured wretch! what has he not toanswer for!] and that I shall not think myself qualified for the state Iam aspiring to, if, after a few struggles more, I cannot forgive him too:and I hope, clasping her hands together, uplifted as were her eyes, mydear earthly father will set me the example my heavenly one has alreadyset us all; and, by forgiving his fallen daughter, teach her to forgivethe man, who then, I hope, will not have destroyed my eternal prospects, as he has my temporal!

Stop here, thou wretch!--but I need not bid thee!----for I can go nofarther!

LETTER XXXI

MR. BELFORD[IN CONTINUATION. ]

You will imagine how affecting her noble speech and behaviour were to me, at the time when the bare recollecting and transcribing them obliged meto drop my pen. The women had tears in their eyes. I was silent for afew moments. --At last, Matchless excellence! Inimitable goodness! Icalled her, with a voice so accented, that I was half-ashamed of myself, as it was before the women--but who could stand such sublime generosityof soul in so young a creature, her loveliness giving grace to all shesaid? Methinks, said I, [and I really, in a manner, involuntarily bentmy knee, ] I have before me an angel indeed. I can hardly forbearprostration, and to beg your influence to draw me after you to the worldyou are aspiring to!--Yet--but what shall I say--Only, dearestexcellence, make me, in some small instances, serviceable to you, that Imay (if I survive you) have the glory to think I was able to contributeto your satisfaction, while among us. 

Here I stopt. She was silent. I proceeded--Have you no commission toemploy me in; deserted as you are by all your friends; among strangers, though I doubt not, worthy people? Cannot I be serviceable by message, by letter-writing, by attending personally, with either message orletter, your father, your uncles, your brother, your sister, Miss Howe, Lord M. , or the Ladies his sisters?--any office to be employed to serveyou, absolutely independent of my friend's wishes, or of my own wishesto oblige him?--Think, Madam, if I cannot?

I thank you, Sir: very heartily I thank you: but in nothing that I can atpresent think of, or at least resolve upon, can you do me service. Iwill see what return the letter I have written will bring me. --Till then----

My life and my fortune, interrupted I, are devoted to your service. Permit me to observe, that here you are, without one natural friend; and(so much do I know of your unhappy case) that you must be in a mannerdestitute of the means to make friends----

She was going to interrupt me, with a prohibitory kind of earnestness inher manner. 

I beg leave to proceed, Madam: I have cast about twenty ways how tomention this before, but never dared till now. Suffer me now, that Ihave broken the ice, to tender myself--as your banker only. --I know youwill not be obliged: you need not. You have sufficient of your own, ifit were in your hands; and from that, whether you live or die, will Iconsent to be reimbursed. I do assure you, that the unhappy man shallnever know either my offer, or your acceptance--Only permit me this small----

And down behind her chair dropt a bank note of 100£. Which I had broughtwith me, intending some how or other to leave it behind me: nor shouldstthou ever have known it, had she favoured me with the acceptance of it;as I told her. 

You give me great pain, Mr. Belford, said she, by these instances of yourhumanity. And yet, considering the company I have seen you in, I am notsorry to find you capable of such. Methinks I am glad, for the sake ofhuman nature, that there could be but one such man in the world, as heyou and I know. But as to your kind offer, whatever it be, if you takeit not up, you will greatly disturb me. I have no need of your kindness. I have effects enough, which I never can want, to supply my presentoccasion: and, if needful, can have recourse to Miss Howe. I havepromised that I would--So, pray, Sir, urge not upon me this favour. --Takeit up yourself. --If you mean me peace and ease of mind, urge not thisfavour. --And she spoke with impatience. 

I beg, Madam, but one word----

Not one, Sir, till you have taken back what you have let fall. I doubtnot either the honour, or the kindness, of your offer; but you must notsay one word more on this subject. I cannot bear it. 

She was stooping, but with pain. I therefore prevented her; and besoughther to forgive me for a tender, which, I saw, had been more discomposingto her than I had hoped (from the purity of my intentions) it would be. But I could not bear to think that such a mind as her's should bedistressed: since the want of the conveniencies she was used to abound inmight affect and disturb her in the divine course she was in. 

You are very kind to me, Sir, said she, and very favourable in youropinion of me. But I hope that I cannot now be easily put out of mypresent course. My declining health will more and more confirm me in it. Those who arrested and confined me, no doubt, thought they had fallenupon the most ready method to distress me so as to bring me into alltheir measures. But I presume to hope that I have a mind that cannot bedebased, in essential instances, by temporal calamities. 

Little do those poor wretches know of the force of innate principles, (forgive my own implied vanity, was her word, ) who imagine, that aprison, or penury, can bring a right-turned mind to be guilty of a wilfulbaseness, in order to avoid such short-lived evils. 

She then turned from me towards the window, with a dignity suitable to herwords; and such as showed her to be more of soul than of body at thatinstant. 

What magnanimity!--No wonder a virtue so solidly founded could baffle allthy arts: and that it forced thee (in order to carry thy accursed point)to have recourse to those unnatural ones, which robbed her of hercharming senses. 

The women were extremely affected, Mrs. Lovick especially; who said, whisperingly to Mrs. Smith, We have an angel, not a woman, with us, Mrs. Smith!

I repeated my offers to write to any of her friends; and told her, that, having taken the liberty to acquaint Dr. H. With the cruel displeasure ofher relations, as what I presumed lay nearest to her heart, he hadproposed to write himself, to acquaint her friends how ill she was, ifshe would not take it amiss. 

It was kind in the Doctor, she said: but begged, that no step of thatsort might be taken without her knowledge or consent. She would wait tosee what effects her letter to her sister would have. All she had tohope for was, that her father would revoke his malediction, previous tothe last blessing she should then implore. For the rest, her friendswould think she could not suffer too much; and she was content to suffer:for now nothing could happen that could make her wish to live. 

Mrs. Smith went down; and, soon returning, asked, if the lady and I wouldnot dine with her that day; for it was her wedding-day. She had engagedMrs. Lovick she said; and should have nobody else, if we would do herthat favour. 

The charming creature sighed, and shook her head. --Wedding-day, repeatedshe!--I wish you, Mrs. Smith, many happy wedding-days!--But you willexcuse me. 

Mr. Smith came up with the same request. They both applied to me. 

On condition the lady would, I should make no scruple; and would suspendan engagement: which I actually had. 

She then desired they would all sit down. You have several times, Mrs. Lovick and Mrs. Smith, hinted your wishes, that I would give you somelittle history of myself: now, if you are at leisure, that thisgentleman, who, I have reason to believe, knows it all, is present, andcan tell you if I give it justly, or not, I will oblige your curiosity. 

They all eagerly, the man Smith too, sat down; and she began an accountof herself, which I will endeavour to repeat, as nearly in her own wordsas I possibly can: for I know you will think it of importance to beapprized of her manner of relating your barbarity to her, as well as whather sentiments are of it; and what room there is for the hopes yourfriends have in your favour for her. 

'At first when I took these lodgings, said she, I thought of staying buta short time in them; and so Mrs. Smith, I told you: I therefore avoidedgiving any other account of myself than that I was a very unhappy youngcreature, seduced from good, and escaped from very vile wretches. 

'This account I thought myself obliged to give, that you might the lesswonder at seeing a young creature rushing through your shop, into yourback apartment, all trembling and out of breath; an ordinary garb over myown; craving lodging and protection; only giving my bare word, that youshould be handsomely paid: all my effects contained in apocket-handkerchief. 

'My sudden absence, for three days and nights together when arrested, must still further surprise you: and although this gentleman, who, perhaps, knows more of the darker part of my story, than I do myself, hasinformed you (as you, Mrs. Lovick, tell me) that I am only an unhappy, not a guilty creature; yet I think it incumbent upon me not to sufferhonest minds to be in doubt about my character. 

'You must know, then, that I have been, in one instance (I had like tohave said but in one instance; but that was a capital one) an undutifulchild to the most indulgent of parents: for what some people call crueltyin them, is owing but to the excess of their love, and to theirdisappointment, having had reason to expect better from me. 

'I was visited (at first, with my friends connivance) by a man of birthand fortune, but of worse principles, as it proved, than I believed anyman could have. My brother, a very headstrong young man, was absent atthat time; and, when he returned, (from an old grudge, and knowing thegentleman, it is plain, better than I knew him) entirely disapproved ofhis visits: and, having a great sway in our family, brought othergentlemen to address me: and at last (several having been rejected) heintroduced one extremely disagreeable: in every indifferent person's eyesdisagreeable. I could not love him. They all joined to compel me tohave him; a rencounter between the gentleman my friends were set against, and my brother, having confirmed them all his enemies. 

'To be short; I was confined, and treated so very hardly, that, in a rashfit, I appointed to go off with the man they hated. A wicked intention, you'll say! but I was greatly provoked. Nevertheless, I repented, andresolved not to go off with him: yet I did not mistrust his honour to meneither; nor his love; because nobody thought me unworthy of the latter, and my fortune was not to be despised. But foolishly (wickedly andcontrivingly, as my friends still think, with a design, as they imagine, to abandon them) giving him a private meeting, I was tricked away; poorlyenough tricked away, I must needs say; though others who had been firstguilty of so rash a step as the meeting of him was, might have been sodeceived and surprised as well as I. 

'After remaining some time at a farm-house in the country, and behavingto me all the time with honour, he brought me to handsome lodgings intown till still better provision could be made for me. But they provedto be (as he indeed knew and designed) at a vile, a very vile creature's;though it was long before I found her to be so; for I knew nothing of thetown, or its ways. 

'There is no repeating what followed: such unprecedented vile arts!--ForI gave him no opportunity to take me at any disreputable advantage. '--

And here (half covering her sweet face, with her handkerchief put to hertearful eyes) she stopt. 

Hastily, as if she would fly from the hateful remembrance, she resumed:--'I made escape afterward from the abominable house in his absence, andcame to your's: and this gentleman has almost prevailed on me to think, that the ungrateful man did not connive at the vile arrest: which wasmade, no doubt, in order to get me once more to those wicked lodgings:for nothing do I owe them, except I were to pay them'--[she sighed, andagain wiped her charming eyes--adding in a softer, lower voice]--'forbeing ruined. '

Indeed, Madam, said I, guilty, abominably guilty, as he is in all therest, he is innocent of this last wicked outrage. 

'Well, and so I wish him to be. That evil, heavy as it was, is one ofthe slightest evils I have suffered. But hence you'll observe, Mrs. Lovick, (for you seemed this morning curious to know if I were not awife, ) that I never was married. --You, Mr. Belford, no doubt, knew beforethat I am no wife: and now I never will be one. Yet, I bless God, thatI am not a guilty creature!

'As to my parentage, I am of no mean family; I have in my own right, bythe intended favour of my grandfather, a fortune not contemptible:independent of my father; if I had pleased; but I never will please. 

'My father is very rich. I went by another name when I came to youfirst: but that was to avoid being discovered to the perfidious man: whonow engages, by this gentleman, not to molest me. 

'My real name you now know to be Harlowe: Clarissa Harlowe. I am not yettwenty years of age. 

'I have an excellent mother, as well as father; a woman of family, andfine sense--worthy of a better child!--they both doated upon me. 

'I have two good uncles: men of great fortune; jealous of the honour oftheir family; which I have wounded. 

'I was the joy of their hearts; and, with theirs and my father's, I hadthree houses to call my own; for they used to have me with them by turns, and almost kindly to quarrel for me; so that I was two months in the yearwith the one; two months with the other; six months at my father's; andtwo at the houses of others of my dear friends, who thought themselveshappy in me: and whenever I was at any one's, I was crowded upon withletters by all the rest, who longed for my return to them. 

'In short, I was beloved by every body. The poor--I used to make gladtheir hearts: I never shut my hand to any distress, wherever I was--butnow I am poor myself!

'So Mrs. Smith, so Mrs. Lovick, I am not married. It is but just to tellyou so. And I am now, as I ought to be, in a state of humiliation andpenitence for the rash step which has been followed by so much evil. God, I hope, will forgive me, as I am endeavouring to bring my mind toforgive all the world, even the man who has ungratefully, and by dreadfulperjuries, [poor wretch! he thought all his wickedness to be wit!]reduced to this a young creature, who had his happiness in her view, andin her wish, even beyond this life; and who was believed to be of rank, and fortune, and expectations, considerable enough to make it theinterest of any gentleman in England to be faithful to his vows to her. But I cannot expect that my parents will forgive me: my refuge must bedeath; the most painful kind of which I would suffer, rather than be thewife of one who could act by me, as the man has acted, upon whose birth, education, and honour, I had so much reason to found better expectations. 

'I see, continued she, that I, who once was every one's delight, am nowthe cause of grief to every one--you, that are strangers to me, are movedfor me! 'tis kind!--but 'tis time to stop. Your compassionate hearts, Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Lovick, are too much touched, ' [For the women sobbed, and the man was also affected. ] 'It is barbarous in me, with my woes, thus to sadden your wedding-day. ' Then turning to Mr. And Mrs. Smith--'May you see many happy ones, honest, good couple!--how agreeable is itto see you both join so kindly to celebrate it, after many years are goneover you!--I once--but no more!--All my prospects of felicity, as to thislife, are at an end. My hopes, like opening buds or blossoms in anover-forward spring, have been nipt by a severe frost!--blighted by aneastern wind!--but I can but once die; and if life be spared me, but tillI am discharged from a heavy malediction, which my father in his wrathlaid upon me, and which is fulfilled literally in every article relatingto this world; that, and a last blessing, are all I have to wish for; anddeath will be welcomer to me, than rest to the most wearied travellerthat ever reached his journey's end. '

And then she sunk her head against the back of her chair, and, hiding herface with her handkerchief, endeavoured to conceal her tears from us. 

Not a soul of us could speak a word. Thy presence, perhaps, thouhardened wretch, might have made us ashamed of a weakness which perhapsthou wilt deride me in particular for, when thou readest this!----

She retired to her chamber soon after, and was forced, it seems, to liedown. We all went down together; and, for an hour and a half, dwelt uponher praises; Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Lovick repeatedly expressing theirastonishment, that there could be a man in the world, capable ofoffending, much more of wilfully injuring such a lady; and repeating, that they had an angel in their house. --I thought they had; and thatas assuredly as there is a devil under the roof of good Lord M. 

I hate thee heartily!--by my faith I do!--every hour I hate thee morethan the former!----

J. BELFORD. 

LETTER XXXII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SATURDAY, JULY 22. 

What dost hate me for, Belford!--and why more and more! have I beenguilty of any offence thou knewest not before?--If pathos can move such aheart as thine, can it alter facts!--Did I not always do thisincomparable creature as much justice as thou canst do her for the heartof thee, or as she can do herself?----What nonsense then thy hatred, thyaugmented hatred, when I still persist to marry her, pursuant to wordgiven to thee, and to faith plighted to all my relations? But hate, ifthou wilt, so thou dost but write. Thou canst not hate me so much as Ido myself: and yet I know if thou really hatedst me, thou wouldst notventure to tell me so. 

Well, but after all, what need of her history to these women? She willcertainly repent, some time hence, that she has thus needless exposed usboth. 

Sickness palls every appetite, and makes us hate what we loved: butrenewed health changes the scene; disposes us to be pleased withourselves; and then we are in a way to be pleased with every one else. Every hope, then, rises upon us: every hour presents itself to us ondancing feet: and what Mr. Addison says of liberty, may, with stillgreater propriety, be said of health, for what is liberty itself withouthealth?

 It makes the gloomy face of nature gay; Gives beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the day. 

And I rejoice that she is already so much better, as to hold withstrangers such a long and interesting conversation. 

Strange, confoundedly strange, and as perverse [that is to say, womanly]as strange, that she should refuse, and sooner choose to die [O theobscene word! and yet how free does thy pen make with it to me!] than bemine, who offended her by acting in character, while her parents actedshamefully out of theirs, and when I am now willing to act out of my ownto oblige her; yet I am not to be forgiven; they to be faultless withher!--and marriage the only medium to repair all breaches, and to salveher own honour!--Surely thou must see the inconsistence of her forgivingunforgiveness, as I may call it!--yet, heavy varlet as thou art, thouwantest to be drawn up after her! And what a figure dost thou make withthy speeches, stiff as Hickman's ruffles, with thy aspirations andprotestations!--unused, thy weak head, to bear the sublimities that fall, even in common conversation, from the lips of this ever-charmingcreature!

But the prettiest whim of all was, to drop the bank note behind herchair, instead of presenting it on thy knees to her hand!--To make such awoman as this doubly stoop--by the acceptance, and to take it from theground!--What an ungrateful benefit-conferrer art thou!--How awkward, totake in into thy head, that the best way of making a present to a ladywas to throw the present behind her chair!

I am very desirous to see what she has written to her sister; what she isabout to write to Miss Howe; and what return she will have from theHarlowe-Arabella. Canst thou not form some scheme to come at the copiesof these letters, or the substance of them at least, and of that of herother correspondencies? Mrs. Lovick, thou seemest to say, is a piouswoman. The lady, having given such a particular history of herself, willacquaint her with every thing. And art thou not about to reform!--Won'tthis consent of minds between thee and the widow, [what age is she, Jack?the devil never trumpt up a friendship between a man and a woman, of anything like years, which did not end in matrimony, or in the ruin of theirmorals!] Won't it strike out an intimacy between ye, that may enablethee to gratify me in this particular? A proselyte, I can tell thee, hasgreat influence upon your good people: such a one is a saint of their owncreation: and they will water, and cultivate, and cherish him, as a plantof their own raising: and this from a pride truly spiritual!

One of my lovers in Paris was a devotée. She took great pains to convertme. I gave way to her kind endeavours for the good of my soul. Shethought it a point gained to make me profess some religion. The catholichas its conveniencies. I permitted her to bring a father to me. Myreformation went on swimmingly. The father had hopes of me: he applaudedher zeal: so did I. And how dost thou think it ended?--Not a girl inEngland, reading thus far, but would guess!--In a word, very happily: forshe not only brought me a father, but made me one: and then, beingsatisfied with each other's conversation, we took different routes: sheinto Navarre; I into Italy: both well inclined to propagate the goodlessons in which we had so well instructed each other. 

But to return. One consolation arises to me, from the pretty regretswhich this admirable creature seems to have in indulging reflections onthe people's wedding-day. --I ONCE!--thou makest her break off withsaying. 

She once! What--O Belford! why didst thou not urge her to explain whatshe once hoped?

What once a woman hopes, in love matters, she always hopes, while thereis room for hope: And are we not both single? Can she be any man's butmine? Will I be any woman's but her's?

I never will! I never can!--and I tell thee, that I am every day, everyhour, more and more in love with her: and, at this instant, have a morevehement passion for her than ever I had in my life!--and that with viewsabsolutely honourable, in her own sense of the word: nor have I varied, so much as in wish, for this week past; firmly fixed, and wrought into myvery nature, as the life of honour, or of generous confidence in me, was, in preference to the life of doubt and distrust. That must be a life ofdoubt and distrust, surely, where the woman confides nothing, and ties upa man for his good behaviour for life, taking church-and-state sanctionsin aid of the obligation she imposes upon him. 

I shall go on Monday to a kind of ball, to which Colonel Ambrose hasinvited me. It is given on a family account. I care not on what: forall that delights me in the thing is, that Mrs. And Miss Howe are to bethere;--Hickman, of course; for the old lady will not stir abroad withouthim. The Colonel is in hopes that Miss Arabella Harlowe will be therelikewise; for all the men and women of fashion round him are invited. 

I fell in by accident with the Colonel, who I believe, hardly thought Iwould accept of the invitation. But he knows me not, if he thinks I amashamed to appear at any place, where women dare show their faces. Yethe hinted to me that my name was up, on Miss Harlowe's account. But, toallude to one of Lord M. 's phrases, if it be, I will not lie a bed whenany thing joyous is going forward. 

As I shall go in my Lord's chariot, I would have had one of my cousinsMontague to go with me: but they both refused: and I shall not choose totake either of thy brethren. It would look as if I thought I wanted abodyguard: besides, one of them is too rough, the other too smooth, andtoo great a fop for some of the staid company that will be there; and forme in particular. Men are known by their companions; and a fop [asTourville, for example] takes great pains to hang out a sign by his dressof what he has in his shop. Thou, indeed, art an exception; dressinglike a coxcomb, yet a very clever fellow. Nevertheless so clumsy a beau, that thou seemest to me to owe thyself a double spite, making thyungracefulness appear the more ungraceful, by thy remarkable tawdriness, when thou art out of mourning. 

I remember, when I first saw thee, my mind laboured with a strong puzzle, whether I should put thee down for a great fool, or a smatterer in wit. Something I saw was wrong in thee, by thy dress. If this fellow, thoughtI, delights not so much in ridicule, that he will not spare himself, hemust be plaguy silly to take so much pains to make his ugliness moreconspicuous than it would otherwise be. 

Plain dress, for an ordinary man or woman, implies at least modesty, andalways procures a kind quarter from the censorious. Who will ridicule apersonal imperfection in one that seems conscious, that it is animperfection? Who ever said an anchoret was poor? But who would spareso very absurd a wrong-head, as should bestow tinsel to make hisdeformity the more conspicuous?

But, although I put on these lively airs, I am sick at my soul!--My wholeheart is with my charmer! with what indifference shall I look upon allthe assembly at the Colonel's, my beloved in my ideal eye, and engrossingmy whole heart?

LETTER XXXIII

MISS HOWE, TO MISS ARABELLA HARLOWETHURSDAY, JULY 20. 

MISS HARLOWE, I cannot help acquainting you (however it may be received, coming fromme) that your poor sister is dangerously ill, at the house of one Smith, who keeps a glover's and perfume shop, in King-street, Covent-garden. She knows not that I write. Some violent words, in the nature of animprecation, from her father, afflict her greatly in her weak state. Ipresume not to direct you what to do in this case. You are her sister. I therefore could not help writing to you, not only for her sake, but foryour own. I am, Madam, Your humble servant, ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER XXXIV

MISS ARABELLA HARLOWE[IN ANSWER. ]THURSDAY, JULY 20. 

MISS HOWE, I have your's of this morning. All that has happened to the unhappy bodyyou mentioned, is what we foretold and expected. Let him, for whose sakeshe abandoned us, be her comfort. We are told he has remorse, and wouldmarry her. We don't believe it, indeed. She may be very ill. Herdisappointment may make her so, or ought. Yet is she the only one I knowwho is disappointed. 

I cannot say, Miss, that the notification from you is the more welcome, for the liberties you have been pleased to take with our whole family forresenting a conduct, that it is a shame any young lady should justify. Excuse this freedom, occasioned by greater. I am, Miss, Your humble servant, ARABELLA HARLOWE. 

LETTER XXXV

MISS HOWE[IN REPLY. ]FRIDAY, JULY 21. 

MISS ARABELLA HARLOWE, If you had half as much sense as you have ill-nature, you would(notwithstanding the exuberance of the latter) have been able todistinguish between a kind intention to you all (that you might have theless to reproach yourselves with, if a deplorable case should happen) andan officiousness I owed you not, by reason of freedoms at leastreciprocal. I will not, for the unhappy body's sake, as you call asister you have helped to make so, say all that I could say. If what Ifear happen, you shall hear (whether desired or not) all the mind of

ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER XXXVI

MISS ARABELLA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWEFRIDAY, JULY 21. 

MISS ANNA HOWE, Your pert letter I have received. You, that spare nobody, I cannotexpect should spare me. You are very happy in a prudent and watchfulmother. --But else mine cannot be exceeded in prudence; but we had all toogood an opinion of somebody, to think watchfulness needful. There maypossibly be some reason why you are so much attached to her in an errorof this flagrant nature. 

I help to make a sister unhappy!--It is false, Miss!--It is all her owndoings!--except, indeed, what she may owe to somebody's advice--you knowwho can best answer for that. 

Let us know your mind as soon as you please: as we shall know it to beyour mind, we shall judge what attention to give it. That's all, from, &c. 

AR. H. 

LETTER XXXVII

MISS HOWE, TO MISS ARABELLA HARLOWESAT. JULY 22. 

It may be the misfortune of some people to engage every body's notice:others may be the happier, though they may be the more envious, fornobody's thinking them worthy of any. But one would be glad people hadthe sense to be thankful for that want of consequence, which subject themnot to hazards they would heartily have been able to manage under. 

I own to you, that had it not been for the prudent advice of thatadmirable somebody (whose principal fault is the superiority of hertalents, and whose misfortune to be brother'd and sister'd by a couple ofcreatures, who are not able to comprehend her excellencies) I might atone time have been plunged into difficulties. But pert as thesuperlatively pert may think me, I thought not myself wiser, because Iwas older; nor for that poor reason qualified to prescribe to, much lessto maltreat, a genius so superior. 

I repeat it with gratitude, that the dear creature's advice was of verygreat service to me--and this before my mother's watchfulness becamenecessary. But how it would have fared with me, I cannot say, had I hada brother or sister, who had deemed it their interest, as well as agratification of their sordid envy, to misrepresent me. 

Your admirable sister, in effect, saved you, Miss, as well as me--withthis difference--you, against your will--me with mine: and but for yourown brother, and his own sister, would not have been lost herself. 

Would to Heaven both sisters had been obliged with their own wills!--themost admirable of her sex would never then have been out of her father'shouse!--you, Miss--I don't know what had become of you. --But, let whatwould have happened, you would have met with the humanity you have notshown, whether you had deserved it or not:--nor, at the worst, losteither a kind sister, or a pitying friend, in the most excellent ofsisters. 

But why run I into length to such a poor thing? why push I so weak anadversary? whose first letter is all low malice, and whose next is madeup of falsehood and inconsistence, as well as spite and ill-manners! yetI was willing to give you a part of my mind. Call for more of it; itshall be at your service: from one, who, though she thanks God she is notyour sister, is not your enemy: but that she is not the latter, iswithheld but by two considerations; one that you bear, though unworthily, a relation to a sister so excellent; the other, that you are not ofconsequence enough to engage any thing but the pity and contempt of

A. H. 

LETTER XXXVIII

MRS. HARLOWE, TO MRS. HOWESAT. JULY 22. 

DEAR MADAM, I send you, enclosed, copies of five letters that have passed betweenMiss Howe and my Arabella. You are a person of so much prudence and goodsense, and (being a mother yourself) can so well enter into thedistresses of all our family, upon the rashness and ingratitude of achild we once doated upon, that, I dare say, you will not countenance thestrange freedoms your daughter has taken with us all. These are not theonly ones we have to complain of; but we were silent on the others, asthey did not, as these have done, spread themselves out upon paper. Weonly beg, that we may not be reflected upon by a young lady who knows notwhat we have suffered, and do suffer by the rashness of a naughtycreature who has brought ruin upon herself, and disgrace upon a familywhich she had robbed of all comfort. I offer not to prescribe to yourknown wisdom in this case; but leave it to you to do as you think mostproper. I am, Madam, Your most humble servant, CHARL. HARLOWE. 

LETTER XXXIX

MRS. HOWE[IN ANSWER. ]SAT. JULY 22. 

DEAR MADAM, I am highly offended with my daughter's letters to Miss Harlowe. I knewnothing at all of her having taken such a liberty. These young creatureshave such romantic notions, some of live, some of friendship, that thereis no governing them in either. Nothing but time, and dear experience, will convince them of their absurdities in both. I have chidden MissHowe very severely. I had before so just a notion of what your wholefamily's distress must be, that, as I told your brother, Mr. AntonyHarlowe, I had often forbid her corresponding with the poor fallen angel--for surely never did young lady more resemble what we imagine ofangels, both in person and mind. But, tired out with her headstrongways, [I am sorry to say this of my own child, ] I was forced to give wayto it again. And, indeed, so sturdy was she in her will, that I wasafraid it would end in a fit of sickness, as too often it did in fits ofsullens. 

None but parents know the trouble that children give. They are happiest, I have often thought, who have none. And these women-grown girls, blessmy heart! how ungovernable!

I believe, however, you will have no more such letters from my Nancy. Ihave been forced to use compulsion with her upon Miss Clary's illness, [and it seems she is very bad, ] or she would have run away to London, toattend upon her: and this she calls doing the duty of a friend;forgetting that she sacrifices to her romantic friendship her duty to herfond indulgent mother. 

There are a thousand excellencies in the poor sufferer, notwithstandingher fault: and, if the hints she has given to my daughter be true, shehas been most grievously abused. But I think your forgiveness and herfather's forgiveness of her ought to be all at your own choice; andnobody should intermeddle in that, for the sake of due authority inparents: and besides, as Miss Harlowe writes, it was what every bodyexpected, though Miss Clary would not believe it till she smarted for hercredulity. And, fir these reasons, I offer not to plead any thing inalleviation of her fault, which is aggravated by her admirable sense, anda judgment above her years. 

I am, Madam, with compliments to good Mr. Harlowe, and all your afflictedfamily, Your most humble servant, ANNABELLA HOWE. 

I shall set out for the Isle of Wight in a few days, with my daughter. I will hasten our setting out, on purpose to break her mind from her friend's distresses; which afflict us as much, nearly, as Miss Clary's rashness has done you. 

LETTER XL

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWESAT. JULY 22. 

MY DEAREST FRIEND, We are busy in preparing for our little journey and voyage: but I will beill, I will be very ill, if I cannot hear you are better before I go. 

Rogers greatly afflicted me, by telling me the bad way you are in. Butnow you have been able to hold a pen, and as your sense is strong andclear, I hope that the amusement you will receive from writing will makeyou better. 

I dispatch this by an extraordinary way, that it may reach you timeenough to move you to consider well before you absolutely decide upon thecontents of mine of the 13th, on the subject of the two Misses Montague'svisit to me; since, according to what you write, must I answer them. 

In your last, conclude very positively that you will not be his. To besure, he rather deserves an infamous death than such a wife. But as Ireally believe him innocent of the arrest, and as all his family are suchearnest pleaders, and will be guarantees, for him, I think the compliancewith their entreaties, and his own, will be now the best step you cantake; your own family remaining implacable, as I can assure you they do. He is a man of sense; and it is not impossible but he may make you a goodhusband, and in time may become no bad man. 

My mother is entirely of my opinion: and on Friday, pursuant to a hint Igave you in my last, Mr. Hickman had a conference with the strangewretch: and though he liked not, by any means, his behaviour to himself;nor indeed, had reason to do so; yet he is of opinion that he issincerely determined to marry you, if you will condescend to have him. 

Perhaps Mr. Hickman may make you a private visit before we set out. IfI may not attend you myself, I shall not be easy except he does. And hewill then give you an account of the admirable character the surprisingwretch gave of you, and of the justice he does to your virtue. 

He was as acknowledging to his relations, though to his own condemnation, as his two cousins told me. All he apprehends, as he said to Mr. Hickman, is that if you go on exposing him, wedlock itself will not wipeoff the dishonour to both: and moreover, 'that you would ruin yourconstitution by your immoderate sorrow; and, by seeking death when youmight avoid it, would not be able to escape it when you would wish to doso. '

So, my dearest friend, I charge you, if you can, to get over youraversion to this vile man. You may yet live to see many happy days, andbe once more the delight of all your friends, neighbours, andacquaintance, as well as a stay, a comfort, and a blessing to your AnnaHowe. 

I long to have your answer to mine of the 13th. Pray keep the messengertill it be ready. If he return on Monday night, it will be time enoughfor his affairs, and to find me come back from Colonel Ambrose's; whogives a ball on the anniversary of Mrs. Ambrose's birth and marriage bothin one. The gentry all round the neighbourhood are invited this time, onsome good news they have received from Mrs. Ambrose's brother, thegovernor. 

My mother promised the Colonel for me and herself, in my absence. Iwould fain have excused myself to her; and the rather, as I hadexceptions on account of the day:* but she is almost as young as herdaughter; and thinking it not so well to go without me, she told me. Andhaving had a few sparring blows with each other very lately, I think Imust comply. For I don't love jingling when I can help it; though Iseldom make it my study to avoid the occasion, when it offers of itself. I don't know, if either were not a little afraid of the other, whether itwould be possible that we could live together:--I, all my father!--Mymamma--What?--All my mother--What else should I say?

* The 24th of July, Miss Clarissa Harlowe's birth-day. 

O my dear, how many things happen in this life to give us displeasure!How few to give us joy!--I am sure I shall have none on this occasion;since the true partner of my heart, the principal of the one soul, thatit used to be said, animated the pair of friends, as we were called; you, my dear, [who used to irradiate every circle you set your foot into, andto give me real significance in a second place to yourself, ] cannot bethere!--One hour of your company, my ever instructive friend, [I thirstfor it!] how infinitely preferable would it be to me to all thediversions and amusements with which our sex are generally most delighted--Adieu, my dear!

A. HOWE. 

LETTER XLI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWESUNDAY, JULY 23. 

What pain, my dearest friend, does your kind solicitude for my welfaregive me! How much more binding and tender are the ties of purefriendship, and the union of like minds, than the ties of nature! Wellmight the sweet-singer of Israel, when he was carrying to the utmostextent the praises of the friendship between him and his beloved friend, say, that the love of Jonathan to him was wonderful; that it surpassedthe love of women! What an exalted idea does it give of the soul ofJonathan, sweetly attempered for the sacred band, if we may suppose itbut equal to that of my Anna Howe for her fallen Clarissa?--But, althoughI can glory in your kind love for me, think, my dear, what concern mustfill a mind, not ungenerous, when the obligation lies all on one side. And when, at the same time that your light is the brighter for mydarkness, I must give pain to a dear friend, to whom I delighted to givepleasure; and not pain only, but discredit, for supporting my blightedfame against the busy tongues of uncharitable censures!

This is that makes me, in the words of my admired exclaimer, very littlealtered, often repeat: 'Oh! that I were as in months past! as in the dayswhen God preserved me! when his candle shined upon my head, and when byhis light I walked through darkness! As I was in the days of mychildhood--when the Almighty was yet with me: when I was in my father'shouse: when I washed my steps with butter, and the rock poured me outrivers of oil. '

You set before me your reasons, enforced by the opinion of your honouredmother, why I should think of Mr. Lovelace for a husband. *

* See the preceding Letter. 

And I have before me your letter of the 13th, * containing the account ofthe visit and proposals, and kind interposition of the two MissesMontague, in the names of the good Ladies Sadleir and Betty Lawrance, andin that of my Lord M. 

* See Letter IX. Of this vol. 

Also your's of the 18th, * demanding me, as I may say, of those ladies, and of that family, when I was so infamously and cruelly arrested, andyou knew not what was become of me. 

* See Letter XI. Ibid. 

The answer likewise of those ladies, signed in so full and generous amanner by themselves, * and by that nobleman, and those two venerableladies; and, in his light way, by the wretch himself. 

* See Letter XIV. Ibid. 

Thse, my dearest Miss Howe; and your letter of the 16th, * which came whenI was under arrest, and which I received not till some days after; areall before me. 

* See Letter X. Of this volume. 

And I have as well weighed the whole matter, and your arguments insupport of your advice, as at present my head and my heart will let meweigh them. 

I am, moreover, willing to believe, not only from your own opinion, butfrom the assurances of one of Mr. Lovelace's friends, Mr. Belford, agood-natured and humane man, who spares not to censure the author of mycalamities (I think, with undissembled and undesigning sincerity) thatthat man is innocent of the disgraceful arrest. 

And even, if you please, in sincere compliment to your opinion, and tothat of Mr. Hickman, that (over-persuaded by his friends, and ashamed ofhis unmerited baseness to me) he would in earnest marry me, if I wouldhave him. 

'*Well, and now, what is the result of all?--It is this--that I mustabide by what I have already declared--and that is, [don't be angry atme, my best friend, ] that I have much more pleasure in thinking of death, than of such a husband. In short, as I declared in my last, that Icannot [forgive me, if I say, I will not] ever be his. 

* Those parts of this letter which are marked with an inverted comma[thus ' ] were afterwards transcribed by Miss Howe in Letter LV. Writtento the Ladies of Mr. Lovelace's family; and are thus distinguished toavoid the necessity of repeating them in that letter. 

'But you will expect my reasons; I know you will: and if I give them not, will conclude me either obstinate, or implacable, or both: and thosewould be sad imputations, if just, to be laid to the charge of a personwho thinks and talks of dying. And yet, to say that resentment anddisappointment have no part in my determination, would be saying a thinghardly to be credited. For I own I have resentment, strong resentment, but not unreasonable ones, as you will be convinced, if already you arenot so, when you know all my story--if ever you do know it--for I beginto fear (so many things more necessary to be thought of than either thisman, or my own vindication, have I to do) that I shall not have time tocompass what I have intended, and, in a manner, promised you. *

* See Vol. VI. Letter LXXIII. 

'I have one reason to give in support of my resolution, that, I believe, yourself will allow of: but having owned that I have resentments, I willbegin with those considerations in which anger and disappointment havetoo great a share; in hopes that, having once disburdened my mind uponpaper, and to my Anna Howe, of those corroding uneasy passions, I shallprevent them for ever from returning to my heart, and to have their placesupplied by better, milder, and more agreeable ones. 

'My pride, then, my dearest friend, although a great deal mortified, isnot sufficiently mortified, if it be necessary for me to submit to makethat man my choice, whose actions are, and ought to be, my abhorrence!--What!--Shall I, who have been treated with such premeditated andperfidious barbarity, as is painful to be thought of, and cannot, withmodesty be described, think of taking the violator to my heart? Can Ivow duty to one so wicked, and hazard my salvation by joining myself toso great a profligate, now I know him to be so? Do you think yourClarissa Harlowe so lost, so sunk, at least, as that she could, for thesake of patching up, in the world's eye, a broken reputation, meanlyappear indebted to the generosity, or perhaps compassion, of a man, whohas, by means so inhuman, robbed her of it? Indeed, my dear, I shouldnot think my penitence for the rash step I took, any thing better than aspecious delusion, if I had not got above the least wish to have Mr. Lovelace for my husband. 

'Yes, I warrant, I must creep to the violator, and be thankful to him fordoing me poor justice!

'Do you not already see me (pursuing the advice you give) with a downcasteye, appear before his friends, and before my own, (supposing the latterwould at last condescend to own me, ) divested of that noble confidencewhich arises from a mind unconscious of having deserved reproach?

'Do you not see me creep about mine own house, preferring all my honestmaidens to myself--as if afraid, too, to open my lips, either by way ofreproof or admonition, lest their bolder eyes should bid me look inward, and not expect perfection from them?

'And shall I entitle the wretch to upbraid me with his generosity, andhis pity; and perhaps to reproach me for having been capable of forgivingcrimes of such a nature?

'I once indeed hoped, little thinking him so premeditatedly vile a man, that I might have the happiness to reclaim him: I vainly believed that heloved me well enough to suffer my advice for his good, and the example Ihumbly presumed I should be enabled to set him, to have weight with him;and the rather, as he had no mean opinion of my morals and understanding:But now what hope is there left for this my prime hope?--Were I to marryhim, what a figure should I make, preaching virtue and morality to a manwhom I had trusted with opportunities to seduce me from all my ownduties!--And then, supposing I were to have children by such a husband, must it not, think you, cut a thoughtful person to the heart; to lookround upon her little family, and think she had given them a fatherdestined, without a miracle, to perdition; and whose immoralities, propagated among them by his vile example, might, too probably, bringdown a curse upon them? And, after all, who knows but that my own sinfulcompliances with a man, who might think himself entitled to my obedience, might taint my own morals, and make me, instead of a reformer, animitator of him?--For who can touch pitch, and not be defiled?

'Let me then repeat, that I truly despise this man! If I know my ownheart, indeed I do!--I pity him! beneath my very pity as he is, Inevertheless pity him!--But this I could not do, if I still loved him:for, my dear, one must be greatly sensible of the baseness andingratitude of those we love. I love him not, therefore! my souldisdains communion with him. 

'But, although thus much is due to resentment, yet have I not been sofar carried away by its angry effects as to be rendered incapable ofcasting about what I ought to do, and what could be done, if theAlmighty, in order to lengthen the time of my penitence, were to bidme to live. 

'The single life, at such times, has offered to me, as the life, theonly life, to be chosen. But in that, must I not now sit brooding overmy past afflictions, and mourning my faults till the hour of my release?And would not every one be able to assign the reason why Clarissa Harlowechose solitude, and to sequester herself from the world? Would not thelook of every creature, who beheld me, appear as a reproach to me? Andwould not my conscious eye confess my fault, whether the eyes of othersaccused me or not? One of my delights was, to enter the cots of my poorneighbours, to leave lessons to the boys, and cautions to the eldergirls: and how should I be able, unconscious, and without pain, to sayto the latter, fly the delusions of men, who had been supposed to haverun away with one?

'What then, my dear and only friend, can I wish for but death?--And what, after all, is death? 'Tis but a cessation from mortal life: 'tis but thefinishing of an appointed course: the refreshing inn after a fatiguingjourney; the end of a life of cares and troubles; and, if happy, thebeginning of a life of immortal happiness. 

'If I die not now, it may possibly happen that I may be taken when I amless prepared. Had I escaped the evils I labour under, it might havebeen in the midst of some gay promising hope; when my heart had beat highwith the desire of life; and when the vanity of this earth had taken holdof me. 

'But now, my dear, for your satisfaction let me say that, although I wishnot for life, yet would I not, like a poor coward, desert my post when Ican maintain it, and when it is my duty to maintain it. 

'More than once, indeed, was I urged by thoughts so sinful: but then itwas in the height of my distress: and once, particularly, I have reasonto believe, I saved myself by my desperation from the most shockingpersonal insults; from a repetition, as far as I know, of his vileness;the base women (with so much reason dreaded by me) present, to intimidateme, if not to assist him!--O my dear, you know not what I suffered onthat occasion!--Nor do I what I escaped at the time, if the wicked manhad approached me to execute the horrid purposes of his vile heart. '

As I am of opinion, that it would have manifested more of revenge anddespair than of principle, had I committed a violence upon myself, whenthe villany was perpetrated; so I should think it equally criminal, wereI now wilfully to neglect myself; were I purposely to run into the armsof death, (as that man supposes I shall do, ) when I might avoid it. 

Nor, my dear, whatever are the suppositions of such a short-sighted, sucha low-souled man, must you impute to gloom, to melancholy, todespondency, nor yet to a spirit of faulty pride, or still more faultyrevenge, the resolution I have taken never to marry this: and if notthis, any man. So far from deserving this imputation, I do assure you, (my dear and only love, ) that I will do every thing I can to prolong mylife, till God, in mercy to me, shall be pleased to call for it. I havereason to think my punishment is but the due consequence of my fault, andI will not run away from it; but beg of Heaven to sanctify it to me. When appetite serves, I will eat and drink what is sufficient to supportnature. A very little, you know, will do for that. And whatever myphysicians shall think fit to prescribe, I will take, though ever sodisagreeable. In short, I will do every thing I can do to convince allmy friends, who hereafter may think it worth their while to inquire aftermy last behaviour, that I possessed my soul with tolerable patience; andendeavoured to bear with a lot of my own drawing; for thus, in humbleimitation of the sublimest exemplar, I often say:--Lord, it is thy will;and it shall be mine. Thou art just in all thy dealings with thechildren of men; and I know thou wilt not afflict me beyond what I canbear: and, if I can bear it, I ought to bear it; and (thy grace assistingme) I will bear it. 

'But here, my dear, is another reason; a reason that will convince youyourself that I ought not to think of wedlock; but of a preparation for aquite different event. I am persuaded, as much as that I am now alive, that I shall not long live. The strong sense I have ever had of myfault, the loss of my reputation, my disappointments, the determinedresentment of my friends, aiding the barbarous usage I have met withwhere I least deserved it, have seized upon my heart: seized upon it, before it was so well fortified by religious considerations as I hope itnow is. Don't be concerned, my dear--But I am sure, if I may say it withas little presumption as grief, That God will soon dissolve my substance;and bring me to death, and to the house appointed for all living. '

And now, my dearest friend, you know all my mind. And you will bepleased to write to the ladies of Mr. Lovelace's family, that I thinkmyself infinitely obliged to them for their good opinion of me; and thatit has given me greater pleasure than I thought I had to come in thislife, that, upon the little knowledge they have of me, and that notpersonal, I was thought worthy (after the ill usage I have received) ofan alliance with their honourable family: but that I can by no meansthink of their kinsman for a husband: and do you, my dear, extract fromthe above such reasons as you think have any weight with them. 

I would write myself to acknowledge their favour, had I not moreemployment for my head, my heart, and my fingers, than I doubt they willbe able to go through. 

I should be glad to know when you set out on your journey; as also yourlittle stages; and your time of stay at your aunt Harman's; that myprayers may locally attend you whithersoever you go, and wherever youare. 

CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER XLII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWESUNDAY, JULY 23. 

The letter accompanying this being upon a very particular subject, Iwould not embarrass it, as I may say, with any other. And yet havingsome farther matters upon my mind, which will want your excuse fordirecting them to you, I hope the following lines will have that excuse. 

My good Mrs. Norton, so long ago as in a letter dated the 3d of thismonth, * hinted to me that my relations took amiss some severe things youwere pleased, in love to me, to say to them. Mrs. Norton mentioned itwith that respectful love which she bears to my dearest friend: butwished, for my sake, that you would rein in a vivacity, which, on mostother occasions, so charmingly becomes you. This was her sense. Youknow that I am warranted to speak and write freer to my Anna Howe thanMrs. Norton would do. 

* See Vol. VI. Letter LXIII. 

I durst not mention it to you at that time, because appearances were sostrong against me, on Mr. Lovelace's getting me again into his power, (after my escape to Hampstead, ) as made you very angry with me when youanswered mine on my second escape. And, soon afterwards, I was put underthat barbarous arrest; so that I could not well touch upon the subjecttill now. 

Now, therefore, my dearest Miss Howe, let me repeat my earnest request(for this is not the first time by several that I have been obliged tochide you on this occasion, ) that you will spare my parents, and otherrelations, in all your conversations about me. Indeed, I wish they hadthought fit to take other measures with me: But who shall judge for them?--The event has justified them, and condemned me. --They expected nothinggood of this vile man; he had not, therefore, deceived them: but theyexpected other things from me; and I have. And they have the more reasonto be set against me, if (as my aunt Hervey wrote* formerly, ) theyintended not to force my inclinations in favour of Mr. Solmes; and ifthey believe that my going off was the effect of choice andpremeditation. 

* See Vol. III. Letter LII. 

I have no desire to be received to favour by them: For why should I sitdown to wish for what I have no reason to expect?--Besides, I could notlook them in the face, if they would receive me. Indeed I could not. All I have to hope for is, first, that my father will absolve me from hisheavy malediction: and next, for a last blessing. The obtaining of thesefavours are needful to my peace of mind. 

I have written to my sister; but have only mentioned the absolution. 

I am afraid I shall receive a very harsh answer from her: my fault, inthe eyes of my family, is of so enormous a nature, that my firstapplication will hardly be encouraged. Then they know not (nor perhapswill believe) that I am so very ill as I am. So that, were I actually todie before they could have time to take the necessary informations, youmust not blame them too severely. You must call it a fatality. I knownot what you must call it: for, alas! I have made them as miserable as Iam myself. And yet sometimes I think that, were they cheerfully topronounce me forgiven, I know not whether my concern for having offendedthem would not be augmented: since I imagine that nothing can be morewounding to a spirit not ungenerous than a generous forgiveness. 

I hope your mother will permit our correspondence for one month more, although I do not take her advice as to having this man. Whencatastrophes are winding up, what changes (changes that make one's heartshudder to think of, ) may one short month produce?--But if she will not--why then, my dear, it becomes us both to acquiesce. 

You can't think what my apprehensions would have been, had I known Mr. Hickman was to have had a meeting (on such a questioning occasion as musthave been his errand from you) with that haughty and uncontroulable man. 

You give me hope of a visit from Mr. Hickman: let him expect to see megreatly altered. I know he loves me: for he loves every one whom youlove. A painful interview, I doubt! But I shall be glad to see a manwhom you will one day, and that on an early day, I hope, make happy;whose gentle manners, and unbounded love for you, will make you so, if itbe not your own fault. 

I am, my dearest, kindest friend, the sweet companion of my happy hours, the friend ever dearest and nearest to my fond heart, Your equally obliged and faithful, CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER XLIII

MRS. NORTON, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWEMONDAY, JULY 24. 

Excuse, my dearest young lady, my long silence. I have been extremelyill. My poor boy has also been at death's door; and, when I hoped thathe was better, he has relapsed. Alas! my dear, he is very dangerouslyill. Let us both have your prayers!

Very angry letters have passed between your sister and Miss Howe. Everyone of your family is incensed against that young lady. I wish you wouldremonstrate against her warmth; since it can do no good; for they willnot believe but that her interposition had your connivance; nor that youare so ill as Miss Howe assures them you are. 

Before she wrote, they were going to send up young Mr. Brand, theclergyman, to make private inquiries of your health, and way of life. --But now they are so exasperated that they have laid aside theirintention. 

We have flying reports here, and at Harlowe-place, of some fresh insultswhich you have undergone: and that you are about to put yourself intoLady Betty Lawrance's protection. I believe they would not be glad (as Ishould be) that you would do so; and this, perhaps, will make themsuspend, for the present, any determination in your favour. 

How unhappy am I, that the dangerous way my son is in prevents myattendance on you! Let me beg of you to write to me word how you are, both as to person and mind. A servant of Sir Robert Beachcroft, whorides post on his master's business to town, will present you with this;and, perhaps, will bring me the favour of a few lines in return. He willbe obliged to stay in town several hours for an answer to his dispatches. 

This is the anniversary that used to give joy to as many as had thepleasure and honour of knowing you. May the Almighty bless you, andgrant that it may be the only unhappy one that may ever be known by you, my dearest young lady, and by

Your ever affectionateJUDITH NORTON. 

LETTER XLIV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. NORTONMONDAY NIGHT, JULY 24. 

MY DEAR MRS. NORTON, Had I not fallen into fresh troubles, which disabled me for several daysfrom holding a pen, I should not have forborne inquiring after yourhealth, and that of your son; for I should have been but too ready toimpute your silence to the cause to which, to my very great concern, Ifind it was owing. I pray to Heaven, my dear good friend, to give youcomfort in the way most desirable to yourself. 

I am exceedingly concerned at Miss Howe's writing about me to my friends. I do assure you, that I was as ignorant of her intention so to do as ofthe contents of her letter. Nor has she yet let me know (discouraged, Isuppose, by her ill success) that she did write. It is impossible toshare the delight which such charming spirits give, without theinconvenience that will attend their volatility. --So mixed are our bestenjoyments!

It was but yesterday that I wrote to chide the dear creature for freedomsof that nature, which her unseasonably-expressed love for me had made hertake, as you wrote me word in your former. I was afraid that all suchfreedoms would be attributed to me. And I am sure that nothing but myown application to my friends, and a full conviction of my contrition, will procure me favour. Least of all can I expect that either yourmediation or her's (both of whose fond and partial love of me is so wellknown) will avail me. 

[She then gives a brief account of the arrest: of her dejection under it: of her apprehensions of being carried to her former lodgings: of Mr. Lovelace's avowed innocence as to that insult: of her release by Mr. Belford: of Mr. Lovelace's promise not to molest her: of her clothes being sent her: of the earnest desire of all his friends, and of himself, to marry her: of Miss Howe's advice to comply with their requests: and of her declared resolution rather to die than be his, sent to Miss Howe, to be given to his relations, but as the day before. After which she thus proceeds:]

Now, my dear Mrs. Norton, you will be surprised, perhaps, that I shouldhave returned such an answer: but when you have every thing before you, you, who know me so well, will not think me wrong. And, besides, I amupon a better preparation than for an earthly husband. 

Nor let it be imagined, my dear and ever venerable friend, that mypresent turn of mind proceeds from gloominess or melancholy; for althoughit was brought on by disappointment, (the world showing me early, even atmy first rushing into it, its true and ugly face, ) yet I hope that it hasobtained a better root, and will every day more and more, by its fruits, demonstrate to me, and to all my friends, that it has. 

I have written to my sister. Last Friday I wrote. So the die is thrown. I hope for a gentle answer. But, perhaps, they will not vouchsafe meany. It is my first direct application, you know. I wish Miss Howe hadleft me to my own workings in this tender point. 

It will be a great satisfaction to me to hear of your perfect recovery;and that my foster-brother is out of danger. But why, said I, out ofdanger?--When can this be justly said of creatures, who hold by souncertain a tenure? This is one of those forms of common speech, thatproves the frailty and the presumption of poor mortal at the same time. 

Don't be uneasy, you cannot answer your wishes to be with me. I amhappier than I could have expected to be among mere strangers. It wasgrievous at first; but use reconciles every thing to us. The people ofthe house where I am are courteous and honest. There is a widow wholodges in it [have I not said so formerly?] a good woman; who is thebetter for having been a proficient in the school of affliction. 

An excellent school! my dear Mrs. Norton, in which we are taught to knowourselves, to be able to compassionate and bear with one another, and tolook up to a better hope. 

I have as humane a physician, (whose fees are his least regard, ) and asworthy an apothecary, as ever patient was visited by. My nurse isdiligent, obliging, silent, and sober. So I am not unhappy without: andwithin--I hope, my dear Mrs. Norton, that I shall be every day more andmore happy within. 

No doubt it would be one of the greatest comforts I could know to haveyou with me: you, who love me so dearly: who have been the watchfulsustainer of my helpless infancy: you, by whose precepts I have been somuch benefited!--In your dear bosom could I repose all my griefs: and byyour piety and experience in the ways of Heaven, should I be strengthenedin what I am still to go through. 

But, as it must not be, I will acquiesce; and so, I hope, will you: foryou see in what respects I am not unhappy; and in those that I am, theylie not in your power to remedy. 

Then as I have told you, I have all my clothes in my own possession. SoI am rich enough, as to this world, in common conveniencies. 

You see, my venerable and dear friend, that I am not always turning thedark side of my prospects, in order to move compassion; a trick imputedto me, too often, by my hard-hearted sister; when, if I know my ownheart, it is above all trick or artifice. Yet I hope at last I shall beso happy as to receive benefit rather than reproach from this talent, ifit be my talent. At last, I say; for whose heart have I hitherto moved?--Not one, I am sure, that was not predetermined in my favour. 

As to the day--I have passed it, as I ought to pass it. It has been avery heavy day to me!--More for my friends sake, too, than for my own!--How did they use to pass it!--What a festivity!--How have they now passedit?--To imagine it, how grievous!--Say not that those are cruel, whosuffer so much for my fault; and who, for eighteen years together, rejoiced in me, and rejoiced me by their indulgent goodness!--But I willthink the rest!--Adieu, my dearest Mrs. Norton!--

Adieu!

LETTER XLV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS ARABELLA HARLOWEFRIDAY, JULY 21. 

If, my dearest Sister, I did not think the state of my health veryprecarious, and that it was my duty to take this step, I should hardlyhave dared to approach you, although but with my pen, after having foundyour censures so dreadfully justified as they have been. 

I have not the courage to write to my father himself, nor yet to mymother. And it is with trembling that I address myself to you, to beg ofyou to intercede for me, that my father will have the goodness to revokethat heaviest part of the very heavy curse he laid upon me, which relatesto HEREAFTER; for, as to the HERE, I have indeed met with my punishmentfrom the very wretch in whom I was supposed to place my confidence. 

As I hope not for restoration to favour, I may be allowed to be veryearnest on this head: yet will I not use any arguments in support of myrequest, because I am sure my father, were it in his power, would nothave his poor child miserable for ever. 

I have the most grateful sense of my mother's goodness in sending me upmy clothes. I would have acknowledged the favour the moment I receivedthem, with the most thankful duty, but that I feared any line from mewould be unacceptable. 

I would not give fresh offence: so will decline all other commendationsof duty and love: appealing to my heart for both, where both are flamingwith an ardour that nothing but death can extinguish: therefore onlysubscribe myself, without so much as a name, My dear and happy Sister, Your afflicted servant. 

A letter directed for me, at Mr. Smith's, a glover, in King-street, Covent-garden, will come to hand. 

LETTER XLVI

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. [IN ANSWER TO LETTERS XXIX. XXXII. OF THIS VOLUME. ]EDGWARE, MONDAY, JULY 24. 

What pains thou takest to persuade thyself, that the lady's ill healthis owing to the vile arrest, and to the implacableness of her friends. Both primarily (if they were) to be laid at thy door. What poor excuseswill good hearts make for the evils they are put upon by bad hearts!--But'tis no wonder that he who can sit down premeditatedly to do a badaction, will content himself with a bad excuse: and yet what fools musthe suppose the rest of the world to be, if he imagines them as easy to beimposed upon as he can impose upon himself?

In vain dost thou impute to pride or wilfulness the necessity to whichthou hast reduced this lady of parting with her clothes; For can she dootherwise, and be the noble-minded creature she is?

Her implacable friends have refused her the current cash she left behindher; and wished, as her sister wrote to her, to see her reduced to want:probably therefore they will not be sorry that she is reduced to suchstraights; and will take it for a justification from Heaven of theirwicked hard heartedness. Thou canst not suppose she would take suppliesfrom thee: to take them from me would, in her opinion, be taking themfrom thee. Miss Howe's mother is an avaricious woman; and, perhaps, thedaughter can do nothing of that sort unknown to her; and, if she could, is too noble a girl to deny it, if charged. And then Miss Harlowe isfirmly of opinion, that she shall never want nor wear the think shedisposes of. 

Having heard nothing from town that obliges me to go thither, I shallgratify poor Belton with my company till to-morrow, or perhaps tillWednesday. For the unhappy man is more and more loth to part with me. I shall soon set out for Epsom, to endeavour to serve him there, andre-instate him in his own house. Poor fellow! he is most horribly lowspirited; mopes about; and nothing diverts him. I pity him at my heart;but can do him no good. --What consolation can I give him, either from hispast life, or from his future prospects?

Our friendships and intimacies, Lovelace, are only calculated for stronglife and health. When sickness comes, we look round us, and upon oneanother, like frighted birds, at the sight of a kite ready to souse uponthem. Then, with all our bravery, what miserable wretches are we!

Thou tallest me that thou seest reformation is coming swiftly upon me. Ihope it is. I see so much difference in the behaviour of this admirablewoman in her illness, and that of poor Belton in his, that it is plain tome the sinner is the real coward, and the saint the true hero; and, sooner or later, we shall all find it to be so, if we are not cut offsuddenly. 

The lady shut herself up at six o'clock yesterday afternoon; and intendsnot to see company till seven or eight this; not even her nurse--imposingupon herself a severe fast. And why? It is her BIRTH-DAY!--Everybirth-day till this, no doubt, happy!--What must be her reflections!--What ought to be thine!

What sport dost thou make with my aspirations, and my prostrations, asthou callest them; and with my dropping of the banknote behind her chair!I had too much awe of her at the time, to make it with the grace thatwould better have become my intention. But the action, if awkward, wasmodest. Indeed, the fitter subject for ridicule with thee; who canst nomore taste the beauty and delicacy of modest obligingness than of modestlove. For the same may be said of inviolable respect, that the poet saysof unfeigned affection, I speak! I know not what!-- Speak ever so: and if I answer you I know not what, it shows the more of love. Love is a child that talks in broken language; Yet then it speaks most plain. 

The like may be pleaded in behalf of that modest respect which made thehumble offerer afraid to invade the awful eye, or the revered hand; butawkwardly to drop its incense behind the altar it should have been laidupon. But how should that soul, which could treat delicacy itselfbrutally, know any thing of this!

But I am still more amazed at thy courage, to think of throwing thyselfin the way of Miss Howe, and Miss Arabella Harlowe!--Thou wilt not dare, surely, to carry this thought into execution!

As to my dress, and thy dress, I have only to say, that the sum total ofthy observation is this: that my outside is the worst of me; and thinethe best of thee: and what gettest thou by the comparison? Do thoureform the one, I'll try to mend the other. I challenge thee to begin. 

Mrs. Lovick gave me, at my request, the copy of a meditation she showedme, which was extracted by the lady from the scriptures, while underarrest at Rowland's, as appears by the date. The lady is not to knowthat I have taken a copy. 

You and I always admired the noble simplicity, and natural ease anddignity of style, which are the distinguishing characteristics of thesebooks, whenever any passages from them, by way of quotation in the worksof other authors, popt upon us. And once I remember you, even you, observed, that those passages always appeared to you like a rich vein ofgolden ore, which runs through baser metals; embellishing the work theywere brought to authenticate. 

Try, Lovelace, if thou canst relish a Divine beauty. I think it muststrike transient (if not permanent) remorse into thy heart. Thouboastest of thy ingenuousness: let this be the test of it; and whetherthou canst be serious on a subject too deep, the occasion of it resultingfrom thyself. 

MEDITATIONSaturday, July 15. 

O that my grief were thoroughly weighed, and my calamity laid in thebalance together!

For now it would be heavier than the sand of the sea: therefore my wordsare swallowed up!

For the arrows of the Almighty are within me; the poison whereof drinkethup my spirit. The terrors of God do set themselves in array against me. 

When I lie down, I say, When shall I arise? When will the night be gone?And I am full of tossings to and fro, unto the dawning of the day. 

My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and are spent without hope--mine eye shall no more see good. 

Wherefore is light given to her that is in misery; and life unto thebitter in soul?

Who longeth for death; but it cometh not; and diggeth for it more thanfor hid treasures?

Why is light given to one whose way is hid; and whom God hath hedged in?

For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon me!

I was not in safety; neither had I rest; neither was I quiet; yet troublecame. 

But behold God is mighty, and despiseth not any. 

He giveth right to the poor--and if they be found in fetters, and holdenin cords of affliction, then he showeth them their works and theirtransgressions. 

I have a little leisure, and am in a scribbing vein: indulge me, Lovelace, a few reflections on these sacred books. 

We are taught to read the Bible, when children, as a rudiment only; and, as far as I know, this may be the reason why we think ourselves above itwhen at a maturer age. For you know that our parents, as well as we, wisely rate our proficiency by the books we are advanced to, and not byour understanding of those we have passed through. But, in my uncle'sillness, I had the curiosity, in some of my dull hours, (lighting uponone in his closet, ) to dip into it: and then I found, wherever I turned, that there were admirable things in it. I have borrowed one, onreceiving from Mrs. Lovick the above meditation; for I had a mind tocompare the passages contained in it by the book, hardly believing theycould be so exceedingly apposite as I find they are. And one time oranother, it is very likely, that I shall make a resolution to give thewhole Bible a perusal, by way of course, as I may say. 

This, meantime, I will venture to repeat, is certain, that the style isthat truly easy, simple, and natural one, which we should admire in eachother authors excessively. Then all the world join in an opinion of theantiquity, and authenticity too, of the book; and the learned are fond ofstrengthening their different arguments by its sanctions. Indeed, I wasso much taken with it at my uncle's, that I was half ashamed that itappeared so new to me. And yet, I cannot but say, that I have some ofthe Old Testament history, as it is called, in my head: but, perhaps, ammore obliged for it to Josephus than to the Bible itself. 

Odd enough, with all our pride of learning, that we choose to derive thelittle we know from the under currents, perhaps muddy ones too, when theclear, the pellucid fountain-head, is much nearer at hand, and easier tobe come at--slighted the more, possibly, for that very reason!

But man is a pragmatical, foolish creature; and the more we look intohim, the more we must despise him--Lords of the creation!--Who canforbear indignant laughter! When we see not one of the individuals ofthat creation (his perpetually-eccentric self excepted) but acts withinits own natural and original appointment: is of fancied andself-dependent excellence, he is obliged not only for the ornaments, butfor the necessaries of life, (that is to say, for food as well asraiment, ) to all the other creatures; strutting with their blood andspirits in his veins, and with their plumage on his back: for what has heof his own, but a very mischievous, monkey-like, bad nature! Yet thinkshimself at liberty to kick, and cuff, and elbow out every worthiercreature: and when he has none of the animal creation to hunt down andabuse, will make use of his power, his strength, or his wealth, tooppress the less powerful and weaker of his own species!

When you and I meet next, let us enter more largely into this subject:and, I dare say, we shall take it by turns, in imitation of the two sagesof antiquity, to laugh and to weep at the thoughts of what miserable, yetconceited beings, men in general, but we libertines in particular, are. 

I fell upon a piece at Dorrell's, this very evening, intituled, TheSacred Classics, written by one Blackwell. 

I took it home with me, and had not read a dozen pages, when I wasconvinced that I ought to be ashamed of myself to think how greatly Ihave admired less noble and less natural beauties in Pagan authors; whileI have known nothing of this all-exciting collection of beauties, theBible! By my faith, Lovelace, I shall for the future have a betteropinion of the good sense and taste of half a score of parsons, whom Ihave fallen in with in my time, and despised for magnifying, as I thoughtthey did, the language and the sentiments to be found in it, inpreference to all the ancient poets and philosophers. And this is now aconvincing proof to me, and shames as much an infidel's presumption ashis ignorance, that those who know least are the greatest scoffers. Apretty pack of would-be wits of us, who censure without knowledge, laughwithout reason, and are most noisy and loud against things we know leastof!

LETTER XLVII

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. WEDNESDAY, JULY 26. 

I came not to town till this morning early: poor Belton clinging to me, as a man destitute of all other hold. 

I hastened to Smith's, and had but a very indifferent account of thelady's health. I sent up my compliments; and she desired to see me inthe afternoon. 

Mrs. Lovick told me, that after I went away on Saturday, she actuallyparted with one of her best suits of clothes to a gentlewoman who is her[Mrs. Lovick's] benefactress, and who bought them for a niece who is veryspeedily to be married, and whom she fits out and portions as herintended heiress. The lady was so jealous that the money might come fromyou or me, that she would see the purchaser: who owned to Mrs. Lovickthat she bought them for half their worth: but yet, though her consciencepermitted her to take them at such an under rate, the widow says herfriend admired the lady, as one of the loveliest of her sex: and havingbeen let into a little of her story, could not help shedding tears attaking away her purchase. 

She may be a good sort of woman: Mrs. Lovick says she is: but SELF is anodious devil, that reconciles to some people the most cruel and dishonestactions. But, nevertheless, it is my opinion, that those who can sufferthemselves to take advantage of the necessities of theirfellow-creatures, in order to buy any thing at a less rate than wouldallow them the legal interest of their purchase-money (supposing theypurchase before they want) are no better than robbers for the difference. --To plunder a wreck, and to rob at a fire, are indeed higher degrees ofwickedness: but do not those, as well as these, heighten the distressesof the distressed, and heap misery on the miserable, whom it is the dutyof every one to relieve?

About three o'clock I went again to Smith's. The lady was writing when Isent up my name; but admitted of my visit. I saw a miserable alterationin her countenance for the worse; and Mrs. Lovick respectfully accusingher of too great assiduity to her pen, early and late, and of herabstinence the day before, I took notice of the alteration; and told her, that her physician had greater hopes of her than she had of herself; andI would take the liberty to say, that despair of recovery allowed notroom for cure. 

She said she neither despaired nor hoped. Then stepping to the glass, with great composure, My countenance, said she, is indeed an honestpicture of my heart. But the mind will run away with the body at anytime. 

Writing is all my diversion, continued she: and I have subjects thatcannot be dispensed with. As to my hours, I have always been an earlyriser: but now rest is less in my power than ever. Sleep has a long timeago quarreled with me, and will not be friends, although I have made thefirst advances. What will be, must. 

She then stept to her closet, and brought me a parcel sealed up withthree seals: Be so kind, said she, as to give this to your friend. Avery grateful present it ought to be to him: for, Sir, this packetcontains such letters of his to me, as, compared with his actions, wouldreflect dishonour upon all his sex, were they to fall into other hands. 

As to my letters to him, they are not many. He may either keep ordestroy them, as he pleases. 

I thought, Lovelace, I ought not to forego this opportunity to plead foryou: I therefore, with the packet in my hand, urged all the arguments Icould think of in your favour. 

She heard me out with more attention than I could have promised myself, considering her determined resolution. 

I would not interrupt you, Mr. Belford, said she, though I am far frombeing pleased with the subject of your discourse. The motives for yourpleas in his favour are generous. I love to see instances of generousfriendship in either sex. But I have written my full mind on thissubject to Miss Howe, who will communicate it to the ladies of hisfamily. No more, therefore, I pray you, upon a topic that may lead todisagreeable recrimination. 

Her apothecary came in. He advised her to the air, and blamed her for sogreat an application, as he was told she made to her pen; and he gave itas the doctor's opinion, as well as his own, that she would recover, ifshe herself desired to recover, and would use the means. 

She may possibly write too much for her health: but I have observed, onseveral occasions, that when the medical men are at a loss what toprescribe, they inquire what their patients like best, or are mostdiverted with, and forbid them that. 

But, noble minded as they see this lady is, they know not half hernobleness of mind, nor how deeply she is wounded; and depend too muchupon her youth, which I doubt will not do in this case; and upon time, which will not alleviate the woes of such a mind: for, having been bentupon doing good, and upon reclaiming a libertine whom she loved, she isdisappointed in all her darling views, and will never be able, I fear, tolook up with satisfaction enough in herself to make life desirable toher. For this lady had other views in living, than the common ones ofeating, sleeping, dressing, visiting, and those other fashionableamusements, which fill up the time of most of her sex, especially ofthose of it who think themselves fitted to shine in and adorn politeassemblies. Her grief, in short, seems to me to be of such a nature, that time, which alleviates most other person's afflictions, will, as thepoet says, give increase to her's. 

Thou, Lovelace, mightest have seen all this superior excellence, as thouwentest along. In every word, in every sentiment, in every action, is itvisible. --But thy cursed inventions and intriguing spirit ran away withthee. 'Tis fit that the subject of thy wicked boast, and thy reflectionson talents so egregiously misapplied, should be thy punishment and thycurse. 

Mr. Goddard took his leave; and I was going to do so too, when the maidcame up, and told her a gentleman was below, who very earnestly inquiredafter her health, and desired to see her: his name Hickman. 

She was overjoyed; and bid the maid desire the gentleman to walk up. 

I would have withdrawn; but I supposed she thought it was likely I shouldhave met him upon the stairs; and so she forbid it. 

She shot to the stairs-head to receive him, and, taking his hand, askedhalf a dozen questions (without waiting for any answer) in relation toMiss Howe's health; acknowledging, in high terms, her goodness in sendinghim to see her, before she set out upon her little journey. 

He gave her a letter from that young lady, which she put into her bosom, saying, she would read it by-and-by. 

He was visibly shocked to see how ill she looked. 

You look at me with concern, Mr. Hickman, said she--O Sir! times arestrangely altered with me since I saw you last at my dear Miss Howe's!--What a cheerful creature was I then!--my heart at rest! my prospectscharming! and beloved by every body!--but I will not pain you!

Indeed, Madam, said he, I am grieved for you at my soul. 

He turned away his face, with visible grief in it. 

Her own eyes glistened: but she turned to each of us, presenting one tothe other--him to me, as a gentleman truly deserving to be called so--meto him, as your friend, indeed, [how was I at that instant ashamed ofmyself!] but, nevertheless, as a man of humanity; detesting my friend'sbaseness; and desirous of doing her all manner of good offices. 

Mr. Hickman received my civilities with a coldness, which, however, wasrather to be expected on your account, than that it deserved exception onmine. And the lady invited us both to breakfast with her in the morning;he being obliged to return the next day. 

I left them together, and called upon Mr. Dorrell, my attorney, toconsult him upon poor Belton's affairs; and then went home, and wrotethus far, preparative to what may occur in my breakfasting-visit in themorning. 

LETTER XLVIII

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. THURSDAY, JULY 27. 

I went this morning, according to the lady's invitation, to breakfast, and found Mr. Hickman with her. 

A good deal of heaviness and concern hung upon his countenance: but hereceived me with more respect than he did yesterday; which, I presume, was owing to the lady's favourable character of me. 

He spoke very little; for I suppose they had all their talk outyesterday, and before I came this morning. 

By the hints that dropped, I perceived that Miss Howe's letter gave anaccount of your interview with her at Col. Ambrose's--of your professionsto Miss Howe; and Miss Howe's opinion, that marrying you was the only waynow left to repair her wrongs. 

Mr. Hickman, as I also gathered, had pressed her, in Miss Howe's name, tolet her, on her return from the Isle of Wight, find her at a neighbouringfarm-house, where neat apartments would be made ready to receive her. She asked how long it would be before they returned? And he told her, itwas proposed to be no more than a fortnight out and in. Upon which shesaid, she should then perhaps have time to consider of that kindproposal. 

He had tendered her money from Miss Howe; but could not induce her totake any. No wonder I was refused! she only said, that, if she hadoccasion, she would be obliged to nobody but Miss Howe. 

Mr. Goddard, her apothecary, came in before breakfast was over. At herdesire he sat down with us. Mr. Hickman asked him, if he could give himany consolation in relation to Miss Harlowe's recovery, to carry down toa friend who loved her as she loved her own life?

The lady, said he, will do very well, if she will resolve upon itherself. Indeed you will, Madam. The doctor is entirely of thisopinion; and has ordered nothing for you but weak jellies and innocentcordials, lest you should starve yourself. And let me tell you, Madam, that so much watching, so little nourishment, and so much grief, as youseem to indulge, is enough to impair the most vigorous health, and towear out the strongest constitution. 

What, Sir, said she, can I do? I have no appetite. Nothing you callnourishing will stay on my stomach. I do what I can: and have such kinddirectors in Dr. H. And you, that I should be inexcusable if I did not. 

I'll give you a regimen, Madam, replied he; which, I am sure, the doctorwill approve of, and will make physic unnecessary in your case. And thatis, 'go to rest at ten at night. Rise not till seven in the morning. Let your breakfast be watergruel, or milk-pottage, or weak broths: yourdinner any thing you like, so you will but eat: a dish of tea, with milk, in the afternoon; and sago for your supper: and, my life for your's, thisdiet, and a month's country air, will set you up. '

We were much pleased with the worthy gentleman's disinterested regimen:and she said, referring to her nurse, (who vouched for her, ) Pray, Mr. Hickman, let Miss Howe know the good hands I am in: and as to the kindcharge of the gentleman, assure her, that all I promised to her, in thelongest of my two last letters, on the subject of my health, I do andwill, to the utmost of my power, observe. I have engaged, Sir, (to Mr. Goddard, ) I have engaged, Sir, (to me, ) to Miss Howe, to avoid all wilfulneglects. It would be an unpardonable fault, and very ill become thecharacter I would be glad to deserve, or the temper of mind I wish myfriends hereafter to think me mistress of, if I did not. 

Mr. Hickman and I went afterwards to a neighbouring coffee-house; and hegave me some account of your behaviour at the ball on Monday night, andof your treatment of him in the conference he had with you before that;which he represented in a more favourable light than you had doneyourself: and yet he gave his sentiments of you with great freedom, butwith the politeness of a gentleman. 

He told me how very determined the lady was against marrying you; thatshe had, early this morning, set herself to write a letter to Miss Howe, in answer to one he brought her, which he was to call for at twelve, itbeing almost finished before he saw her at breakfast; and that at threehe proposed to set out on his return. 

He told me that Miss Howe, and her mother, and himself, were to begintheir little journey for the Isle of Wight on Monday next: but that hemust make the most favourable representation of Miss Harlowe's badhealth, or they should have a very uneasy absence. He expressed thepleasure he had in finding the lady in such good hands. He proposed tocall on Dr. H. To take his opinion whether it were likely she wouldrecover; and hoped he should find it favourable. 

As he was resolved to make the best of the matter, and as the lady hadrefused to accept of the money offered by Mr. Hickman, I said nothing ofher parting with her clothes. I thought it would serve no other end tomention it, but to shock Miss Howe: for it has such a sound with it, thata woman of her rank and fortune should be so reduced, that I cannotmyself think of it with patience; nor know I but one man in the world whocan. 

This gentleman is a little finical and formal. Modest or diffident menwear not soon off those little precisenesses, which the confident, ifever they had them, presently get above; because they are too confidentto doubt any thing. But I think Mr. Hickman is an agreeable, sensibleman, and not at all deserving of the treatment or the character you givehim. 

But you are really a strange mortal: because you have advantages in yourperson, in your air, and intellect, above all the men I know, and a facethat would deceive the devil, you can't think any man else tolerable. 

It is upon this modest principle that thou deridest some of us, who, nothaving thy confidence in their outside appearance, seek to hide theirdefects by the tailor's and peruke-maker's assistance; (mistakenlyenough, if it be really done so absurdly as to expose them more;) andsayest, that we do but hang out a sign, in our dress, of what we have inthe shop of our minds. This, no doubt, thou thinkest, is smartlyobserved: but pr'ythee, Lovelace, let me tell thee, if thou canst, whatsort of a sign must thou hang out, wert thou obliged to give us a clearidea by it of the furniture of thy mind?

Mr. Hickman tells me, he should have been happy with Miss Howe some weeksago, (for all the settlements have been some time engrossed;) but thatshe will not marry, she declares, while her dear friend is so unhappy. 

This is truly a charming instance of the force of female friendship;which you and I, and our brother rakes, have constantly ridiculed as achimerical thing in women of equal age, and perfections. 

But really, Lovelace, I see more and more that there are not in theworld, with our conceited pride, narrower-souled wretches than we rakesand libertines are. And I'll tell thee how it comes about. 

Our early love of roguery makes us generally run away from instruction;and so we become mere smatterers in the sciences we are put to learn;and, because we will know no more, think there is no more to be known. 

With an infinite deal of vanity, un-reined imaginations, and no judgmentsat all, we next commence half-wits, and then think we have the wholefield of knowledge in possession, and despise every one who takes morepains, and is more serious, than ourselves, as phlegmatic, stupidfellows, who have no taste for the most poignant pleasures of life. 

This makes us insufferable to men of modesty and merit, and obliges us toherd with those of our own cast; and by this means we have noopportunities of seeing or conversing with any body who could or wouldshow us what we are; and so we conclude that we are the cleverest fellowsin the world, and the only men of spirit in it; and looking down withsupercilious eyes on all who gave not themselves the liberties we take, imagine the world made for us, and for us only. 

Thus, as to useful knowledge, while others go to the bottom, we only skimthe surface; are despised by people of solid sense, of true honour, andsuperior talents; and shutting our eyes, move round and round, like somany blind mill-horses, in one narrow circle, while we imagine we haveall the world to range in. 

***

I threw myself in Mr. Hickman's way, on his return from the lady. 

He was excessively moved at taking leave of her; being afraid, as he saidto me, (though he would not tell her so, ) that he should never see heragain. She charged him to represent every thing to Miss Howe in the mostfavourable light that the truth would bear. 

He told me of a tender passage at parting; which was, that having salutedher at her closet-door, he could not help once more taking the sameliberty, in a more fervent manner, at the stairs-head, whither sheaccompanied him; and this in the thought, that it was the last time heshould ever have that honour; and offering to apologize for his freedom(for he had pressed her to his heart with a vehemence, that he couldneither account for or resist)--'Excuse you, Mr. Hickman! that I will:you are my brother and my friend: and to show you that the good man, whois to be happy with my beloved Miss Howe, is very dear to me, you shallcarry to her this token of my love, ' [offering her sweet face to hissalute, and pressing his hand between her's:] 'and perhaps her love of mewill make it more agreeable to her, than her punctilio would otherwiseallow it to be: and tell her, said she, dropping on one knee, withclasped hands, and uplifted eyes, that in this posture you see me, in thelast moment of our parting, begging a blessing upon you both, and thatyou may be the delight and comfort of each other, for many, very manyhappy years!'

Tears, said he, fell from my eyes: I even sobbed with mingled joy andsorrow; and she retreating as soon as I raised her, I went down stairshighly dissatisfied with myself for going; yet unable to stay; my eyesfixed the contrary way to my feet, as long as I could behold the skirtsof her raiment. 

I went to the back-shop, continued the worthy man, and recommended theangelic lady to the best care of Mrs. Smith; and, when I was in thestreet, cast my eye up at her window: there, for the last time, I doubt, said he, that I shall ever behold her, I saw her; and she waved hercharming hand to me, and with such a look of smiling goodness, andmingled concern, as I cannot describe. 

Pr'ythee tell me, thou vile Lovelace, if thou hast not a notion, evenfrom these jejune descriptions of mine, that there must be a more exaltedpleasure in intellectual friendship, than ever thou couldst taste in thegross fumes of sensuality? And whether it may not be possible for thee, in time, to give that preference to the infinitely preferable, which Ihope, now, that I shall always give?

I will leave thee to make the most of this reflection, from

Thy true friend, J. BELFORD. 

LETTER XLIX

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWETHURSDAY, JULY 25. *

* Text error: should be Tuesday. 

Your two affecting letters were brought to me (as I had directed anyletter from you should be) to the Colonel's, about an hour before webroke up. I could not forbear dipping into them there; and sheddingmore tears over them than I will tell you of; although I dried my eyesas well as I could, that the company I was obliged to return to, and mymother, should see as little of my concern as possible. 

I am yet (and was then still more) excessively fluttered. The occasionI will communicate to you by-and-by: for nothing but the flutters givenby the stroke of death could divert my first attention from the sad andsolemn contents of your last favour. These therefore I must begin with. 

How can I bear the thoughts of losing so dear a friend! I will not somuch as suppose it. Indeed I cannot! such a mind as your's was notvested in humanity to be snatched away from us so soon. There must stillbe a great deal for you to do for the good of all who have the happinessto know you. 

You enumerate in your letter of Thursday last, * the particulars in whichyour situation is already mended: let me see by effects that you are inearnest in that enumeration; and that you really have the courage toresolve to get above the sense of injuries you could not avoid; and thenwill I trust to Providence and my humble prayers for your perfectrecovery: and glad at my heart shall I be, on my return from the littleisland, to find you well enough to be near us according to the proposalMr. Hickman has to make to you. 

* See Vol. VII. Letter XXV. 

You chide me in your's of Sunday on the freedom I take with yourfriends. *

* Ibid. Letter XLII. 

I may be warm. I know I am--too warm. Yet warmth in friendship, surely, cannot be a crime; especially when our friend has great merit, laboursunder oppression, and is struggling with undeserved calamity. 

I have no opinion of coolness in friendship, be it dignified ordistinguished by the name of prudence, or what it will. 

You may excuse your relations. It was ever your way to do so. But, mydear, other people must be allowed to judge as they please. I am nottheir daughter, nor the sister of your brother and sister--I thankHeaven, I am not. 

But if you are displeased with me for the freedoms I took so long ago asyou mention, I am afraid, if you knew what passed upon an application Imade to your sister very lately, (in hopes to procure you the absolutionyour heart is so much set upon, ) that you would be still more concerned. But they have been even with me--but I must not tell you all. I hope, however, that these unforgivers [my mother is among them] were alwaysgood, dutiful, passive children to their parents. 

Once more forgive me. I owned I was too warm. But I have no example tothe contrary but from you: and the treatment you meet with is very littleencouragement to me to endeavour to imitate you in your dutiful meekness. 

You leave it to me to give a negative to the hopes of the noble family, whose only disgrace is, that so very vile a man is so nearly related tothem. But yet--alas! my dear, I am so fearful of consequences, soselfishly fearful, if this negative must be given--I don't know what Ishould say--but give me leave to suspend, however, this negative till Ihear from you again. 

This earnest courtship of you into their splendid family is so veryhonourable to you--they so justly admire you--you must have had such anoble triumph over the base man--he is so much in earnest--the worldknows so much of the unhappy affair--you may do still so much good--yourwill is so inviolate--your relations are so implacable--think, my dear, and re-think. 

And let me leave you to do so, while I give you the occasion of theflutter I mentioned at the beginning of this letter; in the conclusionof which you will find the obligation I have consented to lay myselfunder, to refer this important point once more to your discussion, beforeI give, in your name, the negative that cannot, when given, be withhonour to yourself repented of or recalled. 

Know, then, my dear, that I accompanied my mother to Colonel Ambrose's onthe occasion I mentioned to you in my former. Many ladies and gentlemenwere there whom you know; particularly Miss Kitty D'Oily, Miss Lloyd, Miss Biddy D'Ollyffe, Miss Biddulph, and their respective admirers, withthe Colonel's two nieces; fine women both; besides many whom you knownot; for they were strangers to me but by name. A splendid company, andall pleased with one another, till Colonel Ambrose introduced one, who, the moment he was brought into the great hall, set the whole assemblyinto a kind of agitation. 

It was your villain. 

I thought I should have sunk as soon as I set my eyes upon him. Mymother was also affected; and, coming to me, Nancy, whispered she, canyou bear the sight of that wretch without too much emotion?--If not, withdraw into the next apartment. 

I could not remove. Every body's eyes were glanced from him to me. Isat down and fanned myself, and was forced to order a glass of water. Oh! that I had the eye the basilisk is reported to have, thought I, andthat his life were within the power of it!--directly would I kill him. 

He entered with an air so hateful to me, but so agreeable to every othereye, that I could have looked him dead for that too. 

After the general salutations he singled out Mr. Hickman, and told him hehad recollected some parts of his behaviour to him, when he saw him last, which had made him think himself under obligation to his patience andpoliteness. 

And so, indeed, he was. 

Miss D'Oily, upon his complimenting her, among a knot of ladies, askedhim, in their hearing, how Miss Clarissa Harlowe did?

He heard, he said, you were not so well as he wished you to be, and asyou deserved to be. 

O Mr. Lovelace, said she, what have you to answer for on that younglady's account, if all be true that I have heard. 

I have a great deal to answer for, said the unblushing villain: but thatdear lady has so many excellencies, and so much delicacy, that littlesins are great ones in her eye. 

Little sins! replied Miss D'Oily: Mr. Lovelace's character is so wellknown, that nobody believes he can commit little sins. 

You are very good to me, Miss D'Oily. 

Indeed I am not. 

Then I am the only person to whom you are not very good: and so I am theless obliged to you. 

He turned, with an unconcerned air, to Miss Playford, and made her somegenteel compliments. I believe you know her not. She visits his cousinsMontague. Indeed he had something in his specious manner to say to everybody: and this too soon quieted the disgust each person had at hisentrance. 

I still kept my seat, and he either saw me not, or would not yet see me;and addressing himself to my mother, taking her unwilling hand, with anair of high assurance, I am glad to see you here, Madam, I hope Miss Howeis well. I have reason to complain greatly of her: but hope to owe toher the highest obligation that can be laid on man. 

My daughter, Sir, is accustomed to be too warm and too zealous in herfriendships for either my tranquility or her own. 

There had indeed been some late occasion given for mutual displeasurebetween my mother and me: but I think she might have spared this to him;though nobody heard it, I believe, but the person to whom it was spoken, and the lady who told it me; for my mother spoke it low. 

We are not wholly, Madam, to live for ourselves, said the vile hypocrite:it is not every one who had a soul capable of friendship: and what aheart must that be, which can be insensible to the interests of asuffering friend?

This sentiment from Mr. Lovelace's mouth! said my mother--forgive me, Sir; but you can have no end, surely, in endeavouring to make me think aswell of you as some innocent creatures have thought of you to their cost. 

She would have flung from him. But, detaining her hand--Less severe, dear Madam, said he, be less severe in this place, I beseech you. Youwill allow, that a very faulty person may see his errors; and when hedoes, and owns them, and repents, should he not be treated mercifully?

Your air, Sir, seems not to be that of a penitent. But the place may asproperly excuse this subject, as what you call my severity. 

But, dearest Madam, permit me to say, that I hope for your interest withyour charming daughter (was his syncophant word) to have it put in mypower to convince all the world that there never was a truer penitent. And why, why this anger, dear Madam, (for she struggled to get her handout of his, ) these violent airs--so maidenly! [impudent fellow!]--May Inot ask, if Miss Howe be here?

She would not have been here, replied my mother, had she known whom shehad been to see. 

And is she here, then?--Thank Heaven!--he disengaged her hand, and steptforward into company. 

Dear Miss Lloyd, said he, with an air, (taking her hand as he quitted mymother's, ) tell me, tell me, is Miss Arabella Harlowe here? Or will shebe here? I was informed she would--and this, and the opportunity ofpaying my compliments to your friend Miss Howe, were great inducementswith me to attend the Colonel. 

Superlative assurance! was it not, my dear?

Miss Arabella Harlowe, excuse me, Sir, said Miss Lloyd, would be verylittle inclined to meet you here, or any where else. 

Perhaps so, my dear Miss Lloyd: but, perhaps, for that very reason, I ammore desirous to see her. 

Miss Harlowe, Sir, and Miss Biddulph, with a threatening air, will hardlybe here without her brother. I imagine, if one comes, both will come. 

Heaven grant they both may! said the wretch. Nothing, Miss Biddulph, shall begin from me to disturb this assembly, I assure you, if they do. One calm half-hour's conversation with that brother and sister, would bea most fortunate opportunity to me, in presence of the Colonel and hislady, or whom else they should choose. 

Then, turning round, as if desirous to find out the one or the other, he'spied me, and with a very low bow, approached me. 

I was all in a flutter, you may suppose. He would have taken my hand. Irefused it, all glowing with indignation: every body's eyes upon us. 

I went down from him to the other end of the room, and sat down, as Ithought, out of his hated sight; but presently I heard his odious voice, whispering, behind my chair, (he leaning upon the back of it, withimpudent unconcern, ) Charming Miss Howe! looking over my shoulder: onerequest--[I started up from my seat; but could hardly stand neither, forvery indignation]--O this sweet, but becoming disdain! whispered on theinsufferable creature--I am sorry to give you all this emotion: buteither here, or at your own house, let me entreat from you one quarter ofan hour's audience. --I beseech you, Madam, but one quarter of an hour, inany of the adjoining apartments. 

Not for a kingdom, fluttering my fan. I knew not what I did. --But Icould have killed him. 

We are so much observed--else on my knees, my dear Miss Howe, would I begyour interest with your charming friend. 

She'll have nothing to say to you. 

(I had not then your letters, my dear. )

Killing words!--But indeed I have deserved them, and a dagger in my heartbesides. I am so conscious of my demerits, that I have no hope, but inyour interposition--could I owe that favour to Miss Howe's mediationwhich I cannot hope for on any other account--

My mediation, vilest of men!--My mediation!--I abhor you!--From my soul, I abhor you, vilest of men!--Three or four times I repeated these words, stammering too. --I was excessively fluttered. 

You can tell me nothing, Madam, so bad as I will call myself. I havebeen, indeed, the vilest of men; but now I am not so. Permit me--everybody's eyes are upon us!--but one moment's audience--to exchange but tenwords with you, dearest Miss Howe--in whose presence you please--for yourdear friend's sake--but ten words with you in the next apartment. 

It is an insult upon me to presume that I would exchange with you, if Icould help it!--Out of my way! Out of my sight--fellow!

And away I would have flung: but he took my hand. I was excessivelydisordered--every body's eyes more and more intent upon us. 

Mr. Hickman, whom my mother had drawn on one side, to enjoin him apatience, which perhaps needed not to have been enforced, came up justthen, with my mother who had him by his leading-strings--by his sleeveI should say. 

Mr. Hickman, said the bold wretch, be my advocate but for ten words inthe next apartment with Miss Howe, in your presence; and in your's, Madam, to my mother. 

Hear, Nancy, what he has to say to you. To get rid of him, hear his tenwords. 

Excuse me, Madam! his very breath--Unhand me, Sir!

He sighed and looked--O how the practised villain sighed and looked! Hethen let go my hand, with such a reverence in his manner, as broughtblame upon me from some, that I would not hear him. --And this incensed methe more. O my dear, this man is a devil! This man is indeed a devil!--So much patience when he pleases! So much gentleness!--Yet so resolute, so persisting, so audacious!

I was going out of the assembly in great disorder. He was at the door assoon as I. 

How kind this is, said the wretch; and, ready to follow me, opened thedoor for me. 

I turned back upon this: and, not knowing what I did, snapped my fan justin his face, as he turned short upon me; and the powder flew from hishair. 

Every body seemed as much pleased as I was vexed. 

He turned to Mr. Hickman, nettled at the powder flying, and at the smilesof the company upon him; Mr. Hickman, you will be one of the happiest menin the world, because you are a good man, and will do nothing to provokethis passionate lady; and because she has too much good sense to beprovoked without reason: but else the Lord have mercy upon you!

This man, this Mr. Hickman, my dear, is too meek for a man. Indeed heis. --But my patient mother twits me, that her passionate daughter oughtto like him the better for that. But meek men abroad are not always meekat home. I have observed that in more instances than one: and if theywere, I should not, I verily think, like them the better for being so. 

He then turned to my mother, resolved to be even with her too: Where, good Madam, could Miss Howe get all this spirit?

The company around smiled; for I need not tell you that my mother's highspiritedness is pretty well known; and she, sadly vexed, said, Sir, youtreat me, as you do the rest of the world--but--

I beg pardon, Madam, interrupted he: I might have spared my question--andinstantly (I retiring to the other end of the hall) he turned to MissPlayford; What would I give, Madam, to hear you sing that song youobliged us with at Lord M. 's!

He then, as if nothing had happened, fell into a conversation with herand Miss D'Ollyffe, upon music; and whisperingly sung to Miss Playford;holding her two hands, with such airs of genteel unconcern, that it vexedme not a little to look round, and see how pleased half the giddy foolsof our sex were with him, notwithstanding his notorious wicked character. To this it is that such vile fellows owe much of their vileness: whereas, if they found themselves shunned, and despised, and treated as beasts ofprey, as they are, they would run to their caverns; there howl bythemselves; and none but such as sad accident, or unpitiable presumption, threw in their way, would suffer by them. 

He afterwards talked very seriously, at times, to Mr. Hickman: at times, I say; for it was with such breaks and starts of gaiety, turning to thislady, and to that, and then to Mr. Hickman again, resuming a serious ora gay air at pleasure, that he took every body's eye, the women'sespecially; who were full of their whispering admirations of him, qualified with if's and but's, and what pity's, and such sort of stuff, that showed in their very dispraises too much liking. 

Well may our sex be the sport and ridicule of such libertines!Unthinking eye-governed creatures!--Would not a little reflection teachus, that a man of merit must be a man of modesty, because a diffidentone? and that such a wretch as this must have taken his degrees inwickedness, and gone through a course of vileness, before he could arriveat this impenetrable effrontery? an effrontery which can produce onlyfrom the light opinion he has of us, and the high one of himself. 

But our sex are generally modest and bashful themselves, and are too aptto consider that which in the main is their principal grace, as a defect:and finely do they judge, when they think of supplying that defect bychoosing a man that cannot be ashamed. 

His discourse to Mr. Hickman turned upon you, and his acknowledgedinjuries of you: though he could so lightly start from the subject, andreturn to it. 

I have no patience with such a devil--man he cannot be called. To besure he would behave in the same manner any where, or in any presence, even at the altar itself, if a woman were with him there. 

It shall ever be a rule with me, that he who does not regard a woman withsome degree of reverence, will look upon her and occasionally treat herwith contempt. 

He had the confidence to offer to take me out; but I absolutely refusedhim, and shunned him all I could, putting on the most contemptuous airs;but nothing could mortify him. 

I wished twenty times I had not been there. 

The gentlemen were as ready as I to wish he had broken his neck, ratherthan been present, I believe: for nobody was regarded but he. So littleof the fop; yet so elegant and rich in his dress: his person so specious:his air so intrepid: so much meaning and penetration in his face: so muchgaiety, yet so little affectation; no mere toupet-man; but all manly; andhis courage and wit, the one so known, the other so dreaded, you mustthink the petits-maītres (of which there were four or five present) weremost deplorably off in his company; and one grave gentleman observed tome, (pleased to see me shun him as I did, ) that the poet's observationwas too true, that the generality of ladies were rakes in their hearts, or they could not be so much taken with a man who had so notorious acharacter. 

I told him the reflection both of the poet and applier was much toogeneral, and made with more ill-nature than good manners. 

When the wretch saw how industriously I avoided him, (shifting from onepart of the hall to another, ) he at last boldly stept up to me, as mymother and Mr. Hickman were talking to me; and thus before them accostedme:

I beg your pardon, Madam; but by your mother's leave, I must have a fewmoments' conversation with you, either here, or at your own house; and Ibeg you will give me the opportunity. 

Nancy, said my mother, hear what he has to say to you. In my presenceyou may: and better in the adjoining apartment, if it must be, than tocome to you at our own house. 

I retired to one corner of the hall, my mother following me, and he, taking Mr. Hickman under his arm, following her--Well, Sir, said I, whathave you to say?--Tell me here. 

I have been telling Mr. Hickman, said he, how much I am concerned for theinjuries I have done to the most excellent woman in the world: and yet, that she obtained such a glorious triumph over me the last time I had thehonour to see her, as, with my penitence, ought to have abated her formerresentments: but that I will, with all my soul, enter into any measuresto obtain her forgiveness of me. My cousins Montague have told you this. Lady Betty and Lady Sarah and my Lord M. Are engaged for my honour. Iknow your power with the dear creature. My cousins told me you gave themhopes you would use it in my behalf. My Lord M. And his two sisters areimpatiently expecting the fruits of it. You must have heard from herbefore now: I hope you have. And will you be so good as to tell me, if Imay have any hopes?

If I must speak on this subject, let me tell you that you have broken herheart. You know not the value of the lady you have injured. You deserveher not. And she despises you, as she ought. 

Dear Miss Howe, mingle not passion with denunciations so severe. I mustknow my fate. I will go abroad once more, if I find her absolutelyirreconcileable. But I hope she will give me leave to attend upon her, to know my doom from her own mouth. 

It would be death immediate for her to see you. And what must you be, tobe able to look her in the face?

I then reproached him (with vehemence enough you may believe) on hisbaseness, and the evils he had made you suffer: the distress he hadreduced you to; all your friends made your enemies: the vile house he hadcarried you to; hinted at his villanous arts; the dreadful arrest: andtold him of your present deplorable illness, and resolution to die ratherthan to have him. 

He vindicated not any part of his conduct, but that of the arrest; and sosolemnly protested his sorrow for his usage of you, accusing himself inthe freest manner, and by deserved appellations, that I promised to laybefore you this part of our conversation. And now you have it. 

My mother, as well as Mr. Hickman, believes, from what passed on thisoccasion, that he is touched in conscience for the wrongs he has doneyou: but, by his whole behaviour, I must own, it seems to me that nothingcan touch him for half an hour together. Yet I have no doubt that hewould willingly marry you; and it piques his pride, I could see, that heshould be denied; as it did mine, that such a wretch had dared to thinkit in his power to have such a woman whenever he pleased; and that itmust be accounted a condescension, and matter of obligation (by all hisown family at least) that he would vouchsafe to think of marriage. 

Now, my dear, you have before you the reason why I suspend the decisivenegative to the ladies of his family. My mother, Miss Lloyd, and MissBiddulph, who were inquisitive after the subject of our retiredconversation, and whose curiosity I thought it was right, in some degree, to gratify, (especially as these young ladies are of our selectacquaintance, ) are all of opinion that you should be his. 

You will let Mr. Hickman know your whole mind; and when he acquaint mewith it, I will tell you all my own. 

Mean time, may the news he will bring me of the state of your health befavourable! prays, with the utmost fervency, Your ever faithful and affectionateANNA HOWE. 

LETTER L

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWETHURSDAY, JULY 27. 

MY DEAREST MISS HOWE, After I have thankfully acknowledged your favour in sending Mr. Hickmanto visit me before you set out upon your intended journey, I must chideyou (in the sincerity of that faithful love, which could not be the loveit is if it would not admit of that cementing freedom) for suspending thedecisive negative, which, upon such full deliberation, I had entreatedyou to give to Mr. Lovelace's relations. 

I am sorry that I am obliged to repeat to you, my dear, who know me sowell, that, were I sure I should live many years, I would not have Mr. Lovelace; much less can I think of him, as it is probable I may not liveone. 

As to the world and its censures, you know, my dear, that, howeverdesirous I always was of a fair fame, yet I never thought it right togive more than a second place to the world's opinion. The challengesmade to Mr. Lovelace, by Miss D'Oily, in public company, are a freshproof that I have lost my reputation: and what advantage would it be tome, were it retrievable, and were I to live long, if I could not acquitmyself to myself?

Having in my former said so much on the freedoms you have taken with myfriends, I shall say the less now; but your hint, that something else hasnewly passed between some of them and you, gives me great concern, andthat as well for my own sake as for theirs, since it must necessarilyincense them against me. I wise, my dear, that I had been left to my owncourse on an occasion so very interesting to myself. But, since what isdone cannot be helped, I must abide the consequences: yet I dread morethan before, what may be my sister's answer, if an answer will be at allvouchsafed. 

Will you give me leave, my dear, to close this subject with one remark?--It is this: that my beloved friend, in points where her own laudablezeal is concerned, has ever seemed more ready to fly from the rebuke, than from the fault. If you will excuse this freedom, I will acknowledgethus far in favour of your way of thinking, as to the conduct of someparents in these nice cases, that indiscreet opposition does frequentlyas much mischief as giddy love. 

As to the invitation you are so kind as to give me, to remove privatelyinto your neighbourhood, I have told Mr. Hickman that I will consider ofit; but believe, if you will be so good as to excuse me, that I shall notaccept of it, even should I be able to remove. I will give you myreasons for declining it; and so I ought, when both my love and mygratitude would make a visit now-and-then from my dear Miss Howe the mostconsolate thing in the world to me. 

You must know then, that this great town, wicked as it is, wants notopportunities of being better; having daily prayers at several churchesin it; and I am desirous, as my strength will permit, to embrace thoseopportunities. The method I have proposed to myself (and was beginningto practise when that cruel arrest deprived me of both freedom andstrength) is this: when I was disposed to gentle exercise, I took a chairto St. Dunstan's church in Fleet-street, where are prayers at seven inthe morning; I proposed if the weather favoured, to walk (if not, to takechair) to Lincoln's-inn chapel, where, at eleven in the morning, and atfive in the afternoon, are the same desirable opportunities; and at othertimes to go no farther than Covent-garden church, where are early morningprayers likewise. 

This method pursued, I doubt not, will greatly help, as it has alreadydone, to calm my disturbed thoughts, and to bring me to that perfectresignation after which I aspire: for I must own, my dear, that sometimesstill my griefs and my reflections are too heavy for me; and all the aidI can draw from religious duties is hardly sufficient to support mystaggering reason. I am a very young creature you know, my dear, to beleft to my own conduct in such circumstances as I am in. 

Another reason why I choose not to go down into your neighbourhood, isthe displeasure that might arise, on my account, between your mother andyou. 

If indeed you were actually married, and the worthy man (who would thenhave a title to all your regard) were earnestly desirous of nearneighbourhood, I know not what I might do: for although I might notperhaps intend to give up my other important reasons at the time I shouldmake you a congratulatory visit, yet I might not know how to deny myselfthe pleasure of continuing near you when there. 

I send you enclosed the copy of my letter to my sister. I hope it willbe thought to be written with a true penitent spirit; for indeed it is. I desire that you will not think I stoop too low in it; since there canbe no such thing as that in a child to parents whom she has unhappilyoffended. 

But if still (perhaps more disgusted than before at your freedom withthem) they should pass it by with the contempt of silence, (for I havenot yet been favoured with an answer, ) I must learn to think it right inthem to do so; especially as it is my first direct application: for Ihave often censured the boldness of those, who, applying for a favour, which it is in a person's option to grant or refuse, take the liberty ofbeing offended, if they are not gratified; as if the petitioned had notas good a right to reject, as the petitioner to ask. 

But if my letter should be answered, and that in such terms as will makeme loth to communicate it to so warm a friend--you must not, my dear, take it upon yourself to censure my relations; but allow for them as theyknow not what I have suffered; as being filled with just resentmentsagainst me, (just to them if they think them just;) and as not being ableto judge of the reality of my penitence. 

And after all, what can they do for me?--They can only pity me: and whatwill that but augment their own grief; to which at present theirresentment is an alleviation? for can they by their pity restore to me mylost reputation? Can they by it purchase a sponge that will wipe outfrom the year the past fatal four months of my life?*

* She takes in the time that she appointed to meet Mr. Lovelace. 

Your account of the gay, unconcerned behaviour of Mr. Lovelace, at theColonel's, does not surprise me at all, after I am told that he had theintrepidity to go there, knowing who were invited and expected. --Onlythis, my dear, I really wonder at, that Miss Howe could imagine that Icould have a thought of such a man for a husband. 

Poor wretch! I pity him, to see him fluttering about; abusing talentsthat were given him for excellent purposes; taking in consideration forcourage; and dancing, fearless of danger, on the edge of a precipice!

But indeed his threatening to see me most sensibly alarms and shocks me. I cannot but hope that I never, never more shall see him in this world. 

Since you are so loth, my dear, to send the desired negative to theladies of his family, I will only trouble you to transmit the letter Ishall enclose for that purpose; directed indeed to yourself, because itwas to you that those ladies applied themselves on this occasion; but tobe sent by you to any one of the ladies, at your own choice. 

I commend myself, my dearest Miss Howe, to your prayers; and concludewith repeated thanks for sending Mr. Hickman to me; and with wishes foryour health and happiness, and for the speedy celebration of yournuptials;

Your ever affectionate and obliged, CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER LI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE[ENCLOSED IN THE PRECEDING. ]THURSDAY, JULY 27. 

MY DEAREST MISS HOWE, Since you seem loth to acquiesce in my determined resolution, signifiedto you as soon as I was able to hold a pen, I beg the favour of you, bythis, or by any other way you think most proper, to acquaint the worthyladies, who have applied to you in behalf of their relation, thatalthough I am infinitely obliged to their generous opinion of me, yet Icannot consent to sanctify, as I may say, Mr. Lovelace's repeatedbreaches of all moral sanctions, and hazard my future happiness by aunion with a man, through whose premeditated injuries, in a long train ofthe basest contrivances, I have forfeited my temporal hopes. 

He himself, when he reflects upon his own actions, must surely beartestimony to the justice as well as fitness of my determination. Theladies, I dare say, would, were they to know the whole of my unhappystory. 

Be pleased to acquaint them that I deceive myself, if my resolution onthis head (however ungratefully and even inhumanely he has treated me) benot owing more to principle than passion. Nor can I give a strongerproof of the truth of this assurance, on this one easy condition, that hewill never molest me more. 

In whatever way you choose to make this declaration, be pleased to let mymost respectful compliments to the ladies of that noble family, and to myLord M. , accompany it. And do you, my dear, believe that I shall be, tothe last moment of my life, Your ever obliged and affectionateCLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER LII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. FRIDAY, JULY 28. 

I have three letters of thine to take notice of:* but am divided in mymind, whether to quarrel with thee on thy unmerciful reflections, or tothank thee for thy acceptable particularity and diligence. But severalof my sweet dears have I, indeed, in my time, made to cry and laughbefore the cry could go off the other: Why may I not, therefore, curseand applaud thee in the same moment? So take both in one: and whatfollows, as it shall rise from my pen. 

* Letters XLVI. XLVII. And XLVIII. Of this volume. 

How often have I ingenuously confessed my sins against this excellentcreature?--Yet thou never sparest me, although as bad a man as myself. Since then I get so little by my confessions, I had a good mind to try todefend myself; and that not only from antient and modern story, but fromcommon practice; and yet avoid repeating any thing I have suggestedbefore in my own behalf. 

I am in a humour to play the fool with my pen: briefly then, from antientstory first:--Dost thou not think that I am as much entitled toforgiveness on Miss Harlowe's account, as Virgil's hero was on QueenDido's? For what an ungrateful varlet was that vagabond to thehospitable princess, who had willingly conferred upon him the lastfavour?--Stealing away, (whence, I suppose, the ironical phrase of trustyTrojan to this day, ) like a thief--pretendedly indeed at the command ofthe gods; but could that be, when the errand he went upon was to robother princes, not only of their dominions, but of their lives?--Yet thisfellow is, at every word, the pious Ęneas, with the immortal bard whocelebrates him. 

Should Miss Harlowe even break her heart, (which Heaven forbid!) for theusage she has received, (to say nothing of her disappointed pride, towhich her death would be attributable, more than to reason, ) whatcomparison will her fate hold to Queen Dido's? And have I half theobligation to her, that Ęneas had to the Queen of Carthage? The latterplacing a confidence, the former none, in her man?--Then, whom else haveI robbed? Whom else have I injured? Her brother's worthless life I gavehim, instead of taking any man's; while the Trojan vagabond destroyed histhousands. Why then should it not be the pious Lovelace, as well as thepious Ęneas? For, dost thou think, had a conflagration happened, and hadit been in my power, that I would not have saved my old Anchises, (as hedid his from the Ilion bonfire, ) even at the expense of my Creüsa, had Ia wife of that name?

But for a more modern instance in my favour--Have I used Miss Harlowe, asour famous Maiden Queen, as she was called, used one of her own blood, asister-queen, who threw herself into her protection from herrebel-subjects, and whom she detained prisoner eighteen years, and atlast cut off her head? Yet do not honest protestants pronounce her pioustoo?--And call her particularly their Queen?

As to common practice--Who, let me ask, that has it in his power togratify a predominant passion, be it what it will, denies himself thegratification?--Leaving it to cooler deliberation, (and, if he be a greatman, to his flatterers, ) to find a reason for it afterwards?

Then, as to the worst part of my treatment of this lady, How many men arethere, who, as well as I, have sought, by intoxicating liquors, first toinebriate, then to subdue? What signifies what the potations were, whenthe same end was in view?

Let me tell thee, upon the whole, that neither the Queen of Carthage, northe Queen of Scots, would have thought they had any reason to complain ofcruelty, had they been used no worse than I have used the queen of myheart: And then do I not aspire with my whole soul to repair by marriage?Would the pious Ęneas, thinkest thou, have done such a piece of justiceby Dido, had she lived?

Come, come, Belford, let people run away with notions as they will, I amcomparatively a very innocent man. And if by these, and other likereasonings, I have quieted my own conscience, a great end is answered. What have I to do with the world?

And now I sit me peaceably down to consider thy letters. 

I hope thy pleas in my favour, * when she gave thee, (so generously gavethee, ) for me my letters, were urged with an honest energy. But Isuspect thee much for being too ready to give up thy client. Then thouhast such a misgiving aspect, an aspect rather inviting rejection thancarrying persuasion with it; and art such an hesitating, such a hummingand hawing caitiff; that I shall attribute my failure, if I do fail, rather to the inability and ill looks of my advocate, than to my cause. Again, thou art deprived of the force men of our cast give to arguments;for she won't let thee swear!-Art, moreover, a very heavy, thoughtlessfellow; tolerable only at a second rebound; a horrid dunce at theimpromptu. These, encountering with such a lady, are greatdisadvantages. --And still a greater is thy balancing, (as thou dost atpresent, ) between old rakery and new reformation; since this puts theeinto the same situation with her, as they told me, at Leipsick, MartinLuther was in, at the first public dispute which he held in defence ofhis supposed new doctrines with Eckius. For Martin was then but alinsey-wolsey reformer. He retained some dogmas, which, by naturalconsequence, made others, that he held, untenable. So that Eckius, insome points, had the better of him. But, from that time, he made clearwork, renouncing all that stood in his way: and then his doctrines ranupon all fours. He was never puzzled afterwards; and could boldlydeclare that he would defend them in the face of angels and men; and tohis friends, who would have dissuaded him from venturing to appear beforethe Emperor Charles at Spires, That, were there as many devils at Spires, as tiles upon the houses, he would go. An answer that is admired byevery protestant Saxon to this day. 

* See Letter XLVII. Of this volume. 

Since then thy unhappy awkwardness destroys the force of thy arguments, Ithink thou hadst better (for the present, however) forbear to urge her onthe subject of accepting the reparation I offer; lest the continualteasing of her to forgive me should but strengthen her in her denials offorgiveness; till, for consistency sake, she'll be forced to adhere to aresolution so often avowed--Whereas, if left to herself, a little time, and better health, which will bring on better spirits, will give herquicker resentments; those quicker resentments will lead her intovehemence; that vehemence will subside, and turn into expostulation andparley: my friends will then interpose, and guaranty for me: and all ourtrouble on both sides will be over. --Such is the natural course ofthings. 

I cannot endure thee for thy hopelessness in the lady's recovery;* andthat in contradiction to the doctor and apothecary. 

* See Letter XLVII. Of this volume. 

Time, in the words of Congreve, thou sayest, will give increase to herafflictions. But why so? Knowest thou not that those words (so contraryto common experience) were applied to the case of a person, while passionwas in its full vigour?--At such a time, every one in a heavy griefthinks the same: but as enthusiasts do by Scripture, so dost thou by thepoets thou hast read: any thing that carries the most distant allusionfrom either to the case in hand, is put down by both for gospel, howeverincongruous to the general scope of either, and to that case. So once, in a pulpit, I heard one of the former very vehemently declare himself tobe a dead dog; when every man, woman, and child, were convinced to thecontrary by his howling. 

I can tell thee that, if nothing else will do, I am determined, in spiteof thy buskin-airs, and of thy engagements for me to the contrary, to seeher myself. 

Face to face have I known many a quarrel made up, which distance wouldhave kept alive, and widened. Thou wilt be a madder Jack than he in thetale of a Tub, if thou givest an active opposition to this interview. 

In short, I cannot bear the thought, that a woman whom once I had boundto me in the silken cords of love, should slip through my fingers, and beable, while my heart flames out with a violent passion for her, todespise me, and to set both love and me at defiance. Thou canst notimagine how much I envy thee, and her doctor, and her apothecary, andevery one who I hear are admitted to her presence and conversation; andwish to be the one or the other in turn. 

Wherefore, if nothing else will do, I will see her. I'll tell thee of anadmirable expedient, just come cross me, to save thy promise, and my own. 

Mrs. Lovick, you say, is a good woman: if the lady be worse, you shalladvise her to send for a parson to pray by her: unknown to her, unknownto the lady, unknown to thee, (for so it may pass, ) I will contrive to bethe man, petticoated out, and vested in a gown and cassock. I once, fora certain purpose, did assume the canonicals; and I was thought to make afine sleek appearance; my broad rose-bound beaver became me mightily; andI was much admired upon the whole by all who saw me. 

Methinks it must be charmingly a propos to see me kneeling down by herbed-side, (I am sure I shall pray heartily, ) beginning out of thecommon-prayer book the sick-office for the restoration of the languishinglady, and concluding with an exhortation to charity and forgiveness formyself. 

I will consider of this matter. But, in whatever shape I shall choose toappear, of this thou mayest assure thyself, I will apprize theebeforehand of my visit, that thou mayst contrive to be out of the way, and to know nothing of the matter. This will save thy word; and, as tomine, can she think worse of me than she does at present?

An indispensable of true love and profound respect, in thy wise opinion, *is absurdity or awkwardness. --'Tis surprising that thou shouldst be oneof those partial mortals who take their measures of right and wrong fromwhat they find themselves to be, and cannot help being!--So awkwardnessis a perfection in the awkward!--At this rate, no man ever can be in thewrong. But I insist upon it, that an awkward fellow will do every thingawkwardly: and, if he be like thee, will, when he has done foolishly, rack his unmeaning brain for excuses as awkward as his first fault. Respectful love is an inspirer of actions worthy of itself; and he whocannot show it, where he most means it, manifests that he is an unpoliterough creature, a perfect Belford, and has it not in him. 

* See Letter XLVI. Of this volume. 

But here thou'lt throw out that notable witticism, that my outside is thebest of me, thine the worst of thee; and that, if I set about mending mymind, thou wilt mend thy appearance. 

But, pr'ythee, Jack, don't stay for that; but set about thy amendment indress when thou leavest off thy mourning; for why shouldst thouprepossess in thy disfavour all those who never saw thee before?--It ishard to remove early-taken prejudices, whether of liking or distaste. People will hunt, as I may say, for reasons to confirm first impressions, in compliment to their own sagacity: nor is it every mind that has theingenuousness to confess itself half mistaken, when it finds itself to bewrong. Thou thyself art an adept in the pretended science of readingmen; and, whenever thou art out, wilt study to find some reasons why itwas more probable that thou shouldst have been right; and wilt watchevery motion and action, and every word and sentiment, in the person thouhast once censured, for proofs, in order to help thee to revive andmaintain thy first opinion. And, indeed, as thou seldom errest on thefavourable side, human nature is so vile a thing that thou art likely tobe right five times in six on what thou findest in thine own heart, tohave reason to compliment thyself on thy penetration. 

Here is preachment for thy preachment: and I hope, if thou likest thyown, thou wilt thank me for mine; the rather, as thou mayest be thebetter for it, if thou wilt: since it is calculated for thy own meridian. 

Well, but the lady refers my destiny to the letter she has written, actually written, to Miss Howe; to whom it seems she has given herreasons why she will not have me. I long to know the contents of thisletter: but am in great hopes that she has so expressed her denials, asshall give room to think she only wants to be persuaded to the contrary, in order to reconcile herself to herself. 

I could make some pretty observations upon one or two places of thelady's mediation: but, wicked as I am thought to be, I never was soabandoned as to turn into ridicule, or even to treat with levity, thingssacred. I think it the highest degree of ill manners to jest upon thosesubjects which the world in general look upon with veneration, and calldivine. I would not even treat the mythology of the heathen to aheathen, with the ridicule that perhaps would fairly lie from some of theabsurdities that strike every common observer. Nor, when at Rome, and inother popish countries, did I ever behave indecently at those ceremonieswhich I thought very extraordinary: for I saw some people affected, andseemingly edified, by them; and I contented myself to think, though theywere any good end to the many, there was religion enough in them, orcivil policy at least, to exempt them from the ridicule of even a bad manwho had common sense and good manners. 

For the like reason I have never given noisy or tumultuous instances ofdislike to a new play, if I thought it ever so indifferent: for Iconcluded, first, that every one was entitled to see quietly what he paidfor: and, next, as the theatre (the epitome of the world) consisted ofpit, boxes, and gallery, it was hard, I thought, if there could be such aperformance exhibited as would not please somebody in that mixedmultitude: and, if it did, those somebodies had as much right to enjoytheir own judgments, undisturbedly, as I had to enjoy mine. 

This was my way of showing my disapprobation; I never went again. And asa man is at his option, whether he will go to a play or not, he has notthe same excuse for expressing his dislike clamorously as if he werecompelled to see it. 

I have ever, thou knowest, declared against those shallow libertines, whocould not make out their pretensions to wit, but on two subjects, towhich every man of true wit will scorn to be beholden: PROFANENESS andOBSCENITY, I mean; which must shock the ears of every man or woman ofsense, without answering any end, but of showing a very low and abandonednature. And, till I came acquainted with the brutal Mowbray, [no greatpraise to myself from such a tutor, ] I was far from making so free as Ido now, with oaths and curses; for then I was forced to out-swear himsometimes in order to keep him in his allegiance to me his general: nay, I often check myself to myself, for this empty unprofitable liberty ofspeech; in which we are outdone by the sons of the common-sewer. 

All my vice is women, and the love of plots and intrigues; and I cannotbut wonder how I fell into those shocking freedoms of speech; since, generally speaking, they are far from helping forward my main end: only, now-and-then, indeed, a little novice rises to one's notice, who seems tothink dress, and oaths, and curses, the diagnostics of the rakish spiritshe is inclined to favour: and indeed they are the only qualificationsthat some who are called rakes and pretty fellows have to boast of. Butwhat must the women be, who can be attracted by such empty-souledprofligates!--since wickedness with wit is hardly tolerable; but, withoutit, is equally shocking and contemptible. 

There again is preachment for thy preachment; and thou wilt be apt tothink that I am reforming too: but no such matter. If this were newlight darting in upon me, as thy morality seems to be to thee, somethingof this kind might be apprehended: but this was always my way ofthinking; and I defy thee, or any of thy brethren, to name a time when Ihave either ridiculed religion, or talked obscenely. On the contrary, thou knowest how often I have checked that bear, in love-matters, Mowbray, and the finical Tourville, and thyself too, for what ye havecalled the double-entendre. In love, as in points that required amanly-resentment, it has always been my maxim, to act, rather than totalk; and I do assure thee, as to the first, the women themselves willexcuse the one sooner than the other. 

As to the admiration thou expressest for the books of scripture, thou artcertainly right in it. But 'tis strange to me, that thou wert ignorantof their beauty, and noble simplicity, till now. Their antiquity alwaysmade me reverence them: And how was it possible that thou couldest not, for that reason, if for no other, give them a perusal?

I'll tell thee a short story, which I had from my tutor, admonishing meagainst exposing myself by ignorant wonder, when I should quit college, to go to town, or travel. 

'The first time Dryden's Alexander's Feast fell into his hands, he toldme, he was prodigiously charmed with it: and, having never heard any bodyspeak of it before, thought, as thou dost of the Bible, that he had madea new discovery. 

'He hastened to an appointment which he had with several wits, (for hewas then in town, ) one of whom was a noted critic, who, according to him, had more merit than good fortune; for all the little nibblers in wit, whose writings would not stand the test of criticism, made it, he said, acommon cause to run him down, as men would a mad dog. 

'The young gentleman (for young he then was) set forth magnificently inthe praises of that inimitable performance; and gave himself airs ofsecond-hand merit, for finding out its beauties. 

'The old bard heard him out with a smile, which the collegian took forapprobation, till he spoke; and then it was in these mortifying words:'Sdeath, Sir, where have you lived till now, or with what sort of companyhave you conversed, young as you are, that you have never before heard ofthe finest piece in the English language?'

This story had such an effect upon me, who had ever a proud heart, andwanted to be thought a clever fellow, that, in order to avoid the likedisgrace, I laid down two rules to myself. The first, whenever I wentinto company where there were strangers, to hear every one of them speak, before I gave myself liberty to prate: The other, if I found any of themabove my match, to give up all title to new discoveries, contentingmyself to praise what they praised, as beauties familiar to me, though Ihad never heard of them before. And so, by degrees, I got the reputationof a wit myself: and when I threw off all restraint, and books, andlearned conversation, and fell in with some of our brethren who are nowwandering in Erebus, and with such others as Belton, Mowbray, Tourville, and thyself, I set up on my own stock; and, like what we have been toldof Sir Richard, in his latter days, valued myself on being the emperor ofthe company; for, having fathomed the depth of them all, and afraid of norival but thee, whom also I had got a little under, (by my gaiety andpromptitude at least) I proudly, like Addison's Cato, delighted to givelaws to my little senate. 

Proceed with thee by-and-by. 

LETTER LIII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. 

But now I have cleared myself of any intentional levity on occasion of mybeloved's meditation; which, as you observe, is finely suited to hercase, (that is to say, as she and you have drawn her case;) I cannot helpexpressing my pleasure, that by one or two verses of it, [the arrow, Jack, and what she feared being come upon her!] I am encouraged to hope, what it will be very surprising to me if it do not happen: that is, inplain English, that the dear creature is in the way to be a mamma. 

This cursed arrest, because of the ill effects the terror might have hadupon her, in that hoped-for circumstance, has concerned me more than onany other account. It would be the pride of my life to prove, in thischarming frost-piece, the triumph of Nature over principle, and to have ayoung Lovelace by such an angel: and then, for its sake, I am confidentshe will live, and will legitimate it. And what a meritorious littlecherub would it be, that should lay an obligation upon both parentsbefore it was born, which neither of them would be able to repay!--CouldI be sure it is so, I should be out of all pain for her recovery: pain, Isay; since, were she to die--[die! abominable word! how I hate it!] Iverily think I should be the most miserable man in the world. 

As for the earnestness she expresses for death, she has found the wordsready to her hand in honest Job; else she would not have deliveredherself with such strength and vehemence. 

Her innate piety (as I have more than once observed) will not permit herto shorten her own life, either by violence or neglect. She has a mindtoo noble for that; and would have done it before now, had she designedany such thing: for to do it, like the Roman matron, when the mischief isover, and it can serve no end; and when the man, however a Tarquin, assome may think me in this action, is not a Tarquin in power, so that nonational point can be made of it; is what she has too much good sense tothink of. 

Then, as I observed in a like case, a little while ago, the distress, when this was written, was strong upon her; and she saw no end of it: butall was darkness and apprehension before her. Moreover, has she it notin her power to disappoint, as much as she has been disappointed?Revenge, Jack, has induced many a woman to cherish a life, to which griefand despair would otherwise have put an end. 

And, after all, death is no such eligible thing, as Job in hiscalamities, makes it. And a death desired merely from worldlydisappointments shows not a right mind, let me tell this lady, whatevershe may think of it. * You and I Jack, although not afraid, in the heightof passion or resentment, to rush into those dangers which might befollowed by a sudden and violent death, whenever a point of honour callsupon us, would shudder at his cool and deliberate approach in a lingeringsickness, which had debilitated the spirits. 

* Mr. Lovelace could not know, that the lady was so thoroughly sensibleof the solidity of this doctrine, as she really was: for, in her letterto Mrs. Norton, (Letter XLIV. Of this volume, ) she says, --'Nor let it beimagined, that my present turn of mind proceeds from gloominess ormelancholy: for although it was brought on by disappointment, (the worldshowing me early, even at my first rushing into it, its true and uglyface, ) yet I hope, that it has obtained a better root, and will every daymore and more, by its fruits, demonstrate to me, and to all my friends, that it has. '

So we read of a famous French general [I forget as well the reign of theprince as the name of the man] who, having faced with intrepidity theghastly varlet on an hundred occasions in the field, was the mostdejected of wretches, when, having forfeited his life for treason, he wasled with all the cruel parade of preparation, and surrounding guards, tothe scaffold. 

The poet says well:

 'Tis not the stoic lesson, got by rote, The pomp of words, and pedant dissertation, That can support us in the hour of terror. Books have taught cowards to talk nobly of it: But when the trial comes, they start, and stand aghast. 

Very true: for then it is the old man in the fable, with his bundle ofsticks. 

The lady is well read in Shakspeare, our English pride and glory; andmust sometimes reason with herself in his words, so greatly expressed, that the subject, affecting as it is, cannot produce any thing greater. 

 Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot; This sensible, warm motion to become A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice: To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, Or blown, with restless violence, about The pendant worlds; or to be worse than worst Of those that lawless and uncertain thought Imagines howling: 'tis too horrible! The weariest and most loaded worldly life, That pain, age, penury, and imprisonment, Can lay on nature, is a paradise To what we fear of death. ----

I find, by one of thy three letters, that my beloved had some accountfrom Hickman of my interview with Miss Howe, at Col. Ambrose's. I had avery agreeable time of it there; although severely rallied by several ofthe assembly. It concerns me, however, not a little, to find our affairso generally known among the flippanti of both sexes. It is all her ownfault. There never, surely, was such an odd little soul as this. --Not tokeep her own secret, when the revealing of it could answer no possiblegood end; and when she wants not (one would think) to raise to herselfeither pity or friends, or to me enemies, by the proclamation!--Why, Jack, must not all her own sex laugh in their sleeves at her weakness?what would become of the peace of the world, if all women should take itinto their heads to follow her example? what a fine time of it would theheads of families have? Their wives always filling their ears with theirconfessions; their daughters with theirs: sisters would be every daysetting their brothers about cutting of throats, if the brothers had atheart the honour of their families, as it is called; and the whole worldwould either be a scene of confusion; or cuckoldom as much the fashion asit is in Lithuania. *

* In Lithuania, the women are said to have so allowedly their gallants, called adjutores, that the husbands hardly ever enter upon any part ofpleasure without them. 

I am glad, however, that Miss Howe (as much as she hates me) kept herword with my cousins on their visit to her, and with me at the Colonel's, to endeavour to persuade her friend to make up all matters by matrimony;which, no doubt, is the best, nay, the only method she can take, for herown honour, and that of her family. 

I had once thoughts of revenging myself on that vixen, and, particularly, as thou mayest* remember, had planned something to this purpose on thejourney she is going to take, which had been talked of some time. But, Ithink--let me see--yet, I think, I will let this Hickman have her safeand entire, as thou believest the fellow to be a tolerable sort of amortal, and that I have made the worst of him: and I am glad, for his ownsake, he has not launched out too virulently against me to thee. 

* See Vol. IV. Letter LIV. 

But thou seest, Jack, by her refusal of money from him, or Miss Howe, *that the dear extravagant takes a delight in oddnesses, choosing to partwith her clothes, though for a song. Dost think she is not a littletouched at times? I am afraid she is. A little spice of that insanity, I doubt, runs through her, that she had in a stronger degree, in thefirst week of my operations. Her contempt of life; her proclamations;her refusal of matrimony; and now of money from her most intimatefriends; are sprinklings of this kind, and no other way, I think, to beaccounted for. 

* See Letter XLVIII. Of this volume. 

Her apothecary is a good honest fellow. I like him much. But the sillydear's harping so continually upon one string, dying, dying, dying, iswhat I have no patience with. I hope all this melancholy jargon is owingentirely to the way I would have her to be in. And it being as new toher, as the Bible beauties to thee, * no wonder she knows not what to makeof herself; and so fancies she is breeding death, when the event willturn out quite the contrary. 

* See Letter XLVI. Of this volume. 

Thou art a sorry fellow in thy remarks on the education and qualificationof smarts and beaux of the rakish order; if by thy we's and us's thoumeanest thyself or me:* for I pretend to say, that the picture has noresemblance of us, who have read and conversed as we have done. It mayindeed, and I believe it does, resemble the generality of the fops andcoxcombs about town. But that let them look to; for, if it affects notme, to what purpose thy random shot?--If indeed thou findest, by the newlight darted in upon thee, since thou hast had the honour of conversingwith this admirable creature, that the cap fits thy own head, why then, according to the qui capit rule, e'en take and clap it on: and I willadd a string of bells to it, to complete thee for the fore-horse of theidiot team. 

* Ibid. And Letter LXVIII. 

Although I just now said a kind thing or two for this fellow Hickman; yetI can tell thee, I could (to use one of my noble peer's humble phrases)eat him up without a corn of salt, when I think of his impudence tosalute my charmer twice at parting:* And have still less patience withthe lady herself for presuming to offer her cheek or lip [thou sayest notwhich] to him, and to press his clumsy fist between her charming hands. An honour worth a king's ransom; and what I would give--what would I notgive? to have!--And then he, in return, to press her, as thou sayest hedid, to his stupid heart; at that time, no doubt, more sensible, thanever it was before!

* See Letter XLVIII. Of this volume. 

By thy description of their parting, I see thou wilt be a delicate fellowin time. My mortification in this lady's displeasure, will be thyexaltation from her conversation. I envy thee as well for thyopportunities, as for thy improvements: and such an impression has thyconcluding paragraph* made upon me, that I wish I do not get into areformation-humour as well as thou: and then what a couple of lamentablepuppies shall we make, howling in recitative to each other's discordantmusic!

* Ibid. 

Let me improve upon the thought, and imagine that, turned hermits, wehave opened the two old caves at Hornsey, or dug new ones; and in each ofour cells set up a death's head, and an hour-glass, for objects ofcontemplation--I have seen such a picture: but then, Jack, had not theold penitent fornicator a suffocating long grey beard? What figureswould a couple of brocaded or laced-waistcoated toupets make with theirsour screw'd up half-cock'd faces, and more than half shut eyes, in akneeling attitude, recapitulating their respective rogueries? Thisscheme, were we only to make trial of it, and return afterwards to ourold ways, might serve to better purpose by far, than Horner's in theCountry Wife, to bring the pretty wenches to us. 

Let me see; the author of Hudibras has somewhere a description that wouldsuit us, when met in one of our caves, and comparing our dismal notestogether. This is it. Suppose me described--

 --He sat upon his rump, His head like one in doleful dump: Betwixt his knees his hands apply'd Unto his cheeks, on either side: And by him, in another hole, Sat stupid Belford, cheek by jowl. 

I know thou wilt think me too ludicrous. I think myself so. It istruly, to be ingenuous, a forced put: for my passions are so wound up, that I am obliged either to laugh or cry. Like honest drunken JackDaventry, [poor fellow!--What an unhappy end was his!]--thou knowest, Iused to observe, that whenever he rose from an entertainment, which henever did sober, it was his way, as soon as he got to the door, to lookround him like a carrier pigeon just thrown up, in order to spy out hiscourse; and then, taking to his heels, he would run all the way home, though it were a mile or two, when he could hardly stand, and must havetumbled on his nose if he had attempted to walk moderately. This thenmust be my excuse, in this my unconverted estate, for a conclusion sounworthy of the conclusion to thy third letter. 

What a length have I run!--Thou wilt own, that if I pay thee not inquality, I do in quantity: and yet I leave a multitude of thingsunobserved upon. Indeed I hardly at this present know what to do withmyself but scribble. Tired with Lord M. Who, in his recovery, has playedupon me the fable of the nurse, the crying child, and the wolf--tiredwith my cousins Montague, though charming girls, were they not so near ofkin--tired with Mowbray and Tourville, and their everlasting identity--tired with the country--tired of myself--longing for what I have not--Imust go to town; and there have an interview with the charmer of my soul:for desperate diseases must have desperate remedies; and I only wait toknow my doom from Miss Howe! and then, if it be rejection, I will try myfate, and receive my sentence at her feet. --But I will apprize thee of itbeforehand, as I told thee, that thou mayest keep thy parole with thelady in the best manner thou canst. 

LETTER LIV

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE[IN ANSWER TO HER'S OF JULY 27, SEE LETTERS L. LI. OF THIS VOLUME. ]FRIDAY NIGHT, JULY 28. 

I will now, my dearest friend, write to you all my mind, without reserve, on your resolution not to have this vilest of men. You gave me, inyour's of Sunday the 23d, reasons so worthy of the pure mind of myClarissa, in support of this your resolution, that nothing but self-love, lest I should lose my ever-amiable friend, could have prevailed upon meto wish you to alter it. 

Indeed, I thought it was impossible there could be (however desirable) sonoble an instance given by any of our sex, of a passion conquered, whenthere were so many inducements to give way to it. And, therefore, I waswilling to urge you once more to overcome your just indignation, and tobe prevailed upon by the solicitations of his friends, before you carriedyour resentments to so great a height, that it would be more difficultfor you, and less to your honour to comply, than if you had complied atfirst. 

But now, my dear, that I see you fixed in your noble resolution; and thatit is impossible for your pure mind to join itself with that of soperjured a miscreant; I congratulate you most heartily upon it; and begyour pardon for but seeming to doubt that theory and practice were notthe same thing with my beloved Clarissa. 

I have only one thing that saddens my heart on this occasion; and thatis, the bad state of health Mr. Hickman (unwillingly) owns you are in. Hitherto you have well observed the doctrine you always laid down to me, That a cursed person should first seek the world's opinion of her; and, in all cases where the two could not be reconciled, have preferred thefirst to the last; and are, of consequence, well justified to your ownheart, as well as to your Anna Howe. Let me therefore beseech you toendeavour, by all possible means, to recover your health and spirits:and this, as what, if it can be effected, will crown the work, and showthe world, that you were indeed got above the base wretch; and, thoughput out of your course for a little while, could resume it again, and goon blessing all within your knowledge, as well by your example as by yourprecepts. 

For Heaven's sake, then, for the world's sake, for the honour of our sex, and for my sake, once more I beseech you, try to overcome this shock:and, if you can overcome it, I shall then be as happy as I wish to be;for I cannot, indeed I cannot, think of parting with you, for many, manyyears to come. 

The reasons you give for discouraging my wishes to have you near us areso convincing, that I ought at present to acquiesce in them: but, mydear, when your mind is fully settled, as, (now you are so absolutelydetermined in it, with regard this wretch, ) I hope it will soon be, Ishall expect you with us, or near us: and then you shall chalk out everypath that I will set my foot in; nor will I turn aside either to theright hand or to the left. 

You wish I had not mediated for you to your friends. I wish so too;because my mediation was ineffectual; because it may give new ground forthe malice of some of them to work upon; and because you are angry withme for doing so. But how, as I said in my former, could I sit down inquiet, when I knew how uneasy their implacableness made you?--But I willtear myself from the subject; for I see I shall be warm again--anddisplease you--and there is not one thing in the world that I would do, however agreeable to myself, if I thought it would disoblige you; nor anyone that I would omit to do, if I knew it would give you pleasure. Andindeed, my dear half-severe friend, I will try if I cannot avoid thefault as willingly as I would the rebuke. 

For this reason, I forbear saying any thing on so nice a subject as yourletter to your sister. It must be right, because you think it so--and ifit be taken as it ought, that will show you that it is. But if it begetinsults and revilings, as it is but too likely, I find you don't intendto let me know it. 

You were always so ready to accuse yourself for other people's faults, and to suspect your own conduct rather than the judgment of yourrelations, that I have often told you I cannot imitate you in this. Itis not a necessary point of belief with me, that all people in years aretherefore wise; or that all young people are therefore rash andheadstrong: it may be generally the case, as far as I know: and possiblyit may be so in the case of my mother and her girl: but I will ventureto say that it has not yet appeared to be so between the principals ofHarlowe-place and their second daughter. 

You are for excusing them beforehand for their expected cruelty, as notknowing what you have suffered, nor how ill you are: they have heard ofthe former, and are not sorry for it: of the latter they have been told, and I have most reason to know how they have taken it--but I shall be farfrom avoiding the fault, and as surely shall incur the rebuke, if I sayany more upon this subject. I will therefore only add at present, Thatyour reasonings in their behalf show you to be all excellence; theirreturns to you that they are all----Do, my dear, let me end with a littlebit of spiteful justice--but you won't, I know--so I have done, quitedone, however reluctantly: yet if you think of the word I would havesaid, don't doubt the justice of it, and fill up the blank with it. 

You intimate that were I actually married, and Mr. Hickman to desire it, you would think of obliging me with a visit on the occasion; and that, perhaps, when with me, it would be difficult for you to remove far fromme. 

Lord, my dear, what a stress do you seem to lay upon Mr. Hickman'sdesiring it!--To be sure he does and would of all things desire to haveyou near us, and with us, if we might be so favoured--policy, as well asveneration for you, would undoubtedly make the man, if not a fool, desirethis. But let me tell you, that if Mr. Hickman, after marriage, shouldpretend to dispute with me my friendships, as I hope I am not quite afool, I should let him know how far his own quiet was concerned in suchan impertinence; especially if they were such friendships as werecontracted before I knew him. 

I know I always differed from you on this subject: for you think morehighly of a husband's prerogative than most people do of the royal one. These notions, my dear, from a person of your sense and judgment, are noway advantageous to us; inasmuch as they justify the assuming sex intheir insolence; when hardly one out of ten of them, their opportunitiesconsidered, deserves any prerogative at all. Look through all thefamilies we know; and we shall not find one-third of them have half thesense of their wives. And yet these are to be vested with prerogatives!And a woman of twice their sense has nothing to do but hear, tremble, andobey--and for conscience-sake too, I warrant!

But Mr. Hickman and I may perhaps have a little discourse upon thesesorts of subjects, before I suffer him to talk of the day: and then Ishall let him know what he has to trust to; as he will me, if he be asincere man, what he pretends to expect from me. But let me tell you, mydear, that it is more in your power than, perhaps, you think it, tohasten the day so much pressed for by my mother, as well as wished for byyou--for the very day that you can assure me that you are in a tolerablestate of health, and have discharged your doctor and apothecary, at theirown motions, on that account--some day in a month from that desirablenews shall be it. So, my dear, make haste and be well, and then thismatter will be brought to effect in a manner more agreeable to your AnnaHowe than it otherwise ever can. 

I sent this day, by a particular hand, to the Misses Montague, yourletter of just reprobation of the greatest profligate in the kingdom; andhope I shall not have done amiss that I transcribe some of the paragraphsof your letter of the 23d, and send them with it, as you at firstintended should be done. 

You are, it seems, (and that too much for your health, ) employed inwriting. I hope it is in penning down the particulars of your tragicalstory. And my mother has put me in mind to press you to it, with a viewthat one day, if it might be published under feigned names, it would beas much use as honour to the sex. My mother says she cannot helpadmiring you for the propriety of your resentment of the wretch; and shewould be extremely glad to have her advice of penning your sad storycomplied with. And then, she says, your noble conduct throughout yourtrials and calamities will afford not only a shining example to your sex, but at the same time, (those calamities befalling SUCH a person, ) afearful warning to the inconsiderate young creatures of it. 

On Monday we shall set out on our journey; and I hope to be back in afortnight, and on my return will have one pull more with my mother for aLondon journey: and, if the pretence must be the buying of clothes, theprincipal motive will be that of seeing once more my dear friend, while Ican say I have not finally given consent to the change of a visiter intoa relation, and so can call myself MY OWN, as well as

YourANNA HOWE. 

LETTER LV

MISS HOWE, TO THE TWO MISSES MONTAGUESAT. JULY 29. 

DEAR LADIES, I have not bee wanting to use all my interest with my beloved friend, toinduce her to forgive and be reconciled to your kinsman, (though he hasso ill deserved it;) and have even repeated my earnest advice to her onthis head. This repetition, and the waiting for her answer, having takenup time, have bee the cause that I could not sooner do myself the honourof writing to you on this subject. 

You will see, by the enclosed, her immovable resolution, grounded onnoble and high-souled motives, which I cannot but regret and applaud atthe same time: applaud, for the justice of her determination, which willconfirm all your worthy house in the opinion you had conceived of herunequalled merit; and regret, because I have but too much reason toapprehend, as well by that, as by the report of a gentleman just comefrom her, that she is in a declining way, as to her health, that herthoughts are very differently employed than on a continuance here. 

The enclosed letter she thought fit to send to me unsealed, that, afterI had perused it, I might forward it to you: and this is the reason it issuperscribed by myself, and sealed with my seal. It is very full andperemptory; but as she had been pleased, in a letter to me, dated the 23dinstant, (as soon as she could hold a pen, ) to give me more ample reasonswhy she could not comply with your pressing requests, as well as mine, Iwill transcribe some of the passages in that letter, which will give oneof the wickedest men in the world, (if he sees them, ) reason to thinkhimself one of the most unhappy, in the loss of so incomparable a wife ashe might have gloried in, had he not been so superlatively wicked. Theseare the passages. 

[See, for these passages, Miss Harlowe's letter, No. XLI. Of this volume, dated July 23, marked with a turned comma, thus ']

And now, Ladies, you have before you my beloved friend's reasons for herrefusal of a man unworthy of the relation he bears to so many excellentpersons: and I will add, [for I cannot help it, ] that the merit and rankof the person considered, and the vile manner of his proceedings, therenever was a greater villany committed: and since she thinks her first andonly fault cannot be expiated but by death, I pray to God daily, and willhourly from the moment I shall hear of that sad catastrophe, that He willbe pleased to make him the subject of His vengeance, in some such way, asthat all who know of his perfidious crime, may see the hand of Heaven inthe punishment of it!

You will forgive me, Ladies: I love not mine own soul better than I doMiss Clarissa Harlowe. And the distresses she has gone through; thepersecution she suffers from all her friends; the curse she lies under, for his sake, from her implacable father; her reduced health andcircumstances, from high health and affluence; and that execrable arrestand confinement, which have deepened all her other calamities, [and whichmust be laid at his door, as it was the act of his vile agents, that, whether from his immediate orders or not, naturally flowed from hispreceding baseness;] the sex dishonoured in the eye of the world, in theperson of one of the greatest ornaments of it; the unmanly methods, whatever they were, [for I know not all as yet, ] by which he compassedher ruin; all these considerations join to justify my warmth, and myexecrations of a man whom I think excluded by his crimes from the benefiteven of christian forgiveness--and were you to see all she writes, and toknow the admirable talents she is mistress of, you yourselves would joinwith me to admire her, and execrate him. 

Believe me to be, with a high sense of your merits, Dear Ladies, Your most obedient and humble servant, ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER LVI

MRS. NORTON, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWEFRIDAY, JULY 28. 

MY DEAREST YOUNG LADY, I have the consolation to tell you that my son is once again in a hopefulway, as to his health. He desires his duty to you. He is very low andweak. And so am I. But this is the first time that I have been able, for several days past, to sit up to write, or I would not have been solong silent. 

Your letter to your sister is received and answered. You have the answerby this time, I suppose. I wish it may be to your satisfaction: but amafraid it will not: for, by Betty Barnes, I find they were in a greatferment on receiving your's, and much divided whether it should beanswered or not. They will not yet believe that you are so ill, as [tomy infinite concern] I find you are. What passed between Miss Harloweand Miss Howe has been, as I feared it would be, an aggravation. 

I showed Betty two or three passages in your letter to me; and she seemedmoved, and said, She would report them favourably, and would procure me avisit from Miss Harlowe, if I would promise to show the same to her. ButI have heard no more of that. 

Methinks, I am sorry you refuse the wicked man: but doubt not, nevertheless, that your motives for doing so are more commendable than mywishes that you would not. But as you would be resolved, as I may say, on life, if you gave way to such a thought; and as I have so muchinterest in your recovery; I cannot forbear showing this regard tomyself; and to ask you, If you cannot get over your just resentments?--But I dare say no more on this subject. 

What a dreadful thing indeed was it for my dearest tender young lady tobe arrested in the streets of London!--How does my heart go over againand again for you, what your's must have suffered at that time!--Yetthis, to such a mind as your's, must be light, compared to what you hadsuffered before. 

O my dearest Miss Clary, how shall we know what to pray for, when wepray, but that God's will may be done, and that we may be resigned to it!--When at nine years old, and afterwards at eleven, you had a dangerousfever, how incessantly did we grieve, and pray, and put up our vows tothe Throne of Grace, for your recovery!--For all our lives were bound upin your life--yet now, my dear, as it has proved, [especially if we aresoon to lose you, ] what a much more desirable event, both for you and forus, would it have been, had we then lost you!

A sad thing to say! But as it is in pure love to you that I say it, andin full conviction that we are not always fit to be our own choosers, Ihope it may be excusable; and the rather, as the same reflection willnaturally lead both you and me to acquiesce under thedispensation; since we are assured that nothing happens by chance; andthe greatest good may, for aught we know, be produced from the heaviestevils. 

I am glad you are with such honest people; and that you have all youreffects restored. How dreadfully have you been used, that one should beglad of such a poor piece of justice as that!

Your talent at moving the passions is always hinted at; and this Betty ofyour sister's never comes near me that she is not full of it. But, asyou say, whom has it moved, that you wished to move? Yet, were it notfor this unhappy notion, I am sure your mother would relent. Forgive me, my dear Miss Clary; for I must try one way to be convinced if my opinionbe not just. But I will not tell you what that is, unless it succeeds. I will try, in pure duty and love to them, as to you. 

May Heaven be your support in all your trials, is the constant prayer, mydearest young lady, of

Your ever affectionate friend and servant, JUDITH NORTON. 

LETTER LVII

MRS. NORTON, TO MRS. HARLOWEFRIDAY, JULY 28. 

HONOURED MADAM, Being forbid (without leave) to send you any thing I might happen toreceive from my beloved Miss Clary, and so ill, that I cannot attendyou to ask your leave, I give you this trouble, to let you know that Ihave received a letter from her; which, I think, I should hereafter beheld inexcusable, as things may happen, if I did not desire permissionto communicate to you, and that as soon as possible. 

Applications have been made to the dear young lady from Lord M. , fromthe two ladies his sisters, and from both his nieces, and from the wickedman himself, to forgive and marry him. This, in noble indignation forthe usage she has received from him, she has absolutely refused. Andperhaps, Madam, if you and the honoured family should be of opinion thatto comply with their wishes is now the properest measure that can betaken, the circumstances of things may require your authority or advice, to induce her to change her mind. 

I have reason to believe that one motive for her refusal is her fullconviction that she shall not long be a trouble to any body; and so shewould not give a husband a right to interfere with her family, inrelation to the estate her grandfather devised to her. But of this, however, I have not the least intimation from her. Nor would she, I daresay, mention it as a reason, having still stronger reasons, from his viletreatment of her, to refuse him. 

The letter I have received will show how truly penitent the dear creatureis; and, if I have your permission, I will send it sealed up, with a copyof mine, to which it is an answer. But as I resolve upon this stepwithout her knowledge, [and indeed I do, ] I will not acquaint her withit, unless it be attended with desirable effects: because, otherwise, besides making me incur her displeasure, it might quite break her alreadyhalf-broken heart. I am, Honoured Madam, Your dutiful and ever-obliged servant, JUDITH NORTON. 

LETTER LVIII

MRS. HARLOWE, TO MRS. JUDITH NORTONSUNDAY, JULY 30. 

We all know your virtuous prudence, worthy woman: we all do. But yourpartiality to this your rash favourite is likewise known. And we are noless acquainted with the unhappy body's power of painting her distressesso as to pierce a stone. 

Every one is of opinion that the dear naughty creature is working aboutto be forgiven and received: and for this reason it is that Betty hasbeen forbidden, [not by me, you may be assured!] to mention any more ofher letters; for she did speak to my Bella of some moving passages youread to her. 

This will convince you that nothing will be heard in her favour. To whatpurpose then should I mention any thing about her?--But you may be surethat I will, if I can have but one second. However, that is not at alllikely, until we see what the consequences of her crime will be: And whocan tell that?--She may--How can I speak it, and my once darling daughterunmarried?--She may be with child!--This would perpetuate her stain. Herbrother may come to some harm; which God forbid!--One child's ruin, Ihope, will not be followed by another's murder!

As to her grief, and her present misery, whatever it be, she must bearwith it; and it must be short of what I hourly bear for her! Indeed I amafraid nothing but her being at the last extremity of all will make herfather, and her uncles, and her other friends, forgive her. 

The easy pardon perverse children meet with, when they have done therashest and most rebellious thing they can do, is the reason (as ispleaded to us every day) that so may follow their example. They dependupon the indulgent weakness of their parents' tempers, and, in thatdependence, harden their own hearts: and a little humiliation, when theyhave brought themselves into the foretold misery, is to be a sufficientatonement for the greatest perverseness. 

But for such a child as this [I mention what others hourly say, but whatI must sorrowfully subscribe to] to lay plots and stratagems to deceiveher parents as well as herself! and to run away with a libertine! Canthere be any atonement for her crime? And is she not answerable to God, to us, to you, and to all the world who knew her, for the abuse of suchtalents as she has abused?

You say her heart is half-broken: Is it to be wondered at? Was not hersin committed equally against warning and the light of her own knowledge?

That he would now marry her, or that she would refuse him, if shebelieved him in earnest, as she has circumstanced herself, is not at allprobable; and were I inclined to believe it, nobody else here would. Hevalues not his relations; and would deceive them as soon as any others:his aversion to marriage he has always openly declared; and stilloccasionally declares it. But, if he be now in earnest, which every onewho knows him must doubt, which do you think (hating us too as heprofesses to hate and despise us all) would be most eligible here, Tohear of her death, or of her marriage to such a vile man?

To all of us, yet, I cannot say! For, O my good Mrs. Norton, you knowwhat a mother's tenderness for the child of her heart would make herchoose, notwithstanding all that child's faults, rather than lose herfor ever!

But I must sail with the tide; my own judgment also joining with thegeneral resentment; or I should make the unhappiness of the more worthystill greater, [my dear Mr. Harlowe's particularly;] which is alreadymore than enough to make them unhappy for the remainder of their days. This I know; if I were to oppose the rest, our son would fly out to findthis libertine; and who could tell what would be the issue of that withsuch a man of violence and blood as that Lovelace is known to be?

All I can expect to prevail for her is, that in a week, or so, Mr. Brandmay be sent up to inquire privately about her present state and way oflife, and to see she is not altogether destitute: for nothing she writesherself will be regarded. 

Her father indeed has, at her earnest request, withdrawn the curse, which, in a passion, he laid upon her, at her first wicked flight fromus. But Miss Howe, [it is a sad thing, Mrs. Norton, to suffer so manyways at once, ] had made matters so difficult by her undue liberties withus all, as well by speech in all companies, as by letters written to myBella, that we could hardly prevail upon him to hear her letter read. 

These liberties of Miss Howe with us; the general cry against us abroadwherever we are spoken of; and the visible, and not seldom audible, disrespectfulness, which high and low treat us with to our faces, as wego to and from church, and even at church, (for no where else have we theheart to go, ) as if none of us had been regarded but upon her account;and as if she were innocent, we all in fault; are constant aggravations, you must needs think, to the whole family. 

She has made my lot heavy, I am sure, that was far from being lightbefore!--To tell you truth, I am enjoined not to receive any thing ofher's, from any hand, without leave. Should I therefore gratify myyearnings after her, so far as to receive privately the letter youmention, what would the case be, but to torment myself, without beingable to do her good?--And were it to be known--Mr. Harlowe is sopassionate--And should it throw his gout into his stomach, as her rashflight did--Indeed, indeed, I am very unhappy!--For, O my good woman, she is my child still!--But unless it were more in my power--Yet do Ilong to see the letter--you say it tells of her present way andcircumstances. The poor child, who ought to be in possession ofthousands!--And will!--For her father will be a faithful steward forher. --But it must be in his own way, and at his own time. 

And is she really ill?--so very ill?--But she ought to sorrow--she hasgiven a double measure of it. 

But does she really believe she shall not long trouble us?--But, O myNorton!--She must, she will, long trouble us--For can she think herdeath, if we should be deprived of her, will put an end to ourafflictions?--Can it be thought that the fall of such a child will notbe regretted by us to the last hour of our lives?

But, in the letter you have, does she, without reserve, express hercontrition? Has she in it no reflecting hints? Does she not aim atextenuations?--If I were to see it, will it not shock me so much, thatmy apparent grief may expose me to harshnesses?--Can it be contrived--

But to what purpose?--Don't send it--I charge you don't--I dare not seeit--

Yet--

But alas!--

Oh! forgive the almost distracted mother! You can. --You know how toallow for all this--so I will let it go. --I will not write over againthis part of my letter. 

But I choose not to know more of her than is communicated to us all--no more than I dare own I have seen--and what some of them may rathercommunicate to me, than receive from me: and this for the sake of myoutward quiet: although my inward peace suffers more and more by thecompelled reserve. 

***

I was forced to break off. But I will now try to conclude my longletter. 

I am sorry you are ill. But if you were well, I could not, for your ownsake, wish you to go up, as Betty tells us you long to do. If you went, nothing would be minded that came from you. As they already think youtoo partial in her favour, your going up would confirm it, and doyourself prejudice, and her no good. And as every body values you here, I advise you not to interest yourself too warmly in her favour, especially before my Bella's Betty, till I can let you know a propertime. Yet to forbid you to love the dear naughty creature, who can? Omy Norton! you must love her!--And so must I!

I send you five guineas, to help you in your present illness, and yourson's; for it must have lain heavy upon you. What a sad, sad thing, mydear good woman, that all your pains, and all my pains, for eighteen ornineteen years together, have, in so few months, been rendered thusdeplorably vain! Yet I must be always your friend, and pity you, for thevery reason that I myself deserve every one's pity. 

Perhaps I may find an opportunity to pay you a visit, as in your illness;and then may weep over the letter you mention with you. But, for thefuture, write nothing to me about the poor girl that you think may not becommunicated to us all. 

And I charge you, as you value my friendship, as you wish my peace, notto say any thing of a letter you have from me, either to the naughty one, or to any body else. It was with some little relief (the occasion given)to write to you, who must, in so particular a manner, share myaffliction. A mother, Mrs. Norton, cannot forget her child, though thatchild could abandon her mother; and, in so doing, run away with all hermother's comforts!--As I truly say is the case of

Your unhappy friend, CHARLOTTE HARLOWE. 

LETTER LIX

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. JUDITH NORTONSAT. JULY 29. 

I congratulate you, my dear Mrs. Norton, with all my heart, on your son'srecovery; which I pray to God, with all your own health, to perfect. 

I write in some hurry, being apprehensive of the sequence of the hintsyou give of some method you propose to try in my favour [with myrelations, I presume, you mean]: but you will not tell me what, you say, if it prove unsuccessful. 

Now I must beg of you that you will not take any step in my favour, withwhich you do not first acquaint me. 

I have but one request to make to them, besides what is contained in myletter to my sister; and I would not, methinks, for the sake of their ownfuture peace of mind, that they should be teased so by your well-meantkindness, and that of Miss Howe, as to be put upon denying me that. Andwhy should more be asked for me than I can partake of? More than isabsolutely necessary for my own peace?

You suppose I should have my sister's answer to my letter by the timeyour's reached my hand. I have it: and a severe one, a very severe one, it is. Yet, considering my fault in their eyes, and the provocations Iam to suppose they so newly had from my dear Miss Howe, I am to look uponit as a favour that it was answered at all. I will send you a copy of itsoon; as also of mine, to which it is an answer. 

I have reason to be very thankful that my father has withdrawn that heavymalediction, which affected me so much--A parent's curse, my dear Mrs. Norton! What child could die in peace under a parent's curse? soliterally fulfilled too as this has been in what relates to this life!

My heart is too full to touch upon the particulars of my sister's letter. I can make but one atonement for my fault. May that be accepted! Andmay it soon be forgotten, by every dear relation, that there was such anunhappy daughter, sister, or niece, as Clarissa Harlowe!

My cousin Morden was one of those who was so earnest in prayer for myrecovery, at nine and eleven years of age, as you mention. My sisterthinks he will be one of those who wish I never had had a being. Butpray, when he does come, let me hear of it with the first. 

You think that, were it not for that unhappy notion of my moving talent, my mother would relent. What would I give to see her once more, and, although unknown to her, to kiss but the hem of her garment!

Could I have thought that the last time I saw her would have been thelast, with what difficulty should I have been torn from her embracedfeet!--And when, screened behind the yew-hedge on the 5th of April last, *I saw my father, and my uncle Antony, and my brother and sister, howlittle did I think that that would be the last time I should ever seethem; and, in so short a space, that so many dreadful evils would befalme!

* See Vol. II. Letter XXXVI. 

But I can write nothing but what must give you trouble. I willtherefore, after repeating my desire that you will not intercede for mebut with my previous consent, conclude with the assurance, that I am, andever will be, Your most affectionate and dutifulCLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER LX

MISS AR. HARLOWE, TO MISS CL. HARLOWE[IN ANSWER TO HER'S OF FRIDAY, JULY 21, LETTER XLV. OF THIS VOLUME. ]THURSDAY, JULY 27. 

O MY UNHAPPY LOST SISTER!

What a miserable hand have you made of your romantic and giddyexpedition!--I pity you at my heart. 

You may well grieve and repent!--Lovelace has left you!--In what way orcircumstances you know best. 

I wish your conduct had made your case more pitiable. But 'tis your ownseeking!

God help you!--For you have not a friend will look upon you!--Poor, wicked, undone creature!--Fallen, as you are, against warning, againstexpostulation, against duty!

But it signifies nothing to reproach you. I weep over you. 

My poor mother!--Your rashness and folly have made her more miserablethan you can be. --Yet she has besought my father to grant your request. 

My uncles joined with her: for they thought there was a little moremodesty in your letter than in the letters of your pert advocate: and myfather is pleased to give me leave to write; but only these words forhim, and no more: 'That he withdraws the curse he laid upon you, at thefirst hearing of your wicked flight, so far as it is in his power to doit; and hopes that your present punishment may be all that you will meetwith. For the rest, he will never own you, nor forgive you; and grieveshe has such a daughter in the world. '

All this, and more you have deserved from him, and from all of us: Butwhat have you done to this abandoned libertine, to deserve what you havemet with at his hands?--I fear, I fear, Sister!--But no more!--A blessedfour months' work have you made of it. 

My brother is now at Edinburgh, sent thither by my father, [though heknows not this to be the motive, ] that he may not meet your triumphantdeluder. 

We are told he would be glad to marry you: But why, then, did he abandonyou? He had kept you till he was tired of you, no question; and it isnot likely he would wish to have you but upon the terms you have alreadywithout all doubt been his. 

You ought to advise your friend Miss Howe to concern herself less in yourmatters than she does, except she could do it with more decency. She haswritten three letters to me: very insolent ones. Your favourer, poorMrs. Norton, thinks you know nothing of the pert creature's writing. Ihope you don't. But then the more impertinent the writer. But, believing the fond woman, I sat down the more readily to answer yourletter; and I write with less severity, I can tell you, than otherwise Ishould have done, if I had answered it all. 

Monday last was your birth-day. Think, poor ungrateful wretch, as youare! how we all used to keep it; and you will not wonder to be told, thatwe ran away from one another that day. But God give you true penitence, if you have it not already! and it will be true, if it be equal to theshame and the sorrow you have given us all. 

Your afflicted sister, ARABELLA HARLOWE. 

Your cousin Morden is every day expected in England. He, as well as others of the family, when he comes to hear what a blessed piece of work you have made of it, will wish you never had had a being. 

LETTER LXI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWESUNDAY, JULY 30. 

You have given me great pleasure, my dearest friend, by your approbationof my reasonings, and of my resolution founded upon them, never to haveMr. Lovelace. This approbation is so right a thing, give me leave tosay, from the nature of the case, and from the strict honour and truedignity of mind, which I always admired in my Anna Howe, that I couldhardly tell to what, but to my evil destiny, which of late would not letme please any body, to attribute the advice you gave me to the contrary. 

But let not the ill state of my health, and what that may naturally tendto, sadden you. I have told you, that I will not run away from life, noravoid the means that may continue it, if God see fit: and if He do not, who shall repine at His will!

If it shall be found that I have not acted unworthy of your love, and ofmy own character, in my greater trials, that will be a happiness to bothon reflection. 

The shock which you so earnestly advise me to try to get above, was ashock, the greatest that I could receive. But, my dear, as it was notoccasioned by my fault, I hope I am already got above it. I hope I am. 

I am more grieved (at times however) for others, than for myself. And soI ought. For as to myself, I cannot but reflect that I have had anescape, rather than a loss, in missing Mr. Lovelace for a husband--evenhad he not committed the vilest of all outrages. 

Let any one, who knows my story, collect his character from his behaviourto me before that outrage; and then judge whether it was in the leastprobable that such a man should make me happy. But to collect hischaracter from his principles with regard to the sex in general, and fromhis enterprizes upon many of them, and to consider the cruelty of hisnature, and the sportiveness of his invention, together with the highopinion he has of himself, it will not be doubted that a wife of his musthave been miserable; and more miserable if she loved him, than she couldhave been were she to be indifferent to him. 

A twelvemonth might very probably have put a period to my life; situatedas I was with my friends; persecuted and harassed as I had been by mybrother and sister; and my very heart torn in pieces by the wilful, and(as it is now apparent) premeditated suspenses of the man, whosegratitude I wished to engage, and whose protection I was the moreentitled to expect, as he had robbed me of every other, and reduced me toan absolute dependence upon himself. Indeed I once thought that it wasall his view to bring me to this, (as he hated my family;) anduncomfortable enough for me, if it had been all. 

Can it be thought, my dear, that my heart was not more than half broken(happy as I was before I knew Mr. Lovelace) by a grievous change in mycircumstances?--Indeed it was. Nor perhaps was the wicked violencewanting to have cut short, though possibly not so very short, a life thathe has sported with. 

Had I been his but a month, he must have possessed the estate on which myrelations had set their hearts; the more to their regret, as they hatedhim as much as he hated them. 

Have I not reason, these things considered, to think myself happierwithout Mr. Lovelace than I could have been with him?--My will toounviolated; and very little, nay, not any thing as to him, to reproachmyself with?

But with my relations it is otherwise. They indeed deserve to be pitied. They are, and no doubt will long be, unhappy. 

To judge of their resentments, and of their conduct, we must putourselves in their situation:--and while they think me more in fault thanthemselves, (whether my favourers are of their opinion, or not, ) and havea right to judge for themselves, they ought to have great allowances madefor them; my parents especially. They stand at least self-acquitted, (that I cannot;) and the rather, as they can recollect, to their pain, their past indulgencies to me, and their unquestionable love. 

Your partiality for the friend you so much value will not easily let youcome into this way of thinking. But only, my dear, be pleased to considerthe matter in the following light. 

'Here was my MOTHER, one of the most prudent persons of her sex, marriedinto a family, not perhaps so happily tempered as herself; but every oneof which she had the address, for a great while, absolutely to govern asshe pleased by her directing wisdom, at the same time that they knew notbut her prescriptions were the dictates of their own hearts; such a sweetheart had she of conquering by seeming to yield. Think, my dear, whatmust be the pride and the pleasure of such a mother, that in my brothershe could give a son to the family she distinguished with her love, notunworthy of their wishes; a daughter, in my sister, of whom she had noreason to be ashamed; and in me a second daughter, whom every bodycomplimented (such was their partial favour to me) as being the stillmore immediate likeness of herself? How, self pleased, could she smileround upon a family she had so blessed! What compliments were paid herupon the example she had given us, which was followed with such hopefuleffects! With what a noble confidence could she look upon her dear Mr. Harlowe, as a person made happy by her; and be delighted to think thatnothing but purity streamed from a fountain so pure!

'Now, my dear, reverse, as I daily do, this charming prospect. See mydear mother, sorrowing in her closet; endeavouring to suppress her sorrowat her table, and in those retirements where sorrow was before astranger: hanging down her pensive head: smiles no more beaming over herbenign aspect: her virtue made to suffer for faults she could not beguilty of: her patience continually tried (because she has more of itthan any other) with repetitions of faults she is as much wounded by, asthose can be from whom she so often hears of them: taking to herself, asthe fountain-head, a taint which only had infected one of theunder-currents: afraid to open her lips (were she willing) in my favour, lest it should be thought she has any bias in her own mind to failingsthat never could have been suspected in her: robbed of that pleasingmerit, which the mother of well-nurtured and hopeful children may gloryin: every one who visits her, or is visited by her, by dumb show, andlooks that mean more than words can express, condoling where they used tocongratulate: the affected silence wounding: the compassionating lookreminding: the half-suppressed sigh in them, calling up deeper sighs fromher; and their averted eyes, while they endeavour to restrain the risingtear, provoking tears from her, that will not be restrained. 

'When I consider these things, and, added to these, the pangs that tearin pieces the stronger heart of my FATHER, because it cannot relieveitself by those which carry the torturing grief to the eyes of softerspirits: the overboiling tumults of my impatient and uncontroulableBROTHER, piqued to the heart of his honour, in the fall of a sister, inwhom he once gloried: the pride of an ELDER SISTER, who had givenunwilling way to the honours paid over her head to one born after her:and, lastly, the dishonour I have brought upon two UNCLES, who eachcontended which should most favour their then happy niece:--When, I say, I reflect upon my fault in these strong, yet just lights, what room canthere be to censure any body but my unhappy self? and how much reasonhave I to say, If I justify myself, mine own heart shall condemn me: if Isay I am perfect, it shall also prove me perverse?'

Here permit me to lay down my pen for a few moments. 

***

You are very obliging to me, intentionally, I know, when you tell me, itis in my power to hasten the day of Mr. Hickman's happiness. But yet, give me leave to say, that I admire this kind assurance less than anyother paragraph of your letter. 

In the first place you know it is not in my power to say when I candismiss my physician; and you should not put the celebration of amarriage intended by yourself, and so desirable to your mother, upon soprecarious an issue. Nor will I accept of a compliment, which must meana slight to her. 

If any thing could give me a relish for life, after what I have suffered, it would be the hopes of the continuance of the more than sisterly love, which has, for years, uninterruptedly bound us together as one mind. --Andwhy, my dear, should you defer giving (by a tie still stronger) anotherfriend to one who has so few?

I am glad you have sent my letter to Miss Montague. I hope I shall hearno more of this unhappy man. 

I had begun the particulars of my tragical story: but it is so painful atask, and I have so many more important things to do, and, as Iapprehend, so little time to do them in, that, could I avoid it, I wouldgo no farther in it. 

Then, to this hour, I know not by what means several of his machinationsto ruin me were brought about; so that some material parts of my sadstory must be defective, if I were to sit down to write it. But I havebeen thinking of a way that will answer the end wished for by your motherand you full as well, perhaps better. 

Mr. Lovelace, it seems, had communicated to his friend Mr. Belford allthat has passed between himself and me, as he went on. Mr. Belford hasnot been able to deny it. So that (as we may observe by the way) a pooryoung creature, whose indiscretion has given a libertine power over her, has a reason she little thinks of, to regret her folly; since thesewretches, who have no more honour in one point than in another, scruplenot to make her weakness a part of their triumph to their brotherlibertines. 

I have nothing to apprehend of this sort, if I have the justice done mein his letters which Mr. Belford assures me I have: and therefore theparticulars of my story, and the base arts of this vile man, will, Ithink, be best collected from those very letters of his, (if Mr. Belfordcan be prevailed upon to communicate them;) to which I dare appeal withthe same truth and fervour as he did, who says--O that one would hear me!and that mine adversary had written a book!--Surely, I would take it uponmy shoulders, and bind it to me as a crown! for I covered not mytransgressions as Adam, by hiding mine iniquity in my bosom. 

There is one way which may be fallen upon to induce Mr. Belford tocommunicate these letters; since he seems to have (and declares he alwayshad) a sincere abhorrence of his friend's baseness to me: but that, you'll say, when you hear it, is a strange one. Nevertheless, I am veryearnest upon it at present. 

It is no other than this:

I think to make Mr. Belford the executor of my last will: [don't besurprised:] and with this view I permit his visits with the less scruple:and every time I see him, from his concern for me, am more and moreinclined to do so. If I hold in the same mind, and if he accept thetrust, and will communicate the materials in his power, those, joinedwith what you can furnish, will answer the whole end. 

I know you will start at my notion of such an executor; but pray, mydear, consider, in my present circumstances, what I can do better, as Iam empowered to make a will, and have considerable matters in my owndisposal. 

Your mother, I am sure, would not consent that you should take thisoffice upon you. It might subject Mr. Hickman to the insults of thatviolent man. Mrs. Norton cannot, for several reasons respecting herself. My brother looks upon what I ought to have as his right. My uncleHarlowe is already one of my trustees (as my cousin Morden is the other)for the estate my grandfather left me: but you see I could not get frommy own family the few guineas I left behind me at Harlowe-place; and myuncle Antony once threatened to have my grandfather's will controverted. My father!--To be sure, my dear, I could not expect that my father woulddo all I wish should be done: and a will to be executed by a father for adaughter, (parts of it, perhaps, absolutely against his own judgment, )carries somewhat daring and prescriptive in the very word. 

If indeed my cousin Morden were to come in time, and would undertake thistrust--but even him it might subject to hazards; and the more, as he is aman of great spirit; and as the other man (of as great) looks upon me(unprotected as I have long been) as his property. 

Now Mr. Belford, as I have already mentioned, knows every thing that haspassed. He is a man of spirit, and, it seems, as fearless as the other, with more humane qualities. You don't know, my dear, what instances ofsincere humanity this Mr. Belford has shown, not only on occasion of thecruel arrest, but on several occasions since. And Mrs. Lovick has takenpains to inquire after his general character; and hears a very good oneof him, his justice and generosity in all his concerns of meum and tuum, as they are called: he has a knowledge of law-matters; and has twoexecutorships upon him at this time, in the discharge of which his honouris unquestioned. 

All these reasons have already in a manner determined me to ask thisfavour of him; although it will have an odd sound with it to make anintimate friend of Mr. Lovelace my executor. 

This is certain: my brother will be more acquiescent a great deal in sucha case with the articles of the will, as he will see that it will be tono purpose to controvert some of them, which else, I dare say, he wouldcontrovert, or persuade my other friends to do so. And who would involvean executor in a law-suit, if they could help it?--Which would be thecase, if any body were left, whom my brother could hope to awe orcontroul; since my father has possession of all, and is absolutelygoverned by him. [Angry spirits, my dear, as I have often seen, will beovercome by more angry ones, as well as sometimes be disarmed by themeek. ]--Nor would I wish, you may believe, to have effects torn out of myfather's hands: while Mr. Belford, who is a man of fortune, (and a goodeconomist in his own affairs) would have no interest but to do justice. 

Then he exceedingly presses for some occasion to show his readiness toserve me: and he would be able to manage his violent friend, over whom hehas more influence than any other person. 

But after all, I know not if it were not more eligible by far, that mystory, and myself too, should be forgotten as soon as possible. And ofthis I shall have the less doubt, if the character of my parents [youwill forgive my, my dear] cannot be guarded against the unqualifiedbitterness which, from your affectionate zeal for me, has sometimesmingled with your ink--a point that ought, and (I insist upon it) must bewell considered of, if any thing be done which your mother and you aredesirous to have done. The generality of the world is too apt to opposea duty--and general duties, my dear, ought not to be weakened by thejustification of a single person, however unhappily circumstanced. 

My father has been so good as to take off the heavy malediction he laidme under. I must be now solicitous for a last blessing; and that is allI shall presume to petition for. My sister's letter, communicating thisgrace, is a severe one: but as she writes to me as from every body, howcould I expect it to be otherwise?

If you set out to-morrow, this letter cannot reach you till you get toyour aunt Harman's. I shall therefore direct it thither, as Mr. Hickmaninstructed me. 

I hope you will have met with no inconveniencies in your little journeyand voyage; and that you will have found in good health all whom you wishto see well. 

If your relations in the little island join their solicitations with yourmother's commands, to have your nuptials celebrated before you leavethem, let me beg of you, my dear, to oblige them. How grateful will thenotification that you have done so be to

Your ever faithful and affectionateCL. HARLOWE. 

LETTER LXII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HARLOWESATURDAY, JULY 29. 

I repine not, my dear Sister, at the severity you have been pleased toexpress in the letter you favoured me with; because that severity wasaccompanied with the grace I had petitioned for; and because thereproaches of mine own heart are stronger than any other person'sreproaches can be: and yet I am not half so culpable as I am imaginedto be: as would be allowed, if all the circumstances of my unhappy storywere known: and which I shall be ready to communicate to Mrs. Norton, ifshe be commissioned to inquire into them; or to you, my Sister, if youcan have patience to hear them. 

I remembered with a bleeding heart what day the 24th of July was. I beganwith the eve of it; and I passed the day itself--as it was fit I shouldpass it. Nor have I any comfort to give to my dear and ever-honouredfather and mother, and to you, my Bella, but this--that, as it was thefirst unhappy anniversary of my birth, in all probability, it will be thelast. 

Believe me, my dear Sister, I say not this merely to move compassion, butfrom the best grounds. And as, on that account, I think it of thehighest importance to my peace of mind to obtain one farther favour, Iwould choose to owe to your intercession, as my sister, the leave I beg, to address half a dozen lines (with the hope of having them answered as Iwish) to either or to both my honoured parents, to beg their lastblessing. 

This blessing is all the favour I have now to ask: it is all I dare toask: yet am I afraid to rush at once, though by letter, into the presenceof either. And if I did not ask it, it might seem to be owing tostubbornness and want of duty, when my heart is all humilitypenitence. Only, be so good as to embolden me to attempt this task--write but this one line, 'Clary Harlowe, you are at liberty to write asyou desire. ' This will be enough--and shall, to my last hour, beacknowledged as the greatest favour, by

Your truly penitent sister, CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER LXIII

MRS. NORTON, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWEMONDAY, JULY 31. 

MY DEAREST YOUNG LADY, I must indeed own that I took the liberty to write to your mother, offering to enclose to her, if she gave me leave, your's of the 24th: bywhich I thought she would see what was the state of your mind; what thenature of your last troubles was from the wicked arrest; what the peopleare where you lodge; what proposals were made you from Lord M. 's family;also your sincere penitence; and how much Miss Howe's writing to them, inthe terms she wrote in, disturbed you--but, as you have taken the matterinto your own hands, and forbid me, in your last, to act in this niceaffair unknown to you, I am glad the letter was not required of me--andindeed it may be better that the matter lie wholly between you and them;since my affection for you is thought to proceed from partiality. 

They would choose, no doubt, that you should owe to themselves, and notto my humble mediation, the favour for which you so earnestly sue, and ofwhich I would not have your despair: for I will venture to assure you, that your mother is ready to take the first opportunity to show hermaternal tenderness: and this I gather from several hints I am not atliberty to explain myself upon. 

I long to be with you, now I am better, and now my son is in a fair wayof recovery. But is it not hard to have it signified to me that atpresent it will not be taken well if I go?--I suppose, while thereconciliation, which I hope will take place, is negotiating by means ofthe correspondence so newly opened between you and your sister. But ifyou will have me come, I will rely on my good intentions, and risqueevery one's displeasure. 

Mr. Brand has business in town; to solicit for a benefice which it isexpected the incumbent will be obliged to quit for a better preferment:and, when there, he is to inquire privately after your way of life, andof your health. 

He is a very officious young man; and, but that your uncle Harlowe (whohas chosen him for this errand) regards him as an oracle, your mother hadrather any body else had been sent. 

He is one of those puzzling, over-doing gentlemen, who think they seefarther into matters than any body else, and are fond of discoveredmysteries where there are none, in order to be thought shrewd men. 

I can't say I like him, either in the pulpit or out of it: I, who had afather one of the soundest divines and finest scholars in the kingdom;who never made an ostentation of what he knew; but loved and venerated hegospel he taught, preferring it to all other learning: to be obliged tohear a young man depart from his text as soon as he has named it, (socontrary, too, to the example set him by his learned and worthyprincipal, * when his health permits him to preach;) and throwing about, to a christian and country audience, scraps of Latin and Greek from thePagan Classics; and not always brought in with great propriety neither, (if I am to judge by the only way given me to judge of them, by theEnglish he puts them into;) is an indication of something wrong, eitherin his head, or his heart, or both; for, otherwise, his education at theuniversity must have taught him better. You know, my dear Miss Clary, the honour I have for the cloth: it is owing to that, that I say what Ido. 

* Dr. Lewen. 

I know not the day he is to set out; and, as his inquiries are to beprivate, be pleased to take no notice of this intelligence. I have nodoubt that your life and conversation are such as may defy the scrutiniesof the most officious inquirer. 

I am just now told that you have written a second letter to your sister:but am afraid they will wait for Mr. Brand's report, before fartherfavour will be obtained from them; for they will not yet believe you areso ill as I fear you are. 

But you would soon find that you have an indulgent mother, were she atliberty to act according to her own inclination. And this gives me greathopes that all will end well at last: for I verily think you are in theright way to a reconciliation. God give a blessing to it, and restoreyour health, and you to all your friends, prays

Your ever affectionate, JUDITH NORTON. 

Your mother has privately sent me five guineas: she is pleased to say to help us in the illness we have been afflicted with; but, more likely, that I might send them to you, as from myself. I hope, therefore, I may send them up, with ten more I have still left. 

I will send you word of Mr. Morden's arrival, the moment I know it. 

If agreeable, I should be glad to know all that passes between your relations and you. 

LETTER LXIV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. NORTONWEDNESDAY, AUG. 2. 

You give me, my dear Mrs. Norton, great pleasure in hearing of your's andyour son's recovery. May you continue, for many, many years, a blessingto each other!

You tell me that you did actually write to my mother, offering to encloseto her mine of the 24th past: and you say it was not required of you. That is to say, although you cover it over as gently as you could, thatyour offer was rejected; which makes it evident that no plea could bemade for me. Yet, you bid me hope, that the grace I sued for would, intime, be granted. 

The grace I then sued for was indeed granted; but you are afraid, yousay, that they will wait for Mr. Brand's report, before favour will beobtained in return to the second letter which I wrote to my sister; andyou add, that I have an indulgent mother, were she at liberty to actaccording to her own inclination; and that all will end well at last. 

But what, my dear Mrs. Norton, what is the grace I sue for in my secondletter?--It is not that they will receive me into favour--If they thinkit is, they are mistaken. I do not, I cannot expect that. Nor, as Ihave often said, should I, if they would receive me, bear to live in theeye of those dear friends whom I have so grievously offended. 'Tis only, simply, a blessing I ask: a blessing to die with; not to lie with. --Dothey know that? and do they know that their unkindness will perhapsshorten my date; so that their favour, if ever they intend to grant it, may come too late?

Once more, I desire you not to think of coming to me. I have nouneasiness now, but what proceeds from the apprehension of seeing a man Iwould not see for the world, if I could help it; and from the severity ofmy nearest and dearest relations: a severity entirely their own, I doubt;for you tell me that my brother is at Edinburgh! You would thereforeheighten their severity, and make yourself enemies besides, if you wereto come to me--Don't you see you would?

Mr. Brand may come, if he will. He is a clergyman, and must mean well;or I must think so, let him say of me what he will. All my fear is, that, as he knows I am in disgrace with a family whose esteem he isdesirous to cultivate; and as he has obligations to my uncle Harlowe andto my father; he will be but a languid acquitter--not that I am afraid ofwhat he, or any body in the world, can hear as to my conduct. You may, my revered and dear friend, indeed you may, rest satisfied, that that issuch as may warrant me to challenge the inquiries of the most officious. 

I will send you copies of what passes, as you desire, when I have ananswer to my second letter. I now begin to wish that I had taken theheart to write to my father himself; or to my mother, at least; insteadof to my sister; and yet I doubt my poor mother can do nothing for me ofherself. A strong confederacy, my dear Mrs. Norton, (a strongconfederacy indeed!) against a poor girl, their daughter, sister, niece!--My brother, perhaps, got it renewed before he left them. He needednot--his work is done; and more than done. 

Don't afflict yourself about money-matters on my account. I have nooccasion for money. I am glad my mother was so considerate to you. Iwas in pain for you on the same subject. But Heaven will not permit sogood a woman to want the humble blessings she was always satisfied with. I wish every individual of our family were but as rich as you!--O mymamma Norton, you are rich! you are rich indeed!--the true riches aresuch content as you are blessed with. --And I hope in God that I am in theway to be rich too. 

Adieu, my ever-indulgent friend. You say all will be at last happy--andI know it will--I confide that it will, with as much security, as youmay, that I will be, to my last hour, Your ever grateful and affectionateCL. HARLOWE. 

LETTER LXV

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUESDAY, AUG. 1. 

I am most confoundedly chagrined and disappointed: for here, on Saturday, arrived a messenger from Miss Howe, with a letter to my cousins;* which Iknew nothing of till yesterday; when Lady Sarah and Lady Betty wereprocured to be here, to sit in judgment upon it with the old Peer, and mytwo kinswomen. And never was bear so miserably baited as thy poorfriend!--And for what?--why for the cruelty of Miss Harlowe: For have Icommitted any new offence? and would I not have re-instated myself in herfavour upon her own terms, if I could? And is it fair to punish me forwhat is my misfortune, and not my fault? Such event-judging fools as Ihave for my relations! I am ashamed of them all. 

* See Letter LV. Of this volume. 

In that of Miss Howe was enclosed one to her from Miss Harlowe, * to betransmitted to my cousins, containing a final rejection of me; and thatin very vehement and positive terms; yet she pretends that, in thisrejection, she is governed more by principle than passion--[D----d lie, as ever was told!] and, as a proof that she is, says, that she canforgive me, and does, on this one condition, that I will never molest hermore--the whole letter so written as to make herself more admired, memore detested. 

* See Letter XLI. Of this volume. 

What we have been told of the agitations and workings, and sighings andsobbings, of the French prophets among us formerly, was nothing at all tothe scene exhibited by these maudlin souls, at the reading of theseletters; and of some affecting passages extracted from another of my fairimplacable's to Miss Howe--such lamentations for the loss of so charminga relation! such applaudings of her virtue, of her exaltedness of souland sentiment! such menaces of disinherisons! I, not needing theirreproaches to be stung to the heart with my own reflections, and with therage of disappointment; and as sincerely as any of them admiring her--'What the devil, ' cried I, 'is all this for? Is it not enough to bedespised and rejected? Can I help her implacable spirit? Would I notrepair the evils I have made her suffer?'--Then was I ready to curse themall, herself and Miss Howe for company: and heartily swore that sheshould yet be mine. 

I now swear it over again to thee--'Were her death to follow in a weekafter the knot is tied, by the Lord of Heaven, it shall be tied, and sheshall die a Lovelace!'--Tell her so, if thou wilt: but, at the same time, tell her that I have no view to her fortune; and that I will solemnlyresign that, and all pretensions to it, in whose favour she pleases, ifshe resign life issueless. --I am not so low-minded a wretch, as to beguilty of any sordid views to her fortune. --Let her judge for herself, then, whether it be not for her honour rather to leave this world aLovelace than a Harlowe. 

But do not think I will entirely rest a cause so near my heart upon anadvocate who so much more admires his client's adversary than his client. I will go to town, in a few days, in order to throw myself at her feet:and I will carry with me, or have at hand, a resolute, well-preparedparson; and the ceremony shall be performed, let what will be theconsequence. 

But if she will permit me to attend her for this purpose at either of thechurches mentioned in the license, (which she has by her, and, thankHeaven! has not returned me with my letters, ) then will I not disturbher; but meet her at the altar in either church, and will engage to bringmy two cousins to attend her, and even Lady Sarah and Lady Betty; and myLord M. In person shall give her to me. 

Or, if it be still more agreeable to her, I will undertake that eitherLady Sarah or Lady Betty, or both, shall go to town and attend her down;and the marriage shall be celebrated in their presence, and in that ofLord M. , either here or elsewhere, at her own choice. 

Do not play me booty, Belford; but sincerely and warmly use all theeloquence thou art master of, to prevail upon her to choose one of thesethree methods. One of them she must choose--by my soul, she must. 

Here is Charlotte tapping at my closet-door for admittance. What a devilwants Charlotte?--I will hear no more reproaches!--Come in, girl!

***

My cousin Charlotte, finding me writing on with too much earnestness tohave any regard for politeness to her, and guessing at my subject, besought me to let her see what I had written. 

I obliged her. And she was so highly pleased on seeing me so much inearnest, that she offered, and I accepted her offer, to write a letter toMiss Harlowe; with permission to treat me in it as she thought fit. 

I shall enclose a copy of her letter. 

When she had written it, she brought it to me, with apologies for thefreedom taken with me in it: but I excused it; and she was ready to giveme a kiss for it; telling her I had hopes of success from it; and that Ithought she had luckily hit it off. 

Every one approves of it, as well as I; and is pleased with me for sopatiently submitting to be abused, and undertaken for. --If it do notsucceed, all the blame will be thrown upon the dear creature'sperverseness: her charitable or forgiving disposition, about which shemakes such a parade, will be justly questioned; and the piety, of whichshe is now in full possession, will be transferred to me. 

Putting, therefore, my whole confidence in this letter, I postpone all myother alternatives, as also my going to town, till my empress send ananswer to my cousin Montague. 

But if she persist, and will not promise to take time to consider of thematter, thou mayest communicate to her what I had written, as above, before my cousin entered; and, if she be still perverse, assure her, thatI must and will see her--but this with all honour, all humility: and, ifI cannot move her in my favour, I will then go abroad, and perhaps nevermore return to England. 

I am sorry thou art, at this critical time, so busily employed, as thouinformest me thou art, in thy Watford affairs, and in preparing to doBelton justice. If thou wantest my assistance in the latter, command me. Though engrossed by this perverse beauty, and plagued as I am, I willobey thy first summons. 

I have great dependence upon thy zeal and thy friendship: hasten back toher, therefore, and resume a task so interesting to me, that it isequally the subject of my dreams, as of my waking hours. 

LETTER LXVI

MISS MONTAGUE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWETUESDAY, AUG. 1. 

DEAREST MADAM, All our family is deeply sensible of the injuries you have received atthe hands of one of it, whom you only can render in any manner worthy ofthe relation he stands in to us all: and if, as an act of mercy andcharity, the greatest your pious heart can show, you will be pleased tolook over his past wickedness and ingratitude, and suffer yourself to beour kinswoman, you will make us the happiest family in the world: and Ican engage, that Lord M. , and Lady Sarah Sadleir, and Lady BettyLawrance, and my sister, who are all admirers of your virtues, and ofyour nobleness of mind, will for ever love and reverence you, and doevery thing in all their powers to make you amends for what you havesuffered from Mr. Lovelace. This, Madam, we should not, however, dareto petition for, were we not assured, that Mr. Lovelace is most sincerelysorry for his past vileness to you; and that he will, on his knees, begyour pardon, and vow eternal love and honour to you. 

Wherefore, my dearest cousin, [how you will charm us all, if thisagreeable style may be permitted!] for all our sakes, for his soul'ssake, [you must, I am sure, be so good a lady, as to wish to save asoul!] and allow me to say, for your own fame's sake, condescend to ourjoint request: and if, by way of encouragement, you will but say you willbe glad to see, and to be as much known personally, as you are by fame, to Charlotte Montague, I will, in two days' time from the receipt of yourpermission, wait upon you with or without my sister, and receive yourfarther commands. 

Let me, our dearest cousin, [we cannot deny ourselves the pleasure ofcalling you so; let me] entreat you to give me your permission for myjourney to London; and put it in the power of Lord M. And of the ladiesof the family, to make you what reparation they can make you, for theinjuries which a person of the greatest merit in the world has receivedfrom one of the most audacious men in it; and you will infinitely obligeus all; and particularly her, who repeatedly presumes to style herself

Your affectionate cousin, and obliged servant, CHARLOTTE MONTAGUE. 

LETTER LXVII

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. THURSDAY MORNING, AUG. 3. SIX O'CLOCK. 

I have been so much employed in my own and Belton's affairs, that I couldnot come to town till last night; having contented myself with sending toMrs. Lovick, to know, from time to time, the state of the lady's health;of which I received but very indifferent accounts, owing, in a greatmeasure, to letters or advices brought her from her implacable family. 

I have now completed my own affairs; and, next week, shall go to Epsom, to endeavour to put Belton's sister into possession of his own house forhim: after which, I shall devote myself wholly to your service, and tothat of the lady. 

I was admitted to her presence last night; and found her visibly alteredfor the worse. When I went home, I had your letter of Tuesday last putinto my hands. Let me tell thee, Lovelace, that I insist upon theperformance of thy engagement to me that thou wilt not personally molesther. 

[Mr. Belford dates again on Thursday morning, ten o'clock; and gives an account of a conversation which he had just held with the Lady upon the subject of Miss Montague's letter to her, preceding, and upon Mr. Lovelace's alternatives, as mentioned in Letter LXV. , which Mr. Belford supported with the utmost earnestness. But, as the result of this conversation will be found in the subsequent letters, Mr. Belford's pleas and arguments in favour of his friend, and the Lady's answers, are omitted. ]

LETTER LXVIII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS MONTAGUETHURSDAY, AUG. 3. 

DEAR MADAM, I am infinitely obliged to you for your kind and condescending letter. Aletter, however, which heightens my regrets, as it gives me a newinstance of what a happy creature I might have been in an alliance somuch approved of by such worthy ladies; and which, on their accounts, andon that of Lord M. Would have been so reputable to myself, and was onceso desirable. 

But indeed, indeed, Madam, my heart sincerely repulses the man who, descended from such a family, could be guilty, first, of suchpremeditated violence as he has been guilty of; and, as he knows, fartherintended me, on the night previous to the day he set out for Berkshire;and, next, pretending to spirit, could be so mean as to wish to lift intothat family a person he was capable of abasing into a companionship withthe most abandoned of her sex. 

Allow me then, dear Madam, to declare with favour, that I think I nevercould be ranked with the ladies of a family so splendid and so noble, if, by vowing love and honour at the altar to such a violator, I couldsanctify, as I may say, his unprecedented and elaborate wickedness. 

Permit me, however, to make one request to my good Lord M. , and to LadyBetty, and Lady Sarah, and to your kind self, and your sister. --It is, that you will all be pleased to join your authority and interests toprevail upon Mr. Lovelace not to molest me farther. 

Be pleased to tell him, that, if I am designed for life, it will be verycruel in him to attempt to hunt me out of it; for I am determined neverto see him more, if I can help it. The more cruel, because he knows thatI have nobody to defend me from him: nor do I wish to engage any body tohis hurt, or to their own. 

If I am, on the other hand, destined for death, it will be no less cruel, if he will not permit me to die in peace--since a peaceable and happy endI wish him; indeed I do. 

Every worldly good attend you, dear Madam, and every branch of thehonourable family, is the wish of one, whose misfortune it is that she isobliged to disclaim any other title than that of, Dear Madam, Your and their obliged and faithful servant, CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER LXIX

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. THURSDAY AFTERNOON, AUG. 3. 

I am just now agreeably surprised by the following letter, delivered intomy hands by a messenger from the lady. The letter she mentions, asenclosed, * I have returned, without taking a copy of it. The contents ofit will soon be communicated to you, I presume, by other hands. They arean absolute rejection of thee--Poor Lovelace!

* See Miss Harlowe's Letter, No. LXVIII. 

TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. AUG. 3. 

SIR, You have frequently offered to oblige me in any thing that shall bewithin your power: and I have such an opinion of you, as to be willing tohope that, at the times you made these offers, you meant more than merecompliment. 

I have therefore two requests to make to you: the first I will nowmention; the other, if this shall be complied with, otherwise not. 

It behoves me to leave behind me such an account as may clear up myconduct to several of my friends who will not at present concernthemselves about me: and Miss Howe, and her mother, are very solicitousthat I will do so. 

I am apprehensive that I shall not have time to do this; and you will notwonder that I have less and less inclination to set about such a painfultask; especially as I find myself unable to look back with patience onwhat I have suffered; and shall be too much discomposed by theretrospection, were I obliged to make it, to proceed with the requisitetemper in a task of still greater importance which I have before me. 

It is very evident to me that your wicked friend has given you, from timeto time, a circumstantial account of all his behaviour to me, and devicesagainst me; and you have more than once assured me, that he has done mycharacter all the justice I could wish for, both by writing and speech. 

Now, Sir, if I may have a fair, a faithful specimen from his letters oraccounts to you, written upon some of the most interesting occasions, Ishall be able to judge whether there will or will not be a necessity forme, for my honour's sake, to enter upon the solicited task. 

You may be assured, from my enclosed answer to the letter which MissMontague has honoured me with, (and which you'll be pleased to return meas soon as read, ) that it is impossible for me ever to think of yourfriend in the way I am importuned to think of him: he cannot thereforereceive any detriment from the requested specimen: and I give you myhonour, that no use shall be made of it to his prejudice, in law, orotherwise. And that it may not, after I am no more, I assure you, thatit is a main part of my view that the passages you shall oblige me withshall be always in your own power, and not in that of any other person. 

If, Sir, you think fit to comply with my request, the passages I wouldwish to be transcribed (making neither better nor worse of the matter)are those which he has written to you, on or about the 7th and 8th ofJune, when I was alarmed by the wicked pretence of a fire; and what hehas written from Sunday, June 11, to the 19th. And in doing this youwill much oblige

Your humble servant, CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

***

Now, Lovelace, since there are no hopes for thee of her returningfavour--since some praise may lie for thy ingenuousness, having neitheroffered [as more diminutive-minded libertines would have done] topalliate thy crimes, by aspersing the lady, or her sex--since she may bemade easier by it--since thou must fare better from thine own pen thanfrom her's--and, finally, since thy actions have manifested that thyletters are not the most guilty part of what she knows of thee--I see notwhy I may not oblige her, upon her honour, and under the restrictions, and for the reasons she has given; and this without breach of theconfidence due to friendly communication; especially, as I might haveadded, since thou gloriest in thy pen and in thy wickedness, and canstnot be ashamed. 

But, be this as it may, she will be obliged before thy remonstrances orclamours against it can come; so, pr'ythee now, make the best of it, andrave not; except for the sake of a pretence against me, and to exercisethy talent of execration:--and, if thou likest to do so for thesereasons, rave and welcome. 

I long to know what the second request is: but this I know, that if it beany thing less than cutting thy throat, or endangering my own neck, Iwill certainly comply; and be proud of having it in my power to obligeher. 

And now I am actually going to be busy in the extracts. 

LETTER LXX

MR. BELFORD, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWEAUG. 3, 4. 

MADAM, You have engaged me to communicate to you, upon my honour, (makingneither better nor worse of the matter, ) what Mr. Lovelace has written tome, in relation to yourself, in the period preceding your going toHampstead, and in that between the 11th and 19th of June: and you assureme you have no view in this request, but to see if it be necessary foryou, from the account he gives, to touch upon the painful subjectsyourself, for the sake of your own character. 

Your commands, Madam, are of a very delicate nature, as they may seem toaffect the secrets of private friendship: but as I know you are notcapable of a view, the motives to which you will not own; and as I thinkthe communication may do some credit to my unhappy friend's character, asan ingenuous man; though his actions by the most excellent woman in theworld have lost him all title to that of an honourable one; I obey youwith the greater cheerfulness. 

[He then proceeds with his extracts, and concludes them with an address to her in his friend's behalf, in the following words:]

'And now, Madam, I have fulfilled your commands; and, I hope, have notdis-served my friend with you; since you will hereby see the justice hedoes to your virtue in every line he writes. He does the same in all hisletters, though to his own condemnation: and, give me leave to add, thatif this ever-amiable sufferer can think it in any manner consistent withher honour to receive his vows on the altar, on his truly penitent turnof mind, I have not the least doubt but that he will make her the bestand tenderest of husbands. What obligation will not the admirable ladyhereby lay upon all his noble family, who so greatly admire her! and, Iwill presume to say, upon her own, when the unhappy family aversion(which certainly has been carried to an unreasonable height against him)shall be got over, and a general reconciliation takes place! For who isit that would not give these two admirable persons to each other, werenot his morals an objection?

However this be, I would humbly refer to you, Madam, whether, as you willbe mistress of very delicate particulars from me his friend, you shouldnot in honour think yourself concerned to pass them by, as if you hadnever seen them; and not to take advantage of the communication, not evenin an argument, as some perhaps might lie, with respect to thepremeditated design he seems to have had, not against you, as you; but asagainst the sex; over whom (I am sorry I can bear witness myself) it isthe villanous aim of all libertines to triumph: and I would not, if anymisunderstanding should arise between him and me, give him room toreproach me that his losing of you, and (through his usage of you) of hisown friends, were owing to what perhaps he would call breach of trust, were he to judge rather by the event than by my intention. 

I am, Madam, with the most profound veneration, Your most faithful humble servant, J. BELFORD. 

LETTER LXXI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. FRIDAY, AUG. 4. 

SIR, I hold myself extremely obliged to you for your communications. I willmake no use of them, that you shall have reason to reproach eitheryourself or me with. I wanted no new lights to make the unhappy man'spremeditated baseness to me unquestionable, as my answer to MissMontague's letter might convince you. *

* See Letter LXVIII. Of this volume. 

I must own, in his favour, that he has observed some decency in hisaccounts to you of the most indecent and shocking actions. And if allhis strangely-communicative narrations are equally decent, nothing willbe rendered criminally odious by them, but the vile heart that couldmeditate such contrivances as were much stronger evidences of hisinhumanity than of his wit: since men of very contemptible parts andunderstanding may succeed in the vilest attempts, if they can once bringthemselves to trample on the sanctions which bind man to man; and soonerupon an innocent person than upon any other; because such a one is apt tojudge of the integrity of others' hearts by its own. 

I find I have had great reason to think myself obliged to your intentionin the whole progress of my sufferings. It is, however, impossible, Sir, to miss the natural inference on this occasion that lies against hispredetermined baseness. But I say the less, because you shall not thinkI borrow, from what you have communicated, aggravations that are notneeded. 

And now, Sir, that I may spare you the trouble of offering any futurearguments in his favour, let me tell you that I have weighed every thingthoroughly--all that human vanity could suggest--all that a desirablereconciliation with my friends, and the kind respects of his own, couldbid me hope for--the enjoyment of Miss Howe's friendship, the dearestconsideration to me, now, of all the worldly ones--all these I haveweighed: and the result is, and was before you favoured me with thesecommunications, that I have more satisfaction in the hope that, in onemonth, there will be an end of all with me, than in the most agreeablethings that could happen from an alliance with Mr. Lovelace, although Iwere to be assured he would make the best and tenderest of husbands. Butas to the rest; if, satisfied with the evils he has brought upon me, hewill forbear all further persecutions of me, I will, to my last hour, wish him good: although he hath overwhelmed the fatherless, and digged apit for his friend: fatherless may she well be called, and motherlesstoo, who has been denied all paternal protection, and motherlyforgiveness. 

***

And now, Sir, acknowledging gratefully your favour in the extracts, Icome to the second request I had to make you; which requires a great dealof courage to mention; and which courage nothing but a great deal ofdistress, and a very destitute condition, can give. But, if improper, Ican but be denied; and dare to say I shall be at least excused. Thus, then, I preface it:

'You see, Sir, that I am thrown absolutely into the hands of strangers, who, although as kind and compassionate as strangers can be wished to be, are, nevertheless, persons from whom I cannot expect any thing more thanpity and good wishes; nor can my memory receive from them any moreprotection than my person, if either should need it. 

'If then I request it, of the only person possessed of materials thatwill enable him to do my character justice;

'And who has courage, independence, and ability to oblige me;

'To be the protector or my memory, as I may say;

'And to be my executor; and to see some of my dying requests performed;

'And if I leave it to him to do the whole in his own way, manner, andtime; consulting, however, in requisite cases, my dear Miss Howe;

'I presume to hope that this my second request may be granted. '

And if it may, these satisfactions will accrue to me from the favour doneme, and the office undertaken:

'It will be an honour to my memory, with all those who shall know that Iwas so well satisfied of my innocence, that, having not time to write myown story, I could intrust it to the relation which the destroyer of myfame and fortunes has given of it. 

'I shall not be apprehensive of involving any one in my troubles orhazards by this task, either with my own relations, or with your friend;having dispositions to make which perhaps my own friends will not be sowell pleased with as it were to be wished they would be;' as I intend notunreasonable ones; but you know, Sir, where self is judge, matters, evenwith good people, will not always be rightly judged of. 

'I shall also be freed from the pain of recollecting things that my soulis vexed at; and this at a time when its tumults should be allayed, inorder to make way for the most important preparation. 

'And who knows, but that Mr. Belford, who already, from a principle ofhumanity, is touched at my misfortunes, when he comes to revolve thewhole story, placed before him in one strong light: and when he shallhave the catastrophe likewise before him; and shall become in a mannerinterested in it; who knows, but that, from a still higher principle, hemay so regulate his future actions as to find his own reward in theeverlasting welfare which is wished him by his

'Obliged servant, 'CLARISSA HARLOWE?'

LETTER LXXII

MR. BELFORD, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWEFRIDAY, AUG. 4. 

MADAM, I am so sensible of the honour done me in your's of this day, that Iwould not delay for one moment the answering of it. I hope you will liveto see many happy years; and to be your own executrix in those pointswhich your heart is most set upon. But, in the case of survivorship, Imost cheerfully accept of the sacred office you are pleased to offer me;and you may absolutely rely upon my fidelity, and, if possible, upon theliteral performance of every article you shall enjoin me. 

The effect of the kind wish you conclude with, had been my concern eversince I have been admitted to the honour of your conversation. It shallbe my whole endeavour that it be not vain. The happiness of approachingyou, which this trust, as I presume, will give me frequent opportunitiesof doing, must necessarily promote the desired end: since it will beimpossible to be a witness of your piety, equanimity, and other virtues, and not aspire to emulate you. All I beg is, that you will not sufferany future candidate, or event, to displace me; unless some new instancesof unworthiness appear either in the morals or behaviour of, Madam, Your most obliged and faithful servant, J. BELFORD. 

LETTER LXXIII

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. FRIDAY NIGHT, AUG. 4. 

I have actually delivered to the lady the extracts she requested me togive her from your letters. I do assure you that I have made the verybest of the matter for you, not that conscience, but that friendship, could oblige me to make. I have changed or omitted some free words. Thewarm description of her person in the fire-scene, as I may call it, Ihave omitted. I have told her, that I have done justice to you, in thejustice you have done to her by her unexampled virtue. But take the verywords which I wrote to her immediately following the extracts:

'And now, Madam, '--See the paragraph marked with an inverted comma[thus '], Letter LXX. Of this volume. 

The lady is extremely uneasy at the thoughts of your attempting to visither. For Heaven's sake, (your word being given, ) and for pity's sake, (for she is really in a very weak and languishing way, ) let me beg of younot to think of it. 

Yesterday afternoon she received a cruel letter (as Mrs. Lovick supposesit to be, by the effect it had upon her) from her sister, in answer toone written last Saturday, entreating a blessing and forgiveness from herparents. 

She acknowledges, that if the same decency and justice are observed inall of your letters, as in the extracts I have obliged her with, (as Ihave assured her they are, ) she shall think herself freed from thenecessity of writing her own story: and this is an advantage to theewhich thou oughtest to thank me for. 

But what thinkest thou is the second request she had to make to me? noother than that I would be her executor!--Her motives will appear beforethee in proper time; and then, I dare to answer, will be satisfactory. 

You cannot imagine how proud I am of this trust. I am afraid I shall toosoon come into the execution of it. As she is always writing, what amelancholy pleasure will be the perusal and disposition of her papersafford me! such a sweetness of temper, so much patience and resignation, as she seems to be mistress of; yet writing of and in the midst ofpresent distresses! how much more lively and affecting, for that reason, must her style be; her mind tortured by the pangs of uncertainty, (theevents then hidden in the womb of fate, ) than the dry, narrative, unanimated style of persons, relating difficulties and dangerssurmounted; the relater perfectly at ease; and if himself unmoved by hisown story, not likely greatly to affect the reader!

***

SATURDAY MORNING, AUG. 5. 

I am just returned from visiting the lady, and thanking her in person forthe honour she has done me; and assuring her, if called to the sacredtrust, of the utmost fidelity and exactness. 

I found her very ill. I took notice of it. She said, she had received asecond hard-hearted letter from her sister; and she had been writing aletter (and that on her knees) directly to her mother; which, before, shehad not had the courage to do. It was for a last blessing andforgiveness. No wonder, she said, that I saw her affected. Now that Ihad accepted of the last charitable office for her, (for which, as wellas for complying with her other request, she thanked me, ) I should oneday have all these letters before me: and could she have a kind one inreturn to that she had been now writing, to counterbalance the unkind oneshe had from her sister, she might be induced to show me both together--otherwise, for her sister's sake, it were no matter how few saw the poorBella's letter. 

I knew she would be displeased if I had censured the cruelty of herrelations: I therefore only said, that surely she must have enemies, whohoped to find their account in keeping up the resentments of her friendsagainst her. 

It may be so, Mr. Belford, said she: the unhappy never want enemies. Onefault, wilfully committed, authorizes the imputation of many more. Wherethe ear is opened to accusations, accusers will not be wanting; and everyone will officiously come with stories against a disgraced child, wherenothing dare be said in her favour. I should have been wise in time, andnot have needed to be convinced, by my own misfortunes, of the truth ofwhat common experience daily demonstrates. Mr. Lovelace's baseness, myfather's inflexibility, my sister's reproaches, are the naturalconsequences of my own rashness; so I must make the best of my hard lot. Only, as these consequences follow one another so closely, while they arenew, how can I help being anew affected?

I asked, if a letter written by myself, by her doctor or apothecary, toany of her friends, representing her low state of health, and greathumility, would be acceptable? or if a journey to any of them would be ofservice, I would gladly undertake it in person, and strictly conform toher orders, to whomsoever she should direct me to apply. 

She earnestly desired that nothing of this sort might be attempted, especially without her knowledge and consent. Miss Howe, she said, haddone harm by her kindly-intended zeal; and if there were room to expectfavour by mediation, she had ready at hand a kind friend, Mrs. Norton, who for piety and prudence had few equals; and who would let slip noopportunity to endeavour to do her service. 

I let her know that I was going out of town till Monday: she wished mepleasure; and said she should be glad to see me on my return. 

Adieu!

LETTER LXXIV

MISS AR. HARLOWE, TO MISS CL. HARLOWE[IN ANSWER TO HER'S OF JULY 29. SEE LETTER LXII. OF THIS VOLUME. ]THURSDAY MORN. AUG. 3. 

SISTER CLARY, I wish you would not trouble me with any more of your letters. You hadalways a knack at writing; and depended upon making every one do what youwould when you wrote. But your wit and folly have undone you. And now, as all naughty creatures do, when they can't help themselves, you comebegging and praying, and make others as uneasy as yourself. 

When I wrote last to you, I expected that I should not be at rest. 

And so you'd creep on, by little and little, till you'll want to bereceived again. 

But you only hope for forgiveness and a blessing, you say. A blessingfor what, sister Clary? Think for what!--However, I read your letter tomy father and mother. 

I won't tell you what my father said--one who has the true sense youboast to have of your misdeeds, may guess, without my telling you, what ajustly-incensed father would say on such an occasion. 

My poor mother--O wretch! what has not your ungrateful folly cost my poormother!--Had you been less a darling, you would not, perhaps, have beenso graceless: But I never in my life saw a cockered favourite come togood. 

My heart is full, and I can't help writing my mind; for your crimes havedisgraced us all; and I am afraid and ashamed to go to any public orprivate assembly or diversion: And why?--I need not say why, when youractions are the subjects either of the open talk, or of the affrontingwhispers, of both sexes at all such places. 

Upon the whole, I am sorry I have no more comfort to send you: but I findnobody willing to forgive you. 

I don't know what time may do for you; and when it is seen that yourpenitence is not owing more to disappointment than to true conviction:for it is too probable, Miss Clary, that, had not your feather-headedvillain abandoned you, we should have heard nothing of these movingsupplications; nor of any thing but defiances from him, and a guiltgloried in from you. And this is every one's opinion, as well as that of

Your afflicted sister, ARABELLA HARLOWE. 

I send this by a particular hand, who undertakes to give it you or leave it for you by to-morrow night. 

LETTER LXXV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO HER MOTHERSATURDAY, AUG. 5

HONOURED MADAM, No self-convicted criminal ever approached her angry and just judge withgreater awe, nor with a truer contrition, than I do you by these lines. 

Indeed I must say, that if the latter of my humble prayer had notrespected my future welfare, I had not dared to take this liberty. Butmy heart is set upon it, as upon a thing next to God Almighty'sforgiveness necessary for me. 

Had my happy sister known my distresses, she would not have wrung myheart, as she has done, by a severity, which I must needs think unkindand unsisterly. 

But complaint of any unkindness from her belongs not to me: yet, as sheis pleased to write that it must be seen that my penitence is less owingto disappointment than to true conviction, permit me, Madam, to insistupon it, that, if such a plea can be allowed me, I an actually entitledto the blessing I sue for; since my humble prayer is founded upon a trueand unfeigned repentance: and this you will the readier believe, if thecreature who never, to the best of her remembrance, told her mamma awilful falsehood may be credited, when she declares, as she does, in themost solemn manner, that she met the seducer with a determination not togo off with him: that the rash step was owing more to compulsion than toinfatuation: and that her heart was so little in it, that she repentedand grieved from the moment she found herself in his power; and for everymoment after, for several weeks before she had any cause from him toapprehend the usage she met with. 

Wherefore, on my knees, my ever-honoured Mamma, (for on my knees I writethis letter, ) I do most humbly beg your blessing: say but, in so manywords, (I ask you not, Madam, to call me your daughter, )--Lost, unhappywretch, I forgive you! and may God bless you!--This is all! Let me, ona blessed scrap of paper, but see one sentence to this effect, under yourdear hand, that I may hold it to my heart in my most trying struggles, and I shall think it a passport to Heaven. And, if I do not too muchpresume, and it were WE instead of I, and both your honoured namessubjoined to it, I should then have nothing more to wish. Then would Isay, 'Great and merciful God! thou seest here in this paper thy poorunworthy creature absolved by her justly-offended parents: Oh! join, formy Redeemer's sake, thy all-gracious fiat, and receive a repentant sinnerto the arms of thy mercy!'

I can conjure you, Madam, by no subject of motherly tenderness, that willnot, in the opinion of my severe censurers, (before whom this humbleaddress must appear, ) add to reproach: let me therefore, for God's sake, prevail upon you to pronounce me blest and forgiven, since you willthereby sprinkle comfort through the last hours of

YourCLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER LXXVI

MISS MONTAGUE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE[IN ANSWER TO HER'S OF AUG. 3. SEE LETTER LXVIII. OF THIS VOLUME. ]MONDAY, AUG. 7. 

DEAR MADAM, We were all of opinion, before your letter came, that Mr. Lovelace wasutterly unworthy of you, and deserved condign punishment, rather than tobe blessed with such a wife: and hoped far more from your kindconsideration for us, than any we supposed you could have for so base aninjurer. For we were all determined to love you, and admire you, let hisbehaviour to you be what it would. 

But, after your letter, what can be said?

I am, however, commanded to write in all the subscribing names, to letyou know how greatly your sufferings have affected us: to tell you thatmy Lord M. Has forbid him ever more to enter the doors of the apartmentswhere he shall be: and as you labour under the unhappy effects of yourfriends' displeasure, which may subject you to inconveniencies, hisLordship, and Lady Sarah, and Lady Betty, beg of you to accept, for yourlife, or, at least, till you are admitted to enjoy your own estate, ofone hundred guineas per quarter, which will be regularly brought you byan especial hand, and of the enclosed bank-bill for a beginning. And donot, dearest Madam, we all beseech you, do not think you are beholden(for this token of Lord M. 's, and Lady Sarah's, and Lady Betty's, love toyou) to the friends of this vile man; for he has not one friend leftamong us. 

We each of us desire to be favoured with a place in your esteem; and tobe considered upon the same foot of relationship as if what once was somuch our pleasure to hope would be, had been. And it shall be our unitedprayer, that you may recover health and spirits, and live to see manyhappy years: and, since this wretch can no more be pleaded for, that, when he is gone abroad, as he now is preparing to do, we may be permittedthe honour of a personal acquaintance with a lady who has no equal. These are the earnest requests, dearest young lady, of

Your affectionate friends, and most faithful servants, M. SARAH SADLEIR. ELIZ. LAWRANCE. CHARL. MONTAGUE. MARTH. MONTAGUE. 

You will break the hearts of the three first-named more particularly, if you refuse them your acceptance. Dearest young lady, punish not them for his crimes. We send by a particular hand, which will bring us, we hope, your accepting favour. 

Mr. Lovelace writes by the same hand; but he knows nothing of our letter, nor we of his: for we shun each other; and one part of the house holds us, another him, the remotest from each other. 

LETTER LXXVII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SAT. AUG. 23. 

I am so disturbed at the contents of Miss Harlowe's answer to my cousinCharlotte's letter of Tuesday last, (which was given her by the samefellow that gave me your's, ) that I have hardly patience or considerationenough to weigh what you write. 

She had need indeed to cry out for mercy for herself from her friends, who knows not how to show any! She is a true daughter of the Harlowes!--By my soul, Jack, she is a true daughter of the Harlowes! Yet has she somany excellencies, that I must love her; and, fool that I am, love herthe more for despising me. 

Thou runnest on with thy cursed nonsensical reformado rote, of dying, dying, dying! and, having once got the word by the end, canst not helpfoisting it in at every period! The devil take me, if I don't think thouwouldst rather give her poison with thy own hands, rather than she shouldrecover, and rob thee of the merit of being a conjurer!

But no more of thy cursed knell; thy changes upon death's candlestickturned bottom-upwards: she'll live to bury me; I see that: for, by mysoul, I can neither eat, drink, nor sleep, nor, what is still worse, loveany woman in the world but her. Nor care I to look upon a woman now: onthe contrary, I turn my head from every one I meet: except by chance aneye, an air, a feature, strikes me, resembling her's in some glancing-byface; and then I cannot forbear looking again: though the second lookrecovers me; for there can be nobody like her. 

But surely, Belford, the devil's in this woman! The more I think of hernonsense and obstinacy, the less patience I have with her. Is itpossible she can do herself, her family, her friends, so much justice anyother way, as by marrying me? Were she sure she should live but a day, she ought to die a wife. If her christian revenge will not let her wishto do so for her own sake, ought she not for the sake of her family, andof her sex, which she pretends sometimes to have so much concern for?And if no sake is dear enough to move her Harlowe-spirit in my favour, has she any title to the pity thou so pitifully art always bespeaking forher?

As to the difference which her letter has made between me and the stupidfamily here, [and I must tell thee we are all broke in pieces, ] I valuenot that of a button. They are fools to anathematize and curse me, whocan give them ten curses for one, were they to hold it for a daytogether. 

I have one half of the house to myself; and that the best; for the greatenjoy that least which costs them most: grandeur and use are two things:the common part is their's; the state part is mine: and here I lord it, and will lord it, as long as I please; while the two pursy sisters, theold gouty brother, and the two musty nieces, are stived up in the otherhalf, and dare not stir for fear of meeting me: whom, (that's the jestof it, ) they have forbidden coming into their apartments, as I have theminto mine. And so I have them all prisoners, while I range about as Iplease. Pretty dogs and doggesses to quarrel and bark at me, and yet, whenever I appear, afraid to pop out of their kennels; or, if out beforethey see me, at the sight of me run growling in again, with their flaptears, their sweeping dewlaps, and their quivering tails curling inwards. 

And here, while I am thus worthily waging war with beetles, drones, wasps, and hornets, and am all on fire with the rage of slighted love, thou art regaling thyself with phlegm and rock-water, and art going onwith thy reformation-scheme and thy exultations in my misfortunes!

The devil take thee for an insensible dough-baked varlet! I have no morepatience with thee than with the lady; for thou knowest nothing either oflove or friendship, but art as unworthy of the one, as incapable of theother; else wouldst thou not rejoice, as thou dost under the grimace ofpity, in my disappointments. 

And thou art a pretty fellow, art thou not? to engage to transcribe forher some parts of my letters written to thee in confidence? Letters thatthou shouldest sooner have parted with thy cursed tongue, than have ownedthat thou ever hadst received such: yet these are now to be communicatedto her! But I charge thee, and woe be to thee if it be too late! thatthou do not oblige her with a line of mine. 

If thou hast done it, the least vengeance I will take is to break throughmy honour given to thee not to visit her, as thou wilt have brokenthrough thine to me, in communicating letters written under the seal offriendship. 

I am now convinced, too sadly for my hopes, by her letter to my cousinCharlotte, that she is determined never to have me. 

Unprecedented wickedness, she calls mine to her. But how does she knowwhat love, in its flaming ardour, will stimulate men to do? How does sheknow the requisite distinctions of the words she uses in this case?--Tothink the worst, and to be able to make comparisons in these verydelicate situations, must she not be less delicate than I had imaginedher to be?--But she has head that the devil is black; and having a mindto make one of me, brays together, in the mortar of her wild fancy, twenty chimney-sweepers, in order to make one sootier than ordinary riseout of the dirty mass. 

But what a whirlwind does she raise in my soul by her proud contempts ofme! Never, never, was mortal man's pride so mortified! How does shesink me, even in my own eyes!--'Her heart sincerely repulses me, shesays, for my MEANNESS!'--Yet she intends to reap the benefit of what shecalls so!--Curse upon her haughtiness, and her meanness, at the sametime!--Her haughtiness to me, and her meanness to her own relations; moreunworthy of kindred with her, than I can be, or I am mean indeed. 

Yet who but must admire, who but must adore her; Oh! that cursed, cursedhouse! But for the women of that!--Then their d----d potions! But forthose, had her unimpaired intellects, and the majesty of her virtue, saved her, as once it did by her humble eloquence, * another time by herterrifying menaces against her own life. **

* In the fire-scene, Vol. V. Letter XVI. ** Vol. VI. Letter XXXVI. In the pen-knife-scene. 

Yet in both these to find her power over me, and my love for her, and tohate, to despise, and to refuse me!--She might have done this with someshow of justice, had the last-intended violation been perpetrated:--butto go away conqueress and triumphant in every light!--Well may shedespise me for suffering her to do so. 

She left me low and mean indeed!--And the impression holds with her. --Icould tear my flesh, that I gave her not cause--that I humbled her notindeed;--or that I staid not in town to attend her motions instead ofLord M. 's, till I could have exalted myself, by giving to myself a wifesuperior to all trial, to all temptation. 

I will venture one more letter to her, however; and if that don't do, orprocure me an answer, then will I endeavour to see her, let what will bethe consequence. If she get out of my way, I will do some noble mischiefto the vixen girl whom she most loves, and then quit the kingdom forever. 

And now, Jack, since thy hand is in at communicating the contents ofprivate letters, tell her this, if thou wilt. And add to it, That if SHEabandon me, GOD will: and what then will be the fate of

HerLOVELACE. 

LETTER LXXVIII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. [IN ANSWER TO LETTER LXV. OF THIS VOLUME. ]MONDAY, AUG. 7. 

And so you have actually delivered to the fair implacable extracts ofletters written in the confidence of friendship! Take care--take care, Belford--I do indeed love you better than I love any man in the world:but this is a very delicate point. The matter is grown very serious tome. My heart is bent upon having her. And have her I will, though Imarry her in the agonies of death. 

She is very earnest, you say, that I will not offer to molest her. That, let me tell her, will absolutely depend upon herself, and the answer shereturns, whether by pen and ink, or the contemptuous one of silence, which she bestowed upon my last four to her: and I will write it in suchhumble, and in such reasonable terms, that, if she be not a true Harlowe, she shall forgive me. But as to the executorship which she is forconferring upon thee--thou shalt not be her executor: let me perish ifthou shalt. --Nor shall she die. Nobody shall be any thing, nobody shalldare to be any thing, to her, but I--thy happiness is already too great, to be admitted daily to her presence; to look upon her, to talk to her, to hear her talk, while I am forbid to come within view of her window--What a reprobation is this, of the man who was once more dear to her thanall the men in the world!--And now to be able to look down upon me, whileher exalted head is hid from me among the stars, sometimes with scorn, atother times with pity; I cannot bear it. 

This I tell thee, that if I have not success in my effort by letter, Iwill overcome the creeping folly that has found its way to my heart, or Iwill tear it out in her presence, and throw it at her's, that she may seehow much more tender than her own that organ is, which she, and you, andevery one else, have taken the liberty to call callous. 

Give notice of the people who live back and edge, and on either hand, ofthe cursed mother, to remove their best effects, if I am rejected: forthe first vengeance I shall take will be to set fire to that den ofserpents. Nor will there be any fear of taking them when they are in anyact that has the relish of salvation in it, as Shakspeare says--so thatmy revenge, if they perish in the flames I shall light up, will becomplete as to them. 

LETTER LXXIX

MR. LOVELACE TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWEMONDAY, AUG. 7. 

Little as I have reason to expect either your patient ear, or forgivingheart, yet cannot I forbear to write to you once more, (as a morepardonable intrusion, perhaps, than a visit would be, ) to beg of you toput it in my power to atone, as far as it is possible to atone, for theinjuries I have done you. 

Your angelic purity, and my awakened conscience, are standing records ofyour exalted merit, and of my detestable baseness: but your forgivenesswill lay me under an eternal obligation to you. --Forgive me then, mydearest life, my earthly good, the visible anchor of my future hope!--Asyou, (who believe you have something to be forgiven for, ) hope for pardonyourself, forgive me, and consent to meet me, upon your own conditions, and in whose company you please, at the holy altar, and to give yourselfa title to the most repentant and affectionate heart that ever beat in ahuman bosom. 

But, perhaps, a time of probation may be required. It may be impossiblefor you, as well from indisposition as doubt, so soon to receive me toabsolute favour as my heart wishes to be received. In this case, I willsubmit to your pleasure; and there shall be no penance which you canimpose that I will not cheerfully undergo, if you will be pleased to giveme hope that, after an expiation, suppose of months, wherein theregularity of my future life and actions shall convince you of myreformation, you will at last be mine. 

Let me beg then the favour of a few lines, encouraging me in thisconditional hope, if it must not be a still nearer hope, and a moregenerous encouragement. 

If you refuse me this, you will make me desperate. But even then I must, at all events, throw myself at your feet, that I may not charge myselfwith the omission of any earnest, any humble effort, to move you in myfavour: for in YOU, Madam, in YOUR forgiveness, are centred my hopes asto both worlds: since to be reprobated finally by you, will leave mewithout expectation of mercy from above! For I am now awakened enough tothink that to be forgiven by injured innocents is necessary to the Divinepardon; the Almighty putting into the power of such, (as is reasonable tobelieve, ) the wretch who causelessly and capitally offends them. And whocan be entitled to this power, if YOU are not?

Your cause, Madam, in a word, I look upon to be the cause of virtue, and, as such, the cause of God. And may I not expect that He will assert itin the perdition of a man, who has acted by a person of the most spotlesspurity as I have done, if you, by rejecting me, show that I have offendedbeyond the possibility of forgiveness. 

I do most solemnly assure you that no temporal or worldly views induce meto this earnest address. I deserve not forgiveness from you. Nor do myLord M. And his sisters from me. I despise them from my heart forpresuming to imagine that I will be controuled by the prospect of anybenefits in their power to confer. There is not a person breathing, butyourself, who shall prescribe to me. Your whole conduct, Madam, has beenso nobly principled, and your resentments are so admirably just, that youappear to me even in a divine light; and in an infinitely more amiableone at the same time than you could have appeared in, had you notsuffered the barbarous wrongs, that now fill my mind with anguish andhorror at my own recollected villany to the most excellent of women. 

I repeat, that all I beg for the present is a few lines to guide mydoubtful steps; and, if possible for you so far to condescend, toencourage me to hope that, if I can justify my present vows by my futureconduct, I may be permitted the honour to style myself, Eternally your's, R. LOVELACE. 

LETTER LXXX

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO LORD M. AND TO THE LADIES OF HIS HOUSE[IN REPLY TO MISS MONTAGUE'S OF AUG. 7. SEE LETTER LXXVI. OF THIS VOLUME. ]TUESDAY, AUG. 8. 

Excuse me, my good Lord, and my ever-honoured Ladies, from accepting ofyour noble quarterly bounty; and allow me to return, with all gratefulacknowledgement, and true humility, the enclosed earnest of your goodnessto me. Indeed I have no need of the one, and cannot possibly want theother: but, nevertheless have such a sense of your generous favour, that, to my last hour, I shall have pleasure in contemplating upon it, and beproud of the place I hold in the esteem of such venerable persons, towhom I once had the ambition to hope to be related. 

But give me leave to express my concern that you have banished yourkinsman from your presence and favour: since now, perhaps, he will beunder less restraint than ever; and since I in particular, who had hopedby your influence to remain unmolested for the remainder of my days, mayagain be subjected to his persecutions. 

He has not, my good Lord, and my dear Ladies, offended against you, as hehas against me; yet you could all very generously intercede for him withme: and shall I be very improper, if I desire, for my own peace-sake; forthe sake of other poor creatures, who may still be injured by him, if hebe made quite desperate; and for the sake of all your worthy family; thatyou will extend to him that forgiveness which you hope for from me? andthis the rather, as I presume to think, that his daring and impetuousspirit will not be subdued by violent methods; since I have no doubt thatthe gratifying of a present passion will be always more prevalent withhim than any future prospects, however unwarrantable the one, orbeneficial the other. 

Your resentments on my account are extremely generous, as your goodnessto me is truly noble: but I am not without hope that he will be properlyaffected by the evils he has made me suffer; and that, when I am laid lowand forgotten, your whole honourable family will be enabled to rejoice inhis reformation; and see many of those happy years together, which, mygood Lord, and my dear Ladies, you so kindly wish to

Your ever-grateful and obligedCLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER LXXXI

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. THURSDAY NIGHT, AUG. 10. 

You have been informed by Tourville, how much Belton's illness andaffairs have engaged me, as well as Mowbray and him, since my former. I called at Smith's on Monday, in my way to Epsom. 

The lady was gone to chapel: but I had the satisfaction to hear she wasnot worse; and left my compliments, and an intimation that I should beout of town for three or four days. 

I refer myself to Tourville, who will let you know the difficulty we hadto drive out this meek mistress, and frugal manager, with her cubs, andto give the poor fellow's sister possession for him of his own house; heskulking mean while at an inn at Croydon, too dispirited to appear in hisown cause. 

But I must observe that we were probably but just in time to save theshattered remains of his fortune from this rapacious woman, and heraccomplices: for, as he cannot live long, and she thinks so, we found shehad certainly taken measures to set up a marriage, and keep possession ofall for herself and her sons. 

Tourville will tell you how I was forced to chastise the quondam hostlerin her sight, before I could drive him out of the house. He had theinsolence to lay hands on me: and I made him take but one step from thetop to the bottom of a pair of stairs. I thought his neck and all hisbones had been broken. And then, he being carried out neck-and-heels, Thomasine thought fit to walk out after him. 

Charming consequences of keeping; the state we have been so fond ofextolling!--Whatever it may be thought of in strong health, sickness anddeclining spirits in the keeper will bring him to see the difference. 

She should soon have him, she told a confidant, in the space of six footby five; meaning his bed: and then she would let nobody come near him butwhom she pleased. This hostler-fellow, I suppose, would then have beenhis physician; his will ready made for him; and widows' weeds probablyready provided; who knows, but she to appear in them in his own sight? asonce I knew an instance in a wicked wife; insulting a husband she hated, when she thought him past recovery: though it gave the man such spirits, and such a turn, that he got over it, and lived to see her in her coffin, dressed out in the very weeds she had insulted him in. 

So much, for the present, for Belton and his Thomasine. 

***

I begin to pity thee heartily, now I see thee in earnest in the fruitlesslove thou expressest to this angel of a woman; and the rather, as, saywhat thou wilt, it is impossible she should get over her illness, and herfriends' implacableness, of which she has had fresh instances. 

I hope thou art not indeed displeased with the extracts I have made fromthy letters for her. The letting her know the justice thou hast done toher virtue in them, is so much in favour of thy ingenuousness, (aquality, let me repeat, that gives thee a superiority over commonlibertines, ) that I think in my heart I was right; though to any otherwoman, and to one who had not known the worst of thee that she couldknow, it might have been wrong. 

If the end will justify the means, it is plain, that I have done wellwith regard to ye both; since I have made her easier, and thee appear ina better light to her, than otherwise thou wouldst have done. 

But if, nevertheless, thou art dissatisfied with my having obliged her ina point, which I acknowledge to be delicate, let us canvas this matter atour first meeting: and then I will show thee what the extracts were, andwhat connections I gave them in thy favour. 

But surely thou dost not pretend to say what I shall, or shall not do, asto the executorship. 

I am my own man, I hope. I think thou shouldst be glad to have thejustification of her memory left to one, who, at the same time, thoumayest be assured, will treat thee, and thy actions, with all the lenitythe case will admit. 

I cannot help expressing my surprise at one instance of thyself-partiality; and that is, where thou sayest she has need, indeed, tocry out for mercy herself from her friends, who knows not how to showany. 

Surely thou canst not think the cases alike--for she, as I understand, desires but a last blessing, and a last forgiveness, for a fault in amanner involuntary, if a fault at all; and does not so much as hope to bereceived; thou, to be forgiven premeditated wrongs, (which, nevertheless, she forgives, on condition to be no more molested by thee;) and hopest tobe received into favour, and to make the finest jewel in the world thyabsolute property in consequence of that forgiveness. 

I will now briefly proceed to relate what has passed since my last, as tothe excellent lady. By the account I shall give thee, thou wilt see thatshe has troubles enough upon her, all springing originally from thyself, without needing to add more to them by new vexations. And as long asthou canst exert thyself so very cavalierly at M. Hall, where every oneis thy prisoner, I see not but the bravery of thy spirit may be as wellgratified in domineering there over half a dozen persons of rank anddistinction, as it could be over an helpless orphan, as I may call thislady, since she has not a single friend to stand by her, if I do not; andwho will think herself happy, if she can refuge herself from thee, andfrom all the world, in the arms of death. 

My last was dated on Saturday. 

On Sunday, in compliance with her doctor's advice, she took a littleairing. Mrs. Lovick, and Mr. Smith and his wife, were with her. Afterbeing at Highgate chapel at divine service, she treated them with alittle repast; and in the afternoon was at Islington church, in her wayhome; returning tolerably cheerful. 

She had received several letters in my absence, as Mrs. Lovick acquaintedme, besides your's. Your's, it seems, much distressed her; but sheordered the messenger, who pressed for an answer, to be told that it didnot require an immediate one. 

On Wednesday she received a letter from her uncle Harlowe, * in answer toone she had written to her mother on Saturday on her knees. It must be avery cruel one, Mrs. Lovick says, by the effects it had upon her: for, when she received it, she was intending to take an afternoon airing in acoach: but was thrown into so violent a fit of hysterics upon it, thatshe was forced to lie down; and (being not recovered by it) to go to bedabout eight o'clock. 

* See Letter LXXXIV. Of this volume. 

On Thursday morning she was up very early; and had recourse to theScriptures to calm her mind, as she told Mrs. Lovick: and, weak as shewas, would go in a chair to Lincoln's-inn chapel, about eleven. She wasbrought home a little better; and then sat down to write to her uncle. But was obliged to leave off several times--to struggle, as she told Mrs. Lovick, for an humble temper. 'My heart, said she to the good woman, isa proud heart, and not yet, I find, enough mortified to my condition;but, do what I can, will be for prescribing resenting things to my pen. '

I arrived in town from Belton's this Thursday evening; and went directlyto Smith's. She was too ill to receive my visit. But, on sending up mycompliments, she sent me down word that she should be glad to see me inthe morning. 

Mrs. Lovick obliged me with the copy of a meditation collected by thelady from the Scriptures. She has entitled it Poor mortals the cause oftheir own misery; so entitled, I presume, with intention to take off theedge of her repinings at hardships so disproportioned to her fault, wereher fault even as great as she is inclined to think it. We may see, bythis, the method she takes to fortify her mind, and to which she owes, ina great measure, the magnanimity with which she bears her undeservedpersecutions. 

MEDITATION

POOR MORTALS THE CAUSE OF THEIR OWN MISERY. 

Say not thou, it is through the Lord that I fell away; for thou oughtestnot to do the thing that he hateth. 

Say not thou, he hath caused me to err; for he hath no need of the sinfulman. 

He himself made man from the beginning, and left him in the hand of hisown counsel;

If thou wilt, to keep the commandments, and to perform acceptablefaithfulness. 

He hath set fire and water before thee: stretch forth thine hand towhither thou wilt. 

He hath commanded no man to do wickedly: neither hath he given any manlicense to sin. 

And now, Lord, what is my hope? Truly my hope is only in thee. 

Deliver me from all my offences: and make me not a rebuke unto thefoolish. 

When thou with rebuke dost chasten man for sin, thou makest his beautyto consume away, like as it were a moth fretting a garment: every man, therefore, is vanity. 

Turn thee unto me, and have mercy upon me; for I am desolate andafflicted. 

The troubles of my heart are enlarged. O bring thou me out of mydistresses!

***

Mrs. Smith gave me the following particulars of a conversation thatpassed between herself and a young clergyman, on Tuesday afternoon, who, as it appears, was employed to make inquiries about the lady by herfriends. 

He came into the shop in a riding-habit, and asked for some Spanishsnuff; and finding only Mrs. Smith there, he desired to have a littletalk with her in the back-shop. 

He beat about the bush in several distant questions, and at last began totalk more directly about Miss Harlowe. 

He said he knew her before her fall, [that was his impudent word;] andgave the substance of the following account of her, as I collected itfrom Mrs. Smith:

'She was then, he said, the admiration and delight of every body: helamented, with great solemnity, her backsliding; another of his phrases. Mrs. Smith said, he was a fine scholar; for he spoke several things sheunderstood not; and either in Latin or Greek, she could not tell which;but was so good as to give her the English of them without asking. Afine thing, she said, for a scholar to be so condescending!'

He said, 'Her going off with so vile a rake had given great scandal andoffence to all the neighbouring ladies, as well as to her friends. '

He told Mrs. Smith 'how much she used to be followed by every one's eye, whenever she went abroad, or to church; and praised and blessed by everytongue, as she passed; especially by the poor: that she gave the fashionto the fashionable, without seeming herself to intend it, or to know shedid: that, however, it was pleasant to see ladies imitate her in dressand behaviour, who being unable to come up to her in grace and ease, exposed but their own affectation and awkwardness, at the time that theythought themselves secure of general approbation, because they wore thesame things, and put them on in the same manner, that she did, who hadevery body's admiration; little considering, that were her person liketheir's, or if she had their defects, she would have brought up a verydifferent fashion; for that nature was her guide in every thing, and easeher study; which, joined with a mingled dignity and condescension in herair and manner, whether she received or paid a compliment, distinguishedher above all her sex. 

'He spoke not, he said, his own sentiments only on this occasion, butthose of every body: for that the praises of Miss Clarissa Harlowe weresuch a favourite topic, that a person who could not speak well upon anyother subject, was sure to speak well upon that; because he could saynothing but what he had heard repeated and applauded twenty times over. '

Hence it was, perhaps, that this novice accounted for the best things hesaid himself; though I must own that the personal knowledge of the lady, which I am favoured with, made it easy to me to lick into shape what thegood woman reported to me, as the character given her by the youngLevite: For who, even now, in her decline of health, sees not that allthese attributes belong to her?

I suppose he has not been long come from college, and now thinks he hasnothing to do but to blaze away for a scholar among the ignorant; as suchyoung fellows are apt to think those who cannot cap verses with them, andtell us how an antient author expressed himself in Latin on a subject, upon which, however, they may know how, as well as that author, to expressthemselves in English. 

Mrs. Smith was so taken with him, that she would fain have introduced himto the lady, not questioning but it would be very acceptable to her tosee one who knew her and her friends so well. But this he declined forseveral reasons, as he call them; which he gave. One was, that personsof his cloth should be very cautious of the company they were in, especially where sex was concerned, and where a woman had slurred herreputation--[I wish I had been there when he gave himself these airs. ]Another, that he was desired to inform himself of her present way oflife, and who her visiters were; for, as to the praises Mrs. Smith gavethe lady, he hinted, that she seemed to be a good-natured woman, andmight (though for the lady's sake he hoped not) be too partial andshort-sighted to be trusted to, absolutely, in a concern of so high anature as he intimated the task was which he had undertaken; nodding outwords of doubtful import, and assuming airs of great significance (as Icould gather) throughout the whole conversation. And when Mrs. Smithtold him that the lady was in a very bad state of health, he gave acareless shrug--She may be very ill, says he: her disappointments musthave touched her to the quick: but she is not bad enough, I dare say, yet, to atone for her very great lapse, and to expect to be forgiven bythose whom she has so much disgraced. 

A starched, conceited coxcomb! what would I give he had fallen in my way!

He departed, highly satisfied with himself, no doubt, and assured of Mrs. Smith's great opinion of his sagacity and learning: but bid her not sayany thing to the lady about him or his inquiries. And I, for verydifferent reasons, enjoined the same thing. 

I am glad, however, for her peace of mind's sake, that they begin tothink it behoves them to inquire about her. 

LETTER LXXXII

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. FRIDAY, AUG. 11. 

[Mr. Belford acquaints his friend with the generosity of Lord M. And the Ladies of his family; and with the Lady's grateful sentiments upon the occasion. 

He says, that in hopes to avoid the pain of seeing him, (Mr. Lovelace, ) she intends to answer his letter of the 7th, though much against her inclination. ]

'She took great notice, ' says Mr. Belford, 'of that passage in your's, which makes necessary to the Divine pardon, the forgiveness of a personcauselessly injured. 

'Her grandfather, I find, has enabled her at eighteen years of age tomake her will, and to devise great part of his estate to whom she pleasesof the family, and the rest out of it (if she die single) at her owndiscretion; and this to create respect to her! as he apprehended that shewould be envied: and she now resolves to set about making her will out ofhand. '

[Mr. Belford insists upon the promise he had made him, not to molest the Lady: and gives him the contents of her answer to Lord M. And the Ladies of his Lordship's family, declining their generous offers. See Letter LXXX. Of this volume. 

LETTER LXXXIII

MISS CL. HARLOWE, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. FRIDAY, AUG. 11. 

It is a cruel alternative to be either forced to see you, or to write toyou. But a will of my own has been long denied me; and to avoid agreater evil, nay, now I may say, the greatest, I write. 

Were I capable of disguising or concealing my real sentiments, I mightsafely, I dare say, give you the remote hope you request, and yet keepall my resolutions. But I must tell you, Sir, (it becomes my characterto tell you, that, were I to live more years than perhaps I may weeks, and there were not another man in the world, I could not, I would not, beyour's. 

There is no merit in performing a duty. 

Religion enjoins me not only to forgive injuries, but to return good forevil. It is all my consolation, and I bless God for giving me that, thatI am now in such a state of mind, with regard to you, that I cancheerfully obey its dictates. And accordingly I tell you, that, whereveryou go, I wish you happy. And in this I mean to include every good wish. 

And now having, with great reluctance I own, complied with one of yourcompulsatory alternatives, I expect the fruits of it. 

CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER LXXXIV

MR. JOHN HARLOWE, TO MISS CL. HARLOWE[IN ANSWER TO HER'S TO HER MOTHER. SEE LETTER LXXV. OF THIS VOLUME. ]MONDAY, AUG. 7. 

POOR UNGRATEFUL, NAUGHTY KINSWOMAN!

Your mother neither caring, nor being permitted, to write, I am desiredto set pen to paper, though I had resolved against it. 

And so I am to tell you, that your letters, joined to the occasion ofthem, almost break the hearts of us all. 

Were we sure you had seen your folly, and were truly penitent, and, atthe same time, that you were so very ill as you pretend, I know not whatmight be done for you. But we are all acquainted with your moving wayswhen you want to carry a point. 

Unhappy girl! how miserable have you made us all! We, who used to visitwith so much pleasure, now cannot endure to look upon one another. 

If you had not know, upon an hundred occasions, how dear you once was tous, you might judge of it now, were you to know how much your folly hasunhinged us all. 

Naughty, naughty girl! You see the fruits of preferring a rake andlibertine to a man of sobriety and morals, against full warning, againstbetter knowledge. And such a modest creature, too, as you were! Howcould you think of such an unworthy preference!

Your mother can't ask, and your sister knows not in modesty how to ask;and so I ask you, if you have any reason to think yourself with child bythis villain?--You must answer this, and answer it truly, before anything can be resolved upon about you. 

You may well be touched with a deep remorse for your misdeeds. Could Iever have thought that my doting-piece, as every one called you, wouldhave done thus? To be sure I loved you too well. But that is over now. Yet, though I will not pretend to answer for any body but myself, for myown part I say God forgive you! and this is all from

Your afflicted uncle, JOHN HARLOWE. 

***

The following MEDITATION was stitched to the bottom of this letter withblack silk. 

MEDITATION

O that thou wouldst hide me in the grave! that thou wouldst keep mesecret, till thy wrath be past!

My face is foul with weeping; and on my eye-lid is the shadow of death. 

My friends scorn me; but mine eye poureth out tears unto God. 

A dreadful sound is in my ears; in prosperity the destroyer came upon me!

I have sinned! what shall I do unto thee, O thou Preserver of men! whyhast thou set me as a mark against thee; so that I am a burden to myself!

When I say my bed shall comfort me; my couch shall ease my complaint;

Then thou scarest me with dreams, and terrifiest me through visions. 

So that my soul chooseth strangling, and death rather than life. 

I loath it! I would not live always!--Let me alone; for my days arevanity!

He hath made me a bye-word of the people; and aforetime I was as atabret. 

My days are past, my purposes are broken off, even the thoughts of myheart. 

When I looked for good, then evil came unto me; and when I waited forlight, then came darkness. 

And where now is my hope?--

Yet all the days of my appointed time will I wait, till my change come. 

LETTER LXXXV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO JOHN HARLOWE, ESQ. THURSDAY, AUG. 10. 

HONOURED SIR, It was an act of charity I begged: only for a last blessing, that I mightdie in peace. I ask not to be received again, as my severe sister [Oh!that I had not written to her!] is pleased to say, is my view. Let thatgrace be denied me when I do. 

I could not look forward to my last scene with comfort, without seeking, at least, to obtain the blessing I petitioned for; and that with acontrition so deep, that I deserved not, were it known, to be turned overfrom the tender nature of a mother, to the upbraiding pen of an uncle!and to be wounded by a cruel question, put by him in a shocking manner:and which a little, a very little time, will better answer than I can:for I am not either a hardened or shameless creature: if I were, I shouldnot have been so solicitous to obtain the favour I sued for. 

And permit me to say that I asked it as well for my father and mother'ssake, as for my own; for I am sure they at least will be uneasy, after Iam gone, that they refused it to me. 

I should still be glad to have theirs, and your's, Sir, and all yourblessings, and your prayers: but, denied in such a manner, I will notpresume again to ask it: relying entirely on the Almighty's; which isnever denied, when supplicated for with such true penitence as I hopemine is. 

God preserve my dear uncle, and all my honoured friends! prays

Your unhappyCLARISSA HARLOWE. 

END OF VOL. 7.