CLARISSA HARLOWE

or the

HISTORY OF A YOUNG LADY

Nine VolumesVolume VI. 

CONTENTS OF VOLUME VI

LETTER I. II. Lovelace to Belford. --His conditional promise to Tomlinson in the lady's favour. His pleasand arguments on their present situation, and on his darling andhitherto-baffled views. His whimsical contest with his conscience. Hislatest adieu to it. His strange levity, which he calls gravity, on thedeath of Belford's uncle. 

LETTER III. IV. From the same. --She favours him with a meeting in the garden. Her composure. Herconversation great and noble. But will not determine any thing in hisfavour. It is however evident, he says, that she has still sometenderness for him. His reasons. An affecting scene between them. Heringenuousness and openness of heart. She resolves to go to church; butwill not suffer him to accompany her thither. His whimsical debate withthe God of Love, whom he introduced as pleading for the lady. 

LETTER V. VI. VII. From the same. --He has got the wished-for letter from Miss Howe. --Informs him of themanner of obtaining it. --His remarks upon it. Observations on femalefriendships. Comparison between Clarissa and Miss Howe. 

LETTER VIII. From the same. --Another conversation with the lady. His plausible arguments to re-obtainher favour ineffectual. His pride piqued. His revenge incited. Newarguments in favour of his wicked prospects. His notice that a licenseis actually obtained. 

LETTER IX. X. From the same. --Copy of the license; with his observations upon it. His scheme forannual marriages. He is preparing with Lady Betty and Miss Montague towait upon Clarissa. Who these pretended ladies are. How dressed. Theygive themselves airs of quality. Humourously instructs them how to actup their assumed characters. 

LETTER XI. XII. Lovelace to Belford. --Once more is the charmer of his soul in her old lodgings. Brief accountof the horrid imposture. Steels his heart by revengeful recollections. Her agonizing apprehensions. Temporary distraction. Is ready to fallinto fits. But all her distress, all her prayers, her innocence, hervirtue, cannot save her from the most villanous outrage. 

LETTER XIII. Belford to Lovelace. --Vehemently inveighs against him. Grieves for the lady. Is now convincedthat there must be a world after this to do justice to injured merit. Beseeches him, if he be a man, and not a devil, to do all the poorjustice now in his power. 

LETTER XIV. Lovelace to Belford. --Regrets that he ever attempted her. Aims at extenuation. Does he notsee that he has journeyed on to this stage, with one determined point inview from the first? She is at present stupified, he says. 

LETTER XV. From the same. --The lady's affecting behaviour in her delirium. He owns that art hasbeen used to her. Begins to feel remorse. 

LETTER XVI. From the same. --The lady writes upon scraps of paper, which she tears, and throws underthe table. Copies of ten of these rambling papers; and of a letter tohim most affectingly incoherent. He attempts farther to extenuate hisvillany. Tries to resume his usual levity; and forms a scheme to decoythe people at Hampstead to the infamous woman's in town. The lady seemsto be recovering. 

LETTER XVII. From the same. --She attempts to get away in his absence. Is prevented by the odiousSinclair. He exults in the hope of looking her into confusion when hesees her. Is told by Dorcas that she is coming into the dining-room tofind him out. 

LETTER XVIII. From the same. --A high scene of her exalted, and of his depressed, behaviour. Offers tomake her amends by matrimony. She treats his offer with contempt. Afraid Belford plays him false. 

LETTER XIX. From the same. --Wishes he had never seen her. With all the women he had known till now, it was once subdued, and always subdued. His miserable dejection. Hisremorse. She attempts to escape. A mob raised. His quick invention topacify it. Out of conceit with himself and his contrivances. 

LETTER XX. XXI. Lovelace to Belford. --Lord M. Very ill. His presence necessary at M. Hall. Puts Dorcas uponingratiating herself with her lady. --He re-urges marriage to her. Sheabsolutely, from the most noble motives, rejects him. 

LETTER XXII. From the same. --Reflects upon himself. It costs, he says, more pain to be wicked than tobe good. The lady's solemn expostulation with him. Extols her greatnessof soul. Dorcas coming into favour with her. He is alarmed by anotherattempt of the lady to get off. She is in agonies at being prevented. He tried to intimidate her. Dorcas pleads for her. On the point ofdrawing his sword against himself. The occasion. 

LETTER XXIII. From the same. --Cannot yet persuade himself but the lady will be his. Reasons for hisopinion. Opens his heart to Belford, as to his intentions by her. Mortified that she refuses his honest vows. Her violation but notional. Her triumph greater than her sufferings. Her will unviolated. He is abetter man, he says, than most rakes; and why. 

LETTER XXIV. XXV. From the same. --The lady gives a promissory note to Dorcas, to induce her to further herescape. --A fair trial of skill now, he says. A conversation between thevile Dorcas and her lady: in which she engages her lady's pity. Thebonds of wickedness stronger than the ties of virtue. Observations onthat subject. 

LETTER XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII. From the same. --A new contrivance to advantage of the lady's intended escape. --A letterfrom Tomlinson. Intent of it. --He goes out to give opportunity for thelady to attempt an escape. His designs frustrated. 

LETTER XXIX. From the same. --An interesting conversation between the lady and him. No concession inhis favour. By his soul, he swears, this dear girl gives the lie to alltheir rakish maxims. He has laid all the sex under obligation to him;and why. 

LETTER XXX. Lovelace to Belford. --Lord M. In extreme danger. The family desire his presence. Heintercepts a severe letter from Miss Howe to her friend. Copy of it. 

LETTER XXXI. From the same. --The lady, suspecting Dorcas, tries to prevail upon him to give her herliberty. She disclaims vengeance, and affectingly tells him all herfuture views. Denied, she once more attempts an escape. Prevented, andterrified with apprehensions of instant dishonour, she is obliged to makesome concession. 

LETTER XXXII. From the same. --Accuses her of explaining away her concession. Made desperate, he seeksoccasion to quarrel with her. She exerts a spirit which overawes him. He is ridiculed by the infamous copartnership. Calls to Belford to helpa gay heart to a little of his dismal, on the expected death of Lord M. 

LETTER XXXIII. From the same. --Another message from M. Hall, to engage him to go down the next morning. 

LETTER XXXIV. XXXV. From the same. --The women's instigations. His farther schemes against the lady. What, he asks, is the injury which a church-rite will not at any time repair?

LETTER XXXVI. From the same. --Himself, the mother, her nymphs, all assembled with intent to execute hisdetestable purposes. Her glorious behaviour on the occasion. Heexecrates, detests, despises himself; and admires her more than ever. Obliged to set out early that morning for M. Hall, he will press her withletters to meet him next Thursday, her uncle's birthday, at the altar. 

LETTER XXXVII. XXXVIII. XXXIX. Lovelace to Clarissa, from M. Hall. --Urging her accordingly, (the license in her hands, ) by the most engagingpleas and arguments. 

LETTER XL. Lovelace to Belford. --Begs he will wait on the lady, and induce her to write but four words tohim, signifying the church and the day. Is now resolved on wedlock. Curses his plots and contrivances; which all end, he says, in one grandplot upon himself. 

LETTER XLI. Belford to Lovelace. In answer. --Refuses to undertake for him, unless he can be sure of his honour. Whyhe doubts it. 

LETTER XLII. Lovelace. In reply. --Curses him for scrupulousness. Is in earnest to marry. After one moreletter of entreaty to her, if she keep sullen silence, she must take theconsequence. 

LETTER XLIII. Lovelace to Clarissa. --Once more earnestly entreats her to meet him at the altar. Not to beforbidden coming, he will take for leave to come. 

LETTER XLIV. Lovelace to Patrick M'Donald. --Ordering him to visit the lady, and instructing him what to say, and howto behave to her. 

LETTER XLV. To the same, as Captain Tomlinson. --Calculated to be shown to the lady, as in confidence. 

LETTER XLVI. M'Donald to Lovelace. --Goes to attend the lady according to direction. Finds the house in anuproar; and the lady escaped. 

LETTER XLVII. Mowbray to Lovelace. --With the same news. 

LETTER XLVIII. Belford to Lovelace. --Ample particulars of the lady's escape. Makes serious reflections on thedistress she must be in; and on his (Lovelace's) ungrateful usage of her. What he takes the sum of religion. 

LETTER XLIX. Lovelace to Belford. --Runs into affected levity and ridicule, yet at last owns all his gayetybut counterfeit. Regrets his baseness to the lady. Inveighs against thewomen for their instigations. Will still marry her, if she can be foundout. One misfortune seldom comes alone; Lord M. Is recovering. He hadbespoken mourning for him. 

LETTER L. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Writes with incoherence, to inquire after her health. Lets her knowwhither to direct to her. But forgets, in her rambling, her privateaddress. By which means her letter falls into the hands of Miss Howe'smother. 

LETTER LI. Mrs. Howe to Clarissa. --Reproaches her for making all her friends unhappy. Forbids her to writeany more to her daughter. 

LETTER LII. Clarissa's meek reply. 

LETTER LIII. Clarissa to Hannah Burton. 

LETTER LIV. Hannah Burton. In answer. 

LETTER LV. Clarissa to Miss Norton. --Excuses her long silence. Asks her a question, with a view to detectLovelace. Hints at his ungrateful villany. Self-recrimination. 

LETTER LVI. Mrs. Norton to Clarissa. --Answers her question. Inveighs against Lovelace. Hopes she has escapedwith her honour. Consoles her by a brief relation of her own case, andfrom motives truly pious. 

LETTER LVII. Clarissa to Lady Betty Lawrance. --Requests an answer to three questions, with a view farther to detectLovelace. 

LETTER LVIII. Lady Betty to Clarissa. --Answers her questions. In the kindest manner offers to mediate betweenher nephew and her. 

LETTER LIX. LX. Clarissa to Mrs. Hodges, her uncle Harlowe's housekeeper; with a view of still farther detectingLovelace. --- Mrs. Hodges's answer. 

LETTER LXI. Clarissa to Lady Betty Lawrance. --Acquaints her with her nephew's baseness. Charitably wishes hisreformation; but utterly, and from principle, rejects him. 

LETTER LXII. Clarissa to Mrs. Norton. --Is comforted by her kind soothings. Wishes she had been her child. Willnot allow her to come up to her; why. Some account of the people she iswith; and of a worthy woman, Mrs. Lovick, who lodges in the house. Briefly hints to her the vile usage she has received from Lovelace. 

LETTER LXIII. Mrs. Norton to Clarissa. --Inveighs against Lovelace. Wishes Miss Howe might be induced to refrainfrom freedoms that do hurt, and can do no good. Farther piously consolesher. 

LETTER LXIV. Clarissa to Mrs. Norton. --A new trouble. An angry letter from Miss Howe. The occasion. Her heartis broken. Shall be uneasy, till she can get her father's curse revoked. Casts about to whom she can apply for this purpose. At last resolves towrite to her sister to beg her mediation. 

LETTER LXV. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Her angry and reproachful letter above-mentioned; demands from her theclearing up of her conduct. 

LETTER LXVI. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Gently remonstrates upon her severity. To this hour knows not all themethods taken to deceive and ruin her. But will briefly, yetcircumstantially, enter into the darker part of her sad story, though herheart sinks under the thoughts of a recollection so painful. 

LETTER LXVII. LXVIII. LXIX. LXX. From the same. --She gives the promised particulars of her story. Begs that the blackestparts of it may be kept secret; and why. Desires one friendly tear, andno more, may be dropt from her gentle eye, on the happy day that shallshut up all her sorrows. 

LETTER LXXI. LXXII. Miss Howe to Clarissa. --Execrates the abandoned profligate. She must, she tells her, look to theworld beyond this for her reward. Unravels some of Lovelace's plots; anddetects his forgeries. Is apprehensive for her own as well as Clarissa'ssafety. Advises her to pursue a legal vengeance. Laudable custom in theIsle of Man. Offers personally to attend her in a court of justice. 

LETTER LXXIII. Clarissa to Miss Howe. --Cannot consent to a prosecution. Discovers who it was that personatedher at Hampstead. She is quite sick of life, and of an earth in whichinnocent and benevolent spirits are sure to be considered as aliens. 

THE HISTORY

OF

CLARISSA HARLOWE

LETTER I

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SAT. MIDNIGHT. 

No rest, says a text that I once heard preached upon, to the wicked--andI cannot close my eyes (yet only wanted to compound for half an hour inan elbow-chair)--so must scribble on. 

I parted with the Captain after another strong debate with him inrelation to what is to be the fate of this lady. As the fellow has anexcellent head, and would have made an eminent figure in any station oflife, had not his early days been tainted with a deep crime, and hedetected in it; and as he had the right side of the argument; I had agood deal of difficulty with him; and at last brought myself to promise, that if I could prevail upon her generously to forgive me, and toreinstate me in her favour, I would make it my whole endeavour to get offof my contrivances, as happily as I could; (only that Lady Betty andCharlotte must come;) and then substituting him for her uncle's proxy, take shame to myself, and marry. 

But if I should, Jack, (with the strongest antipathy to the state thatever man had, ) what a figure shall I make in rakish annals? And can Ihave taken all this pains for nothing? Or for a wife only, that, howeverexcellent, [and any woman, do I think I could make good, because I couldmake any woman fear as well as love me, ] might have been obtained withoutthe plague I have been at, and much more reputably than with it? Andhast thou not seen, that this haughty woman [forgive me that I call herhaughty! and a woman! Yet is she not haughty?] knows not how to forgivewith graciousness? Indeed has not at all forgiven me? But holds my soulin a suspense which has been so grievous to her own. 

At this silent moment, I think, that if I were to pursue my formerscheme, and resolve to try whether I cannot make a greater fault serve asa sponge to wipe out the less; and then be forgiven for that; I canjustify myself to myself; and that, as the fair invincible would say, isall in all. 

As it is my intention, in all my reflections, to avoid repeating, atleast dwelling upon, what I have before written to thee, though the stateof the case may not have varied; so I would have thee to re-consider theold reasonings (particularly those contained in my answer to thy last*expostulatory nonsense); and add the new as they fall from my pen; andthen I shall think myself invincible;--at least, as arguing rake to rake. 

* See Vol. V. Letter XIV. 

I take the gaining of this lady to be essential to my happiness: and isit not natural for all men to aim at obtaining whatever they think willmake them happy, be the object more or less considerable in the eyes ofothers?

As to the manner of endeavouring to obtain her, by falsification ofoaths, vows, and the like--do not the poets of two thousand years andupwards tell us, that Jupiter laughs at the perjuries of lovers? And letme add, to what I have heretofore mentioned on that head, a question ortwo. 

Do not the mothers, the aunts, the grandmothers, the governesses of thepretty innocents, always, from their very cradles to riper years, preachto them the deceitfulness of men?--That they are not to regard theiroaths, vows, promises?--What a parcel of fibbers would all these reverendmatrons be, if there were not now and then a pretty credulous rogue takenin for a justification of their preachments, and to serve as a beaconlighted up for the benefit of the rest?

Do we not then see, that an honest prowling fellow is a necessary evil onmany accounts? Do we not see that it is highly requisite that a sweetgirl should be now-and-then drawn aside by him?--And the more eminent thegirl, in the graces of person, mind, and fortune, is not the examplelikely to be the more efficacious?

If these postulata be granted me, who, I pray, can equal my charmer inall these? Who therefore so fit for an example to the rest of her sex?--At worst, I am entirely within my worthy friend Mandeville's assertion, that private vices are public benefits. 

Well, then, if this sweet creature must fall, as it is called, for thebenefit of all the pretty fools of the sex, she must; and there's an endof the matter. And what would there have been in it of uncommon or rare, had I not been so long about it?--And so I dismiss all furtherargumentation and debate upon the question: and I impose upon thee, whenthou writest to me, an eternal silence on this head. 

Wafer'd on, as an after-written introduction to the paragraphs whichfollow, marked with turned commas, [thus, ']:

Lord, Jack, what shall I do now! How one evil brings on another!Dreadful news to tell thee! While I was meditating a simple robbery, here have I (in my own defence indeed) been guilty of murder!--A bl--ymurder! So I believe it will prove. At her last gasp!--Poor impertinentopposer!--Eternally resisting!--Eternally contradicting! There she liesweltering in her blood! her death's wound have I given her!--But she wasa thief, an impostor, as well as a tormentor. She had stolen my pen. While I was sullenly meditating, doubting, as to my future measures, shestole it; and thus she wrote with it in a hand exactly like my own; andwould have faced me down, that it was really my own hand-writing. 

'But let me reflect before it is too late. On the manifold perfectionsof this ever-amiable creature let me reflect. The hand yet is only heldup. The blow is not struck. Miss Howe's next letter may blow thee up. In policy thou shouldest be now at least honest. Thou canst not livewithout her. Thou wouldest rather marry her than lose her absolutely. Thou mayest undoubtedly prevail upon her, inflexible as she seems to be, for marriage. But if now she finds thee a villain, thou mayest nevermore engage her attention, and she perhaps will refuse and abhor thee. 

'Yet already have I not gone too far? Like a repentant thief, afraid ofhis gang, and obliged to go on, in fear of hanging till he comes to behanged, I am afraid of the gang of my cursed contrivances. 

'As I hope to live, I am sorry, (at the present writing, ) that I havebeen such a foolish plotter, as to put it, as I fear I have done, out ofmy own power to be honest. I hate compulsion in all forms; and cannotbear, even to be compelled to be the wretch my choice has made me! Sonow, Belford, as thou hast said, I am a machine at last, and no freeagent. 

'Upon my soul, Jack, it is a very foolish thing for a man of spirit tohave brought himself to such a height of iniquity, that he must proceed, and cannot help himself, and yet to be next to certain, that this veryvictory will undo him. 

'Why was such a woman as this thrown into my way, whose very fall willbe her glory, and, perhaps, not only my shame but my destruction?

'What a happiness must that man know, who moves regularly to somelaudable end, and has nothing to reproach himself with in his progressto do it! When, by honest means, he attains his end, how great andunmixed must be his enjoyments! What a happy man, in this particularcase, had I been, had it been given me to be only what I wished to appearto be!'

Thus far had my conscience written with my pen; and see what a recreantshe had made of me!--I seized her by the throat--There!--There, said I, thou vile impertinent!--take that, and that!--How often have I gave theewarning!--and now, I hope, thou intruding varletess, have I done thybusiness!

Puling and low-voiced, rearing up thy detested head, in vain implorestthou my mercy, who, in thy day hast showed me so little!--Take that, fora rising blow!--And now will thy pain, and my pain for thee, soon beover. Lie there!--Welter on!--Had I not given thee thy death's wound, thou wouldest have robbed me of all my joys. Thou couldest not havemended me, 'tis plain. Thou couldest only have thrown me into despair. Didst thou not see, that I had gone too far to recede?--Welter on, oncemore I bid thee!--Gasp on!--That thy last gasp, surely!--How hard diestthou!

ADIEU!--Unhappy man! ADIEU!

'Tis kind in thee, however, to bid me, Adieu!

Adieu, Adieu, Adieu, to thee, O thou inflexible, and, till now, unconquerable bosom intruder!--Adieu to thee for ever!

LETTER II

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SUNDAY MORN. (JUNE 11). FOUR O'CLOCK. 

A few words to the verbal information thou sentest me last nightconcerning thy poor old man; and then I rise from my seat, shake myself, refresh, new-dress, and so to my charmer, whom, notwithstanding herreserves, I hope to prevail upon to walk out with me on the Heath thiswarm and fine morning. 

The birds must have awakened her before now. They are in full song. Shealways gloried in accustoming herself to behold the sun rise--one ofGod's natural wonders, as once she called it. 

Her window salutes the east. The valleys must be gilded by his rays, bythe time I am with her; for already have they made the up-lands smile, andthe face of nature cheerful. 

How unsuitable will thou find this gay preface to a subject so gloomy asthat I am now turning to!

I am glad to hear thy tedious expectations are at last answered. 

Thy servant tells me that thou are plaguily grieved at the old fellow'sdeparture. 

I can't say, but thou mayest look as if thou wert; harassed as thou hastbeen for a number of days and nights with a close attendance upon a dyingman, beholding his drawing-on hour--pretending, for decency's sake, towhine over his excruciating pangs; to be in the way to answer a thousandimpertinent inquiries after the health of a man thou wishedest to die--topray by him--for so once thou wrotest to me!--To read by him--to beforced to join in consultation with a crew of solemn and paradingdoctors, and their officious zanies, the apothecaries, joined with thebutcherly tribe of scarficators; all combined to carry on the physicalfarce, and to cut out thongs both from his flesh and his estate--to havethe superadded apprehension of dividing thy interest in what he shallleave with a crew of eager-hoping, never-to-be-satisfied relations, legatees, and the devil knows who, of private gratifiers of passionslaudable and illaudable--in these circumstances, I wonder not that thoulookest before servants, (as little grieved as thou after heirship, ) asif thou indeed wert grieved; and as if the most wry-fac'd woe hadbefallen thee. 

Then, as I have often thought, the reflection that must naturally arisefrom such mortifying objects, as the death of one with whom we have beenfamiliar, must afford, when we are obliged to attend it in its slowapproaches, and in its face-twisting pangs, that it will one day be ourown case, goes a great way to credit the appearance of grief. 

And that it is this, seriously reflected upon, may temporally give a fineair of sincerity to the wailings of lively widows, heart-exulting heirs, and residuary legatees of all denominations; since, by keeping down theinward joy, those interesting reflections must sadden the aspect, and addan appearance of real concern to the assumed sables. 

Well, but, now thou art come to the reward of all thy watchings, anxieties, and close attendances, tell me what it is; tell me if itcompensate thy trouble, and answer thy hope?

As to myself, thou seest, by the gravity of my style, how the subject hashelped to mortify me. But the necessity I am under of committing eitherspeedy matrimony, or a rape, has saddened over my gayer prospects, and, more than the case itself, contributed to make me sympathize with thepresent joyful-sorrow. 

Adieu, Jack, I must be soon out of my pain; and my Clarissa shall be soonout of her's--for so does the arduousness of the case require. 

LETTER III

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SUNDAY MORNING. 

I have had the honour of my charmer's company for two complete hours. Wemet before six in Mrs. Moore's garden. A walk on the Heath refused me. 

The sedateness of her aspect and her kind compliance in this meeting gaveme hopes. And all that either the Captain and I had urged yesterday toobtain a full and free pardon, that re-urged I; and I told her, besides, that Captain Tomlinson was gone down with hopes to prevail upon her uncleHarlowe to come up in person, in order to present to me the greatestblessing that man ever received. 

But the utmost I could obtain was, that she would take no resolution inmy favour till she received Miss Howe's next letter. 

I will not repeat the arguments I used; but I will give thee thesubstance of what she said in answer to them. 

She had considered of every thing, she told me. My whole conduct wasbefore her. The house I carried her to must be a vile house. The peopleearly showed what they were capable of, in the earnest attempt made tofasten Miss Partington upon her; as she doubted not, with my approbation. [Surely, thought I, she has not received a duplicate of Miss Howe'sletter of detection!] They heard her cries. My insult was undoubtedlypremeditated. By my whole recollected behaviour to her, previous to it, it must be so. I had the vilest of views, no question. And my treatmentof her put it out of all doubt. 

Soul over all, Belford! She seems sensible of liberties that my passionmade me insensible of having taken, or she could not so deeply resent. 

She besought me to give over all thoughts of her. Sometimes, she said, she thought herself cruelly treated by her nearest and dearest relations;at such times, a spirit of repining and even of resentment took place;and the reconciliation, at other times so desirable, was not then so muchthe favourite wish of her heart, as was the scheme she had formerlyplanned--of taking her good Norton for her directress and guide, andliving upon her own estate in the manner her grandfather had intended sheshould live. 

This scheme she doubted not that her cousin Morden, who was one of hertrustees for that estate, would enable her, (and that, as she hoped, without litigation, ) to pursue. And if he can, and does, what, Sir, letme ask you, said she, have I seen in your conduct, that should make meprefer to it an union of interest, where there is such a disunion inminds?

So thou seest, Jack, there is reason, as well as resentment, in thepreference she makes against me!--Thou seest, that she presumes to thinkthat she can be happy without me; and that she must be unhappy with me!

I had besought her, in the conclusion of my re-urged arguments, to writeto Miss Howe before Miss Howe's answer could come, in order to lay beforeher the present state of things; and if she would pay a deference to herjudgment, to let her have an opportunity to give it, on the full knowledgeof the case--

So I would, Mr. Lovelace, was the answer, if I were in doubt myself, which I would prefer--marriage, or the scheme I have mentioned. Youcannot think, Sir, but the latter must be my choice. I wish to part withyou with temper--don't put me upon repeating--

Part with me, Madam! interrupted I--I cannot bear those words!--But letme beseech you, however, to write to Miss Howe. I hope, if Miss Howe isnot my enemy--

She is not the enemy of your person, Sir;--as you would be convinced, ifyou saw her last letter* to me. But were she not an enemy to youractions, she would not be my friend, nor the friend of virtue. Why willyou provoke from me, Mr. Lovelace, the harshness of expression, which, however, which, however deserved by you, I am unwilling just now to use, having suffered enough in the two past days from my own vehemence?

* The lady innocently means Mr. Lovelace's forged one. See Vol. V. Letter XXX. 

I bit my lip for vexation. And was silent. 

Miss Howe, proceeded she, knows the full state of matters already, Sir. The answer I expect from her respects myself, not you. Her heart is toowarm in the cause of friendship, to leave me in suspense one momentlonger than is necessary as to what I want to know. Nor does her answerabsolutely depend upon herself. She must see a person first, and thatperson perhaps see others. 

The cursed smuggler-woman, Jack!--Miss Howe's Townsend, I doubt not--Plot, contrivance, intrigue, stratagem!--Underground-moles these women--but let the earth cover me!--let me be a mole too, thought I, if theycarry their point!--and if this lady escape me now!

She frankly owned that she had once thought of embarking out of all ourways for some one of our American colonies. But now that she had beencompelled to see me, (which had been her greatest dread), and which shemight be happiest in the resumption of her former favourite scheme, ifMiss Howe could find her a reputable and private asylum, till her cousinMorden could come. --But if he came not soon, and if she had a difficultyto get to a place of refuge, whether from her brother or from any bodyelse, [meaning me, I suppose, ] she might yet perhaps go abroad; for, tosay the truth, she could not think of returning to her father's house, since her brother's rage, her sister's upbraidings, her father's anger, her mother's still-more-affecting sorrowings, and her own consciousnessunder them all, would be unsupportable to her. 

O Jack! I am sick to death, I pine, I die, for Miss Howe's next letter!I would bind, gag, strip, rob, and do any thing but murder, to interceptit. 

But, determined as she seems to be, it was evident to me, nevertheless, that she had still some tenderness for me. 

She often wept as she talked, and much oftener sighed. She looked at metwice with an eye of undoubted gentleness, and three times with an eyetending to compassion and softness; but its benign rays were as oftensnatched back, as I may say, and her face averted, as if her sweet eyeswere not to be trusted, and could not stand against my eager eyes;seeking, as they did, for a lost heart in her's, and endeavouring topenetrate to her very soul. 

More than once I took her hand. She struggled not much against thefreedom. I pressed it once with my lips--she was not very angry. Afrown indeed--but a frown that had more distress in it than indignation. 

How came the dear soul, (clothed as it is with such a silken vesture, ) byall its steadiness?* Was it necessary that the active gloom of such atyrant of a father, should commix with such a passive sweetness of awill-less mother, to produce a constancy, an equanimity, a steadiness, inthe daughter, which never woman before could boast of? If so, she ismore obliged to that despotic father than I could have imagined acreature to be, who gave distinction to every one related to her beyondwhat the crown itself can confer. 

* See Vol. I. Letters IX. XIV. And XIX. For what she herself says on thatsteadiness which Mr. Lovelace, though a deserved sufferer by it, cannothelp admiring. 

I hoped, I said, that she would admit of the intended visit, which I hadso often mentioned, of the two ladies. 

She was here. She had seen me. She could not help herself at present. She even had the highest regard for the ladies of my family, because oftheir worthy characters. There she turned away her sweet face, andvanquished an half-risen sigh. 

I kneeled to her then. It was upon a verdant cushion; for we were uponthe grass walk. I caught her hand. I besought her with an earnestnessthat called up, as I could feel, my heart to my eyes, to make me, by herforgiveness and example, more worthy of them, and of her own kind andgenerous wishes. By my soul, Madam, said I, you stab me with yourgoodness--your undeserved goodness! and I cannot bear it!

Why, why, thought I, as I did several times in this conversation, willshe not generously forgive me? Why will she make it necessary for me tobring Lady Betty and my cousin to my assistance? Can the fortress expectthe same advantageous capitulation, which yields not to the summons of aresistless conqueror, as if it gave not the trouble of bringing up andraising its heavy artillery against it?

What sensibilities, said the divine creature, withdrawing her hand, mustthou have suppressed! What a dreadful, what a judicial hardness of heartmust thine be! who canst be capable of such emotions, as sometimes thouhast shown; and of such sentiments, as sometimes have flowed from thylips; yet canst have so far overcome them all as to be able to act asthou hast acted, and that from settled purpose and premeditation; andthis, as it is said, throughout the whole of thy life, from infancy tothis time!

I told her, that I had hoped, from the generous concern she had expressedfor me, when I was so suddenly and dangerously taken ill--[theipecacuanha experiment, Jack!]

She interrupted me--Well have you rewarded me for the concern you speakof!--However, I will frankly own, now that I am determined to think nomore of you, that you might, (unsatisfied as I nevertheless was withyou, ) have made an interest--

She paused. I besought her to proceed. 

Do you suppose, Sir, and turned away her sweet face as we walked, --Do yousuppose that I had not thought of laying down a plan to govern myself by, when I found myself so unhappily over-reached and cheated, as I may say, out of myself--When I found, that I could not be, and do, what I wishedto be, and to do, do you imagine that I had not cast about, what was thenext proper course to take?--And do you believe that this next course hasnot caused me some pain to be obliged to--

There again she stopt. 

But let us break off discourse, resumed she. The subject grows too--Shesighed--Let us break off discourse--I will go in--I will prepare forchurch--[The devil! thought I. ] Well, as I can appear in thoseevery-day-worn clothes--looking upon herself--I will go to church. 

She then turned from me to go into the house. 

Bless me, my beloved creature, bless me with the continuance of thisaffecting conversation. --Remorse has seized my heart!--I have beenexcessively wrong--give me farther cause to curse my heedless folly, bythe continuance of this calm but soul-penetrating conversation. 

No, no, Mr. Lovelace: I have said too much. Impatience begins to breakin upon me. If you can excuse me to the ladies, it will be better formy mind's sake, and for your credit's sake, that I do not see them. Callme to them over-nice, petulant, prudish--what you please call me to them. Nobody but Miss Howe, to whom, next to the Almighty, and my own mother, Iwish to stand acquitted of wilful error, shall know the whole of what haspassed. Be happy, as you may!--Deserve to be happy, and happy you willbe, in your own reflection at least, were you to be ever so unhappy inother respects. For myself, if I ever shall be enabled, on duereflection, to look back upon my own conduct, without the great reproachof having wilfully, and against the light of my own judgment, erred, Ishall be more happy than if I had all that the world accounts desirable. 

The noble creature proceeded; for I could not speak. 

This self-acquittal, when spirits are lent me to dispel the darknesswhich at present too often over-clouds my mind, will, I hope, make mesuperior to all the calamities that can befal me. 

Her whole person was informed by her sentiments. She seemed to be tallerthan before. How the God within her exalted her, not only above me, butabove herself!

Divine creature! (as I thought her, ) I called her. I acknowledged thesuperiority of her mind; and was proceeding--but she interrupted me--Allhuman excellence, said she, is comparative only. My mind, I believe, isindeed superior to your's, debased as your's is by evil habits: but I hadnot known it to be so, if you had not taken pains to convince me of theinferiority of your's. 

How great, how sublimely great, this creature!--By my soul I cannotforgive her for her virtues! There is no bearing the consciousness ofthe infinite inferiority she charged me with. --But why will she breakfrom me, when good resolutions are taking place? The red-hot iron sherefuses to strike--O why will she suffer the yielding wax to harden?

We had gone but a few paces towards the house, when we were met by theimpertinent women, with notice, that breakfast was ready. I could only, with uplifted hands, beseech her to give me hope of a renewedconversation after breakfast. 

No--she would go to church. 

And into the house she went, and up stairs directly. Nor would sheoblige me with her company at the tea-table. 

I offered, by Mrs. Moore, to quit both the table and the parlour, ratherthan she should exclude herself, or deprive the two widows of the favourof her company. 

That was not all the matter, she told Mrs. Moore. She had beenstruggling to keep down her temper. It had cost her some pains to do it. She was desirous to compose herself, in hopes to receive benefit by thedivine worship she was going to join in. 

Mrs. Moore hoped for her presence at dinner. 

She had rather be excused. Yet, if she could obtain the frame of mindshe hoped for, she might not be averse to show, that she had got abovethose sensibilities, which gave consideration to a man who deserved notto be to her what he had been. 

This said, no doubt, to let Mrs. Moore know, that the garden-conversationhad not been a reconciling one. 

Mrs. Moore seemed to wonder that we were not upon a better foot ofunderstanding, after so long a conference; and the more, as she believedthat the lady had given in to the proposal for the repetition of theceremony, which I had told them was insisted upon by her uncle Harlowe. --But I accounted for this, by telling both widows that she was resolved tokeep on the reserve till she heard from Captain Tomlinson, whether heruncle would be present in person at the solemnity, or would name thatworthy gentleman for his proxy. 

Again I enjoined strict secresy, as to this particular; which waspromised by the widows, as well as for themselves, as for Miss Rawlins;of whose taciturnity they gave me such an account, as showed me, that shewas secret-keeper-general to all the women of fashion at Hampstead. 

The Lord, Jack! What a world of mischief, at this rate, must MissRawlins know!--What a Pandora's box must her bosom be!--Yet, had Inothing that was more worthy of my attention to regard, I would engage toopen it, and make my uses of the discovery. 

And now, Belford, thou perceivest, that all my reliance is upon themediation of Lady Betty and Miss Montague, and upon the hope ofintercepting Miss Howe's next letter. 

LETTER IV

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. 

This fair inexorable is actually gone to church with Mrs. Moore and Mrs. Bevis; but Will. Closely attends her motions; and I am in the way toreceive any occasional intelligence from him. 

She did not choose, [a mighty word with the sex! as if they were alwaysto have their own wills!] that I should wait upon her. I did not muchpress it, that she might not apprehend that I thought I had reason todoubt her voluntary return. 

I once had it in my head to have found the widow Bevis other employment. And I believe she would have been as well pleased with my company as togo to church; for she seemed irresolute when I told her that two out ofa family were enough to go to church for one day. But having her thingson, (as the women call every thing, ) and her aunt Moore expecting hercompany, she thought it best to go--lest it should look oddly, you know, whispered she, to one who was above regarding how it looked. 

So here am I in my dining-room; and have nothing to do but to write tillthey return. 

And what will be my subject thinkest thou? Why, the old beaten one to besure; self-debate--through temporary remorse: for the blow being notstruck, her guardian angel is redoubling his efforts to save her. 

If it be not that, [and yet what power should her guardian angel haveover me?] I don't know what it is that gives a check to my revenge, whenever I meditate treason against so sovereign a virtue. Conscience isdead and gone, as I told thee; so it cannot be that. A young consciencegrowing up, like the phoenix, from the ashes of the old one, it cannotbe, surely. But if it were, it would be hard, if I could not overlay ayoung conscience. 

Well, then, it must be LOVE, I fancy. LOVE itself, inspiring love of anobject so adorable--some little attention possibly paid likewise to thywhining arguments in her favour. 

Let LOVE then be allowed to be the moving principle; and the rather, asLOVE naturally makes the lover loth to disoblige the object of its flame;and knowing, that to an offence of the meditated kind will be a mortaloffence to her, cannot bear that I should think of giving it. 

Let LOVE and me talk together a little on this subject--be it a youngconscience, or love, or thyself, Jack, thou seest that I am for givingevery whiffler audience. But this must be the last debate on thissubject; for is not her fate in a manner at its crisis? And must not mynext step be an irretrievable one, tend it which way it will?

***

And now the debate is over. 

A thousand charming things, (for LOVE is gentler than CONSCIENCE, ) hasthis little urchin suggested in her favour. He pretended to know bothour hearts: and he would have it, that though my love was a prodigiousstrong and potent love; and though it has the merit of many months, faithful service to plead, and has had infinite difficulties to strugglewith; yet that it is not THE RIGHT SORT OF LOVE. 

Right sort of love!--A puppy!--But, with due regard to your deityship, said I, what merits has she with YOU, that you should be of her party?Is her's, I pray you, a right sort of love? Is it love at all? Shedon't pretend that it is. She owns not your sovereignty. What a d---lI moves you, to plead thus earnestly for a rebel, who despises yourpower?

And then he came with his If's and And's--and it would have been, andstill, as he believed, would be, love, and a love of the exalted kind, ifI would encourage it by the right sort of love he talked of: and, injustification of his opinion, pleaded her own confessions, as well thoseof yesterday, as of this morning: and even went so far back as to myipecacuanha illness. 

I never talked so familiarly with his godship before: thou mayest think, therefore, that his dialect sounded oddly in my ears. And then he toldme, how often I had thrown cold water upon the most charming flame thatever warmed a lady's bosom, while but young and rising. 

I required a definition of this right sort of love, he tried at it: butmade a sorry hand of it: nor could I, for the soul of me, be convinced, that what he meant to extol was LOVE. 

Upon the whole, we had a noble controversy upon this subject, in whichhe insisted upon the unprecedented merit of the lady. Nevertheless I gotthe better of him; for he was struck absolutely dumb, when (waving herpresent perverseness, which yet was a sufficient answer to all his pleas)I asserted, and offered to prove it, by a thousand instances impromptu, that love was not governed by merit, nor could be under the dominion ofprudence, or any other reasoning power: and if the lady were capable oflove, it was of such a sort as he had nothing to do with, and which neverbefore reigned in a female heart. 

I asked him, what he thought of her flight from me, at a time when I wasmore than half overcome by the right sort of love he talked of?--And thenI showed him the letter she wrote, and left behind her for me, with anintention, no doubt, absolutely to break my heart, or to provoke me tohang, drown, or shoot myself; to say nothing of a multitude ofdeclarations from her, defying his power, and imputing all that lookedlike love in her behaviour to me, to the persecution and rejection of herfriends; which made her think of me but as a last resort. 

LOVE then gave her up. The letter, he said, deserved neither pardon norexcuse. He did not think he had been pleading for such a declared rebel. And as to the rest, he should be a betrayer of the rights of his ownsovereignty, if what I had alleged were true, and he were still to pleadfor her. 

I swore to the truth of all. And truly I swore: which perhaps I do notalways do. 

And now what thinkest thou must become of the lady, whom LOVE itselfgives up, and CONSCIENCE cannot plead for?

LETTER V

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SUNDAY AFTERNOON. 

O Belford! what a hair's-breadth escape have I had!--Such a one, that Itremble between terror and joy, at the thought of what might havehappened, and did not. 

What a perverse girl is this, to contend with her fate; yet has reasonto think, that her very stars fight against her! I am the luckiest ofme!--But my breath almost fails me, when I reflect upon what a slenderthread my destiny hung. 

But not to keep thee in suspense; I have, within this half-hour, obtainedpossession of the expected letter from Miss Howe--and by such anaccident! But here, with the former, I dispatch this; thy messengerwaiting. 

LETTER VI

MR. LOVELACE[IN CONTINUATION. ]

Thus it was--My charmer accompanied Mrs. Moore again to church thisafternoon. I had been in very earnest, in the first place, to obtain hercompany at dinner: but in vain. According to what she had said to Mrs. Moore, * I was too considerable to her to be allowed that favour. In thenext place, I besought her to favour me, after dinner, with anothergarden-walk. But she would again go to church. And what reason have Ito rejoice that she did!

* See Letter III. Of this volume. 

My worthy friend, Mrs. Bevis, thought one sermon a day, well observed, enough; so staid at home to bear me company. 

The lady and Mrs. Moore had not been gone a quarter of an hour, when ayoung country-fellow on horseback came to the door, and inquired for Mrs. Harriot Lucas. The widow and I (undetermined how we were to entertaineach other) were in the parlour next the door; and hearing the fellow'sinquiry, O my dear Mrs. Bevis, said I, I am undone, undone for ever, ifyou don't help me out!--Since here, in all probability, is a messengerfrom that implacable Miss Howe with a letter; which, if delivered to Mrs. Lovelace, may undo all we have been doing. 

What, said she, would you have me do?

Call the maid in this moment, that I may give her her lesson; and if itbe as I imagined, I'll tell you what you shall do. 

Wid. Margaret!--Margaret! come in this minute. 

Lovel. What answer, Mrs. Margaret, did you give the man, upon hisasking for Mrs. Harriot Lucas?

Peggy. I only asked, What was his business, and who he came from? (for, Sir, your honour's servant had told me how things stood): and I came atyour call, Madam, before he answered me. 

Lovel. Well, child, if ever you wish to be happy in wedlock yourself, and would have people disappointed who want to make mischief between youand your husband, get out of him his message, or letter if he has one, and bring it to me, and say nothing to Mrs. Lovelace, when she comes in;and here is a guinea for you. 

Peggy. I will do all I can to serve your honour's worship for nothing:[nevertheless, with a ready hand, taking the guinea:] for Mr. Williamtells me what a good gentleman you be. 

Away went Peggy to the fellow at the door. 

Peggy. What is your business, friend, with Mrs. Harry Lucas?

Fellow. I must speak to her her own self. 

Lovel. My dearest widow, do you personate Mrs. Lovelace--for Heaven'ssake do you personate Mrs. Lovelace. 

Wid. I personate Mrs. Lovelace, Sir! How can I do that?--She is fair;I am brown. She is slender: I am plump--

Lovel. No matter, no matter--The fellow may be a new-come servant: heis not in livery, I see. He may not know her person. You can but bebloated and in a dropsy. 

Wid. Dropsical people look not so fresh and ruddy as I do. 

Lovel. True--but the clown may not know that. 'Tis but for a presentdeception. Peggy, Peggy, call'd I, in a female tone, softly at the door. Madam, answer'd Peggy; and came up to me to the parlour-door. 

Lovel. Tell him the lady is ill; and has lain down upon the couch. Andget his business from him, whatever you do. 

Away went Peggy. 

Lovel. Now, my dear widow, lie along the settee, and put yourhandkerchief over your face, that, if he will speak to you himself, hemay not see your eyes and your hair. --So--that's right. --I'll step intothe closet by you. 

I did so. 

Peggy. [Returning. ] He won't deliver his business to me. He willspeak to Mrs. Harriot Lucas her own self. 

Lovel. [Holding the door in my hand. ] Tell him that this is Mrs. Harriot Lucas; and let him come in. Whisper him (if he doubts) that sheis bloated, dropsical, and not the woman she was. 

Away went Margery. 

Lovel. And now, my dear widow, let me see what a charming Mrs. Lovelaceyou'll make!--Ask if he comes from Miss Howe. Ask if he lives with her. Ask how she does. Call her, at every word, your dear Miss Howe. Offerhim money--take this half-guinea for him--complain of your head, to havea pretence to hold it down; and cover your forehead and eyes with yourhand, where your handkerchief hides not your face. --That's right--anddismiss the rascal--[here he comes]--as soon as you can. 

In came the fellow, bowing and scraping, his hat poked out before himwith both his hands. 

Fellow. I am sorry, Madam, an't please you, to find you ben't well. 

Widow. What is your business with me, friend?

Fellow. You are Mrs. Harriot Lucas, I suppose, Madam?

Widow. Yes. Do you come from Miss Howe?

Fellow. I do, Madam. 

Widow. Dost thou know my right name, friend?

Fellow. I can give a shrewd guess. But that is none of my business. 

Widow. What is thy business? I hope Miss Howe is well?

Fellow. Yes, Madam; pure well, I thank God. I wish you were so too. 

Widow. I am too full of grief to be well. 

Fellow. So belike I have hard to say. 

Widow. My head aches so dreadfully, I cannot hold it up. I must begof you to let me know your business. 

Fellow. Nay, and that be all, my business is soon known. It is but togive this letter into your own partiklar hands--here it is. 

Widow. [Taking it. ] From my dear friend Miss Howe?--Ah, my head!

Fellow. Yes, Madam: but I am sorry you are so bad. 

Widow. Do you live with Miss Howe?

Fellow. No, Madam: I am one of her tenants' sons. Her lady-mother mustnot know as how I came of this errand. But the letter, I suppose, willtell you all. 

Widow. How shall I satisfy you for this kind trouble?

Fellow. No how at all. What I do is for love of Miss Howe. She willsatisfy me more than enough. But, may-hap, you can send no answer, youare so ill. 

Widow. Was you ordered to wait for an answer?

Fellow. No, I cannot say as that I was. But I was bidden to observehow you looked, and how you was; and if you did write a line or two, totake care of it, and give it only to our young landlady in secret. 

Widow. You see I look strangely. Not so well as I used to do. 

Fellow. Nay, I don't know that I ever saw you but once before; and thatwas at a stile, where I met you and my young landlady; but knew betterthan to stare a gentlewoman in the face; especially at a stile. 

Widow. Will you eat, or drink, friend?

Fellow. A cup of small ale, I don't care if I do. 

Widow. Margaret, take the young man down, and treat him with what thehouse affords. 

Fellow. Your servant, Madam. But I staid to eat as I come along, justupon the Heath yonder; or else, to say the truth, I had been here sooner. [Thank my stars, thought I, thou didst. ] A piece of powdered beef wasupon the table, at the sign of the Castle, where I stopt to inquire forthis house: and so, thoff I only intended to wet my whistle, I could nothelp eating. So shall only taste of your ale; for the beef was woundilycorned. 

Prating dog! Pox on thee! thought I. 

He withdrew, bowing and scraping. 

Margaret, whispered I, in a female voice [whispering out of the closet, and holding the parlour-door in my hand] get him out of the house as fastas you can, lest they come from church, and catch him here. 

Peggy. Never fear, Sir. 

The fellow went down, and it seems, drank a large draught of ale; andMargaret finding him very talkative, told him, she begged his pardon, butshe had a sweetheart just come from sea, whom she was forced to hide inthe pantry; so was sure he would excuse her from staying with him. 

Ay, ay, to be sure, the clown said: for if he could not make sport, hewould spoil none. But he whispered her, that one 'Squire Lovelace was adamnation rogue, if the truth might be told. 

For what? said Margaret. And could have given him, she told the widow(who related to me all this) a good dowse of the chaps. 

For kissing all the women he came near. 

At the same time, the dog wrapped himself round Margery, and gave her asmack, that, she told Mrs. Bevis afterwards, she might have heard intothe parlour. 

Such, Jack, is human nature: thus does it operate in all degrees; and sodoes the clown, as well as his practises! Yet this sly dog knew not butthe wench had a sweetheart locked up in the pantry! If the truth wereknown, some of the ruddy-faced dairy wenches might perhaps call him adamnation rogue, as justly as their betters of the same sex might 'SquireLovelace. 

The fellow told the maid, that, by what he discovered of the young lady'sface, it looked very rosy to what he took it to be; and he thought her agood deal fatter, as she lay, and not so tall. 

All women are born to intrigue, Jack; and practise it more or less, asfathers, guardians, governesses, from dear experience, can tell; and inlove affairs are naturally expert, and quicker in their wits by half thanmen. This ready, though raw wench, gave an instance of this, andimproved on the dropsical hint I had given her. The lady's seemingplumpness was owing to a dropsical disorder, and to the round posture shelay in--very likely, truly. Her appearing to him to be shorter, he mighthave observed, was owing to her drawing her feet up from pain, andbecause the couch was too short, she supposed--Adso, he did not think ofthat. Her rosy colour was owing to her grief and head-ache. --Ay, thatmight very well be--but he was highly pleased that he had given theletter into Mrs. Harriot's own hand, as he should tell Miss Howe. 

He desired once more to see the lady at his going away, and would not bedenied. The widow therefore sat up, with her handkerchief over her face, leaning her head against the wainscot. 

He asked if she had any partiklar message?

No: she was so ill she could not write; which was a great grief to her. 

Should he call the next day? for he was going to London, now he was sonear; and should stay at a cousin's that night, who lived in a streetcalled Fetter-Lane. 

No: she would write as soon as able, and send by the post. 

Well, then, if she had nothing to send by him, mayhap he might stay intown a day or two; for he had never seen the lions in the Tower, norBedlam, nor the tombs; and he would make a holiday or two, as he hadleave to do, if she had no business or message that required his postingdown next day. 

She had not. 

She offered him the half-guinea I had given her for him; but he refusedit with great professions of disinterestedness, and love, as he calledit, to Miss Howe; to serve whom, he would ride to the world's-end, oreven to Jericho. 

And so the shocking rascal went away: and glad at my heart was I when hewas gone; for I feared nothing so much as that he would have staid tillthey came from church. 

Thus, Jack, got I my heart's ease, the letter of Miss Howe; ad throughsuch a train of accidents, as makes me say, that the lady's stars fightagainst her. But yet I must attribute a good deal to my own precaution, in having taken right measures. For had I not secured the widow by mystories, and the maid by my servant, all would have signified nothing. And so heartily were they secured, the one by a single guinea, the otherby half a dozen warm kisses, and the aversion they both had to suchwicked creatures as delighted in making mischief between man and wife, that they promised, that neither Mrs. Moore, Miss Rawlins, Mrs. Lovelace, nor any body living, should know any thing of the matter. 

The widow rejoiced that I had got the mischief-maker's letter. I excusedmyself to her, and instantly withdrew with it; and, after I had read it, fell to my short-hand, to acquaint thee with my good luck: and they notreturning so soon as church was done, (stepping, as it proved, into MissRawlins's, and tarrying there awhile, to bring that busy girl with themto drink tea, ) I wrote thus far to thee, that thou mightest, when thoucamest to this place, rejoice with me upon the occasion. 

They are all three just come in. 

I hasten to them. 

LETTER VII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. 

I have begun another letter to thee, in continuation of my narrative: butI believe I shall send thee this before I shall finish that. By theenclosed thou wilt see, that neither of the correspondents deserve mercyfrom me: and I am resolved to make the ending with one the beginning withthe other. 

If thou sayest that the provocations I have given to one of them willjustify her freedoms; I answer, so they will, to any other person butmyself. But he that is capable of giving those provocations, and has thepower to punish those who abuse him for giving them, will show hisresentment; and the more remorselessly, perhaps, as he has deserved thefreedoms. 

If thou sayest, it is, however, wrong to do so; I reply, that it isnevertheless human nature:--And wouldst thou not have me to be a man, Jack?

Here read the letter, if thou wilt. But thou art not my friend, if thouofferest to plead for either of the saucy creatures, after thou hast readit. 

TO MRS. HARRIOT LUCAS, AT MRS. MOORE'S, AT HAMPSTEAD. JUNE 10. 

After the discoveries I had made of the villanous machinations of themost abandoned of men, particularized in my long letter of Wednesday*last, you will believe, my dearest friend, that my surprise upon perusingyour's of Thursday evening from Hampstead** was not so great as myindignation. Had the villain attempted to fire a city instead of ahouse, I should not have wondered at it. All that I am amazed at is, that he (whose boast, as I am told, it is, that no woman shall keep himout of her bed-chamber, when he has made a resolution to be in it) didnot discover his foot before. And it is as strange to me, that, havinggot you at such a shocking advantage, and in such a horrid house, youcould, at the time, escape dishonour, and afterwards get from such a setof infernals. 

* See Vol. V. Letter XX. ** Ibid. See Letter XXI. 

I gave you, in my long letter of Wednesday and Thursday last, reasons whyyou ought to mistrust that specious Tomlinson. That man, my dear, mustbe a solemn villain. May lightning from Heaven blast the wretch, who hasset him and the rest of his REMORSELESS GANG at work, to endeavour todestroy the most consummate virtue!--Heaven be praised! you have escapedfrom all their snares, and now are out of danger. --So I will not troubleyou at present with the particulars I have further collected relating tothis abominable imposture. 

For the same reason, I forbear to communicate to you some new stories ofthe abhorred wretch himself which have come to my ears. One, inparticular, of so shocking a nature!--Indeed, my dear, the man's a devil. 

The whole story of Mrs. Fretchville, and her house, I have no doubt topronounce, likewise, an absolute fiction. --Fellow!--How my soul spurnsthe villain!

Your thought of going abroad, and your reasons for so doing, mostsensibly affect me. But be comforted, my dear; I hope you will not beunder a necessity of quitting your native country. Were I sure that thatmust be the cruel case, I would abandon all my better prospects, and soonbe with you. And I would accompany you whithersoever you went, and sharefortunes with you: for it is impossible that I should be happy, if I knewthat you were exposed not only to the perils of the sea, but to theattempts of other vile men; your personal graces attracting every eye;and exposing you to those hourly dangers, which others, lessdistinguished by the gifts of nature, might avoid. --All that I know thatbeauty (so greatly coveted, and so greatly admired) is good for. 

O my dear, were I ever to marry, and to be the mother of a CLARISSA, [Clarissa must be the name, if promisingly lovely, ] how often would myheart ache for the dear creature, as she grew up, when I reflected that aprudence and discretion, unexampled in woman, had not, in you, been asufficient protection to that beauty, which had drawn after it as manyadmirers as beholders!--How little should I regret the attacks of thatcruel distemper, as it is called, which frequently makes the greatestravages in the finest faces!

SAT. AFTERNOON. 

I have just parted with Mrs. Townsend. * I thought you had once seen herwith me; but she says she never had the honour to be personally known toyou. She has a manlike spirit. She knows the world. And her twobrothers being in town, she is sure she can engage them in so good acause, and (if there should be occasion) both their ships' crews, in yourservice. 

* For the account of Mrs. Townsend, &c. See Vol. IV. Letter XLII. 

Give your consent, my dear; and the horrid villain shall be repaid withbroken bones, at least, for all his vileness!

The misfortune is, Mrs. Townsend cannot be with you till Thursday next, or Wednesday, at soonest: Are you sure you can be safe where you are tillthen? I think you are too near London; and perhaps you had better be init. If you remove, let me, the very moment, know whither. 

How my heart is torn, to think of the necessity so dear a creature isdriven to of hiding herself! Devilish fellow! He must have beensportive and wanton in his inventions--yet that cruel, that savagesportiveness has saved you from the sudden violence to which he has hadrecourse in the violation of others, of names and families notcontemptible. For such the villain always gloried to spread his snares. 

The vileness of this specious monster has done more, than any otherconsideration could do, to bring Mr. Hickman into credit with me. Mr. Hickman alone knows (from me) of your flight, and the reason of it. HadI not given him the reason, he might have thought still worse of the vileattempt. I communicated it to him by showing him your letter fromHampstead. When he had read it, [and he trembled and reddened, as heread, ] he threw himself at my feet, and besought me to permit him toattend you, and to give you the protection of his house. Thegood-natured man had tears in his eyes, and was repeatedly earnest on thissubject; proposing to take his chariot-and-four, or a set, and in person, in the face of all the world, give himself the glory of protecting suchan oppressed innocent. 

I could not but be pleased with him. And I let him know that I was. Ihardly expected so much spirit from him. But a man's passiveness to abeloved object of our sex may not, perhaps, argue want of courage onproper occasions. 

I thought I ought, in return, to have some consideration for his safety, as such an open step would draw upon him the vengeance of the mostvillanous enterpriser in the world, who has always a gang of fellows, such as himself, at his call, ready to support one another in the vilestoutrages. But yet, as Mr. Hickman might have strengthened his hands bylegal recourses, I should not have stood upon it, had I not known yourdelicacy, [since such a step must have made a great noise, and givenoccasion for scandal, as if some advantage had been gained over you, ] andwere there not the greatest probability that all might be more silently, and more effectually, managed, by Mrs. Townsend's means. 

Mrs. Townsend will in person attend you--she hopes, on Wednesday--herbrothers, and some of their people, will scatteringly, and as if theyknew nothing of you, [so we have contrived, ] see you safe not only toLondon, but to her house at Deptford. 

She has a kinswoman, who will take your commands there, if she herselfbe obliged to leave you. And there you may stay, till the wretch's fury, on losing you, and his search, are over. 

He will very soon, 'tis likely, enter upon some new villany, which mayengross him: and it may be given out, that you are gone to lay claim tothe protection of your cousin Morden at Florence. 

Possibly, if he can be made to believe it, he will go over, in hopes tofind you there. 

After a while, I can procure you a lodging in one of our neighbouringvillages, where I may have the happiness to be your daily visiter. Andif this Hickman be not silly and apish, and if my mother do not dounaccountable things, I may the sooner think of marrying, that I may, without controul, receive and entertain the darling of my heart. 

Many, very many, happy days do I hope we shall yet see together; and asthis is my hope, I expect that it will be your consolation. 

As to your estate, since you are resolved not to litigate for it, we willbe patient, either till Colonel Morden arrives, or till shame compelssome people to be just. 

Upon the whole, I cannot but think your prospects now much happier thanthey could have been, had you been actually married to such a man asthis. I must therefore congratulate you upon your escape, not only froma horrid libertine, but from so vile a husband, as he must have made toany woman; but more especially to a person of your virtue and delicacy. 

You hate him, heartily hate him, I hope, my dear--I am sure you do. Itwould be strange, if so much purity of life and manners were not to abhorwhat is so repugnant to itself. 

In your letter before me, you mention one written to me for a feint. * Ihave not received any such. Depend upon it, therefore, that he must haveit. And if he has, it is a wonder that he did not likewise get my longone of the 7th. Heaven be praised that he did not; and that it came safeto your hands!

* See Vol. V. Letters XXI. And XXII. 

I send this by a young fellow, whose father is one of our tenants, withcommand to deliver it to no other hands but your's. He is to returndirectly, if you give him any letter. If not, he will proceed to Londonupon his own pleasures. He is a simple fellow; but very honest. So youmay say anything to him. If you write not by him, I desire a line ortwo, as soon as possible. 

My mother knows nothing of his going to you; nor yet of your abandoningthe fellow. Forgive me! But he is not entitled to good manners. 

I shall long to hear how you and Mrs. Townsend order matters. I wishshe could have been with you sooner. But I have lost no time in engagingher, as you will suppose. I refer to her, what I have further to say andadvise. So shall conclude with my prayers, that Heaven will direct andprotect my dearest creature, and make your future days happy!

ANNA HOWE. 

And now, Jack, I will suppose that thou hast read this cursed letter. Allow me to make a few observations upon some of its contents. 

It is strange to Miss Howe, that having got her friend at such a shockingadvantage, &c. And it is strange to me, too. If ever I have suchanother opportunity given to me, the cause of both our wonder, I believe, will cease. 

So thou seest Tomlinson is further detected. --No such person as Mrs. Fretchville. --May lightning from Heaven--O Lord, O Lord, O Lord!--What ahorrid vixen is this!--My gang, my remorseless gang, too, is brought in--and thou wilt plead for these girls again; wilt thou? heaven be praised, she says, that her friend is out of danger--Miss Howe should be sure ofthat, and that she herself is safe. --But for this termagant, (as I oftensaid, ) I must surely have made a better hand of it. --

New stories of me, Jack!--What can they be?--I have not found that mygenerosity to my Rose-bud ever did me due credit with this pair offriends. Very hard, Belford, that credits cannot be set against debits, and a balance struck in a rake's favour, as well as in that of everycommon man!--But he, from whom no good is expected, is not allowed themerit of the good he does. 

I ought to have been a little more attentive to character than I havebeen. For, notwithstanding that the measures of right and wrong are saidto be so manifest, let me tell thee, that character biases and runs awaywith all mankind. Let a man or woman once establish themselves in theworld's opinion, and all that either of them do will be sanctified. Nay, in the very courts of justice, does not character acquit or condemn asoften as facts, and sometimes even in spite of facts?--Yet, [impoliticthat I have been and am!] to be so careless of mine!--And now, I doubt, it is irretrievable. --But to leave moralizing. 

Thou, Jack, knowest almost all my enterprises worth remembering. Canthis particular story, which this girl hints at, be that of Lucy Villars?--Or can she have heard of my intrigue with the pretty gipsey, who met mein Norwood, and of the trap I caught her cruel husband in, [a fellow asgloomy and tyrannical as old Harlowe, ] when he pursued a wife, who wouldnot have deserved ill of him, if he had deserved well of her!--But he wasnot quite drowned. The man is alive at this day, and Miss Howe mentionsthe story as a very shocking one. Besides, both these are a twelve-monthold, or more. 

But evil fame and scandal are always new. When the offender has forgot avile fact, it is often told to one and to another, who, having neverheard of it before, trumpet it about as a novelty to others. But wellsaid the honest corregidor at Madrid, [a saying with which I encroachedLord M. 's collection, ]--Good actions are remembered but for a day: badones for many years after the life of the guilty. Such is the relishthat the world has for scandal. In other words, such is the desire whichevery one has to exculpate himself by blackening his neighbour. You andI, Belford, have been very kind to the world, in furnishing it withopportunities to gratify its devil. 

[Miss Howe will abandon her own better prospects, and share fortunes withher, were she to go abroad. ]--Charming romancer!--I must set about thisgirl, Jack. I have always had hopes of a woman whose passions carry herto such altitudes. --Had I attacked Miss Howe first, her passions, (inflamed and guided as I could have managed them, ) would have broughther into my lure in a fortnight. 

But thinkest thou, [and yet I think thou dost, ] that there is any thingin these high flights among the sex?--Verily, Jack, these vehementfriendships are nothing but chaff and stubble, liable to be blown away bythe very wind that raises them. Apes, mere apes of us! they think theword friendship has a pretty sound with it; and it is much talked of--afashionable word. And so, truly, a single woman, who thinks she has asoul, and knows that she wants something, would be thought to have founda fellow-soul for it in her own sex. But I repeat, that the word is amere word, the thing a mere name with them; a cork-bottomed shuttle-cock, which they are fond of striking to and fro, to make one another glow inthe frosty weather of a single-state; but which, when a man comes inbetween the pretended inseparables, is given up, like their music andother maidenly amusements; which, nevertheless, may be necessary to keepthe pretty rogues out of active mischief. They then, in short, havingcaught the fish, lay aside the net. *

* He alludes here to the story of a pope, who, (once a poor fisherman, )through every preferment he rose to, even to that of the cardinalate, hung up in view of all his guests his net, as a token of humility. But, when he arrived at the pontificate, he took it down, saying, that therewas no need of the net, when he had caught the fish. 

Thou hast a mind, perhaps, to make an exception for these two ladies. --With all my heart. My Clarissa has, if woman has, a soul capable offriendship. Her flame is bright and steady. But Miss Howe's, were itnot kept up by her mother's opposition, is too vehement to endure. Howoften have I known opposition not only cement friendship, but createlove? I doubt not but poor Hickman would fare the better with thisvixen, if her mother were as heartily against him, as she is for him. 

Thus much, indeed, as to these two ladies, I will grant thee, that theactive spirit of the one, and the meek disposition of the other, may maketheir friendship more durable than it would otherwise be; for this iscertain, that in every friendship, whether male or female, there must bea man and a woman spirit, (that is to say, one of them must be aforbearing one, ) to make it permanent. 

But this I pronounce, as a truth, which all experience confirms, thatfriendship between women never holds to the sacrifice of capitalgratifications, or to the endangering of life, limb, or estate, as itoften does in our nobler sex. 

Well, but next comes an indictment against poor beauty! What has beautydone that Miss Howe should be offended at it?--Miss Howe, Jack, is acharming girl. She has no reason to quarrel with beauty!--Didst ever seeher?--Too much fire and spirit in her eye, indeed, for a girl!--Butthat's no fault with a man that can lower that fire and spirit atpleasure; and I know I am the man that can. 

For my own part, when I was first introduced to this lady, which was bymy goddess when she herself was a visiter at Mrs. Howe's, I had not beenhalf an hour with her, but I even hungered and thirsted after a romping'bout with the lively rogue; and, in the second or third visit, was moredeterred by the delicacy of her friend, than by what I apprehended fromher own. This charming creature's presence, thought I, awes us both. And I wished her absence, though any other woman were present, that Imight try the differences in Miss Howe's behaviour before her friend'sface, or behind her back. 

Delicate women make delicate women, as well as decent men. With all MissHowe's fire and spirit, it was easy to see, by her very eye, that shewatched for lessons and feared reproof from the penetrating eye of hermilder dispositioned friend;* and yet it was as easy to observe, in thecandour and sweet manners of the other, that the fear which Miss Howestood in of her, was more owing to her own generous apprehension that shefell short of her excellencies, than to Miss Harlowe's consciousness ofexcellence over her. I have often since I came at Miss Howe's letters, revolved this just and fine praise contained in one of them:** 'Every onesaw that the preference they gave you to themselves exalted you not intoany visible triumph over them; for you had always something to say, onevery point you carried, that raised the yielding heart, and left everyone pleased and satisfied with themselves, though they carried not offthe palm. '

* Miss Howe, in Vol. III. Letter XIX. Says, That she was always moreafraid of Clarissa than of her mother; and, in Vol. III. Letter XLIV. That she fears her almost as much as she loves her; and in many otherplaces, in her letters, verifies this observation of Lovelace. ** See Vol. IV. Letter XXXI. 

As I propose, in a more advanced life, to endeavour to atone for myuseful freedoms with individuals of the sex, by giving cautions andinstructions to the whole, I have made a memorandum to enlarge upon thisdoctrine;--to wit, that it is full as necessary to direct daughters inthe choice of their female companions, as it is to guard them against thedesigns of men. 

I say not this, however, to the disparagement of Miss Howe. She has frompride, what her friend has from principle. [The Lord help the sex, ifthey had not pride!] But yet I am confident, that Miss Howe is indebtedto the conversation and correspondence of Miss Harlowe for her highestimprovements. But, both these ladies out of the question, I make noscruple to aver, [and I, Jack, should know something of the matter, ] thatthere have been more girls ruined, at least prepared for ruin, by theirown sex, (taking in servants, as well as companions, ) than directly bythe attempts and delusions of men. 

But it is time enough when I am old and joyless, to enlarge upon thistopic. 

As to the comparison between the two ladies, I will expatiate more onthat subject, (for I like it, ) when I have had them both. Which thisletter of the vixen girl's, I hope thou wilt allow, warrants me to tryfor. 

I return to the consideration of a few more of its contents, to justifymy vengeances so nearly now in view. 

As to Mrs. Townsend, --her manlike spirit--her two brothers--and theships' crews--I say nothing but this to the insolent threatening--Let 'emcome!--But as to her sordid menace--To repay the horrid villain, as shecalls me, for all my vileness by BROKEN BONES!--Broken bones, Belford!--Who can bear this porterly threatening!--Broken bones, Jack!--D--n thelittle vulgar!--Give me a name for her--but I banish all furiousresentment. If I get these two girls into my power, Heaven forbid that Ishould be a second Phalaris, who turned his bull upon the artist!--Nobones of their's will I break--They shall come off with me upon muchlighter terms!--

But these fellows are smugglers, it seems. And am not I a smuggler too?--I am--and have not the least doubt but I shall have secured my goodsbefore Thursday, or Wednesday either. 

But did I want a plot, what a charming new one does this letter of MissHowe strike me out! I am almost sorry, that I have fixed upon one. --Forhere, how easy would it be for me to assemble a crew of swabbers, and tocreate a Mrs. Townsend (whose person, thou seest, my beloved knows not)to come on Tuesday, at Miss Howe's repeated solicitations, in order tocarry my beloved to a warehouse of my own providing?

This, however, is my triumphant hope, that at the very time that theseragamuffins will be at Hampstead (looking for us) my dear Miss Harloweand I [so the Fates I imagine have ordained] shall be fast asleep ineach other's arms in town. --Lie still, villain, till the time comes. --My heart, Jack! my heart!--It is always thumping away on the remotestprospects of this nature. 

But it seems that the vileness of this specious monster [meaning me, Jack!] has brought Hickman into credit with her. So I have done somegood! But to whom I cannot tell: for this poor fellow, should I permithim to have this termagant, will be punished, as many times we all are, by the enjoyment of his own wishes--nor can she be happy, as I take it, with him, were he to govern himself by her will, and have none of hisown; since never was there a directing wife who knew where to stop: powermakes such a one wanton--she despises the man she can govern. LikeAlexander, who wept, that he had no more worlds to conquer, she will belooking out for new exercises for her power, till she grow uneasy toherself, a discredit to her husband, and a plague to all about her. 

But this honest fellow, it seems, with tears in his eyes, and with humbleprostration, besought the vixen to permit him to set out in hischariot-and-four, in order to give himself the glory of protecting such anoppressed innocent, in the face of the whole world. Nay, he reddened, itseems: and trembled too! as he read the fair complainant's letter. --Howvaliant is all this!--Women love brave men; and no wonder that his tears, his trembling, and his prostration, gave him high reputation with the meekMiss Howe. 

But dost think, Jack, that I in the like case (and equally affected withthe distress) should have acted thus? Dost think, that I should notfirst have rescued the lady, and then, if needful, have asked excuse forit, the lady in my hand?--Wouldst not thou have done thus, as well as I?

But, 'tis best as it is. Honest Hickman may now sleep in a whole skin. And yet that is more perhaps than he would have done (the lady'sdeliverance unattempted) had I come at this requested permission of hisany other way than by a letter that it must not be known that I haveintercepted. 

Miss Howe thinks I may be diverted from pursuing my charmer, by somenew-started villany. Villany is a word that she is extremely fond of. But I can tell her, that it is impossible I should, till the end of thisvillany be obtained. Difficulty is a stimulus with such a spirit as mine. I thought Miss Howe knew me better. Were she to offer herself, person forperson, in the romancing zeal of her friendship, to save her friend, itshould not do, while the dear creature is on this side the moon. 

She thanks Heaven, that her friend has received her letter of the 7th. We are all glad of it. She ought to thank me too. But I will not atpresent claim her thanks. 

But when she rejoices that the letter went safe, does she not, in effect, call out for vengeance, and expect it!--All in good time, Miss Howe. When settest thou out for the Isle of Wight, love?

I will close at this time with desiring thee to make a list of thevirulent terms with which the enclosed letter abounds: and then, if thousupposest that I have made such another, and have added to it all theflowers of the same blow, in the former letters of the same saucycreature, and those in that of Miss Harlowe, which she left for me on herelopement, thou wilt certainly think, that I have provocations sufficientto justify me in all that I shall do to either. 

Return the enclosed the moment thou hast perused it. 

LETTER VIII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SUNDAY NIGHT--MONDAY MORNING. 

I went down with revenge in my heart, the contents of Miss Howe's letteralmost engrossing me, the moment that Miss Harlowe and Mrs. Moore(accompanied by Miss Rawlins) came in: but in my countenance all thegentle, the placid, the serene, that the glass could teach; and in mybehaviour all the polite, that such an unpolite creature, as she hasoften told me I am, could put on. 

Miss Rawlins was sent for home almost as soon as she came in, toentertain an unexpected visiter; to her great regret, as well as to thedisappointment of my fair-one, as I could perceive from the looks ofboth: for they had agreed, it seems, if I went to town, as I said Iintended to do, to take a walk upon the Heath, at least in Mrs. Moore'sgarden; and who knows, what might have been the issue, had the spirit ofcuriosity in the one met with the spirit of communication in the other?

Miss Rawlins promised to return, if possible: but sent to excuse herself:her visiter intending to stay with her all night. 

I rejoiced in my heart at her message; and, after much supplication, obtained the favour of my beloved's company for another walk in thegarden, having, as I told her, abundance of things to say, to propose, and to be informed of, in order ultimately to govern myself in my futuresteps. 

She had vouchsafed, I should have told thee, with eyes turned from me, and in a half-aside attitude, to sip two dishes of tea in my company--Dear soul!--How anger unpolishes the most polite! for I never saw MissHarlowe behave so awkwardly. I imagined she knew not how to be awkward. 

When we were in the garden, I poured my whole soul into her attentiveear; and besought her returning favour. 

She told me, that she had formed her scheme for her future life: that, vile as the treatment was which she had received from me, that was notall the reason she had for rejecting my suit: but that, on the maturestdeliberation, she was convinced that she could neither be happy with me, nor make me happy; and she injoined me, for both our sakes, to think nomore of her. 

The Captain, I told her, was rid down post, in a manner, to forward mywishes with her uncle. --Lady Betty and Miss Montague were undoubtedlyarrived in town by this time. I would set out early in the morning toattend them. They adored her. They longed to see her. They would seeher. --They would not be denied her company in Oxfordshire. Whither couldshe better go, to be free from her brother's insults?--Whither, to beabsolutely made unapprehensive of any body else?--Might I have any hopesof her returning favour, if Miss Howe could be prevailed upon tointercede for me?

Miss Howe prevailed upon to intercede for you! repeated she, with ascornful bridle, but a very pretty one. --And there she stopt. 

I repeated the concern it would be to me to be under a necessity ofmentioning the misunderstanding to Lady Betty and my cousin, as amisunderstanding still to be made up; and as if I were of very littleconsequence to a dear creature who was of so much to me; urging, thatthese circumstances would extremely lower me not only in my own opinion, but in that of my relations. 

But still she referred to Miss Howe's next letter; and all the concessionI could bring her to in this whole conference, was, that she would waitthe arrival and visit of the two ladies, if they came in a day or two, orbefore she received the expected letter from Miss Howe. 

Thank Heaven for this! thought I. And now may I go to town with hopes atmy return to find thee, dearest, where I shall leave thee. 

But yet, as she may find reasons to change her mind in my absence, Ishall not entirely trust to this. My fellow, therefore, who is in thehouse, and who, by Mrs. Bevis's kind intelligence, will know every stepshe can take, shall have Andrew and a horse ready, to give me immediatenotice of her motions; and moreover, go whither she will, he shall be oneof her retinue, though unknown to herself, if possible. 

This was all I could make of the fair inexorable. Should I be glad ofit, or sorry for it?--

Glad I believe: and yet my pride is confoundedly abated, to think that Ihad so little hold in the affections of this daughter of the Harlowes. 

Don't tell me that virtue and principle are her guides on this occasion!--'Tis pride, a greater pride than my own, that governs her. Love, shehas none, thou seest; nor ever had; at least not in a superior degree. Love, that deserves the name, never was under the dominion of prudence, or of any reasoning power. She cannot bear to be thought a woman, Iwarrant! And if, in the last attempt, I find her not one, what will shebe the worse for the trial?--No one is to blame for suffering an evil hecannot shun or avoid. 

Were a general to be overpowered, and robbed by a highwayman, would he beless fit for the command of an army on that account?--If indeed thegeneral, pretending great valour, and having boasted that he never wouldbe robbed, were to make but faint resistance when he was brought to thetest, and to yield his purse when he was master of his own sword, thenindeed will the highwayman who robs him be thought the braver man. 

But from these last conferences am I furnished with one argument indefence of my favourite purpose, which I never yet pleaded. 

O Jack! what a difficulty must a man be allowed to have to conquer apredominant passion, be it what it will, when the gratifying of it is inhis power, however wrong he knows it to be to resolve to gratify it!Reflect upon this; and then wilt thou be able to account for, if not toexcuse, a projected crime, which has habit to plead for it, in a breastas stormy as uncontroulable!

This that follows is my new argument--

Should she fail in the trial; should I succeed; and should she refuse togo on with me; and even resolve not to marry me (of which I can have nonotion); and should she disdain to be obliged to me for the handsomeprovision I should be proud to make for her, even to the half of myestate; yet cannot she be altogether unhappy--Is she not entitled to anindependent fortune? Will not Col. Morden, as her trustee, put her inpossession of it? And did she not in our former conference point out theway of life, that she always preferred to the married life--to wit, 'Totake her good Norton for her directress and guide, and to live upon herown estate in the manner her grandfather desired she should live?'*

* See Letter III. Of this volume. 

It is moreover to be considered that she cannot, according to her ownnotions, recover above one half of her fame, were we not to intermarry;so much does she think she has suffered by her going off with me. Andwill she not be always repining and mourning for the loss of the otherhalf?--And if she must live a life of such uneasiness and regret forhalf, may she not as well repine and mourn for the whole?

Nor, let me tell thee, will her own scheme or penitence, in this case, behalf so perfect, if she do not fall, as if she does: for what a foolishpenitent will she make, who has nothing to repent of!--She piquesherself, thou knowest, and makes it matter of reproach to me, that shewent not off with me by her own consent; but was tricked out of herself. 

Nor upbraid thou me upon the meditated breach of vows so repeatedly made. She will not, thou seest, permit me to fulfil them. And if she would, this I have to say, that, at the time I made the most solemn of them, Iwas fully determined to keep them. But what prince thinks himselfobliged any longer to observe the articles of treaties, the most sacredlysworn to, than suits with his interest or inclination; although theconsequence of the infraction must be, as he knows, the destruction ofthousands. 

Is not this then the result of all, that Miss Clarissa Harlowe, if it benot her own fault, may be as virtuous after she has lost her honour, asit is called, as she was before? She may be a more eminent example toher sex; and if she yield (a little yield) in the trial, may be acompleter penitent. Nor can she, but by her own wilfulness, be reducedto low fortunes. 

And thus may her old nurse and she; an old coachman; and a pair of oldcoach-horses; and two or three old maid-servants, and perhaps a very oldfootman or two, (for every thing will be old and penitential about her, )live very comfortably together; reading old sermons, and oldprayer-books; and relieving old men and old women; and giving old lessons, and old warnings, upon new subjects, as well as old ones, to the youngladies of her neighbourhood; and so pass on to a good old age, doing agreat deal of good both by precept and example in her generation. 

And is a woman who can live thus prettily without controul; who ever didprefer, and who still prefers, the single to the married life; and whowill be enabled to do every thing that the plan she had formed willdirect her to do; to be said to be ruined, undone, and such sort ofstuff?--I have no patience with the pretty fools, who use those strongwords, to describe a transitory evil; an evil which a mere church-formmakes none?

At this rate of romancing, how many flourishing ruins dost thou, as wellas I, know? Let us but look about us, and we shall see some of thehaughtiest and most censorious spirits among out acquaintance of that sexnow passing for chaste wives, of whom strange stories might be told; andothers, whose husbands' hearts have been made to ache for their gaieties, both before and after marriage; and yet know not half so much of them, assome of us honest fellows could tell them. 

But, having thus satisfied myself in relation to the worst that canhappen to this charming creature; and that it will be her own fault, ifshe be unhappy; I have not at all reflected upon what is likely to be myown lot. 

This has always been my notion, though Miss Howe grudges us rakes thebest of the sex, and says, that the worst is too good for us, * that thewife of a libertine ought to be pure, spotless, uncontaminated. To whatpurpose has such a one lived a free life, but to know the world, and tomake his advantages of it!--And, to be very serious, it would be amisfortune to the public for two persons, heads of a family, to be bothbad; since, between two such, a race of varlets might be propagated(Lovelaces and Belfords, if thou wilt) who might do great mischief in theworld. 

Thou seest at bottom that I am not an abandoned fellow; and that there isa mixture of gravity in me. This, as I grow older, may increase; andwhen my active capacity begins to abate, I may sit down with thepreacher, and resolve all my past life into vanity and vexation ofspirit. 

This is certain, that I shall never find a woman so well suited to mytaste as Miss Clarissa Harlowe. I only wish that I may have such a ladyas her to comfort and adorn my setting sun. I have often thought it veryunhappy for us both, that so excellent a creature sprang up a little toolate for my setting out, and a little too early in my progress, before Ican think of returning. And yet, as I have picked up the sweet travellerin my way, I cannot help wishing that she would bear me company in therest of my journey, although she were stepping out of her own path tooblige me. And then, perhaps, we could put up in the evening at the sameinn; and be very happy in each other's conversation; recounting thedifficulties and dangers we had passed in our way to it. 

I imagine that thou wilt be apt to suspect that some passages in thisletter were written in town. Why, Jack, I cannot but say that theWestminster air is a little grosser than that at Hampstead; and theconversation of Mrs. Sinclair and the nymphs less innocent than Mrs. Moore's and Miss Rawlins's. And I think in my heart I can say and writethose things at one place which I cannot at the other, nor indeed anywhere else. 

I came to town about seven this morning--all necessary directions andprecautions remembered to be given. 

I besought the favour of an audience before I set out. I was desirousto see which of her lovely faces she was pleased to put on, after anothernight had passed. But she was resolved, I found, to leave our quarrelopen. She would not give me an opportunity so much as to entreat heragain to close it, before the arrival of Lady Betty and my cousin. 

I had notice from my proctor, by a few lines brought by a man and horse, just before I set out, that all difficulties had been for two days pastsurmounted; and that I might have the license for fetching. 

I sent up the letter to my beloved, by Mrs. Bevis, with a repeatedrequest for admittance to her presence upon it; but neither did thisstand me in stead. I suppose she thought it would be allowing of theconsequences that were naturally to be expected to follow the obtainingof this instrument, if she had consented to see me on the contents ofthis letter, having refused me that honour before I sent it up to her. --No surprising her. --No advantage to be taken of her inattention to thenicest circumstances. 

And now, Belford, I set out upon business. 

LETTER IX

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. MONDAY, JUNE 12. 

Durst ever see a license, Jack?

'Edmund, by divine permission, Lord Bishop of London, to our well-belovedin Christ, Robert Lovelace, [your servant, my good Lord! What have Idone to merit so much goodness, who never saw your Lordship in my life?]of the parish of St. Martin's in the Fields, bachelor, and ClarissaHarlowe, of the same parish, spinster, sendeth greeting. --WHEREAS ye are, as is alleged, determined to enter into the holy state of Matrimony [thisis only alleged, thou observest] by and with the consent of, &c. &c. &c. And are very desirous of obtaining your marriage to be solemnized in theface of the church: We are willing that your honest desires [honestdesires, Jack!] may more speedily have their due effect: and therefore, that ye may be able to procure such Marriage to be freely and lawfullysolemnized in the parish church of St. Martin's in the Fields, or St. Giles's in the Fields, in the county of Middlesex, by the Rector, Vicar, or Curate thereof, at any time of the year, [at ANY time of the year, Jack!] without publication of bans: Provided, that by reason of anypre-contract, [I verily think that I have had three or four pre-contractsin my time; but the good girls have not claimed upon them of a longwhile, ] consanguinity, affinity, or any other lawful cause whatsoever, there be no lawful impediment on this behalf; and that there be not atthis time any action, suit, plaint, quarrel, or demand, moved or dependingbefore any judge ecclesiastical or temporal, for or concerning anymarriage contracted by or with either of you; and that the said marriagebe openly solemnized in the church above-mentioned, between the hours ofeight and twelve in the forenoon; and without prejudice to the minister ofthe place where the said woman is a parishioner: We do hereby, for goodcauses, [it cost me--let me see, Jack--what did it cost me?] give andgrant our License, as well to you as to the parties contracting, as to theRector, Vicar, or Curate of the said church, where the said marriage isintended to be solemnized, to solemnize the same, in manner and form abovespecified, according to the rites and ceremonies prescribed in the Book ofCommon Prayer in that behalf published by authority of Parliament. Provided always, that if hereafter any fraud shall appear to have beencommitted, at the time of granting this License, either by falsesuggestions, or concealment of the truth, [now this, Belford, is a littlehard upon us; for I cannot say that every one of our suggestions isliterally true:--so, in good conscience, I ought not to marry under thisLicense;] the License shall be void to all intents and purposes, as if thesame had not been granted. And in that case we do inhibit all ministerswhatsoever, if any thing of the premises shall come to their knowledge, from proceeding to the celebration of the said Marriage; without firstconsulting Us, or our Vicar-general. Given, ' &c. 

Then follow the register's name, and a large pendent seal, with thesewords round it--SEAL OF THE VICAR-GENERAL AND OFFICIAL PRINCIPAL OF THEDIOCESE OF LONDON. 

A good whimsical instrument, take it altogether! But what, thinkestthou, are the arms to this matrimonial harbinger?--Why, in the firstplace, two crossed swords; to show that marriage is a state of offenceas well as defence; three lions; to denote that those who enter into thestate ought to have a triple proportion of courage. And [couldst thouhave imagined that these priestly fellows, in so solemn a case, would cuttheir jokes upon poor souls who came to have their honest desires put ina way to be gratified;] there are three crooked horns, smartlytop-knotted with ribands; which being the ladies' wear, seem to indicatethat they may very probably adorn, as well as bestow, the bull's feather. 

To describe it according to heraldry art, if I am not mistaken--gules, two swords, saltire-wise, or; second coat, a chevron sable between threebugle-horns, OR [so it ought to be]: on a chief of the second, threelions rampant of the first--but the devil take them for theirhieroglyphics, should I say, if I were determined in good earnest tomarry!

And determined to marry I would be, were it not for this consideration, that once married, and I am married for life. 

That's the plague of it!--Could a man do as the birds do, change everyValentine's day, [a natural appointment! for birds have not the sense, forsooth, to fetter themselves, as we wiseacre men take great and solemnpains to do, ] there would be nothing at all in it. And what a glorioustime would the lawyers have, on the one hand, with their noveriniuniversi's, and suits commenceable on restitution of goods and chattels;and the parsons, on the other, with their indulgencies [renewableannually, as other licenses] to the honest desires of their clients?

Then, were a stated mullet, according to rank or fortune, to be paid onevery change, towards the exigencies of the state [but none on renewalswith the old lives, for the sake of encouraging constancy, especiallyamong the minores] the change would be made sufficiently difficult, andthe whole public would be the better for it; while those children, whichthe parents could not agree about maintaining, might be considered as thechildren of the public, and provided for like the children of the antientSpartans; who were (as ours would in this case be) a nation of heroes. How, Jack, could I have improved upon Lycurgus's institutions had I beena lawgiver!

Did I never show thee a scheme which I drew up on such a notion as this?--In which I demonstrated the conveniencies, and obviated theinconveniencies, of changing the present mode to this? I believe I neverdid. 

I remember I proved to a demonstration, that such a change would be amean of annihilating, absolutely annihilating, four or five veryatrocious and capital sins. --Rapes, vulgarly so called; adultery, andfornication; nor would polygamy be panted after. Frequently would itprevent murders and duelling; hardly any such thing as jealousy (thecause of shocking violences) would be heard of: and hypocrisy between manand wife be banished the bosoms of each. Nor, probably, would thereproach of barrenness rest, as it now too often does, where it is leastdeserved. --Nor would there possibly be such a person as a barren woman. 

Moreover, what a multitude of domestic quarrels would be avoided, wheresuch a scheme carried into execution? Since both sexes would bear witheach other, in the view that they could help themselves in a few months. 

And then what a charming subject for conversation would be the gallantand generous last partings between man and wife! Each, perhaps, a newmate in eye, and rejoicing secretly in the manumission, could afford tobe complaisantly sorrowful in appearance. 'He presented her with thisjewel, it will be said by the reporter, for example sake: she him withthat. How he wept! How she sobb'd! How they looked after one another!'Yet, that's the jest of it, neither of them wishing to stand anothertwelvemonth's trial. 

And if giddy fellows, or giddy girls, misbehave in a first marriage, whether from noviceship, having expected to find more in the matter thancan be found; or from perverseness on her part, or positiveness on his, each being mistaken in the other [a mighty difference, Jack, in the sameperson, an inmate or a visiter]; what a fine opportunity will each have, by this scheme, of recovering a lost character, and of setting all rightin the next adventure?

And, O Jack! with what joy, with what rapture, would the changelings (orchangeables, if thou like that word better) number the weeks, the days, the hours, as the annual obligation approached to its desirable period!

As for the spleen or vapours, no such malady would be known or heard of. The physical tribe would, indeed, be the sufferers, and the onlysufferers; since fresh health and fresh spirits, the consequences ofsweet blood and sweet humours (the mind and body continually pleased witheach other) would perpetually flow in; and the joys of expectation, thehighest of all our joys, would invigorate and keep all alive. 

But, that no body of men might suffer, the physicians, I thought, mightturn parsons, as there would be a great demand for parsons. Besides, asthey would be partakers in the general benefit, they must be sorryfellows indeed if they preferred themselves to the public. 

Every one would be married a dozen times at least. Both men and womenwould be careful of their characters and polite in their behaviour, aswell as delicate in their persons, and elegant in their dress, [a greatmatte each of these, let me tell thee, to keep passion alive, ] either toinduce a renewal with the old love, or to recommend themselves to a new. While the newspapers would be crowded with paragraphs; all the worldtheir readers, as all the world would be concerned to see who and who'stogether--

'Yesterday, for instance, entered into the holy state of matrimony, ' [weshould all speak reverently of matrimony, then, ] 'the right HonourableRobert Earl Lovelace' [I shall be an earl by that time, ] 'with her Gracethe Duchess Dowager of Fifty-manors; his Lordship's one-and-thirtiethwife. '--I shall then be contented, perhaps, to take up, as it is called, with a widow. But she must not have had more than one husband neither. Thou knowest that I am nice in these particulars. 

I know, Jack, that thou for thy part, wilt approve of my scheme. 

As Lord M. And I, between us, have three or four boroughs at command, Ithink I will get into parliament, in order to bring in a bill for thisgood purpose. 

Neither will the house of parliament, nor the houses of convocation, havereason to object it. And all the courts, whether spiritual or sensual, civil or uncivil, will find their account in it when passed into a law. 

By my soul, Jack, I should be apprehensive of a general insurrection, andthat incited by the women, were such a bill to be thrown out. --For hereis the excellency of the scheme: the women will have equal reason withthe men to be pleased with it. 

Dost think, that old prerogative Harlowe, for example, must not, if sucha law were in being, have pulled in his horns?--So excellent a wife as hehas, would never else have renewed with such a gloomy tyrant: who, aswell as all other married tyrants, must have been upon good behaviourfrom year to year. 

A termagant wife, if such a law were to pass, would be a phoenix. 

The churches would be the only market-place for the fair sex; anddomestic excellence the capital recommendation. 

Nor would there be an old maid in Great Britain, and all its territories. For what an odd soul must she be who could not have her twelvemonth'strial?

In short, a total alteration for the better, in the morals and way oflife in both sexes, must, in a very few years, be the consequence of sucha salutary law. 

Who would have expected such a one from me! I wish the devil owe me nota spite for it. 

The would not the distinction be very pretty, Jack? as in flowers;--sucha gentleman, or such a lady, is an ANNUAL--such a one is a PERENNIAL. 

One difficulty, however, as I remember, occurred to me, upon theprobability that a wife might be enceinte, as the lawyers call it. Butthus I obviated it--

That no man should be allowed to marry another woman without his thenwife's consent, till she were brought-to-bed, and he had defrayed allincident charges; and till it was agreed upon between them whether thechild should be his, her's, or the public's. The women in this case tohave what I call the coercive option; for I would not have it in theman's power to be a dog neither. 

And, indeed, I gave the turn of the scale in every part of my scheme inthe women's favour: for dearly do I love the sweet rogues. 

How infinitely more preferable this my scheme to the polygamy one of theold patriarchs; who had wives and concubines without number!--I believeDavid and Solomon had their hundreds at a time. Had they not, Jack?

Let me add, that annual parliaments, and annual marriages, are theprojects next my heart. How could I expatiate upon the benefits thatwould arise from both!

LETTER X

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. 

Well, but now my plots thicken; and my employment of writing to thee onthis subject will soon come to a conclusion. For now, having got thelicense; and Mrs. Townsend with her tars, being to come to Hampstead nextWednesday or Thursday; and another letter possibly, or message from MissHowe, to inquire how Miss Harlowe does, upon the rustic's report of herill health, and to express her wonder that she has not heard form her inanswer to her's on her escape; I must soon blow up the lady, or be blownup myself. And so I am preparing, with Lady Betty and my cousinMontague, to wait upon my beloved with a coach-and-four, or a sett; forLady Betty will not stir out with a pair for the world; though but fortwo or three miles. And this is a well-known part of her character. 

But as to the arms and crest upon the coach and trappings?

Dost thou not know that a Blunt's must supply her, while her own is newlining and repairing? An opportunity she is willing to take now she isin town. Nothing of this kind can be done to her mind in the country. Liveries nearly Lady Betty's. 

Thou hast seen Lady Betty Lawrance several times--hast thou not, Belford?

No, never in my life. 

But thou hast--and lain with her too; or fame does thee more credit thanthou deservest--Why, Jack, knowest thou not Lady Betty's other name?

Other name!--Has she two?

She has. And what thinkest thou of Lady Bab. Wallis?

O the devil!

Now thou hast it. Lady Barbara thou knowest, lifted up in circumstances, and by pride, never appears or produces herself, but on occasions special--to pass to men of quality or price, for a duchess, or countess, atleast. She has always been admired for a grandeur in her air, that fewwomen of quality can come up to; and never was supposed to be other thanwhat she passed for; though often and often a paramour for lords. 

And who, thinkest thou, is my cousin Montague?

Nay, how should I know?

How indeed! Why, my little Johanetta Golding, a lively, yetmodest-looking girl, is my cousin Montague. 

There, Belford, is an aunt!--There's a cousin!--Both have wit at will. Both are accustomed to ape quality. --Both are genteelly descended. Mistresses of themselves, and well educated--yet past pity. --True Spartandames; ashamed of nothing but detection--always, therefore, upon theirguard against that. And in their own conceit, when assuming top parts, the very quality they ape. 

And how dost think I dress them out?--I'll tell thee. 

Lady Betty in a rich gold tissue, adorned with jewels of high price. 

My cousin Montague in a pale pink, standing on end with silver flowers ofher own working. Charlotte as well as my beloved is admirable at herneedle. Not quite so richly jewell'd out as Lady Betty; but ear-ringsand solitaire very valuable, and infinitely becoming. 

Johanetta, thou knowest, has a good complexion, a fine neck, and earsremarkably fine--so has Charlotte. She is nearly of Charlotte's staturetoo. 

Laces both, the richest that could be procured. 

Thou canst not imagine what a sum the loan of the jewels cost me, thoughbut for three days. 

This sweet girl will half ruin me. But seest thou not, by this time, that her reign is short!--It must be so. And Mrs. Sinclair has alreadyprepared every thing for her reception once more. 

***

Here come the ladies--attended by Susan Morrison, a tenant-farmer'sdaughter, as Lady Betty's woman; with her hands before her, andthoroughly instructed. 

How dress advantages women!--especially those who have naturally agenteel air and turn, and have had education. 

Hadst thou seen how they paraded it--Cousin, and Cousin, and Nephew, atevery word; Lady Betty bridling and looking haughtily-condescending. --Charlotte galanting her fan, and swimming over the floor without touchingit. 

How I long to see my niece-elect! cries one--for they are told that weare not married; and are pleased that I have not put the slight upon themthat they had apprehended from me. 

How I long to see my dear cousin that is to be, the other!

Your La'ship, and your La'ship, and an awkward courtesy at every address--prim Susan Morrison. 

Top your parts, ye villains!--You know how nicely I distinguish. Therewill be no passion in this case to blind the judgment, and to help onmeditated delusion, as when you engage with titled sinners. My charmeris as cool and as distinguishing, though not quite so learned in her ownsex, as I am. Your commonly-assumed dignity won't do for me now. Airsof superiority, as if born to rank. --But no over-do!--Doubting nothing. Let not your faces arraign your hearts. 

Easy and unaffected!--Your very dresses will give you pride enough. 

A little graver, Lady Betty. --More significance, less bridling in yourdignity. 

That's the air! Charmingly hit----Again----You have it. 

Devil take you!--Less arrogance. You are got into airs of young quality. Be less sensible of your new condition. People born to dignity commandrespect without needing to require it. 

Now for your part, Cousin Charlotte!--

Pretty well. But a little too frolicky that air. --Yet have I prepared mybeloved to expect in you both great vivacity and quality-freedom. 

Curse those eyes!--Those glancings will never do. A down-cast bashfulturn, if you can command it. Look upon me. Suppose me now to be mybeloved. 

Devil take that leer. Too significantly arch!--Once I knew you the girlI would now have you to be. 

Sprightly, but not confident, cousin Charlotte!--Be sure forget not tolook down, or aside, when looked at. When eyes meet eyes, be your's theretreating ones. Your face will bear examination. 

O Lord! Lord! that so young a creature can so soon forget the innocentappearance she first charmed by; and which I thought born with you all!--Five years to ruin what twenty had been building up! How natural thelatter lesson! How difficult to regain the former!

A stranger, as I hope to be saved, to the principal arts of your sex!--Once more, what a devil has your heart to do in your eyes?

Have I not told you, that my beloved is a great observer of the eyes?She once quoted upon me a text, * which showed me how she came by herknowledge--Dorcas's were found guilty of treason the first moment shesaw her. 

* Eccles. Xxvi. The whoredom of a woman may be known in her haughtylooks and eye-lids. Watch over an impudent eye, and marvel not if ittrespass against thee. 

Once more, suppose me to be my charmer. --Now you are to encounter myexamining eye, and my doubting heart--

That's my dear!

Study that air in the pier-glass!--

Charmingly!--Perfectly right!

Your honours, now, devils!--

Pretty well, Cousin Charlotte, for a young country lady! Till formyields to familiarity, you may courtesy low. You must not be supposedto have forgot your boarding-school airs. 

But too low, too low Lady Betty, for your years and your quality. Thecommon fault of your sex will be your danger: aiming to be young toolong!--The devil's in you all, when you judge of yourselves by yourwishes, and by your vanity! Fifty, in that case, is never more thanfifteen. 

Graceful ease, conscious dignity, like that of my charmer, Oh! how hardto hit!

Both together now--

Charming!--That's the air, Lady Betty!--That's the cue, Cousin Charlotte, suited to the character of each!--But, once more, be sure to have a guardupon your eyes. 

Never fear, Nephew!--

Never fear, Cousin. 

A dram of Barbadoes each--

And now we are gone--

LETTER XI

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. AT MRS. SINCLAIR'S, MONDAY AFTERNOON. 

All's right, as heart can wish!--In spite of all objection--in spite of areluctance next to faintings--in spite of all foresight, vigilance, suspicion--once more is the charmer of my soul in her old lodgings!

Now throbs away every pulse! Now thump, thump, thumps my bounding heartfor something!

But I have not time for the particulars of our management. 

My beloved is now directing some of her clothes to be packed up--nevermore to enter this house! Nor ever more will she, I dare say, when onceagain out of it!

Yet not so much as a condition of forgiveness!--The Harlowe-spiritedfair-one will not deserve my mercy!--She will wait for Miss Howe's nextletter; and then, if she find a difficulty in her new schemes, [Thank herfor nothing, ]--will--will what? Why even then will take time toconsider, whether I am to be forgiven, or for ever rejected. Anindifference that revives in my heart the remembrance of a thousand ofthe like nature. --And yet Lady Betty and Miss Montague, [a man would betempted to think, Jack, that they wish her to provoke my vengeance, ]declare, that I ought to be satisfied with such a proud suspension!

They are entirely attached to her. Whatever she says, is, must be, gospel! They are guarantees for her return to Hampstead this night. They are to go back with her. A supper bespoken by Lady Betty at Mrs. Moore's. All the vacant apartments there, by my permission, (for I hadengaged them for a month certain, ) to be filled with them and theirattendants, for a week at least, or till they can prevail upon the dearperverse, as they hope they shall, to restore me to her favour, and toaccompany Lady Betty to Oxfordshire. 

The dear creature has thus far condescended--that she will write to MissHowe and acquaint her with the present situation of things. 

If she write, I shall see what she writes. But I believe she will haveother employment soon. 

Lady Betty is sure, she tells her, that she shall prevail upon her toforgive me; though she dares say, that I deserve not forgiveness. LadyBetty is too delicate to inquire strictly into the nature of my offence. But it must be an offence against herself, against Miss Montague, againstthe virtuous of the whole sex, or it could not be so highly resented. Yet she will not leave her till she forgive me, and till she see ournuptials privately celebrated. Mean time, as she approves of her uncle'sexpedient, she will address her as already my wife before strangers. 

Stedman, her solicitor, may attend her for orders in relation to herchancery affair, at Hampstead. Not one hour they can be favoured with, will they lose from the company and conversation of so dear, so charminga new relation. 

Hard then if she had not obliged them with her company in theircoach-and-four, to and from their cousin Leeson's, who longed, (as theythemselves had done, ) to see a lady so justly celebrated. 

'How will Lord M. Be raptured when he sees her, and can salute her as hisniece!

'How will Lady Sarah bless herself!--She will now think her loss of thedear daughter she mourns for happily supplied!'

Miss Montague dwells upon every word that falls from her lips. Sheperfectly adores her new cousin--'For her cousin she must be. And hercousin will she call her! She answers for equal admiration in her sisterPatty. 

'Ay, cry I, (whispering loud enough for her to hear, ) how will my cousinPatty's dove's eyes glisten and run over, on the very first interview!--So gracious, so noble, so unaffected a dear creature!'

'What a happy family, ' chorus we all, 'will our's be!'

These and such like congratulatory admirations every hour repeated. Hermodesty hurt by the ecstatic praises:--'Her graces are too natural toherself for her to be proud of them: but she must be content to bepunished for excellencies that cast a shade upon the most excellent!'

In short, we are here, as at Hampstead, all joy and rapture--all of usexcept my beloved; in whose sweet face, [her almost fainting reluctanceto re-enter these doors not overcome, ] reigns a kind of anxious serenity!--But how will even that be changed in a few hours!

Methinks I begin to pity the half-apprehensive beauty!--But avaunt, thouunseasonably-intruding pity! Thou hast more than once already well nighundone me! And, adieu, reflection! Begone, consideration! andcommiseration! I dismiss ye all, for at least a week to come!--Butremembered her broken word! Her flight, when my fond soul was meditatingmercy to her!--Be remembered her treatment of me in her letter on herescape to Hampstead! Her Hampstead virulence! What is it she ought notto expect from an unchained Beelzebub, and a plotting villain?

Be her preference of the single life to me also remembered!--That shedespises me!--That she even refuses to be my WIFE!--A proud Lovelace tobe denied a wife!--To be more proudly rejected by a daughter of theHarlowes!--The ladies of my own family, [she thinks them the ladies ofmy family, ] supplicating in vain for her returning favour to theirdespised kinsman, and taking laws from her still prouder punctilio!

Be the execrations of her vixen friend likewise remembered, poured outupon me from her representations, and thereby made her own execrations!

Be remembered still more particularly the Townsend plot, set on footbetween them, and now, in a day or two, ready to break out; and thesordid threatening thrown out against me by that little fury!

Is not this the crisis for which I have been long waiting? ShallTomlinson, shall these women be engaged; shall so many engines be setat work, at an immense expense, with infinite contrivance; and all tono purpose?

Is not this the hour of her trial--and in her, of the trial of the virtueof her whole sex, so long premeditated, so long threatened?--Whether herfrost be frost indeed? Whether her virtue be principle? Whether, ifonce subdued, she will not be always subdued? And will she not want thecrown of her glory, the proof of her till now all-surpassing excellence, if I stop short of the ultimate trial?

Now is the end of purposes long over-awed, often suspended, at hand. Andneed I go throw the sins of her cursed family into the too-weighty scale?

[Abhorred be force!--be the thoughts of force!--There's no triumph overthe will in force!] This I know I have said. * But would I not haveavoided it, if I could? Have I not tried every other method? And have Iany other resource left me? Can she resent the last outrage more thanshe has resented a fainter effort?--And if her resentments run ever sohigh, cannot I repair by matrimony?--She will not refuse me, I know, Jack: the haughty beauty will not refuse me, when her pride of beingcorporally inviolate is brought down; when she can tell no tales, butwhen, (be her resistance what it will, ) even her own sex will suspect ayielding in resistance; and when that modesty, which may fill her bosomwith resentment, will lock up her speech. 

* Vol. IV. Letter XLVIII. 

But how know I, that I have not made my own difficulties? Is she not awoman! What redress lies for a perpetuated evil? Must she not live?Her piety will secure her life. --And will not time be my friend! What, in a word, will be her behaviour afterwards?--She cannot fly me!--Shemust forgive me--and as I have often said, once forgiven, will be forever forgiven. 

Why then should this enervating pity unsteel my foolish heart?

It shall not. All these things will I remember; and think of nothingelse, in order to keep up a resolution, which the women about me willhave it I shall be still unable to hold. 

I'll teach the dear, charming creature to emulate me in contrivance; I'llteach her to weave webs and plots against her conqueror! I'll show her, that in her smuggling schemes she is but a spider compared to me, andthat she has all this time been spinning only a cobweb!

***

What shall we do now! we are immersed in the depth of grief andapprehension! How ill do women bear disappointment!--Set upon going toHampstead, and upon quitting for ever a house she re-entered withinfinite reluctance; what things she intended to take with her readypacked up, herself on tiptoe to be gone, and I prepared to attend herthither; she begins to be afraid that she shall not go this night; and ingrief and despair has flung herself into her old apartment; lockedherself in; and through the key-hole Dorcas sees her on her knees, praying, I suppose, for a safe deliverance. 

And from what? and wherefore these agonizing apprehensions?

Why, here, this unkind Lady Betty, with the dear creature's knowledge, though to her concern, and this mad-headed cousin Montague without it, while she was employed in directing her package, have hurried away in thecoach to their own lodgings, [only, indeed, to put up some night-clothes, and so forth, in order to attend their sweet cousin to Hampstead;] and, no less to my surprise than her's, are not yet returned. 

I have sent to know the meaning of it. 

In a great hurry of spirits, she would have had me to go myself. Hardlyany pacifying her! The girl, God bless her! is wild with her own idleapprehensions! What is she afraid of?

I curse them both for their delay. My tardy villain, how he stays!Devil fetch them! let them send their coach, and we'll go without them. In her hearing I bid the fellow tell them so. Perhaps he stays to bringthe coach, if any thing happens to hinder the ladies from attending mybeloved this night. 

***

Devil take them, again say I! They promised too they would not stay, because it was but two nights ago that a chariot was robbed at the footof Hampstead-hill, which alarmed my fair-one when told of it!

Oh! here's Lady Betty's servant, with a billet. 

TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. MONDAY NIGHT. 

Excuse us, my dear Nephew, I beseech you, to my dearest kinswoman. Onenight cannot break squares: for here Miss Montague has been takenviolently ill with three fainting fits, one after another. The hurry ofher joy, I believe, to find your dear lady so much surpass allexpectations, [never did family love, you know, reign so strong as amongus, ] and the too eager desire she had to attend her, have occasioned it!For she has but weak spirits, poor girl! well as she looks. 

If she be better, we will certainly go with you tomorrow morning, afterwe have breakfasted with her, at your lodgings. But whether she be, ornot, I will do myself the pleasure to attend your lady to Hampstead; andwill be with you for that purpose about nine in the morning. With duecompliments to your most worthily beloved, I am

Your's affectionately, ELIZAB. LAWRANCE. 

***

Faith and troth, Jack, I know not what to do with myself; for here, justnow having sent in the above note by Dorcas, out came my beloved with itin her hand, in a fit of phrensy!--true, by my soul!

She had indeed complained of her head all the evening. 

Dorcas ran to me, out of breath, to tell me, that her lady was coming insome strange way; but she followed her so quick, that the frighted wenchhad not time to say in what way. 

It seems, when she read the billet--Now indeed, said she, am I a lostcreature! O the poor Clarissa Harlowe!

She tore off her head-clothes; inquired where I was; and in she came, hershining tresses flowing about her neck; her ruffles torn, and hanging intatters about her snowy hands, with her arms spread out--her eyes wildlyturned, as if starting from their orbits--down sunk she at my feet, assoon as she approached me; her charming bosom heaving to her upliftedface; and clasping her arms about my knees, Dear Lovelace, said she, ifever--if ever--if ever--and, unable to speak another word, quitting herclasping hold--down--prostrate on the floor sunk she, neither in a fitnor out of one. 

I was quite astonished. --All my purposes suspended for a few moments, Iknew neither what to say, nor what to do. But, recollecting myself, am Iagain, thought I, in a way to be overcome, and made a fool of!--If I nowrecede, I am gone for ever. 

I raised her; but down she sunk, as if quite disjointed--her limbsfailing her--yet not in a fit neither. I never heard of or saw such adear unaccountable; almost lifeless, and speechless too for a fewmoments; what must her apprehensions be at that moment?--And for what?--An high-notioned dear soul!--Pretty ignorance!--thought I. 

Never having met with so sincere, so unquestionable a repugnance, I wasstaggered--I was confounded--yet how should I know that it would be sotill I tried?--And how, having proceeded thus far, could I stop, were Inot to have had the women to goad me on, and to make light ofcircumstances, which they pretended to be better judges of than I?

I lifted her, however, into a chair, and in words of disordered passion, told her, all her fears were needless--wondered at them--begged of her tobe pacified--besought her reliance on my faith and honour--and revowedall my old vows, and poured forth new ones. 

At last, with a heart-breaking sob, I see, I see, Mr. Lovelace, in brokensentences she spoke--I see, I see--that at last--I am ruined!--Ruined, ifyour pity--let me implore your pity!--and down on her bosom, like ahalf-broken-stalked lily top-heavy with the overcharging dews of themorning, sunk her head, with a sigh that went to my heart. 

All I could think of to re-assure her, when a little recovered, I said. 

Why did I not send for their coach, as I had intimated? It might returnin the morning for the ladies. 

I had actually done so, I told her, on seeing her strange uneasiness. But it was then gone to fetch a doctor for Miss Montague, lest hischariot should not be so ready. 

Ah! Lovelace! said she, with a doubting face; anguish in her imploringeye. 

Lady Betty would think it very strange, I told her, if she were to knowit was so disagreeable to her to stay one night for her company in thehouse where she had passed so many. 

She called me names upon this--she had called me names before. --I waspatient. 

Let her go to Lady Betty's lodgings then; directly go; if the person Icalled Lady Betty was really Lady Betty. 

If, my dear! Good Heaven! What a villain does that IF show you believeme to be!

I cannot help it--I beseech you once more, let me go to Mrs. Leeson's, ifthat IF ought not to be said. 

Then assuming a more resolute spirit--I will go! I will inquire my way!--I will go by myself!--and would have rushed by me. 

I folded my arms about her to detain her; pleading the bad way I heardpoor Charlotte was in; and what a farther concern her impatience, if shewent, would give to poor Charlotte. 

She would believe nothing I said, unless I would instantly order a coach, (since she was not to have Lady Betty's, nor was permitted to go to Mrs. Leeson's, ) and let her go in it to Hampstead, late as it was, and allalone, so much the better; for in the house of people of whom Lady Betty, upon inquiry, had heard a bad character, [Dropt foolishly this, by myprating new relation, in order to do credit to herself, by depreciatingothers, ] every thing, and every face, looking with so much meaningvileness, as well as my own, [thou art still too sensible, thought I, mycharmer!] she was resolved not to stay another night. 

Dreading what might happen as to her intellects, and being veryapprehensive that she might possibly go through a great deal beforemorning, (though more violent she could not well be with the worst shedreaded, ) I humoured her, and ordered Will. To endeavour to get a coachdirectly, to carry us to Hampstead; I cared not at what price. 

Robbers, with whom I would have terrified her, she feared not--I was allher fear, I found; and this house her terror: for I saw plainly that shenow believed that Lady Betty and Miss Montague were both impostors. 

But her mistrust is a little of the latest to do her service!

And, O Jack, the rage of love, the rage of revenge is upon me! by turnsthey tear me! The progress already made--the women's instigations--thepower I shall have to try her to the utmost, and still to marry her, ifshe be not to be brought to cohabitation--let me perish, Belford, if sheescape me now!

***

Will. Is not yet come back. Near eleven. 

***

Will. Is this moment returned. No coach to be got, either for love ormoney. 

Once more she urges--to Mrs. Leeson's, let me go, Lovelace! GoodLovelace, let me go to Mrs. Leeson's? What is Miss Montague's illnessto my terror?---For the Almighty's sake, Mr. Lovelace!--her handsclasped. 

O my angel! What a wildness is this! Do you know, do you see, mydearest life, what appearances your causeless apprehensions have givenyou?--Do you know it is past eleven o'clock?

Twelve, one, two, three, four--any hour, I care not--If you mean mehonourably, let me go out of this hated house!

Thou'lt observe, Belford, that though this was written afterwards, yet, (as in other places, ) I write it as it was spoken and happened, as if Ihad retired to put down every sentence spoken. I know thou likest thislively present-tense manner, as it is one of my peculiars. 

Just as she had repeated the last words, If you mean me honourably, letme go out of this hated house, in came Mrs. Sinclair, in a great ferment--And what, pray, Madam, has this house done to you? Mr. Lovelace, youhave known me some time; and, if I have not the niceness of this lady, Ihope I do not deserve to be treated thus!

She set her huge arms akimbo: Hoh! Madam, let me tell you that I amamazed at your freedoms with my character! And, Mr. Lovelace, [holdingup, and violently shaking her head, ] if you are a gentleman, and a man ofhonour----

Having never before seen any thing but obsequiousness in this woman, little as she liked her, she was frighted at her masculine air, andfierce look--God help me! cried she--what will become of me now! Then, turning her head hither and thither, in a wild kind of amaze. Whom haveI for a protector! What will become of me now!

I will be your protector, my dearest love!--But indeed you areuncharitably severe upon poor Mrs. Sinclair! Indeed you are!--She is agentlewoman born, and the relict of a man of honour; and though left insuch circumstance as to oblige her to let lodgings, yet would she scornto be guilty of a wilful baseness. 

I hope so--it may be so--I may be mistaken--but--but there is no crime, Ipresume, no treason, to say I don't like her house. 

The old dragon straddled up to her, with her arms kemboed again--hereye-brows erect, like the bristles upon a hog's back, and, scouling overher shortened nose, more than half-hid her ferret eyes. Her mouth wasdistorted. She pouted out her blubber-lips, as if to bellows up wind andsputter into her horse-nostrils; and her chin was curdled, and more thanusually prominent with passion. 

With two Hoh-Madams she accosted the frighted fair-one; who, terrified, caught hold of my sleeve. 

I feared she would fall into fits; and, with a look of indignation, toldMrs. Sinclair that these apartments were mine; and I could not imaginewhat she meant, either by listening to what passed between me and myspouse, or to come in uninvited; and still more I wondered at her givingherself these strange liberties. 

I may be to blame, Jack, for suffering this wretch to give herself theseairs; but her coming in was without my orders. 

The old beldam, throwing herself into a chair, fell a blubbering andexclaiming. And the pacifying of her, and endeavouring to reconcile thelady to her, took up till near one o'clock. 

And thus, between terror, and the late hour, and what followed, she wasdiverted from the thoughts of getting out of the house to Mrs. Leeson's, or any where else. 

LETTER XII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUESDAY MORNING, JUNE 13. 

And now, Belford, I can go no farther. The affair is over. Clarissalives. And I am

Your humble servant, R. LOVELACE. 

[The whole of this black transaction is given by the injured lady to MissHowe, in her subsequent letters, dated Thursday, July 6. See LettersLXVII. LXVIII. LXIX. ]

LETTER XIII

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. WATFORD, WEDN. JAN. 14. 

O thou savage-hearted monster! What work hast thou made in one guiltyhour, for a whole age of repentance!

I am inexpressibly concerned at the fate of this matchless lady! Shecould not have fallen into the hands of any other man breathing, andsuffered as she has done with thee. 

I had written a great part of another long letter to try to soften thyflinty heart in her favour; for I thought it but too likely that thoushouldst succeed in getting her back again to the accursed woman's. ButI find it would have been too late, had I finished it, and sent it away. Yet cannot I forbear writing, to urge thee to make the only amends thounow canst make her, by a proper use of the license thou hast obtained. 

Poor, poor lady! It is a pain to me that I ever saw her. Such an adorerof virtue to be sacrificed to the vilest of her sex; and thou theirimplement in the devil's hand, for a purpose so base, so ungenerous, soinhumane!--Pride thyself, O cruellest of men! in this reflection; andthat thy triumph over a woman, who for thy sake was abandoned of everyfriend she had in the world, was effected; not by advantages taken of herweakness and credulity; but by the blackest artifice; after a long courseof studied deceits had been tried to no purpose. 

I can tell thee, it is well either for thee or for me, that I am not thebrother of the lady. Had I been her brother, her violation must havebeen followed by the blood of one of us. 

Excuse me, Lovelace; and let not the lady fare the worse for my concernfor her. And yet I have but one other motive to ask thy excuse; and thatis, because I owe to thy own communicative pen the knowledge I have ofthy barbarous villany, since thou mightest, if thou wouldst, have passedit upon me for a common seduction. 

CLARISSA LIVES, thou sayest. That she does is my wonder: and these wordsshow that thou thyself (though thou couldst, nevertheless, proceed)hardly expectedst she would have survived the outrage. What must havebeen the poor lady's distress (watchful as she had been over her honour)when dreadful certainty took place of cruel apprehension!--And yet a manmay guess what must have been, by that which thou paintest, when shesuspected herself tricked, deserted, and betrayed, by the pretendedladies. 

That thou couldst behold her phrensy on this occasion, and herhalf-speechless, half-fainting prostration at thy feet, and yet retain thyevil purposes, will hardly be thought credible, even by those who knowthee, if they have seen her. 

Poor, poor lady! With such noble qualities as would have adorned themost exalted married life, to fall into the hands of the only man in theworld, who could have treated her as thou hast treated her!--And to letloose the old dragon, as thou properly callest her, upon thebefore-affrighted innocent, what a barbarity was that! What a poor pieceof barbarity! in order to obtain by terror, what thou dispairedst to gainby love, though supported by stratagems the most insidious!

O LOVELACE! LOVELACE! had I doubted it before, I should now beconvinced, that there must be a WORLD AFTER THIS, to do justice toinjured merit, and to punish barbarous perfidy! Could the divineSOCRATES, and the divine CLARISSA, otherwise have suffered?

But let me, if possible, for one moment, try to forget this villanousoutrage on the most excellent of women. 

I have business here which will hold me yet a few days; and then perhapsI shall quit this house for ever. 

I have had a solemn and tedious time of it. I should never have knownthat I had half the respect I really find I had for the old gentleman, had I not so closely, at his earnest desire, attended him, and been awitness of the tortures he underwent. 

This melancholy occasion may possibly have contributed to humanize me:but surely I never could have been so remorseless a caitiff as thou hastbeen, to a woman of half this lady's excellence. 

But pr'ythee, dear Lovelace, if thou'rt a man, and not a devil, resolve, out of hand, to repair thy sin of ingratitude, by conferring upon thyselfthe highest honour thou canst receive, in making her lawfully thine. 

But if thou canst not prevail upon thyself to do her this justice, Ithink I should not scruple a tilt with thee, [an everlasting rupture atleast must follow] if thou sacrificest her to the accursed women. 

Thou art desirous to know what advantage I reap by my uncle's demise. Ido not certainly know; for I have not been so greedily solicitous on thissubject as some of the kindred have been, who ought to have shown moredecency, as I have told them, and suffered the corpse to have been coldbefore they had begun their hungry inquiries. But, by what I gatheredfrom the poor man's talk to me, who oftener than I wished touched uponthe subject, I deem it will be upwards of 5000£. In cash, and in thefunds, after all legacies paid, besides the real estate, which is a clear1000£. A-year. 

I wish, from my heart, thou wert a money-lover! Were the estate to be ofdouble the value, thou shouldst have it every shilling; only upon onecondition [for my circumstances before were as easy as I wish them to bewhile I am single]--that thou wouldst permit me the honour of being thisfatherless lady's father, as it is called, at the altar. 

Think of this! my dear Lovelace! be honest: and let me present thee withthe brightest jewel that man ever possessed; and then, body and soul, wilt thou bind to thee for ever thy

BELFORD. 

LETTER XIV

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. THURSDAY, JUNE 15. 

Let me alone, you great dog, you!--let me alone!--have I heard a lesserboy, his coward arms held over his head and face, say to a bigger, whowas pommeling him, for having run away with his apple, his orange, or hisginger-bread. 

So say I to thee, on occasion of thy severity to thy poor friend, who, asthou ownest, has furnished thee (ungenerous as thou art!) with theweapons thou brandishest so fearfully against him. --And to what purpose, when the mischief is done? when, of consequence, the affair isirretrievable? and when a CLARISSA could not move me?

Well, but, after all, I must own, that there is something very singularin this lady's case: and, at times, I cannot help regretting that ever Iattempted her; since not one power either of body or soul could be movedin my favour; and since, to use the expression of the philosopher, on amuch graver occasion, there is no difference to be found between theskull of King Philip and that of another man. 

But people's extravagant notions of things alter not facts, Belford: and, when all's done, Miss Clarissa Harlowe has but run the fate of a thousandothers of her sex--only that they did not set such a romantic value uponwhat they call their honour; that's all. 

And yet I will allow thee this--that if a person sets a high value uponany thing, be it ever such a trifle in itself, or in the eye of others, the robbing of that person of it is not a trifle to him. Take the matterin this light, I own I have done wrong, great wrong, to this admirablecreature. 

But have I not known twenty and twenty of the sex, who have seemed tocarry their notions of virtue high; yet, when brought to the test, haveabated of their severity? And how should we be convinced that any ofthem are proof till they are tried?

A thousand times have I said, that I never yet met with such a woman asthis. If I had, I hardly ever should have attempted Miss ClarissaHarlowe. Hitherto she is all angel: and was not that the point which atsetting out I proposed to try?* And was not cohabitation ever my darlingview? And am I not now, at last, in the high road to it?--It is true, that I have nothing to boast of as to her will. The very contrary. Butnow are we come to the test, whether she cannot be brought to make thebest of an irreparable evil. If she exclaim, [she has reason to exclaim, and I will sit down with patience by the hour together to hear herexclamations, till she is tired of them, ] she will then descend toexpostulation perhaps: expostulation will give me hope: expostulationwill show that she hates me not. And, if she hate me not, she willforgive: and, if she now forgive, then will all be over; and she will bemine upon my own terms: and it shall then be the whole study of my futurelife to make her happy. 

* See Vol. III. Letter XVIII. 

So, Belford, thou seest that I have journeyed on to this stage [indeed, through infinite mazes, and as infinite remorses] with one determinedpoint in view from the first. To thy urgent supplication then, that Iwill do her grateful justice by marriage, let me answer in Matt. Prior'stwo lines on his hoped-for auditorship; as put into the mouths of his St. John and Harley;

 ---Let that be done, which Matt. Doth say. YEA, quoth the Earl--BUT NOT TO-DAY. 

Thou seest, Jack, that I make no resolutions, however, against doing her, one time or other, the wished-for justice, even were I to succeed in myprincipal view, cohabitation. And of this I do assure thee, that, if Iever marry, it must, it shall be Miss Clarissa Harlowe. --Nor is herhonour at all impaired with me, by what she has so far suffered: but thecontrary. She must only take care that, if she be at last brought toforgive me, she show me that her Lovelace is the only man on earth whomshe could have forgiven on the like occasion. 

But ah, Jack! what, in the mean time, shall I do with this admirablecreature? At present--[I am loth to say it--but, at present] she isquite stupified. 

I had rather, methinks, she should have retained all her active powers, though I had suffered by her nails and her teeth, than that she should besunk into such a state of absolute--insensibility (shall I call it?) asshe has been in every since Tuesday morning. Yet, as she begins a littleto revive, and now-and-then to call names, and to exclaim, I dread almostto engage with the anguish of a spirit that owes its extraordinaryagitations to a niceness that has no example either in ancient or modernstory. For, after all, what is there in her case that should stupifysuch a glowing, such a blooming charmer?--Excess of grief, excess ofterror, have made a person's hair stand on end, and even (as we haveread) changed the colour of it. But that it should so stupify, as tomake a person, at times, insensible to those imaginary wrongs, whichwould raise others from stupifaction, is very surprising!

But I will leave this subject, least it should make me too grave. 

I was yesterday at Hampstead, and discharged all obligations there, withno small applause. I told them that the lady was now as happy as myself:and that is no great untruth; for I am not altogether so, when I allowmyself to think. 

Mrs. Townsend, with her tars, had not been then there. I told them whatI would have them say to her, if she came. 

Well, but, after all [how many after-all's have I?] I could be verygrave, were I to give way to it. --The devil take me for a fool! What'sthe matte with me, I wonder!--I must breathe a fresher air for a fewdays. 

But what shall I do with this admirable creature the while?--Hang me, ifI know!--For, if I stir, the venomous spider of this habitation will wantto set upon the charming fly, whose silken wings are already so entangledin my enormous web, that she cannot move hand or foot: for so much hasgrief stupified her, that she is at present destitute of will, as shealways seemed to be of desire. I must not therefore think of leaving heryet for two days together. 

LETTER XV

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. 

I have just now had a specimen of what the resentment of this dearcreature will be when quite recovered: an affecting one!--For enteringher apartment after Dorcas; and endeavouring to soothe and pacify herdisordered mind; in the midst of my blandishments, she held up to Heaven, in a speechless agony, the innocent license (which she has in her ownpower); as the poor distressed Catalans held up their English treaty, on an occasion that keeps the worst of my actions in countenance. 

She seemed about to call down vengeance upon me; when, happily the leadengod, in pity to her trembling Lovelace, waved over her half-drowned eyeshis somniferous want, and laid asleep the fair exclaimer, before shecould go half through with her intended imprecation. 

Thou wilt guess, by what I have written, that some little art has beenmade use of: but it was with a generous design (if thou'lt allow me theword on such an occasion) in order to lessen the too-quick sense she waslikely to have of what she was to suffer. A contrivance I never hadoccasion for before, and had not thought of now, if Mrs. Sinclair had notproposed it to me: to whom I left the management of it: and I have donenothing but curse her ever since, lest the quantity should have for everdampened her charming intellects. 

Hence my concern--for I think the poor lady ought not to have been sotreated. Poor lady, did I say?--What have I to do with thy creepingstyle?--But have not I the worst of it; since her insensibility has mademe but a thief to my own joys?

I did not intend to tell thee of this little innocent trick; for such Idesigned it to be; but that I hate disingenuousness: to thee, especially:and as I cannot help writing in a more serious vein than usual, thouwouldst perhaps, had I not hinted the true cause, have imagined that Iwas sorry for the fact itself: and this would have given thee a good dealof trouble in scribbling dull persuasives to repair by matrimony; and mein reading thy cruel nonsense. Besides, one day or other, thou mightest, had I not confessed it, have heard of it in an aggravated manner; and Iknow thou hast such an high opinion of this lady's virtue, that thouwouldst be disappointed, if thou hadst reason to think that she wassubdued by her own consent, or any the least yielding in her will. Andso is she beholden to me in some measure, that, at the expense of myhonour, she may so justly form a plea, which will entirely salve her's. 

And now is the whole secret out. 

Thou wilt say I am a horrid fellow!--As the lady does, that I am theunchained Beelzebub, and a plotting villain: and as this is what you bothsaid beforehand, and nothing worse can be said, I desire, if thou wouldstnot have me quite serious with thee, and that I should think thou meanestmore by thy tilting hint than I am willing to believe thou dost, thatthou wilt forbear thy invectives: For is not the thing done?--Can it behelped?--And must I not now try to make the best of it?--And the ratherdo I enjoin to make thee this, and inviolable secrecy; because I beginto think that my punishment will be greater than the fault, were it to beonly from my own reflection. 

LETTER XVI

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. FRIDAY, JUNE 16. 

I am sorry to hear of thy misfortune; but hope thou wilt not long lie byit. Thy servant tells me what narrow escape thou hadst with thy neck, Iwish it may not be ominous: but I think thou seemest not to be in soenterprising a way as formerly; and yet, merry or sad, thou seest arake's neck is always in danger, if not from the hangman, from his ownhorse. But, 'tis a vicious toad, it seems; and I think thou shouldstnever venture upon his back again; for 'tis a plaguy thing for rider andhorse both to be vicious. 

The fellow tells me, thou desirest me to continue to write to thee inorder to divert thy chagrin on thy forced confinement: but how can Ithink it in my power to divert, when my subject is not pleasing tomyself?

Caesar never knew what it was to be hipped, I will call it, till hecame to be what Pompey was; that is to say, till he arrived at theheight of his ambition: nor did thy Lovelace know what it was to begloomy, till he had completed his wishes upon the most charmingcreature in the world. 

And yet why say I completed? when the will, the consent, iswanting--and I have still views before me of obtaining that?

Yet I could almost join with thee in the wish, which thou sendest me upby thy servant, unfriendly as it is, that I had had thy misfortunebefore Monday night last: for here, the poor lady has run into acontrary extreme to that I told thee of in my last: for now is she asmuch too lively, as before she was too stupid; and 'bating that she haspretty frequent lucid intervals, would be deemed raving mad, and Ishould be obliged to confine her. 

I am most confoundedly disturbed about it: for I begin to fear that herintellects are irreparably hurt. 

Who the devil could have expected such strange effects from a cause socommon and so slight?

But these high-souled and high-sensed girls, who had set up for shininglights and examples to the rest of the sex, are with such difficultybrought down to the common standard, that a wise man, who prefers hispeace of mind to his glory, in subduing one of that exalted class, would have nothing to say to them. 

I do all in my power to quiet her spirits, when I force myself into herpresence. 

I go on, begging pardon one minute; and vowing truth and honour another. 

I would at first have persuaded her, and offered to call witnesses tothe truth of it, that we were actually married. Though the license wasin her hands, I thought the assertion might go down in her disorder;and charming consequences I hoped would follow. But this would notdo. --

I therefore gave up that hope: and now I declare to her, that it is myresolution to marry her, the moment her uncle Harlowe informs me thathe will grace the ceremony with his presence. 

But she believes nothing I say; nor, (whether in her senses, or not)bears me with patience in her sight. 

I pity her with all my soul; and I curse myself, when she is in herwailing fits, and when I apprehend that intellects, so charming, arefor ever damped. 

But more I curse these women, who put me upon such an expedient! Lord!Lord! what a hand have I made of it!--And all for what?

Last night, for the first time since Monday night, she got to her penand ink; but she pursues her writing with such eagerness and hurry, asshow too evidently her discomposure. 

I hope, however, that this employment will help to calm her spirits. 

***

Just now Dorcas tells me, that what she writes she tears, and throwsthe paper in fragments under the table, either as not knowing what shedoes, or disliking it: then gets up, wrings her hands, weeps, andshifts her seat all round the room: then returns to her table, sitsdown, and writes again. 

***

One odd letter, as I may call it, Dorcas has this moment given me fromher--Carry this, said she, to the vilest of men. Dorcas, a toad, brought it, without any further direction to me. I sat down, intending(though 'tis pretty long) to give thee a copy of it: but, for my life, I cannot; 'tis so extravagant. And the original is too much anoriginal to let it go out of my hands. 

But some of the scraps and fragments, as either torn through, or flungaside, I will copy, for the novelty of the thing, and to show thee howher mind works now she is in the whimsical way. Yet I know I am stillfurnishing thee with new weapons against myself. But spare thy comments. My own reflections render them needless. Dorcas thinks her lady willask for them: so wishes to have them to lay again under the table. 

By the first thou'lt guess that I have told her that Miss Howe is veryill, and can't write; that she may account the better for not havingreceived the letter designed for her. 

PAPER I(Torn in two pieces. )

MY DEAREST MISS HOWE, O what dreadful, dreadful things have I to tell you! But yet I cannottell you neither. But say, are you really ill, as a vile, vilecreature informs me you are?

But he never yet told me truth, and I hope has not in this: and yet, ifit were not true, surely I should have heard from you before now!--Butwhat have I to do to upbraid?--You may well be tired of me!--And if youare, I can forgive you; for I am tired of myself: and all my ownrelations were tired of me long before you were. 

How good you have always been to me, mine own dear Anna Howe!--But howI ramble!

I sat down to say a great deal--my heart was full--I did not know whatto say first--and thought, and grief, and confusion, and (O my poorhead) I cannot tell what--and thought, and grief and confusion, camecrowding so thick upon me; one would be first; another would be first;all would be first; so I can write nothing at all. --Only that, whateverthey have done to me, I cannot tell; but I am no longer what I was-inany one thing did I say? Yes, but I am; for I am still, and I everwill be, Your true----

Plague on it! I can write no more of this eloquent nonsense myself;which rather shows a raised, than a quenched, imagination: but Dorcasshall transcribe the others in separate papers, as written by thewhimsical charmer: and some time hence when all is over, and I canbetter bear to read them, I may ask thee for a sight of them. Preservethem, therefore; for we often look back with pleasure even upon theheaviest griefs, when the cause of them is removed. 

PAPER II(Scratch'd through, and thrown under the table. )

--And can you, my dear, honoured Papa, resolve for ever to reprobateyour poor child?--But I am sure you would not, if you knew what she hassuffered since her unhappy--And will nobody plead for your poor sufferinggirl?--No one good body?--Why then, dearest Sir, let it be an act of yourown innate goodness, which I have so much experienced, and so muchabused. I don't presume to think you should receive me--No, indeed!--Myname is--I don't know what my name is!--I never dare to wish to come intoyour family again!--But your heavy curse, my Papa--Yes, I will call youPapa, and help yourself as you can--for you are my own dear Papa, whetheryou will or not--and though I am an unworthy child--yet I am your child--

PAPER III

A Lady took a great fancy to a young lion, or a bear, I forgetwhich--but a bear, or a tiger, I believe it was. It was made her apresent of when a whelp. She fed it with her own hand: she nursed upthe wicked cub with great tenderness; and would play with it withoutfear or apprehension of danger: and it was obedient to all her commands:and its tameness, as she used to boast, increased with its growth; sothat, like a lap-dog, it would follow her all over the house. But mindwhat followed: at last, some how, neglecting to satisfy its hungry maw, or having otherwise disobliged it on some occasion, it resumed itsnature; and on a sudden fell upon her, and tore her in pieces. --And whowas most to blame, I pray? The brute, or the lady? The lady, surely!--For what she did was out of nature, out of character, at least: what itdid was in its own nature. 

PAPER IV

How art thou now humbled in the dust, thou proud Clarissa Harlowe!Thou that never steppedst out of thy father's house but to be admired!Who wert wont to turn thine eye, sparkling with healthful life, andself-assurance, to different objects at once as thou passedst, as if(for so thy penetrating sister used to say) to plume thyself upon theexpected applauses of all that beheld thee! Thou that usedst to go torest satisfied with the adulations paid thee in the past day, and couldstput off every thing but thy vanity!---

PAPER V

Rejoice not now, my Bella, my Sister, my Friend; but pity the humbledcreature, whose foolish heart you used to say you beheld through the thinveil of humility which covered it. 

It must have been so! My fall had not else been permitted--

You penetrated my proud heart with the jealousy of an elder sister'ssearching eye. 

You knew me better than I knew myself. 

Hence your upbraidings and your chidings, when I began to totter. 

But forgive now those vain triumphs of my heart. 

I thought, poor, proud wretch that I was, that what you said was owing toyour envy. 

I thought I could acquit my intention of any such vanity. 

I was too secure in the knowledge I thought I had of my own heart. 

My supposed advantages became a snare to me. 

And what now is the end of all?--

PAPER VI

What now is become of the prospects of a happy life, which once I thoughtopening before me?--Who now shall assist in the solemn preparations? Whonow shall provide the nuptial ornaments, which soften and divert theapprehensions of the fearful virgin? No court now to be paid to mysmiles! No encouraging compliments to inspire thee with hope of laying amind not unworthy of thee under obligation! No elevation now forconscious merit, and applauded purity, to look down from on a prostrateadorer, and an admiring world, and up to pleased and rejoicing parentsand relations!

PAPER VII

Thou pernicious caterpillar, that preyest upon the fair leaf of virginfame, and poisonest those leaves which thou canst not devour!

Thou fell blight, thou eastern blast, thou overspreading mildew, thatdestroyest the early promises of the shining year! that mockest thelaborious toil, and blastest the joyful hopes, of the painful husbandman!

Thou fretting moth, that corruptest the fairest garment!

Thou eating canker-worm, that preyest upon the opening bud, and turnestthe damask-rose into livid yellowness!

If, as religion teaches us, God will judge us, in a great measure, by ourbenevolent or evil actions to one another--O wretch! bethink thee, intime bethink thee, how great must be thy condemnation!

PAPER VIIII

At first, I saw something in your air and person that displeased menot. Your birth and fortunes were no small advantages to you. --Youacted not ignobly by my passionate brother. Every body said you werebrave: every body said you were generous: a brave man, I thought, couldnot be a base man: a generous man, could not, I believed, be ungenerous, where he acknowledged obligation. Thus prepossessed, all the rest thatmy soul loved and wished for in your reformation I hoped!--I knew not, but by report, any flagrant instances of your vileness. You seemedfrank, as well as generous: frankness and generosity ever attracted me:whoever kept up those appearances, I judged of their hearts by my own;and whatever qualities I wished to find in them, I was ready to find;and, when found, I believed them to be natives of the soil. 

My fortunes, my rank, my character, I thought a further security. Iwas in none of those respects unworthy of being the niece of Lord M. And of his two noble sisters. --Your vows, your imprecations--But, Oh!you have barbarously and basely conspired against that honour, whichyou ought to have protected: and now you have made me--What is it ofvile that you have not made me?--

Yet, God knows my heart, I had no culpable inclinations!--I honouredvirtue!--I hated vice!--But I knew not, that you were vice itself!

PAPER IX

Had the happiness of any of the poorest outcast in the world, whom Ihad neveer seen, never known, never before heard of, lain as much in mypower, as my happiness did in your's, my benevolent heart would havemade me fly to the succour of such a poor distressed--with what pleasurewould I have raised the dejected head, and comforted the despondingheart!--But who now shall pity the poor wretch, who has increased, instead of diminished, the number of the miserable!

PAPER X

Lead me, where my own thoughts themselves may lose me;Where I may dose out what I've left of life, Forget myself, and that day's guile!----Cruel remembrance!----how shall I appease thee?

[Death only can be dreadful to the bad;*To innocence 'tis like a bugbear dress'dTo frighten children. Pull but off the mask, And he'll appear a friend. ]

* Transcriber's note: Portions set off in square brackets [ ] are writtenat angles to the majority of the text, as if squeezed into margins. 

----Oh! you have done an actThat blots the face and blush of modesty; Takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love, And makes a blister there!

 Then down I laid my head, Down on cold earth, and for a while was dead;And my freed soul to a strange somewhere fled! Ah! sottish soul! said I, When back to its cage again I saw it fly; Fool! to resume her broken chain, And row the galley here again! Fool! to that body to return, Where it condemn'd and destin'd is to mourn!

[I could a tale unfold---- Would harrow up thy soul----]

O my Miss Howe! if thou hast friendship, help me, And speak the words of peace to my divided soul, That wars within me, And raises ev'ry sense to my confusion. I'm tott'ring on the brinkOf peace; an thou art all the hold I've left!Assist me----in the pangs of my affliction!

When honour's lost, 'tis a relief to die:Death's but a sure retreat from infamy. 

[By swift misfortunes How I am pursu'd!Which on each other Are, like waves, renew'd!]

The farewell, youth, And all the joys that dwellWith youth and life! And life itself, farewell!

For life can never be sincerely blest. Heav'n punishes the bad, and proves the best. 

***

After all, Belford, I have just skimmed over these transcriptions ofDorcas: and I see there are method and good sense in some of them, wildas others of them are; and that her memory, which serves her so wellfor these poetical flights, is far from being impaired. And this givesme hope, that she will soon recover her charming intellects--though Ishall be the sufferer by their restoration, I make no doubt. 

But, in the letter she wrote to me, there are yet greater extravagancies;and though I said it was too affecting to give thee a copy of it, yet, after I have let thee see the loose papers enclosed, I think I may throwin a transcript of that. Dorcas therefore shall here transcribe it. Icannot. The reading of it affected me ten times more than the severestreproaches of a regular mind could do. 

TO MR. LOVELACE

I never intended to write another line to you. I would not see you, if Icould help it--O that I never had!

But tell me, of a truth, is Miss Howe really and truly ill?--Very ill?-And is not her illness poison? And don't you know who gave it to her?

What you, or Mrs. Sinclair, or somebody (I cannot tell who) have done tomy poor head, you best know: but I shall never be what I was. My head isgone. I have wept away all my brain, I believe; for I can weep no more. Indeed I have had my full share; so it is no matter. 

But, good now, Lovelace, don't set Mrs. Sinclair upon me again. --I neverdid her any harm. She so affrights me, when I see her!--Ever since--whenwas it? I cannot tell. You can, I suppose. She may be a good woman, asfar as I know. She was the wife of a man of honour--very likely--thoughforced to let lodgings for a livelihood. Poor gentlewoman! Let her knowI pity her: but don't let her come near me again--pray don't!

Yet she may be a very good woman--

What would I say!--I forget what I was going to say. 

O Lovelace, you are Satan himself; or he helps you out in every thing;and that's as bad!

But have you really and truly sold yourself to him? And for how long?What duration is your reign to have?

Poor man! The contract will be out: and then what will be your fate!

O Lovelace! if you could be sorry for yourself, I would be sorry too--butwhen all my doors are fast, and nothing but the key-hole open, and thekey of late put into that, to be where you are, in a manner withoutopening any of them--O wretched, wretched Clarissa Harlowe!

For I never will be Lovelace--let my uncle take it as he pleases. 

Well, but now I remember what I was going to say--it is for your good--not mine--for nothing can do me good now!--O thou villanous man! thouhated Lovelace!

But Mrs. Sinclair may be a good woman--if you love me--but that you don't--but don't let her bluster up with her worse than mannish airs to meagain! O she is a frightful woman! If she be a woman! She needed notto put on that fearful mask to scare me out of my poor wits. But don'ttell her what I say--I have no hatred to her--it is only fright, andfoolish fear, that's all. --She may not be a bad woman--but neither areall men, any more than all women alike--God forbid they should be likeyou!

Alas! you have killed my head among you--I don't say who did it!--Godforgive you all!--But had it not been better to have put me out of allyour ways at once? You might safely have done it! For nobody wouldrequire me at your hands--no, not a soul--except, indeed, Miss Howe wouldhave said, when she should see you, What, Lovelace, have you done withClarissa Harlowe?--And then you could have given any slight, gay answer--sent her beyond sea; or, she has run away from me, as she did from herparents. And this would have been easily credited; for you know, Lovelace, she that could run away from them, might very well run awayfrom you. 

But this is nothing to what I wanted to say. Now I have it. 

I have lost it again--This foolish wench comes teasing me--for whatpurpose should I eat? For what end should I wish to live?--I tell thee, Dorcas, I will neither eat nor drink. I cannot be worse than I am. 

I will do as you'd have me--good Dorcas, look not upon me so fiercely--but thou canst not look so bad as I have seen somebody look. 

Mr. Lovelace, now that I remember what I took pen in hand to say, let mehurry off my thoughts, lest I lose them again--here I am sensible--andyet I am hardly sensible neither--but I know my head is not as it shouldbe, for all that--therefore let me propose one thing to you: it is foryour good--not mine; and this is it:

I must needs be both a trouble and an expense to you. And here my uncleHarlowe, when he knows how I am, will never wish any man to have me: no, not even you, who have been the occasion of it--barbarous and ungrateful!--A less complicated villany cost a Tarquin--but I forget what I wouldsay again--

Then this is it--I never shall be myself again: I have been a very wickedcreature--a vain, proud, poor creature, full of secret pride--which Icarried off under an humble guise, and deceived every body--my sistersays so--and now I am punished--so let me be carried out of this house, and out of your sight; and let me be put into that Bedlam privately, which once I saw: but it was a sad sight to me then! Little as I thoughtwhat I should come to myself!--That is all I would say: this is all Ihave to wish for--then I shall be out of all your ways; and I shall betaken care of; and bread and water without your tormentings, will bedainties: and my straw-bed the easiest I have lain in--for--I cannot tellhow long!

My clothes will sell for what will keep me there, perhaps as long as Ishall live. But, Lovelace, dear Lovelace, I will call you; for you havecost me enough, I'm sure!--don't let me be made a show of, for myfamily's sake; nay, for your own sake, don't do that--for when I know allI have suffered, which yet I do not, and no matter if I never do--I maybe apt to rave against you by name, and tell of all your baseness to apoor humbled creature, that once was as proud as any body--but of what Ican't tell--except of my own folly and vanity--but let that pass--sinceI am punished enough for it--

So, suppose, instead of Bedlam, it were a private mad-house, where nobodycomes!--That will be better a great deal. 

But, another thing, Lovelace: don't let them use me cruelly when I amthere--you have used me cruelly enough, you know!--Don't let them use mecruelly; for I will be very tractable; and do as any body would have meto do--except what you would have me do--for that I never will. --Anotherthing, Lovelace: don't let this good woman, I was going to say vilewoman; but don't tell her that--because she won't let you send me to thishappy refuge, perhaps, if she were to know it--

Another thing, Lovelace: and let me have pen, and ink, and paper, allowedme--it will be all my amusement--but they need not send to any body Ishall write to, what I write, because it will but trouble them: andsomebody may do you a mischief, may be--I wish not that any body do anybody a mischief upon my account. 

You tell me, that Lady Betty Lawrance, and your cousin Montague, werehere to take leave of me; but that I was asleep, and could not be waked. So you told me at first I was married, you know, and that you were myhusband--Ah! Lovelace! look to what you say. --But let not them, (for theywill sport with my misery, ) let not that Lady Betty, let not that MissMontague, whatever the real ones may do; nor Mrs. Sinclair neither, norany of her lodgers, nor her nieces, come to see me in my place--realones, I say; for, Lovelace, I shall find out all your villanies in time--indeed I shall--so put me there as soon as you can--it is for your good--then all will pass for ravings that I can say, as, I doubt no many poorcreatures' exclamations do pass, though there may be too much truth inthem for all that--and you know I began to be mad at Hampstead--so yousaid. --Ah! villanous man! what have you not to answer for!

***

A little interval seems to be lent me. I had begun to look over what Ihave written. It is not fit for any one to see, so far as I have beenable to re-peruse it: but my head will not hold, I doubt, to go throughit all. If therefore I have not already mentioned my earnest desire, letme tell you it is this: that I be sent out of this abominable housewithout delay, and locked up in some private mad-house about this town;for such, it seems, there are; never more to be seen, or to be producedto any body, except in your own vindication, if you should be chargedwith the murder of my person; a much lighter crime than that ofhonour, which the greatest villain on earth has robbed me of. And denyme not this my last request, I beseech you; and one other, and that is, never to let me see you more! This surely may be granted to

The miserably abusedCLARISSA HARLOWE. 

***

I will not bear thy heavy preachments, Belford, upon this affectingletter. So, not a word of that sort! The paper, thou'lt see, isblistered with the tears even of the hardened transcriber; which hasmade her ink run here and there. 

Mrs. Sinclair is a true heroine, and, I think, shames us all. And she isa woman too! Thou'lt say, the beset things corrupted become the worst. But this is certain, that whatever the sex set their hearts upon, theymake thorough work of it. And hence it is, that a mischief which wouldend in simple robbery among men rogues, becomes murder, if a woman be init. 

I know thou wilt blame me for having had recourse to art. But do notphysicians prescribe opiates in acute cases, where the violence of thedisorder would be apt to throw the patient into a fever or delirium? Iaver, that my motive for this expedient was mercy; nor could it be anything else. For a rape, thou knowest, to us rakes, is far from being anundesirable thing. Nothing but the law stands in our way, upon thataccount; and the opinion of what a modest woman will suffer rather thanbecome a viva voce accuser, lessens much an honest fellow's apprehensionson that score. Then, if these somnivolencies [I hate the word opiates onthis occasion, ] have turned her head, that is an effect they frequentlyhave upon some constitutions; and in this case was rather the fault ofthe dose than the design of the giver. 

But is not wine itself an opiate in degree?--How many women have beentaken advantage of by wine, and other still more intoxicating viands?--Let me tell thee, Jack, that the experience of many of the passive sex, and the consciences of many more of the active, appealed to, will testifythat thy Lovelace is not the worst of villains. Nor would I have theeput me upon clearing myself by comparisons. 

If she escape a settled delirium when my plots unravel, I think it is allI ought to be concerned about. What therefore I desire of thee, is, that, if two constructions may be made of my actions, thou wilt afford methe most favourable. For this, not only friendship, but my owningenuousness, which has furnished thee with the knowledge of the factsagainst which thou art so ready to inveigh, require of thee. 

***

Will. Is just returned from an errand to Hampstead; and acquaints me, that Mrs. Townsend was yesterday at Mrs. Moore's, accompanied by three orfour rough fellows; a greater number (as supposed) at a distance. Shewas strangely surprised at the news that my spouse and I are entirelyreconciled; and that two fine ladies, my relations, came to visit her, and went to town with her: where she is very happy with me. She was surewe were not married, she said, unless it was while we were at Hampstead:and they were sure the ceremony was not performed there. But that thelady is happy and easy, is unquestionable: and a fling was thrown out byMrs. Moore and Mrs. Bevis at mischief-makers, as they knew Mrs. Townsendto be acquainted with Miss Howe. 

Now, since my fair-one can neither receive, nor send away letters, I ampretty easy as to this Mrs. Townsend and her employer. And I fancy MissHowe will be puzzled to know what to think of the matter, and afraid ofsending by Wilson's conveyance; and perhaps suppose that her friendslights her; or has changed her mind in my favour, and is ashamed to ownit; as she has not had an answer to what she wrote; and will believe thatthe rustic delivered her last letter into her own hand. 

Mean time I have a little project come into my head, of a new kind; justfor amusement-sake, that's all: variety has irresistible charms. Icannot live without intrigue. My charmer has no passions; that is tosay, none of the passions that I want her to have. She engages all myreverence. I am at present more inclined to regret what I have done, than to proceed to new offences: and shall regret it till I see how shetakes it when recovered. 

Shall I tell thee my project? 'Tis not a high one. --'Tis this--to gethither to Mrs. Moore, Miss Rawlins, and my widow Bevis; for they aredesirous to make a visit to my spouse, now we are so happy together. And, if I can order it right, Belton, Mowbray, Tourville, and I, willshow them a little more of the ways of this wicked town, than they atpresent know. Why should they be acquainted with a man of my character, and not be the better and wiser for it?--I would have every body railagainst rakes with judgment and knowledge, if they will rail. Two ofthese women gave me a great deal of trouble: and the third, I amconfident, will forgive a merry evening. 

Thou wilt be curious to know what the persons of these women are, to whomI intend so much distinction. I think I have not heretofore mentionedany thing characteristic of their persons. 

Mrs. Moore is a widow of about thirty-eight; a little mortified bymisfortunes; but those are often the merriest folks, when warmed. Shehas good features still; and is what they call much of a gentlewoman, andvery neat in her person and dress. She has given over, I believe, allthoughts of our sex: but when the dying embers are raked up about thehalf-consumed stump, there will be fuel enough left, I dare say, to blazeout, and give a comfortable warmth to a half-starved by-stander. 

Mrs. Bevis is comely; that is to say, plump; a lover of mirth, and onewhom no grief ever dwelt with, I dare say, for a week together; abouttwenty-five years of age: Mowbray will have very little difficulty withher, I believe; for one cannot do every thing one's self. And yetsometimes women of this free cast, when it comes to the point, answer notthe promises their cheerful forwardness gives a man who has a view uponthem. 

Miss Rawlins is an agreeable young lady enough; but not beautiful. Shehas sense, and would be thought to know the world, as it is called; but, for her knowledge, is more indebted to theory than experience. A merewhipt-syllabub knowledge this, Jack, that always fails the person whotrusts to it, when it should hold to do her service. For such youngladies have so much dependence upon their own understanding and wariness, are so much above the cautions that the less opinionative may bebenefited by, that their presumption is generally their overthrow, whenattempted by a man of experience, who knows how to flatter their vanity, and to magnify their wisdom, in order to take advantage of their folly. But, for Miss Rawlins, if I can add experience to her theory, what anaccomplished person will she be!--And how much will she be obliged to me;and not only she, but all those who may be the better for the preceptsshe thinks herself already so well qualified to give! Dearly, Jack, doI love to engage with these precept-givers, and example-setters. 

Now, Belford, although there is nothing striking in any of thesecharacters; yet may we, at a pinch, make a good frolicky half-day withthem, if, after we have softened their wax at table by encouragingviands, we can set our women and them into dancing: dancing, which allwomen love, and all men should therefore promote, for both their sakes. 

And thus, when Tourville sings, Belton fiddles, Mowbray makes rough love, and I smooth; and thou, Jack, wilt be by that time well enough to join inthe chorus; the devil's in't if we don't mould them into what shape weplease--our own women, by their laughing freedoms, encouraging them tobreak through all their customary reserves. For women to women, thouknowest, are great darers and incentives: not one of them loving to beoutdone or outdared, when their hearts are thoroughly warmed. 

I know, at first, the difficulty will be the accidental absence of mydear Mrs. Lovelace, to whom principally they will design their visit: butif we can exhilarate them, they won't then wish to see her; and I canform twenty accidents and excuses, from one hour to another, for herabsence, till each shall have a subject to take up all her thoughts. 

I am really sick at heart for a frolic, and have no doubt but this willbe an agreeable one. These women already think me a wild fellow; nor dothey like me the less for it, as I can perceive; and I shall take care, that they shall be treated with so much freedom before one another'sfaces, that in policy they shall keep each other's counsel. And won'tthis be doing a kind thing by them? since it will knit an indissolubleband of union and friendship between three women who are neighbours, andat present have only common obligations to one another: for thou wantestnot to be told, that secrets of love, and secrets of this nature, aregenerally the strongest cement of female friendships. 

But, after all, if my beloved should be happily restored to herintellects, we may have scenes arise between us that will be sufficientlybusy to employ all the faculties of thy friend, without looking out fornew occasions. Already, as I have often observed, has she been the meansof saving scores of her sex, yet without her own knowledge. 

SATURDAY NIGHT. 

By Dorcas's account of her lady's behaviour, the dear creature seems tobe recovering. I shall give the earliest notice of this to the worthyCapt. Tomlinson, that he may apprize uncle John of it. I must beproperly enabled, from that quarter, to pacify her, or, at least, torebate her first violence. 

LETTER XVII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SUNDAY AFTERNOON, SIX O'CLOCK, (JUNE 18. )

I went out early this morning, and returned not till just now; when I wasinformed that my beloved, in my absence, had taken it into her head toattempt to get away. 

She tripped down, with a parcel tied up in a handkerchief, her hood on;and was actually in the entry, when Mrs. Sinclair saw her. 

Pray, Madam, whipping between her and the street-door, be pleased to letme know where you are going?

Who has a right to controul me? was the word. 

I have, Madam, by order of your spouse: and, kemboing her arms, as sheowned, I desire you will be pleased to walk up again. 

She would have spoken; but could not: and, bursting into tears, turnedback, and went up to her chamber: and Dorcas was taken to task forsuffering her to be in the passage before she was seen. 

This shows, as we hoped last night, that she is recovering her charmingintellects. 

Dorcas says, she was visible to her but once before the whole day; andthen she seemed very solemn and sedate. 

I will endeavour to see her. It must be in her own chamber, I suppose;for she will hardly meet me in the dining-room. What advantage will theconfidence of our sex give me over the modesty of her's, if she berecovered!--I, the most confident of men: she, the most delicate ofwomen. Sweet soul! methinks I have her before me: her face averted:speech lost in sighs--abashed--conscious--what a triumphant aspect willthis give me, when I gaze on her downcast countenance!

***

This moment Dorcas tells me she believes she is coming to find me out. She asked her after me: and Dorcas left her, drying her red-swoln eyes ather glass; [no design of moving me by tears!] sighing too sensibly for mycourage. But to what purpose have I gone thus far, if I pursue not myprincipal end? Niceness must be a little abated. She knows the worst. That she cannot fly me; that she must see me; and that I can look herinto a sweet confusion; are circumstances greatly in my favour. What canshe do but rave and exclaim? I am used to raving and exclaiming--but, ifrecovered, I shall see how she behaves upon this our first sensibleinterview after what she has suffered. 

Here she comes. 

LETTER XVIII

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

Never blame me for giving way to have art used with this admirablecreature. All the princes of the air, or beneath it, joining with me, could never have subdued her while she had her senses. 

I will not anticipate--only to tell thee, that I am too much awakened byher to think of sleep, were I to go to bed; and so shall have nothing todo but to write an account of our odd conversation, while it is so strongupon my mind that I can think of nothing else. 

She was dressed in a white damask night-gown, with less negligence thanfor some days past. I was sitting with my pen in my fingers; and stoodup when I first saw her, with great complaisance, as if the day werestill her own. And so indeed it is. 

She entered with such dignity in her manner as struck me with great awe, and prepared me for the poor figure I made in the subsequentconversation. A poor figure indeed!--But I will do her justice. 

She came up with quick steps, pretty close to me; a white handkerchiefin her hand; her eyes neither fierce nor mild, but very earnest; and afixed sedateness in her whole aspect, which seemed to be the effect ofdeep contemplation: and thus she accosted me, with an air and action thatI never saw equalled. 

You see before you, Sir, the wretch, whose preference of you to all yoursex you have rewarded--as it indeed deserved to be rewarded. My father'sdreadful curse has already operated upon me in the very letter of it, asto this life; and it seems to me too evident that it will not be yourfault that it is not entirely completed in the loss of my soul, as wellas of my honour--which you, villanous man! have robbed me of, with abaseness so unnatural, so inhuman, that it seems you, even you, had notthe heart to attempt it, till my senses were made the previous sacrifice. 

Here I made an hesitating effort to speak, laying down my pen: but sheproceeded!--Hear me out, guilty wretch!--abandoned man!--Man, did I say?--Yet what name else can I? since the mortal worryings of the fiercestbeast would have been more natural, and infinitely more welcome, thatwhat you have acted by me; and that with a premeditation and contrivanceworthy only of that single heart which now, base as well as ungrateful asthou art, seems to quake within thee. --And well may'st thou quake; wellmay'st thou tremble, and falter, and hesitate, as thou dost, when thoureflectest upon what I have suffered for thy sake, and upon the returnsthou hast made me!

By my soul, Belford, my whole frame was shaken: for not only her looksand her action, but her voice, so solemn, was inexpressibly affecting:and then my cursed guilt, and her innocence, and merit, and rank, andsuperiority of talents, all stared me at that instant in the face soformidably, that my present account, to which she unexpectedly called me, seemed, as I then thought, to resemble that general one, to which we aretold we shall be summoned, when our conscience shall be our accuser. 

But she had had time to collect all the powers of her eloquence. Thewhole day probably in her intellects. And then I was the moredisappointed, as I had thought I could have gazed the dear creature intoconfusion--but it is plain, that the sense she has of her wrongs setsthis matchless woman above all lesser, all weaker considerations. 

My dear--my love--I--I--I never--no never--lips trembling, limbs quaking, voice inward, hesitating, broken--never surely did miscreant look so likea miscreant! while thus she proceeded, waving her snowy hand, with allthe graces of moving oratory. 

I have no pride in the confusion visible in thy whole person. I havebeen all the day praying for a composure, if I could not escape from thisvile house, that should once more enable me to look up to my destroyerwith the consciousness of an innocent sufferer. Thou seest me, since mywrongs are beyond the power of words to express, thou seest me, calmenough to wish, that thou may'st continue harassed by the workings of thyown conscience, till effectual repentance take hold of thee, that so thoumay'st not forfeit all title to that mercy which thou hast not shown tothe poor creature now before thee, who had so well deserved to meet witha faithful friend where she met with the worst of enemies. 

But tell me, (for no doubt thou hast some scheme to pursue, ) tell me, since I am a prisoner, as I find, in the vilest of houses, and have not afriend to protect or save me, what thou intendest shall become of theremnant of a life not worth the keeping!--Tell me, if yet there are moreevils reserved for me; and whether thou hast entered into a compact withthe grand deceiver, in the person of his horrid agent in this house; andif the ruin of my soul, that my father's curse may be fulfilled, is tocomplete the triumphs of so vile a confederacy?--Answer me!--Say, if thouhast courage to speak out to her whom thou hast ruined, tell me whatfarther I am to suffer from thy barbarity?

She stopped here, and, sighing, turned her sweet face from me, drying upwith her handkerchief those tears which she endeavoured to restrain; and, when she could not, to conceal from my sight. 

As I told thee, I had prepared myself for high passions, raving, flying, tearing execration; these transient violences, the workings of suddengrief, and shame, and vengeance, would have set us upon a par with eachother, and quitted scores. These have I been accustomed to; and asnothing violent is lasting, with these I could have wished to encounter. But such a majestic composure--seeking me--whom, yet it is plain, by herattempt to get away, she would have avoided seeking--no Lucretia-likevengeance upon herself in her thought--yet swallowed up, her whole mindswallowed up, as I may say, by a grief so heavy, as, in her own words, tobe beyond the power of speech to express--and to be able, discomposed asshe was, to the very morning, to put such a home-question to me, as ifshe had penetrated my future view--how could I avoid looking like a fool, and answering, as before, in broken sentences and confusion?

What--what-a--what has been done--I, I, I--cannot but say--must own--mustconfess--hem--hem----is not right--is not what should have been--but-a--but--but--I am truly--truly--sorry for it--upon my soul I am--and--and--will do all--do every thing--do what--whatever is incumbent upon me--allthat you--that you--that you shall require, to make you amends!----

O Belford! Belford! whose the triumph now! HER'S, or MINE?

Amends! O thou truly despicable wretch! Then lifting up her eyes--GoodHeaven! who shall pity the creature who could fall by so base a mind!--Yet--[and then she looked indignantly upon me!] yet, I hate thee not(base and low-souled as thou art!) half so much as I hate myself, that Isaw thee not sooner in thy proper colours! That I hoped either morality, gratitude, or humanity, from a libertine, who, to be a libertine, musthave got over and defied all moral sanctions. *

* Her cousin Morden's words to her in his letter from Florence. See Vol. IV. Letter XIX. 

She then called upon her cousin Morden's name, as if he had warned heragainst a man of free principles; and walked towards the window; herhandkerchief at her eyes. But, turning short towards me, with an air ofmingled scorn and majesty, [what, at the moment, would I have given neverto have injured her!] What amends hast thou to propose! What amends cansuch a one as thou make to a person of spirit, or common sense, for theevils thou hast so inhumanely made me suffer?

As soon, Madam--as soon--as--as soon as your uncle--or--not waiting----

Thou wouldest tell me, I suppose--I know what thou wouldest tell me--Butthinkest thou, that marriage will satisfy for a guilt like thine?Destitute as thou hast made me both of friends and fortune, I too muchdespise the wretch, who could rob himself of his wife's virtue, to endurethe thoughts of thee in the light thou seemest to hope I will accept theein!--

I hesitated an interruption; but my meaning died away upon my tremblinglips. I could only pronounce the word marriage--and thus she proceeded:

Let me, therefore, know whether I am to be controuled in the futuredisposal of myself? Whether, in a country of liberty, as this, where thesovereign of it must not be guilty of your wickedness, and where youneither durst have attempted it, had I one friend or relation to lookupon me, I am to be kept here a prisoner, to sustain fresh injuries?Whether, in a word, you intend to hinder me from going where my destinyshall lead me?

After a pause--for I was still silent:

Can you not answer me this plain question?--I quit all claim, allexpectation, upon you--what right have you to detain me here?

I could not speak. What could I say to such a question?

O wretch! wringing her uplifted hands, had I not been robbed of mysenses, and that in the basest manner--you best know how--had I been ableto account for myself, and your proceedings, or to have known but how thedays passed--a whole week should not have gone over my head, as I find ithas done, before I had told you, what I now tell you--That the man whohas been the villain to me you have been, shall never make me his wife. --I will write to my uncle, to lay aside his kind intentions in my favour--all my prospects are shut in--I give myself up for a lost creature as tothis world--hinder me not from entering upon a life of severe penitence, for corresponding, after prohibition, with a wretch who has too welljustified all their warnings and inveteracy; and for throwing myself intothe power of your vile artifices. Let me try to secure the only hope Ihave left. This is all the amends I ask of you. I repeat, therefore, AmI now at liberty to dispose of myself as I please?

Now comes the fool, the miscreant again, hesitating his broken answer: Mydearest love, I am confounded, quite confounded, at the thought of what--of what has been done; and at the thought of--to whom. I see, I see, there is no withstanding your eloquence!--Such irresistible proofs of thelove of virtue, for its own sake, did I never hear of, nor meet with, inall my reading. And if you can forgive a repentant villain, who thus onhis knees implores your forgiveness, [then down I dropt, absolutely inearnest in all I said, ] I vow by all that's sacred and just, (and may athunderbolt strike me dead at your feet, if I am not sincere!) that Iwill by marriage before to-morrow noon, without waiting for your uncle, or any body, do you all the justice I now can do you. And you shall everafter controul and direct me as you please, till you have made me moreworthy of your angelic purity than now I am: nor will I presume so muchas to touch your garment, till I have the honour to call so great ablessing lawfully mine. 

O thou guileful betrayer! there is a just God, whom thou invokest: yetthe thunderbolt descends not; and thou livest to imprecate and deceive!

My dearest life! rising; for I hoped she was relenting----

Hadst thou not sinned beyond the possibility of forgiveness, interruptedshe; and this had been the first time that thus thou solemnly promisestand invokest the vengeance thou hast as often defied; the desperatenessof my condition might have induced me to think of taking a wretchedchance with a man so profligate. But, after what I have suffered bythee, it would be criminal in me to wish to bind my soul in covenant toa man so nearly allied to perdition. 

Good God!--how uncharitable!--I offer not to defend--would to Heaven thatI could recall--so nearly allied to perdition, Madam!--So profligate aman, Madam!----

O how short is expression of thy crimes, and of my sufferings! Suchpremeditation is thy baseness! To prostitute the characters of personsof honour of thy own family--and all to delude a poor creature, whom thououghtest--But why talk I to thee? Be thy crimes upon thy head! Oncemore I ask thee, Am I, or am I not, at my own liberty now?

I offered to speak in defence of the women, declaring that they reallywere the very persons----

Presume not, interrupted she, base as thou art, to say one word in thineown vindication. I have been contemplating their behaviour, theirconversation, their over-ready acquiescences, to my declarations in thydisfavour; their free, yet affectedly-reserved light manners: and nowthat the sad event has opened my eyes, and I have compared facts andpassages together, in the little interval that has been lent me, I wonderI could not distinguish the behaviour of the unmatron-like jilt, whomthou broughtest to betray me, from the worthy lady whom thou hast thehonour to call thy aunt: and that I could not detect the superficialcreature whom thou passedst upon me for the virtuous Miss Montague. 

Amazing uncharitableness in a lady so good herself!--That the highspirits those ladies were in to see you, should subject them to suchcensures!--I do must solemnly vow, Madam----

That they were, interrupting me, verily and indeed Lady Betty Lawranceand thy cousin Montague!--O wretch! I see by thy solemn averment [I hadnot yet averred it, ] what credit ought to be given to all the rest. HadI no other proof----

Interrupting her, I besought her patient ear. 'I had found myself, Itold her, almost avowedly despised and hated. I had no hope of gainingher love, or her confidence. The letter she had left behind her, on herremoval to Hampstead, sufficiently convinced me that she was entirelyunder Miss Howe's influence, and waited but the return of a letter fromher to enter upon measures that would deprive me of her for ever: MissHowe had ever been my enemy: more so then, no doubt, from the contents ofthe letter she had written to her on her first coming to Hampstead; thatI dared not to stand the event of such a letter; and was glad of anopportunity, by Lady Betty's and my cousin's means (though they knew notmy motive) to get her back to town; far, at the time, from intending theoutrage which my despair, and her want of confidence in me, put me sovilely upon'--

I would have proceeded; and particularly would have said something ofCaptain Tomlinson and her uncle; but she would not hear me further. Andindeed it was with visible indignation, and not without several angryinterruptions, that she heard me say so much. 

Would I dare, she asked me, to offer at a palliation of my baseness? Thetwo women, she was convinced, were impostors. She knew not but CaptainTomlinson and Mr. Mennell were so too. But whether they were so or not, I was. And she insisted upon being at her own disposal for the remainderof her short life--for indeed she abhorred me in every light; and moreparticularly in that in which I offered myself to her acceptance. 

And, saying this, she flung from me; leaving me absolutely shocked andconfounded at her part of a conversation which she began with suchuncommon, however severe, composure, and concluded with so much sincereand unaffected indignation. 

And now, Jack, I must address one serious paragraph particularly to thee. 

I have not yet touched upon cohabitation--her uncle's mediation she doesnot absolutely discredit, as I had the pleasure to find by one hint inthis conversation--yet she suspects my future views, and has doubt aboutMennell and Tomlinson. 

I do say, if she come fairly at her lights, at her clues, or what shall Icall them? her penetration is wonderful. 

But if she do not come at them fairly, then is her incredulity, then isher antipathy to me evidently accounted for. 

I will speak out--thou couldst not, surely, play me booty, Jack?--Surelythou couldst not let thy weak pity for her lead thee to an unpardonablebreach of trust to thy friend, who has been so unreserved in hiscommunications to thee?

I cannot believe thee capable of such a baseness. Satisfy me, however, upon this head. I must make a cursed figure in her eye, vowing andprotesting, as I shall not scruple occasionally to vow and protest, ifall the time she has had unquestionable informations of my perfidy. Iknow thou as little fearest me, as I do thee, if any point of manhood;and wilt scorn to deny it, if thou hast done it, when thus home-pressed. 

And here I have a good mind to stop, and write no farther, till I havethy answer. 

And so I will. 

MONDAY MORN. PAST THREE. 

LETTER XIX

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. MONDAY MORN. FIVE O'CLOCK (JUNE 19. )

I must write on. Nothing else can divert me: and I think thou canst nothave been a dog to me. 

I would fain have closed my eyes: but sleep flies me. Well says Horace, as translated by Cowley:

 The halcyon sleep will never build his nest In any stormy breast. 'Tis not enough that he does find Clouds and darkness in the mind: Darkness but half his work will do. 'Tis not enough: he must find quiet too. 

Now indeed do I from my heart wish that I had never known this lady. Butwho would have thought there had been such a woman in the world? Of allthe sex I have hitherto known, or heard, or read of, it was once subdued, and always subdued. The first struggle was generally the last; or, atleast, the subsequent struggles were so much fainter and fainter, that aman would rather have them than be without them. But how know I yet----

***

It is now near six--the sun for two hours past has been illuminatingevery thing about me: for that impartial orb shines upon MotherSinclair's house as well as upon any other: but nothing within me can itilluminate. 

At day-dawn I looked through the key-hole of my beloved's door. She haddeclared she would not put off her clothes any more in this house. ThereI beheld her in a sweet slumber, which I hope will prove refreshing toher disturbed senses; sitting in her elbow-chair, her apron over herhead; her head supported by one sweet hand, the other hand hanging downupon her side, in a sleepy lifelessness; half of one pretty foot onlyvisible. 

See the difference in our cases! thought I: she, the charming injured, can sweetly sleep, while the varlet injurer cannot close his eyes; andhas been trying, to no purpose, the whole night to divert his melancholy, and to fly from himself!

As every vice generally brings on its own punishment, even in this life;if any thing were to tempt me to doubt of future punishment, it would be, that there can hardly be a greater than that in which I at this instantexperience in my own remorse. 

I hope it will go off. If not, well will the dear creature be avenged;for I shall be the most miserable of men. 

***

SIX O'CLOCK. 

Just now Dorcas tells me, that her lady is preparing openly, and withoutdisguise, to be gone. Very probable. The humour she flew away from mein last night has given me expectation of such an enterprize. 

Now, Jack, to be thus hated and despised!--And if I have sinned beyondforgiveness----

But she has sent me a message by Dorcas, that she will meet me in thedining-room; and desires [odd enough] that the wretch may be present atthe conversation that shall pass between us. This message gives me hope. 

NINE O'CLOCK. 

Confounded art, cunning villany!--By my soul, she had like to haveslipped through my fingers! She meant nothing by her message but to getDorcas out of the way, and a clear coast. Is a fancied distress, sufficient to justify this lady for dispensing with her principles? Doesshe not show me that she can wilfully deceive, as well as I?

Had she been in the fore-house, and no passage to go through to get atthe street-door, she had certainly been gone. But her haste betrayedher: for Sally Martin happening to be in the fore-parlour, and hearing aswifter motion than usual, and a rustling of silks, as if from somebodyin a hurry, looked out; and seeing who it was, stept between her and thedoor, and set her back against it. 

You must not go, Madam. Indeed you must not. 

By what right?--And how dare you?--And such-like imperious airs the dearcreature gave herself. --While Sally called out for her aunt; and half adozen voiced joined instantly in the cry, for me to hasten down, tohasten down in a moment. 

I was gravely instructing Dorcas above stairs, and wondering what wouldbe the subject of the conversation to which the wench was to be awitness, when these outcries reached my ears. And down I flew. --Andthere was the charming creature, the sweet deceiver, panting for breath, her back against the partition, a parcel in her hand, [women make noexcursions without their parcels, ] Sally, Polly, (but Polly obliginglypleaded for her, ) the mother, Mabell, and Peter, (the footman of thehouse, ) about her; all, however, keeping their distance; the mother andSally between her and the door--in her soft rage the dear soul repeating, I will go--nobody has a right--I will go--if you kill me, women, I won'tgo up again!

As soon as she saw me, she stept a pace or two towards me; Mr. Lovelace, I will go! said she--do you authorize these women--what right have they, or you either, to stop me?

Is this, my dear, preparative to the conversation you led me to expect inthe dining-room? And do you thing [sic] I can part with you thus?--Doyou think I will. 

And am I, Sir, to be thus beset?--Surrounded thus?--What have these womento do with me?

I desired them to leave us, all but Dorcas, who was down as soon as I. Ithen thought it right to assume an air of resolution, having found mytameness so greatly triumphed over. And now, my dear, said I, (urgingher reluctant feet, ) be pleased to walk into the fore-parlour. Here, since you will not go up stairs, here we may hold our parley; and Dorcaswill be witness to it. And now, Madam, seating her, and sticking myhands in my sides, your pleasure!

Insolent villain! said the furious lady. And rising, ran to the window, and threw up the sash, [she knew not, I suppose, that there were ironrails before the windows. ] And, when she found she could not get outinto the street, clasping her uplifted hands together, having dropt herparcel--For the love of God, good honest man!--For the love of God, mistress--[to two passers by, ] a poor, a poor creature, said she, ruined!----

I clasped her in my arms, people beginning to gather about the window:and then she cried out Murder! help! help! and carried her up to thedining-room, in spite of her little plotting heart, (as I may now callit, ) although she violently struggled, catching hold of the banistershere and there, as she could. I would have seated her there; but shesunk down half-motionless, pale as ashes. And a violent burst of tearshappily relieved her. 

Dorcas wept over her. The wench was actually moved for her!

Violent hysterics succeeded. I left her to Mabell, Dorcas, and Polly;the latter the most supportable to her of the sisterhood. 

This attempt, so resolutely made, alarmed me not a little. 

Mrs. Sinclair and her nymphs, are much more concerned; because of thereputation of their house as they call it, having received some insults(broken windows threatened) to make them produce the young creature whocried out. 

While the mobbish inquisitors were in the height of their office, thewomen came running up to me, to know what they should do; a constablebeing actually fetched. 

Get the constable into the parlour, said I, with three or four of theforwardest of the mob, and produce one of the nymphs, onion-eyed, in amoment, with disordered head-dress and handkerchief, and let her ownherself the person: the occasion, a female skirmish: but satisfied withthe justice done her. Then give a dram or two to each fellow, and allwill be well. 

ELEVEN O'CLOCK. 

All done as I advised; and all is well. 

Mrs. Sinclair wishes she had never seen the face of so skittish a lady;and she and Sally are extremely pressing with me, to leave the perversebeauty to their breaking, as they call it, for four or five days. But Icursed them into silence; only ordering double precaution for the future. 

Polly, though she consoled the dear perverse one all she could, when withher, insists upon it to me, that nothing but terror will procure metolerable usage. 

Dorcas was challenged by the women upon her tears. She owned them real. Said she was ashamed of herself: but could not help it. So sincere, sounyielding a grief, in so sweet a lady!--

The women laughed at her; but I bid her make no apologies for her tears, nor mind their laughing. I was glad to see them so ready. Good usemight be made of such strangers. In short, I would not have her indulgethem often, and try if it were not possible to gain her lady's confidenceby her concern for her. 

She said that her lady did take kind notice of them to her; and was gladto see such tokens of humanity in her. 

Well then, said I, your part, whether any thing come of it or not, is tobe tender-hearted. It can do no harm, if no good. But take care you arenot too suddenly, or too officiously compassionate. 

So Dorcas will be a humane, good sort of creature, I believe, veryquickly with her lady. And as it becomes women to be so, and as mybeloved is willing to think highly of her own sex; it will the morereadily pass with her. 

I thought to have had one trial (having gone so far) for cohabitation. But what hope can there be of succeeding?--She is invincible!--Againstall my motions, against all my conceptions, (thinking of her as a woman, and in the very bloom of her charms, ) she is absolutely invincible. Mywhole view, at the present, is to do her legal justice, if I can but oncemore get her out of her altitudes. 

The consent of such a woman must make her ever new, ever charming. Butastonishing! Can the want of a church-ceremony make such a difference!

She owes me her consent; for hitherto I have had nothing to boast of. All of my side, has been deep remorse, anguish of mind, and loveincreased rather than abated. 

How her proud rejection stings me!--And yet I hope still to get her tolisten to my stories of the family-reconciliation, and of her uncle andCapt. Tomlinson--and as she has given me a pretence to detain her againsther will, she must see me, whether in temper or not. --She cannot help it. And if love will not do, terror, as the women advise, must be tried. 

A nice part, after all, has my beloved to act. If she forgive me easily, I resume perhaps my projects:--if she carry her rejection into violence, that violence may make me desperate, and occasion fresh violence. Sheought, since she thinks she has found the women out, to consider whereshe is. 

I am confoundedly out of conceit with myself. If I give up mycontrivances, my joy in stratagem, and plot, and invention, I shall bebut a common man; such another dull heavy creature as thyself. Yet whatdoes even my success in my machinations bring me but regret, disgrace, repentance? But I am overmatched, egregiously overmatched, by thiswoman. What to do with her, or without her, I know not. 

LETTER XX

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. 

I have this moment intelligence from Simon Parsons, one of Lord M. 'sstewards, that his Lordship is very ill. Simon, who is my obsequiousservant, in virtue of my presumptive heirship, gives me a hint in hisletter, that my presence at M. Hall will not be amiss. So I mustaccelerate, whatever be the course I shall be allowed or compelled totake. 

No bad prospects for this charming creature, if the old peer would be sokind as to surrender; and many a summons has this gout given him. A good8000£. A-year, and perhaps the title reversionary, or a still higher, would help me up with her. 

Proudly as this lady pretends to be above all pride, grandeur will haveits charms with her; for grandeur always makes a man's face shine in awoman's eye. I have a pretty good, because a clear, estate, as it is. But what a noble variety of mischief will 8000£. A-year, enable a man todo?

Perhaps thou'lt say, I do already all that comes into my head; but that'sa mistake--not one half I will assure thee. And even good folks, as Ihave heard, love to have the power of doing mischief, whether they makeuse of it or not. The late Queen Anne, who was a very good woman, wasalways fond of prerogative. And her ministers, in her name, in moreinstances than one, made a ministerial use of this her foible. 

***

But now, at last, am I to be admitted to the presence of my angryfair-one; after three denials, nevertheless; and a peremptory from me, byDorcas, that I must see her in her chamber, if I cannot see her in thedining-room. 

Dorcas, however, tells me that she says, if she were at her own liberty, she would never see me more; and that she had been asking after thecharacters and conditions of the neighbours. I suppose, now she hasfound her voice, to call out for help from them, if there were any tohear her. 

She will have it now, it seems, that I had the wickedness from the verybeginning, to contrive, for her ruin, a house so convenient for dreadfulmischief. 

Dorcas begs of her to be pacified--entreats her to see me with patience--tells her that I am one of the most determined of men, as she has heardsay. That gentleness may do with me; but that nothing else will, shebelieves. And what, as her ladyship (as she always styles her, ) ismarried, if I had broken my oath, or intended to break it!--

She hinted plain enough to the honest wench, that she was not married. But Dorcas would not understand her. 

This shows she is resolved to keep no measures. And now is to be a trialof skill, whether she shall or not. 

Dorcas has hinted to her my Lord's illness, as a piece of intelligencethat dropt in conversation from me. 

But here I stop. My beloved, pursuant to my peremptory message, is justgone up into the dining-room. 

LETTER XXI

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. MONDAY AFTERNOON. 

Pity me, Jack, for pity's sake; since, if thou dost not, nobody elsewill: and yet never was there a man of my genius and lively temper thatwanted it more. We are apt to attribute to the devil every thing happensto us, which we would not have happen: but here, being, (as perhapsthou'lt say, ) the devil myself, my plagues arise from an angel. Isuppose all mankind is to be plagued by its contrary. 

She began with me like a true woman, [she in the fault, I to be blamed, ]the moment I entered the dining-room: not the least apology, not theleast excuse, for the uproar she had made, and the trouble she had givenme. 

I come, said she, into thy detested presence, because I cannot help it. But why am I to be imprisoned here?--Although to no purpose, I cannothelp----

Dearest Madam, interrupted I, give not way to so much violence. You mustknow, that your detention is entirely owing to the desire I have to makeyou all the amends that is in my power to make you. And this, as well foryour sake as my own. Surely there is still one way left to repairthe wrongs you have suffered----

Canst thou blot out the past week! Several weeks past, I should say;ever since I have been with thee? Canst thou call back time?--If thoucanst----

Surely, Madam, again interrupting her, if I may be permitted to call youlegally mine, I might have but anticip----

Wretch, that thou art! Say not another word upon this subject. Whenthou vowedst, when thou promisedst at Hampstead, I had begun to thinkthat I must be thine. If I had consented, at the request of those Ithought thy relations, this would have been a principal inducement, thatI could then have brought thee, what was most wanted, an unsullied honourin dowry, to a wretch destitute of all honour; and could have met thegratulations of a family to which thy life has been one continueddisgrace, with a consciousness of deserving their gratulations. Butthinkest thou, that I will give a harlot niece to thy honourable uncle, and to thy real aunts; and a cousin to thy cousins from a brothel? forsuch, in my opinion, is this detested house!--Then, lifting up herclasped hands, 'Great and good God of Heaven, ' said she, 'give mepatience to support myself under the weight of those afflictions, whichthou, for wise and good ends, though at present impenetrable by me, hastpermitted!'

Then, turning towards me, who knew neither what to say to her, nor formyself, I renounce thee for ever, Lovelace!--Abhorred of my soul! forever I renounce thee!--Seek thy fortunes wheresoever thou wilt!--onlynow, that thou hast already ruined me!--

Ruined you, Madam--the world need not--I knew not what to say. 

Ruined me in my own eyes; and that is the same to me as if all the worldknew it--hinder me not from going whither my mysterious destiny shalllead me. 

Why hesitate you, Sir? What right have you to stop me, as you latelydid; and to bring me up by force, my hands and arms bruised by yourviolence? What right have you to detain me here?

I am cut to the heart, Madam, with invectives so violent. I am but toosensible of the wrong I have done you, or I could not bear yourreproaches. The man who perpetrates a villany, and resolves to go onwith it, shows not the compunction I show. Yet, if you think yourselfin my power, I would caution you, Madam, not to make me desperate. Foryou shall be mine, or my life shall be the forfeit! Nor is life worthhaving without you!--

Be thine!--I be thine!--said the passionate beauty. O how lovely in herviolence!

Yes, Madam, be mine! I repeat you shall be mine! My very crime is yourglory. My love, my admiration of you is increased by what has passed--and so it ought. I am willing, Madam, to court your returning favour;but let me tell you, were the house beset by a thousand armed men, resolved to take you from me, they should not effect their purpose, whileI had life. 

I never, never will be your's, said she, clasping her hands together, andlifting up her eyes!--I never will be your's!

We may yet see many happy years, Madam. All your friends may bereconciled to you. The treaty for that purpose is in greater forwardnessthan you imagine. You know better than to think the worse of yourselffor suffering what you could not help. Enjoin but the terms I can makemy peace with you upon, and I will instantly comply. 

Never, never, repeated she, will I be your's!

Only forgive me, my dearest life, this one time!--A virtue so invincible!what further view can I have against you?--Have I attempted any furtheroutrage?--If you will be mine, your injuries will be injuries done tomyself. You have too well guessed at the unnatural arts that have beenused. But can a greater testimony be given of your virtue?--And now Ihave only to hope, that although I cannot make you complete amends, yetyou will permit me to make you all the amends that can possibly be made. 

Here [sic] me out, I beseech you, Madam; for she was going to speak withan aspect unpacifiedly angry: the God, whom you serve, requires butrepentance and amendment. Imitate him, my dearest love, and bless mewith the means of reforming a course of life that begins to be hateful tome. That was once your favourite point. Resume it, dearest creature, incharity to a soul, as well as body, which once, as I flattered myself, was more than indifferent to you, resume it. And let to-morrow's sunwitness to our espousals. 

I cannot judge thee, said she; but the GOD to whom thou so boldlyreferrest can, and, assure thyself, He will. But, if compunction hasreally taken hold of thee--if, indeed, thou art touched for thyungrateful baseness, and meanest any thing by this pleading the holyexample thou recommendest to my imitation; in this thy pretendedrepentant moment, let me sift thee thoroughly, and by thy answer I shalljudge of the sincerity of thy pretended declarations. 

Tell me, then, is there any reality in the treaty thou has pretended tobe on foot between my uncle and Capt. Tomlinson, and thyself?--Say, andhesitate not, is there any truth in that story?--But, remember, if therebe not, and thou avowest that there is, what further condemnation attendsto thy averment, if it be as solemn as I require it to be!

This was a cursed thrust! What could I say!--Surely this merciless ladyis resolved to d--n me, thought I, and yet accuses me of a design againsther soul!--But was I not obliged to proceed as I had begun?

In short, I solemnly averred that there was!--How one crime, as the goodfolks say, brings on another!

I added, that the Captain had been in town, and would have waited on her, had she not been indisposed; that he went down much afflicted, as well onher account, as on that of her uncle; though I had not acquainted himeither with the nature of her disorder, or the ever-to-be-regrettedoccasion of it, having told him that it was a violent fever; That he hadtwice since, by her uncle's desire, sent up to inquire after her health;and that I had already dispatched a man and horse with a letter, toacquaint him, (and her uncle through him, ) with her recovery; making itmy earnest request, that he would renew his application to her uncle forthe favour of his presence at the private celebrations of our nuptials;and that I expected an answer, if not this night, as to-morrow. 

Let me ask thee next, said she, (thou knowest the opinion I have of thewomen thou broughtest to me at Hampstead; and who have seduced me hitherto my ruin; let me ask thee, ) If, really and truly, they were Lady BettyLawrance and thy cousin Montague?--What sayest thou--hesitate not--whatsayest thou to this question?

Astonishing, my dear, that you should suspect them!--But, knowing yourstrange opinion of them, what can I say to be believed?

And is this the answer thou returnest me? Dost thou thus evade myquestion? But let me know, for I am trying thy sincerity now, and allshall judge of thy new professions by thy answer to this question; let meknow, I repeat, whether those women be really Lady Betty Lawrance and thycousin Montague?

Let me, my dearest love, be enabled to-morrow to call you lawfully mine, and we will set out the next day, if you please, to Berkshire to my LordM. 's, where they both are at this time; and you shall convince yourselfby your own eyes, and by your own ears; which you will believe soonerthan all I can say or swear. 

Now, Belford, I had really some apprehension of treachery from thee;which made me so miserably evade; for else, I could as safely have swornto the truth of this, as to that of the former: but she pressing me stillfor a categorical answer, I ventured plumb; and swore to it, [lover'soaths, Jack!] that they were really and truly Lady Betty Lawrance and mycousin Montague. 

She lifted up her hands and eyes--What can I think!--what can I think!

You think me a devil, Madam; a very devil! or you could not after youhave put these questions to me, seem to doubt the truth of answers sosolemnly sworn to. 

And if I do think thee so, have I not cause? Is there another man in theworld, (I hope for the sake of human nature, there is not, ) who could actby any poor friendless creature as thou hast acted by me, whom thou hastmade friendless--and who, before I knew thee, had for a friend every onewho knew me?

I told you, Madam, before that Lady Betty and my cousin were actuallyhere, in order to take leave of you, before they set out for Berkshire:but the effects of my ungrateful crime, (such, with shame and remorse, Iown it to be, ) were the reason you could not see them. Nor could I befond that they should see you; since they never would have forgiven me, had they known what had passed--and what reason had I to expect yoursilence on the subject, had you been recovered?

It signifies nothing now, that the cause of their appearance has beenanswered in my ruin, who or what they are: but if thou hast averred thussolemnly to two falsehoods, what a wretch do I see before me!

I thought she had now reason to be satisfied; and I begged her to allowme to talk to her of to-morrow, as of the happiest day of my life. Wehave the license, Madam--and you must excuse me, that I cannot let you gohence till I have tried every way I can to obtain your forgiveness. 

And am I then, [with a kind of frantic wildness, ] to be detained aprisoner in this horrid house--am I, Sir?--Take care! take care! holdingup her hand, menacing, how you make me desperate! If I fall, though bymy own hand, inquisition will be made for my blood; and be not out in thyplot, Lovelace, if it should be so--make sure work, I charge thee--dig ahole deep enough to cram in and conceal this unhappy body; for, dependupon it, that some of those who will not stir to protect me living, willmove heaven and earth to avenge me dead!

A horrid dear creature!--By my soul she made me shudder! She had needindeed to talk of her unhappiness in falling into the hands of the onlyman in the world, who could have used her as I have used her--she is theonly woman in the world, who could have shocked and disturbed me as shehas done. So we are upon a foot in that respect. And I think I have theworst of it by much: since very little has been my joy--very much mytrouble. And her punishment, as she calls it, is over: but when minewill, or what it may be, who can tell?

Here, only recapitulating, (think, then, how I must be affected at thetime, ) I was forced to leave off, and sing a song to myself. I aimed ata lively air; but I croaked rather than sung. And fell into the olddismal thirtieth of January strain; I hemmed up for a sprightlier note;but it would not do; and at last I ended, like a malefactor, in a deadpsalm melody. 

Heigh-ho!--I gape like an unfledged kite in its nest, wanting to swallowa chicken, bobbed at its mouth by its marauding dam!--

What a-devil ails me?--I can neither think nor write!

Lie down, pen, for a moment!

LETTER XXII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. 

There is certainly a good deal in the observation, that it costs a manten times more pains to be wicked, than it would cost him to be good. Whata confounded number of contrivances have I had recourse to, in orderto carry my point with this charming creature; and yet after all, howhave I puzzled myself by it; and yet am near tumbling into the pit whichit was the end of all my plots to shun! What a happy man had I been withsuch an excellence, could I have brought my mind to marry when I firstprevailed upon her to quit her father's house! But then, as I have oftenreflected, how had I known, that a but blossoming beauty, who could carryon a private correspondence, and run such risques with a notorious wildfellow, was not prompted by inclination, which one day might give such afree-liver as myself as much pain to reflect upon, as, at the time itgave me pleasure? Thou rememberest the host's tale in Ariosto. And thyexperience, as well as mine, can furnish out twenty Fiametta's in proofof the imbecility of the sex. 

But to proceed with my narrative. 

The dear creature resumed the topic her heart was so firmly fixed upon;and insisted upon quitting the odious house, and that in very high terms. 

I urged her to meet me the next day at the altar in either of the twochurches mentioned in the license. And I besought her, whatever was herresolution, to let me debate this matter calmly with her. 

If, she said, I would have her give what I desired the least moment'sconsideration, I must not hinder her from being her own mistress. Towhat purpose did I ask her consent, if she had not a power over eitherher own person or actions?

Will you give me your honour, Madam, if I consent to your quitting ahouse so disagreeable to you?--

My honour, Sir! said the dear creature--Alas!--And turned weeping fromme with inimitable grace--as if she had said--Alas!--you have robbed meof my honour!

I hoped then, that her angry passions were subsiding; but I was mistaken;for, urging her warmly for the day; and that for the sake of our mutualhonour, and the honour of both our families; in this high-flown andhigh-souled strain she answered me:

And canst thou, Lovelace, be so mean--as to wish to make a wife of thecreature thou hast insulted, dishonoured, and abused, as thou hast me?Was it necessary to humble me down to the low level of thy baseness, before I could be a wife meet for thee? Thou hadst a father, who was aman of honour: a mother, who deserved a better son. Thou hast an uncle, who is no dishonour to the Peerage of a kingdom, whose peers are morerespectable than the nobility of any other country. Thou hast otherrelations also, who may be thy boast, though thou canst not be theirs--and canst thou not imagine, that thou hearest them calling upon thee; thedead from their monuments; the living from their laudable pride; not todishonour thy ancient and splendid house, by entering into wedlock with acreature whom thou hast levelled with the dirt of the street, and classedwith the vilest of her sex?

I extolled her greatness of soul, and her virtue. I execrated myself formy guilt: and told her, how grateful to the manes of my ancestors, aswell as to the wishes of the living, the honour I supplicated for wouldbe. 

But still she insisted upon being a free agent; of seeing herself inother lodgings before she would give what I urged the leastconsideration. Nor would she promise me favour even then, or to permitmy visits. How then, as I asked her, could I comply, without resolvingto lose her for ever?

She put her hand to her forehead often as she talked; and at last, pleading disorder in her head, retired; neither of us satisfied with theother. But she ten times more dissatisfied with me, than I with her. 

Dorcas seems to be coming into favour with her--

What now!--What now!

MONDAY NIGHT. 

How determined is this lady!--Again had she like to have escaped us!--What a fixed resentment!--She only, I find, assumed a little calm, inorder to quiet suspicion. She was got down, and actually had unboltedthe street-door, before I could get to her; alarmed as I was by Mrs. Sinclair's cookmaid, who was the only one that saw her fly through thepassage: yet lightning was not quicker than I. 

Again I brought her back to the dining-room, with infinite reluctance onher part. And, before her face, ordered a servant to be placedconstantly at the bottom of the stairs for the future. 

She seemed even choked with grief and disappointment. 

Dorcas was exceedingly assiduous about her; and confidently gave it asher own opinion, that her dear lady should be permitted to go to anotherlodging, since this was so disagreeable to her: were she to be killed forsaying so, she would say it. And was good Dorcas for this afterwards. 

But for some time the dear creature was all passion and violence--

I see, I see, said she, when I had brought her up, what I am to expectfrom your new professions, O vilest of men!--

Have I offered t you, my beloved creature, any thing that can justifythis impatience after a more hopeful calm?

She wrung her hands. She disordered her head-dress. She tore herruffles. She was in a perfect phrensy. 

I dreaded her returning malady: but, entreaty rather exasperating, Iaffected an angry air. --I bid her expect the worst she had to fear--andwas menacing on, in hopes to intimidate her; when, dropping to my feet, 'Twill be a mercy, said she, the highest act of mercy you can do, to killme outright upon this spot--this happy spot, as I will, in my lastmoments, call it!--Then, baring, with a still more frantic violence, partof her enchanting neck--Here, here, said the soul-harrowing beauty, letthy pointed mercy enter! and I will thank thee, and forgive thee for allthe dreadful past!--With my latest gasp will I forgive and thank thee!--Or help me to the means, and I will myself put out of the way somiserable a wretch! And bless thee for those means!

Why all this extravagant passion? Why all these exclamations? Have Ioffered any new injury to you, my dearest life? What a phrensy is this!Am I not ready to make you all the reparation that I can make you? Had Inot reason to hope--

No, no, no, no, as before, shaking her head with wild impatience, asresolved not to attend to what I said. 

My resolutions are so honourable, if you will permit them to take effect, that I need not be solicitous where you go, if you will but permit myvisits, and receive my vows. --And God is my witness, that I bring you notback from the door with any view to your dishonour, but the contrary: andthis moment I will send for a minister to put an end to all your doubtsand fears. 

Say this, and say a thousand times more, and bind every word with asolemn appeal to that God whom thou art accustomed to invoke to the truthof the vilest falsehoods, and all will still be short of what thou hasvowed and promised to me. And, were not my heart to abhor thee, and torise against thee, for thy perjuries, as it does, I would not, I tellthee once more, I would not, bind my soul in covenant with such a man, for a thousand worlds!

Compose yourself, however, Madam; for your own sake, compose yourself. Permit me to raise you up; abhorred as I am of your soul!

Nay, if I must not touch you; for she wildly slapt my hands; but withsuch a sweet passionate air, her bosom heaving and throbbing as shelooked up to me, that although I was most sincerely enraged, I could withtransport have pressed her to mine. 

If I must not touch you, I will not. --But depend upon it, [and I assumedthe sternest air I could assume, to try what it would do, ] depend uponit, Madam, that this is not the way to avoid the evils you dread. Let medo what I will, I cannot be used worse--Dorcas, begone!

She arose, Dorcas being about to withdraw; and wildly caught hold of herarm: O Dorcas! If thou art of mine own sex, leave me not, I charge thee!--Then quitting Dorcas, down she threw herself upon her knees, in thefurthermost corner of the room, clasping a chair with her face laid uponthe bottom of it!--O where can I be safe?--Where, where can I be safe, from this man of violence?--

This gave Dorcas an opportunity to confirm herself in her lady'sconfidence: the wench threw herself at my feet, while I seemed in violentwrath; and embracing my knees, Kill me, Sir, kill me, Sir, if you please!--I must throw myself in your way, to save my lady. I beg your pardon, Sir--but you must be set on!--God forgive the mischief-makers!--But yourown heart, if left to itself, would not permit these things--spare, however, Sir! spare my lady, I beseech you!--bustling on her knees aboutme, as if I were intending to approach her lady, had I not beenrestrained by her. 

This, humoured by me, Begone, devil!--Officious devil, begone!--startledthe dear creature: who, snatching up hastily her head from the chair, andas hastily popping it down again in terror, hit her nose, I suppose, against the edge of the chair; and it gushed out with blood, running in astream down her bosom; she herself was too much frighted to heed it!

Never was mortal man in such terror and agitation as I; for I instantlyconcluded, that she had stabbed herself with some concealed instrument. 

I ran to her in a wild agony--for Dorcas was frighted out of all her mockinterposition----

What have you done!--O what have you done!--Look up to me, my dearestlife!--Sweet injured innocence, look up to me! What have you done!--Longwill I not survive you!--And I was upon the point of drawing my sword todispatch myself, when I discovered--[What an unmanly blockhead does thischarming creature make me at her pleasure!] that all I apprehended wasbut a bloody nose, which, as far as I know (for it could not be stoppedin a quarter of an hour) may have saved her head and her intellects. 

But I see by this scene, that the sweet creature is but a pretty cowardat bottom; and that I can terrify her out of her virulence against me, whenever I put on sternness and anger. But then, as a qualifier to theadvantage this gives me over her, I find myself to be a coward too, whichI had not before suspected, since I was capable of being so easilyterrified by the apprehensions of her offering violence to herself. 

LETTER XXIII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. 

But with all this dear creature's resentment against me, I cannot, for myheart, think but she will get all over, and consent to enter the palewith me. Were she even to die to-morrow, and to know she should, wouldnot a woman of her sense, of her punctilio, and in her situation, and ofso proud a family, rather die married, than otherwise?--No doubt but shewould; although she were to hate the man ever so heartily. If so, thereis now but one man in the world whom she can have--and that is me. 

Now I talk [familiar writing is but talking, Jack] thus glibly ofentering the pale, thou wilt be ready to question me, I know, as to myintentions on this head. 

As much of my heart, as I know of it myself, will I tell thee. --When I amfrom her, I cannot still help hesitating about marriage; and I evenfrequently resolve against it, and determine to press my favourite schemefor cohabitation. But when I am with her, I am ready to say, to swear, and to do, whatever I think will be the most acceptable to her, and werea parson at hand, I should plunge at once, no doubt of it, into thestate. 

I have frequently thought, in common cases, that it is happy for manygiddy fellows [there are giddy fellows, as well as giddy girls, Jack; andperhaps those are as often drawn in, as these] that ceremony and paradeare necessary to the irrevocable solemnity; and that there is generallytime for a man to recollect himself in the space between the heatedover-night, and the cooler next morning; or I know not who could escapethe sweet gypsies, whose fascinating powers are so much aided by our ownraised imaginations. 

A wife at any time, I used to say. I had ever confidence and vanityenough to think that no woman breathing could deny her hand when I heldout mine. I am confoundedly mortified to find that this lady is able tohold me at bay, and to refuse all my honest vows. 

What force [allow me a serious reflection, Jack: it will be put down!What force] have evil habits upon the human mind! When we enter upon adevious course, we think we shall have it in our power when we willreturn to the right path. But it is not so, I plainly see: For, who canacknowledge with more justice this dear creature's merits, and his ownerrors, than I? Whose regret, at times, can be deeper than mine, for theinjuries I have done her? Whose resolutions to repair those injuriesstronger?--Yet how transitory is my penitence!--How am I hurried away--Canst thou tell by what?--O devil of youth, and devil of intrigue, how doyou mislead me!--How often do we end in occasions for the deepestremorse, what we begin in wantonness!--

At the present writing, however, the turn of the scale is in behalf ofmatrimony--for I despair of carrying with her my favourite point. 

The lady tells Dorcas, that her heart is broken: and that she shall livebut a little while. I think nothing of that, if we marry. In the firstplace, she knows not what a mind unapprehensive will do for her, in astate to which all the sex look forwards with high satisfaction. Howoften have the whole of the sacred conclave been thus deceived in theirchoice of a pope; not considering that the new dignity is of itselfsufficient to give new life! A few months' heart's ease will give mycharmer a quite different notion of things: and I dare say, as I haveheretofore said, * once married, and I am married for life. 

* See Letter IX. Of this volume. 

I will allow that her pride, in one sense, has suffered abasement: buther triumph is the greater in every other. And while I can think thatall her trials are but additions to her honour, and that I have laid thefoundations of her glory in my own shame, can I be called cruel, if I amnot affected with her grief as some men would be?

And for what should her heart be broken? Her will is unviolated;--atpresent, however, her will is unviolated. The destroying of good habits, and the introducing of bad, to the corrupting of the whole heart, is theviolation. That her will is not to be corrupted, that her mind is not tobe debased, she has hitherto unquestionably proved. And if she givecause for farther trials, and hold fast her integrity, what ideas willshe have to dwell upon, that will be able to corrupt her morals? Whatvestigia, what remembrances, but such as will inspire abhorrence of theattempter?

What nonsense then to suppose that such a mere notional violation as shehas suffered should be able to cut asunder the strings of life?

Her religion, married, or not married, will set her above making such atrifling accident, such an involuntary suffering fatal to her. 

Such considerations as these they are that support me against allapprehensions of bugbear consequences; and I would have them have weightwith thee; who are such a doughty advocate for her. And yet I allow theethis; that she really makes too much of it; takes it too much to heart. To be sure she ought to have forgot it by this time, except the charming, charming consequence happen, that still I am in hopes will happen, were Ito proceed no farther. And, if she apprehended this herself, then hasthe dear over-nice soul some reason for taking it so much to heart; andyet would not, I think, refuse to legitimate. 

O Jack! had I am imperial diadem, I swear to thee, that I would give itup, even to my enemy, to have one charming boy by this lady. And shouldshe escape me, and no such effect follow, my revenge on her family, and, in such a case, on herself, would be incomplete, and I should reproachmyself as long as I lived. 

Were I to be sure that this foundation is laid [And why may I not hope itis?] I should not doubt to have her still (should she withstand her dayof grace) on my own conditions; nor should I, if it were so, questionthat revived affection in her, which a woman seldom fails to have for thefather of her first child, whether born in wedlock, or out of it. 

And pr'ythee, Jack, see in this my ardent hope, a distinction in myfavour from other rakes; who, almost to a man, follow their inclinationswithout troubling themselves about consequences. In imitation, as onewould think, of the strutting villain of a bird, which from featheredlady to feathered lady pursues his imperial pleasures, leaving it to hissleek paramours to hatch the genial product in holes and corners of theirown finding out. 

LETTER XXIV

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUESDAY MORN. JUNE 20. 

Well, Jack, now are we upon another footing together. This dear creaturewill not let me be good. She is now authorizing all my plots by her ownexample. 

Thou must be partial in the highest degree, if now thou blamest me forresuming my former schemes, since in that case I shall but follow hercue. No forced construction of her actions do I make on this occasion, in order to justify a bad cause or a worse intention. A slight pretence, indeed, served the wolf when he had a mind to quarrel with the lamb; butthis is not now my case. 

For here (wouldst thou have thought it?) taking advantage of Dorcas'scompassionate temper, and of some warm expressions which thetender-hearted wench let fall against the cruelty of men, and wishing tohave it in her power to serve her, has she given her the following note, signed by her maiden name: for she has thought fit, in positive and plainwords, to own to the pitying Dorcas that she is not married. 

MONDAY, JUNE 19. 

I then underwritten do hereby promise, that, on my coming into possessionof my own estate, I will provide for Dorcas Martindale in a gentlewoman-like manner, in my own house: or, if I do not soon obtain thatpossession, or should first die, I do hereby bind myself, my executors, and administrators, to pay to her, or her order, during the term of hernatural life, the sum of five pounds on each of the four usual quarterlydays in the year; on condition that she faithfully assist me in my escapefrom an illegal confinement under which I now labour. The firstquarterly payment to commence and be payable at the end of three monthsimmediately following the day of my deliverance. And I do also promiseto give her, as a testimony of my honour in the rest, a diamond ring, which I have showed her. Witness my hand this nineteenth day of June, inthe year above written. 

CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

Now, Jack, what terms wouldst thou have me to keep with such a sweetcorruptress? Seest thou not how she hates me? Seest thou not that sheis resolved never to forgive me? Seest thou not, however, that she mustdisgrace herself in the eye of the world, if she actually should escape?That she must be subjected to infinite distress and hazard! For whom hasshe to receive and protect her? Yet to determine to risque all theseevils! and furthermore to stoop to artifice, to be guilty of the reigningvice of the times, of bribery and corruption! O Jack, Jack! say not, write not another word in her favour!

Thou hast blamed me for bringing her to this house: but had I carried herto any other in England, where there would have been one servant orinmate capable either of compassion or corruption, what must have beenthe consequence?

But seest thou not, however, that in this flimsy contrivance, the dearimplacable, like a drowning man, catches at a straw to save herself!--Astraw shall she find to be the refuge she has resorted to. 

LETTER XXV

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUES. MORN. TEN O'CLOCK

Very ill--exceedingly ill--as Dorcas tells me, in order to avoid seeingme--and yet the dear soul may be so in her mind. But is not thatequivocation? Some one passion predominating in every human breast, breaks through principle, and controuls us all. Mine is love and revengetaking turns. Her's is hatred. --But this is my consolation, that hatredappeased is love begun; or love renewed, I may rather say, if love everhad footing here. 

But reflectioning apart, thou seest, Jack, that her plot is beginning towork. To-morrow is to break out. 

I have been abroad, to set on foot a plot of circumvention. All fairnow, Belford!

I insisted upon visiting my indisposed fair-one. Dorcas made officiousexcuses for her. I cursed the wench in her hearing for her impertinence;and stamped and made a clutter; which was improved into an apprehensionto the lady that I would have flung her faithful confidante from the topof the stairs to the bottom. 

He is a violent wretch!--But, Dorcas, [dear Dorcas, now it is, ] thoushalt have a friend in me to the last day of my life. 

And what now, Jack, dost think the name of her good angel is!--Why DorcasMartindale, christian and super (no more Wykes) as in the promissory notein my former--and the dear creature has bound her to her by the mostsolemn obligations, besides the tie of interest. 

Whither, Madam, do you design to go when you get out of this house?

I will throw myself into the first open house I can find; and begprotection till I can get a coach, or a lodging in some honest family. 

What will you do for clothes, Madam? I doubt you'll be able to take anyaway with you, but what you'll have on. 

O, no matter for clothes, if I can but get out of this house. 

What will you do for money, Madam? I have heard his honour express hisconcern, that he could not prevail upon you to be obliged to him, thoughhe apprehended that you must be short of money. 

O, I have rings and other valuables. Indeed I have but four guineas, andtwo of them I found lately wrapt up in a bit of lace, designed for acharitable use. But now, alas! charity begins at home!--But I have onedear friend left, if she be living, as I hope in God she is! to whom Ican be obliged, if I want. O Dorcas! I must ere now have heard from her, if I had had fair play. 

Well, Madam, your's is a hard lot. I pity you at my heart!

Thank you, Dorcas!--I am unhappy, that I did not think before, that I mighthave confided in thy pity, and in thy sex!

I pitied you, Madam, often and often: but you were always, as I thought, diffident of me. And then I doubted not but you were married; and Ithought his honour was unkindly used by you. So that I thought it myduty to wish well to his honour, rather than to what I thought to be yourhumours, Madam. Would to Heaven that I had known before that you werenot married!--Such a lady! such a fortune! to be so sadly betrayed;----

Ah, Dorcas! I was basely drawn in! My youth--my ignorance of the world--and I have some things to reproach myself with when I look back. 

Lord, Madam, what deceitful creatures are these men!--Neither oaths, norvows--I am sure! I am sure! [and then with her apron she gave her eyeshalf a dozen hearty rubs] I may curse the time that I came into thishouse!

Here was accounting for her bold eyes! And was it not better for Dorcasto give up a house which her lady could not think worse of than she did, in order to gain the reputation of sincerity, than by offering tovindicate it, to make her proffered services suspected. 

Poor Dorcas!--Bless me! how little do we, who have lived all our time inthe country, know of this wicked town!

Had I been able to write, cried the veteran wench, I should certainlyhave given some other near relations I have in Wales a little inkling ofmatters; and they would have saved me from----from----from----

Her sobs were enough. The apprehensions of women on such subjects areever aforehand with speech. 

And then, sobbing on, she lifted her apron to her face again. She showedme how. 

Poor Dorcas!--Again wiping her own charming eyes. 

All love, all compassion, is this dear creature to every one inaffliction but me. 

And would not an aunt protect her kinswoman?--Abominable wretch!

I can't--I can't--I can't--say, my aunt was privy to it. She gave megood advice. She knew not for a great while that I was--that I was--thatI was--ugh!--ugh!--ugh!--

No more, no more, good Dorcas--What a world do we live in!--What a houseam I in!--But come, don't weep, (though she herself could not forbear:)my being betrayed into it, though to my own ruin, may be a happy eventfor thee: and, if I live, it shall. 

I thank you, my good lady, blubbering. I am sorry, very sorry, you havehad so hard a lot. But it may be the saving of my soul, if I can get toyour ladyship's house. Had I but known that your ladyship was notmarried, I would have eat my own flesh, before----before----before----

Dorcas sobbed and wept. The lady sighed and wept also. 

But now, Jack, for a serious reflection upon the premises. 

How will the good folks account for it, that Satan has such faithfulinstruments, and that the bond of wickedness is a stronger bond than theties of virtue; as if it were the nature of the human mind to be villanous?For here, had Dorcas been good, and been tempted as she was tempted to anything evil, I make no doubt but she would have yielded to the temptation. 

And cannot our fraternity in an hundred instances give proof of the likepredominance of vice over virtue? And that we have risked more to serveand promote the interests of the former, than ever a good man did toserve a good man or a good cause? For have we not been prodigal of lifeand fortune? have we not defied the civil magistrate upon occasion? andhave we not attempted rescues, and dared all things, only to extricate apounded profligate?

Whence, Jack, can this be?

O! I have it, I believe. The vicious are as bad as they can be; and dothe Devil's work without looking after; while he is continually spreadingsnares for the others; and, like a skilful angler, suiting his baits tothe fish he angles for. 

Nor let even honest people, so called, blame poor Dorcas for her fidelityin a bad cause. For does not the general, who implicitly serves anambitious prince in his unjust designs upon his neighbours, or upon hisown oppressed subjects; and even the lawyer, who, for the sake of apaltry fee, undertakes to whiten a black cause, and to defend it againstone he knows to be good, do the very same thing as Dorcas? And are theynot both every whit as culpable? Yet the one shall be dubbed a hero, theother called an admirable fellow, and be contended for by every client, and his double-tongued abilities shall carry him through all the highpreferments of the law with reputation and applause. 

Well, but what shall be done, since the lady is so much determined onremoving!--Is there no way to oblige her, and yet to make the very actsubservient to my other views? I fancy such a way may be found out. 

I will study for it----

Suppose I suffer her to make an escape? Her heart is in it. If sheeffect it, the triumph she will have over me upon it will be acounterbalance for all she has suffered. 

I will oblige her if I can. 

LETTER XXVI

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. 

Tired with a succession of fatiguing days and sleepless nights, and withcontemplating the precarious situation I stand in with my beloved, I fellinto a profound reverie; which brought on sleep; and that produced adream; a fortunate dream; which, as I imagine, will afford my workingmind the means to effect the obliging double purpose my heart is now oncemore set upon. 

What, as I have often contemplated, is the enjoyment of the finest womanin the world, to the contrivance, the bustle, the surprises, and at lastthe happy conclusion of a well-laid plot!--The charming round-abouts, tocome to the nearest way home;--the doubts; the apprehensions; theheart-achings; the meditated triumphs--these are the joys that make theblessing dear. --For all the rest, what is it?--What but to find an angelin imagination dwindled down to a woman in fact?----But to my dream----

Methought it was about nine on Wednesday morning that a chariot, with adowager's arms upon the doors, and in it a grave matronly lady [notunlike mother H. In the face; but, in her heart, Oh! how unlike!] stoppedat a grocer's shop, about ten doors on the other side of the way, inorder to buy some groceries: and methought Dorcas, having been out to seeif the coast were clear for her lady's flight, and if a coach were to begot near the place, espied the chariot with the dowager's arms, and thismatronly lady: and what, methought, did Dorcas, that subtle traitress, do, but whip up to the old matronly lady, and lifting up her voice, say, Good my Lady, permit me one word with your Ladyship!

What thou hast to say to me, say on, quoth the old lady; the grocerretiring, and standing aloof, to give Dorcas leave to speak; who, methought, in words like these accosted the lady:

'You seem, Madam, to be a very good lady; and here, in thisneighbourhood, at a house of no high repute, is an innocent lady of rankand fortune, beautiful as a May morning, and youthful as a rose-bud, andfull as sweet and lovely, who has been tricked thither by a wickedgentleman, practised in the ways of the town, and this very night willshe be ruined if she get not out of his hands. Now, O Lady! if you willextend your compassionate goodness to this fair young lady, in whom, themoment you behold her, you will see cause to believe all I say, and lether but have a place in your chariot, and remain in your protection forone day only, till she can send a man and horse to her rich and powerfulfriends, you may save from ruin a lady who has no equal for virtue aswell as beauty. '

Methought the old lady, moved with Dorcas's story, answered and said, 'Hasten, O damsel, who in a happy moment art come to put it in my powerto serve the innocent and virtuous, which it has always been my delightto do: hasten to this young lady, and bid her hie hither to me with allspeed; and tell her, that my chariot shall be her asylum: and if I findall that thou sayest true, my house shall be her sanctuary, and I willprotect her from all her oppressors. '

Hereupon, methought, this traitress Dorcas hied back to the lady, andmade report of what she had done. And, methought, the lady highlyapproved of Dorcas's proceeding and blessed her for her good thought. 

And I lifted up mine eyes, and behold the lady issued out of the house, and without looking back, ran to the chariot with the dowager's coat uponit; and was received by the matronly lady with open arms, and 'Welcome, welcome, welcome, fair young lady, who so well answer the description ofthe faithful damsel: and I will carry you instantly to my house, whereyou shall meet with all the good usage your heart can wish for, till youcan apprize your rich and powerful friends of your past dangers, andpresent escape. '

'Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, worthy, thrice worthy lady, who afford so kindly your protection to a most unhappy young creature, who has been basely seduced and betrayed, and brought to the very brinkof destruction. '

Methought, then, the matronly lady, who had, by the time the young ladycame to her, bought and paid for the goods she wanted, ordered hercoachman to drive home with all speed; who stopped not till he hadarrived in a certain street not far from Lincoln's-inn-fields, where thematronly lady lived in a sumptuous dwelling, replete with damsels whowrought curiously in muslins, cambrics, and fine linen, and in every goodwork that industrious damsels love to be employed about, except the loomand the spinning-wheel. 

And, methought, all the way the young lady and the old lady rode, andafter they came in, till dinner was ready, the young lady filled up thetime with the dismal account of her wrongs and her sufferings, the likeof which was never heard by mortal ear; and this in so moving a manner, that the good old lady did nothing but weep, and sigh, and sob, andinveigh against the arts of wicked men, and against that abominable'Squire Lovelace, who was a plotting villain, methought she said; andmore than that, an unchained Beelzebub. 

Methought I was in a dreadful agony, when I found the lady had escaped, and in my wrath had like to have slain Dorcas, and our mother, and everyone I met. But, by some quick transition, and strange metamorphosis, which dreams do not usually account for, methought, all of a sudden, thismatronly lady turned into the famous mother H. Herself; and, being an oldacquaintance of mother Sinclair, was prevailed upon to assist in my plotupon the young lady. 

Then, methought, followed a strange scene; for mother H. Longing to hearmore of the young lady's story, and night being come, besought her toaccept of a place in her own bed, in order to have all the talk tothemselves. For, methought, two young nieces of her's had broken in uponthem, in the middle of the dismal tale. 

Accordingly, going early to bed, and the sad story being resumed, with asgreat earnestness on one side as attention on the other, before the younglady had gone far in it, mother H. Methought was taken with a fit of thecolic; and her tortures increasing, was obliged to rise to get a cordialshe used to find specific in this disorder, to which she was unhappilysubject. 

Having thus risen, and stept to her closet, methought she let fall thewax taper in her return; and then [O metamorphosis still stranger thanthe former! what unaccountable things are dreams!] coming to bed again inthe dark, the young lady, to her infinite astonishment, grief, andsurprise, found mother H. Turned into a young person of the other sex;and although Lovelace was the abhorred of her soul, yet, fearing it wassome other person, it was matter of consolation to her, when she found itwas no other than himself, and that she had been still the bed-fellow ofbut one and the same man. 

A strange promiscuous huddle of adventures followed, scenes perpetuallyshifting; now nothing heard from the lady, but sighs, groans, exclamations, faintings, dyings--From the gentleman, but vows, promises, protestations, disclaimers of purposes pursued, and all the gentle andungentle pressures of the lover's warfare. 

Then, as quick as thought (for dreams, thou knowest confine notthemselves to the rules of the drama) ensued recoveries, lyings-in, christenings, the smiling boy, amply, even in her own opinion, rewardingthe suffering mother. 

Then the grandfather's estate yielded up, possession taken of it: livingvery happily upon it: her beloved Norton her companion; Miss Howe hervisiter; and (admirable! thrice admirable!) enabled to compare notes withher; a charming girl, by the same father, to her friend's charming boy;who, as they grow up, in order to consolidate their mamma's friendships, (for neither have dreams regard to consanguinity, ) intermarry; changenames by act of parliament, to enjoy my estate--and I know not what ofthe like incongruous stuff. 

I awoke, as thou mayest believe, in great disorder, and rejoiced to findmy charmer in the next room, and Dorcas honest. 

Now thou wilt say this was a very odd dream. And yet, (for I am astrange dreamer, ) it is not altogether improbable that something like itmay happen; as the pretty simpleton has the weakness to confide inDorcas, whom till now she disliked. 

But I forgot to tell thee one part of my dream; and that was, that, thenext morning, the lady gave way to such transports of grief andresentment, that she was with difficulty diverted from making an attemptupon her own life. But, however, at last was prevailed upon to resolveto live, and make the best of the matter: a letter, methought, fromCaptain Tomlinson helping to pacify her, written to apprize me, that heruncle Harlowe would certainly be at Kentish-town on Wednesday night, June28, the following day (the 29th) being his birth-day; and be doublydesirous, on that account, that our nuptials should be then privatelysolemnized in his presence. 

But is Thursday, the 29th, her uncle's anniversary, methinks thou askest?--It is; or else the day of celebration should have been earlier still. Three weeks ago I heard her say it was: and I have down the birthday ofevery one in the family, and the wedding-day of her father and mother. The minutest circumstances are often of great service in matters of thelast importance. 

And what sayest thou now to my dream?

Who says that, sleeping and waking, I have not fine helps from somebody, some spirit rather, as thou'lt be apt to say? But no wonder that aBeelzebub has his devilkins to attend his call. 

I can have no manner of doubt of succeeding in mother H. 's part of thescheme; for will the lady (who resolves to throw herself into the firsthouse she can enter, or to bespeak the protection of the first person shemeets, and who thinks there can be no danger out of this house, equal towhat she apprehends from me in it) scruple to accept of the chariot of adowager, accidentally offered? and the lady's protection engaged by herfaithful Dorcas, so highly bribed to promote her escape?--And then Mrs. H. Has the air and appearance of a venerable matron, and is not such aforbidding devil as Mrs. Sinclair. 

The pretty simpleton knows nothing in the world; nor that people who havemoney never want assistants in their views, be they what they will. Howelse could the princes of the earth be so implicitly served as they are, change they hands every so often, and be their purposes ever so wicked. 

If I can but get her to go on with me till Wednesday next week, we shallbe settled together pretty quietly by that time. And indeed if she hasany gratitude, and has in her the least of her sex's foibles, she mustthink I deserve her favour, by the pains she has cost me. For dearly dothey all love that men should take pains about them and for them. 

And here, for the present, I will lay down my pen, and congratulatemyself upon my happy invention (since her obstinacy puts me once moreupon exercising it. )--But with this resolution, I think, that, if thepresent contrivance fail me, I will exert all the faculties of my mind, all my talents, to procure for myself a regal right to her favour andthat in defiance of all my antipathies to the married state; and of thesuggestions of the great devil out of the house, and of his secret agentsin it. --Since, if now she is not to be prevailed upon, or drawn in, itwill be in vain to attempt her further. 

LETTER XXVII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUESDAY NIGHT, JUNE 20. 

No admittance yet to my charmer! she is very ill--in a violent fever, Dorcas thinks. Yet will have no advice. 

Dorcas tells her how much I am concerned at it. 

But again let me ask, Does this lady do right to make herself ill, whenshe is not ill? For my own part, libertine as people think me, when Ihad occasion to be sick, I took a dose of ipecacuanha, that I might notbe guilty of a falsehood; and most heartily sick was I; as she, whothen pitied me, full well knew. But here to pretend to be very ill, only to get an opportunity to run away, in order to avoid forgiving aman who has offended her, how unchristian!--If good folks allowthemselves in these breaches of a known duty, and in these presumptuouscontrivances to deceive, who, Belford, shall blame us?

I have a strange notion that the matronly lady will be certainly at thegrocer's shop at the hour of nine tomorrow morning: for Dorcas heard metell Mrs. Sinclair, that I should go out at eight precisely; and thenshe is to try for a coach: and if the dowager's chariot should happento be there, how lucky will it be for my charmer! how strangely will mydream be made out!

***

I have just received a letter from Captain Tomlinson. Is it notwonderful? for that was part of my dream. 

I shall always have a prodigious regard to dreams henceforward. I knownot but I may write a book upon that subject; for my own experiencewill furnish out a great part of it. 'Glanville of Witches, ' 'Baxter'sHistory of Spirits and Apparitions, ' and the 'Royal Pedant's Demonology, 'will be nothing at all to Lovelace's Reveries. 

The letter is just what I dreamed it to be. I am only concerned thatuncle John's anniversary did not happen three or four days sooner; forshould any new misfortune befal my charmer, she may not be able tosupport her spirits so long as till Thursday in the next week. Yet itwill give me the more time for new expedients, should my presentcontrivance fail; which I cannot however suppose. 

TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. MONDAY, JUNE 19. 

Dear Sir, I can now return your joy, for the joy you have given me, as well as mydear friend Mr. Harlowe, in the news of his beloved niece's happyrecovery; for he is determined to comply with her wishes and your's, and to give her to you with his own hand. 

As the ceremony has been necessarily delayed by reason of her illness, and as Mr. Harlowe's birth-day is on Thursday the 29th of this instantJune, when he enters into the seventy-fourth year of his age; and astime may be wanted to complete the dear lady's recovery; he is verydesirous that the marriage shall be solemnized upon it; that he mayafterwards have double joy on that day to the end of his life. 

For this purpose he intends to set out privately, so as to be atKentish-town on Wednesday se'nnight in the evening. 

All the family used, he says, to meet to celebrate it with him; but asthey are at present in too unhappy a situation for that, he will giveout, that, not being able to bear the day at home, he has resolved tobe absent for two or three days. 

He will set out on horseback, attended only with one trusty servant, for the greater privacy. He will be at the most creditable-lookingpublic house there, expecting you both next morning, if he hear nothingfrom me to prevent him. And he will go to town with you after theceremony is performed, in the coach he supposes you will come in. 

He is very desirous that I should be present on the occasion. But thisI have promised him, at his request, that I will be up before the day, in order to see the settlements executed, and every thing properlyprepared. 

He is very glad you have the license ready. 

He speaks very kindly of you, Mr. Lovelace; and says, that, if any ofthe family stand out after he has seen the ceremony performed, he willseparate from them, and unite himself to his dear niece and herinterests. 

I owned to you, when in town last, that I took slight notice to my dearfriend of the misunderstanding between you and his niece; and that Idid this, for fear the lady should have shown any little discontent inhis presence, had I been able to prevail upon him to go up in person, as then was doubtful. But I hope nothing of that discontent remainsnow. 

My absence, when your messenger came, must excuse me for not writing byhim. 

Be pleased to make my most respectful compliments acceptable to theadmirable lady, and believe me to be

Your most faithful and obedient servant, ANTONY TOMLINSON. 

***

This letter I sealed, and broke open. It was brought, thou mayestsuppose, by a particular messenger; the seal such a one as the writerneed be ashamed of. I took care to inquire after the Captain's health, in my beloved's hearing; and it is now ready to be produced as apacifier, according as she shall take on or resent, if the twometamorphoses happen pursuant to my wonderful dream; as, having greatfaith in dreams, I dare say they will. --I think it will not be amiss, in changing my clothes, to have this letter of the worthy Captain liein my beloved's way. 

LETTER XXVIII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. WEDN. NOON, JUNE 21. 

What shall I say now!--I, who but a few hours ago had such faith indreams, and had proposed out of hand to begin my treatise of dreamssleeping and dreams waking, and was pleasing myself with the dialoguesbetween the old matronal lady and the young lady, and with themetamorphoses, (absolutely assured that every thing would happen as mydream chalked it out, ) shall never more depend upon those flying follies, those illusions of a fancy depraved, and run mad. 

Thus confoundedly have matters happened. 

I went out at eight o'clock in high good humour with myself, in orderto give the sought-for opportunity to the plotting mistress and corruptedmaid; only ordering Will. To keep a good look-out for fear his ladyshould mistrust my plot, or mistake a hackney-coach for thedowager-lady's chariot. But first I sent to know how she did; andreceiving for answer, Very ill: had a very bad night: which latter was buttoo probable; since this I know, that people who have plots in their headsas seldom have as deserve good ones. 

I desired a physician might be called in; but was refused. 

I took a walk in St. James's Park, congratulating myself all the way onmy rare inventions: then, impatient, I took coach, with one of thewindows quite up, the other almost up, playing at bo-peep in everychariot I saw pass in my way to Lincoln's-inn-fields: and when arrivedthere I sent the coachman to desire any one of Mother H. 's family tocome to me to the coach-side, not doubting but I should haveintelligence of my fair fugitive there; it being then half an hourafter ten. 

A servant came, who gave me to understand that the matronly lady wasjust returned by herself in the chariot. 

Frighted out of my wits, I alighted, and heard from the mother's ownmouth, that Dorcas had engaged her to protect the lady; but came totell her afterwards, that she had changed her mind, and would not quitthe house. 

Quite astonished, not knowing what might have happened, I ordered thecoachman to lash away to our mother's. 

Arriving here in an instant, the first word I asked, was, If the ladywas safe?

[Mr. Lovelace here gives a very circumstantial relation of all that passed between the Lady and Dorcas. But as he could only guess at her motives for refusing to go off, when Dorcas told her that she had engaged for her the protection of the dowager-lady, it is thought proper to omit this relation, and to supply it by some memoranda of the Lady's. But it is first necessary to account for the occasion on which those memoranda were made. 

The reader may remember, that in the letter written to Miss Howe, on her escape to Hampstead, * she promises to give her the particulars of her flight at leisure. She had indeed thoughts of continuing her account of every thing that had passed between her and Mr. Lovelace since her last narrative letter. But the uncertainty she was in from that time, with the execrable treatment she met with on her being deluded back again, followed by a week's delirium, had hitherto hindered her from prosecuting her intention. But, nevertheless, having it still in her view to perform her promise as soon as she had opportunity, she made minutes of every thing as it passed, in order to help her memory:--'Which, ' as she observes in one place, 'she could less trust to since her late disorders than before. ' In these minutes, or book of memoranda, she observes, 'That having apprehensions that Dorcas might be a traitress, she would have got away while she was gone out to see for a coach; and actually slid down stairs with that intent. But that, seeing Mrs. Sinclair in the entry, (whom Dorcas had planted there while she went out, ) she speeded up again unseen. '

* See Vol. V. Letter XXI. 

She then went up to the dining-room, and saw the letter of Captain Tomlinson: on which she observes in her memorandum-book as follows:]

'How am I puzzled now!--He might leave this letter on purpose: none ofthe other papers left with it being of any consequence: What is thealternative?--To stay, and be the wife of the vilest of men--how myheart resists that!--To attempt to get off, and fail, ruin inevitable!--Dorcas may betray me!--I doubt she is still his implement!--At his goingout, he whispered her, as I saw, unobserved--in a very familiar mannertoo--Never fear, Sir, with a courtesy. 

'In her agreeing to connive at my escape, she provided not for her ownsafety, if I got away: yet had reason, in that case, to expect hisvengeance. And wants not forethought. --To have taken her with me, wasto be in the power of her intelligence, if a faithless creature. --Letme, however, though I part not with my caution, keep my charity!--Canthere be any woman so vile to a woman?--O yes!--Mrs. Sinclair: heraunt. --The Lord deliver me!--But, alas!--I have put myself out of thecourse of his protection by the natural means--and am already ruined!A father's curse likewise against me! Having made vain all my friends'cautions and solicitudes, I must not hope for miracles in my favour!

'If I do escape, what may become of me, a poor, helpless, desertedcreature!--Helpless from sex!--from circumstances!--Exposed to everydanger!--Lord protect me!

'His vile man not gone with him!--Lurking hereabouts, no doubt, towatch my steps!--I will not go away by the chariot, however. ----

'That the chariot should come so opportunely! So like his manyopportunities!--That Dorcas should have the sudden thought!--Shouldhave the courage with the thought, to address a lady in behalf of anabsolute stranger to that lady! That the lady should so readilyconsent! Yet the transaction between them to take up so much time, their distance in degree considered: for, arduous as the case was, andprecious as the time, Dorcas was gone above half an hour! Yet thechariot was said to be ready at a grocer's not many doors off!

'Indeed some elderly ladies are talkative: and there are, no doubt, some good people in the world. ----

'But that it should chance to be a widow lady, who could do what shepleased! That Dorcas should know her to be so by the lozenge! Personsin her station are not usually so knowing, I believe, in heraldry. 

'Yet some may! for servants are fond of deriving collateral honours anddistinctions, as I may call them, from the quality, or people of rank, whom they serve. But this sly servant not gone with him! Then thisletter of Tomlinson!----

'Although I am resolved never to have this wretch, yet, may I not throwmyself into my uncle's protection at Kentish-town, or Highgate, if Icannot escape before: and so get clear of him? May not the evil I knowbe less than what I may fall into, if I can avoid farther villany?Farther villany he has not yet threatened; freely and justly as I havetreated him!--I will not go, I think. At least, unless I can send thisfellow away. *----

* She tried to do this; but was prevented by the fellow's pretending toput his ankle out, by a slip down stairs--A trick, says his contrivingmaster, in his omitted relation, I had taught him, on a like occasion, at Amiens. 

'The fellow a villain! The wench, I doubt, a vile wench. At lastconcerned for her own safety. Plays off and on about a coach. 

'All my hopes of getting off at present over!--Unhappy creature! to whatfarther evils art thou reserved! Oh! how my heart rises at the necessityI must still be under to see and converse with so very vile a man!'

LETTER XXIX

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON. 

Disappointed in her meditated escape; obliged, against her will, tomeet me in the dining-room; and perhaps apprehensive of being upbraidedfor her art in feigning herself ill; I expected that the dear perversewould begin with me with spirit and indignation. But I was in hopes, from the gentleness of her natural disposition; from the considerationwhich I expected from her on her situation; from the contents of theletter of Captain Tomlinson, which Dorcas told me she had seen; andfrom the time she had had to cool and reflect since she last admittedme to her presence, that she would not have carried it so stronglythrough as she did. 

As I entered the dining-room, I congratulated her and myself upon hersudden recovery. And would have taken her hand, with an air ofrespectful tenderness; but she was resolved to begin where she leftoff. 

She turned from me, drawing in her hand, with a repulsing and indignantaspect--I meet you once more, said she, because I cannot help it. Whathave you to say to me? Why am I to be thus detained against my will?

With the utmost solemnity of speech and behaviour, I urged the ceremony. I saw I had nothing else for it. I had a letter in my pocket I said, [feeling for it, although I had not taken it from the table where I leftit in the same room, ] the contents of which, if attended to, would makeus both happy. I had been loth to show it to her before, because I hopedto prevail upon her to be mine sooner than the day mentioned in it. 

I felt for it in all my pockets, watching her eye mean time, which I sawglance towards the table where it lay. 

I was uneasy that I could not find it--at last, directed again by her slyeye, I spied it on the table at the farther end of the room. 

With joy I fetched it. Be pleased to read that letter, Madam; with anair of satisfied assurance. 

She took it, and cast her eye over it, in such a careless way, as made itevident, that she had read it before: and then unthankfully tossed itinto the window-seat before her. 

I urged her to bless me to-morrow, or Friday morning; at least, that shewould not render vain her uncle's journey, and kind endeavours to bringabout a reconciliation among us all. 

Among us all! repeated she, with an air equally disdainful andincredulous. O Lovelace, thou art surely nearly allied to the granddeceiver, in thy endeavour to suit temptations to inclinations?--But whathonour, what faith, what veracity, were it possible that I could enterinto parley with thee on this subject, (which it is not, ) may I expectfrom such a man as thou hast shown thyself to be?

I was touched to the quick. A lady of your perfect character, Madam, whohas feigned herself sick, on purpose to avoid seeing the man who adoredher, should not--

I know what thou wouldst say, interrupted she--Twenty and twenty lowthings, that my soul would have been above being guilty of, and which Ihave despised myself for, have I been brought into by the infection ofthy company, and by the necessity thou hadst laid me under, of appearingmean. But, I thank God, destitute as I am, that I am not, however, sunkso low, as to wish to be thine. 

I, Madam, as the injurer, ought to have patience. It is for the injuredto reproach. But your uncle is not in a plot against you, it is to behoped. There are circumstances in the letter you cast your eyes over----

Again she interrupted me, Why, once more I ask you, am I detained in thishouse?--Do I not see myself surrounded by wretches, who, though they wearthe habit of my sex, may yet, as far as I know, lie in wait for myperdition?

She would be very loth, I said, that Mrs. Sinclair and her nieces shouldbe called up to vindicate themselves and their house. 

Would but they kill me, let them come, and welcome, I will bless the handthat will strike the blow! Indeed I will. 

'Tis idle, very idle, to talk of dying. Mere young-lady talk, whencontrouled by those they hate. But let me beseech you, dearest creature----

Beseech me nothing. Let me not be detained thus against my will!--Unhappy creature that I am, said she, in a kind of phrensy, wringing herhands at the same time, and turning from me, her eyes lifted up! 'Thycurse, O my cruel father, seems to be now in the height of its operation!--My weakened mind is full of forebodings, that I am in the way of beinga lost creature as to both worlds! Blessed, blessed God, said she, falling on her knees, save me, O save me, from myself and from this man!'

I sunk down on my knees by her, excessively affecting--O that I couldrecall yesterday!--Forgive me, my dearest creature, forgive what is past, as it cannot now, but by one way, be retrieved. Forgive me only on thiscondition--That my future faith and honour--

She interrupted me, rising--If you mean to beg of me never to seek toavenge myself by law, or by an appeal to my relations, to my cousinMorden in particular, when he comes to England----

D--n the law, rising also, [she started, ] and all those to whom you talkof appealing!--I defy both the one and the other--All I beg is YOURforgiveness; and that you will, on my unfeigned contrition, re-establishme in your favour----

O no, no, no! lifting up her clasped hands, I never never will, never, never can forgive you!--and it is a punishment worse than death to me, that I am obliged to meet you, or to see you. 

This is the last time, my dearest life, that you will ever see me in thisposture, on this occasion: and again I kneeled to her. Let me hope, thatyou will be mine next Thursday, your uncle's birth-day, if not before. Would to Heaven I had never been a villain! Your indignation is not, cannot be greater, than my remorse--and I took hold of her gown for shewas going from me. 

Be remorse thy portion!--For thine own sake, be remorse thy portion!--Inever, never will forgive thee!--I never, never will be thine!--Let meretire!--Why kneelest thou to the wretch whom thou hast so vilely humbled?

Say but, dearest creature, you will consider--say but you will take timeto reflect upon what the honour of both our families requires of you. Iwill not rise. I will not permit you to withdraw [still holding hergown] till you tell me you will consider. --Take this letter. Weigh wellyour situation, and mine. Say you will withdraw to consider; and then Iwill not presume to withold [sic] you. 

Compulsion shall do nothing with me. Though a slave, a prisoner, incircumstance, I am no slave in my will!--Nothing will I promise thee!--Withheld, compelled--nothing will I promise thee!

Noble creature! but not implacable, I hope!--Promise me but to return inan hour!

Nothing will I promise thee!

Say but that you will see me again this evening!

O that I could say--that it were in my power to say--I never will seethee more!--Would to Heaven I never were to see thee more!

Passionate beauty!--still holding her--

I speak, though with vehemence, the deliberate wish of my heart. --O thatI could avoid looking down upon thee, mean groveler, and abject asinsulting--Let me withdraw! My soul is in tumults! Let we [sic]withdraw!

I quitted my hold to clasp my hands together--Withdraw, O sovereign of myfate!--Withdraw, if you will withdraw! My destiny is in your power!--Itdepends upon your breath!--Your scorn but augments my love! Yourresentment is but too well founded!--But, dearest creature, return, return, return, with a resolution to bless with pardon and peace yourfaithful adorer!

She flew from me. The angel, as soon as she found her wings, flew fromme. I, the reptile kneeler, the despicable slave, no more the proudvictor, arose; and, retiring, tried to comfort myself, that, circumstanced as she is, destitute of friends and fortune; her unclemoreover, who is to reconcile all so soon, (as I thank my stars she stillbelieves, ) expected. 

O that she would forgive me!--Would she but generously forgive me, andreceive my vows at the altar, at the instant of her forgiving me, that Imight not have time to relapse into my old prejudices! By my soul, Belford, this dear girl gives the lie to all our rakish maxims. Theremust be something more than a name in virtue!--I now see that there is!--Once subdued, always subdued--'Tis an egregious falsehood!--But, O Jack, she never was subdued. What have I obtained but an increase of shame andconfusion!--While her glory has been established by her sufferings!

This one merit is, however, left me, that I have laid all her sex underobligation to me, by putting this noble creature to trials, which, sogloriously supported, have done honour to them all. 

However--But no more will I add--What a force have evil habits!--I willtake an airing, and try to fly from myself!--Do not thou upbraid me on myweak fits--on my contradictory purposes--on my irresolution--and all willbe well. 

LETTER XXX

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. WEDNESDAY NIGHT. 

A man is just now arrived from M. Hall, who tells me, that my Lord is ina very dangerous way. The gout in his stomach to an extreme degree, occasioned by drinking a great quantity of lemonade. 

A man of 8000£. A year to prefer his appetite to his health!--He deservesto die!--But we have all of us our inordinate passions to gratify: andthey generally bring their punishment along with them--sowitnesses the nephew, as well as the uncle. 

The fellow was sent upon other business; but stretched his orders alittle, to make his court to a successor. 

I am glad I was not at M. Hall, at the time my Lord took the gratefuldose: [it was certainly grateful to him at the time:] there are peoplein the world, who would have had the wickedness to say, that I hadpersuaded him to drink. 

The man says, that his Lordship was so bad when he came away, that thefamily began to talk of sending for me in post haste. As I know theold peer has a good deal of cash by him, of which he seldom keepsaccount, it behoves me to go down as soon as I can. But what shall Ido with this dear creature the while?--To-morrow over, I shall, perhaps, be able to answer my own question. I am afraid she will makeme desperate. 

For here have I sent to implore her company, and am denied with scorn. 

***

I have been so happy as to receive, this moment, a third letter fromthe dear correspondent Miss Howe. A little severe devil!--It wouldhave broken the heart of my beloved, had it fallen into her hands. Iwill enclose a copy of it. Read it here. 

TUESDAY, JUNE 20. 

MY DEAREST MISS HARLOWE, Again I venture to you, (almost against inclination;) and that by yourformer conveyance, little as I like it. 

I know not how it is with you. It may be bad; and then it would be hardto upbraid you, for a silence you may not be able to help. But if not, what shall I say severe enough, that you have not answered either of mylast letters? the first* of which [and I think it imported you too muchto be silent upon it] you owned the receipt of. The other which wasdelivered into your own hands, ** was so pressing for the favour of a linefrom you, that I am amazed I could not be obliged; and still more, that Ihave not heard from you since. 

* See Vol. V. Letter XX. ** See Vol. VI. Letter VII. 

The fellow made so strange a story of the condition he saw you in, andof your speech to him, that I know not what to conclude from it: only, that he is a simple, blundering, and yet conceited fellow, who, aimingat description, and the rustic wonderful, gives an air of bumkinlyromance to all he tells. That this is his character, you will believe, when you are informed that he described you in grief excessive, * yet soimproved in your person and features, and so rosy, that was his word, in your face, and so flush-coloured, and so plump in your arms, thatone would conclude you were labouring under the operation of somemalignant poison; and so much the rather, as he was introduced to you, when you were upon a couch, from which you offered not to rise, or situp. 

* See Vol. VI. Letter VI. 

Upon my word, Miss Harlowe, I am greatly distressed upon your account;for I must be so free as to say, that in your ready return with yourdeceiver, you have not at all answered my expectations, nor acted up toyour own character; for Mrs. Townsend tells me, from the women atHampstead, how cheerfully you put yourself into his hands again: yet, atthe time, it was impossible you should be married!--

Lord, my dear, what pity it is, that you took much pains to get fromthe man!--But you know best!--Sometimes I think it could not be you towhom the rustic delivered my letter. But it must too: yet, it is strangeI could not have one line by him:--not one:--and you so soon well enoughto go with the wretch back again!

I am not sure that the letter I am now writing will come to your hands:so shall not say half that I have upon my mind to say. But, if youthink it worth your while to write to me, pray let me know what fineladies his relations those were who visited you at Hampstead, and carriedyou back again so joyfully to a place that I had so fully warned you. --But I will say no more: at least till I know more: for I can do nothingbut wonder and stand amazed. 

Notwithstanding all the man's baseness, 'tis plain there was more thana lurking love--Good Heaven!--But I have done!--Yet I know not how tohave done neither!--Yet I must--I will. 

Only account to me, my dear, for what I cannot at all account for: andinform me, whether you are really married, or not. --And then I shallknow whether there must or must not, be a period shorter than that ofone of our lives, to a friendship which has hitherto been the pride andboast of

YourANNA HOWE. 

***

Dorcas tells me, that she has just now had a searching conversation, asshe calls it, with her lady. She is willing, she tells the wench, stillto place her confidence in her. Dorcas hopes she has re-assured her: butwishes me not to depend upon it. Yet Captain Tomlinson's letter mustassuredly weigh with her. 

I sent it in just now by Dorcas, desiring her to re-peruse it. And itwas not returned me, as I feared it would be. And that's a good sign, I think. 

I say I think, and I think; for this charming creature, entangled as Iam in my own inventions, puzzles me ten thousand times more than I her. 

LETTER XXXI

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. THURSDAY NOON, JUNE 22. 

Let me perish if I know what to make either of myself or of thissurprising creature--now calm, now tempestuous. --But I know thou lovestnot anticipation any more than I. 

At my repeated requests, she met me at six this morning. 

She was ready dressed; for she had not her clothes off every since shedeclared, that they never more should be off in this house. Andcharmingly she looked, with all the disadvantages of a three-hoursviolent stomach-ache--(for Dorcas told me that she had been really ill)--no rest, and eyes red and swelled with weeping. Strange to me that thosecharming fountains have not been so long ago exhausted! But she is awoman. And I believe anatomists allow, that women have more watry headsthan men. 

Well, my dearest creature, I hope you have now thoroughly considered ofthe contents of Captain Tomlinson's letter. But as we are thus earlymet, let me beseech you to make this my happy day. 

She looked not favourably upon me. A cloud hung upon her brow at herentrance: but as she was going to answer me, a still greater solemnitytook possession of her charming features. 

Your air, and your countenance, my beloved creature, are not propitiousto me. Let me beg of you, before you speak, to forbear all furtherrecriminations: for already I have such a sense of my vileness to you, that I know not how to bear the reproaches of my own mind. 

I have been endeavouring, said she, since I am not permitted to avoidyou, to obtain a composure which I never more expected to see you in. How long I may enjoy it, I cannot tell. But I hope I shall be enabledto speak to you without that vehemence which I expressed yesterday, andcould not help it. *

* The Lady, in her minutes, says, 'I fear Dorcas is a false one. May Inot be able to prevail upon him to leave me at my liberty? Better totry than to trust to her. If I cannot prevail, but must meet him andmy uncle, I hope I shall have fortitude enough to renounce him then. But I would fain avoid qualifying with the wretch, or to give him anexpectation which I intend not to answer. If I am mistress of my ownresolutions, my uncle himself shall not prevail with me to bind my soulin covenant with so vile a man. '

After a pause (for I was all attention) thus she proceeded:

It is easy for me, Mr. Lovelace, to see that further violences areintended me, if I comply not with your purposes, whatever they are, Iwill suppose them to be what you solemnly profess they are. But I havetold you as solemnly my mind, that I never will, that I never can beyour's; nor, if so, any man's upon earth. All vengeance, nevertheless, for the wrongs you have done me, I disclaim. I want but to slide intosome obscure corner, to hide myself from you and from every one whoonce loved me. The desire lately so near my heart, of a reconciliationwith my friends, is much abated. They shall not receive me now, if theywould. Sunk in mine own eyes, I now think myself unworthy of theirfavour. In the anguish of my soul, therefore, I conjure you, Lovelace, [tears in her eyes, ] to leave me to my fate. In doing so, you will giveme a pleasure the highest I now can know. 

Where, my dearest life----

No matter where. I will leave to Providence, when I am out of thishouse, the direction of my future steps. I am sensible enough of mydestitute condition. I know that I have not now a friend in the world. Even Miss Howe has given me up--or you are--But I would fain keep mytemper!--By your means I have lost them all--and you have been abarbarous enemy to me. You know you have. 

She paused. 

I could not speak. 

The evils I have suffered, proceeded she, [turning from me, ] howeverirreparable, are but temporarily evils. Leave me to my hopes of beingenabled to obtain the Divine forgiveness for the offence I have beendrawn in to give to my parents and to virtue; that so I may avoid theevils that are more than temporary. This is now all I have to wishfor. And what is it that I demand, that I have not a right to, andfrom which it is an illegal violence to withhold me?

It was impossible for me, I told her plainly, to comply. 

I besought her to give me her hand as this very day. I could not livewithout her. I communicated to her my Lord's illness, as a reason whyI wished not to stay for her uncle's anniversary. I besought her tobless me with her consent; and, after the ceremony was passed, toaccompany me down to Berks. And thus, my dearest life, said I, willyou be freed from a house, to which you have conceived so great anantipathy. 

This, thou wilt own, was a princely offer. And I was resolved to be asgood as my word. I thought I had killed my conscience, as I told thee, Belford, some time ago. But conscience, I find, though it may betemporarily stifled, cannot die, and, when it dare not speak aloud, willwhisper. And at this instant I thought I felt the revived varletess (onbut a slight retrograde motion) writhing round my pericardium like aserpent; and in the action of a dying one, (collecting all its force intoits head, ) fix its plaguy fangs into my heart. 

She hesitated, and looked down, as if irresolute. And this set myheart up at my mouth. And, believe me, I had instantly popt in uponme, in imagination, an old spectacled parson, with a white surplicethrown over a black habit, [a fit emblem of the halcyon office, which, under a benign appearance, often introduced a life of storms andtempests, ] whining and snuffling through his nose the irrevocableceremony. 

I hope now, my dearest life, said I, snatching her hand, and pressingit to my lips, that your silence bodes me good. Let me, my belovedcreature, have but your tacit consent; and this moment I will step outand engage a minister. And then I promised how much my whole futurelife should be devoted to her commands, and that I would make her thebest and tenderest of husbands. 

At last, turning to me, I have told you my mind, Mr. Lovelace, said she. Think you, that I could thus solemnly--There she stopt--I am too much inyour power, proceeded she; your prisoner, rather than a person free tochoose for myself, or to say what I will do or be. But as a testimonythat you mean me well, let me instantly quit this house; and I will thengive you such an answer in writing, as best befits my unhappycircumstances. 

And imaginest thou, fairest, thought I, that this will go down with aLovelace? Thou oughtest to have known that free-livers, like ministersof state, never part with a power put into their hands, without anequivalent of twice the value. 

I pleaded, that if we joined hands this morning, (if not, to-morrow; ifnot, on Thursday, her uncle's birth-day, and in his presence); andafterwards, as I had proposed, set out for Berks; we should, of course, quit this house; and, on our return to town, should have in readinessthe house I was in treaty for. 

She answered me not, but with tears and sighs; fond of believing what Ihoped I imputed her silence to the modesty of her sex. The dearcreature, (thought I, ) solemnly as she began with me, is ruminating, ina sweet suspence, how to put into fit words the gentle purposes of hercondescending heart. But, looking in her averted face with a soothinggentleness, I plainly perceived, that it was resentment, and notbashfulness, that was struggling in her bosom. *

* The Lady, in her minutes, owns the difficulty she lay under to keepher temper in this conference. 'But when I found, ' says she, 'that allmy entreaties were ineffectual, and that he was resolved to detain me, I could no longer withhold my impatience. '

At last she broke silence--I have no patience, said she, to find myselfa slave, a prisoner, in a vile house--Tell me, Sir, in so many wordstell me, whether it be, or be not, your intention to permit me to quitit?--To permit me the freedom which is my birthright as an Englishsubject?

Will not the consequence of your departure hence be that I shall loseyou for ever, Madam?--And can I bear the thoughts of that?

She flung from me--My soul disdains to hold parley with thee! were herviolent words. --But I threw myself at her feet, and took hold of herreluctant hand, and began to imprecate, avow, to promise--But thus thepassionate beauty, interrupting me, went on:

I am sick of thee, MAN!--One continued string of vows, oaths, andprotestations, varied only by time and place, fills thy mouth!--Whydetainest thou me? My heart rises against thee, O thou cruel implementof my brother's causeless vengeance. --All I beg of thee is, that thouwilt remit me the future part of my father's dreadful curse! thetemporary part, base and ungrateful as thou art! thou hast completed!

I was speechless!--Well I might!--Her brother's implement!--JamesHarlowe's implement!--Zounds, Jack! what words were these!

I let go her struggling hand. She took two or three turns cross theroom, her whole haughty soul in her air. Then approaching me, but insilence, turning from me, and again to me, in a milder voice--I see thyconfusion, Lovelace. Or is it thy remorse?--I have but one request tomake thee--the request so often repeated--That thou wilt this momentpermit me to quit this house. Adieu, then, let me say, for ever adieu!And mayest thou enjoy that happiness in this world, which thou hastrobbed me of; as thou hast of every friend I have in it!

And saying this, away she flung, leaving me in a confusion so great, thatI knew not what to think, say, or do!

But Dorcas soon roused me--Do you know, Sir, running in hastily, that mylady is gone down stairs!

No, sure!--And down I flew, and found her once more at the street-door, contending with Polly Horton to get out. 

She rushed by me into the fore parlour, and flew to the window, andattempted once more to throw up the sash--Good people! good people! criedshe. 

I caught her in my arms, and lifted her from the window. But beingafraid of hurting the charming creature, (charming in her very rage, )she slid through my arms on the floor. --Let me die here! let me die here!were her words; remaining jointless and immovable, till Sally and Mrs. Sinclair hurried in. 

She was visibly terrified at the sight of the old wretch; while I(sincerely affected) appealed, Bear witness, Mrs. Sinclair!--bearwitness, Miss Martin!--Miss Horton!--Every one bear witness, that Ioffer not violence to this beloved creature!

She then found her feet--O house [look towards the windows, and all roundher, O house, ] contrived on purpose for my ruin! said she--but let notthat woman come into my presence--not that Miss Horton neither, who wouldnot have dared to controul me, had she not been a base one!--

Hoh, Sir! Hoh, Madam! vociferated the old dragon, her armed kemboed, andflourishing with one foot to the extent of her petticoats--What's adohere about nothing! I never knew such work in my life, between a chickenof a gentleman and a tiger of a lady!--

She was visibly affrighted: and up stairs she hastened. A bad woman iscertainly, Jack, more terrible to her own sex than even a bad man. 

I followed her up. She rushed by her own apartment into the dining-room:no terror can make her forget her punctilio. 

To recite what passed there of invective, exclamations, threatenings, even of her own life, on one side; of expostulations, supplications, andsometimes menaces, on the other; would be too affecting; and, after myparticularity in like scenes, these things may as well be imagined asexpressed. 

I will therefore only mention, that, at length, I extorted a concessionfrom her. She had reason* to think it would have been worse for her onthe spot, if she had not made it. It was, That she would endeavour tomake herself easy till she saw what next Thursday, her uncle's birth-day, would produce. But Oh! that it were not a sin, she passionatelyexclaimed on making this poor concession, to put and end to her own life, rather than yield to give me but that assurance!

* The Lady mentions, in her memorandum-book, that she had no other way, as is apprehended, to save herself from instant dishonour, but by makingthis concession. Her only hope, now, she says, if she cannot escape byDorcas's connivance, (whom, nevertheless she suspects, ) is to find a wayto engage the protection of her uncle, and even of the civil magistrate, on Thursday next, if necessary. 'He shall see, ' says she, 'tame andtimid as he thought me, what I dare to do, to avoid so hated acompulsion, and a man capable of a baseness so premeditatedly vile andinhuman. '

This, however, shows me, that she is aware that the reluctantly-givenassurance may be fairly construed into a matrimonial expectation on myside. And if she will now, even now, look forward, I think, from myheart, that I will put on her livery, and wear it for life. 

What a situation am I in, with all my cursed inventions! I am puzzled, confounded, and ashamed of myself, upon the whole. To take such pains tobe a villain!--But (for the fiftieth time) let me ask thee, Who wouldhave thought that there had been such a woman in the world?--Nevertheless, she had best take care that she carries not her obstinacymuch farther. She knows not what revenge for slighted love will make medo. 

The busy scenes I have just passed through have given emotions to myheart, which will not be quieted one while. My heart, I see, (on re-perusing what I have written, ) has communicated its tremors to myfingers; and in some places the characters are so indistinct andunformed, that thou'lt hardly be able to make them out. But if one halfof them is only intelligible, that will be enough to expose me to thycontempt, for the wretched hand I have made of my plots and contrivances. --But surely, Jack, I have gained some ground by this promise. 

And now, one word to the assurances thou sendest me, that thou hast notbetrayed my secrets in relation to this charming creature. Thou mightesthave spared them, Belford. My suspicions held no longer than while Iwrote about them. * For well I knew, when I allowed myself time to think, that thou hadst no principles, no virtue, to be misled by. A great dealof strong envy, and a little of weak pity, I knew to be thy motives. Thou couldst not provoke my anger, and my compassion thou ever hadst; andart now more especially entitled to it; because thou art a pityfulfellow. 

All thy new expostulations in my beloved's behalf I will answer when Isee thee. 

LETTER XXXII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. THURSDAY NIGHT. 

Confoundedly out of humour with this perverse woman!--Nor wilt thou blameme, if thou art my friend. She regards the concession she made, as aconcession extorted from her: and we are but just where we were beforeshe made it. 

With great difficulty I prevailed upon her to favour me with her companyfor one half hour this evening. The necessity I was under to go down toM. Hall was the subject I wanted to talk upon. 

I told her, that as she had been so good as to promise that she wouldendeavour to make herself easy till she saw the Thursday in next weekover, I hoped that she would not scruple to oblige me with her word, thatI should find her here at my return from M. Hall. 

Indeed she would make no such promise. Nothing of this house wasmentioned to me, said she: you know it was not. And do you think that Iwould have given my consent to my imprisonment in it?

I was plaguily nettled, and disappointed too. If I go not down to Mr. Hall, Madam, you'll have no scruple to stay here, I suppose, tillThursday is over?

If I cannot help myself I must--but I insist upon being permitted to goout of this house, whether you leave it or not. 

Well, Madam, then I will comply with your commands. And I will go outthis very evening in quest of lodgings that you shall have no objectionsto. 

I will have no lodgings of your providing, Sir--I will go to Mrs. Moore's, at Hampstead. 

Mrs. Moore's, Madam!--I have no objection to Mrs. Moore's--but will yougive me your promise, to admit me there to your presence?

As I do here--when I cannot help it. 

Very well, Madam--Will you be so good as to let me know what you intendby your promise to make yourself easy. 

To endeavour, Sir, to make myself easy--were the words----

Till you saw what next Thursday would produce?

Ask me no questions that may ensnare me. I am too sincere for thecompany I am in. 

Let me ask you, Madam, What meant you, when you said, 'that, were itnot a sin, you would die before you gave me that assurance?'

She was indignantly silent. 

You thought, Madam, you had given me room to hope your pardon by it?

When I think I ought to answer you with patience I will speak. 

Do you think yourself in my power, Madam?

If I were not--And there she stopt----

Dearest creature, speak out--I beseech you, dearest creature, speak out----

She was silent; her charming face all in a glow. 

Have you, Madam, any reliance upon my honour?

Still silent. 

You hate me, Madam! You despise me more than you do the most odious ofGod's creatures!

You ought to despise me, if I did not. 

You say, Madam, you are in a bad house. You have no reliance upon myhonour--you believe you cannot avoid me----

She arose. I beseech you, let me withdraw. 

I snatched her hand, rising, and pressed it first to my lips, and then tomy heart, in wild disorder. She might have felt the bounding mischiefready to burst its bars--You shall go--to your own apartment, if youplease--But, by the great God of Heaven, I will accompany you thither!

She trembled--Pray, pray, Mr. Lovelace, don't terrify me so!

Be seated, Madam! I beseech you, be seated!----

I will sit down----

Do then--All my soul is in my eyes, and my heart's blood throbbing at myfingers' ends. 

I will--I will--You hurt me--Pray, Mr. Lovelace, don't--don't frighten meso--And down she sat, trembling; my hand still grasping her's. 

I hung over her throbbing bosom, and putting my other arm round her waist--And you say, you hate me, Madam--and you say, you despise me--and yousay, you promise me nothing----

Yes, yes, I did promise you--let me not be held down thus--you see I satdown when you bid me--Why [struggling] need you hold me down thus?--I didpromise to endeavour to be easy till Thursday was over! But you won'tlet me!--How can I be easy?--Pray, let me not be thus terrified. 

And what, Madam, meant you by your promise? Did you mean any thing in myfavour?--You designed that I should, at that time, think you did. Didyou mean any thing in my favour, Madam?--Did you intend that I shouldthink you did?

Let go my hand, Sir--Take away your arm from about me, [struggling, yettrembling, ]--Why do you gaze upon me so?

Answer me, Madam--Did you mean any thing in my favour by your promise?

Let me be not thus constrained to answer. 

Then pausing, and gaining more spirit, Let me go, said she: I am but awoman--but a weak woman. 

But my life is in my own power, though my person is not--I will not bethus constrained. 

You shall not, Madam, quitting her hand, bowing; but my heart is at mymouth, and hoping farther provocation. 

She arose, and was hurrying away. 

I pursue you not, Madam--I will try your generosity. Stop--return--thismoment stop, return, if, Madam, you would not make me desperate. 

She stopt at the door; burst into tears--O Lovelace!--How, how, have Ideserved----

Be pleased, dearest angel, to return. 

She came back--but with declared reluctance; and imputing her complianceto terror. 

Terror, Jack, as I have heretofore found out, though I have so littlebenefited by the discovery, must be my resort, if she make it necessary--nothing else will do with the inflexible charmer. 

She seated herself over-against me; extremely discomposed--butindignation had a visible predominance in her features. 

I was going towards her, with a countenance intendedly changed to loveand softness: Sweetest, dearest angel, were my words, in the tenderestaccent:--But, rising up, she insisted upon my being seated at a distancefrom her. 

I obeyed, and begged her hand over the table, to my extended hand;to see, if in any thing she would oblige me. But nothing gentle, soft, or affectionate, would do. She refused me her hand!--Was she wise, Jack, to confirm to me, that nothing but terror would do?

Let me only know, Madam, if your promise to endeavour to wait withpatience the event of next Thursday meant me favour?

Do you expect any voluntary favour from one to whom you give not a freechoice?

Do you intend, Madam, to honour me with your hand, in your uncle'spresence, or do you not?

My heart and my hand shall never be separated. Why, think you, did Istand in opposition to the will of my best, my natural friends. 

I know what you mean, Madam--Am I then as hateful to you as the vileSolmes?

Ask me not such a question, Mr. Lovelace. 

I must be answered. Am I as hateful to you as the vile Solmes?

Why do you call Mr. Solmes vile?

Don't you think him so, Madam?

Why should I? Did Mr. Solmes ever do vilely by me?

Dearest creature! don't distract me by hateful comparisons! and perhapsby a more hateful preference. 

Don't you, Sir, put questions to me that you know I will answer truly, though my answer were ever so much to enrage you. 

My heart, Madam, my soul is all your's at present. But you must give mehope, that your promise, in your own construction, binds you, no newcause to the contrary, to be mine on Thursday. How else can I leave you?

Let me go to Hampstead; and trust to my favour. 

May I trust to it?--Say only may I trust to it?

How will you trust to it, if you extort an answer to this question?

Say only, dearest creature, say only, may I trust to your favour, if yougo to Hampstead?

How dare you, Sir, if I must speak out, expect a promise of favour fromme?--What a mean creature must you think me, after the ungratefulbaseness to me, were I to give you such a promise?

Then standing up, Thou hast made me, O vilest of men! [her hands clasped, and a face crimsoned with indignation, ] an inmate of the vilest of houses--nevertheless, while I am in it, I shall have a heart incapable of anything but abhorrence of that and of thee!

And round her looked the angel, and upon me, with fear in her sweetaspect of the consequence of her free declaration--But what a devil mustI have been, I who love bravery in a man, had I not been more struck withadmiration of her fortitude at the instant, than stimulated by revenge?

Noblest of creatures!--And do you think I can leave you, and my interestin such an excellence, precarious? No promise!--no hope!--If you make menot desperate, may lightning blast me, if I do you not all the justice'tis in my power to do you!

If you have any intention to oblige me, leave me at my own liberty, andlet me not be detained in this abominable house. To be constrained as Ihave been constrained! to be stopt by your vile agents! to be brought upby force, and be bruised in my own defence against such illegal violence!--I dare to die, Lovelace--and she who fears not death, is not to beintimidated into a meanness unworthy of her heart and principles!

Wonderful creature! But why, Madam, did you lead me to hope forsomething favourable for next Thursday?--Once more, make me not desperate--With all your magnanimity, glorious creature! [I was more than halffrantic, Belford, ] you may, you may--but do not, do not make me brutallythreaten you--do not, do not make me desperate!

My aspect, I believe, threatened still more than my words. I was rising--She rose--Mr. Lovelace, be pacified--you are even more dreadful thanthe Lovelace I have long dreaded--let me retire--I ask your leave toretire--you really frighten me--yet I give you no hope--from my heart Iab----

Say not, Madam, you abhor me. You must, for your own sake, conceal yourhatred--at least not avow it. I seized her hand. 

Let me retire--let me, retire, said she, in a manner out of breath. 

I will only say, Madam, that I refer myself to your generosity. My heartis not to be trusted at this instant. As a mark of my submission to yourwill, you shall, if you please, withdraw--but I will not go to M. Hall--live or die my Lord M. I will not go to M. Hall--but will attend theeffect of your promise. Remember, Madam, you have promised to endeavourto make yourself easy till you see the event of next Thursday--nextThursday, remember, your uncle comes up, to see us married--that's theevent. --You think ill of your Lovelace--do not, Madam, suffer your ownmorals to be degraded by the infection, as you called it, of his example. 

Away flew the charmer with this half permission--and no doubt thought thatshe had an escape--nor without reason. 

I knew not for half an hour what to do with myself. Vexed at the heart, nevertheless, (now she was from me, and when I reflected upon her hatredof me, and her defiances, ) that I suffered myself to be so overawed, checked, restrained----

And now I have written thus far, (have of course recollected the whole ofour conversation, ) I am more and more incensed against myself. 

But I will go down to these women--and perhaps suffer myself to belaughed at by them. 

Devil fetch them, they pretend to know their own sex. Sally was a womanwell educated--Polly also--both have read--both have sense--of parentagenot mean--once modest both--still, they say, had been modest, but for me--not entirely indelicate now; though too little nice for my personalintimacy, loth as they both are to have me think so--the old one, too, awoman of family, though thus (from bad inclination as well as at firstfrom low circumstances) miserably sunk:--and hence they all pretend toremember what once they were; and vouch for the inclinations andhypocrisy of the whole sex, and wish for nothing so ardently, as that Iwill leave the perverse lady to their management while I am gone toBerkshire; undertaking absolutely for her humility and passiveness on myreturn; and continually boasting of the many perverse creatures whom theyhave obliged to draw in their traces. 

***

I am just come from the sorceresses. 

I was forced to take the mother down; for she began with her Hoh, Sir!with me; and to catechize and upbraid me, with as much insolence as if Iowed her money. 

I made her fly the pit at last. Strange wishes wished we against eachother at her quitting it----What were they?--I'll tell thee----She wishedme married, and to be jealous of my wife; and my heir-apparent the childof another man. I was even with her with a vengeance. And yet thou wiltthink that could not well be. --As how?--As how, Jack!--Why, I wished forher conscience come to life! And I know, by the gripes mine gives meevery half-hour, that she would then have a cursed time of it. 

Sally and Polly gave themselves high airs too. Their first favours werethrown at me, [women to boast of those favours which they were as willingto impart, first forms all the difficulty with them! as I to receive!] Iwas upbraided with ingratitude, dastardice and all my difficulties withmy angel charged upon myself, for want of following my blows; and forleaving the proud lady mistress of her own will, and nothing to reproachherself with. And all agreed, that the arts used against her on acertain occasion, had too high an operation for them or me to judge whather will would have been in the arduous trial. And then they blamed oneanother; as I cursed them all. 

They concluded, that I should certainly marry, and be a lost man. AndSally, on this occasion, with an affected and malicious laugh, snapt herfingers at me, and pointing two of each hand forkedly at me, bid meremember the lines I once showed her of my favourite Jack Dryden, as shealways familiarly calls that celebrated poet:

 We women to new joys unseen may move: There are no prints left in the paths of love. All goods besides by public marks are known: But those men most desire to keep, have none. 

This infernal implement had the confidence further to hint, that when awife, some other man would not find half the difficulty with my angelthat I had found. Confidence indeed! But yet, I must say, if a mangives himself up to the company of these devils, they never let him resttill he either suspects or hate his wife. 

But a word or two of other matters, if possible. 

Methinks I long to know how causes go at M. Hall. I have another privateintimation, that the old peer is in the greatest danger. 

I must go down. Yet what to do with this lady the mean while! Thesecursed women are full of cruelty and enterprise. She will never be easywith them in my absence. They will have provocation and pretencetherefore. But woe be to them, if----

Yet what will vengeance do, after an insult committed? The two nymphswill have jealous rage to goad them on. And what will withhold a jealousand already-ruined woman?

To let her go elsewhere; that cannot be done. I am still too resolved tobe honest, if she'll give me hope: if yet she'll let me be honest. ButI'll see how she'll be after the contention she will certainly havebetween her resentment and the terror she has reason for from our lastconversation. So let this subject rest till the morning. And to the oldpeer once more. 

I shall have a good deal of trouble, I reckon, though no sordid man, tobe decent on the expected occasion. Then how to act (I who am nohypocrite) in the days of condolement! What farces have I to go through;and to be the principal actor in them! I'll try to think of my ownlatter end; a gray beard, and a graceless heir; in order to make meserious. 

Thou, Belford, knowest a good deal of this sort of grimace; and cansthelp a gay heart to a little of the dismal. But then every feature ofthy face is cut out for it. My heart may be touched, perhaps, soonerthan thine; for, believe me or not, I have a very tender one. But then, no man looking into my face, be the occasion for grief ever so great, will believe that heart to be deeply distressed. 

All is placid, easy, serene, in my countenance. Sorrow cannot sit halfan hour together upon it. Nay, I believe, that Lord M. 's recovery, should it happen, would not affect me above a quarter of an hour. Onlythe new scenery, (and the pleasure of aping an Heraclitus to the family, while I am a Democritus among my private friends, ) or I want nothing thatthe old peer can leave me. Wherefore then should grief sadden anddistort such blythe, such jocund, features as mine?

But as for thine, were there murder committed in the street, and thouwert but passing by, the murderer even in sight, the pursuers wouldquit him, and lay hold of thee: and thy very looks would hang, as wellas apprehend thee. 

But one word to business, Jack. Whom dealest thou with for thy blacks?--Wert thou well used?--I shall want a plaguy parcel of them. For I intendto make every soul of the family mourn--outside, if not in. 

LETTER XXXIII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. JUNE 23, FRIDAY MORNING. 

I went out early this morning, on a design that I know not yet whetherI shall or shall not pursue; and on my return found Simon Parsons, myLord's Berkshire bailiff, (just before arrived, ) waiting for me with amessage in form, sent by all the family, to press me to go down, andthat at my Lord's particular desire, who wants to see me before hedies. 

Simon has brought my Lord's chariot-and-six [perhaps my own by thistime, ] to carry me down. I have ordered it to be in readiness by fourto-morrow morning. The cattle shall smoke for the delay; and by therest they'll have in the interim, will be better able to bear it. 

I am still resolved upon matrimony, if my fair perverse will accept ofme. But, if she will not----why then I must give an uninterruptedhearing, not to my conscience, but to these women below. 

Dorcas had acquainted her lady with Simon's arrival and errand. Mybeloved had desired to see him. But my coming in prevented hisattendance on her, just as Dorcas was instructing him what questions heshould not answer to, that might be asked of him. 

I am to be admitted to her presence immediately, at my repeatedrequest. Surely the acquisition in view will help me to make up allwith her. She is just gone up to the dining-room. 

***

Nothing will do, Jack!--I can procure no favour from her, though shehas obtained from me the point which she had set her heart upon. 

I will give thee a brief account of what passed between us. 

I first proposed instant marriage; and this in the most fervent manner:but was denied as fervently. 

Would she be pleased to assure me that she would stay here only tillTuesday morning? I would but just go down to see how my Lord was--toknow whether he had any thing particular to say, or enjoin me, while yethe was sensible, as he was very earnest to see me: perhaps I might be upon Sunday. --Concede in something!--I beseech you, Madam, show me somelittle consideration. 

Why, Mr. Lovelace, must I be determined by your motions?--Think you thatI will voluntarily give a sanction to the imprisonment of my person? Ofwhat importance to me ought to be your stay or your return. 

Give a sanction to the imprisonment of your person! Do you think, Madam, that I fear the law?

I might have spared this foolish question of defiance: but my pride wouldnot let me. I thought she threatened me, Jack. 

I don't think you fear the law, Sir. --You are too brave to have anyregard either to moral or divine sanctions. 

'Tis well, Madam! But ask me any thing I can do to oblige you; and Iwill oblige you, though in nothing will you oblige me. 

Then I ask you, then I request of you, to let me go to Hampstead. 

I paused--And at last--By my soul you shall--this very moment I willwait upon you, and see you fixed there, if you'll promise me your handon Thursday, in presence of your uncle. 

I want not you to see me fixed. I will promise nothing. 

Take care, Madam, that you don't let me see that I can have no relianceupon your future favour. 

I have been used to be threatened by you, Sir--but I will accept of yourcompany to Hampstead--I will be ready to go in a quarter of an hour--myclothes may be sent after me. 

You know the condition, Madam--Next Thursday. 

You dare not trust----

My infinite demerits tell me, that I ought not--nevertheless I willconfide in your generosity. --To-morrow morning (no new cause arising togive reason to the contrary) as early as you please you may go toHampstead. 

This seemed to oblige her. But yet she looked with a face of doubt. 

I will go down to the women, Belford. And having no better judges athand, will hear what they say upon my critical situation with thisproud beauty, who has so insolently rejected a Lovelace kneeling at herfeet, though making an earnest tender of himself for a husband, in spiteof all his prejudices to the state of shackles. 

LETTER XXXIV

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. 

Just come from the women. 

'Have I gone so far, and am I afraid to go farther?--Have I not already, as it is evident by her behaviour, sinned beyond forgiveness?--A woman'stears used to be to me but as water sprinkled on a glowing fire, whichgives it a fiercer and brighter blaze: What defence has this lady but hertears and her eloquence? She was before taken at no weak advantage. Shewas insensible in her moments of trial. Had she been sensible, she musthave been sensible. So they say. The methods taken with her haveaugmented her glory and her pride. She has now a tale to tell, that shemay tell with honour to herself. No accomplice-inclination. She canlook me into confusion, without being conscious of so much as a thoughtwhich she need to be ashamed of. '

This, Jack, is the substance of the women's reasonings with me. 

To which let me add, that the dear creature now sees the necessity I amin to leave her. Detecting me is in her head. My contrivances are ofsuch a nature, that I must appear to be the most odious of men if I amdetected on this side matrimony. And yet I have promised, as thou seest, that she shall set out to Hampstead as soon as she pleases in themorning, and that without condition on her side. 

Dost thou ask, What I meant by this promise?

No new cause arising, was the proviso on my side, thou'lt remember. But there will be a new cause. 

Suppose Dorcas should drop the promissory note given her by her lady?Servants, especially those who cannot read or write, are the mostcareless people in the world of written papers. Suppose I take it up?--at a time, too, that I was determined that the dear creature should beher own mistress?--Will not this detection be a new cause?--A cause thatwill carry with it against her the appearance of ingratitude!

That she designed it a secret to me, argues a fear of detection, andindirectly a sense of guilt. I wanted a pretence. Can I have a better?--If I am in a violent passion upon the detection, is not passion anuniversally-allowed extenuator of violence? Is not every man and womanobliged to excuse that fault in another, which at times they findattended with such ungovernable effects in themselves?

The mother and sisterhood, suppose, brought to sit in judgment upon thevile corrupted--the least benefit that must accrue from the accidentaldiscovery, if not a pretence for perpetration, [which, however, may bethe case, ] an excuse for renewing my orders for her detention till myreturn from M. Hall, [the fault her own, ] and for keeping a stricterwatch over her than before; with direction to send me any letters thatmay be written by her or to her. --And when I return, the devil's in itif I find not a way to make her choose lodgings for herself, (sincethese are so hateful to her, ) that shall answer all my purposes; andyet I no more appear to direct her choice, than I did before in these. 

Thou wilt curse me when thou comest to this place. I know thou wilt. But thinkest thou that, after such a series of contrivance, I will losethis inimitable woman for want of a little more? A rake's a rake, Jack!--And what rake is withheld by principle from the perpetration of anyevil his heart is set upon, and in which he thinks he can succeed?--Besides, am I not in earnest as to marriage?--Will not the generality ofthe world acquit me, if I do marry? And what is that injury which achurch-rite will not at any time repair? Is not the catastrophe of everystory that ends in wedlock accounted happy, be the difficulties in theprogress of it ever so great. 

But here, how am I engrossed by this lady, while poor Lord M. As Simontells me, lies groaning in the most dreadful agonies!--What must hesuffer!--Heaven relieve him!--I have a too compassionate heart. And sowould the dear creature have found, could I have thought that the worstof her sufferings is equal to the lightest of his. I mean as to fact;for as to that part of her's, which arises from extreme sensibility, Iknow nothing of that; and cannot therefore be answerable for it. 

LETTER XXXV

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. 

Just come from my charmer. She will not suffer me to say half theobliging, the tender things, which my honest heart is ready to overflowwith. A confounded situation that, when a man finds himself in humourto be eloquent, and pathetic at the same time, yet cannot engage themistress of his fate to lend an ear to his fine speeches. 

I can account now how it comes about that lovers, when their mistressesare cruel, run into solitude, and disburthen their minds to stocks andstones: For am I not forced to make my complaints to thee?

She claimed the performance of my promise, the moment she saw me, ofpermitting her [haughtily she spoke the word] to go to Hampstead as soonas I was gone to Berks. 

Most cheerfully I renewed it. 

She desired me to give orders in her hearing. 

I sent for Dorcas and Will. They came. --Do you both take notice, (but, perhaps, Sir, I may take you with me, ) that your lady is to be obeyed inall her commands. She purposes to return to Hampstead as soon as I amgone--My dear, will you not have a servant to attend you?

I shall want no servant there. 

Will you take Dorcas?

If I should want Dorcas, I can send for her. 

Dorcas could not but say, She should be very proud--

Well, well, that may be at my return, if your lady permit. --Shall I, mydear, call up Mrs. Sinclair, and give her orders, to the same effect, inyour hearing?

I desire not to see Mrs. Sinclair; nor any that belong to her. 

As you please, Madam. 

And then (the servants being withdrawn) I urged her again for theassurance, that she would meet me at the altar on Thursday next. But tono purpose. --May she not thank herself for all that may follow?

One favour, however, I would not be denied, to be admitted to pass theevening with her. 

All sweetness and obsequiousness will I be on this occasion. My wholesoul shall be poured out to move her to forgive me. If she will not, andif the promissory note should fall in my way, my revenge will doubtlesstake total possession of me. 

All the house in my interest, and every one in it not only engaging tointimidate and assist, as occasion shall offer, but staking all theirexperience upon my success, if it be not my own fault, what must be theconsequence?

This, Jack, however, shall be her last trial; and if she behave as noblyin and after this second attempt (all her senses about her) as she hasdone after the first, she will come out an angel upon full proof, inspite of man, woman, and devil: then shall there be an end of all hersufferings. I will then renounce that vanquished devil, and reform. Andif any vile machination start up, presuming to mislead me, I will soonerstab it in my heart, as it rises, than give way to it. 

A few hours will now decide all. But whatever be the event, I shall betoo busy to write again, till I get to M. Hall. 

Mean time, I am in strange agitations. I must suppress them, ifpossible, before I venture into her presence. --My heart bounces my bosomfrom the table. I will lay down my pen, and wholly resign to itsimpulses. 

LETTER XXXVI

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. FRIDAY NIGHT, OR RATHER SAT. MORN. ONE O'CLOCK. 

I thought I should not have had either time or inclination to writeanother line before I got to M. Hall. But, having the first, must findthe last; since I can neither sleep, nor do any thing but write, if I cando that. I am most confoundedly out of humour. The reason let itfollow; if it will follow--nor preparation for it from me. 

I tried by gentleness and love to soften--What?--Marble. A heartincapable either of love or gentleness. Her past injuries for ever inher head. Ready to receive a favour; the permission to go toHampstead: but neither to deserve it, nor return any. So my scheme ofthe gentle kind was soon given over. 

I then wanted to provoke her: like a coward boy, who waits for the firstblow before he can persuade himself to fight, I half challenged her tochallenge or defy me. She seemed aware of her danger; and would notdirectly brave my resentment: but kept such a middle course, that Ineither could find a pretence to offend, nor reason to hope: yet shebelieved my tale, that her uncle would come to Kentish-town, and seemednot to apprehend that Tomlinson was an impostor. 

She was very uneasy, upon the whole, in my company: wanted often tobreak from me: yet so held me to my purpose of permitting her to go toHampstead, that I knew not how to get off it; although it was impossible, in my precarious situation with her, to think of performingit. 

In this situation; the women ready to assist; and, if I proceeded not, as ready to ridicule me; what had I left me, but to pursue the concertedscheme, and to seek a pretence to quarrel with her, in order to revoke mypromised permission, and to convince her that I would not be upbraided asthe most brutal of ravishers for nothing?

I had agreed with the women, that if I could not find a pretence in herpresence to begin my operations, the note should lie in my way, and I wasto pick it up, soon after her retiring from me. But I began to doubt atnear ten o'clock, (so earnest was she to leave me, suspecting myover-warm behaviour to her, and eager grasping of her hand two or threetimes, with eye-strings, as I felt, on the strain, while her eyes showeduneasiness and apprehension, ) that if she actually retired for the night, it might be a chance whether it would be easy to come at her again. Loth, therefore, to run such a risk, I stept out a little after ten, with intentto alter the preconcerted disposition a little; saying I would attend heragain instantly. But as I returned I met her at the door, intending towithdraw for the night. I could not persuade her to go back: nor had Ipresence of mind (so full of complaisance as I was to her just before) tostay her by force: so she slid through my hands into her own apartment. Ihad nothing to do, therefore, but to let my former concert take place. 

I should have promised (but care not for order of time, connection, orany thing else) that, between eight and nine in the evening, anotherservant of Lord M. On horseback came, to desire me to carry down with meDr. S. , the old peer having been once (in extremis, as they judge he isnow) relieved and reprieved by him. I sent and engaged the doctor toaccompany me down: and am to call upon him by four this morning: or thedevil should have both my Lord and the Doctor, if I'd stir till I got allmade up. 

Poke thy damn'd nose forward into the event, if thou wilt--Curse me ifthou shalt have it till its proper time and place. And too soon then. 

She had hardly got into her chamber, but I found a little paper, as I wasgoing into mine, which I took up; and opening it, (for it was carefullypinned in another paper, ) what should it be but a promissory note, givenas a bribe, with a further promise of a diamond ring, to induce Dorcas tofavour her mistress's escape?

How my temper changed in a moment!--Ring, ring, ring, ring, I my bell, with a violence enough to break the string, and as if the house were onfire. 

Every devil frighted into active life: the whole house in an uproar. Upruns Will. --Sir--Sir--Sir!--Eyes goggling, mouth distended--Bid thedamn'd toad Dorcas come hither, (as I stood at the stair-head, ) in ahorrible rage, and out of breath, cried I. 

In sight came the trembling devil--but standing aloof, from the reportmade her by Will. Of the passion I was in, as well as from what she hadheard. 

Flash came out my sword immediately; for I had it ready on--Cursed, confounded, villanous bribery and corruption----

Up runs she to her lady's door, screaming out for safety and protection. 

Good your honour, interposed Will. , for God's sake!--O Lord, O Lord!--receiving a good cuff. --

Take that, varlet, for saving the ungrateful wretch from my vengeance. 

Wretch! I intended to say; but if it were some other word of likeending, passion must be my excuse. 

Up ran two or three of the sisterhood, What's the matter! What's thematter!

The matter! (for still my beloved opened not the door; on the contrary, drew another bolt, ) This abominable Dorcas!--(call her aunt up!--let hersee what a traitress she has placed about me!--and let her bring the toadto answer for herself)--has taken a bribe, a provision for life, tobetray her trust; by that means to perpetuate a quarrel between a man andhis wife, and frustrate for ever all hopes of reconciliation between us!

Let me perish, Belford, if I have patience to proceed with the farce!

***

If I must resume, I must----

Up came the aunt, puffing and blowing--As she hoped for mercy, she wasnot privy to it! She never knew such a plotting, perverse lady in herlife!--Well might servants be at the pass they were, when such ladies asMrs. Lovelace made no conscience of corrupting them. For her part shedesired no mercy for the wretch; no niece of her's, if she were notfaithful to her trust!--But what was the proof?----

She was shown the paper----

But too evident!--Cursed, cursed toad, devil, jade, passed from eachmouth:--and the vileness of the corrupted, and the unworthiness of thecorruptress, were inveighed against. 

Up we all went, passing the lady's door into the dining-room, to proceedto trial. ----

Stamp, stamp, stamp up, each on her heels; rave, rave, rave, every tongue----

Bring up the creature before us all this instant!----

And would she have got out of the house, say you?--

These the noises and the speeches as we clattered by the door of the fairbribress. 

Up was brought Dorcas (whimpering) between two, both bawling out--Youmust go--You shall go--'Tis fit you should answer for yourself--You are adiscredit to all worthy servants--as they pulled and pushed her upstairs. --She whining, I cannot see his honour--I cannot look so good andso generous a gentleman in the face--O how shall I bear my aunt'sravings?----

Come up, and be d--n'd--Bring her forward, her imperial judge--What aplague, it is the detection, not the crime, that confounds you. Youcould be quiet enough for days together, as I see by the date, under thevillany. Tell me, ungrateful devil, tell me who made the first advances?

Ay, disgrace to my family and blood, cried the old one--tell his honour--tell the truth!--Who made the first advances?----

Ay, cursed creature, cried Sally, who made the first advances?

I have betrayed one trust already!--O let me not betray another!--My ladyis a good lady!--O let not her suffer!--

Tell all you know. Tell the whole truth, Dorcas, cried Polly Horton. --His honour loves his lady too well to make her suffer much: little as sherequites his love!----

Every body sees that, cried Sally--too well, indeed, for his honour, Iwas going to say. 

Till now, I thought she deserved my love--But to bribe a servant thus, who she supposed had orders to watch her steps, for fear of anotherelopement; and to impute that precaution to me as a crime!--Yet I mustlove her--Ladies, forgive my weakness!----

Curse upon my grimaces!--if I have patience to repeat them!--But thoushalt have it all--thou canst not despise me more than I despise myself!

***

But suppose, Sir, said Sally, you have my lady and the wench face toface! You see she cares not to confess. 

O my carelessness! cried Dorcas--Don't let my poor lady suffer!--Indeed, if you all knew what I know, you would say her ladyship has been cruellytreated--

See, see, see, see!--repeatedly, every one at once--Only sorry for thedetection, as your honour said--not for the fault. 

Cursed creature, and devilish creature, from every mouth. 

Your lady won't, she dare not come out to save you, cried Sally; thoughit is more his honour's mercy, than your desert, if he does not cut yourvile throat this instant. 

Say, repeated Polly, was it your lady that made the first advances, orwas it you, you creature----

If the lady had so much honour, bawled the mother, excuse me, so--Excuseme, Sir, [confound the old wretch! she had like to have said son!]--Ifthe lady has so much honour, as we have supposed, she will appear tovindicate a poor servant, misled, as she has been, by such largepromises!--But I hope, Sir, you will do them both justice: I hope youwill!--Good lack!--Good lack! clapping her hands together, to grant herevery thing she could ask--to indulge her in her unworthy hatred to mypoor innocent house!--to let her go to Hampstead, though your honour toldus, you could get no condescension from her; no, not the least--O Sir, OSir--I hope--I hope--if your lady will not come out--I hope you will finda way to hear this cause in her presence. I value not my doors on suchan occasion as this. Justice I ever loved. I desire you will come tothe bottom of it in clearance to me. I'll be sworn I had no privity inthis black corruption. 

Just then we heard the lady's door, unbar, unlock, unbolt----

Now, Sir!

Now, Mr. Lovelace!

Now, Sir! from every encouraging mouth!----

But, O Jack! Jack! Jack! I can write no more!

***

If you must have it all, you must!

Now, Belford, see us all sitting in judgment, resolved to punish the fairbribress--I, and the mother, the hitherto dreaded mother, the niecesSally, Polly, the traitress Dorcas, and Mabell, a guard, as it were, overDorcas, that she might not run away, and hide herself:--allpre-determined, and of necessity pre-determined, from the journey I wasgoing to take, and my precarious situation with her--and hear her unbolt, unlock, unbar, the door; then, as it proved afterwards, put the key intothe lock on the outside, lock the door, and put it in her pocket--Will. Iknew, below, who would give me notice, if, while we were all above, sheshould mistake her way, and go down stairs, instead of coming into thedining-room: the street-door also doubly secured, and every shutter to thewindows round the house fastened, that no noise or screaming should beheard--[such was the brutal preparation]--and then hear her step towardsus, and instantly see her enter among us, confiding in her own innocence;and with a majesty in her person and manner, that is natural to her; butwhich then shone out in all its glory!--Every tongue silent, every eyeawed, every heart quaking, mine, in a particular manner sunk, throbless, and twice below its usual region, to once at my throat:--a shamefulrecreant:--She silent too, looking round her, first on me; then on themother, no longer fearing her; then on Sally, Polly, and the culpritDorcas!--such the glorious power of innocence exerted at that awfulmoment!

She would have spoken, but could not, looking down my guilt intoconfusion. A mouse might have been heard passing over the floor: her ownlight feet and rustling silks could not have prevented it; for she seemedto tread air, and to be all soul. She passed backwards and forwards, nowtowards me, now towards the door several times, before speech could getthe better of indignation; and at last, after twice or thrice hemming torecover her articulate voice--'O thou contemptible and abandonedLovelace, thinkest thou that I see not through this poor villanous plotof thine, and of these thy wicked accomplices?

'Thou, woman, [looking at the mother] once my terror! always my dislike!but now my detestation! shouldst once more (for thine perhaps was thepreparation) have provided for me intoxicating potions, to rob me of mysenses----

'And then, thus, wretch, [turning to me, ] mightest thou more securelyhave depended upon such a low contrivance as this!

'And ye, vile women, who perhaps have been the ruin, body and soul, ofhundreds of innocents, (you show me how, in full assembly, ) know, that Iam not married--ruined as I am, by your help, I bless God, I am notmarried to this miscreant--and I have friends that will demand my honourat your hands!--and to whose authority I will apply; for none has thisman over me. Look to it then, what farther insults you offer me, orincite him to offer me. I am a person, though thus vilely betrayed, ofrank and fortune. I never will be his; and, to your utter ruin, willfind friends to pursue you: and now I have this full proof of yourdetestable wickedness, and have heard your base incitements, will haveno mercy upon you!'

They could not laugh at the poor figure I made. --Lord! how every devil, conscience-shaken, trembled!--

What a dejection must ever fall to the lot of guilt, were it given toinnocence always thus to exert itself!

'And as for thee, thou vile Dorcas! Thou double deceiver!--whining outthy pretended love for me!--Begone, wretch!--Nobody will hurt thee!--Begone, I say!--thou has too well acted thy part to be blamed by any herebut myself--thou art safe: thy guilt is thy security in such a house asthis!--thy shameful, thy poor part, thou hast as well acted as the lowfarce could give thee to act!--as well as they each of them (thysuperiors, though not thy betters), thou seest, can act theirs. --Stealaway into darkness! No inquiry after this will be made, whose the firstadvances, thine or mine. '

And, as I hope to live, the wench, confoundedly frightened, slunk away;so did her sentinel Mabell; though I, endeavouring to rally, cried outfor Dorcas to stay--but I believe the devil could not have stopt her, when an angel bid her begone. 

Madam, said I, let me tell you; and was advancing towards her with afierce aspect, most cursedly vexed, and ashamed too----

But she turned to me: 'Stop where thou art, O vilest and most abandonedof men!--Stop where thou art!--nor, with that determined face, offer totouch me, if thou wouldst not that I should be a corps at thy feet!'

To my astonishment, she held forth a penknife in her hand, the point toher own bosom, grasping resolutely the whole handle, so that there was nooffering to take it from her. 

'I offer not mischief to any body but myself. You, Sir, and ye women, are safe from every violence of mine. The LAW shall be all my resource:the LAW, ' and she spoke the word with emphasis, the LAW! that to suchpeople carries natural terror with it, and now struck a panic into them. 

No wonder, since those who will damn themselves to procure ease andplenty in this world, will tremble at every thing that seems to threatentheir methods of obtaining that ease and plenty. ----

'The LAW only shall be my refuge!'----

The infamous mother whispered me, that it were better to make terms withthis strange lady, and let her go. 

Sally, notwithstanding all her impudent bravery at other times, said, IfMr. Lovelace had told them what was not true, of her being his wife----

And Polly Horton, That she must needs say, the lady, if she were not mywife, had been very much injured; that was all. 

That is not now a matter to be disputed, cried I: you and I know, Madam----

'We do, said she; and I thank God, I am not thine--once more I thank Godfor it--I have no doubt of the farther baseness that thou hast intendedme, by this vile and low trick: but I have my SENSES, Lovelace: and frommy heart I despise thee, thou very poor Lovelace!--How canst thou standin my presence!--Thou, that'----

Madam, Madam, Madam--these are insults not to be borne--and wasapproaching her. 

She withdrew to the door, and set her back against it, holding thepointed knife to her heaving bosom; while the women held me, beseechingme not to provoke the violent lady--for their house sake, and be curs'dto them, they besought me--and all three hung upon me--while the trulyheroic lady braved me at that distance:

'Approach me, Lovelace, with resentment, if thou wilt. I dare die. Itis in defence of my honour. God will be merciful to my poor soul! Iexpect no more mercy from thee! I have gained this distance, and twosteps nearer me, and thou shalt see what I dare do!'----

Leave me, women, to myself, and to my angel!--[They retired at adistance. ]--O my beloved creature, how you terrify me! Holding out myarms, and kneeling on one knee--not a step, not a step farther, except toreceive my death at that injured hand which is thus held up against alife far dearer to me than my own! I am a villain! the blackest ofvillains!--Say you will sheath your knife in the injurer's, not theinjured's heart, and then will I indeed approach you, but not else. 

The mother twanged her d--n'd nose; and Sally and Polly pulled out theirhandkerchiefs, and turned from us. They never in their lives, they toldme afterwards, beheld such a scene----

Innocence so triumphant: villany so debased, they must mean!

Unawares to myself, I had moved onward to my angel--'And dost thou, dostthou, still disclaiming, still advancing--dost thou, dost thou, stillinsidiously move towards me?'--[And her hand was extended] 'I dare--Idare--not rashly neither--my heart from principle abhors the act, whichthou makest necessary!--God, in thy mercy! [lifting up her eyes andhands] God, in thy mercy!'

I threw myself to the farther end of the room. An ejaculation, a silentejaculation, employing her thoughts that moment; Polly says the whites ofher lovely eyes were only visible: and, in the instant that she extendedher hand, assuredly to strike the fatal blow, [how the very recitalterrifies me!] she cast her eye towards me, and saw me at the utmostdistance the room would allow, and heard my broken voice--my voice wasutterly broken; nor knew I what I said, or whether to the purpose or not--and her charming cheeks, that were all in a glow before, turned pale, as if terrified at her own purpose; and lifting up her eyes--'Thank God!--thank God! said the angel--delivered for the present; for the presentdelivered--from myself--keep, Sir, that distance;' [looking down towardsme, who was prostrate on the floor, my heart pierced, as with an hundreddaggers;] 'that distance has saved a life; to what reserved, the Almightyonly knows!'--

To be happy, Madam; and to make happy!--And, O let me hope for yourfavour for to-morrow--I will put off my journey till then--and may God--

Swear not, Sir!--with an awful and piercing aspect--you have too oftensworn!--God's eye is upon us!--His more immediate eye; and looked wildly. --But the women looked up to the ceiling, as if afraid of God's eye, andtrembled. And well they might, and I too, who so very lately had each ofus the devil in our hearts. 

If not to-morrow, Madam, say but next Thursday, your uncle's birth-day;say but next Thursday!

'This I say, of this you may assure yourself, I never, never will beyour's. --And let me hope, that I may be entitled to the performance ofyour promise, to be permitted to leave this innocent house, as one calledit, (but long have my ears been accustomed to such inversions of words), as soon as the day breaks. '

Did my perdition depend upon it, that you cannot, Madam, but upon terms. And I hope you will not terrify me--still dreading the accursed knife. 

'Nothing less than an attempt upon my honour shall make me desperate. Ihave no view but to defend my honour: with such a view only I enteredinto treaty with your infamous agent below. The resolution you haveseen, I trust, God will give me again, upon the same occasion. But for aless, I wish not for it. --Only take notice, women, that I am no wife ofthis man: basely as he has used me, I am not his wife. He has noauthority over me. If he go away by-and-by, and you act by his authorityto detain me, look to it. '

Then, taking one of the lights, she turned from us; and away she went, unmolested. --Not a soul was able to molest her. 

Mabell saw her, tremblingly, and in a hurry, take the key of herchamber-door out of her pocket, and unlock it; and, as soon as sheentered, heard her double-lock, bar, and bolt it. 

By her taking out her key, when she came out of her chamber to us, she nodoubt suspected my design: which was, to have carried her in my armsthither, if she made such force necessary, after I had intimidated her; andto have been her companion for that night. 

She was to have had several bedchamber-women to assist to undress herupon occasion: but from the moment she entered the dining-room with somuch intrepidity, it was absolutely impossible to think of prosecuting myvillanous designs against her. 

***

This, this, Belford, was the hand I made of a contrivance from which Iexpected so much!--And now I am ten times worse off than before. 

Thou never sawest people in thy life look so like fools upon one another, as the mother, her partners, and I, did, for a few minutes. And at last, the two devilish nymphs broke out into insulting ridicule upon me; whilethe old wretch was concerned for her house, the reputation of her house. I cursed them all together; and, retiring to my chamber, locked myselfin. 

And now it is time to set out: all I have gained, detection, disgrace, fresh guilt by repeated perjuries, and to be despised by her I doat upon;and, what is still worse to a proud heart, by myself. 

Success, success in projects, is every thing. What an admirablecontriver did I think myself till now! Even for this scheme among therest! But how pitifully foolish does it now appear to me!--Scratch out, erase, never to be read, every part of my preceding letters, where I haveboastingly mentioned it. And never presume to rally me upon the cursedsubject: for I cannot bear it. 

But for the lady, by my soul, I love her. I admire her more than ever!I must have her. I will have her still--with honour or without, as Ihave often vowed. My cursed fright at her accidental bloody nose, solately, put her upon improving upon me thus. Had she threatened ME, Ishould have soon been master of one arm, and in both! But for so sincerea virtue to threaten herself, and not to offer to intimidate any other, and with so much presence of mind, as to distinguish, in the verypassionate intention, the necessity of the act, defence of her honour, and so fairly to disavow lesser occasions: showed such a deliberation, such a choice, such a principle; and then keeping me so watchfully at adistance that I could not seize her hand, so soon as she could have giventhe fatal blow; how impossible not to be subdued by so true and sodiscreet a magnanimity!

But she is not gone. She shall not go. I will press her with lettersfor the Thursday. She shall yet be mine, legally mine. For, as tocohabitation, there is no such thing to be thought of. 

The Captain shall give her away, as proxy for her uncle. My Lord willdie. My fortune will help my will, and set me above every thing andevery body. 

But here is the curse--she despises me, Jack!--What man, as I haveheretofore said, can bear to be despised--especially by his wife!--OLord!--O Lord! What a hand, what a cursed hand, have I made of thisplot!--And here ends

The history of the lady and the penknife!--The devil take the penknife!--It goes against me to say, God bless the lady!

NEAR 5, SAT. MORN. 

LETTER XXXVII

MR. LOVELACE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE[SUPERSCRIBED TO MRS. LOVELACE. ]M. HALL, SAT. NIGHT, JUNE 24. 

MY DEAREST LIFE, If you do not impute to live, and to terror raised by love, the poorfigure I made before you last night, you will not do me justice. Ithought I would try to the very last moment, if, by complying with you inevery thing, I could prevail upon you to promise to be mine on Thursdaynext, since you refused me an earlier day. Could I have been so happy, you had not been hindered going to Hampstead, or wherever else youpleased. But when I could not prevail upon you to give me thisassurance, what room had I, (my demerit so great, ) to suppose, that yourgoing thither would not be to lose you for ever?

I will own to you, Madam, that yesterday afternoon I picked up the paperdropt by Dorcas; who has confessed that she would have assisted you ingetting away, if she had had opportunity so to do; and undoubtedlydropped it by accident. And could I have prevailed upon you as toThursday next, I would have made no use of it; secure as I should havebeen in your word given, to be mine. But when I found you inflexible, I was resolved to try, if, by resenting Dorcas's treachery, I could notmake your pardon of me the condition of mine to her: and if not, to makea handle of it to revoke my consent to your going away from Mrs. Sinclair's; since the consequence of that must have been so fatal to me. 

So far, indeed, was my proceeding low and artful: and when I waschallenged with it, as such, in so high and noble a manner, I could notavoid taking shame to myself upon it. 

But you must permit me, Madam, to hope, that you will not punish me tooheavily for so poor a contrivance, since no dishonour was meant you: andsince, in the moment of its execution, you had as great an instance of myincapacity to defend a wrong, a low measure, and, at the same time, inyour power over me, as mortal man could give--in a word, since you musthave seen, that I was absolutely under the controul both of conscienceand of love. 

I will not offer to defend myself, for wishing you to remain where youare, till either you give me your word to meet me at the altar onThursday; or till I have the honour of attending you, preparative to thesolemnity which will make that day the happiest of my life. 

I am but too sensible, that this kind of treatment may appear to you withthe face of an arbitrary and illegal imposition: but as the consequences, not only to ourselves, but to both our families, may be fatal, if youcannot be moved in my favour; let me beseech you to forgive this act ofcompulsion, on the score of the necessity you your dear self have laid meunder to be guilty of it; and to permit the solemnity of next Thursday toinclude an act of oblivion for all past offences. 

The orders I have given to the people of the house are: 'That you shallbe obeyed in every particular that is consistent with my expectations offinding you there on my return on Wednesday next: that Mrs. Sinclair andher nieces, having incurred your just displeasure, shall not, withoutyour orders, come into your presence: that neither shall Dorcas, till shehas fully cleared her conduct to your satisfaction, be permitted toattend you: but Mabell, in her place; of whom you seemed some time ago toexpress some liking. Will. I have left behind me to attend yourcommands. If he be either negligent or impertinent, your dismissionshall be a dismission of him from my service for ever. But, as toletters which may be sent you, or any which you may have to send, I musthumbly entreat, that none such pass from or to you, for the few days thatI shall be absent. ' But I do assure you, madam, that the seals of bothsorts shall be sacred: and the letters, if such be sent, shall be giveninto your own hands the moment the ceremony is performed, or before, ifyou require it. 

Mean time I will inquire, and send you word, how Miss Howe does; and towhat, if I can be informed, her long silence is owing. 

Dr. Perkins I found here, attending my Lord, when I arrived with Dr. S. He acquaints me that your father, mother, uncles, and the still lessworthy persons of your family, are well; and intend to be all at youruncle Harlowe's next week; I presume, with intent to keep hisanniversary. This can make no alteration, but a happy one, as topersons, on Thursday; because Mr. Tomlinson assured me, that if any thingfell out to hinder your uncle's coming up in person, (which, however, hedid not then expect, ) he would be satisfied if his friend the Captainwere proxy for him. I shall send a man and horse to-morrow to theCaptain, to be at greater certainty. 

I send this by a special messenger, who will wait your pleasure inrelation to the impatiently-wished-for Thursday: which I humbly hope willbe signified by a line. 

My Lord, though hardly sensible, and unmindful of every thing but of yourfelicity, desires his most affectionate compliments to you. He has inreadiness to present to you a very valuable set of jewels, which he hopeswill be acceptable, whether he lives to see you adorn them or not. 

Lady Sarah and Lady Betty have also their tokens of respect ready tocourt your acceptance: but may Heaven incline you to give the opportunityof receiving their personal compliments, and those of my cousinsMontague, before the next week be out!

His Lordship is exceeding ill. Dr. S. Has no hopes of him. The onlyconsolation I can have for the death of a relation who loves me so well, if he do die, must arise from the additional power it will put into myhands of showing how much I am, My dearest life, Your ever-affectionate, faithful, LOVELACE. 

LETTER XXXVIII

MR. LOVELACE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE[SUPERSCRIBED TO MRS. LOVELACE. ]M. HALL, SUNDAY NIGHT, JUNE 25. 

MY DEAREST LOVE, I cannot find words to express how much I am mortified at the return ofmy messenger without a line from you. 

Thursday is so near, that I will send messenger after messenger everyfour hours, till I have a favourable answer; the one to meet the other, till its eve arrives, to know if I may venture to appear in your presencewith the hope of having my wishes answered on that day. 

Your love, Madam, I neither expect, nor ask for; nor will, till my futurebehaviour gives you cause to think I deserve it. All I at presentpresume to wish is, to have it in my power to do you all the justice Ican now do you: and to your generosity will I leave it, to reward me, asI shall merit, with your affection. 

At present, revolving my poor behaviour of Friday night before you, Ithink I should sooner choose to go to my last audit, unprepared for it asI am, than to appear in your presence, unless you give me some hope, thatI shall be received as your elected husband, rather than, (howeverdeserved, ) as a detested criminal. 

Let me, therefore, propose an expedient, in order to spare my ownconfusion; and to spare you the necessity for that soul-harrowingrecrimination, which I cannot stand, and which must be disagreeable toyourself--to name the church, and I will have every thing in readiness;so that our next interview will be, in a manner, at the very altar; andthen you will have the kind husband to forgive for the faults of theungrateful lover. If your resentment be still too high to write more, let it only be in your own dear hand, these words, St. Martin's church, Thursday--or these, St. Giles's church, Thursday; nor will I insist uponany inscription or subscription, or so much as the initials of your name. This shall be all the favour I will expect, till the dear hand itself isgiven to mine, in presence of that Being whom I invoke as a witness ofthe inviolable faith and honour of

Your adoringLOVELACE. 

LETTER XXXIX

MR. LOVELACE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE[SUPERSCRIBED TO MRS. LOVELACE. ]M. HALL, MONDAY, JUNE 26. 

Once more, my dearest love, do I conjure you to send me the fourrequested words. There is no time to be lost. And I would not have nextThursday go over, without being entitled to call you mine, for the world;and that as well for your sake as for my own. Hitherto all that haspassed is between you and me only; but, after Thursday, if my wishes areunanswered, the whole will be before the world. 

My Lord is extremely ill, and endures not to have me out of his sight forone half hour. But this shall not have the least weight with me, if yoube pleased to hold out the olive-branch to me in the four requestedwords. 

I have the following intelligence from Captain Tomlinson. 

'All your family are at your uncle Harlowe's. Your uncle finds he cannotgo up; and names Captain Tomlinson for his proxy. He proposes to keepall your family with him till the Captain assures him that the ceremonyis over. 

'Already he has begun, with hope of success, to try to reconcile yourmother to you. '

My Lord M. But just now has told me how happy he should think himself tohave an opportunity, before he dies, to salute you as his niece. I haveput him in hopes that he shall see you; and have told him that I will goto town on Wednesday, in order to prevail upon you to accompany me downon Thursday or Friday. I have ordered a set to be in readiness to carryme up; and, were not my Lord so very ill, my cousin Montague tells methat she would offer her attendance on you. If you please, therefore, wecan set out for this place the moment the solemnity is performed. 

Do not, dearest creature, dissipate all those promising appearances, andby refusing to save your own and your family's reputation in the eye ofthe world, use yourself worse than the ungratefullest wretch on earth hasused you. For if we were married, all the disgrace you imagine you havesuffered while a single lady, will be my own, and only known toourselves. 

Once more, then, consider well the situation we are both in; andremember, my dearest life, that Thursday will be soon here; and that youhave no time to lose. 

In a letter sent by the messenger whom I dispatch with this, I havedesired that my friend, Mr. Belford, who is your very great admirer, andwho knows all the secrets of my heart, will wait upon you, to know what Iam to depend upon as to the chosen day. 

Surely, my dear, you never could, at any time, suffer half so much fromcruel suspense, as I do. 

If I have not an answer to this, either from your own goodness, orthrough Mr. Belford's intercession, it will be too late for me to setout: and Captain Tomlinson will be disappointed, who goes to town onpurpose to attend your pleasure. 

One motive for the gentle resistance I have presumed to lay you under is, to prevent the mischiefs that might ensue (as probably to the moreinnocent, as to the less) were you to write to any body while yourpassions were so much raised and inflamed against me. Having apprizedyou of my direction to the women in town on this head, I wonder youshould have endeavoured to send a letter to Miss Howe, although in acover directed to that young lady's* servant; as you must think it wouldbe likely to fall into my hands. 

* The lady had made an attempt to send away a letter. 

The just sense of what I have deserved the contents should be, leaves meno room to doubt what they are. Nevertheless, I return it you enclosed, with the seal, as you will see, unbroken. 

Relieve, I beseech you, dearest Madam, by the four requested words, or byMr. Belford, the anxiety of

Your ever-affectionate and obligedLOVELACE. 

Remember, there will not, there cannot be time for further writing, andfor coming up by Thursday, your uncle's birth-day. 

LETTER XL

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. MONDAY, JUNE 26. 

Thou wilt see the situation I am in with Miss Harlowe by the enclosedcopies of three letters; to two of which I am so much scorned as not tohave one word given me in answer; and of the third (now sent by themessenger who brings thee this) I am afraid as little notice will betaken--and if so, her day of grace is absolutely over. 

One would imagine (so long used to constraint too as she has been) thatshe might have been satisfied with the triumph she had over us all onFriday night! a triumph that to this hour has sunk my pride and my vanityso much, that I almost hate the words, plot, contrivance, scheme; andshall mistrust myself in future for every one that rises to my inventivehead. 

But seest thou not that I am under a necessity to continue her atSinclair's and to prohibit all her correspondencies?

Now, Belford, as I really, in my present mood, think of nothing lessthan marrying her, if she let not Thursday slip, I would have thee attendher, in pursuance of the intimation I have given her in my letter of thisdate; and vow for me, swear for me, bind thy soul to her for my honour, and use what arguments thy friendly heart can suggest, in order toprocure me an answer from her; which, as thou wilt see, she may give infour words only. And then I purpose to leave Lord M. (dangerously ill ashe is, ) and meet her at her appointed church, in order to solemnize. Ifshe will but sign Cl. H. To thy writing the four words, that shall do:for I would not come up to be made a fool of in the face of all my familyand friends. 

If she should let the day go off, I shall be desperate. I am entangledin my own devices, and cannot bear that she should detect me. 

O that I had been honest!--What a devil are all my plots come to! Whatdo they end in, but one grand plot upon myself, and a title to eternalinfamy and disgrace! But, depending on thy friendly offices, I will sayno more of this. --Let her send me but one line!--But one line!--To treatme as unworthy of her notice;--yet be altogether in my power--I cannot--Iwill not bear that. 

My Lord, as I said, is extremely ill. The doctors give him over. Hegives himself over. Those who would not have him die, are afraid he willdie. But as to myself, I am doubtful: for these long and violentstruggles between the constitution and the disease (though the latter hasthree physicians and an apothecary to help it forward, and all three, asto their prescriptions, of different opinions too) indicate a plaguyhabit, and savour more of recovery than death: and the more so, as he hasno sharp or acute mental organs to whet out his bodily ones, and to raisehis fever above the sympathetic helpful one. 

Thou wilt see in the enclosed what pains I am at to dispatch messengers;who are constantly on the road to meet each other, and one of them tolink in the chain with the fourth, whose station is in London, and fivemiles onwards, or till met. But in truth I have some other matters forthem to perform at the same time, with my Lord's banker and his lawyer;which will enable me, if his Lordship is so good as to die this bout, tobe an over match for some of my other relations. I don't mean Charlotteand Patty; for they are noble girls: but others, who have been scratchingand clawing under-ground like so many moles in my absence; and whoseworkings I have discovered since I have been down, by the little heaps ofdirt they have thrown up. 

A speedy account of thy commission, dear Jack! The letter travels allnight. 

LETTER XLI

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. LONDON, JUNE 27. TUESDAY. 

You must excuse me, Lovelace, from engaging in the office you would haveme undertake, till I can be better assured you really intend honourablyat last by this much-injured lady. 

I believe you know your friend Belford too well to think he would be easywith you, or with any man alive, who should seek to make him promise forhim what he never intended to perform. And let me tell thee, that I havenot much confidence in the honour of a man, why by imitation of hands (Iwill only call it) has shown so little regard to the honour of his ownrelations. 

Only that thou hast such jesuitical qualifyings, or I should think theeat last touched with remorse, and brought within view of being ashamedof thy cursed inventions by the ill success of thy last: which I heartilycongratulate thee upon. 

O the divine lady!--But I will not aggravate!

Nevertheless, when thou writest that, in thy present mood, thou thinkestof marrying, and yet canst so easily change thy mood; when I know thyheart is against the state: that the four words thou courtest from thelady are as much to thy purpose, as if she wrote forty; since it willshow she can forgive the highest injury that can be offered to woman; andwhen I recollect how easily thou canst find excuses to postpone; thoumust be more explicit a good deal, as to thy real intentions, and futurehonour, than thou art: for I cannot trust to temporary remorse; whichbrought on by disappointment too, and not by principle, and the like ofwhich thou hast so often got over. 

If thou canst convince me time enough for the day, that thou meanest todo honourably by her, in her own sense of the word; or, if not timeenough, wilt fix some other day, (which thou oughtest to leave to heroption, and not bind her down for the Thursday; and the rather, as thypretence for so doing is founded on an absolute fiction;) I will thenmost cheerfully undertake thy cause; by person, if she will admit me toher presence; if she will not, by pen. But, in this case, thou mustallow me to be guarantee for thy family. And, if so, so much as I valuethee, and respect thy skill in all the qualifications of a gentleman, thou mayest depend upon it, that I will act up to the character of aguarantee, with more honour than the princes of our day usually do----totheir shame be it spoken. 

Mean time let me tell thee, that my heart bleeds for the wrong thisangelic lady has received: and if thou dost not marry her, if she willhave thee, and, when married, make her the best and tenderest ofhusbands, I would rather be a dog, a monkey, a bear, a viper, or a toad, than thee. 

Command me with honour, and thou shalt find none readier to oblige theethan

Thy sincere friend, JOHN BELFORD. 

LETTER XLII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. M. HALL, JUNE 27. TUESDAY NIGHT, NEAR 12. 

Your's reached me this moment, by an extraordinary push in themessengers. 

What a man of honour thou of a sudden!----

And so, in the imaginary shape of a guarantee, thou threatenest me!

Had I not been in earnest as to the lady, I should not have offered toemploy thee in the affair. But, let me say, that hadst thou undertakenthe task, and I hadst afterwards thought fit to change my mind, I shouldhave contented myself to tell thee, that that was my mind when thouengagedst for me, and to have given thee the reasons for the change, andthen left thee to thy own discretion: for never knew I what fear of manwas--nor fear of woman neither, till I became acquainted with MissClarissa Harlowe, nay, what is most surprising, till I came to have herin my power. 

And so thou wilt not wait upon the charmer of my heart, but upon termsand conditions!--Let it alone and be curs'd; I care not. --But so muchcredit did I give to the value thou expressedst for her, that I thoughtthe office would have been acceptable to thee, as serviceable to me;for what was it, but to endeavour to persuade her to consent to thereparation of her own honour? For what have I done but disgraced myself, and been a thief to my own joys?--And if there be a union of hearts, andan intention to solemnize, what is there wanting but the foolishceremony?--and that I still offer. But, if she will keep back her hand, if she will make me hold out mine in vain, how can I help it?

I write her one more letter; and if, after she has received that, shekeeps sullen silence, she must thank herself for what is to follow. 

But, after all, , my heart is not wholly her's. I love her beyondexpression; and cannot help it. I hope therefore she will receive thislast tender as I wish. I hope she intends not, like a true woman, toplague, and vex, and tease me, now she has found her power. If she willtake me to mercy now these remorses are upon me, (though I scorn tocondition with thee for my sincerity, ) all her trials, as I haveheretofore declared, shall be over, and she shall be as happy as I canmake her: for, ruminating upon all that has passed between us, from thefirst hour of our acquaintance till the present, I must pronounce, Thatshe is virtue itself and once more I say, has no equal. 

As to what you hint, of leaving to her choice another day, do youconsider, that it will be impossible that my contrivances and stratagemsshould be much longer concealed?--This makes me press that day, though sonear; and the more, as I have made so much ado about her uncle'sanniversary. If she send me the four words, I will spare no fatigue tobe in time, if not for the canonical hour at church, for some other hourof the day in her own apartment, or any other: for money will do everything: and that I have never spared in this affair. 

To show thee, that I am not at enmity with thee, I enclose the copies oftwo letters--one to her: it is the fourth, and must be the last on thesubject----The other to Captain Tomlinson; calculated, as thou wilt see, for him to show her. 

And now, Jack, interfere; in this case or not, thou knowest the mind of

R. LOVELACE. 

LETTER XLIII

MR. LOVELACE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE[SUPERSCRIBED TO MRS. LOVELACE. ]M. HALL, WED. MORNING, ONE O'CLOCK, JUNE 28. 

Not one line, my dearest life, not one word, in answer to three lettersI have written! The time is now so short, that this must be the lastletter that can reach you on this side the important hour that might makeus legally one. 

My friend, Mr. Belford, is apprehensive, that he cannot wait upon you intime, by reason of some urgent affairs of his own. 

I the less regret the disappointment, because I have procured a moreacceptable person, as I hope, to attend you; Captain Tomlinson I mean:to whom I had applied for this purpose, before I had Mr. Belford'sanswer. 

I was the more solicitous to obtain his favour form him, because of theoffice he is to take upon him, as I humbly presume to hope, to-morrow. That office obliged him to be in town as this day: and I acquainted himwith my unhappy situation with you; and desired that he would show me, on this occasion, that I had as much of his favour and friendship as youruncle had; since the whole treaty must be broken off, if he could notprevail upon you in my behalf. 

He will dispatch the messenger directly; whom I propose to meet in personat Slough; either to proceed onward to London with a joyful heart, or toreturn back to M. Hall with a broken one. 

I ought not (but cannot help it) to anticipate the pleasure Mr. Tomlinsonproposes to himself, in acquainting you with the likelihood there is ofyour mother's seconding your uncle's views. For, it seems, he hasprivately communicated to her his laudable intentions: and her resolutiondepends, as well as his, upon what to-morrow will produce. 

Disappoint not then, I beseech you, for an hundred persons' sakes, aswell as for mine, that uncle and that mother, whose displeasure I haveheard you so often deplore. 

You may think it impossible for me to reach London by the canonical hour. If it should, the ceremony may be performed in your own apartments, atany time in the day, or at night: so that Captain Tomlinson may have itto aver to your uncle, that it was performed on his anniversary. 

Tell but the Captain, that you forbid me not to attend you: and thatshall be sufficient for bringing to you, on the wings of love, Your ever-grateful and affectionateLOVELACE. 

LETTER XLIV

TO MR. PATRICK M'DONALD, AT HIS LODGINGS, AT MR. BROWN'S, PERUKE-MAKER, IN ST. MARTIN'S LANE, WESTMINSTERM. HALL, WEDN. MORNING, TWO O'CLOCK. 

DEAR M'DONALD, The bearer of this has a letter to carry to the lady. * I have been atthe trouble of writing a copy of it: which I enclose, that you may notmistake your cue. 

* See the preceding Letter. 

You will judge of my reasons for ante-dating the enclosed sealed one, *directed to you by the name of Tomlinson; which you are to show to thelady, as in confidence. You will open it of course. 

* See the next Letter. 

I doubt not your dexterity and management, dear M'Donald; nor your zeal;especially as the hope of cohabitation must now be given up. Impossibleto be carried is that scheme. I might break her heart, but not inclineher will--am in earnest therefore to marry her, if she let not the dayslip. 

Improve upon the hint of her mother. That may touch her. But JohnHarlowe, remember, has privately engaged that lady--privately, I say;else, (not to mention the reason for her uncle Harlowe's formerexpedient, ) you know, she might find means to get a letter away to theone or to the other, to know the truth; or to Miss Howe, to engage herto inquire into it: and, if she should, the word privately will accountfor the uncle's and mother's denying it. 

However, fail not, as from me, to charge our mother and her nymphs toredouble their vigilance both as to her person and letters. All's upon acrisis now. But she must not be treated ill neither. 

Thursday over, I shall know what to resolve upon. 

If necessary, you must assume authority. The devil's in't, if such agirl as this shall awe a man of your years and experience. You are notin love with her as I am. Fly out, if she doubt your honour. Spiritsnaturally soft may be beat out of their play and borne down (though everso much raised) by higher anger. All women are cowards at bottom; onlyviolent where they may. I have often stormed a girl out of her mistrust, and made her yield (before she knew where she was) to the pointindignantly mistrusted; and that to make up with me, though I was theaggressor. 

If this matter succeed as I'd have it, (or if not, and do not fail byyour fault, ) I will take you off the necessity of pursuing your cursedsmuggling; which otherwise may one day end fatally for you. 

We are none of us perfect, M'Donald. This sweet lady makes me serioussometimes in spite of my heart. But as private vices are less blamablethan public; an as I think smuggling (as it is called) a national evil;I have no doubt to pronounce you a much worse man than myself, and assuch shall take pleasure in reforming you. 

I send you enclosed ten guineas, as a small earnest of further favours. Hitherto you have been a very clever fellow. 

As to clothes for Thursday, Monmouth-street will afford a ready supply. Clothes quite new would make your condition suspected. But you maydefer that care, till you see if she can be prevailed upon. Yourriding-dress will do for the first visit. Nor let your boots be overclean. I have always told you the consequence of attending to theminutiae, where art (or imposture, as the ill-mannered would call it) isdesigned--your linen rumpled and soily, when you wait upon her--easy termsthese--just come to town--remember (as formerly) to loll, to throw outyour legs, to stroke and grasp down your ruffles, as if of significanceenough to be careless. What though the presence of a fine lady wouldrequire a different behaviour, are you not of years to dispense withpoliteness? You can have no design upon her, you know. You are a fatheryourself of daughters as old as she. Evermore is parade andobsequiousness suspectable: it must show either a foolish head, or aknavish heart. Assume airs of consequence therefore; and you will betreated as a man of consequence. I have often more than half ruinedmyself by my complaisance; and, being afraid of controul, have broughtcontroul upon myself. 

I think I have no more to say at present. I intend to be at Slough, oron the way to it, as by mine to the lady. Adieu, honest M'Donald. 

R. L. 

LETTER XLV

TO CAPTAIN TOMLINSON[ENCLOSED IN THE PRECEDING; TO BE SHOWN TO THE LADY AS IN CONFIDENCE. ]M. HALL, TUESDAY MORN. , JUNE 27. 

DEAR CAPTAIN TOMLINSON, An unhappy misunderstanding has arisen between the dearest lady in theworld and me (the particulars of which she perhaps may give you, but Iwill not, because I might be thought partial to myself;) and she refusingto answer my most pressing and respectful letters; I am at a mostperplexing uncertainty whether she will meet us or not next Thursday tosolemnize. 

My Lord is so extremely ill, that if I thought she would not oblige me, I would defer going up to town for two or three days. He cares not tohave me out of his sight: yet is impatient to salute my beloved as hisneice [sic] before he dies. This I have promised to give him anopportunity to do: intending, if the dear creature will make me happy, to set out with her for this place directly from church. 

With regret I speak it of the charmer of my soul, that irreconcilablenessis her family-fault--the less excusable indeed for her, as she herselfsuffers by it in so high a degree from her own relations. 

Now, Sir, as you intended to be in town some time before Thursday, ifit be not too great an inconvenience to you, I could be glad you wouldgo up as soon as possible, for my sake: and this I the more boldlyrequest, as I presume that a man who has so many great affairs of hisown in hand as you have, would be glad to be at a certainty as to theday. 

You, Sir, can so pathetically and justly set before her the unhappyconsequences that will follow if the day be postponed, as well withregard to her uncle's disappointment, as to the part you have assuredme her mother is willing to take in the wished-for reconciliation, thatI have great hopes she will suffer herself to be prevailed upon. And aman and horse shall be in waiting to take your dispatches and bring themto me. 

But if you cannot prevail in my favour, you will be pleased to satisfyyour friend, Mr. John Harlowe, that it is not my fault that he is notobliged. I am, dear Sir, Your extremely obligedand faithful servant, R. LOVELACE. 

LETTER XLVI

TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. WEDN. JUNE 28, NEAR TWELVE O'CLOCK. 

HONOURED SIR, I received your's, as your servant desired me to acquaint you, by tenthis morning. Horse and man were in a foam. 

I instantly equipped myself, as if come off from a journey, and postedaway to the lady, intending to plead great affairs that I came notbefore, in order to favour your antedate; and likewise to be in a hurry, to have a pretence to hurry her ladyship, and to take no denial for hergiving a satisfactory return to your messenger. But, upon my enteringMrs. Sinclair's house, I found all in the greatest consternation. 

You must not, Sir, be surprised. It is a trouble to me to be therelater of the bad news; but so it is--The lady is gone off! She wasmissed but half an hour before I came. 

Her waiting-maid is run away, or hitherto is not to be found: so thatthey conclude it was by her connivance. 

They had sent, before I came, to my honoured masters Mr. Belton, Mr. Mowbray, and Mr. Belford. Mr. Tourville is out of town. 

High words are passing between Madam Sinclair, and Madam Horton, andMadam Martin; as also with Dorcas. And your servant William threatensto hang or drown himself. 

They have sent to know if they can hear of Mabell, the waiting-maid, ather mother's, who it seems lives in Chick-lane, West-Smithfield; and toan uncle of her's also, who keeps an alehouse at Cow-cross, had by, andwith whom she lived last. 

Your messenger having just changed his horse, is come back: so I willnot detain him longer than to add, that I am, with great concern for thismisfortune, and thanks for your seasonable favour and kind intentionstowards me--I am sure this was not my fault--

Honoured Sir, Your most obliged, humble servant, PATRICK M'DONALD. 

LETTER XLVII

MR. MOWBRAY, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. WEDNESDAY, TWELVE O'CLOCK. 

DEAR LOVELACE, I have plaguy news to acquaint thee with. Miss Harlowe is gone off!--Quite gone, by soul!--I have no time for particulars, your servant beinggone off. But if I had, we are not yet come to the bottom of the matter. The ladies here are all blubbering like devills, accusing one anothermost confoundedly: whilst Belton and I damn them all together in thyname. 

If thou shouldst hear that thy fellow Will. Is taken dead out of somehorse-pond, and Dorcas cut down from her bed's teaster, from danglingin her own garters, be not surprised. Here's the devil to pay. Nobodyserene but Jack Belford, who is taking minutes of examinations, accusations, and confessions, with the significant air of a MiddlesexJustice; and intends to write at large all particulars, I suppose. 

I heartily condole with thee: so does Belton. But it may turn out forthe best: for she is gone away with thy marks, I understand. A foolishlittle devill! Where will she mend herself? for nobody will look uponher. And they tell me that thou wouldst certainly have married her, hadshe staid. But I know thee better. 

Dear Bobby, adieu. If Lord M. Will die now, to comfort thee for thisloss, what a seasonable exit would he make! Let's have a letter fromthee. Pr'ythee do. Thou can'st write devill-like to Belford, who shewsus nothing at all. Thine heartily, RD. MOWBRAY. 

LETTER XLVIII

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. THURSDAY, JUNE 29. 

Thou hast heard from M'Donald and Mowbray the news. Bad or good, I knownot which thou'lt deem it. I only wish I could have given thee joy uponthe same account, before the unhappy lady was seduced from Hampstead; forthen of what an ungrateful villany hadst thou been spared theperpetration, which now thou hast to answer for!

I came to town purely to serve thee with her, expecting that thy nextwould satisfy me that I might endeavour it without dishonour. And atfirst when I found her gone, I half pitied thee; for now wilt thou beinevitably blown up: and in what an execrable light wilt thou appear toall the world!--Poor Lovelace! caught in thy own snares! thy punishmentis but beginning. 

But to my narrative: for I suppose thou expectest all particulars fromme, since Mowbray has informed thee that I have been collecting them. 

'The noble exertion of spirit she has made on Friday night, had, itseems, greatly disordered her; insomuch that she was not visible tillSaturday evening; when Mabell saw her; and she seemed to be very ill:but on Sunday morning, having dressed herself, as if designing to go tochurch, she ordered Mabell to get her a coach to the door. 

'The wench told her, She was to obey her in every thing but the callingof a coach or chair, or in relation to letters. 

'She sent for Will. And gave him the same command. 

'He pleaded his master's orders to the contrary, and desired to beexcused. 

'Upon this, down she went, herself, and would have gone out withoutobservation; but finding the street-door double-locked, and the key notin the lock, she stept into the street-parlour, and would have thrown upthe sash to call out to the people passing by, as they doubted not: butthat, since her last attempt of the same nature, had been fastened down. 

'Hereupon she resolutely stept into Mrs. Sinclair's parlour in theback-house; where were the old devil and her two partners; and demandedthe key of the street-door, or to have it opened for her. 

'They were all surprised; but desired to be excused, and pleaded yourorders. 

'She asserted, that you had no authority over her; and never should haveany: that their present refusal was their own act and deed: she saw theintent of their back house, and the reason of putting her there: shepleaded her condition and fortune; and said, they had no way to avoidutter ruin, but by opening their doors to her, or by murdering her, andburying her in their garden or cellar, too deep for detection: thatalready what had been done to her was punishable by death: and bid themat their peril detain her. '

What a noble, what a right spirit has this charming creature, in casesthat will justify an exertion of spirit!--

'They answered that Mr. Lovelace could prove his marriage, and wouldindemnify them. And they all would have vindicated their behaviour onFriday night, and the reputation of their house. But refusing to hearthem on that topic, she flung from them threatening. 

'She then went up half a dozen stairs in her way to her own apartment:but, as if she had bethought herself, down she stept again, and proceededtowards the street-parlour; saying, as she passed by the infamous Dorcas, I'll make myself protectors, though the windows suffer. But that wench, of her own head, on the lady's going out of that parlour to Mrs. Sinclair's, had locked the door, and taken out the key: so that findingherself disappointed, she burst into tears, and went sobbing and menacingup stairs again. 

'She made no other attempt till the effectual one. Your letters andmessages, they suppose, coming so fast upon one another (though she wouldnot answer one of them) gave her some amusement, and an assurance tothem, that she would at last forgive you; and that then all would end asyou wished. 

'The women, in pursuance of your orders, offered not to obtrudethemselves upon her; and Dorcas also kept out of her sight all the restof Sunday; also on Monday and Tuesday. But by the lady's condescension, (even to familiarity) to Mabell, they imagined, that she must be workingin her mind all that time to get away. They therefore redoubled theircautions to the wench; who told them so faithfully all that passedbetween her lady and her, that they had no doubt of her fidelity to herwicked trust. 

''Tis probable she might have been contriving something all this time;but saw no room for perfecting any scheme. The contrivance by which sheeffected her escape seems to me not to have been fallen upon till thevery day; since it depended partly upon the weather, as it proved. Butit is evident she hoped something from Mabell's simplicity, or gratitude, or compassion, by cultivating all the time her civility to her. 

'Polly waited on her early on Wednesday morning; and met with a betterreception than she had reason to expect. She complained however, withwarmth, of her confinement. Polly said there would be an happy end to it(if it were a confinement, ) next day, she presumed. She absolutelydeclared to the contrary, in the way Polly meant it; and said, That Mr. Lovelace, on his return [which looked as if she intended to wait for it]should have reason to repent the orders he had given, as they all shouldtheir observance of them: let him send twenty letters, she would notanswer one, be the consequence what it would; nor give him hope of theleast favour, while she was in that house. She had given Mrs. Sinclairand themselves fair warning, she said: no orders of another ought to makethem detain a free person: but having made an open attempt to go, andbeen detained by them, she was the calmer, she told Polly; let them lookto the consequence. 

'But yet she spoke this with temper; and Polly gave it as her opinion, (with apprehension for their own safety, ) that having so good a handle topunish them all, she would not go away if she might. And what, inferredPolly, is the indemnity of a man who has committed the vilest of rapes ona person of condition; and must himself, if prosecuted for it, eitherfly, or be hanged?

'Sinclair, [so I will still call her, ] upon this representation of Polly, foresaw, she said, the ruin of her poor house in the issue of thisstrange business; and the infamous Sally and Dorcas bore their parts inthe apprehension: and this put them upon thinking it advisable for thefuture, that the street-door should generally in the day-time be onlyleft upon a bolt-latch, as they called it, which any body might open onthe inside; and that the key should be kept in the door; that theirnumerous comers and goers, as they called their guests, should be able togive evidence, that she might have gone out if she would: not forgetting, however, to renew their orders to Will. To Dorcas, to Mabell, and therest, to redouble their vigilance on this occasion, to prevent herescape: none of them doubting, at the same time, that her love of a manso considerable in their eyes, and the prospect of what was to happen, asshe had reason to believe, on Thursday, her uncle's birth-day, would(though perhaps not till the last hour, for her pride sake, was theirword) engage her to change her temper. 

'They believe, that she discovered the key to be left in the door; forshe was down more than once to walk in the little garden, and seemed tocast her eye each time to the street-door. 

'About eight yesterday morning, an hour after Polly had left her, shetold Mabell, she was sure she should not live long; and having a goodmany suits of apparel, which after her death would be of no use to anybody she valued, she would give her a brown lustring gown, which, withsome alterations to make it more suitable to her degree, would a greatwhile serve her for a Sunday wear; for that she (Mabell) was the onlyperson in that house of whom she could think without terror or antipathy. 

'Mabell expressing her gratitude upon the occasion, the lady said, shehad nothing to employ herself about, and if she could get a workwomandirectly, she would look over her things then, and give her what sheintended for her. 

'Her mistress's mantua-maker, the maid replied, lived but a little wayoff: and she doubted not that she could procure her, or one of thejourney-women to alter the gown out of hand. 

'I will give you also, said she, a quilted coat, which will require butlittle alteration, if any; for you are much about my stature: but thegown I will give directions about, because the sleeves and the robingsand facings must be altered for your wear, being, I believe, above yourstation: and try, said she, if you can get the workwoman, and we'lladvise about it. If she cannot come now, let her come in the afternoon;but I had rather now, because it will amuse me to give you a lift. 

'Then stepping to the window, it rains, said she, [and so it had done allthe morning:] slip on the hood and short cloak I have seen you wear, andcome to me when you are ready to go out, because you shall bring me insomething that I want. 

'Mabell equipped herself accordingly, and received her commands to buyher some trifles, and then left her; but in her way out, stept into theback parlour, where Dorcas was with Mrs. Sinclair, telling her where shewas going, and on what account, bidding Dorcas look out till she cameback. So faithful as the wench to the trust reposed in her, and solittle had the lady's generosity wrought upon her. 

'Mrs. Sinclair commended her; Dorcas envied her, and took her cue: andMabell soon returned with the mantua-maker's journey-woman; (sheresolved, she said, but she would not come without her); and then Dorcaswent off guard. 

'The lady looked out the gown and petticoat, and before the workwomancaused Mabell to try it on; and, that it might fit the better, made thewilling wench pull off her upper-petticoat, and put on that she gave her. Then she bid them go into Mr. Lovelace's apartment, and contrive about itbefore the pier-glass there, and stay till she came to them, to give themher opinion. 

'Mabell would have taken her own clothes, and hood, and short cloak withher: but her lady said, No matter; you may put them on again here, whenwe have considered about the alterations: there's no occasion to litterthe other room. 

'They went; and instantly, as it is supposed, she slipt on Mabell's gownand petticoat over her own, which was white damask, and put on thewench's hood, short cloak, and ordinary apron, and down she went. 

'Hearing somebody tripping along the passage, both Will. And Dorcas whiptto the inner-hall door, and saw her; but, taking her for Mabell, Are yougoing far, Mabell? cried Will. 

'Without turning her face, or answering, she held out her hand, pointingto the stairs; which they construed as a caution for them to look out inher absence; and supposing she would not be long gone, as she had not inform, repeated her caution to them, up went Will, tarrying at thestairs-head in expectation of the supposed Mabell's return. 

'Mabell and the workwoman waited a good while, amusing themselves notdisagreeably, the one with contriving in the way of her business, theother delighting herself with her fine gown and coat. But at last, wondering the lady did not come in to them, Mabell tiptoed it to herdoor, and tapping, and not being answered, stept into the chamber. 

'Will. At that instant, from his station at the stairs-head, seeingMabell in her lady's clothes; for he had been told of the present, [giftsto servants fly from servant to servant in a minute, ] was very muchsurprised, having, as he thought, just seen her go out in her own; andstepping up, met her at the door. How the devil can this be? said he:just now you went out in your own dress! How came you here in this? andhow could you pass me unseen? but nevertheless, kissing her, said, hewould now brag he had kissed his lady, or one in her clothes. 

'I am glad, Mr. William, cried Mabell, to see you here so diligently. But know you where my lady is?

'In my master's apartment, answered Will. Is she not? Was she nottalking with you this moment?

'No, that's Mrs. Dolins's journey-woman. 

'They both stood aghast, as they said; Will, again recollecting he hadseen Mabell, as he thought, go out in her own clothes. And while theywere debating and wondering, up comes Dorcas with your fourth letter, just then brought for the lady, and seeing Mabell dressed out, (whom shehad likewise beheld a little before), as she supposed, in her commonclothes; she joined in the wonder; till Mabell, re-entering the lady'sapartment, missed her own clothes; and then suspecting what had happened, and letting the others into the ground of the suspicion, they all agreedthat she had certainly escaped. And then followed such an uproar ofmutual accusation, and you should have done this, and you have done that, as alarmed the whole house; every apartment in both houses giving up itsdevil, to the number of fourteen or fifteen, including the mother and herpartners. 

'Will. Told them his story; and then ran out, as on the like occasionformerly, to make inquiry whether the lady was seen by any of thecoachmen, chairmen, or porters, plying in that neighbourhood: whileDorcas cleared herself immediately, and that at the poor Mabell'sexpense, who made a figure as guilty as awkward, having on the suspectedprice of her treachery; which Dorcas, out of envy, was ready to tear fromher back. 

'Hereupon all the pack opened at the poor wench, while the mother foamedat the mouth, bellowed out her orders for seizing the suspected offender;who could neither be heard in her own defence, nor had she been heard, would have been believed. 

'That such a perfidious wretch should ever disgrace her house, was themother's cry; good people might be corrupted; but it was a fine thing ifsuch a house as her's could not be faithfully served by cursed creatureswho were hired knowing the business they were to be employed in, and whohad no pretence to principle!--D--n her, the wretch proceeded!--She hadno patience with her! call the cook, and call the scullion!

'They were at hand. 

'See, that guilty pyeball devil, was her word--(her lady's gown upon herback)--but I'll punish her for a warning to all betrayers of their trust. Put on the great gridiron this moment, [an oath or a curse at everyword:] make up a roaring fire--the cleaver bring me this instant--I'llcut her into quarters with my own hands; and carbonade and broil thetraitress for a feast to all the dogs and cats in the neighbourhood, andeat the first slice of the toad myself, without salt or pepper. 

'The poor Mabell, frighted out of her wits, expected every moment to betorn in pieces, having half a score open-clawed paws upon her all atonce. She promised to confess all. But that all, when she had obtaineda hearing, was nothing: for nothing had she to confess. 

'Sally, hereupon with a curse of mercy, ordered her to retire;undertaking that she and Polly would examine her themselves, that theymight be able to write all particulars to his honour; and then, if shecould not clear herself, or, if guilty, give some account of the lady, (who had been so wicked as to give them all this trouble, ) so as theymight get her again, then the cleaver and gridiron might go to work withall their heart. 

'The wench, glad of this reprieve, went up stairs; and while Sally waslaying out the law, and prating away in her usual dictorial manner, whipton another gown, and sliding down the stairs, escaped to her relations. And this flight, which was certainly more owing to terror than guilt, was, in the true Old Bailey construction, made a confirmation of thelatter. '

***

These are the particulars of Miss Harlowe's flight. Thou'lt hardly thinkme too minute. --How I long to triumph over thy impatience and fury on theoccasion!

Let me beseech thee, my dear Lovelace, in thy next letter, to rave mostgloriously!--I shall be grievously disappointed if thou dost not. 

***

Where, Lovelace, can the poor lady be gone? And who can describe thedistress she must be in?

By thy former letters, it may be supposed, that she can have very littlemoney: nor, by the suddenness of her flight, more clothes than those shehas on. And thou knowest who once said, * 'Her parents will not receiveher. Her uncles will not entertain her. Her Norton is in theirdirection, and cannot. Miss Howe dare not. She has not one friend orintimate in town--entirely a stranger to it. ' And, let me add, has beendespoiled of her honour by the man for whom she had made all thesesacrifices; and who stood bound to her by a thousand oaths and vows, tobe her husband, her protector, and friend!

* See Vol. IV. Letter XXI. 

How strong must be her resentment of the barbarous treatment she hasreceived! how worthy of herself, that it has made her hate the man sheonce loved! and, rather than marry him, choose to expose her disgrace tothe whole world: to forego the reconciliation with her friends which herheart was so set upon: and to hazard a thousand evils to which her youthand her sex may too probably expose an indigent and friendly beauty!

Rememberest thou not that home push upon thee, in one of the paperswritten in her delirium; of which, however it savours not?----

I will assure thee, that I have very often since most seriously reflectedupon it: and as thy intended second outrage convinces me that it made noimpression upon thee then, and perhaps thou hast never thought of itsince, I will transcribe the sentence. 

'If, as religion teaches us, God will judge us, in a great measure! byour benevolent or evil actions to one another--O wretch! bethink thee, intime bethink thee, how great must be thy condemnation. '*

* See Vol. VI. Letter XVI. 

And is this amiable doctrine the sum of religion? Upon my faith, believe it is. For, to indulge a serious thought, since we are notatheists, except in practice, does God, the BEING of Beings, want anything of us for HIMSELF! And does he not enjoin us works of mercy to oneanother, as the means to obtain his mercy? A sublime principle, andworthy of the SUPREME SUPERINTENDENT and FATHER of all things!--But if weare to be judged by this noble principle, what, indeed, must be thycondemnation on the score of this lady only? and what mine, and what allour confraternity's, on the score of other women: though we are none ofus half so bad as thou art, as well for want of inclination, I hope, asof opportunity!

I must add, that, as well for thy own sake, as for the lady's, I wish yewere yet to be married to each other. It is the only medium that can behit upon to salve the honour of both. All that's past may yet beconcealed from the world, and from all her sufferings, if thou resolvestto be a tender and kind husband to her. 

And if this really be thy intention, I will accept with pleasure of acommission from thee that shall tend to promote so good an end, whenevershe can be found; that is to say, if she will admit to her presence a manwho professes friendship to thee. Nor can I give a greaterdemonstration, that I am

Thy sincere friend, J. BELFORD. 

P. S. Mabell's clothes were thrown into the passage this morning: nobodyknows by whom. 

LETTER XLIX

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. FRIDAY, JUNE 30. 

I am ruined, undone, blown up, destroyed, and worse than annihilated, that's certain!--But was not the news shocking enough, dost thou think, without thy throwing into the too-weighty scale reproaches, which thoucouldst have had no opportunity to make but for my own voluntarycommunications? at a time too, when, as it falls out, I have another verysensible disappointment to struggle with?

I imagine, if there be such a thing as future punishment, it must be noneof the smallest mortifications, that a new devil shall be punished by aworse old one. And, take that! And, take that! to have the old satyrcry to the screaming sufferer, laying on with a cat-o'-nine-tails, with astar of burning brass at the end of each: and, for what! for what!---Why, if the truth may be fairly told, for not being so bad a devil as myself. 

Thou art, surely, casuist good enough to know, (what I have insistedupon* heretofore, ) that the sin of seducing a credulous and easy girl, isas great as that of bringing to your lure an incredulous and watchfulone. 

* See Vol. IV. Letter XVII. 

However ungenerous an appearance what I am going to say may have from mypen, let me tell thee, that if such a woman as Miss Harlowe chose toenter into the matrimonial state, [I am resolved to disappoint thee inthy meditated triumph over my rage and despair!] and, according to theold patriarchal system, to go on contributing to get sons and daughters, with no other view than to bring them up piously, and to be good anduseful members of the commonwealth, what a devil had she to do, to lether fancy run a gadding after a rake? one whom she knew to be a rake?

Oh! but truly she hoped to have the merit of reclaiming him. She hadformed pretty notions how charming it would look to have a penitent ofher own making dangling at her side at church, through an applaudingneighbourhood: and, as their family increased, marching with her thither, at the head of their boys and girls, processionally, as it were, boastingof the fruits of their honest desires, as my good lord bishop has it inhis license. And then, what a comely sight, all kneeling down togetherin one pew, according to eldership as we have seen in effigy, a wholefamily upon some old monument, where the honest chevalier in armour ispresented kneeling, with up-lifted hands, and half a dozen jolter-headedcrop-eared boys behind him, ranged gradatim, or step-fashion according toage and size, all in the same posture--facing his pious dame, with a ruffabout her neck, and as many whey-faced girls all kneeling behind her: analtar between them, and an open book upon it: over their headssemiluminary rays darting from gilded clouds, surrounding an achievement-motto, IN COELO SALUS--or QUIES--perhaps, if they have happened to livethe usual married life of brawl and contradiction. 

It is certainly as much my misfortune to have fallen in with MissClarissa Harlowe, were I to have valued my reputation or ease, as it isthat of Miss Harlowe to have been acquainted with me. And, after all, what have I done more than prosecute the maxim, by which thou and I andevery rake are governed, and which, before I knew this lady, we havepursued from pretty girl to pretty girl, as fast as we have set one down, taking another up;--just as the fellows do with their flying coaches andflying horses at a country fair----with a Who rides next! Who ridesnext!

But here in the present case, to carry on the volant metaphor, (for Imust either be merry, or mad, ) is a pretty little miss just come out ofher hanging-sleeve-coat, brought to buy a pretty little fairing; for theworld, Jack, is but a great fair, thou knowest; and, to give thee seriousreflection for serious, all its joys but tinselled hobby-horses, giltgingerbread, squeaking trumpets, painted drums, and so forth. 

Now behold this pretty little miss skimming from booth to booth, in avery pretty manner. One pretty little fellow called Wyerley, perhaps;another jiggeting rascal called Biron, a third simpering varlet of thename of Symmes, and a more hideous villain than any of the reset, with along bag under his arm, and parchment settlements tagged to his heels, yelped Solmes: pursue her from raree-show to raree-show, shouldering uponone another at every turn, stopping when she stops, and set a spinningagain when she moves. And thus dangled after, but still in the eye ofher watchful guardians, traverses the pretty little miss through thewhole fair, equally delighted and delighting: till at last, taken withthe invitation of the laced-hat orator, and seeing several pretty littlebib-wearers stuck together in the flying-coaches, cutting safely theyielding air, in the one-go-up the other go-down picture-of-the-worldvehicle, and all with as little fear as wit, is tempted to ride next. 

In then suppose she slily pops, when none of her friends are near her:And if, after two or three ups and downs, her pretty head turns giddy, and she throws herself out of the coach when at its elevation, and sodashes out her pretty little brains, who can help it?--And would you hangthe poor fellow, whose professed trade it was to set the pretty littlecreature a flying?

'Tis true, this pretty little miss, being a very pretty little miss, being a very much-admired little miss, being a very good little miss, whoalways minded her book, and had passed through her sampler-doctrine withhigh applause; had even stitched out, in gaudy propriety of colors, anAbraham offering up Isaac, a Sampson and the Philistines; and flowers, and knots, and trees, and the sun and the moon, and the seven stars, allhung up in frames with glasses before them, for the admiration of herfuture grand children: who likewise was entitled to a very pretty littleestate: who was descended from a pretty little family upwards of onehundred years gentility; which lived in a very pretty little manner, respected a very little on their own accounts, a great deal on her's:----

For such a pretty little miss as this to come to so great a misfortune, must be a very sad thing: But, tell me, would not the losing of anyordinary child, of any other less considerable family, or less shining oramiable qualities, have been as great and heavy a loss to that family, asthe losing this pretty little miss could be to her's?

To descend to a very low instance, and that only as to personality; hastthou any doubt, that thy strong-muscled bony-faced was as much admired bythy mother, as if it had been the face of a Lovelace, or any otherhandsome fellow? And had thy picture been drawn, would she have forgiventhe painter, had he not expressed so exactly thy lineaments, as thatevery one should have discerned the likeness? The handsome likeness isall that is wished for. Ugliness made familiar to us, with thepartiality natural to fond parents, will be beauty all the world over. --Do thou apply. 

But, alas! Jack, all this is but a copy of my countenance, drawn to evadethy malice!--Though it answer thy unfriendly purpose to own it, I cannotforbear to own it, that I am stung to the very soul with this unhappy--accident, must I call it!--Have I nobody, whose throat, either forcarelessness or treachery, I ought to cut, in order to pacify myvengeance?

When I reflect upon my last iniquitous intention, the first outrage sonobly resented, as well as, so far as she was able, so nobly resisted, Icannot but conclude, that I was under the power of fascination from theseaccursed Circes; who, pretending to know their own sex, would have it, that there is in every woman a yielding, or a weak-resisting moment to bemet with: and that yet, and yet, and yet, I had not tried enough; butthat, if neither love nor terror should enable me to hit that luckymoment, when, by help of their cursed arts, she was once overcome, shewould be for ever overcome:--appealing to all my experience, to all myknowledge of the sex, for justification of their assertion. 

My appeal to experience, I own, was but too favourable to their argument:For dost thou think I could have held my purpose against such an angel asthis, had I ever before met with a woman so much in earnest to defend herhonour against the unwearied artifices and perseverance of the man sheloved? Why then were there not more examples of a virtue so immovable?Or, why was this singular one to fall to my lot? except indeed to doublemy guilt; and at the same time to convince all that should hear herstory, that there are angels as well as devils in the flesh?

So much for confession; and for the sake of humouring my conscience; witha view likewise to disarm thy malice by acknowledgement: since no one shallsay worse of me, than I will of myself on this occasion. 

One thing I will nevertheless add, to show the sincerity of my contrition--'Tis this, that if thou canst by any means find her out within thesethree days, or any time before she has discovered the stories relating toCaptain Tomlinson and her uncle to be what they are; and if thou canstprevail upon her to consent, I will actually, in thy presence and his, (he to represent her uncle, ) marry her. 

I am still in hopes it may be so--she cannot be long concealed--I havealready set all engines at work to find her out! and if I do, whatindifferent persons, [and no one of her friends, as thou observest, willlook upon her, ] will care to embroil themselves with a man of my figure, fortune, and resolution? Show her this part, then, or any other part ofthis letter, as thy own discretion, if thou canst find her: for, afterall, methinks, I would be glad that this affair, which is bad enough initself, should go off without worse personal consequences to any bodyelse: and yet it runs in my mind, I know not why, that, sooner or laterit will draw a few drops of blood after it; except she and I can make itup between ourselves. And this may be another reason why she should notcarry her resentment too far--not that such an affair would give me muchconcern neither, were I to choose any man of men, for I heartily hate allher family, but herself; and ever shall. 

***

Let me add, that the lady's plot to escape appears to me no extraordinaryone. There was much more luck than probability that it should do: since, to make it succeed, it was necessary that Dorcas and Will. , and Sinclairand her nymphs, should be all deceived, or off their guard. It belongsto me, when I see them, to give them my hearty thanks that they were; andthat their selfish care to provide for their own future security, shouldinduce them to leave their outward door upon their bolt-latch, and becurs'd to them. 

Mabell deserves a pitch suit and a bonfire, rather than the lustring; andas her clothes are returned, le the lady's be put to her others, to besent to her when it can be told whither--but not till I give the wordneither; for we must get the dear fugitive back again if possible. 

I suppose that my stupid villain, who knew not such a goddess-shaped ladywith a mien so noble, from the awkward and bent-shouldered Mabell, hasbeen at Hampstead to see after her. And yet I hardly think she would gothither. He ought to go through every street where bills for lodgingsare up, to inquire after a new-comer. The houses of such as deal inwomen's matters, and tea, coffee, and such-like, are those to be inquiredat for her. If some tidings be not quickly heard of her, I would nothave either Dorcas, Will. , or Mabell, appear in my sight, whatever theirsuperiors think fit to do. 

This, though written in character, is a very long letter, considering itis not a narrative one, or a journal of proceedings, like most of myformer; for such will unavoidably and naturally, as I may say, run intolength. But I have so used myself to write a great deal of late, that Iknow not how to help it. Yet I must add to its length, in order toexplain myself on a hint I gave at the beginning of it; which was, that Ihave another disappointment, besides this of Miss Harlowe's escape, tobemoan. 

And what dost thou think it is? Why, the old Peer, pox of his toughconstitution, (for that malady would have helped him on, ) has made shiftby fire and brimstone, and the devil knows what, to force the gout toquit the counterscarp of his stomach, just as it had collected all itsstrength, in order to storm the citadel of his heart. In short, theyhave, by the mere force of stink-pots, hand-granades, and pop-guns, driven the slow-working pioneer quite out of the trunk into theextremities; and there it lies nibbling and gnawing upon his great toe;when I had a fair end of the distemper and the distempered. 

But I, who could write to thee of laudanum, and the wet cloth, formerly, yet let 8000£. A year slip through my fingers, when I had entered upon itmore than in imagination, [for I had begun to ask the stewards questions, and to hear them talk of fines and renewals, and such sort of stuff, ]deserve to be mortified. 

Thou canst not imagine how differently the servants, and even my cousins, look upon me, since yesterday, to what they did before. Neither the onenor the other bow or courtesy half so low--nor am I a quarter so oftenhis honour and your honour, as I was within these few hours, with theformer: and as to the latter--it is cousin Bobby again, with the usualfamiliarity, instead of Sir, and Sir, and If you please, Mr. Lovelace. And now they have the insolence to congratulate me on the recovery of thebest of uncles; while I am forced to seem as much delighted as they, when, would it do me good, I could sit down and cry my eyes out. 

I had bespoke my mourning in imagination, after the example of a certainforeign minister, who, before the death, or even last illness of CharlesII. , as honest White Kennet tells us, had half exhausted Blackwell-hallof its sables--an indication, as the historian would insinuate, that themonarch was to be poisoned, and the ambassador in the secret. --And yet, fool that I was, I could not take the hint--What the devil does a manread history for, if he cannot profit by the examples he find in it?

But thus, Jack, is an observation of the old Peer's verified, that onemisfortune seldom comes alone: and so concludes

Thy doubly mortifiedLOVELACE. 

LETTER L

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWEWEDNESDAY NIGHT, JUNE 28. 

O MY DEAREST MISS HOWE!

Once more have I escaped--But, alas! I, my best self, have not escaped!--Oh! your poor Clarissa Harlowe! you also will hate me, I fear!----

Yet you won't, when you know all!

But no more of my self! my lost self. You that can rise in a morning tobe blest, and to bless; and go to rest delighted with your ownreflections, and in your unbroken, unstarting slumbers, conversing withsaints and angels, the former only more pure than yourself, as they haveshaken off the incumbrance of body; you shall be my subject, as you havelong, long, been my only pleasure. And let me, at awful distance, reveremy beloved Anna Howe, and in her reflect upon what her Clarissa Harloweonce was!

***

Forgive, O forgive my rambling. My peace is destroyed. My intellectsare touched. And what flighty nonsense must you read, if you now willvouchsafe to correspond with me, as formerly!

O my best, my dearest, my only friend! what a tale have I to unfold!--But still upon self, this vile, this hated self!--I will shake it off, ifpossible; and why should I not, since I think, except one wretch, I hatenothing so much? Self, then, be banished from self one moment (for Idoubt it will be for no longer) to inquire after a dearer object, mybeloved Anna Howe!--whose mind, all robed in spotless white, charms andirradiates--But what would I say?----

***

And how, my dearest friend, after this rhapsody, which on re-perusal, Iwould not let go, but to show you what a distracted mind dictates to mytrembling pen! How do you? You have been very ill, it seems. That youare recovered, my dear, let me hear. That your mother is well, pray letme hear, and hear quickly. This comfort surely is owing to me; for iflife is no worse than chequer-work, I must now have a little white tocome, having seen nothing but black, all unchequered dismal black, for agreat, great while. 

***

And what is all this wild incoherence for? It is only to beg to know howyou have been, and how you do now, by a line directed for Mrs. RachelClark, at Mr. Smith's, a glove-shop, in King-street, Covent-garden; which(although my abode is secret to every body else) will reach the hands of--your unhappy--but that's not enough----

Your miserableCLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER LI

MRS. HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE[SUPERSCRIBED AS DIRECTED IN THE PRECEDING. ]FRIDAY, JUNE 30. 

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, You will wonder to receive a letter from me. I am sorry for the greatdistress you seem to be in. Such a hopeful young lady as you were! Butsee what comes of disobedience to parents!

For my part; although I pity you, yet I much more pity your poor fatherand mother. Such education as they gave you! such improvement as youmade! and such delight as they took in you!--And all come to this!--

But pray, Miss, don't make my Nancy guilt of your fault; which is that ofdisobedience. I have charged her over and over not to correspond withone who had made such a giddy step. It is not to her reputation, I amsure. You know that I so charged her; yet you go on correspondingtogether, to my very great vexation; for she has been very perverse uponit more than once. Evil communication, Miss--you know the rest. 

Here, people cannot be unhappy by themselves, but they must invoke theirfriends and acquaintance whose discretion has kept them clear of theirerrors, into near as much unhappiness as if they had run into the likeof their own heads! Thus my poor daughter is always in tears and grief. And she has postponed her own felicity, truly, because you are unhappy. 

If people, who seek their own ruin, could be the only sufferers by theirheadstrong doings, it were something: But, O Miss, Miss! what have you toanswer for, who have made as many grieved hearts as have known you! Thewhole sex is indeed wounded by you: For, who but Miss Clarissa Harlowewas proposed by every father and mother for a pattern for theirdaughters?

I write a long letter, where I proposed to say but a few words; and thoseto forbid your writing to my Nancy: and this as well because of the falsestep you have made, as because it will grieve her poor heart, and do youno good. If you love her, therefore, write not to her. Your sad lettercame into my hands, Nancy being abroad: and I shall not show it her: forthere would be no comfort for her, if she saw it, nor for me, whosedelight she is--as you once was to your parents. --

But you seem to be sensible enough of your errors now. --So are all giddygirls, when it is too late: and what a crest-fallen figure then do theconsequences of their self-willed obstinacy and headstrongness compelthem to make!

I may say too much: only as I think it proper to bear that testimonyagainst your rashness which it behoves every careful parent to bear: andnone more than

Your compassionating, well-wishingANNABELLA HOWE. 

I send this by a special messenger, who has business only so far as Barnet, because you shall have no need to write again; knowing how you love writing: and knowing, likewise, that misfortune makes people plaintive. 

LETTER LII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. HOWE. SATURDAY, JULY 1. 

Permit me, Madam, to trouble you with a few lines, were it only to thankyou for your reproofs; which have nevertheless drawn fresh streams ofblood from a bleeding heart. 

My story is a dismal story. It has circumstances in it that would engagepity, and possibly a judgment not altogether unfavourable, were thosecircumstances known. But it is my business, and shall be all mybusiness, to repent of my failings, and not endeavour to extenuate them. 

Nor will I seek to distress your worthy mind. If I cannot suffer alone, I will make as few parties as I can in my sufferings. And, indeed, Itook up my pen with this resolution when I wrote the letter which hasfallen into your hands. It was only to know, and that for a veryparticular reason, as well as for affection unbounded, if my dear MissHowe, from whom I had not heard of a long time, were ill; as I had beentold she was; and if so, how she now does. But my injuries being recent, and my distresses having been exceeding great, self would crowd into myletter. When distressed, the human mind is apt to turn itself to everyone, in whom it imagined or wished an interest, for pity and consolation. --Or, to express myself better, and more concisely, in your own words, misfortune makes people plaintive: And to whom, if not to a friend, canthe afflicted complain?

Miss Howe being abroad when my letter came, I flatter myself that she isrecovered. But it would be some satisfaction to me to be informed if shehas been ill. Another line from your hand would be too great a favour:but if you will be pleased to direct any servant to answer yes, or no, tothat question, I will not be farther troublesome. 

Nevertheless, I must declare, that my Miss Howe's friendship was all thecomfort I had, or expected to have in this world; and a line from herwould have been a cordial to my fainting heart. Judge then, dearestMadam, how reluctantly I must obey your prohibition--but yet I willendeavour to obey it; although I should have hoped, as well from thetenor of all that has passed between Miss Howe and me, as from herestablished virtue, that she could not be tainted by evil communication, had one or two letters been permitted. This, however, I ask not for, since I think I have nothing to do but to beg of God (who, I hope, hasnot yet withdrawn his grace from me, although he has pleaded to let loosehis justice upon my faults) to give me a truly broken spirit, if it benot already broken enough, and then to take to his mercy

The unhappyCLARISSA HARLOWE. 

Two favours, good Madam, I have to beg of you. --The first, --that you will not let any of my relations know that you have heard from me. The other, --that no living creature be apprized where I am to be heard of, or directed to. This is a point that concerns me more than I can express. --In short, my preservation from further evils may depend upon it. 

LETTER LIII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO HANNAH BURTONTHURSDAY, JUNE 29. 

MY GOOD HANNAH, Strange things have happened to me, since you were dismissed my service(so sorely against my will) and your pert fellow servant set over me. But that must all be forgotten now--

How do you, my Hannah? Are you recovered of your illness? If you are, do you choose to come and be with me? Or can you conveniently?

I am a very unhappy creature, and, being among all strangers, should bevery glad to have you with me, of whose fidelity and love I have had somany acceptable instances. 

Living or dying, I will endeavour to make it worth your while, my Hannah. 

If you are recovered, as I hope, and if you have a good place, it may bethey would bear with your absence, and suffer somebody in your room for amonth or so: and, by that time, I hope to be provided for, and you maythen return to your place. 

Don't let any of my friends know of this my desire: whether you can comeor not. 

I am at Mr. Smith's, a hosier's and glove shop, in King-street, Covent-garden. 

You must direct to me by the name of Rachel Clark. 

Do, my good Hannah, come if you can to your poor young mistress, whoalways valued you, and always will whether you come or not. 

I send this to your mother at St. Alban's, not knowing where to directto you. Return me a line, that I may know what to depend upon: and Ishall see you have not forgotten the pretty hand you were taught, inhappy days, by

Your true friend, CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER LIV

HANNAH BURTON[IN ANSWER. ]MONDAY, JULY 3. 

HONORED MADDAM, I have not forgot to write, and never will forget any thing you, my dearyoung lady, was so good as to larn me. I am very sorrowful for yourmisfortens, my dearest young lady; so sorrowfull, I do not know what todo. Gladd at harte would I be to be able to come to you. But indeed Ihave not been able to stir out of my rome here at my mother's ever sinceI was forsed to leave my plase with a roomatise, which has made me quiteand clene helpless. I will pray for you night and day, my dearest, mykindest, my goodest young lady, who have been so badly used; and I amvery sorry I cannot come to do you love and sarvice; which will ever bein the harte of mee to do, if it was in my power: who am

Your most dutiful servant to command, HANNAH BURTON. 

LETTER LV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. JUDITH NORTONTHURSDAY, JUNE 29. 

MY DEAR MRS. NORTON, I address myself to you, after a very long silence, (which, however, wasnot owing either to want of love or duty, ) principally to desire you tosatisfy me in two or three points, which it behoves me to know. 

My father, and all the family, I am informed, are to be at my uncleHarlowe's this day, as usual. Pray acquaint me, if they have been there?And if they were cheerful on the anniversary occasion? And also, if youhave heard of any journey, or intended journey, of my brother, in companywith Captain Singleton and Mr. Solmes?

Strange things have happened to me, my dear, worthy and maternal friend--very strange things!--Mr. Lovelace has proved a very barbarous andungrateful man to me. But, God be praised, I have escaped from him. Being among absolute strangers (though I think worthy folks) I havewritten to Hannah Burton to come and be with me. If the good creaturefall in your way, pray encourage her to come to me. I always intendedto have her, she knows: but hoped to be in happier circumstances. 

Say nothing to any of my friends that you have heard from me. 

Pray, do you think my father would be prevailed upon, if I were tosupplicate him by letter, to take off the heavy curse he laid upon me atmy going from Harlowe-place? I can expect no other favour from him. Butthat being literally fulfilled as to my prospects in this life, I hope itwill be thought to have operated far enough; and my heart is so weak!--itis very weak!--But for my father's own sake--what should I say!--Indeed Ihardly know how I ought to express myself on this sad subject!--but itwill give ease to my mind to be released from it. 

I am afraid my Poor, as I used to call the good creatures to whosenecessities I was wont to administer by your faithful hands, have missedme of late. But now, alas! I am poor myself. It is not the leastaggravation of my fault, nor of my regrets, that with such inclinationsas God has given me, I have put it our of my power to do the good I oncepleased myself to think I was born to do. It is a sad thing, my dearestMrs. Nortin, to render useless to ourselves and the world, by our ownrashness, the talents which Providence has intrusted to us, for theservice of both. 

But these reflections are now too late; and perhaps I ought to have keptthem to myself. Let me, however, hope that you love me still. Pray letme hope that you do. And then, notwithstanding my misfortunes, whichhave made me seem ungrateful to the kind and truly maternal pains youhave taken with me from my cradle, I shall have the happiness to thinkthat there is one worthy person, who hates not

The unfortunateCLARISSA HARLOWE. 

Pray remember me to my foster-brother. I hope he continues dutiful and good to you. Be pleased to direct for Rachel Clark, at Mr. Smith's, in King-street, Covent-garden. But keep the direction an absolute secret. 

LETTER LVI

MRS. NORTON[IN ANSWER. ]SATURDAY, JULY 1. 

Your letter, my dearest young lady, cuts me to the heart! Why will younot let me know all your distresses?--Yet you have said enough!

My son is very good to me. A few hours ago he was taken with a feverishdisorder. But I hope it will go off happily, if his ardour for businesswill give him the recess from it which his good master is willing toallow him. He presents his duty to you, and shed tears at hearing yoursad letter read. 

You have been misinformed as to your family's being at your uncleHarlowe's. They did not intend to be there. Nor was the day kept atall. Indeed, they have not stirred out, but to church (and that butthree times) ever since the day you went away. --Unhappy day for them, andfor all who know you!--To me, I am sure, most particularly so!--My heartnow bleeds more and more for you. 

I have not heard a syllable of such a journey as you mentioned of yourbrother, Captain Singleton, and Mr. Solmes. There has been some talkindeed of your brother's setting out for his northern estates: but I havenot heard of it lately. 

I am afraid no letter will be received from you. It grieves me to tellyou so, my dearest young lady. No evil can have happened to you, whichthey do not expect to hear of; so great is their antipathy to the wickedman, and so bad is his character. 

I cannot but think hardly of their unforgiveness: but there is no judgingfor others by one's self. Nevertheless I will add, that, if you had hadas gentle spirits as mine, these evils had never happened either to themor to you. I knew your virtue, and your love of virtue, from your verycradle; and I doubted not but that, with God's grace, would always beyour guard. But you could never be driven; nor was there occasion todrive you--so generous, so noble, so discreet. --But how does my love ofyour amiable qualities increase my affliction; as these recollectionsmust do your's!

You are escaped, my dearest Miss--happily, I hope--that is to say, withyour honour--else, how great must be your distress!--Yet, from yourletter, I dread the worst. 

I am very seldom at Harlowe-place. The house is not the house it used tobe, since you went from it. Then they are so relentless! And, as Icannot say harsh things of the beloved child of my heart, as well asbosom, they do not take it amiss that I stay away. 

Your Hannah left her place ill some time ago! and, as she is still at hermother's at St. Alban's, I am afraid she continues ill. If so, as youare among strangers, and I cannot encourage you at present to come intothese parts, I shall think it my duty to attend you (let it be taken asit will) as soon as my Tommy's indisposition will permit; which I hopewill be soon. 

I have a little money by me. You say you are poor yourself. --Howgrievous are those words from one entitled and accustomed to affluence!--Will you be so good to command it, my beloved young lady?--It is most ofit your own bounty to me. And I should take a pride to restore it to itsoriginal owner. 

Your Poor bless you, and pray for you continually. I have so managedyour last benevolence, and they have been so healthy, and have had suchconstant employ, that it has held out; and will hold out till the happiertimes return, which I continually pray for. 

Let me beg of you, my dearest young lady, to take to yourself all thoseaids which good persons, like you, draw from RELIGION, in support oftheir calamities. Let your sufferings be what they will, I am sure youhave been innocent in your intention. So do not despond. None are madeto suffer above what they can, and therefore ought to bear. 

We know not the methods of Providence, nor what wise ends it may have toserve in its seemingly-severe dispensations to its poor creatures. 

Few persons have greater reason to say this than myself. And since weare apt in calamities to draw more comfort from example than precept, youwill permit me to remind you of my own lot: For who has had a greatershare of afflictions than myself?

To say nothing of the loss of an excellent mother, at a time of life whenmotherly care is most wanted; the death of a dear father, who was anornament to his cloth, (and who had qualified me to be his scribe andamanuensis, ) just as he came within view of a preferment which would havemade his family easy, threw me friendless into the wide world; threw meupon a very careless, and, which was much worse, a very unkind husband. Poor man!--but he was spared long enough, thank God, in a tediousillness, to repent of his neglected opportunities, and his lightprinciples; which I have always thought of with pleasure, although I wasleft the more destitute for his chargeable illness, and ready to bebrought to bed, when he died, of my Tommy. 

But this very circumstance, which I thought the unhappiest that I couldhave been left in, (so short-sighted is human prudence!) became the happymeans of recommending me to your mother, who, in regard to my character, and in compassion to my very destitute circumstances, permitted me, as Imade a conscience of not parting with my poor boy, to nurse both you andhim, born within a few days of each other. And I have never since wantedany of the humble blessings which God has made me contented with. 

Nor have I known what a very great grief was, from the day of my poorhusband's death till the day that your parents told me how much they weredetermined that you should have Mr. Solmes; when I was apprized not onlyof your aversion to him, but how unworthy he was of you: for then I beganto dread the consequences of forcing so generous a spirit; and, tillthen, I never feared Mr. Lovelace, attracting as was his person, andspecious his manners and address. For I was sure you would never havehim, if he gave you not good reason to be convinced of his reformation:nor till your friends were as well satisfied in it as yourself. But thatunhappy misunderstanding between your brother and Mr. Lovelace, and theirjoining so violently to force you upon Mr. Solmes, did all that mischief, which has cost you and them so dear, and poor me all my peace! Oh! whathas not this ungrateful, this double-guilty man to answer for!

Nevertheless, you know not what God has in store for you yet!--But if youare to be punished all your days here, for example sake, in a case ofsuch importance, for your one false step, be pleased to consider, thatthis life is but a state of probation; and if you have your purificationin it, you will be the more happy. Nor doubt I, that you will have thehigher reward hereafter for submitting to the will of Providence herewith patience and resignation. 

You see, my dearest Miss Clary, that I make no scruple to call the stepyou took a false one. In you it was less excusable than it would havebeen in any other young lady; not only because of your superior talents, but because of the opposition between your character and his: so that, ifyou had been provoked to quit your father's house, it need not to havebeen with him. Nor needed I, indeed, but as an instance of my impartiallove, to have written this to you. *

* Mrs. Norton, having only the family representation and invectives toform her judgment upon, knew not that Clarissa had determined againstgoing off with Mr. Lovelace; nor how solicitous she had been to procurefor herself any other protection than his, when she apprehended that, ifshe staid, she had no way to avoid being married to Mr. Solmes. 

After this, it will have an unkind, and perhaps at this time anunseasonable appearance, to express my concern that you have not beforefavoured me with a line. Yet if you can account to yourself for yoursilence, I dare say I ought to be satisfied; for I am sure you love me:as I both love and honour you, and ever will, and the more for yourmisfortunes. 

One consolation, methinks, I have, even when I am sorrowing for yourcalamities; and that is, that I know not any young person so qualified toshine the brighter for the trials she may be exercised with: and yet itis a consolation that ends in adding to my regrets for your afflictions, because you are blessed with a mind so well able to bear prosperity, andto make every body round you the better for it!--But I will forbear tillI know more. 

Ruminating on every thing your melancholy letter suggests, andapprehending, from the gentleness of your mind, the amiableness of yourperson, and your youth, the farther misfortunes and inconveniencies towhich you may possibly be subjected, I cannot conclude without asking foryour leave to attend you, and that in a very earnest manner--and I beg ofyou not to deny me, on any consideration relating to myself, or even tothe indisposition of my other beloved child, if I can be either of use orof comfort to you. Were it, my dearest young lady, but for two or threedays, permit me to attend you, although my son's illness should increase, and compel me to come down again at the end of those two or three days. --I repeat my request, likewise, that you will command from me the littlesum remaining in the hands of your bounty to your Poor, as well as thatdispensed to

Your ever-affectionate and faithful servant, JUDITH NORTON. 

LETTER LVII

MISS CL. HARLOWE, TO LADY BETTY LAWRANCETHURSDAY, JUNE 29. 

MADAM, I hope you'll excuse the freedom of this address, from one who has notthe honour to be personally known to you, although you must have heardmuch of Clarissa Harlowe. It is only to beg the favour of a line fromyour Ladyship's hand, (by the next post, if convenient, ) in answer to thefollowing questions:

1. Whether you wrote a letter, dated, as I have a memorandum, Wedn. June 7, congratulating your nephew Lovelace on his supposed nuptials, as reported to you by Mr. Spurrier, your Ladyship's steward, as from one Captain Tomlinson:--and in it reproaching Mr. Lovelace, as guilty of slight, &c. In not having acquainted your Ladyship and the family with his marriage?

2. Whether your ladyship wrote to Miss Montague to meet you at Reading, in order to attend you to your cousin Leeson's, in Albemarle-street; on your being obliged to be in town on your old chancery affair, I remember are the words? and whether you bespoke your nephew's attendance there on Sunday night the 11th?

3. Whether your Ladyship and Miss Montague did come to town at that time; and whether you went to Hampstead, on Monday, in a hired coach and four, your own being repairing, and took from thence to town with the young creature whom you visited there?

Your Ladyship will probably guess, that the questions are not asked forreasons favourable to your nephew Lovelace. But be the answer what itwill, it can do him no hurt, nor me any good; only that I think I owe itto my former hopes, (however deceived in them, ) and even to charity, thata person, of whom I was once willing to think better, should not prove soegregiously abandoned, as to be wanting, in every instance, to thatveracity which is indispensable in the character of a gentleman. 

Be pleased, Madam, to direct to me, (keeping the direction a secret forthe present, ) to be left at the Belle-Savage, on Ludgate hill, tillcalled for. I am

Your Ladyship's most humble servant, CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER LVIII

LADY BETTY LAWRANCE, TO MISS CL. HARLOWESATURDAY, JULY 1. 

DEAR MADAM, I find that all is not as it should be between you and my nephewLovelace. It will very much afflict me, and all his friends, if he hasbeen guilty of any designed baseness to a lady of your character andmerit. 

We have been long in expectation of an opportunity to congratulate youand ourselves upon an event most earnestly wished for by us all; sinceour hopes of him are built upon the power you have over him: for if everman adored a woman, he is that man, and you, Madam, are that woman. 

Miss Montague, in her last letter to me, in answer to one of mine, inquiring if she knew from him whether he could call you his, or waslikely soon to have that honour, has these words: 'I know not what tomake of my cousin Lovelace, as to the point your Ladyship is so earnestabout. He sometimes says he is actually married to Miss Cl. Harlowe: atother times, that it is her own fault if he be not. --He speaks of her notonly with love but with reverence: yet owns, that there is amisunderstanding between them; but confesses that she is whollyfaultless. An angel, and not a woman, he says she is: and that no manliving can be worthy of her. '--

This is what my niece Montague writes. 

God grant, my dearest young lady, that he may not have so heinouslyoffended you that you cannot forgive him! If you are not alreadymarried, and refuse to be his, I shall lose all hopes that he ever willmarry, or be the man I wish him to be. So will Lord M. So will LadySarah Sadleir. 

I will now answer your questions: but indeed I hardly know what to write, for fear of widening still more the unhappy difference between you. Butyet such a young lady must command every thing from me. This then is myanswer:

I wrote not any letter to him on or about the 7th of June. 

Neither I nor my steward know any such man as Captain Tomlinson. 

I wrote not to my niece to meet me at Reading, nor to accompany me to my cousin Leeson's in town. 

My chancery affair, though, like most chancery affairs, it be of long standing, is, nevertheless, now in so good a way, that it cannot give me occasion to go to town. 

Nor have I been in town these six months: nor at Hampstead for years. 

Neither shall I have any temptation to go to town, except to pay my congratulatory compliments to Mrs. Lovelace. On which occasion I should go with the greatest pleasure; and should hope for the favour of your accompanying me to Glenham-hall, for a month at least. 

Be what will the reason of your inquiry, let me entreat you, my dearyoung lady, for Lord M. 's sake; for my sake; for this giddy man's sake, soul as well as body; and for all our family's sakes; not to suffer thisanswer to widen differences so far as to make you refuse him, if healready has not the honour of calling you his; as I am apprehensive hehas not, by your signing by your family-name. 

And here let me offer to you my mediation to compose the differencebetween you, be it what it will. Your cause, my dear young lady, cannotbe put into the hands of any body living more devoted to your service, than into those of

Your sincere admirer, and humble servant, ELIZ. LAWRANCE. 

LETTER LIX

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. HODGESENFIELD, JUNE 22. 

MRS. HODGES, I am under a kind of necessity to write to you, having no one among myrelations to whom I dare write, or hope a line from if I did. It is butto answer a question. It is this:

Whether you know any such man as Captain Tomlinson? and, if you do, whether he be very intimate with my uncle Harlowe?

I will describe his person lest, possibly, he should go by another nameamong you; although I know not why he should. 

'He is a thin, tallish man, a little pock-fretten, of a sallowishcomplexion. Fifty years of age, or more. Of good aspect when he looksup. He seems to be a serious man, and one who knows the world. Hestoops a little in the shoulders. Is of Berkshire. His wife ofOxfordshire; and has several children. He removed lately into your partsform Northamptonshire. '

I must desire you, Mrs. Hodges, that you will not let my uncle, nor anyof my relations, know that I write to you. 

You used to say, that you would be glad to have it in your power to serveme. That, indeed, was in my prosperity. But, I dare say, you will notrefuse me in a particular that will oblige me, without hurting yourself. 

I understand that my father, mother, and sister, and I presume, mybrother, and my uncle Antony, are to be at my uncle Harlowe's this day. God preserve them all, and may they rejoice in many happy birth-days!You will write six words to me concerning their healths. 

Direct, for a particular reason, to Mrs. Dorothy Salcombe, to be lefttill called for, at the Four Swans Inn, Bishopsgate-street. 

You know my hand-writing well enough, were not the contents of the lettersufficient to excuse my name, or any other subscription, than that of

Your friend. 

LETTER LX

MRS. HODGES[IN ANSWER. ]SAT. JULY 2. 

MADDAM, I return you an anser, as you wish me to doe. Master is acquented withno sitch man. I am shure no sitch ever came to our house. And mastersturs very little out. He has no harte to stur out. For why? Yourobstinacy makes um not care to see one another. Master's birth-day neverwas kept soe before: for not a sole heere: and nothing but sikeing andsorrowin from master to think how it yused to bee. 

I axed master, if soe bee he knowed sitch a man as one Captain Tomlinson?but said not whirfor I axed. He sed, No, not he. 

Shure this is no trix nor forgery bruing against master by one Tomlinson--Won knows not what company you may have been forsed to keep, sen youwent away, you knoe, Maddam; but Lundon is a pestilent plase; and that'Squire Luvless is a devil (for all he is sitch a like gentleman to lookto) as I hev herd every boddy say; and think as how you have found bythiss. 

I truste, Maddam, you wulde not let master cum to harme, if you knoed it, by any body who may pretend to be acquented with him: but for fere, Iquerid with myself if I shulde not tell him. But I was willin to showyou, that I wulde plessure you in advarsity, if advarsity be your lott, as well as prosperity; for I am none of those that woulde doe otherwiss. Soe no more from

Your humble sarvent, to wish you well, SARAH HODGES. 

LETTER LXI

MISS CL. HARLOWE, TO LADY BETTY LAWRANCE. MONDAY, JULY 3. 

MADAM, I cannot excuse myself from giving your Ladyship this one trouble more;to thank you, as I most heartily do, for your kind letter. 

I must own to you, Madam, that the honour of being related to ladies aseminent for their virtue as for their descent, was at first no smallinducement with me to lend an ear to Mr. Lovelace's address. And therather, as I was determined, had it come to effect, to do every thing inmy power to deserve your favourable opinion. 

I had another motive, which I knew would of itself give me merit withyour whole family; a presumptuous one, (a punishably presumptuous one, asit has 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 toacknowledge the intended obligation, whether the generous hope were tosucceed or not. 

But I have been most egregiously mistaken in Mr. Lovelace; the only man, I persuade myself, pretending to be a gentleman, in whom I could havebeen so much mistaken: for while I was endeavouring to save a drowningwretch, I have been, not accidentally, but premeditatedly, and of setpurpose, drawn in after him. And he has had the glory to add to the listof those he has ruined, a name, that, I will be bold to say, would nothave disparaged his own. And this, Madam, by means that would shockhumanity to be made acquainted with. 

My whole end is served by your Ladyship's answer to the questions I tookthe liberty to put to you in writing. Nor have I a wish to make theunhappy man more odious to you than is necessary to excuse myself forabsolutely declining your offered mediation. 

When your Ladyship shall be informed of the following particulars:

That after he had compulsorily, as I may say, tricked me into the act ofgoing off with him, he could carry me to one of the vilest houses, as itproved, in London:

That he could be guilty of a wicked attempt, in resentment of which, Ifound means to escape from him to Hampstead:

That, after he had found me out there (I know not how) he could procuretwo women, dressed out richly, to personate your Ladyship and MissMontague; who, under pretence of engaging me to make a visit in town toyour cousin Leeson, (promising to return with me that evening toHampstead, ) betrayed me back again to the vile house: where, again made aprisoner, I was first robbed of my senses; and then of my honour. Whyshould I seek to conceal that disgrace from others which I cannot hidefrom myself?

When your Ladyship shall know, that, in the shocking progress to thisruin, wilful falsehoods, repeated forgeries, (particularly of one letterfrom your Ladyship, another from Miss Montague, and a third from Lord M. )and numberless perjuries, were not the least of his crimes: you willjudge, that I can have no principles that will make me worthy of analliance with ladies of your's and your noble sister's character, if Icould not from my soul declare, that such an alliance can never now takeplace. 

I will not offer to clear myself entirely of blame: but, as to him, Ihave no fault to accuse myself of: my crime was, the corresponding withhim at first, when prohibited so to do by those who had a right to myobedience; made still more inexcusable, by giving him a clandestinemeeting, which put me into the power of his arts. And for this I amcontent to be punished: thankful, that at last I have escaped from him;and have it in my power to reject so wicked a man for my husband: andglad, if I may be a warning, since I cannot be an example: which once(very vain, and very conceited, as I was) I proposed to myself to be. 

All the ill I wish him is, that he may reform; and that I may be the lastvictim to his baseness. Perhaps this desirable wish may be obtained, when he shall see how his wickedness, his unmerited wickedness! to a poorcreature, made friendless by his cruel arts, will end. 

I conclude with my humble thanks to your Ladyship for your favourableopinion of me; and with the assurance that I will be, while life is lentme, Your Ladyship's grateful and obliged servant, CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER LXII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. NORTONSUNDAY EVENING, JULY 2. 

How kindly, my beloved Mrs. Norton, do you soothe the anguish of ableeding heart! Surely you are mine own mother; and, by someunaccountable mistake, I must have been laid to a family that, havingnewly found out, or at least suspected, the imposture, cast me from theirhearts, with the indignation that such a discovery will warrant. 

Oh! that I had been indeed your own child, born to partake of your humblefortunes, an heiress only to that content in which you are so happy! thenshould I have had a truly gentle spirit to have guided my ductile heart, which force and ungenerous usage sit so ill upon: and nothing of what hashappened would have been. 

But let me take heed that I enlarge not, by impatience, the breachalready made in my duty by my rashness! since, had I not erred, mymother, at least, could never have been thought hard-hearted andunforgiving. Am I not then answerable, not only for my own faults, butfor the consequences of them; which tend to depreciate and bring disgraceupon a maternal character never before called in question?

It is kind, however, in you to endeavour to extenuate the faults of oneso greatly sensible of it: and could it be wiped off entirely, it wouldrender me more worthy of the pains you have taken in my education: for itmust add to your grief, as it does to my confusion, that, after suchpromising beginnings, I should have so behaved as to be a disgraceinstead of a credit to you and my other friends. 

But that I may not make you think me more guilty than I am, give me leavebriefly to assure you, that, when my story is known, I shall beto more compassion than blame, even on the score of going away with Mr. Lovelace. 

As to all that happened afterwards, let me only say, that although I mustcall myself a lost creature as to this world, yet have I this consolationleft me, that I have not suffered either for want of circumspection, orthrough careful credulity or weakness. Not one moment was I off myguard, or unmindful of your early precepts. But (having been enabled tobaffle many base contrivances) I was at last ruined by arts the mostinhuman. But had I not been rejected by every friend, this low-heartedman had not dared, nor would have had opportunity, to treat me as he hastreated me. 

More I cannot, at this time, nor need I say: and this I desire you tokeep to yourself, lest resentments should be taken up when I am gone, that may spread the evil which I hope will end with me. 

I have been misinformed, you say, as to my principal relations being atmy uncle Harlowe's. The day, you say, was not kept. Nor have my brotherand Mr. Solmes--Astonishing!--What complicated wickedness has thiswretched man to answer for!--Were I to tell you, you would hardly believethat there could have been such a heart in man. --

But one day you may know the whole story!--At present I have neitherinclination nor words--O my bursting heart!--Yet a happy, a wishedrelief!--Were you present my tears would supply the rest!

***

I resume my pen!

And so you fear no letter will be received from me. But DON'T grieve totell me so! I expect every thing bad--and such is my distress, that hadyou not bid me hope for mercy from the throne of mercy, I should havebeen afraid that my father's dreadful curse would be completed withregard to both worlds. 

For here, an additional misfortune!--In a fit of phrensical heedlessness, I sent a letter to my beloved Miss Howe, without recollecting her privateaddress; and it has fallen into her angry mother's hands: and so thatdear friend perhaps has anew incurred displeasure on my account. Andhere too your worthy son is ill; and my poor Hannah, you think, cannotcome to me--O my dear Mrs. Norton, will you, can you censure those whoseresentments against me Heaven seems to approve of? and will you acquither whom that condemns?

Yet you bid me not despond. --I will not, if I can help it. And, indeed, most seasonable consolation has your kind letter afforded me. --Yet to GodAlmighty do I appeal, to avenge my wrongs, and vindicate my inno----

But hushed be my stormy passions!--Have I not but this moment said thatyour letter gave me consolation?--May those be forgiven who hinder myfather from forgiving me!--and this, as to them, shall be the harshestthing that shall drop from my pen. 

But although your son should recover, I charge you, my dear Mrs. Norton, that you do not think of coming to me. I don't know still but yourmediation with my mother (although at present your interposition would beso little attended to) may be of use to procure me the revocation of thatmost dreadful part of my father's curse, which only remains to befulfilled. The voice of Nature must at last be heard in my favour, surely. It will only plead at first to my friends in the still consciousplaintiveness of a young and unhardened beggar. But it will grow moreclamorous when I have the courage to be so, and shall demand, perhaps, the paternal protection from farther ruin; and that forgiveness, whichthose will be little entitled to expect, for their own faults, who shallinterpose to have it refused to me, for an accidental, not a premeditatederror: and which, but for them, I had never fallen into. 

But again, impatiency, founded perhaps on self-partiality, that strangemisleader! prevails. 

Let me briefly say, that it is necessary to my present and future hopesthat you keep well with my family. And moreover, should you come, I maybe traced out by that means by the most abandoned of men. Say not thenthat you think you ought to come up to me, let it be taken as it will:--For my sake, let me repeat, (were my foster-brother recovered, as I hopehe is, ) you must not come. Nor can I want your advice, while I canwrite, and you can answer me. And write I will as often as I stand inneed of your counsel. 

Then the people I am now with seem to be both honest and humane: andthere is in the same house a widow-lodger, of low fortunes, but of greatmerit:--almost such another serious and good woman as the dear one towhom I am now writing; who has, as she says, given over all otherthoughts of the world but such as should assist her to leave it happily. --How suitable to my own views!--There seems to be a comfortableprovidence in this at least--so that at present there is nothing ofexigence; nothing that can require, or even excuse, your coming, when somany better ends may be answered by your staying where you are. A timemay come, when I shall want your last and best assistance: and then, mydear Mrs. Norton--and then, I will speak it, and embrace it with all mywhole heart--and then, will it not be denied me by any body. 

You are very obliging in your offer of money. But although I was forcedto leave my clothes behind me, yet I took several things of value withme, which will keep me from present want. You'll say, I have made amiserable hand of it--so indeed I have--and, to look backwards, in a verylittle while too. 

But what shall I do, if my father cannot be prevailed upon to recall hismalediction? O my dear Mrs. Norton, what a weight must a father's cursehave upon a heart so appreciative as mine!--Did I think I should everhave a father's curse to deprecate? And yet, only that the temporarypart of it is so terribly fulfilled, or I should be as earnest for itsrecall, for my father's sake, as for my own!

You must not be angry with me that I wrote not to you before. You arevery right and very kind to say you are sure I love you. Indeed I do. And what a generosity, [so like yourself!] is there in your praise, toattribute to me more than I merit, in order to raise an emulation to meto deserve your praises!--you tell me what you expect from me in thecalamities I am called upon to bear. May I behave answerably!

I can a little account to myself for my silence to you, my kind, my dearmaternal friend! How equally sweetly and politely do you expressyourself on this occasion! I was very desirous, for your sake, as wellas for my own, that you should have it to say that we did not correspond:had they thought we did, every word you could have dropt in my favourwould have been rejected; and my mother would have been forbid to seeyou, or pay any regard to what you should say. 

Then I had sometimes better and sometimes worse prospects before me. Myworst would only have troubled you to know: my better made me frequentlyhope, that, by the next post, or the next, and so on for weeks, I shouldhave the best news to impart to you that then could happen: cold as thewretch had made my heart to that best. --For how could I think to write toyou, with a confession that I was not married, yet lived in the house(for I could not help it) with such a man?--Who likewise had given it outto several, that we were actually married, although with restrictionsthat depended on the reconciliation with my friends? And to disguise thetruth, or be guilty of a falsehood, either direct or equivocal, that waswhat you had never taught me. 

But I might have written to you for advice, in my precarious situation, perhaps you will think. But, indeed, my dear Mrs. Norton, I was not lostfor want of advice. And this will appear clear to you from what I havealready hinted, were I to explain myself no further:--For what need hadthe cruel spoiler to have recourse to unprecedented arts--I will speakout plainer still, (but you must not at present report it, ) to stupifyingpotions, and to the most brutal and outrageous force, had I been wantingin my duty?

A few words more upon this grievous subject--

When I reflect upon all that has happened to me, it is apparent, thatthis generally-supposed thoughtless seducer has acted by me upon aregular and preconcerted plan of villany. 

In order to set all his vile plots in motion, nothing was wanting, fromthe first, but to prevail upon me, either by force or fraud, to throwmyself into his power: and when this was effected, nothing less than theintervention of the paternal authority, (which I had not deserved to beexerted in my behalf, ) could have saved me from the effect of his deepmachinations. Opposition from any other quarter would but too probablyhave precipitated his barbarous and ungrateful violence: and had youyourself been with me, I have reason now to think, that somehow or otheryou would have suffered in endeavouring to save me: for never was there, as now I see, a plan of wickedness more steadily and uniformly pursuedthan his has been, against an unhappy creature who merited better of him:but the Almighty has thought fit, according to the general course of Hisprovidence, to make the fault bring on its own punishment: but surely notin consequence of my father's dreadful imprecation, 'That I might bepunished here, ' [O my mamma Norton, pray with me, if so, that here itstop!] 'by the very wretch in whom I had placed my wicked confidence!'

I am sorry, for your sake, to leave off so heavily. Yet the rest must bebrief. 

Let me desire you to be secret in what I have communicated to you; atleast till you have my consent to divulge it. 

God preserve to you your more faultless child!

I will hope for His mercy, although I should not obtain that of anyearthly person. 

And I repeat my prohibition:--You must not think of coming up to

Your ever dutifulCL. HARLOWE. 

The obliging person, who left your's for me this day, promised to call to-morrow, to see if I should have any thing to return. I would not lose so good an opportunity. 

LETTER LXIII

MRS. NORTON, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWEMONDAY NIGHT, JULY 3. 

O the barbarous villany of this detestable man! And is there a man inthe world who could offer violence to so sweet a creature!

And are you sure you are now out of his reach?

You command me to keep secret the particulars of the vile treatment youhave met with; or else, upon an unexpected visit which Miss Harlowefavoured me with, soon after I had received your melancholy letter, Ishould have been tempted to own I had heard from you, and to havecommunicated to her such parts of your two letters as would havedemonstrated your penitence, and your earnestness to obtain therevocation of your father's malediction, as well as his protection fromoutrages that may still be offered to you. But then your sister wouldprobably have expected a sight of the letters, and even to have beenpermitted to take them with her to the family. 

Yet they must one day be acquainted with the sad story:--and it isimpossible but they must pity you, and forgive you, when they know yourearly penitence, and your unprecedented sufferings; and that you havefallen by the brutal force of a barbarous ravisher, and not by the vilearts of a seducing lover. 

The wicked man gives it out at Lord M. 's, as Miss Harlowe tells me, thathe is actually married to you--yet she believes it not: nor had I theheart to let her know the truth. 

She put it close to me, Whether I had not corresponded with you from thetime of your going away? I could safely tell her, (as I did, ) that I hadnot: but I said, that I was well informed, that you took extremely toheart your father's imprecation; and that, if she would excuse me, Iwould say it would be a kind and sisterly part, if she would use herinterest to get you discharged from it. 

Among other severe things, she told me, that my partial fondness for youmade me very little consider the honour of the rest of the family: but, if I had not heard this from you, she supposed I was set on by Miss Howe. 

She expressed herself with a good deal of bitterness against that younglady: who, it seems, every where, and to every body, (for you must thinkthat your story is the subject of all conversations, ) rails against yourfamily; treating them, as your sister says, with contempt, and even withridicule. 

I am sorry such angry freedoms are taken, for two reasons; first, becausesuch liberties never do any good. I have heard you own, that Miss Howehas a satirical vein; but I should hope that a young lady of her sense, and right cast of mind, must know that the end of satire is not toexasperate, but amend; and should never be personal. If it be, as mygood father used to say, it may make an impartial person suspect that thesatirist has a natural spleen to gratify; which may be as great a faultin him, as any of those which he pretends to censure and expose inothers. 

Perhaps a hint of this from you will not be thrown away. 

My second reason is, That these freedoms, from so warm a friend to you asMiss Howe is known to be, are most likely to be charged to your account. 

My resentments are so strong against this vilest of men, that I dare nottouch upon the shocking particulars which you mention of his baseness. What defence, indeed, could there be against so determined a wretch, after you was in his power? I will only repeat my earnest supplicationto you, that, black as appearances are, you will not despair. Yourcalamities are exceeding great; but then you have talents proportioned toyour trials. This every body allows. 

Suppose the worst, and that your family will not be moved in your favour, your cousin Morden will soon arrive, as Miss Harlowe told me. If heshould even be got over to their side, he will however see justice doneyou; and then may you live an exemplary life, making hundreds happy, andteaching young ladies to shun the snares in which you have been sodreadfully entangled. 

As to the man you have lost, is an union with such a perjured heart ashis, with such an admirable one as your's, to be wished for? A base, low-hearted wretch, as you justly call him, with all his pride ofancestry; and more an enemy to himself with regard to his present andfuture happiness than to you, in the barbarous and ungrateful wrongs hehas done you: I need not, I am sure, exhort you to despise such a man asthis, since not to be able to do so, would be a reflection upon a sex towhich you have always been an honour. 

Your moral character is untainted: the very nature of your sufferings, asyou will observe, demonstrates that. Cheer up, therefore, your dearheart, and do not despair; for is it not GOD who governs the world, andpermits some things, and directs others, as He pleases? and will He notreward temporary sufferings, innocently incurred, and piously supported, with eternal felicity?--And what, my dear, is this poor needle's point ofNOW to a boundless eternity?

My heart, however, labours under a double affliction: For my poor boy isvery, very bad--a violent fever--nor can it be brought to intermit. --Prayfor him, my dearest Miss--for his recovery, if God see fit. --I hope Godwill see fit--if not (how can I bear to suppose that!) Pray for me, thathe will give me that patience and resignation which I have been wishingto you. I am, my dearest young lady, Your ever affectionateJUDITH NORTON. 

LETTER LXIV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. JUDITH NORTONTHURSDAY, JULY 6. 

I ought not, especially at this time, to add to your afflictions--but yetI cannot help communicating to you (who now are my only soothing friend)a new trouble that has befallen me. 

I had but one friend in the world, beside you; and she is utterlydispleased with me. * It is grievous, but for one moment, to lie under abeloved person's censure; and this through imputations that affect one'shonour and prudence. There are points so delicate, you know, my dearMrs. Norton, that it is a degree of dishonour to have a vindication ofone's self from them appear to be necessary. In the present case, mymisfortune is, that I know not how to account, but by guess (so subtlehave been the workings of the dark spirit I have been unhappily entangledby) for some of the facts that I am called upon to explain. 

Miss Howe, in short, supposes she has found a flaw in my character. Ihave just now received her severe letter--but I shall answer it, perhaps, in better temper, if I first consider your's: for indeed my patience isalmost at an end. And yet I ought to consider, that faithful are thewounds of a friend. But so many things at once! O my dear Mrs. Norton, how shall so young a scholar in the school of affliction be able to bearsuch heavy and such various evils!

But to leave this subject for a while, and turn to your letter. 

I am very sorry Miss Howe is so lively in her resentments on my account. I have always blamed her very freely for her liberties of this sort withmy friends. I once had a good deal of influence over her kind heart, andshe made all I said a law to her. But people in calamity have littleweight in any thing, or with any body. Prosperity and independence arecharming things on this account, that they give force to the counsels ofa friendly heart; while it is thought insolence in the miserable toadvise, or so much as to remonstrate. 

Yet is Miss Howe an invaluable person: And is it to be expected that sheshould preserve the same regard for my judgment that she had before Iforfeited all title to discretion? With what face can I take upon me toreproach a want of prudence in her? But if I can be so happy as tore-establish myself in her ever-valued opinion, I shall endeavour toenforce upon her your just observation on this head. 

You need not, you say, exhort me to despise such a man as him, by whom Ihave suffered--indeed you need not: for I would choose the cruellestdeath rather than to be his. And yet, my dear Mrs. Norton, I will own toyou, that once I could have loved him. --Ungrateful man!--had he permittedme to love him, I once could have loved him. Yet he never deservedlove. And was not this a fault?--But now, if I can but keep out of hishands, and obtain a last forgiveness, and that as well for the sake of mydear friends' future reflections, as for my own present comfort, it isall I wish for. 

Reconciliation with my friends I do not expect; nor pardon from them; atleast, till in extremity, and as a viaticum. 

O my beloved Mrs. Norton, you cannot imagine what I have suffered!--Butindeed my heart is broken!--I am sure I shall not live to take possessionof that independence, which you think would enable me to atone, in somemeasure, for my past conduct. 

While this is my opinion, you may believe I shall not be easy till I canobtain a last forgiveness. 

I wish to be left to take my own course in endeavouring to procure thisgrace. Yet know I not, at present, what that course shall be. 

I will write. But to whom is my doubt. Calamity has not yet given methe assurance to address myself to my FATHER. My UNCLES (well as theyonce loved me) are hard hearted. They never had their masculine passionshumanized by the tender name of FATHER. Of my BROTHER I have no hope. Ihave then but my MOTHER, and my SISTER, to whom I can apply. --'And may Inot, my dearest Mamma, be permitted to lift up my trembling eye to yourall-cheering, and your once more than indulgent, your fond eye, in hopesof seasonable mercy to the poor sick heart that yet beats with life drawnfrom your own dearer heart?--Especially when pardon only, and notrestoration, is implored?'

Yet were I able to engage my mother's pity, would it not be a mean tomake her still more unhappy than I have already made her, by theopposition she would meet with, were she to try to give force to thatpity?

To my SISTER, then, I think, I will apply--Yet how hard-hearted has mysister been!--But I will not ask for protection; and yet I am in hourlydread that I shall want protection. --All I will ask for at present(preparative to the last forgiveness I will implore) shall be only to befreed from the heavy curse that seems to have operated as far is it canoperate as to this life--and, surely, it was passion, and not intention, that carried it so far as to the other!

But why do I thus add to your distresses?--It is not, my dear Mrs. Norton, that I have so much feeling for my own calamity that I have nonefor your's: since your's is indeed an addition to my own. But you haveone consolation (a very great one) which I have not:--That yourafflictions, whether respecting your more or your less deserving child, rise not from any fault of your own. 

But what can I do for you more than pray?--Assure yourself, that in everysupplication I put up for myself, I will with equal fervour remember bothyou and your son. For I am and ever will be

Your truly sympathising and dutifulCLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER LXV

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE[SUPERSCRIBED FOR MRS. RACHEL CLARK, &c. ]WEDNESDAY, JULY 5. 

MY DEAR CLARISSA, I have at last heard from you from a quarter I little expected. 

From my mother!

She had for some time seen me uneasy and grieving; and justly supposed itwas about you: and this morning dropt a hint, which made me conjecturethat she must have heard something of you more than I knew. And when shefound that this added to my uneasiness, she owned she had a letter in herhands of your's, dated the 29th of June, directed for me. 

You may guess, that this occasioned a little warmth, that could not bewished for by either. 

[It is surprising, my dear, mighty surprising! that knowing theprohibition I lay under of corresponding with you, you could send aletter for me to our own house: since it must be fifty to one that itwould fall into my mother's hands, as you find it did. ]

In short, she resented that I should disobey her: I was as much concernedthat she should open and withhold from me my letters: and at last she waspleased to compromise the matter with me by giving up the letter, andpermitting me to write to you once or twice: she to see the contents ofwhat I wrote. For, besides the value she has for you, she could not buthave greater curiosity to know the occasion of so sad a situation as yourmelancholy letter shows you to be in. 

[But I shall get her to be satisfied with hearing me read what I write;putting in between hooks, thus [], what I intend not to read to her. ]

Need I to remind you, Miss Clarissa Harlowe, of three letters I wrote toyou, to none of which I had any answer; except to the first, and that ofa few lines only, promising a letter at large, though you were wellenough, the day after you received my second, to go joyfully back againwith him to the vile house? But more of these by-and-by. I must hastento take notice of your letter of Wednesday last week; which you couldcontrive should fall into my mother's hands. 

Let me tell you, that that letter has almost broken my heart. Good God!--What have you brought yourself to, Miss Clarissa Harlowe?--Could I havebelieved, that after you had escaped from the miscreant, (with suchmighty pains and earnestness escaped, ) and after such an attempt as hehad made, you would have been prevailed upon not only to forgive him, but(without being married too) to return with him to that horrid house!--Ahouse I had given you such an account of!--Surprising!----What anintoxicating thing is this love?--I always feared, that you, even you, were not proof against its inconsistent effects. 

You your best self have not escaped!--Indeed I see not how you couldexpect to escape. 

What a tale have you to unfold!--You need not unfold it, my dear: I wouldhave engaged to prognosticate all that has happened, had you but told methat you would once more have put yourself in his power, after you hadtaken such pains to get out of it. 

Your peace is destroyed!--I wonder not at it: since now you must reproachyourself for a credulity so ill-placed. 

Your intellect is touched!--I am sure my heart bleeds for you! But, excuse me, my dear, I doubt your intellect was touched before you leftHampstead: or you would never have let him find you out there; or, whenhe did, suffer him to prevail upon you to return to the horrid brothel. 

I tell you, I sent you three letters: The first of which, dated the 7thand 8th of June* (for it was written at twice) came safely to your hands, as you sent me word by a few lines dated the 9th: had it not, I shouldhave doubted my own safety; since in it I give you such an account of theabominable house, and threw such cautions in your way, in relation tothat Tomlinson, as the more surprised me that you could think of goingback to it again, after you had escaped from it, and from Lovelace. --Omy dear--but nothing now will I ever wonder at!

* See Vol. V. Letter XX. 

The second, dated June 10, * was given into your own hand at Hampstead, onSunday the 11th, as you was lying upon a couch, in a strange way, according to my messenger's account of you, bloated, and flush-coloured;I don't know how. 

* See Letter VII. Of this volume. 

The third was dated the 20th of June. * Having not heard one word fromyou since the promising billet of the 9th, I own I did not spare you init. I ventured it by the usual conveyance, by that Wilson's, having noother: so cannot be sure you received it. Indeed I rather think youmight not; because in your's, which fell into my mother's hands, you makeno mention of it: and if you had had it, I believe it would have touchedyou too much to have been passed by unnoticed. 

* See Letter XXX. Of this volume. 

You have heard, that I have been ill, you say. I had a cold, indeed; butit was so slight a one that it confined me not an hour. But I doubt notthat strange things you have heard, and been told, to induce you to takethe step you took. And, till you did take that step (the going back withthis villain, I mean, ) I knew not a more pitiable case than your's: sinceevery body must have excused you before, who knew how you were used athome, and was acquainted with your prudence and vigilance. But, alas! mydear, we see that the wisest people are not to be depended upon, whenlove, like an ignis fatuus, holds up its misleading lights before theireyes. 

My mother tells me, she sent you an answer, desiring you not to write tome, because it would grieve me. To be sure I am grieved; exceedinglygrieved; and, disappointed too, you must permit me to say. For I hadalways thought that there never was such a woman, at your years, in theworld. 

But I remember once an argument you held, on occasion of a censure passedin company upon an excellent preacher, who was not a very excellentliver: preaching and practising, you said, required very differenttalents:* which, when united in the same person, made the man a saint; aswit and judgment, going together, constituted a genius. 

* See Vol. II. Letter IV. 

You made it out, I remember, very prettily: but you never made it out, excuse me, my dear, more convincingly, than by that part of your lateconduct, which I complain of. 

My love for you, and my concern for your honour, may possibly have mademe a little of the severest. If you think so, place it to its properaccount; to that love, and to that concern: which will but do justiceto

Your afflicted and faithfulA. H. 

P. S. My mother would not be satisfied without reading my letter herself; and that before I had fixed all the proposed hooks. She knows, by this means, and has excused, our former correspondence. 

She indeed suspected it before: and so she very well might; knowing my love of you. 

She has so much real concern for your misfortunes, that, thinking it will be a consolation to you, and that it will oblige me, she consents that you shall write to me the particulars at large of your say story. But it is on condition that I show her all that has passed between us, relating to yourself and the vilest of men. I have the more cheerfully complied, as the communication cannot be to your disadvantage. 

You may therefore write freely, and direct to our own house. 

My mother promises to show me the copy of her letter to you, and your reply to it; which latter she has but just told me of. She already apologizes for the severity of her's: and thinks the sight of your reply will affect me too much. But, having her promise, I will not dispense with it. 

I doubt her's is severe enough. So I fear you will think mine: but you have taught me never to spare the fault for the friend's sake; and that a great error ought rather to be the more inexcusable in the person we value, than in one we are indifferent to; because it is a reflection upon our choice of that person, and tends to a breach of the love of mind, and to expose us to the world for our partiality. To the love of mind, I repeat; since it is impossible but the errors of the dearest friend must weaken our inward opinion of that friend; and thereby lay a foundation for future distance, and perhaps disgust. 

God grant that you may be able to clear your conduct after you had escaped from Hampstead; as all before that time was noble, generous, and prudent; the man a devil and you a saint!----Yet I hope you can; and therefore expect it from you. 

I send by a particular hand. He will call for your answer at your own appointment. 

I am afraid this horrid wretch will trace out by the post-offices where you are, if not careful. 

To have money, and will, and head, to be a villain, is too much for the rest of the world, when they meet in one man. 

LETTER LXVI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWETHURSDAY, JULY 6. 

Few young persons have been able to give more convincing proofs thanmyself how little true happiness lies in the enjoyment of our own wishes. 

To produce one instance only of the truth of this observation; what wouldI have given for weeks past, for the favour of a letter from my dear MissHowe, in whose friendship I placed all my remaining comfort! Little didI think, that the next letter she would honour me with, should be in sucha style, as should make me look more than once at the subscription, thatI might be sure (the name not being written at length) that it was notsigned by another A. H. For surely, thought I, this is my sisterArabella's style: surely Miss Howe (blame me as she pleases in otherpoints) could never repeat so sharply upon her friend, words written inthe bitterness of spirit, and in the disorder of head; nor remind her, with asperity, and with mingled strokes of wit, of an argument held inthe gaiety of a heart elated with prosperous fortunes, (as mine thenwas, ) and very little apprehensive of the severe turn that argument wouldone day take against herself. 

But what have I, sink in my fortunes; my character forfeited; my honourlost, [while I know it, I care not who knows it;] destitute of friends, and even of hope; what have I to do to show a spirit of repining andexpostulation to a dear friend, because she is not more kind than asister?----

You have till now, my dear, treated me with great indulgence. If it waswith greater than I had deserved, I may be to blame to have built uponit, on the consciousness that I deserve it now as much as ever. But Ifind, by the rising bitterness which will mingle with the gall in my ink, that I am not yet subdued enough to my condition. --I lay down my pen forone moment. 

***

Pardon me, my Miss Howe. I have recollected myself: and will endeavourto give a particular answer to your letter; although it will take me uptoo much time to think of sending it by your messenger to-morrow: he canput off his journey, he says, till Saturday. I will endeavour to havethe whole narrative ready for you by Saturday. 

But how to defend myself in every thing that has happened, I cannot tell:since in some part of the time, in which my conduct appears to have beencensurable, I was not myself; and to this hour know not all the methodstaken to deceive and ruin me. 

You tell me, that in your first letter you gave me such an account of thevile house I was in, and such cautions about that Tomlinson, as made youwonder how I could think of going back. 

Alas, my dear! I was tricked, most vilely tricked back, as you shallhear in its place. 

Without knowing the house was so very vile a house from your intendedinformation, I disliked the people too much, ever voluntarily to havereturned to it. But had you really written such cautions aboutTomlinson, and the house, as you seem to have purposed to do, they must, had they come in time, have been of infinite service to me. But not oneword of either, whatever was your intention, did you mention to me, inthat first of the three letters you so warmly TELL me you did send me. Iwill enclose it to convince you. *

* The letter she encloses was Mr. Lovelace's forged one. See Vol. V. Letter XXX. 

But your account of your messenger's delivering to me your secondletter, and the description he gives of me, as lying upon a couch, in astrange way, bloated, and flush-coloured; you don't know how, absolutelypuzzles and confounds me. 

Lord have mercy upon the poor Clarissa Harlowe! What can this mean!--Whowas the messenger you sent? Was he one of Lovelace's creatures too!--Could nobody come near me but that man's confederates, either setting outso, or made so? I know not what to make of any one syllable of this!Indeed I don't. 

Let me see. You say, this was before I went from Hampstead! Myintellects had not then been touched!--nor had I ever been surprised bywine, [strange if I had!]: How then could I be found in such a strangeway, bloated and flush-coloured; you don't know how!--Yet what a vile, what a hateful figure has your messenger represented me to have made!

But indeed I know nothing of any messenger from you. 

Believing myself secure at Hampstead, I staid longer there than I wouldhave done, in hopes of the letter promised me in your short one of the9th, brought me by my own messenger, in which you undertake to send forand engage Mrs. Townsend in my favour. *

* See Vol. V. Letter XXIX. 

I wondered I had not heard from you: and was told you were sick; and, atanother time, that your mother and you had had words on my account, andthat you had refused to admit Mr. Hickman's visits upon it: so that Isupposed, at one time, that you were not able to write; at another, thatyour mother's prohibition had its due force with you. But now I have nodoubt that the wicked man must have intercepted your letter; and I wishhe found not means to corrupt your messenger to tell you so strange astory. 

It was on Sunday, June 11, you say, that the man gave it me. I was atchurch twice that day with Mrs. Moore. Mr. Lovelace was at her house thewhile, where he boarded, and wanted to have lodged; but I would notpermit that, though I could not help the other. In one of these spacesit must be that he had time to work upon the man. You'll easily, mydear, find that out, by inquiring the time of his arrival at Mrs. Moore'sand other circumstances of the strange way he pretended to see me in, ona couch, and the rest. 

Had any body seen me afterwards, when I was betrayed back to the vilehouse, struggling under the operation of wicked potions, and robbedindeed of my intellects (for this, as you shall hear, was my dreadfulcase, ) I might then, perhaps, have appeared bloated and flush-coloured, and I know not how myself. But were you to see your poor Clarissa, now(or even to have seen her at Hampstead before she suffered the vilest ofall outrages, ) you would not think her bloated or flush-coloured: indeedyou would not. 

In a word, it could not be me your messenger saw; nor (if any body) whoit was can I divine. 

I will now, as briefly as the subject will permit, enter into the darkerpart of my sad story: and yet I must be somewhat circumstantial, that youmay not think me capable of reserve or palliation. The latter I am notconscious that I need. I should be utterly inexcusable were I guilty ofthe former to you. And yet, if you know how my heart sinks under thethoughts of a recollection so painful, you would pity me. 

As I shall not be able, perhaps, to conclude what I have to write in eventwo or three letters, I will begin a new one with my story; and send thewhole of it together, although written at different periods, as I amable. 

Allow me a little pause, my dear, at this place; and to subscribe myself

Your ever affectionate and obliged, CLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER LXVII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE[REFERRED TO IN LETTER XII. ]THURSDAY NIGHT. 

He had found me out at Hampstead: strangely found me out; for I am stillat a loss to know by what means. 

I was loth, in my billet of the 6th, * to tell you so, for fear of givingyou apprehensions for me; and besides, I hoped then to have a shorter andhappier issue to account to you for, through your assistance, than I metwith. 

* See Vol. V. Letter XXXI. 

[She then gives a narrative of all that passed at Hampstead between herself, Mr. Lovelace, Capt. Tomlinson, and the women there, to the same effect with that so amply given by Mr. Lovelace. ]

Mr. Lovelace, finding all he could say, and all Captain Tomlinson couldurge, ineffectual, to prevail upon me to forgive an outrage so flagrantlypremeditated; rested all his hopes on a visit which was to be paid me byLady Betty Lawrance and Miss Montague. 

In my uncertain situation, my prospects all so dark, I knew not to whom Imight be obliged to have recourse in the last resort: and as those ladieshad the best of characters, insomuch that I had reason to regret that Ihad not from the first thrown myself upon their protection, (when I hadforfeited that of my own friends, ) I thought I would not shun aninterview with them, though I was too indifferent to their kinsman toseek it, as I doubted not that one end of their visit would be toreconcile me to him. 

On Monday, the 12th of June, these pretended ladies came to Hampstead;and I was presented to them, and they to me by their kinsman. 

They were richly dressed, and stuck out with jewels; the pretended LadyBetty's were particularly very fine. 

They came in a coach-and-four, hired, as was confessed, while their ownwas repairing in town: a pretence made, I now perceive, that I should notguess at the imposture by the want of the real lady's arms upon it. LadyBetty was attended by her woman, who she called Morrison; a modestcountry-looking person. 

I had heard, that Lady Betty was a fine woman, and that Miss Montague wasa beautiful young lady, genteel, and graceful, and full of vivacity. --Such were these impostors: and having never seen either of them, I hadnot the least suspicion, that they were not the ladies they personated;and being put a little out of countenance by the richness of theirdresses, I could not help, (fool that I was!) to apologize for my own. 

The pretended Lady Betty then told me, that her nephew had acquaintedthem with the situation of affairs between us. And although she couldnot but say, that she was very glad that she had not put such a slightupon his Lordship and them, as report had given them cause to apprehend, (the reasons for which report, however, she must have approved of;) yetit had been matter of great concern to her, and to her niece Montague, and would to the whole family, to find so great a misunderstandingsubsisting between us, as, if not made up, might distance all theirhopes. 

She could easily tell who was in fault, she said. And gave him a lookboth of anger and disdain; asking him, How it was possible for him togive an offence of such a nature to so charming a lady, [so she calledme, ] as should occasion a resentment so strong?

He pretended to be awed into shame and silence. 

My dearest niece, said she, and took my hand, (I must call you niece, aswell from love, as to humour your uncle's laudable expedient, ) permit meto be, not an advocate, but a mediatrix for him; and not for his sake, somuch as for my own, my Charlotte's, and all our family's. The indignityhe has offered to you, may be of too tender a nature to be inquired into. But as he declares, that it was not a premeditated offence; whether, mydear, [for I was going to rise upon it in my temper, ] it were or not; andas he declares his sorrows for it, (and never did creature express adeeper sorrow for any offence than he); and as it is a repairable one; letus, for this one time, forgive him; and thereby lay an obligation uponthis man of errors--Let US, I say, my dear: for, Sir, [turning to him, ]an offence against such a peerless lady as this, must be an offenceagainst me, against your cousin here, and against all the virtuous of oursex. 

See, my dear, what a creature he had picked out! Could you have thoughtthere was a woman in the world who could thus express herself, and yet bevile? But she had her principal instructions from him, and those writtendown too, as I have reason to think: for I have recollected since, that Ionce saw this Lady Betty, (who often rose from her seat, and took a turnto the other end of the room with such an emotion, as if the joy of herheart would not let her sit still) take out a paper from her stays, andlook into it, and put it there again. She might oftener, and I notobserve it; for I little thought that there could be such impostors inthe world. 

I could not forbear paying great attention to what she said. I found mytears ready to start; I drew out my handkerchief, and was silent. I hadnot been so indulgently treated a great while by a person of characterand distinction, [such I thought her;] and durst not trust to the accentof my voice. 

The pretended Miss Montague joined in on this occasion: and drawing herchair close to me, took my other hand, and besought me to forgive hercousin; and consent to rank myself as one of the principals of a familythat had long, very long, coveted the honour of my alliance. 

I am ashamed to repeat to you, my dear, now I know what wretches theyare, the tender, the obliging, and the respectful things I said to them. 

The wretch himself then came forward. He threw himself at my feet. Howwas I beset!--The women grasping, one my right hand, the other my left:the pretended Miss Montague pressing to her lips more than once the handshe held: the wicked man on his knees, imploring my forgiveness; andsetting before me my happy and my unhappy prospects, as I should forgiveand not forgive him. All that he thought would affect me in formerpleas, and those of Capt. Tomlinson, he repeated. He vowed, he promised, he bespoke the pretended ladies to answer for him; and they engaged theirhonours in his behalf. 

Indeed, my dear, I was distressed, perfectly distressed. I was sorrythat I had given way to this visit. For I knew not how, in tenderness torelations, (as I thought them, ) so worthy, to treat so freely as hedeserved, a man nearly allied to them: so that my arguments and myresolutions were deprived of their greatest force. 

I pleaded, however, my application to you. I expected every hour, I toldthem, an answer from you to a letter I had written, which would decide myfuture destiny. 

They offered to apply to you themselves in person, in their own behalf, as they politely termed it. They besought me to write to you to hastenyour answer. 

I said, I was sure that you would write the moment that the event of anapplication to be made to a third person enabled you to write. But as tothe success of their request in behalf of their kinsman, that dependednot upon the expected answer; for that, I begged their pardon, was out ofthe question. I wished him well. I wished him happy. But I wasconvinced, that I neither could make him so, nor he me. 

Then! how the wretch promised!--How he vowed!--How he entreated!--And howthe women pleaded!--And they engaged themselves, and the honour of theirwhole family, for his just, his kind, his tender behaviour to me. 

In short, my dear, I was so hard set, that I was obliged to come to amore favourable compromise with them than I had intended. I would waitfor your answer to my letter, I said: and if that made doubtful ordifficult the change of measures I had resolved upon, and the scheme oflife I had formed, I would then consider of the matter; and, if theywould permit me, lay all before them, and take their advice upon it, inconjunction with your's, as if the one were my own aunt, and the otherwere my own cousin. 

They shed tears upon this--of joy they called them:--But since, Ibelieve, to their credit, bad as they are, that they were tears oftemporary remorse; for, the pretended Miss Montague turned about, and, asI remember, said, There was no standing it. 

But Mr. Lovelace was not so easily satisfied. He was fixed upon hisvillanous measures perhaps; and so might not be sorry to have a pretenceagainst me. He bit his lip--he had been but too much used, he said, tosuch indifference, such coldness, in the very midst of his happiestprospects. I had on twenty occasions shown him, to his infinite regret, that any favour I was to confer upon him was to be the result of--therehe stopt--and not of my choice. 

This had like to have set all back again. I was exceedingly offended. But the pretended ladies interposed. The elder severely took him totask. He ought, she told him, to be satisfied with what I had said. Shedesired no other condition. And what, Sir, said she, with an air ofauthority, would you commit errors, and expect to be rewarded for them?

They then engaged me in a more agreeable conversation--the pretended ladydeclared, that she, Lord M. And Lady Sarah, would directly and personallyinterest themselves to bring about a general reconciliation between thetwo families, and this either in open or private concert with my uncleHarlowe, as should be thought fit. Animosities on one side had beencarried a great way, she said; and too little care had been shown on theother to mollify or heal. My father should see that they could treat himas a brother and a friend; and my brother and sister should be convincedthat there was no room either for the jealously [sic] or envy they hadconceived from motives too unworthy to be avowed. 

Could I help, my dear, being pleased with them?--

Permit me here to break off. The task grows too heavy, at present, forthe heart of

YourCLARISSA HARLOWE. 

LETTER LXVIII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE[IN CONTINUATION. ]

I was very ill, and obliged to lay down my pen. I thought I should havefainted. But am better now--so will proceed. 

The pretended ladies, the more we talked, the fonder they seemed to be ofme. And the Lady Betty had Mrs. Moore called up; and asked her, If shehad accommodations for her niece and self, her woman, and two menservants, for three or four days?

Mr. Lovelace answered for her that she had. 

She would not ask her dear niece Lovelace, [Permit me, my dear, whisperedshe, this charming style before strangers! I will keep your uncle'ssecret, ] whether she should be welcome or not to be so near her. But forthe time she should stay in these parts, she would come up every night--What say you, niece Charlotte?

The pretended Charlotte answered, she should like to do so, of allthings. 

The Lady Betty called her an obliging girl. She liked the place, shesaid. Her cousin Leeson would excuse her. The air, and my company, would do her good. She never chose to lie in the smoky town, if shecould help it. In short, my dear, said she to me, I will stay with youtill you hear from Miss Howe; and till I have your consent to go with meto Glenham-hall. Not one moment will I be out of your company, when Ican have it. Stedman, my solicitor, as the distance from town is sosmall, may attend me here for instructions. Niece Charlotte, one wordwith you, child. 

They retired to the further end of the room, and talked about theirnight-dresses. 

The Miss Charlotte said, Morrison might be dispatched for them. 

True, said the other--but I have some letters in my private box, whichI must have up. And you know, Charlotte, that I trust nobody with thekeys of that. 

Could not Morrison bring up the box?

No. She thought it safest where it was. She had heard of a robberycommitted but two days ago at the food of Hampstead-hill; and she shouldbe ruined in she lost her box. 

Well, then, it was but going to town to undress, and she would leave herjewels behind her, and return; and should be easier a great deal on allaccounts. 

For my part, I wondered they came up with them. But that was to be takenas a respect paid to me. And then they hinted at another visit ofceremony which they had thought to make, had they not found me soinexpressibly engaging. 

They talked loud enough for me to hear them; on purpose, no doubt, thoughin affected whispers; and concluded with high praises of me. 

I was not fool enough to believe, or to be puffed up with theirencomiums; yet not suspecting them, I was not displeased at so favourablea beginning of acquaintance with Ladies (whether I were to be related tothem or not) of whom I had always heard honourable mention. And yet atthe time, I thought, highly as they exalted me, that in some respects(though I hardly know in what) they fell short of what I expected them tobe. 

The grand deluder was at the farther end of the room, another way;probably to give me an opportunity to hear these preconcerted praises--looking into a book, which had there not been a preconcert, would nothave taken his attention for one moment. It was Taylor's Holy Living andDying. 

When the pretended ladies joined me, he approached me with it in his hand--a smart book, this, my dear!--this old divine affects, I see, a mightyflowery style of an ordinary country funeral, where, the young women, inhonour of a defunct companion, especially if she were a virgin, or passedfor such, make a flower-bed of her coffin. 

And then, laying down the book, turning upon his heel, with one of hisusual airs of gaiety, And are you determined, Ladies, to take up yourlodgings with my charming creature?

Indeed they were. 

Never were there more cunning, more artful impostors, than these women. Practised creatures, to be sure: yet genteel; and they must have beenwell-educated--once, perhaps, as much the delight of their parents, as Iwas of mine: and who knows by what arts ruined, body and mind--O my dear!how pregnant is this reflection!

But the man!--Never was there a man so deep. Never so consummate adeceiver; except that detested Tomlinson; whose years and seriousness, joined with a solidity of sense and judgment that seemed uncommon, gavehim, one would have thought, advantages in villany, the other had nottime for. Hard, very hard, that I should fall into the knowledge of twosuch wretches; when two more such I hope are not to be met with in theworld!--both so determined to carry on the most barbarous and perfidiousprojects against a poor young creature, who never did or wished harm toeither. 

Take the following slight account of these women's and of this man'sbehaviour to each other before me. 

Mr. Lovelace carried himself to his pretended aunt with high respect, and paid a great deference to all she said. He permitted her to have allthe advantage over him in the repartees and retorts that passed betweenthem. I could, indeed, easily see, that it was permitted; and that heforbore that vivacity, that quickness, which he never spared showing tohis pretended Miss Montague; and which a man of wit seldom knows how tospare showing, when an opportunity offers to display his wit. 

The pretended Miss Montague was still more respectful in her behaviour toher pretended aunt. While the aunt kept up the dignity of the charactershe had assumed, rallying both of them with the air of a person whodepends upon the superiority which years and fortune give over youngerpersons, who might have a view to be obliged to her, either in her life, or at her death. 

The severity of her raillery, however, was turned upon Mr. Lovelace, onoccasion of the character of the people who kept the lodgings, which, shesaid, I had thought myself so well warranted to leave privately. 

This startled me. For having then no suspicion of the vile Tomlinson, Iconcluded (and your letter of the 7th* favoured my conclusion) that ifthe house were notorious, either he, or Mr. Mennell, would have given meor him some hints of it--nor, although I liked not the people, did Iobserve any thing in them very culpable, till the Wednesday night before, that they offered not to come to my assistance, although within hearingof my distress, (as I am sure they were, ) and having as much reason as Ito be frighted at the fire, had it been real. 

* His forged letter. See Vol. V. Letter XXX. 

I looked with indignation upon Mr. Lovelace, at this hint. 

He seemed abashed. I have not patience, but to recollect the speciouslooks of this vile deceiver. But how was it possible, that even thatflorid countenance of his should enable him to command a blush at hispleasure? for blush he did, more than once: and the blush, on thisoccasion, was a deep-dyed crimson, unstrained for, and natural, as Ithought--but he is so much of the actor, that he seems able to enter intoany character; and his muscles and features appear entirely underobedience to his wicked will. *

* It is proper to observe, that there was a more natural reason than thisthat the Lady gives for Mr. Lovelace's blushing. It was a blush ofindignation, as he owned afterwards to his friend Belford, inconversation; for the pretended Lady Betty had mistaken her cue, incondemning the house; and he had much ado to recover the blunder; beingobliged to follow her lead, and vary from his first design; which was tohave the people of the house spoken well of, in order to induce her toreturn to it, were it but on pretence to direct her clothes to be carriedto Hampstead. 

The pretended lady went on, saying, she had taken upon herself to inquireafter the people, on hearing that I had left the house in disgust; andthough she heard not any thing much amiss, yet she heard enough to makeher wonder that he could carry his spouse, a person of so much delicacy, to a house, that, if it had not a bad fame, had not a good one. 

You must think, my dear, that I liked the pretended Lady Betty the betterfor this. I suppose it was designed that I should. 

He was surprised, he said, that her Ladyship should hear a bad characterof the people. It was what he had never before heard that they deserved. It was easy, indeed, to see, that they had not very great delicacy, though they were not indelicate. The nature of their livelihood, lettinglodgings, and taking people to board, (and yet he had understood thatthey were nice in these particulars, ) led them to aim at being free andobliging: and it was difficult, he said, for persons of cheerfuldispositions, so to behave as to avoid censure: openness of heart andcountenance in the sex (more was the pity) too often subjected goodpeople, whose fortunes did not set them above the world, to uncharitablecensure. 

He wished, however, that her Ladyship would tell what she had heard:although now it signified but little, because he would never ask me toset foot within their doors again: and he begged she would not mince thematter. 

Nay, no great matter, she said. But she had been informed, that therewere more women-lodgers in the house than men: yet that their visiterswere more men than women. And this had been hinted to her (perhaps byill-wishers, she could not answer for that) in such a way, as if somewhatfurther were meant by it than was spoken. 

This, he said, was the true innuendo-way of characterizing, used bydetractors. Every body and every thing had a black and a white side, ofwhich well wishers and ill wishers may make their advantage. He hadobserved that the front house was well let, and he believed more to theone sex than to the other; for he had seen, occasionally passing to orfro, several genteel modest looking women; and who, it was very probable, were not so ill-beloved, but they might have visiters and relations ofboth sexes: but they were none of them any thing to us, or we to them: wewere not once in any of their companies: but in the genteelest and mostretired house of the two, which we had in a manner to ourselves, with theuse of a parlour to the street, to serve us for a servants' hall, or toreceive common visiters, or our traders only, whom we admitted not upstairs. 

He always loved to speak as he found. No man in the world had sufferedmore from calumny than he himself had done. 

Women, he owned, ought to be more scrupulous than men needed to be wherethey lodged. Nevertheless he wished that fact, rather than surmise, wereto be the foundation of their judgments, especially when they spoke ofone another. 

He meant no reflection upon her Ladyship's informants, or rathersurmisants, (as he might call them, ) be they who they would: nor did hethink himself obliged to defend characters impeached, or not thought wellof, by women of virtue and honour. Neither were these people ofimportance enough to have so much said about them. 

The pretended Lady Betty said, all who knew her, would clear her ofcensoriousness: that it gave her some opinion, she must needs say, of thepeople, that he had continued there so long with me; that I had rathernegative than positive reasons of dislike to them; and that so shrewd aman as she heard Captain Tomlinson was had not objected to them. 

I think, niece Charlotte, proceeded she, as my nephew had not parted withthese lodgings, you and I, (for, as my dear Miss Harlowe dislikes thepeople, I would not ask her for her company) will take a dish of tea withmy nephew there, before we go out of town; and then we shall see whatsort of people they are. I have heard that Mrs. Sinclair is a mightyforbidding creature. 

With all my heart, Madam. In your Ladyship's company I shall make noscruple of going any where. 

It was Ladyship at every word; and as she seemed proud of her title, andof her dress too, I might have guessed that she was not used to either. 

What say you, cousin Lovelace? Lady Sarah, though a melancholy woman, isvery inquisitive about all your affairs. I must acquaint her with everyparticular circumstance when I go down. 

With all his heart. He would attend her whenever she pleased. She wouldsee very handsome apartments, and very civil people. 

The deuce is in them, said the Miss Montague, if they appear other to us. 

She then fell into family talk; family happiness on my hoped-foraccession into it. They mentioned Lord M. 's and Lady Sarah's greatdesire to see me: how many friends and admirers, with uplift hands, Ishould have! [Oh! my dear, what a triumph must these creatures, and he, have over the poor devoted all the time!]--What a happy man he would be!--They would not, the Lady Betty said, give themselves the mortificationbut to suppose that I should not be one of them!

Presents were hinted at. She resolved that I should go with her toGlenham-hall. She would not be refused, although she were to stay a weekbeyond her time for me. 

She longed for the expected letter from you. I must write to hasten it, and to let Miss Howe know how every thing stood since I wrote last. Thatmight dispose me absolutely in her favour and in her nephew's; and thenshe hoped there would be no occasion for me to think of entering upon anynew measures. 

Indeed, my dear, I did at the time intend, if I heard not from you bymorning, to dispatch a man and horse to you, with the particulars of all, that you might (if you thought proper) at least put off Mrs. Townsend'scoming up to another day. --But I was miserably prevented. 

She made me promise that I would write to you upon this subject, whetherI heard from you or not. One of her servants should ride post with myletter, and wait for Miss Howe's answer. 

She then launched out in deserved praises of you, my dear. How fond sheshould be of the honour of your acquaintance. 

The pretended Miss Montague joined in with her, as well for herself asfor her sister. 

Abominably well instructed were they both!

O my dear! what risks may poor giddy girls run, when they throwthemselves out of the protection of their natural friends, and into thewide world!

The then talked again of reconciliation and intimacy with every one of myfriends; with my mother particularly; and gave the dear good lady thepraises that every one gives her, who has the happiness to know her. 

Ah, my dear Miss Howe! I had almost forgot my resentments against thepretended nephew!--So many agreeable things said, made me think, that, ifyou should advise it, and if I could bring my mind to forgive the wretchfor an outrage so premeditatedly vile, and could forbear despising himfor that and his other ungrateful and wicked ways, I might not be unhappyin an alliance with such a family. Yet, thought I at the time, with whatintermixture does every thing come to me that had the appearance of good!----However, as my lucid hopes made me see fewer faults in the behaviourof these pretended ladies, than recollection and abhorrence have helpedme since to see, I began to reproach myself, that I had not at firstthrown myself into their protection. 

But amidst all these delightful prospects, I must not, said the LadyBetty, forget that I am to go to town. 

She then ordered her coach to be got to the door. --We will all go to towntogether, said she, and return together. Morrison shall stay here, andsee every thing as I am used to have it, in relation to my apartment, andmy bed; for I am very particular in some respects. My cousin Leeson'sservants can do all I want to be done with regard to my night-dresses, and the like. And it will be a little airing for you, my dear, and awant of your apparel to be sent from your former lodgings to Mrs. Leeson's; and we can bring it up with us from thence. 

I had no intention to comply. But as I did not imagine that she wouldinsist upon my going to town with them, I made no answer to that part ofher speech. 

I must here lay down my tired pen!

Recollection! heart-affecting recollection! how it pains me!

LETTER LXIX

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE

In the midst of this agreeableness, the coach came to the door. Thepretended Lady Betty besought me to give them my company to their cousinLeeson's. I desired to be excused: yet suspected nothing. She would notbe denied. How happy would a visit so condescending make her cousinLeeson!----Her cousin Leeson was not unworthy of my acquaintance: andwould take it for the greatest favour in the world. 

I objected my dress. But the objection was not admitted. She bespoke asupper of Mrs. Moore to be ready at nine. 

Mr. Lovelace, vile hypocrite, and wicked deceiver! seeing, as he said, mydislike to go, desired his Ladyship not to insist upon it. 

Fondness for my company was pleaded. She begged me to oblige her: made amotion to help me to my fan herself: and, in short, was so very urgent, that my feet complied against my speech and my mind: and being, in amanner, led to the coach by her, and made to step in first, she followedme: and her pretended niece, and the wretch, followed her: and away itdrove. 

Nothing but the height of affectionate complaisance passed all the way:over and over, what a joy would this unexpected visit give her cousinLeeson! What a pleasure must it be to such a mind as mine, to be ableto give so much joy to every body I came near!

The cruel, the savage seducer (as I have since recollected) was in arapture all the way; but yet such a sort of rapture, as he took visiblepains to check. 

Hateful villain! how I abhor him!--What mischief must be then in hisplotting heart!--What a devoted victim must I be in all their eyes!

Though not pleased, I was nevertheless just then thoughtless of danger;they endeavouring thus to lift me up above all apprehensions of that, andabove myself too. 

But think, my dear, what a dreadful turn all had upon me, when, throughseveral streets and ways I knew nothing of, the coach slackening itspace, came within sight of the dreadful house of the dreadfullest womanin the world; as she proved to me. 

Lord be good unto me! cried the poor fool, looking out of the coach--Mr. Lovelace!--Madam! turning to the pretended Lady Betty!--Madam! turning tothe niece, my hands and eyes lifted up--Lord be good unto me!

What! What! What! my dear. 

He pulled the string--What need to have come this way? said he--But sincewe are, I will but ask a question--My dearest life, why thisapprehension?

The coachman stopped: his servant, who, with one of her's was behind, alighted--Ask, said he, if I have any letters? Who knows, my dearestcreature, turning to me, but we may already have one from the Captain?--We will not go out of the coach!--Fear nothing--Why so apprehensive?--Oh!these fine spirits!--cried the execrable insulter. 

Dreadfully did my heart then misgive me: I was ready to faint. Why thisterror, my life? you shall not stir out of the coach but one question, now the fellow has drove us this way. 

Your lady will faint, cried the execrable Lady Betty, turning to him--Mydearest Niece! (niece I will call you, taking my hand)--we must alight, if you are so ill. --Let us alight--only for a glass of water andhartshorn--indeed we must alight. 

No, no, no--I am well--quite well--Won't the man drive on?--I am well--quite well--indeed I am. --Man, drive on, putting my head out of the coach--Man, drive on!--though my voice was too low to be heard. 

The coach stopt at the door. How I trembled!

Dorcas came to the door, on its stopping. 

My dearest creature, said the vile man, gasping, as it were for breath, you shall not alight--Any letters for me, Dorcas?

There are two, Sir. And here is a gentleman, Mr. Belton, Sir, waits foryour honour; and has done so above an hour. 

I'll just speak to him. Open the door--You sha'n't step out, my dear--Aletter perhaps from Captain already!--You sha'n't step out, my dear. 

I sighed as if my heart would burst. 

But we must step out, Nephew: your lady will faint. Maid, a glass ofhartshorn and water!--My dear you must step out--You will faint, child--We must cut your laces. --[I believe my complexion was all manner ofcolours by turns]--Indeed, you must step out, my dear. 

He knew, said I, I should be well, the moment the coach drove from thedoor. I should not alight. By his soul, I should not. 

Lord, Lord, Nephew, Lord, Lord, Cousin, both women in a breath, what adoyou make about nothing! You persuade your lady to be afraid ofalighting. --See you not that she is just fainting?

Indeed, Madam, said the vile seducer, my dearest love must not be movedin this point against her will. I beg it may not be insisted upon. 

Fiddle-faddle, foolish man--What a pother is here! I guess how it is:you are ashamed to let us see what sort of people you carried your ladyamong--but do you go out, and speak to your friend, and take yourletters. 

He stept out; but shut the coach-door after him, to oblige me. 

The coach may go on, Madam, said I. 

The coach shall go on, my dear life, said he. --But he gave not, norintended to give, orders that it should. 

Let the coach go on! said I--Mr. Lovelace may come after us. 

Indeed, my dear, you are ill!--Indeed you must alight--alight but for onequarter of an hour. --Alight but to give orders yourself about yourthings. Whom can you be afraid of in my company, and my niece's; thesepeople must have behaved shockingly to you! Please the Lord, I'llinquire into it!--I'll see what sort of people they are!

Immediately came the old creature to the door. A thousand pardons, dearMadam, stepping to the coach-side, if we have any way offended you--Bepleased, Ladies, [to the other two] to alight. 

Well, my dear, whispered the Lady Betty, I now find that an hideousdescription of a person we never saw is an advantage to them. I thoughtthe woman was a monster--but, really, she seems tolerable. 

I was afraid I should have fallen into fits: but still refused to go out--Man!--Man!--Man!--cried I, gaspingly, my head out of the coach and in, by turns, half a dozen times running, drive on!--Let us go!

My heart misgave me beyond the power of my own accounting for it; forstill I did not suspect these women. But the antipathy I had taken tothe vile house, and to find myself so near it, when I expected no suchmatter, with the sight of the old creature, all together made me behavelike a distracted person. 

The hartshorn and water was brought. The pretended Lady Betty made medrink it. Heaven knows if there was any thing else in it!

Besides, said she, whisperingly, I must see what sort of creatures thenieces are. Want of delicacy cannot be hid from me. You could notsurely, my dear, have this aversion to re-enter a house, for a fewminutes, in our company, in which you lodged and boarded several weeks, unless these women could be so presumptuously vile, as my nephew oughtnot to know. 

Out stept the pretended lady; the servant, at her command, having openedthe door. 

Dearest Madam, said the other to me, let me follow you, [for I was nextthe door. ] Fear nothing: I will not stir from your presence. 

Come, my dear, said the pretended lady, give me your hand; holding outher's. Oblige me this once. 

I will bless your footsteps, said the old creature, if once more youhonour my house with your presence. 

A crowd by this time was gathered about us; but I was too much affectedto mind that. 

Again the pretended Miss Montague urged me; standing up as ready to goout if I would give her room. --Lord, my dear, said she, who can bear thiscrowd?--What will people think?

The pretended Lady again pressed me, with both her hands held out--Only, my dear, to give orders about your things. 

And thus pressed, and gazed at, (for then I looked about me, ) the womenso richly dressed, people whispering; in an evil moment, out stepped I, trembling, forced to lean with both my hands (frighted too much forceremony) on the pretended Lady Betty's arm--Oh! that I had dropped downdead upon the guilty threshold!

We shall stay but a few minutes, my dear!--but a few minutes! said thesame specious jilt--out of breath with her joy, as I have since thought, that they had thus triumphed over the unhappy victim!

Come, Mrs. Sinclair, I think your name is, show us the way----followingher, and leading me. I am very thirsty. You have frighted me, my dear, with your strange fears. I must have tea made, if it can be done in amoment. We have farther to go, Mrs. Sinclair, and must return toHampstead this night. 

It shall be ready in a moment, cried the wretch. We have water boiling. 

Hasten, then--Come, my dear, to me, as she led me through the passage tothe fatal inner house--lean upon me--how you tremble!--how you falter inyour steps!--Dearest niece Lovelace, [the old wretch being in hearing, ]why these hurries upon your spirits?--We'll be gone in a minute. 

And thus she led the poor sacrifice into the old wretch's too-well-knownparlour. 

Never was any body so gentle, so meek, so low voiced, as the odiouswoman; drawling out, in a puling accent, all the obliging things shecould say: awed, I then thought, by the conscious dignity of a woman ofquality; glittering with jewels. 

The called-for tea was ready presently. 

There was no Mr. Belton, I believe: for the wretch went not to any body, unless it were while we were parlying in the coach. No such personhowever, appeared at the tea-table. 

I was made to drink two dishes, with milk, complaisantly urged by thepretended ladies helping me each to one. I was stupid to their hands;and, when I took the tea, almost choked with vapours; and could hardlyswallow. 

I thought, transiently thought, that the tea, the last dish particularly, had an odd taste. They, on my palating it, observed, that the milk wasLondon-milk; far short in goodness of what they were accustomed to fromtheir own dairies. 

I have no doubt that my two dishes, and perhaps my hartshorn, wereprepared for me; in which case it was more proper for their purpose, thatthey should help me, than that I should help myself. Ill before, I foundmyself still more and more disordered in my head; a heavy torpid painincreasing fast upon me. But I imputed it to my terror. 

Nevertheless, at the pretended Lady's motion, I went up stairs, attendedby Dorcas; who affected to weep for joy, that she once more saw myblessed face; that was the vile creature's word: and immediately I setabout taking out some of my clothes, ordering what should be put up, andwhat sent after me. 

While I was thus employed, up came the pretended Lady Betty, in ahurrying way----My dear, you won't be long before you are ready. Mynephew is very busy in writing answers to his letters: so, I'll just whipaway, and change my dress, and call upon you in an instant. 

O Madam!--I am ready! I am now ready!--You must not leave me here. Anddown I sunk, affrighted, into a chair. 

This instant, this instant, I will return--before you can be ready--before you can have packed up your things--we would not be late--therobbers we have heard of may be out--don't let us be late. 

And away she hurried before I could say another word. Her pretendedniece went with her, without taking notice to me of her going. 

I had no suspicion yet that these women were not indeed the ladiesthey personated; and I blamed myself for my weak fears. --It cannot be, thought I, that such ladies will abet treachery against a poor creaturethey are so fond of. They must undoubtedly be the persons they appear tobe--what folly to doubt it! The air, the dress, the dignity of women ofquality. How unworthy of them, and of my charity, concluded I, is thisungenerous shadow of suspicion!

So, recovering my stupefied spirits, as well as they could be recovered, (for I was heavier and heavier! and wondered to Dorcas what ailed me, rubbing my eyes, and taking some of her snuff, pinch after pinch, to verylittle purpose, ) I pursued my employment: but when that was over, allpacked up that I designed to be packed up; and I had nothing to do but tothink; and found them tarry so long; I thought I should have gonedistracted. I shut myself into the chamber that had been mine; Ikneeled, I prayed; yet knew not what I prayed for: then ran out again: itwas almost dark night, I said: where, where, where was Mr. Lovelace?

He came to me, taking no notice at first of my consternation andwildness, [what they had given me made me incoherent and wild:] All goeswell, said he, my dear!--A line from Capt. Tomlinson!

All indeed did go well for the villanous project of the most cruel andmost villanous of men!

I demanded his aunt!--I demanded his cousin!--The evening, I said, wasclosing!--My head was very, very bad, I remember I said--and it grewworse and worse. --

Terror, however, as yet kept up my spirits; and I insisted upon his goinghimself to hasten them. 

He called his servant. He raved at the sex for their delay: 'twas wellthat business of consequence seldom depended upon such parading, unpunctual triflers!

His servant came. 

He ordered him to fly to his cousin Leeson's, and to let Lady Betty andhis cousin know how uneasy we both were at their delay: adding, of hisown accord, desire them, if they don't come instantly, to send theircoach, and we will go without them. Tell them I wonder they'll serve meso!

I thought this was considerately and fairly put. But now, indifferent asmy head was, I had a little time to consider the man and his behaviour. He terrified me with his looks, and with his violent emotions, as hegazed upon me. Evident joy-suppressed emotions, as I have sincerecollected. His sentences short, and pronounced as if his breath weretouched. Never saw I his abominable eyes look as then they looked--Triumph in them!--fierce and wild; and more disagreeable than the women'sat the vile house appeared to me when I first saw them: and at times, such a leering, mischief-boding cast!--I would have given the world tohave been an hundred miles from him. Yet his behaviour was decent--adecency, however, that I might have seen to be struggled for--for hesnatched my hand two or three times, with a vehemence in his grasp thathurt me; speaking words of tenderness through his shut teeth, as itseemed; and let it go with a beggar-voiced humbled accent, like the vilewoman's just before; half-inward; yet his words and manner carrying theappearance of strong and almost convulsed passion!--O my dear! whatmischief was he not then meditating!

I complained once or twice of thirst. My mouth seemed parched. At thetime, I supposed that it was my terror (gasping often as I did forbreath) that parched up the roof of my mouth. I called for water: sometable-beer was brought me: beer, I suppose, was a better vehicle fortheir potions. I told the maid, that she knew I seldom tasted maltliquor: yet, suspecting nothing of this nature, being extremely thirsty, I drank it, as what came next: and instantly, as it were, found myselfmuch worse than before: as if inebriated, I should fancy: I know not how. 

His servant was gone twice as long as he needed: and, just before hisreturn, came one of the pretended Lady Betty's with a letter for Mr. Lovelace. 

He sent it up to me. I read it: and then it was that I thought myself alost creature; it being to put off her going to Hampstead that night, onaccount of violent fits which Miss Montague was pretended to be seizedwith; for then immediately came into my head his vile attempt upon me inthis house; the revenge that my flight might too probably inspire himwith on that occasion, and because of the difficulty I made to forgivehim, and to be reconciled to him; his very looks wild and dreadful to me;and the women of the house such as I had more reason than ever, even fromthe pretended Lady Betty's hint, to be afraid of: all these crowdingtogether in my apprehensive mind, I fell into a kind of phrensy. 

I have no remembrance how I was for this time it lasted: but I know that, in my first agitations, I pulled off my head-dress, and tore my rufflesin twenty tatters, and ran to find him out. 

When a little recovered, I insisted upon the hint he had given me oftheir coach. But the messenger, he said, had told him, that it was sentto fetch a physician, lest his chariot should be put up, or not ready. 

I then insisted upon going directly to Lady Betty's lodgings. 

Mrs. Leeson's was now a crowded house, he said: and as my earnestnesscould be owing to nothing but groundless apprehensions, [and Oh! whatvows, what protestations of his honour, did he then make!] he hoped Iwould not add to their present concern. Charlotte, indeed, was used tofits, he said, upon any great surprises, whether of joy or grief; andthey would hold her for one week together, if not got off in a few hours. 

You are an observer of eyes, my dear, said the villain; perhaps in secretinsult: Saw you not in Miss Montague's, now-and-then at Hampstead, something wildish? I was afraid for her then. Silence and quiet only doher good: your concern for her, and her love for you, will but augmentthe poor girl's disorder, if you should go. 

All impatient with grief and apprehension, I still declared myselfresolved not to stay in that house till morning. All I had in the world, my rings, my watch, my little money, for a coach; or, if one were not tobe got, I would go on foot to Hampstead that night, though I walked it bymyself. 

A coach was hereupon sent for, or pretended to be sent for. Any price, he said, he would give to oblige me, late as it was; and he would attendme with all his soul. But no coach was to be got. 

Let me cut short the rest. I grew worse and worse in my head! nowstupid, now raving, now senseless. The vilest of vile women was broughtto frighten me. Never was there so horrible a creature as sheappreared to me at this time. 

I remember I pleaded for mercy. I remember that I said I would be his--indeed I would be his--to obtain his mercy. But no mercy found I! Mystrength, my intellects failed me--And then such scenes followed--O mydear, such dreadful scenes!--fits upon fits, (faintly indeed andimperfectly remembered, ) procuring me no compassion--But death waswithheld from me. That would have been too great a mercy!

***

Thus was I tricked and deluded back by blacker hearts of my own sex thanI thought there were in the world; who appeared to me to be persons ofhonour; and, when in his power, thus barbarously was I treated by thisvillanous man!

I was so senseless, that I dare not aver, that the horrid creatures ofthe house were personally aiding and abetting: but some visionaryremembrances I have of female figures, flitting, as I may say, before mysight; the wretched woman's particularly. But as these confused ideasmight be owing to the terror I had conceived of the worse than masculineviolence she had been permitted to assume to me, for expressing myabhorrence of her house; and as what I suffered from his barbarity wantsnot that aggravation; I will say no more on a subject so shocking as thismust ever be to my remembrance. 

I never saw the personating wretches afterwards. He persisted to thelast, (dreadfully invoking Heaven as a witness to the truth of hisassertion) that they were really and truly the ladies they pretended tobe; declaring, that they could not take leave of me, when they left town, because of the state of senselessness and phrensy I was in. For theirintoxicating, or rather stupefying, potions had almost deleteriouseffects upon my intellects, as I have hinted; insomuch that, for severaldays together, I was under a strange delirium; now moping, now dozing, now weeping, now raving, now scribbling, tearing what I scribbled as fastas I wrote it: most miserable when now-and-then a ray of reason broughtconfusedly to my remembrance what I had suffered. 

LETTER LXX

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE[IN CONTINUATION. ]

[The lady next gives an account, Of her recovery from her delirium and sleepy disorder:

Of her attempt to get away in his absence:

Of the conversations that followed, at his return, between them:

Of the guilty figure he made:

Of her resolution not to have him:

Of her several efforts to escape:

Of her treaty with Dorcas to assist her in it:

Of Dorcas's dropping the promissory note, undoubtedly, as she says, on purpose to betray her:

Of her triumph over all the creatures of the house, assembled to terrify her; and perhaps to commit fresh outrages upon her:

Of his setting out for M. Hall:

Of his repeated letters to induce her to meet him at the altar, on her uncle's anniversary:

Of her determined silence to them all:

Of her second escape, effected, as she says, contrary to her own expectation: the attempt being at first but the intended prelude to a more promising one, which she had formed in her mind:

And of other particulars; which being to be found in Mr. Lovelace's letters preceding, and the letter of his friend Belford, are omitted. She then proceeds:]

The very hour that I found myself in a place of safety, I took pen towrite to you. When I began, I designed only to write six or eight lines, to inquire after your health: for, having heard nothing from you, Ifeared indeed, that you had been, and still were, too ill to write. Butno sooner did my pen begin to blot the paper, but my sad heart hurried itinto length. The apprehensions I had lain under, that I should not beable to get away; the fatigue I had in effecting my escape: thedifficulty of procuring a lodging for myself; having disliked the peopleof two houses, and those of a third disliking me; for you must think Imade a frighted appearance--these, together with the recollection of whatI had suffered from him, and my farther apprehensions of my insecurity, and my desolate circumstances, had so disordered me, that I remember Irambled strangely in that letter. 

In short, I thought it, on re-perusal, a half-distracted one: but I thendespaired, (were I to begin again, ) of writing better: so I let it go:and can have no excuse for directing it as I did, if the cause of theincoherence in it will not furnish me with a very pitiable one. 

The letter I received from your mother was a dreadful blow to me. Butnevertheless it had the good effect upon me (labouring, as I did justthen, under a violent fit of vapourish despondency, and almost yieldingto it) which profuse bleeding and blisterings have in paralytic orapoplectical strokes; reviving my attention, and restoring me to spiritsto combat the evils I was surrounded by--sluicing off, and diverting intoa new channel, (if I may be allowed another metaphor, ) the overchargingwoes which threatened once more to overwhelm my intellects. 

But yet I most sincerely lamented, (and still lament, ) in your mother'swords, That I cannot be unhappy by myself: and was grieved, not only forthe trouble I had given you before; but for the new one I had broughtupon you by my inattention. 

[She then gives the substance of the letters she wrote to Mrs. Norton, to Lady Betty Lawrance, and to Mrs. Hodges; as also of their answers; whereby she detected all Mr. Lovelace's impostures. She proceeds as follows:]

I cannot, however, forbear to wonder how the vile Tomlinson could come atthe knowledge of several of the things he told me of, and whichcontributed to give me confidence in him. *

* The attentive reader need not be referred back for what the Ladynevertheless could not account for, as she knew not that Mr. Lovelace hadcome at Miss Howe's letters; particularly that in Vol. IV. Letter XXIX. Which he comments upon in Letter XLIV. Of the same volume. 

I doubt not that the stories of Mrs. Fretchville and her house would befound as vile as any of the rest, were I to inquire; and had I notenough, and too much, already against the perjured man. 

How have I been led on!--What will be the end of such a false andperjured creature! Heaven not less profaned and defied by him thanmyself deceived and abused! This, however, against myself I must say, That if what I have suffered be the natural consequence of my firsterror, I never can forgive myself, although you are so partial in myfavour, as to say, that I was not censurable for what passed before myfirst escape. 

And now, honoured Madam, and my dearest Miss Howe, who are to sit injudgment upon my case, permit me to lay down my pen with one request, which, with the greatest earnestness, I make to you both: and that is, That you will neither of you open your lips in relation to the potionsand the violences I have hinted at. --Not that I am solicitous, that mydisgrace should be hidden from the world, or that it should not begenerally known, that the man has proved a villain to me: for this, itseems, every body but myself expected from his character. But suppose, as his actions by me are really of a capital nature, it were insistedupon that I should appear to prosecute him and his accomplices in a courtof justice, how do you think I could bear that?

But since my character, before the capital enormity, was lost in the eyeof the world; and that from the very hour I left my father's house; andsince all my own hopes of worldly happiness are entirely over; let meslide quietly into my grave; and let it be not remembered, except by onefriendly tear, and no more, dropt from your gentle eye, mine own dearAnna Howe, on the happy day that shall shut up all my sorrows, that therewas such a creature as

CLARISSA HARLOWE

SATURDAY, JULY 8. 

LETTER LXXI

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWESUNDAY, JULY 9. 

May Heaven signalize its vengeance, in the face of all the world, uponthe most abandoned and profligate of men!--And in its own time, I doubtnot but it will. --And we must look to a WORLD BEYOND THIS for the rewardof your sufferings!

Another shocking detection, my dear!--How have you been deluded!--Verywatchful I have thought you; very sagacious:--but, alas! not watchful, not sagacious enough, for the horrid villain you have had to deal with!----

The letter you sent me enclosed as mine, of the 7th of June, is avillanous forgery. *

* See Vol. V. Letter XXX. 

The hand, indeed, is astonishingly like mine; and the cover, I see, isactually my cover: but yet the letter is not so exactly imitated, butthat, (had you had any suspicions about his vileness at the time, ) you, who so well know my hand, might have detected it. 

In short, this vile, forged letter, though a long one, contains but afew extracts from mine. Mine was a very long one. He has omitted everything, I see, in it that could have shown you what a detestable house thehouse is; and given you suspicions of the vile Tomlinson. --You will seethis, and how he has turned Miss Lardner's information, and my advices toyou, [execrable villain!] to his own horrid ends, by the rough draught ofthe genuine letter, which I shall enclose. *

* See Vol. V. Letter XX. 

Apprehensive for both our safeties from the villany of such a daring andprofligate contriver, I must call upon you, my dear, to resolve upontaking legal vengeance of the infernal wretch. And this not only for ourown sakes, but for the sakes of innocents who otherwise may yet bedeluded and outraged by him. 

[She then gives the particulars of the report made by the young fellow whom she sent to Hampstead with her letter; and who supposed he had delivered it into her own hand;* and then proceeds:]

* See Vol. VI. Letter VI. 

I am astonished, that the vile wretch, who could know nothing of the timemy messenger, (whose honesty I can vouch for) would come, could have acreature ready to personate you! Strange, that the man should happen toarrive just as you were gone to church, (as I find was the fact, oncomparing what he says with your hint that you were at church twice thatday, ) when he might have got to Mrs. Moore's two hours before!--But hadyou told me, my dear, that the villain had found you out, and was aboutyou!--You should have done that--yet I blame you upon a judgment foundedon the event only!

I never had any faith in the stories that go current among country girls, of specters, familiars, and demons; yet I see not any other way toaccount for this wretch's successful villany, and for his means ofworking up his specious delusions, but by supposing, (if he be not thedevil himself, ) that he has a familiar constantly at his elbow. Sometimes it seems to me that this familiar assumes the shape of thatsolemn villain Tomlinson: sometimes that of the execrable Sinclair, as hecalls her: sometimes it is permitted to take that of Lady Betty Lawrance--but, when it would assume the angelic shape and mien of my belovedfriend, see what a bloated figure it made!

'Tis my opinion, my dear, that you will be no longer safe where you are, than while the V. Is in the country. Words are poor!--or how could Iexecrate him! I have hardly any doubt that he has sold himself for atime. Oh! may the time be short!--or may his infernal prompter no morekeep covenant with him than he does with others!

I enclose not only the rough draught of my long letter mentioned above, but the heads of that which the young fellow thought he delivered intoyour own hands at Hampstead. And when you have perused them, I willleave to you to judge how much reason I had to be surprised that youwrote me not an answer to either of those letters; one of which you ownedyou had received, (though it proved to be his forged one, ) the otherdelivered into your own hands, as I was assured; and both of them of somuch concern to your honour; and still now much more surprised I must be, when I received a letter from Mrs. Townsend, dated June 15, fromHampstead, importing, 'That Mr. Lovelace, who had been with you severaldays, had, on the Monday before, brought Lady Betty and his cousin, richly dressed, and in a coach-and-four, to visit you: who, with your ownconsent, had carried you to town with them--to your former lodgings;where you still were: that the Hampstead women believed you to bemarried; and reflected upon me as a fomenter of differences between manand wife: that he himself was at Hampstead the day before; viz. Wednesdaythe 14th; and boasted of his happiness with you; inviting Mrs. Moore, Mrs. Bevis, and Miss Rawlins, to go to town, to visit his spouse; whichthey promised to do: that he declared that you were entirely reconciledto your former lodgings:--and that, finally, the women at Hampstead toldMrs. Townsend, that he had very handsomely discharged theirs. '

I own to you, my dear, that I was so much surprised and disgusted atthese appearances against a conduct till then unexceptionable, that I wasresolved to make myself as easy as I could, and wait till you shouldthink fit to write to me. But I could rein-in my impatience but for afew days; and on the 20th of June I wrote a sharp letter to you; which Ifind you did not receive. 

What a fatality, my dear, has appeared in your case, from the verybeginning till this hour! Had my mother permitted----

But can I blame her; when you have a father and mother living, who haveso much to answer for?--So much!--as no father and mother, consideringthe child they have driven, persecuted, exposed, renounced, ever had toanswer for!

But again I must execrate the abandoned villain--yet, as I said before, all words are poor, and beneath the occasion. 

But see we not, in the horrid perjuries and treachery of this man, whatrakes and libertines will do, when they get a young creature into theirpower! It is probable that he might have the intolerable presumption tohope an easier conquest: but, when your unexampled vigilance and exaltedvirtue made potions, and rapes, and the utmost violences, necessary tothe attainment of his detestable end, we see that he never boggled atthem. I have no doubt that the same or equal wickedness would be oftenercommitted by men of his villanous cast, if the folly and credulity of thepoor inconsiderates who throw themselves into their hands, did not givethem an easier triumph. 

With what comfort must those parents reflect upon these things who havehappily disposed of their daughters in marriage to a virtuous man! Andhow happy the young women who find themselves safe in a worthyprotection!--If such a person as Miss Clarissa Harlowe could not escape, who can be secure?--Since, though every rake is not a LOVELACE, neitheris every woman a CLARISSA: and his attempts were but proportioned to yourresistance and vigilance. 

My mother has commanded me to let you know her thoughts upon the whole ofyour sad story. I will do it in another letter; and send it to you withthis, by a special messenger. 

But, for the future, if you approve of it, I will send my letters by theusual hand, (Collins's, ) to be left at the Saracen's Head, on Snow-hill:whither you may send your's, (as we both used to do, to Wilson's, ) exceptsuch as we shall think fit to transmit by the post: which I am afraid, after my next, must be directed to Mr. Hickman, as before: since mymother is fixing a condition to our correspondence, which, I doubt, youwill not comply with, though I wish you would. This condition I shallacquaint you with by-and-by. 

Mean time, begging excuse for all the harsh things in my last, of whichyour sweet meekness and superior greatness of soul have now made me mostheartily ashamed, I beseech you, my dearest creature, to believe me to be

Your truly sympathising, and unalterable friend, ANNA HOWE. 

LETTER LXXII

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWEMONDAY, JULY 10. 

I now, my dearest friend, resume my pen, to obey my mother, in giving youher opinion upon your unhappy story. 

She still harps upon the old string, and will have it that all yourcalamities are owing to your first fatal step; for she believes, (what Icannot, ) that your relations had intended after one general trial more, to comply with your aversion, if they had found it to be as riveted aone, as, let me say, it was a folly to suppose it would not be found tobe, after so many ridiculously-repeated experiments. 

As to your latter sufferings from that vilest of miscreants, she isunalterably of opinion that if all be as you have related (which shedoubts not) with regard to the potions, and to the violences you havesustained, you ought by all means to set on foot a prosecution againsthim, and against his devilish accomplices. 

She asks, What murderers, what ravishers, would be brought to justice, ifmodesty were to be a general plea, and allowable, against appearing in acourt to prosecute?

She says, that the good of society requires, that such a beast of preyshould be hunted out of it: and, if you do not prosecute him, she thinksyou will be answerable for all the mischiefs he may do in the course ofhis future villanous life. 

Will it be thought, Nancy, said she, that Miss Clarissa Harlowe can be inearnest, when she says, she is not solicitous to have her disgracesconcealed from the world, if she be afraid or ashamed to appear in court, to do justice to herself and her sex against him? Will it not be rathersurmised, that she may be apprehensive that some weakness, or lurkinglove, will appear upon the trial of the strange cause? If, inferred she, such complicated villany as this (where perjury, potions, forgery, subornation, are all combined to effect the ruin of an innocent creature, and to dishonour a family of eminence, and where the very crimes, as maybe supposed, are proofs of her innocence) is to go off with impunity, what case will deserve to be brought into judgment? or what malefactorought to be hanged?

Then she thinks, and so do I, that the vile creatures, his accomplices, ought, by all means, to be brought to condign punishment, as they mustand will be upon bringing him to trial: and this may be a mean to blow upand root out a whole nest of vipers, and save many innocent creatures. 

She added, that if Miss Clarissa Harlowe could be so indifferent abouthaving this public justice done upon such a wretch for her own sake, sheought to overcome her scruples out of regard to her family, heracquaintance, and her sex, which are all highly injured and scandalizedby his villany to her. 

For her own part, she declares, that were she your mother, she wouldforgive you upon no other terms: and, upon your compliance with these, she herself will undertake to reconcile all your family to you. 

These, my dear, are my mother's sentiments upon your sad story. 

I cannot say but there are reason and justice in them: and it is myopinion, that it would be very right for the law to oblige an injuredwoman to prosecute, and to make seduction on the man's part capital, where his studied baseness, and no fault in her will, appeared. 

To this purpose the custom in the Isle of Man is a very good one----

'If a single woman there prosecutes a single man for a rape, theecclesiastical judges impannel a jury; and, if this jury find him guilty, he is returned guilty to the temporal courts: where if he be convicted, the deemster, or judge, delivers to the woman a rope, a sword, and aring; and she has it in her choice to have him hanged, beheaded, or tomarry him. '

One of the two former, I think, should always be her option. 

I long for the particulars of your story. You must have too much timeupon your hands for a mind so active as your's, if tolerable health andspirits be afforded you. 

The villany of the worst of men, and the virtue of the most excellent ofwomen, I expect will be exemplified in it, were it to be written in thesame connected and particular manner in which you used to write to me. 

Try for it, my dearest friend; and since you cannot give the examplewithout the warning, give both, for the sakes of all those who shall hearof your unhappy fate; beginning from your's of June 5, your prospectsthen not disagreeable. I pity you for the task; though I cannotwillingly exempt you from it. 

***

My mother will have me add, that she must insist upon your prosecutingthe villain. She repeats, that she makes that a condition on which shepermits our future correspondence. Let me therefore know your thoughtsupon it. I asked her, if she would be willing that I should appear tosupport you in court, if you complied?--By all means, she said, if thatwould induce you to begin with him, and with the horrid women. I think Icould probably attend you, I am sure I could, were there but aprobability of bringing the monster to his deserved end. 

Once more your thoughts of it, supposing it were to meet with theapprobation of your relations. 

But whatever be your determination on this head, it shall be my constantprayer, that God will give you patience to bear your heavy afflictions, as a person ought to do who has not brought them upon herself by a faultywill: that He will speak peace and comfort to your wounded mind; and giveyou many happy years. I am, and ever will be, Your affectionate and faithfulANNA HOWE. 

***

[The two preceding letters were sent by a special messenger: in the cover were written the following lines:]

MONDAY, JULY 10. 

I cannot, my dearest friend, suffer the enclosed to go unaccompanied by afew lines, to signify to you that they are both less tender in someplaces than I would have written, had they not been to pass my mother'sinspection. The principal reason, however, of my writing thus separatelyis, to beg of you to permit me to send you money and necessaries, whichyou must needs want; and that you will let me know, if either I, or anybody I can influence, can be of service to you. I am excessivelyapprehensive that you are not enough out of the villain's reach where youare. Yet London, I am persuaded, is the place, of all others, to beprivate in. 

I could tear my hair for vexation, that I have it not in my power toafford you personal protection!--I am

Your ever devotedANNA HOWE. 

Once more forgive me, my dearest creature, for my barbarous taunting inmine of the 5th! Yet I can hardly forgive myself. I to be so cruel, yetto know you so well!--Whence, whence, had I this vile impatiency ofspirit!--

LETTER LXXIII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWETUESDAY, JULY 11. 

Forgive you, my dear!--Most cordially do I forgive you--Will you forgiveme for some sharp things I wrote in return to your's of the 5th? Youcould not have loved me as you do, nor had the concern you have alwaysshown for my honour, if you had not been utterly displeased with me, onthe appearance which my conduct wore to you when you wrote that letter. I most heartily thank you, my best and only love, for the opportunity yougave me of clearing it up; and for being generously ready to acquit me ofintentional blame, the moment you had read my melancholy narrative. 

As you are so earnest to have all the particulars of my sad story beforeyou, I will, if life and spirits be lent me, give you an ample account ofall that has befallen me, from the time you mention. But this, it isvery probable, you will not see, till after the close of my last scene:and as I shall write with a view to that, I hope no other voucher will bewanted for the veracity of the writer, be who will the reader. 

I am far from thinking myself out of the reach of this man's furtherviolence. But what can I do? Whither can I fly?--Perhaps my bad stateof health (which must grow worse, as recollection of the past evils, andreflections upon them, grow heavier and heavier upon me) may be myprotection. Once, indeed, I thought of going abroad; and, had I theprospect of many years before me, I would go. --But, my dear, the blow isgiven. --Nor have you reason now, circumstanced as I am, to be concernedthat it is. What a heart must I have, if it be not broken--and indeed, my dear friend, I do so earnestly wish for the last closing scene, andwith so much comfort find myself in a declining way, that I evensometimes ungratefully regret that naturally-healthy constitution, whichused to double upon me all my enjoyments. 

As to the earnestly-recommended prosecution, I may possibly touch upon itmore largely hereafter, if ever I shall have better spirits; for they areat present extremely sunk and low. But just now, I will only say, that Iwould sooner suffer every evil (the repetition of the capital oneexcepted) than appear publicly in a court to do myself justice. * And Iam heartily grieved that your mother prescribes such a measure as thecondition of our future correspondence: for the continuance of yourfriendship, my dear, and the desire I had to correspond with you to mylife's end, were all my remaining hopes and consolation. Nevertheless, as that friendship is in the power of the heart, not of the hand only, Ihope I shall not forfeit that. 

* Dr. Lewen, in Letter XXIV. Of Vol. VIII. Presses her to this publicprosecution, by arguments worthy of his character; which she answers in amanner worthy of her's. See Letter XXV. Of that volume. 

O my dear! what would I give to obtain a revocation of my father'smalediction! a reconciliation is not to be hoped for. You, who neverloved my father, may think my solicitude on this head a weakness: but themotive for it, sunk as my spirits at times are, is not always weak. 

***

I approve of the method you prescribe for the conveyance of our letters;and have already caused the porter of the inn to be engaged to bring tome your's, the moment that Collins arrives with them. And the servant ofthe house where I am will be permitted to carry mine to Collins for you. 

I have written a letter to Miss Rawlins, of Hampstead; the answer towhich, just now received, has helped me to the knowledge of the vilecontrivance, by which the wicked man got your letter of June the 10th. Iwill give you the contents of both. 

In mine to her, I briefly acquainted her 'with what had befallen me, through the vileness of the women who had passed upon me as the aunt andcousin of the wickedest of men; and own, that I never was married to him. I desire her to make particular inquiry, and to let me know, who it wasat Mrs. Moore's that, on Sunday afternoon, June 11, while I was atchurch, received a letter from Miss Howe, pretending to be me, and lyingon a couch:--which letter, had it come to my hands, would have saved mefrom ruin. I excuse myself (on the score of the delirium, which thehorrid usage I had received threw me into, and from a confinement asbarbarous as illegal) that I had not before applied to Mrs. Moore for anaccount of what I was indebted to her: which account I now desired. And, for fear of being traced by Mr. Lovelace, I directed her to superscribeher answer, To Mrs. Mary Atkins; to be left till called for, at the BelleSavage Inn, on Ludgate-hill. '

In her answer, she tells me, 'that the vile wretch prevailed upon Mrs. Bevis to personate me, [a sudden motion of his, it seems, on theappearance of your messenger, ] and persuaded her to lie along a couch:a handkerchief over her neck and face; pretending to be ill; thecredulous woman drawn in by false notions of your ill offices to keep upa variance between a man and his wife--and so taking the letter from yourmessenger as me. 

'Miss Rawlins takes pains to excuse Mrs. Bevis's intention. Sheexpresses their astonishment, and concern at what I communicate: but isglad, however, and so they are all, that they know in time the vilenessof the base man; the two widows and herself having, at his earnestinvitation, designed me a visit at Mrs. Sinclair's: supposing all to behappy between him and me; as he assured them was the case. Mr. Lovelace, she informs me, had handsomely satisfied Mrs. Moore. And Miss Rawlinsconcludes with wishing to be favoured with the particulars of soextraordinary a story, as these particulars may be of use, to let her seewhat wicked creatures (women as well as men) there are in the world. '

I thank you, my dear, for the draughts of your two letters which wereintercepted by this horrid man. I see the great advantage they were ofto him, in the prosecution of his villanous designs against the poorwretch whom he had so long made the sport of his abhorred inventions. 

Let me repeat, that I am quite sick of life; and of an earth, in whichinnocent and benevolent spirits are sure to be considered as aliens, andto be made sufferers by the genuine sons and daughters of that earth. 

How unhappy, that those letters only which could have acquainted me withhis horrid views, and armed me against them, and against the vileness ofthe base women, should fall into his hands!--Unhappier still, in that myvery escape to Hampstead gave him the opportunity of receiving them. 

Nevertheless, I cannot but still wonder, how it was possible for thatTomlinson to know what passed between Mr. Hickman and my uncle Harlowe:*a circumstance which gave the vile impostor most of his credit with me. 

* See the note in Letter LXX. Of this volume. 

How the wicked wretch himself could find me out at Hampstead, must alsoremain wholly a mystery to me. He may glory in his contrivances--he, whohas more wickedness than wit, may glory in his contrivances!--But, afterall, I shall, I humbly presume to hope, be happy, when he, poor wretch, will be--alas!--who can say what!----

Adieu, my dearest friend!--May you be happy!--And then your Clarissacannot be wholly miserable!

END OF VOL. 6.