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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:39:11 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:39:11 -0700 |
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diff --git a/12180-h/12180-h.htm b/12180-h/12180-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c826010 --- /dev/null +++ b/12180-h/12180-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,14217 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Clarissa Harlowe, Volue 8 (of 9) by Samuel Richardson + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12180 ***</div> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + CLARISSA HARLOWE + </h1> + <h3> + or the + </h3> + <h2> + HISTORY OF A YOUNG LADY + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Samuel Richardson + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h3> + Volume VIII. (of Nine Volumes) + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> DETAILED CONTENTS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE HISTORY OF CLARISSA HARLOWE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> LETTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> LETTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> LETTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> LETTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> LETTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> LETTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> LETTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> LETTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> LETTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> LETTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> LETTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> LETTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> LETTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> LETTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> LETTER XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> LETTER XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> LETTER XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> LETTER XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> LETTER XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> LETTER XX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> LETTER XXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> LETTER XXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> LETTER XXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> LETTER XXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> LETTER XXV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> LETTER XXVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> LETTER XXVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> LETTER XXVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> LETTER XXIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> LETTER XXX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> LETTER XXXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> LETTER XXXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> LETTER XXXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> LETTER XXXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> LETTER XXXV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> LETTER XXXVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> LETTER XXXVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> LETTER XXXVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> LETTER XXXIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> LETTER XL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> LETTER XLI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> LETTER XLII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> LETTER XLIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> LETTER XLIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> LETTER XLV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> LETTER XLVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0050"> LETTER XLVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0051"> LETTER XLVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0052"> LETTER XLIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0053"> LETTER L </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0054"> LETTER LI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0055"> LETTER LII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0056"> LETTER LIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0057"> LETTER LIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0058"> LETTER LV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0059"> LETTER LVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0060"> LETTER LVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0061"> LETTER LVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0062"> LETTER LIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0063"> LETTER LX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0064"> LETTER LXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0065"> LETTER LXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0066"> LETTER LXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0067"> LETTER LXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0068"> LETTER LXV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0069"> LETTER LXVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0070"> LETTER LXVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0071"> LETTER LXVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0072"> LETTER LXIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0073"> LETTER LXX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0074"> LETTER LXXI </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>DETAILED CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + LETTER I. Miss Howe, from the Isle of Wight.— In answer to her's, + No. LXI. of Vol. VII. Approves not of her choice of Belford for her + executor; yet thinks she cannot appoint for that office any of her own + family. Hopes she will live many years. + </p> + <p> + LETTER II. Clarissa to Miss Howe.— Sends her a large packet of + letters; but (for her relations' sake) not all she has received. Must + now abide by the choice of Mr. Belford for executor; but farther refers + to the papers she sends her, for her justification on this head. + </p> + <p> + LETTER III. Antony Harlowe to Clarissa.— A letter more taunting + and reproachful than that of her other uncle. To what owing. + </p> + <p> + LETTER IV. Clarissa. In answer.— Wishes that the circumstances of + her case had been inquired into. Concludes with a solemn and pathetic + prayer for the happiness of the whole family. + </p> + <p> + LETTER V. Mrs. Norton to Clarissa.— Her friends, through Brand's + reports, as she imagines, intent upon her going to the plantations. + Wishes her to discourage improper visiters. Difficult situations the + tests of prudence as well as virtue. Dr. Lewen's solicitude for her + welfare. Her cousin Morden arrived in England. Farther pious + consolations. + </p> + <p> + LETTER VI. Clarissa. In answer.— Sends her a packet of letters, + which, for her relations' sake, she cannot communicate to Miss Howe. + From these she will collect a good deal of her story. Defends, yet + gently blames her mother. Afraid that her cousin Morden will be set + against her; or, what is worse, that he will seek to avenge her. Her + affecting conclusion on her Norton's divine consolations. + </p> + <p> + LETTER VII. Lovelace to Belford.— Is very ill. The lady, if he + die, will repent her refusal of him. One of the greatest felicities that + can befal a woman, what. Extremely ill. His ludicrous behaviour on + awaking, and finding a clergyman and his friends praying for him by his + bedside. + </p> + <p> + LETTER VIII. Belford to Lovelace.— Concerned at his illness. + Wishes that he had died before last April. The lady, he tells him, + generously pities him; and prays that he may meet with the mercy he has + not shown. + </p> + <p> + LETTER IX. Lovelace to Belford.— In raptures on her goodness to + him. His deep regrets for his treatment of her. Blesses her. + </p> + <p> + LETTER X. Belford to Lovelace.— Congratulates him on his + amendment. The lady's exalted charity to him. Her story a fine subject + for tragedy. Compares with it, and censures, the play of the Fair + Penitent. She is very ill; the worse for some new instances of the + implacableness of her relations. A meditation on the subject. Poor + Belton, he tells him, is at death's door; and desirous to see him. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XI. Belford to Clarissa.— Acquaints her with the obligation + he is under to go to Belton, and (lest she should be surprised) with + Lovelace's resolution (as signified in the next letter) to visit her. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XII. Lovelace to Belford.— Resolves to throw himself at the + lady's feet. Lord M. of opinion that she ought to admit of one + interview. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XIII. From the same.— Arrived in London, he finds the lady + gone abroad. Suspects Belford. His unaccountable freaks at Smith's. His + motives for behaving so ludicrously there. The vile Sally Martin + entertains him with her mimicry of the divine lady. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XIV. From the same.— His frightful dream. How affected by + it. Sleeping or waking, his Clarissa always present with him. Hears she + is returned to her lodgings. Is hastening to her. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XV. From the same.— Disappointed again. Is affected by Mrs. + Lovick's expostulations. Is shown a meditation on being hunted after by + the enemy of her soul, as it is entitled. His light comments upon it. + Leaves word that he resolves to see her. Makes several other efforts for + that purpose. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XVI. Belford to Lovelace.— Reproaches him that he has not + kept his honour with him. Inveighs against, and severely censures him + for his light behaviour at Smith's. Belton's terrors and despondency. + Mowbray's impenetrable behaviour. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XVII. From the same.— Mowbray's impatience to run from a + dying Belton to a too-lively Lovelace. Mowbray abuses Mr. Belton's + servant in the language of a rake of the common class. Reflection on the + brevity of life. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XVIII. Lovelace to Belford.— Receives a letter from + Clarissa, written by way of allegory to induce him to forbear hunting + after her. Copy of it. He takes it in a literal sense. Exults upon it. + Will now hasten down to Lord M. and receive the gratulations of all his + family on her returning favour. Gives an interpretation of his frightful + dream to his own liking. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XIX. XX. From the same.— Pities Belton. Rakishly defends + him on the issue of a duel, which now adds to the poor man's terrors. + His opinion of death, and the fear of it. Reflections upon the conduct + of play-writers with regard servants. He cannot account for the turn his + Clarissa has taken in his favour. Hints at one hopeful cause of it. Now + matrimony seems to be in his power, he has some retrograde motions. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XXI. Belford to Lovelace.— Continuation of his narrative of + Belton's last illness and impatience. The poor man abuses the gentlemen + of the faculty. Belford censures some of them for their greediness after + fees. Belton dies. Serious reflections on the occasion. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XXII. Lovelace to Belford.— Hopes Belton is happy; and why. + He is setting out for Berks. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XXIII. Belford to Lovelace.— Attends the lady. She is + extremely ill, and receives the sacrament. Complains of the harasses his + friend had given her. Two different persons (from her relations, he + supposes) inquire after her. Her affecting address to the doctor, + apothecary, and himself. Disposes of some more of her apparel for a very + affecting purpose. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XXIV. Dr. Lewen to Clarissa.— Writes on his pillow, to + prevail upon her to prosecute Lovelace for his life. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XXV. Her pathetic and noble answer. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XXVI. Miss Arabella Harlowe to Clarissa.— Proposes, in a + most taunting and cruel manner, the prosecution of Lovelace; or, if not, + her going to Pensylvania. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XXVII. Clarissa's affecting answer. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XXVIII. XXIX. Mrs. Norton to Clarissa.— Her uncle's cruel + letter to what owing. Colonel Morden resolved on a visit to Lovelace.—Mrs. + Hervey, in a private conversation with her, accounts for, yet blames, + the cruelty of her family. Miss Dolly Hervey wishes to attend her. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XXX. Clarissa. In answer.— Thinks she has been treated with + great rigour by her relations. Expresses more warmth than usual on this + subject. Yet soon checks herself. Grieves that Colonel Morden resolves + on a visit to Lovelace. Touches upon her sister's taunting letter. + Requests Mrs. Norton's prayers for patience and resignation. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XXXI. Miss Howe to Clarissa.— Approves now of her + appointment of Belford for an executor. Admires her greatness of mind in + despising Lovelace. Every body she is with taken with Hickman; yet she + cannot help wantoning with the power his obsequious love gives her over + him. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XXXII. XXXIII. Clarissa to Miss Howe.— Instructive lessons + and observations on her treatment of Hickman.— Acquaints her with + all that has happened since her last. Fears that all her allegorical + letter is not strictly right. Is forced by illness to break off. + Resumes. Wishes her married. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XXXIV. Mr. Wyerley to Clarissa.— A generous renewal of his + address to her now in her calamity; and a tender of his best services. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XXXV. Her open, kind, and instructive answer. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XXXVI. Lovelace to Belford.— Uneasy, on a suspicion that + her letter to him was a stratagem only. What he will do, if he find it + so. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XXXVII. Belford to Lovelace.— Brief account of his + proceedings in Belton's affairs. The lady extremely ill. Thought to be + near her end. Has a low-spirited day. Recovers her spirits; and thinks + herself above this world. She bespeaks her coffin. Confesses that her + letter to Lovelace was allegorical only. The light in which Belford + beholds her. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XXXVIII. Belford to Lovelace.— An affecting conversation + that passed between the lady and Dr. H. She talks of death, he says, and + prepares for it, as if it were an occurrence as familiar to her as + dressing and undressing. Worthy behaviour of the doctor. She makes + observations on the vanity of life, on the wisdom of an early + preparation for death, and on the last behaviour of Belton. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XXXIX. XL. XLI. Lovelace to Belford.— Particulars of what + passed between himself, Colonel Morden, Lord M., and Mowbray, on the + visit made him by the Colonel. Proposes Belford to Miss Charlotte + Montague, by way of raillery, for an husband.—He encloses Brand's + letter, which misrepresents (from credulity and officiousness, rather + than ill-will) the lady's conduct. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XLII. Belford to Lovelace.— Expatiates on the baseness of + deluding young creatures, whose confidence has been obtained by oaths, + vows, promises. Evil of censoriousness. People deemed good too much + addicted to it. Desires to know what he means my his ridicule with + regard to his charming cousin. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XLIII. From the same.— A proper test of the purity of + writing. The lady again makes excuses for her allegorical letter. Her + calm behaviour, and generous and useful reflections, on his + communicating to her Brand's misrepresentations of her conduct. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XLIV. Colonel Morden to Clarissa.— Offers his assistance + and service to make the best of what has happened. Advises her to marry + Lovelace, as the only means to bring about a general reconciliation. Has + no doubt of his resolution to do her justice. Desires to know if she + has. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XLV. Clarissa. In answer. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XLVI. Lovelace to Belford.— His reasonings and ravings on + finding the lady's letter to him only an allegorical one. In the midst + of these, the natural gayety of his heart runs him into ridicule on + Belford. His ludicrous image drawn from a monument in Westminster Abbey. + Resumes his serious disposition. If the worst happen, (the Lord of + Heaven and Earth, says he, avert that worst!) he bids him only write + that he advises him to take a trip to Paris; and that will stab him to + the heart. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XLVII. Belford to Lovelace.— The lady's coffin brought up + stairs. He is extremely shocked and discomposed at it. Her intrepidity. + Great minds, he observes, cannot avoid doing uncommon things. + Reflections on the curiosity of women. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XLVIII. From the same.— Description of the coffin, and + devices on the lid. It is placed in her bed-chamber. His serious + application to Lovelace on her great behaviour. + </p> + <p> + LETTER XLIX. From the same.— Astonished at his levity in the + Abbey-instance. The lady extremely ill. + </p> + <p> + LETTER L. Lovelace to Belford.— All he has done to the lady a jest + to die for; since her triumph has ever been greater than her sufferings. + He will make over all his possessions and all his reversions to the + doctor, if he will but prolong her life for one twelvemonth. How, but + for her calamities, could her equanimity blaze out as it does! He would + now love her with an intellectual flame. He cannot bear to think that + the last time she so triumphantly left him should be the last. His + conscience, he says, tears him. He is sick of the remembrance of his + vile plots. + </p> + <p> + LETTER LI. Belford to Lovelace.— The lady alive, serene, and calm. + The more serene for having finished, signed, and sealed her last will; + deferred till now for reasons of filial duty. + </p> + <p> + LETTER LII. Miss Howe to Clarissa.— Pathetically laments the + illness of her own mother, and of her dear friend. Now all her pertness + to the former, she says, fly in her face. She lays down her pen; and + resumes it, to tell her, with great joy, that her mother is better. She + has had a visit form her cousin Morden. What passed in it. + </p> + <p> + LETTER LIII. From the same.— Displeased with the Colonel for + thinking too freely of the sex. Never knew a man that had a slight + notion of the virtue of women in general, who deserved to be valued for + his morals. Why women must either be more or less virtuous than men. + Useful hints to young ladies. Is out of humour with Mr. Hickman. + Resolves to see her soon in town. + </p> + <p> + LETTER LIV. Belford to Lovelace.— The lady writes and reads upon + her coffin, as upon a desk. The doctor resolves to write to her father. + Her intense, yet cheerful devotion. + </p> + <p> + LETTER LV. Clarissa to Miss Howe.— A letter full of pious + reflections, and good advice, both general and particular; and breathing + the true spirit of charity, forgiveness, patience, and resignation. A + just reflection, to her dear friend, upon the mortifying nature of + pride. + </p> + <p> + LETTER LVI. Mrs. Norton to Clarissa.— Her account of an + interesting conversation at Harlowe-place between the family and Colonel + Morden; and of another between her mother and self. The Colonel incensed + against them all. Her advice concerning Belford, and other matters. Miss + Howe has obtained leave, she hears, to visit her. Praises Mr. Hickman. + Gently censures Miss Howe on his account. Her truly maternal and pious + comfortings. + </p> + <p> + LETTER LVII. Belford to Lovelace.— The lady's sight begins to fail + her. She blesses God for the serenity she enjoys. It is what, she says, + she had prayed for. What a blessing, so near to her dissolution, to have + her prayers answered! Gives particular directions to him about her + papers, about her last will and apparel. Comforts the women and him on + their concern for her. Another letter brought her from Colonel Morden. + The substance of it. Belford writes to hasten up the Colonel. Dr. H. has + also written to her father; and Brand to Mr. John Harlowe a letter + recanting his officious one. + </p> + <p> + LETTER LVIII. Dr. H. to James Harlowe, Senior, Esq. + </p> + <p> + LETTER LIX. Copy of Mr. Belford's letter to Colonel Morden, to hasten + him up. + </p> + <p> + LETTER LX. Lovelace to Belford.— He feels the torments of the + damned, in the remorse that wrings his heart, on looking back on his + past actions by this lady. Gives him what he calls a faint picture of + his horrible uneasiness, riding up and down, expecting the return of his + servant as soon as he had dispatched him. Woe be to the man who brings + him the fatal news! + </p> + <p> + LETTER LXI. Belford to Lovelace.— Farther particulars of the + lady's pious and exemplary behaviour. She rejoices in the gradual death + afforded her. Her thankful acknowledgments to Mr. Belford, Mrs. Smith, + and Mrs. Lovick, for their kindness to her. Her edifying address to Mr. + Belford. + </p> + <p> + LETTER LXII. Clarissa to Mrs. Norton. In answer to her's, No. LVI.— + Afflicted only for her friends. Desires not now to see her cousin + Morden, nor even herself, or Miss Howe. God will have no rivals, she + says, in the hearts of those whom HE sanctifies. Advice to Miss Howe. To + Mr. Hickman. Blesses all her relations and friends. + </p> + <p> + LETTER LXIII. Lovelace to Belford.— A letter of deep distress, + remorse, and impatience. Yet would he fain lighten his own guilt by + reflections on the cruelty of her relations. + </p> + <p> + LETTER LXIV. Belford to Lovelace The lady is disappointed at the + Doctor's telling her that she may yet live two or three days. Death from + grief the slowest of deaths. Her solemn forgiveness of Lovelace, and + prayer for him. Owns that once she could have loved him. Her generous + concern for his future happiness. Belford's good resolutions. + </p> + <p> + LETTER LXV. Mr. Brand to Mr. John Walton. + </p> + <p> + LETTER LXVI. Mr. Brand to John Harlowe, Esq.; in excuse of his + credulity, and of the misreports founded upon it. + </p> + <p> + LETTER LXVII. Lovelace to Belford.— Blesses him for sending him + word the lady is better. Her charity towards him cuts him to the heart. + He cannot bear it. His vehement self reproaches. Curses his contriving + genius, and his disbelief that there could be such virtue in woman. The + world never saw such an husband as he will make, if she recover, and + will be his. + </p> + <p> + LETTER LXVIII. Belford to Lovelace.— The lady's pious frame. The + approaches of death how supportable to her; and why. She has no reason, + she says, to grieve for any thing but the sorrow she has given to her + friends. + </p> + <p> + LETTER LXIX. Lovelace to Belford.— Never prayed in his life, put + all the years of it together, as he has done for this fortnight. Has + repented of all his baseness: And will nothing do? Conjures him to send + him good news in his next, as he would not be answerable for + consequences. + </p> + <p> + LETTER LXX. Belford to Lovelace.— Solemn leave taken of her by the + doctor and apothecary; who tell her she will hardly see the next night. + The pleasure with which she receives the intimation. How unlike poor + Belton's behaviour her's! A letter from Miss Howe. Copy of it. She + cannot see to read it. Her exalted expressions on hearing it read. Tries + to write an answer to it; but cannot. Dictates to Mrs. Lovick. Writes + the superscriptive part herself on her knees. Colonel Morden arrives in + town. + </p> + <p> + LETTER LXXI. From the same.— What passes on Colonel Morden's visit + to his cousin. She enjoins the Colonel not to avenge her. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + THE HISTORY OF CLARISSA HARLOWE + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + LETTER I + </h2> + <p> + MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE YARMOUTH, ISLE OF WIGHT, MONDAY, AUG. + 7. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAREST CREATURE, + </p> + <p> + I can write but just now a few lines. I cannot tell how to bear the sound + of that Mr. Belford for your executor, cogent as your reasons for that + measure are: and yet I am firmly of opinion, that none of your relations + should be named for the trust. But I dwell the less on this subject, as I + hope (and cannot bear to apprehend the contrary) that you will still live + many, many years. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hickman, indeed, speaks very handsomely of Mr. Belford. But he, poor + man! has not much penetration.—If he had, he would hardly think so + well of me as he does. + </p> + <p> + I have a particular opportunity of sending this by a friend of my aunt + Harman's; who is ready to set out for London, (and this occasions my + hurry,) and is to return out of hand. I expect therefore, by him a large + packet from you; and hope and long for news of your amended health: which + Heaven grant to the prayers of + </p> + <p> + Your ever-affectionate ANNA HOWE. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER II + </h2> + <p> + MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE FRIDAY, AUG. 11. + </p> + <p> + I will send you a large packet, as you desire and expect; since I can do + it by so safe a conveyance: but not all that is come to my hand—for + I must own that my friends are very severe; too severe for any body, who + loves them not, to see their letters. You, my dear, would not call them my + friends, you said, long ago; but my relations: indeed I cannot call them + my relations, I think!——But I am ill; and therefore perhaps + more peevish than I should be. It is difficult to go out of ourselves to + give a judgment against ourselves; and yet, oftentimes, to pass a just + judgment, we ought. + </p> + <p> + I thought I should alarm you in the choice of my executor. But the sad + necessity I am reduced to must excuse me. + </p> + <p> + I shall not repeat any thing I have said before on that subject: but if + your objections will not be answered to your satisfaction by the papers + and letters I shall enclose, marked 1, 2, 3, 4, to 9, I must think myself + in another instance unhappy; since I am engaged too far (and with my own + judgment too) to recede. + </p> + <p> + As Mr. Belford has transcribed for me, in confidence, from his friend's + letters, the passages which accompany this, I must insist that you suffer + no soul but yourself to peruse them; and that you return them by the very + first opportunity; that so no use may be made of them that may do hurt + either to the original writer or to the communicator. You'll observe I am + bound by promise to this care. If through my means any mischief should + arise, between this humane and that inhuman libertine, I should think + myself utterly inexcusable. + </p> + <p> + I subjoin a list of the papers or letters I shall enclose. You must return + them all when perused.* + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +* 1. A letter from Miss Montague, dated . . . . Aug. 1. + 2. A copy of my answer . . . . . . . . . . . Aug. 3. + 3. Mr. Belford's Letter to me, which will show + you what my request was to him, and his + compliance with it; and the desired ex- + tracts from his friend's letters . . . . Aug. 3, 4. + 4. A copy of my answer, with thanks; and re- + questing him to undertake the executor- + ship . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Aug. 4. + 5. Mr. Belford's acceptance of the trust . . Aug. 4. + 6. Miss Montague's letter, with a generous + offer from Lord M. and the Ladies of that + family . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Aug. 7. + 7. Mr. Lovelace's to me . . . . . . . . . . . Aug. 7. + 8. Copy of mine to Miss Montague, in answer + to her's of the day before . . . . . . . Aug. 8. + 9. Copy of my answer to Mr. Lovelace . . . . Aug. 11. +</pre> + <p> + You will see by these several Letters, written and received in so little a + space of time (to say nothing of what I have received and written which I + cannot show you,) how little opportunity or leisure I can have for writing + my own story. + </p> + <p> + I am very much tired and fatigued—with—I don't know what—with + writing, I think—but most with myself, and with a situation I cannot + help aspiring to get out of, and above! + </p> + <p> + O my dear, the world we live in is a sad, a very sad world!——While + under our parents' protecting wings, we know nothing at all of it. + Book-learned and a scribbler, and looking at people as I saw them as + visiters or visiting, I thought I knew a great deal of it. Pitiable + ignorance!—Alas! I knew nothing at all! + </p> + <p> + With zealous wishes for your happiness, and the happiness of every one + dear to you, I am, and will ever be, + </p> + <p> + Your gratefully-affectionate CL. HARLOWE. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER III + </h2> + <p> + MR. ANTONY HARLOWE, TO MISS CL. HARLOWE [IN REPLY TO HER'S TO HER UNCLE + HARLOWE, OF THURSDAY, AUG. 10.] AUG. 12. + </p> + <p> + UNHAPPY GIRL! + </p> + <p> + As your uncle Harlowe chooses not to answer your pert letter to him; and + as mine, written to you before,* was written as if it were in the spirit + of prophecy, as you have found to your sorrow; and as you are now making + yourself worse than you are in your health, and better than you are in + your penitence, as we are very well assured, in order to move compassion; + which you do not deserve, having had so much warning: for all these + reasons, I take up my pen once more; though I had told your brother, at + his going to Edinburgh, that I would not write to you, even were you to + write to me, without letting him know. So indeed had we all; for he + prognosticated what would happen, as to your applying to us, when you knew + not how to help it. + </p> + <p> + * See Vol. I. Letter XXXII. + </p> + <p> + Brother John has hurt your niceness, it seems, by asking you a plain + question, which your mother's heart is too full of grief to let her ask; + and modesty will not let your sister ask; though but the consequence of + your actions—and yet it must be answered, before you'll obtain from + your father and mother, and us, the notice you hope for, I can tell you + that. + </p> + <p> + You lived several guilty weeks with one of the vilest fellows that ever + drew breath, at bed, as well as at board, no doubt, (for is not his + character known?) and pray don't be ashamed to be asked after what may + naturally come of such free living. This modesty indeed would have become + you for eighteen years of your life—you'll be pleased to mark that—but + makes no good figure compared with your behaviour since the beginning of + April last. So pray don't take it up, and wipe your mouth upon it, as if + nothing had happened. + </p> + <p> + But, may be, I likewise am to shocking to your niceness!—O girl, + girl! your modesty had better been shown at the right time and place—Every + body but you believed what the rake was: but you would believe nothing bad + of him—What think you now? + </p> + <p> + Your folly has ruined all our peace. And who knows where it may yet end? + —Your poor father but yesterday showed me this text: With bitter + grief he showed it me, poor man! and do you lay it to your heart: + </p> + <p> + 'A father waketh for his daughter, when no man knoweth; and the care for + her taketh away his sleep—When she is young, lest she pass away the + flower of her age—[and you know what proposals were made to you at + different times.] And, being married, lest she should be hated. In her + virginity, lest she should be defiled, and gotten with child in her + father's house—[and I don't make the words, mind that.] And, having + an husband, lest she should misbehave herself.' And what follows? 'Keep a + sure watch over a shameless daughter—[yet no watch could hold you!] + lest she make thee a laughing stock to thine enemies—[as you have + made us all to this cursed Lovelace,] and a bye-word in the city, and a + reproach among the people, and make thee ashamed before the multitude.' + Eccles. xlii. 9, 10, &c. + </p> + <p> + Now will you wish you had not written pertly. Your sister's severities! + —Never, girl, say that is severe that is deserved. You know the + meaning of words. No body better. Would to the Lord you had acted up but + to one half of what you know! then had we not been disappointed and + grieved, as we all have been: and nobody more than him who was + </p> + <p> + Your loving uncle, ANTONY HARLOWE. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +This will be with you to-morrow. Perhaps you may be suffered to have + some part of your estate, after you have smarted a little more. + Your pertly-answered uncle John, who is your trustee, will not have + you be destitute. But we hope all is not true that we hear of you. + —Only take care, I advise you, that, bad as you have acted, you + act not still worse, if it be possible to act worse. Improve upon + the hint. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER IV + </h2> + <p> + MISS CL. HARLOWE, TO ANTONY HARLOWE, ESQ. SUNDAY, AUG. 13. + </p> + <p> + HONOURED SIR, + </p> + <p> + I am very sorry for my pert letter to my uncle Harlowe. Yet I did not + intend it to be pert. People new to misfortune may be too easily moved to + impatience. + </p> + <p> + The fall of a regular person, no doubt, is dreadful and inexcusable. It is + like the sin of apostacy. Would to Heaven, however, that I had had the + circumstances of mine inquired into! + </p> + <p> + If, Sir, I make myself worse than I am in my health, and better than I am + in my penitence, it is fit I should be punished for my double + dissimulation: and you have the pleasure of being one of my punishers. My + sincerity in both respects will, however, be best justified by the event. + To that I refer.—May Heaven give you always as much comfort in + reflecting upon the reprobation I have met with, as you seem to have + pleasure in mortifying a young creature, extremely mortified; and that + from a right sense, as she presumes to hope, of her own fault! + </p> + <p> + What you heard of me I cannot tell. When the nearest and dearest relations + give up an unhappy wretch, it is not to be wondered at that those who are + not related to her are ready to take up and propagate slanders against + her. Yet I think I may defy calumny itself, and (excepting the fatal, + though involuntary step of April 10) wrap myself in my own innocence, and + be easy. I thank you, Sir, nevertheless, for your caution, mean it what it + will. + </p> + <p> + As to the question required of me to answer, and which is allowed to be + too shocking either for a mother to put to a daughter, or a sister to a + sister; and which, however, you say I must answer;—O Sir!—And + must I answer?—This then be my answer:—'A little time, a much + less time than is imagined, will afford a more satisfactory answer to my + whole family, and even to my brother and sister, than I can give in + words.' + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, be pleased to let it be remembered, that I did not petition + for a restoration to favour. I could not hope for that. Nor yet to be put + in possession of any part of my own estate. Nor even for means of + necessary subsistence from the produce of that estate—but only for a + blessing; for a last blessing! + </p> + <p> + And this I will farther add, because it is true, that I have no wilful + crime to charge against myself: no free living at bed and at board, as you + phrase it! + </p> + <p> + Why, why, Sir, were not other inquiries made of me, as well as this + shocking one?—inquiries that modesty would have permitted a mother + or sister to make; and which, if I may be excused to say so, would have + been still less improper, and more charitable, to have been made by + uncles, (were the mother forbidden, or the sister not inclined, to make + them,) than those they have made. + </p> + <p> + Although my humble application has brought upon me so much severe + reproach, I repent not that I have written to my mother, (although I + cannot but wish that I had not written to my sister;) because I have + satisfied a dutiful consciousness by it, however unanswered by the + wished-for success. Nevertheless, I cannot help saying, that mine is + indeed a hard fate, that I cannot beg pardon for my capital errors without + doing it in such terms as shall be an aggravation of the offence. + </p> + <p> + But I had best leave off, lest, as my full mind, I find, is rising to my + pen, I have other pardons to beg as I multiply lines, where none at all + will be given. + </p> + <p> + God Almighty bless, preserve, and comfort my dear sorrowing and grievously + offended father and mother!—and continue in honour, favour, and + merit, my happy sister!—May God forgive my brother, and protect him + from the violence of his own temper, as well as from the destroyer of his + sister's honour!—And may you, my dear uncle, and your no less now + than ever dear brother, my second papa, as he used to bid me call him, be + blessed and happy in them, and in each other!—And, in order to this, + may you all speedily banish from your remembrance, for ever, + </p> + <p> + The unhappy CLARISSA HARLOWE! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER V + </h2> + <p> + MRS. NORTON, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE MONDAY, AUG. 14. + </p> + <p> + All your friends here, my dear young lady, now seem set upon proposing to + you to go to one of the plantations. This, I believe, is owing to some + misrepresentations of Mr. Brand; from whom they have received a letter. + </p> + <p> + I wish, with all my heart, that you could, consistently with your own + notions of honour, yield to the pressing requests of all Mr. Lovelace's + family in his behalf. This, I think, would stop every mouth; and, in time, + reconcile every body to you. For your own friends will not believe that he + is in earnest to marry you; and the hatred between the families is such, + that they will not condescend to inform themselves better; nor would + believe him, if he were ever so solemnly to avow that he is. + </p> + <p> + I should be very glad to have in readiness, upon occasion, some brief + particulars of your sad story under your own hand. But let me tell you, at + the same time, that no misrepresentations, nor even your own confession, + shall lessen my opinion either of your piety, or of your prudence in + essential points; because I know it was always your humble way to make + light faults heavy against yourself: and well might you, my dearest young + lady, aggravate your own failings, who have ever had so few; and those few + so slight, that your ingenuousness has turned most of them into + excellencies. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, let me advise you, my dear Miss Clary, to discountenance any + visits, which, with the censorious, may affect your character. As that has + not hitherto suffered by your wilful default, I hope you will not, in a + desponding negligence (satisfying yourself with a consciousness of your + own innocence) permit it to suffer. Difficult situations, you know, my + dear young lady, are the tests not only of prudence but of virtue. + </p> + <p> + I think, I must own to you, that, since Mr. Brand's letter has been + received, I have a renewed prohibition to attend you. However, if you will + give me leave, that shall not detain me from you. Nor would I stay for + that leave, if I were not in hopes that, in this critical situation, I may + be able to do you service here. + </p> + <p> + I have often had messages and inquiries after your health from the + truly-reverend Dr. Lewen, who has always expressed, and still expresses, + infinite concern for you. He entirely disapproves of the measures of the + family with regard to you. He is too much indisposed to go abroad. But, + were he in good health, he would not, as I understand, visit at + Harlowe-place, having some time since been unhandsomely treated by your + brother, on his offering to mediate for you with your family. + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + I am just now informed that your cousin Morden is arrived in England. He + is at Canterbury, it seems, looking after some concerns he has there; and + is soon expected in these parts. Who knows what may arise from his + arrival? God be with you, my dearest Miss Clary, and be your comforter and + sustainer. And never fear but He will; for I am sure, I am very sure, that + you put your whole trust in Him. + </p> + <p> + And what, after all, is this world, on which we so much depend for durable + good, poor creatures that we are!—When all the joys of it, and (what + is a balancing comfort) all the troubles of it, are but momentary, and + vanish like a morning dream! + </p> + <p> + And be this remembered, my dearest young lady, that worldly joy claims no + kindred with the joys we are bid to aspire after. These latter we must be + fitted for by affliction and disappointment. You are therefore in the + direct road to glory, however thorny the path you are in. And I had almost + said, that it depends upon yourself, by your patience, and by your + resignedness to the dispensation, (God enabling you, who never fails the + true penitent, and sincere invoker,) to be an heir of a blessed + immortality. + </p> + <p> + But this glory, I humbly pray, that you may not be permitted to enter + into, ripe as you are so soon to be for it, till, with your gentle hand, + (a pleasure I have so often, as you now, promised to myself,) you have + closed the eyes of + </p> + <p> + Your maternally-affectionate JUDITH NORTON. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER VI + </h2> + <p> + MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. NORTON THURSDAY, AUG. 27. + </p> + <p> + What Mr. Brand, or any body, can have written or said to my prejudice, I + cannot imagine; and yet some evil reports have gone out against me; as I + find by some hints in a very severe letter written to me by my uncle + Antony. Such a letter as I believe was never written to any poor creature, + who, by ill health of body, as well as of mind, was before tottering on + the brink of the grave. But my friends may possibly be better justified + than the reporters—For who knows what they may have heard? + </p> + <p> + You give me a kind caution, which seems to imply more than you express, + when you advise me against countenancing visiters that may discredit me. + You have spoken quite out. Surely, I have had afflictions enow to + strengthen my mind, and to enable it to bear the worst that can now + happen. But I will not puzzle myself by conjectural evils; as I might + perhaps do, if I had not enow that were certain. I shall hear all, when it + is thought proper that I should. Mean time, let me say, for your + satisfaction, that I know not that I have any thing criminal or + disreputable to answer for either in word or deed, since the fatal 10th of + April last. + </p> + <p> + You desire an account of what passes between me and my friends; and also + particulars or brief heads of my sad story, in order to serve me as + occasion shall offer. My dear good Mrs. Norton, you shall have a whole + packet of papers, which I have sent to my Miss Howe, when she returns + them; and you shall have likewise another packet, (and that with this + letter,) which I cannot at present think of sending to that dear friend + for the sake of my own relations; whom, without seeing that packet, she is + but too ready to censure heavily. From these you will be able to collect a + great deal of my story. But for what is previous to these papers, and + which more particularly relates to what I have suffered from Mr. Lovelace, + you must have patience; for at present I have neither head nor heart for + such subjects. The papers I send you with this will be those mentioned in + the margin.* You must restore them to me as soon as perused; and upon your + honour make no use of them, or of any intelligence you have from me, but + by my previous consent. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +* 1. A copy of mine to my sister, begging + off my father's malediction . . . . . . dated July 21. + 2. My sister's answer . . . . . . . . . . . dated July 27. + 3. Copy of my second letter to my sister. . dated July 29. + 4. My sister's answer . . . . . . . . . . . dated Aug. 3. + 5. Copy of my Letter to my mother . . . . . dated Aug. 5. + 6. My uncle Harlowe's letter . . . . . . . dated Aug. 7. + 7. Copy of my answer to it . . . . . . . . dated the 10th. + 8. Letter from my uncle Antony . . . . . . dated the 12th. + 9. And lastly, the copy of my answer to it. dated the 13th. +</pre> + <p> + These communications you must not, my good Mrs. Norton, look upon as + appeals against my relations. On the contrary, I am heartily sorry that + they have incurred the displeasure of so excellent a divine as Dr. Lewen. + But you desire to have every thing before you: and I think you ought; for + who knows, as you say, but you may be applied to at last to administer + comfort from their conceding hearts, to one that wants it; and who + sometimes, judging by what she knows of her own heart, thinks herself + entitled to it? + </p> + <p> + I know that I have a most indulgent and sweet-tempered mother; but, having + to deal with violent spirits, she has too often forfeited that peace of + mind which she so much prefers, by her over concern to preserve it. + </p> + <p> + I am sure she would not have turned me over for an answer to a letter + written with so contrite and fervent a spirit, as was mine to her, to a + masculine spirit, had she been left to herself. + </p> + <p> + But, my dear Mrs. Norton, might not, think you, the revered lady have + favoured me with one private line?——If not, might not you have + written by her order, or connivance, one softening, one motherly line, + when she saw her poor girl, whom once she dearly loved, borne so hard + upon? + </p> + <p> + O no, she might not!—because her heart, to be sure, is in their + measures! and if she think them right, perhaps they must be right!—at + least, knowing only what they know, they must!—and yet they might + know all, if they would!—and possibly, in their own good time, they + think to make proper inquiry.—My application was made to them but + lately.—Yet how deeply will it afflict them, if their time should be + out of time! + </p> + <p> + When you have before you the letters I have sent to Miss Howe, you will + see that Lord M. and the Ladies of his family, jealous as they are of the + honour of their house, (to express myself in their language,) think better + of me than my own relations do. You will see an instance of their + generosity to me, which at the time extremely affected me, and indeed + still affects me. Unhappy man! gay, inconsiderate, and cruel! what has + been his gain by making unhappy a creature who hoped to make him happy! + and who was determined to deserve the love of all to whom he is related! + —Poor man!—but you will mistake a compassionate and placable + nature for love!—he took care, great care, that I should rein-in + betimes any passion that I might have had for him, had he known how to be + but commonly grateful or generous!—But the Almighty knows what is + best for his poor creatures. + </p> + <p> + Some of the letters in the same packet will also let you into the + knowledge of a strange step which I have taken, (strange you will think + it); and, at the same time, give you my reasons for taking it.* + </p> + <p> + * She means that of making Mr. Belford her executor. + </p> + <p> + It must be expected, that situations uncommonly difficult will make + necessary some extraordinary steps, which, but for those situations, would + be hardly excusable. It will be very happy indeed, and somewhat wonderful, + if all the measures I have been driven to take should be right. A pure + intention, void of all undutiful resentment, is what must be my + consolation, whatever others may think of those measures, when they come + to know them: which, however, will hardly be till it is out of my power to + justify them, or to answer for myself. + </p> + <p> + I am glad to hear of my cousin Morden's safe arrival. I should wish to see + him methinks: but I am afraid that he will sail with the stream; as it + must be expected, that he will hear what they have to say first.—But + what I most fear is, that he will take upon himself to avenge me. Rather + than he should do so, I would have him look upon me as a creature utterly + unworthy of his concern; at least of his vindictive concern. + </p> + <p> + How soothing to the wounded heart of your Clarissa, how balmy are the + assurances of your continued love and favour;—love me, my dear mamma + Norton, continue to love me, to the end!—I now think that I may, + without presumption, promise to deserve your love to the end. And, when I + am gone, cherish my memory in your worthy heart; for in so doing you will + cherish the memory of one who loves and honours you more than she can + express. + </p> + <p> + But when I am no more, I charge you, as soon as you can, the smarting + pangs of grief that will attend a recent loss; and let all be early turned + into that sweetly melancholy regard to MEMORY, which, engaging us to + forget all faults, and to remember nothing but what was thought amiable, + gives more pleasure than pain to survivors—especially if they can + comfort themselves with the humble hope, that the Divine mercy has taken + the dear departed to itself. + </p> + <p> + And what is the space of time to look backward upon, between an early + departure and the longest survivance!—and what the consolation + attending the sweet hope of meeting again, never more to be separated, + never more to be pained, grieved, or aspersed;—but mutually + blessing, and being blessed, to all eternity! + </p> + <p> + In the contemplation of this happy state, in which I hope, in God's good + time, to rejoice with you, my beloved Mrs. Norton, and also with my dear + relations, all reconciled to, and blessing the child against whom they are + now so much incensed, I conclude myself + </p> + <p> + Your ever dutiful and affectionate CLARISSA HARLOWE. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER VII + </h2> + <p> + MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SUNDAY, AUG. 13. + </p> + <p> + I don't know what a devil ails me; but I never was so much indisposed in + my life. At first, I thought some of my blessed relations here had got a + dose administered to me, in order to get the whole house to themselves. + But, as I am the hopes of the family, I believe they would not be so + wicked. + </p> + <p> + I must lay down my pen. I cannot write with any spirit at all. What a + plague can be the matter with me! + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + Lord M. paid me just now a cursed gloomy visit, to ask how I do after + bleeding. His sisters both drove away yesterday, God be thanked. But they + asked not my leave; and hardly bid me good-bye. My Lord was more tender, + and more dutiful, than I expected. Men are less unforgiving than women. I + have reason to say so, I am sure. For, besides implacable Miss Harlowe, + and the old Ladies, the two Montague apes han't been near me yet. + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + Neither eat, drink, nor sleep!—a piteous case, Jack! If I should die + like a fool now, people would say Miss Harlowe had broken my heart.—That + she vexes me to the heart, is certain. + </p> + <p> + Confounded squeamish! I would fain write it off. But must lay down my pen + again. It won't do. Poor Lovelace!——What a devil ails thee? + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + Well, but now let's try for't—Hoy—Hoy—Hoy! Confound me + for a gaping puppy, how I yawn!—Where shall I begin? at thy + executorship—thou shalt have a double office of it: for I really + think thou mayest send me a coffin and a shroud. I shall be ready for them + by the time they can come down. + </p> + <p> + What a little fool is this Miss Harlowe! I warrant she'll now repent that + she refused me. Such a lovely young widow—What a charming widow + would she have made! how would she have adorned the weeds! to be a widow + in the first twelve months is one of the greatest felicities that can + befal a fine woman. Such pretty employment in new dismals, when she had + hardly worn round her blazing joyfuls! Such lights, and such shades! how + would they set off one another, and be adorned by the wearer!— + </p> + <p> + Go to the devil!—I will write!—Can I do anything else? + </p> + <p> + They would not have me write, Belford.—I must be ill indeed, when I + can't write. + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + But thou seemest nettled, Jack! Is it because I was stung? It is not for + two friends, any more than for man and wife, to be out of patience at one + time.—What must be the consequence if they are?—I am in no + fighting mood just now: but as patient and passive as the chickens that + are brought me in broth—for I am come to that already. + </p> + <p> + But I can tell thee, for all this, be thy own man, if thou wilt, as to the + executorship, I will never suffer thee to expose my letters. They are too + ingenuous by half to be seen. And I absolutely insist upon it, that, on + receipt of this, thou burn them all. + </p> + <p> + I will never forgive thee that impudent and unfriendly reflection, of my + cavaliering it here over half a dozen persons of distinction: remember, + too, thy words poor helpless orphan—these reflections are too + serious, and thou art also too serious, for me to let these things go off + as jesting; notwithstanding the Roman style* is preserved; and, indeed, + but just preserved. By my soul, Jack, if I had not been taken thus + egregiously cropsick, I would have been up with thee, and the lady too, + before now. + </p> + <p> + * For what these gentlemen mean by the Roman style, see Vol. I. Letter + XXXI. in the first note. + </p> + <p> + But write on, however: and send me copies, if thou canst, of all that + passes between our Charlotte and Miss Harlowe. I'll take no notice of what + thou communicatest of that sort. I like not the people here the worse for + their generous offer to the lady. But you see she is as proud as + implacable. There's no obliging her. She'd rather sell her clothes than be + beholden to any body, although she would oblige by permitting the + obligation. + </p> + <p> + O Lord! O Lord!—Mortal ill!—Adieu, Jack! + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + I was forced to leave off, I was so ill, at this place. And what dost + think! why Lord M. brought the parson of the parish to pray by me; for his + chaplain is at Oxford. I was lain down in my night-gown over my waistcoat, + and in a doze: and, when I opened my eyes, who should I see, but the + parson kneeling on one side the bed; Lord M. on the other; Mrs. Greme, who + had been sent for to tend me, as they call it, at the feet! God be + thanked, my Lord, said I in an ecstasy!—Where's Miss?—for I + supposed they were going to marry me. + </p> + <p> + They thought me delirious at first; and prayed louder and louder. + </p> + <p> + This roused me: off the bed I started; slid my feet into my slippers; put + my hand in my waistcoat pocket, and pulled out thy letter with my + beloved's meditation in it! My Lord, Dr. Wright, Mrs. Greme, you have + thought me a very wicked fellow: but, see! I can read you as good as you + can read me. + </p> + <p> + They stared at one another. I gaped, and read, Poor mo—or—tals + the cau—o—ause of their own—their own mi—ser—ry. + </p> + <p> + It is as suitable to my case, as to the lady's, as thou'lt observe, if + thou readest it again.* At the passage where it is said, That when a man + is chastened for sin, his beauty consumes away, I stept to the glass: A + poor figure, by Jupiter, cried I!—And they all praised and admired + me; lifted up their hands and their eyes; and the doctor said, he always + thought it impossible, that a man of my sense could be so wild as the + world said I was. My Lord chuckled for joy; congratulated me; and, thank + my dear Miss Harlowe, I got high reputation among good, bad, and + indifferent. In short, I have established myself for ever with all here. + —But, O Belford, even this will not do—I must leave off again. + </p> + <p> + * See Vol. VII. Letter LXXXI. + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + A visit from the Montague sisters, led in by the hobbling Peer, to + congratulate my amendment and reformation both in one. What a lucky event + this illness with this meditation in my pocket; for we were all to pieces + before! Thus, when a boy, have I joined with a crowd coming out of church, + and have been thought to have been there myself. + </p> + <p> + I am incensed at the insolence of the young Levite. Thou wilt highly + oblige me, if thou'lt find him out, and send me his ears in the next + letter. + </p> + <p> + My beloved mistakes me, if she thinks I proposed her writing to me as an + alternative that should dispense with my attendance upon her. That it + shall not do, nor did I intend it should, unless she pleased me better in + the contents of her letter than she has done. Bid her read again. I gave + no such hopes. I would have been with her in spite of you both, by + to-morrow, at farthest, had I not been laid by the heels thus, like a + helpless miscreant. + </p> + <p> + But I grow better and better every hour, I say: the doctor says not: but I + am sure I know best: and I will soon be in London, depend on't. But say + nothing of this to my dear, cruel, and implacable Miss Harlowe. + </p> + <p> + A—dieu—u, Ja—aack—What a gaping puppy (yaw—n! + yaw—n! yaw—n!) + </p> + <p> + Thy LOVELACE. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. MONDAY, AUG. 15. + </p> + <p> + I am extremely concerned for thy illness. I should be very sorry to lose + thee. Yet, if thou diest so soon, I could wish, from my soul, it had been + before the beginning of last April: and this as well for thy sake, as for + the sake of the most excellent woman in the world: for then thou wouldst + not have had the most crying sin of thy life to answer for. + </p> + <p> + I was told on Saturday that thou wert very much out of order; and this + made me forbear writing till I heard farther. Harry, on his return from + thee, confirmed the bad way thou art in. But I hope Lord M. in his + unmerited tenderness for thee, thinks the worst of thee. What can it be, + Bob.? A violent fever, they say; but attended with odd and severe + symptoms. + </p> + <p> + I will not trouble thee in the way thou art in, with what passes here with + Miss Harlowe. I wish thy repentance as swift as thy illness; and as + efficacious, if thou diest; for it is else to be feared, that she and you + will never meet in one place. + </p> + <p> + I told her how ill you are. Poor man! said she. Dangerously ill, say you? + </p> + <p> + Dangerously indeed, Madam!—So Lord M. sends me word! + </p> + <p> + God be merciful to him, if he die!—said the admirable creature.—Then, + after a pause, Poor wretch!—may he meet with the mercy he has not + shown! + </p> + <p> + I send this by a special messenger: for I am impatient to hear how it goes + with thee.—If I have received thy last letter, what melancholy + reflections will that last, so full of shocking levity, give to + </p> + <p> + Thy true friend, JOHN BELFORD. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER IX + </h2> + <p> + MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUESDAY, AUG. 15.* + </p> + <p> + * Text error: should be Aug. 16. + </p> + <p> + Thank thee, Jack; most heartily I thank thee, for the sober conclusion of + thy last!—I have a good mind, for the sake of it, to forgive thy + till now absolutely unpardonable extracts. + </p> + <p> + But dost think I will lose such an angel, such a forgiving angel, as this?—By + my soul, I will not!—To pray for mercy for such an ungrateful + miscreant!—how she wounds me, how she cuts me to the soul, by her + exalted generosity!—But SHE must have mercy upon me first!—then + will she teach me a reliance for the sake of which her prayer for me will + be answered. + </p> + <p> + But hasten, hasten to me particulars of her health, of her employments, of + her conversation. + </p> + <p> + I am sick only of love! Oh! that I could have called her mine!—it + would then have been worth while to be sick!—to have sent for her + down to me from town; and to have had her, with healing in her dove-like + wings, flying to my comfort; her duty and her choice to pray for me, and + to bid me live for her sake!—O Jack! what an angel have I— + </p> + <p> + But I have not lost her!—I will not lose her! I am almost well; + should be quite well but for these prescribing rascals, who, to do credit + to their skill, will make the disease of importance.—And I will make + her mine!—and be sick again, to entitle myself to her dutiful + tenderness, and pious as well as personal concern! + </p> + <p> + God for ever bless her!—Hasten, hasten particulars of her!—I + am sick of love!—such generous goodness!—By all that's great + and good, I will not lose her!—so tell her!—She says, that she + could not pity me, if she thought of being mine! This, according to Miss + Howe's transcriptions to Charlotte.—But bid her hate me, and have + me: and my behaviour to her shall soon turn that hate to love! for, body + and mind, I will be wholly her's. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER X + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. THURSDAY, AUG. 17. + </p> + <p> + I am sincerely rejoiced to hear that thou art already so much amended, as + thy servant tells me thou art. Thy letter looks as if thy morals were + mending with thy health. This was a letter I could show, as I did, to the + lady. + </p> + <p> + She is very ill: (cursed letters received from her implacable family!) so + I could not have much conversation with her, in thy favour, upon it.—But + what passed will make thee more and more adore her. + </p> + <p> + She was very attentive to me, as I read it; and, when I had done, Poor + man! said she; what a letter is this! He had timely instances that my + temper was not ungenerous, if generosity could have obliged him! But his + remorse, and that for his own sake, is all the punishment I wish him.— + Yet I must be more reserved, if you write to him every thing I say! + </p> + <p> + I extolled her unbounded goodness—how could I help it, though to her + face! + </p> + <p> + No goodness in it! she said—it was a frame of mind she had + endeavoured after for her own sake. She suffered too much in want of + mercy, not to wish it to a penitent heart. He seems to be penitent, said + she; and it is not for me to judge beyond appearances.—If he be not, + he deceives himself more than any body else. + </p> + <p> + She was so ill that this was all that passed on the occasion. + </p> + <p> + What a fine subject for tragedy, would the injuries of this lady, and her + behaviour under them, both with regard to her implacable friends, and to + her persecutor, make! With a grand objection as to the moral, + nevertheless;* for here virtue is punished! Except indeed we look forward + to the rewards of HEREAFTER, which, morally, she must be sure of, or who + can? Yet, after all, I know not, so sad a fellow art thou, and so vile an + husband mightest thou have made, whether her virtue is not rewarded in + missing thee: for things the most grievous to human nature, when they + happen, as this charming creature once observed, are often the happiest + for us in the event. + </p> + <p> + * Mr. Belford's objections, That virtue ought not to suffer in a tragedy, + is not well considered: Monimia in the Orphean, Belvidera in Venice + Preserved, Athenais in Theodosius, Cordelia in Shakespeare's King Lear, + Desdemona in Othello, Hamlet, (to name no more,) are instances that a + tragedy could hardly be justly called a tragedy, if virtue did not + temporarily suffer, and vice for a while triumph. But he recovers himself + in the same paragraph; and leads us to look up to the FUTURE for the + reward of virtue, and for the punishment of guilt: and observes not amiss, + when he says, He knows not but that the virtue of such a woman as Clarissa + is rewarded in missing such a man as Lovelace. + </p> + <p> + I have frequently thought, in my attendance on this lady, that if Belton's + admired author, Nic. Rowe, had had such a character before him, he would + have drawn another sort of penitent than he has done, or given his play, + which he calls The Fair Penitent, a fitter title. Miss Harlowe is a + penitent indeed! I think, if I am not guilty of a contradiction in terms; + a penitent without a fault; her parents' conduct towards her from the + first considered. + </p> + <p> + The whole story of the other is a pack of d——d stuff. + Lothario, 'tis true, seems such another wicked ungenerous varlet as thou + knowest who: the author knew how to draw a rake; but not to paint a + penitent. Calista is a desiring luscious wench, and her penitence is + nothing else but rage, insolence, and scorn. Her passions are all storm + and tumult; nothing of the finer passions of the sex, which, if naturally + drawn, will distinguish themselves from the masculine passions, by a + softness that will even shine through rage and despair. Her character is + made up of deceit and disguise. She has no virtue; is all pride; and her + devil is as much within her, as without her. + </p> + <p> + How then can the fall of such a one create a proper distress, when all the + circumstances of it are considered? For does she not brazen out her crime, + even after detection? Knowing her own guilt, she calls for Altamont's + vengeance on his best friend, as if he had traduced her; yields to marry + Altamont, though criminal with another; and actually beds that whining + puppy, when she had given up herself, body and soul, to Lothario; who, + nevertheless, refused to marry her. + </p> + <p> + Her penitence, when begun, she justly styles the phrensy of her soul; and, + as I said, after having, as long as she could, most audaciously brazened + out her crime, and done all the mischief she could do, (occasioning the + death of Lothario, of her father, and others,) she stabs herself. + </p> + <p> + And can this be the act of penitence? + </p> + <p> + But, indeed, our poets hardly know how to create a distress without + horror, murder, and suicide; and must shock your soul, to bring tears from + your eyes. + </p> + <p> + Altamont indeed, who is an amorous blockhead, a credulous cuckold, and, + (though painted as a brave fellow, and a soldier,) a mere Tom. Essence, + and a quarreler with his best friend, dies like a fool, (as we are led to + suppose at the conclusion of the play,) without either sword or pop-gun, + of mere grief and nonsense for one of the vilest of her sex: but the Fair + Penitent, as she is called, perishes by her own hand; and, having no title + by her past crimes to laudable pity, forfeits all claim to true penitence, + and, in all probability, to future mercy. + </p> + <p> + But here is Miss CLARISSA HARLOWE, a virtuous, noble, wise, and pious + young lady; who being ill used by her friends, and unhappily ensnared by a + vile libertine, whom she believes to be a man of honour, is in a manner + forced to throw herself upon his protection. And he, in order to obtain + her confidence, never scruples the deepest and most solemn protestations + of honour. + </p> + <p> + After a series of plots and contrivances, all baffled by her virtue and + vigilance, he basely has recourse to the vilest of arts, and, to rob her + of her honour, is forced first to rob her of her senses. + </p> + <p> + Unable to bring her, notwithstanding, to his ungenerous views of + cohabitation, she over-awes him in the very entrance of a fresh act of + premeditated guilt, in presence of the most abandoned of women assembled + to assist his devilish purpose; triumphs over them all, by virtue only of + her innocence; and escapes from the vile hands he had put her into. + </p> + <p> + She nobly, not franticly, resents: refuses to see or to marry the wretch; + who, repenting his usage of so divine a creature, would fain move her to + forgive his baseness, and make him her husband: and this, though + persecuted by all her friends, and abandoned to the deepest distress, + being obliged, from ample fortunes, to make away with her apparel for + subsistence; surrounded also by strangers, and forced (in want of others) + to make a friend of the friend of her seducer. + </p> + <p> + Though longing for death, and making all proper preparations for it, + convinced that grief and ill usage have broken her noble heart, she abhors + the impious thought of shortening her allotted period; and, as much a + stranger to revenge as despair, is able to forgive the author of her ruin; + wishes his repentance, and that she may be the last victim to his + barbarous perfidy: and is solicitous for nothing so much in this life, as + to prevent vindictive mischief to and from the man who used her so basely. + </p> + <p> + This is penitence! This is piety! And hence distress naturally arises, + that must worthily effect every heart. + </p> + <p> + Whatever the ill usage of this excellent woman is from her relations, she + breaks not out into excesses: she strives, on the contrary, to find reason + to justify them at her own expense; and seems more concerned for their + cruelty to her for their sakes hereafter, when she shall be no more, than + for her own: for, as to herself, she is sure, she says, God will forgive + her, though no one on earth will. + </p> + <p> + On every extraordinary provocation she has recourse to the Scriptures, and + endeavours to regulate her vehemence by sacred precedents. 'Better people, + she says, have been more afflicted than she, grievous as she sometimes + thinks her afflictions: and shall she not bear what less faulty persons + have borne?' On the very occasion I have mentioned, (some new instances of + implacableness from her friends,) the enclosed meditation will show how + mildly, and yet how forcibly, she complains. See if thou, in the wicked + levity of thy heart, canst apply it to thy cause, as thou didst the other. + If thou canst not, give way to thy conscience, and that will make the + properest application. + </p> + <p> + MEDITATION + </p> + <p> + How long will ye vex my soul, and break me in pieces with words! + </p> + <p> + Be it indeed that I have erred, mine error remaineth with myself. + </p> + <p> + To her that is afflicted, pity should be shown from her friend. + </p> + <p> + But she that is ready to slip with her feet, is as a lamp despised in the + thought of them that are at ease. + </p> + <p> + There is a shame which bringeth sin, and there is a shame which bringeth + glory and grace. + </p> + <p> + Have pity upon me, have pity upon me, O ye, my friends! for the hand of + God hath touched me. + </p> + <p> + If your soul were in my soul's stead, I also could speak as ye do: I could + heap up words against you— + </p> + <p> + But I would strengthen you with my mouth, and the moving of my lips should + assuage your grief. + </p> + <p> + Why will ye break a leaf driven to and fro? Why will ye pursue the dry + stubble? Why will ye write bitter words against me, and make me possess + the iniquities of my youth? + </p> + <p> + Mercy is seasonable in the time of affliction, as clouds of rain in the + time of drought. + </p> + <p> + Are not my days few? Cease then, and let me alone, that I may take comfort + a little—before I go whence I shall not return; even to the land of + darkness, and shadow of death! + </p> + <p> + Let me add, that the excellent lady is informed, by a letter from Mrs. + Norton, that Colonel Morden is just arrived in England. He is now the only + person she wishes to see. + </p> + <p> + I expressed some jealousy upon it, lest he should have place given over me + in the executorship. She said, That she had no thoughts to do so now; + because such a trust, were he to accept of it, (which she doubted,) might, + from the nature of some of the papers which in that case would necessarily + pass through his hands, occasion mischiefs between my friend and him, that + would be worse than death for her to think of. + </p> + <p> + Poor Belton, I hear, is at death's door. A messenger is just come from + him, who tells me he cannot die till he sees me. I hope the poor fellow + will not go off yet; since neither his affairs of this world, nor for the + other, are in tolerable order. I cannot avoid going to the poor man. Yet + am unwilling to stir, till I have an assurance from you that you will not + disturb the lady: for I know he will be very loth to part with me, when he + gets me to him. + </p> + <p> + Tourville tells me how fast thou mendest: let me conjure thee not to think + of molesting this incomparable woman. For thy own sake I request this, as + well as for her's, and for the sake of thy given promise: for, should she + die within a few weeks, as I fear she will, it will be said, and perhaps + too justly, that thy visit has hastened her end. + </p> + <p> + In hopes thou wilt not, I wish thy perfect recovery: else that thou mayest + relapse, and be confined to thy bed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XI + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE SAT. MORN. AUG. 19. + </p> + <p> + MADAM, + </p> + <p> + I think myself obliged in honour to acquaint you that I am afraid Mr. + Lovelace will try his fate by an interview with you. + </p> + <p> + I wish to Heaven you could prevail upon yourself to receive his visit. All + that is respectful, even to veneration, and all that is penitent, will you + see in his behaviour, if you can admit of it. But as I am obliged to set + out directly for Epsom, (to perform, as I apprehend, the last friendly + offices for poor Mr. Belton, whom once you saw,) and as I think it more + likely that Mr. Lovelace will not be prevailed upon, than that he will, I + thought fit to give you this intimation, lest, if he should come, you + should be too much surprised. + </p> + <p> + He flatters himself that you are not so ill as I represent you to be. When + he sees you, he will be convinced that the most obliging things he can do, + will be as proper to be done for the sake of his own future peace of mind, + as for your health-sake; and, I dare say, in fear of hurting the latter, + he will forbear the thoughts of any farther intrusion; at least while you + are so much indisposed: so that one half-hour's shock, if it will be a + shock to see the unhappy man, (but just got up himself from a dangerous + fever,) will be all you will have occasion to stand. + </p> + <p> + I beg you will not too much hurry and discompose yourself. It is + impossible he can be in town till Monday, at soonest. And if he resolve to + come, I hope to be at Mr. Smith's before him. + </p> + <p> + I am, Madam, with the profoundest veneration, + </p> + <p> + Your most faithful and most obedient servant, J. BELFORD. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XII + </h2> + <p> + MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. [IN ANSWER TO HIS OF AUG. 17. SEE + LETTER X. OF THIS VOLUME.] SUNDAY, AUG. 20. + </p> + <p> + What an unmerciful fellow art thou! A man has no need of a conscience, who + has such an impertinent monitor. But if Nic. Rowe wrote a play that + answers not his title, am I to be reflected upon for that?—I have + sinned; I repent; I would repair—she forgives my sin: she accepts my + repentance: but she won't let me repair—What wouldst thou have me + do? + </p> + <p> + But get thee gone to Belton, as soon as thou canst. Yet whether thou goest + or not, up I must go, and see what I can do with the sweet oddity myself. + The moment these prescribing varlets will let me, depend upon it, I go. + Nay, Lord M. thinks she ought to permit me one interview. His opinion has + great authority with me—when it squares with my own: and I have + assured him, and my two cousins, that I will behave with all the decency + and respect that man can behave with to the person whom he most respects. + And so I will. Of this, if thou choosest not to go to Belton mean time, + thou shalt be witness. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Morden, thou hast heard me say, is a man of honour and bravery:— + but Colonel Morden has had his girls, as well as you or I. And indeed, + either openly or secretly, who has not? The devil always baits with a + pretty wench, when he angles for a man, be his age, rank, or degree, what + it will. + </p> + <p> + I have often heard my beloved speak of the Colonel with great distinction + and esteem. I wish he could make matters a little easier, for her mind's + sake, between the rest of the implacables and herself. + </p> + <p> + Methinks I am sorry for honest Belton. But a man cannot be ill, or + vapourish, but thou liftest up thy shriek-owl note, and killest him + immediately. None but a fellow, who is for a drummer in death's + forlorn-hope, could take so much delight, as thou dost, in beating a + dead-march with thy goose-quills. Whereas, didst thou but know thine own + talents, thou art formed to give mirth by thy very appearance; and wouldst + make a better figure by half, leading up thy brother-bears at Hockley in + the Hole, to the music of a Scot's bagpipe. Methinks I see thy clumsy + sides shaking, (and shaking the sides of all beholders,) in these + attitudes; thy fat head archly beating time on thy porterly shoulders, + right and left by turns, as I once beheld thee practising to the horn-pipe + at Preston. Thou remembrest the frolick, as I have done an hundred times; + for I never before saw thee appear so much in character. + </p> + <p> + But I know what I shall get by this—only that notable observation + repeated, That thy outside is the worst of thee, and mine the best of me. + And so let it be. Nothing thou writest of this sort can I take amiss. + </p> + <p> + But I shall call thee seriously to account, when I see thee, for the + extracts thou hast given the lady from my letters, notwithstanding what I + said in my last; especially if she continue to refuse me. An hundred times + have I myself known a woman deny, yet comply at last: but, by these + extracts, thou hast, I doubt, made her bar up the door of her heart, as + she used to do her chamber-door, against me.—This therefore is a + disloyalty that friendship cannot bear, nor honour allow me to forgive. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. LONDON, AUG. 21, MONDAY. + </p> + <p> + I believe I am bound to curse thee, Jack. Nevertheless I won't anticipate, + but proceed to write thee a longer letter than thou hast had from me for + some time past. So here goes. + </p> + <p> + That thou mightest have as little notice as possible of the time I was + resolved to be in town, I set out in my Lord's chariot-and-six yesterday, + as soon as I had dispatched my letter to thee, and arrived in town last + night: for I knew I could have no dependence on thy friendship where Miss + Harlowe's humour was concerned. + </p> + <p> + I had no other place so ready, and so was forced to go to my old lodgings, + where also my wardrobe is; and there I poured out millions of curses upon + the whole crew, and refused to see either Sally or Polly; and this not + only for suffering the lady to escape, but for the villanous arrest, and + for their detestable insolence to her at the officer's house. + </p> + <p> + I dressed myself in a never-worn suit, which I had intended for one of my + wedding-suits; and liked myself so well, that I began to think, with thee, + that my outside was the best of me: + </p> + <p> + I took a chair to Smith's, my heart bounding in almost audible thumps to + my throat, with the assured expectations of seeing my beloved. I clasped + my fingers, as I was danced along: I charged my eyes to languish and + sparkle by turns: I talked to my knees, telling them how they must bend; + and, in the language of a charming describer, acted my part in fancy, as + well as spoke it to myself. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Tenderly kneeling, thus will I complain: + Thus court her pity; and thus plead my pain: + Thus sigh for fancy'd frowns, if frowns should rise; + And thus meet favour in her soft'ning eyes. +</pre> + <p> + In this manner entertained I myself till I arrived at Smith's; and there + the fellows set down their gay burden. Off went their hats; Will. ready at + hand in a new livery; up went the head; out rushed my honour; the woman + behind the counter all in flutters, respect and fear giving due solemnity + to her features, and her knees, I doubt not, knocking against the inside + of her wainscot-fence. + </p> + <p> + Your servant, Madam—Will. let the fellows move to some distance, and + wait. + </p> + <p> + You have a young lady lodges here; Miss Harlowe, Madam: Is she above? + </p> + <p> + Sir, Sir, and please your Honour: [the woman is struck with my figure, + thought I:] Miss Harlowe, Sir! There is, indeed, such a young lady lodges + here—But, but— + </p> + <p> + But, what, Madam?—I must see her.—One pair of stairs; is it + not?— Don't trouble yourself—I shall find her apartment. And + was making towards the stairs. + </p> + <p> + Sir, Sir, the lady, the lady is not at home—she is abroad—she + is in the country— + </p> + <p> + In the country! Not at home!—Impossible! You will not pass this + story upon me, good woman. I must see her. I have business of life and + death with her. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, Sir, the lady is not at home! Indeed, Sir, she is abroad!— + </p> + <p> + She then rung a bell: John, cried she, pray step down!—Indeed, Sir, + the lady is not at home. + </p> + <p> + Down came John, the good man of the house, when I expected one of his + journeymen, by her saucy familiarity. + </p> + <p> + My dear, said she, the gentleman will not believe Miss Harlowe is abroad. + </p> + <p> + John bowed to my fine clothes: Your servant, Sir,—indeed the lady is + abroad. She went out of town this morning by six o'clock—into the + country—by the doctor's advice. + </p> + <p> + Still I would not believe either John or his wife. I am sure, said I, she + cannot be abroad. I heard she was very ill—she is not able to go out + in a coach. Do you know Mr. Belford, friend? + </p> + <p> + Yes, Sir; I have the honour to know 'Squire Belford. He is gone into the + country to visit a sick friend. He went on Saturday, Sir. + </p> + <p> + This had also been told from thy lodgings to Will. whom I sent to desire + to see thee on my first coming to town. + </p> + <p> + Well, and Mr. Belford wrote me word that she was exceeding ill. How then + can she be gone out? + </p> + <p> + O Sir, she is very ill; very ill, indeed—she could hardly walk to + the coach. + </p> + <p> + Belford, thought I, himself knew nothing of the time of my coming; neither + can he have received my letter of yesterday: and so ill, 'tis impossible + she would go out. + </p> + <p> + Where is her servant? Call her servant to me. + </p> + <p> + Her servant, Sir, is her nurse: she has no other. And she is gone with + her. + </p> + <p> + Well, friend, I must not believe you. You'll excuse me; but I must go up + stairs myself. And was stepping up. + </p> + <p> + John hereupon put on a serious, and a less respectful face—Sir, this + house is mine; and— + </p> + <p> + And what, friend? not doubting then but she was above.—I must and + will see her. I have authority for it. I am a justice of the peace. I have + a search warrant. + </p> + <p> + And up I went; they following me, muttering, and in a plaguy flutter. + </p> + <p> + The first door I came to was locked. I tapped at it. + </p> + <p> + The lady, Sir, has the key of her own apartment. + </p> + <p> + On the inside, I question not, my honest friend; tapping again. And being + assured, if she heard my voice, that her timorous and soft temper would + make her betray herself, by some flutters, to my listning ear, I said + aloud, I am confident Miss Harlowe is here: dearest Madam, open the door: + admit me but for one moment to your presence. + </p> + <p> + But neither answer nor fluttering saluted my ear; and, the people being + very quiet, I led on to the next apartment; and, the key being on the + outside, I opened it, and looked all around it, and into the closet. + </p> + <p> + The man said he never saw so uncivil a gentleman in his life. + </p> + <p> + Hark thee, friend, said I; let me advise thee to be a little decent; or I + shall teach thee a lesson thou never learnedst in all thy life. + </p> + <p> + Sir, said he, 'tis not like a gentleman, to affront a man in his own + house. + </p> + <p> + Then prythee, man, replied I, don't crow upon thine own dunghil. + </p> + <p> + I stept back to the locked door: My dear Miss Harlowe, I beg of you to + open the door, or I'll break it open;—pushing hard against it, that + it cracked again. + </p> + <p> + The man looked pale: and, trembling with his fright, made a plaguy long + face; and called to one of his bodice-makers above, Joseph, come down + quickly. + </p> + <p> + Joseph came down: a lion's-face grinning fellow; thick, and short, and + bushy-headed, like an old oak-pollard. Then did master John put on a + sturdier look. But I only hummed a tune, traversed all the other + apartments, sounded the passages with my knuckles, to find whether there + were private doors, and walked up the next pair of stairs, singing all the + way; John and Joseph, and Mrs. Smith, following me up, trembling. + </p> + <p> + I looked round me there, and went into two open-door bed-chambers; + searched the closets, and the passages, and peeped through the key-hole of + another: no Miss Harlowe, by Jupiter! What shall I do!—what shall I + do! as the girls say.—Now will she be grieved that she is out of the + way. + </p> + <p> + I said this on purpose to find out whether these people knew the lady's + story; and had the answer I expected from Mrs. Smith—I believe not, + Sir. + </p> + <p> + Why so, Mrs. Smith? Do you know who I am? + </p> + <p> + I can guess, Sir. + </p> + <p> + Whom do you guess me to be? + </p> + <p> + Your name is Mr. Lovelace, Sir, I make no doubt. + </p> + <p> + The very same. But how came you to guess so well, dame Smith! You never + saw me before, did you? + </p> + <p> + Here, Jack, I laid out for a compliment, and missed it. + </p> + <p> + 'Tis easy to guess, Sir; for there cannot be two such gentlemen as you. + </p> + <p> + Well said, dame Smith—but mean you good or bad?—Handsome was + the least I thought she would have said. + </p> + <p> + I leave you to guess, Sir. + </p> + <p> + Condemned, thought I, by myself, on this appeal. + </p> + <p> + Why, father Smith, thy wife is a wit, man!—Didst thou ever find that + out before?—But where is widow Lovick, dame Smith? My cousin John + Belford says she is a very good woman. Is she within? or is she gone with + Miss Harlowe too? + </p> + <p> + She will be within by-and-by, Sir. She is not with the lady. + </p> + <p> + Well, but my good dear Mrs. Smith, where is the lady gone? and when will + she return? + </p> + <p> + I can't tell, Sir. + </p> + <p> + Don't tell fibs, dame Smith; don't tell fibs, chucking her under the chin: + which made John's upper-lip, with chin shortened, rise to his nose. + —I am sure you know!—But here's another pair of stairs: let us + see: Who lives up there?—but hold, here's another room locked up, + tapping at the door—Who's at home? cried I. + </p> + <p> + That's Mrs. Lovick's apartment. She is gone out, and has the key with her. + </p> + <p> + Widow Lovick! rapping again, I believe you are at home: pray open the + door. + </p> + <p> + John and Joseph muttered and whispered together. + </p> + <p> + No whispering, honest friends: 'tis not manners to whisper. Joseph, what + said John to thee? + </p> + <p> + JOHN! Sir, disdainfully repeated the good woman. + </p> + <p> + I beg pardon, Mrs. Smith: but you see the force of example. Had you showed + your honest man more respect, I should. Let me give you a piece of advice—women + who treat their husbands irreverently, teach strangers to use them with + contempt. There, honest master John; why dost not pull off thy hat to me?—Oh! + so thou wouldst, if thou hadst it on: but thou never wearest thy hat in + thy wife's presence, I believe; dost thou? + </p> + <p> + None of your fleers and your jeers, Sir, cried John. I wish every married + pair lived as happily as we do. + </p> + <p> + I wish so too, honest friend. But I'll be hanged if thou hast any + children. + </p> + <p> + Why so, Sir? + </p> + <p> + Hast thou?—Answer me, man: Hast thou, or not? + </p> + <p> + Perhaps not, Sir. But what of that? + </p> + <p> + What of that?—Why I'll tell thee: The man who has no children by his + wife must put up with plain John. Hadst thou a child or two, thou'dst be + called Mr. Smith, with a courtesy, or a smile at least, at every word. + </p> + <p> + You are very pleasant, Sir, replied my dame. I fancy, if either my husband + or I had as much to answer for as I know whom, we should not be so merry. + </p> + <p> + Why then, dame Smith, so much the worse for those who were obliged to keep + you company. But I am not merry—I am sad!—Hey-ho!—Where + shall I find my dear Miss Harlowe? + </p> + <p> + My beloved Miss Harlowe! [calling at the foot of the third pair of + stairs,] if you are above, for Heaven's sake answer me. I am coming up. + </p> + <p> + Sir, said the good man, I wish you'd walk down. The servants' rooms, and + the working-rooms, are up those stairs, and another pair; and nobody's + there that you want. + </p> + <p> + Shall I go up, and see if Miss Harlowe be there, Mrs. Smith? + </p> + <p> + You may, Sir, if you please. + </p> + <p> + Then I won't; for, if she was, you would not be so obliging. + </p> + <p> + I am ashamed to give you all this attendance: you are the politest traders + I ever knew. Honest Joseph, slapping him upon the shoulders on a sudden, + which made him jump, didst ever grin for a wager, man?—for the + rascal seemed not displeased with me; and, cracking his flat face from ear + to ear, with a distended mouth, showed his teeth, as broad and as black as + his thumb-nails.—But don't I hinder thee? What canst earn a-day, + man? + </p> + <p> + Half-a-crown I can earn a-day; with an air of pride and petulance, at + being startled. + </p> + <p> + There then is a day's wages for thee. But thou needest not attend me + farther. + </p> + <p> + Come, Mrs. Smith, come John, (Master Smith I should say,) let's walk down, + and give me an account where the lady is gone, and when she will return. + </p> + <p> + So down stairs led I. John and Joseph (though I had discharged the + latter,) and my dame, following me, to show their complaisance to a + stranger. + </p> + <p> + I re-entered one of the first-floor rooms. I have a great mind to be your + lodger: for I never saw such obliging folks in my life. What rooms have + you to let? + </p> + <p> + None at all, Sir. + </p> + <p> + I am sorry for that. But whose is this? + </p> + <p> + Mine, Sir, chuffily said John. + </p> + <p> + Thine, man! why then I will take it of thee. This, and a bed-chamber, and + a garret for one servant, will content me. I will give thee thine own + price, and half a guinea a day over, for those conveniencies. + </p> + <p> + For ten guineas a day, Sir— + </p> + <p> + Hold, John! (Master Smith I should say)—Before thou speakest, + consider— I won't be affronted, man. + </p> + <p> + Sir, I wish you'd walk down, said the good woman. Really, Sir, you take— + </p> + <p> + Great liberties I hope you would not say, Mrs. Smith? + </p> + <p> + Indeed, Sir, I was going to say something like it. + </p> + <p> + Well, then, I am glad I prevented you; for such words better become my + mouth than yours. But I must lodge with you till the lady returns. I + believe I must. However, you may be wanted in the shop; so we'll talk that + over there. + </p> + <p> + Down I went, they paying diligent attendance on my steps. + </p> + <p> + When I came into the shop, seeing no chair or stool, I went behind the + compter, and sat down under an arched kind of canopy of carved work, which + these proud traders, emulating the royal niche-fillers, often give + themselves, while a joint-stool, perhaps, serves those by whom they get + their bread: such is the dignity of trade in this mercantile nation! + </p> + <p> + I looked about me, and above me; and told them I was very proud of my + seat; asking, if John were ever permitted to fill this superb niche? + </p> + <p> + Perhaps he was, he said, very surlily. + </p> + <p> + That is it that makes thee looks so like a statue, man. + </p> + <p> + John looked plaguy glum upon me. But his man Joseph and my man Will. + turned round with their backs to us, to hide their grinning, with each his + fist in his mouth. + </p> + <p> + I asked, what it was they sold? + </p> + <p> + Powder, and wash-balls, and snuff, they said; and gloves and stockings. + </p> + <p> + O come, I'll be your customer. Will. do I want wash-balls? + </p> + <p> + Yes, and please your Honour, you can dispense with one or two. + </p> + <p> + Give him half a dozen, dame Smith. + </p> + <p> + She told me she must come where I was, to serve them. Pray, Sir, walk from + behind the compter. + </p> + <p> + Indeed but I won't. The shop shall be mine. Where are they, if a customer + shall come in? + </p> + <p> + She pointed over my head, with a purse mouth, as if she would not have + simpered, could she have helped it. I reached down the glass, and gave + Will. six. There—put 'em up, Sirrah. + </p> + <p> + He did, grinning with his teeth out before; which touching my conscience, + as the loss of them was owing to me, Joseph, said I, come hither. Come + hither, man, when I bid thee. + </p> + <p> + He stalked towards me, his hands behind him, half willing, and half + unwilling. + </p> + <p> + I suddenly wrapt my arm round his neck. Will. thy penknife, this moment. D——n + the fellow, where's thy penknife? + </p> + <p> + O Lord! said the pollard-headed dog, struggling to get his head loose from + under my arm, while my other hand was muzzling about his cursed chaps, as + if I would take his teeth out. + </p> + <p> + I will pay thee a good price, man: don't struggle thus? The penknife, + Will.! + </p> + <p> + O Lord, cried Joseph, struggling still more and more: and out comes + Will.'s pruning-knife; for the rascal is a gardener in the country. I have + only this, Sir. + </p> + <p> + The best in the world to launch a gum. D——n the fellow, why + dost struggle thus? + </p> + <p> + Master and Mistress Smith being afraid, I suppose, that I had a design + upon Joseph's throat, because he was their champion, (and this, indeed, + made me take the more notice of him,) coming towards me with countenances + tragic-comical, I let him go. + </p> + <p> + I only wanted, said I, to take out two or three of this rascal's broad + teeth, to put them into my servant's jaws—and I would have paid him + his price for them.—I would by my soul, Joseph. + </p> + <p> + Joseph shook his ears; and with both hands stroked down, smooth as it + would lie, his bushy hair; and looked at me as if he knew not whether he + should laugh or be angry: but, after a stupid stare or two, stalked off to + the other end of the shop, nodding his head at me as he went, still + stroking down his hair; and took his stand by his master, facing about and + muttering, that I was plaguy strong in the arms, and he thought would have + throttled him. Then folding his arms, and shaking his bristled head, + added, 'twas well I was a gentleman, or he would not have taken such an + affront. + </p> + <p> + I demanded where their rappee was? the good woman pointed to the place; + and I took up a scollop-shell of it, refusing to let her weight it, and + filled my box. And now, Mrs. Smith, said I, where are your gloves? + </p> + <p> + She showed me; and I chose four pair of them, and set Joseph, who looked + as if he wanted to be taken notice of again, to open the fingers. + </p> + <p> + A female customer, who had been gaping at the door, came in for some Scots + sniff; and I would serve her. The wench was plaguy homely; and I told her + so; or else, I said, I would have treated her. She, in anger, [no woman is + homely in her own opinion,] threw down her penny; and I put it in my + pocket. + </p> + <p> + Just then, turning my eye to the door, I saw a pretty, genteel lady, with + a footman after her, peeping in with a What's the matter, good folks? to + the starers; and I ran to her from behind the compter, and, as she was + making off, took her hand, and drew her into the shop; begging that she + would be my customer; for that I had but just begun trade. + </p> + <p> + What do you sell, Sir? said she, smiling; but a little surprised. + </p> + <p> + Tapes, ribbands, silk laces, pins, and needles; for I am a pedlar: powder, + patches, wash-balls, stockings, garters, snuffs, and pin cushions—Don't + we, goody Smith? + </p> + <p> + So in I gently drew her to the compter, running behind it myself, with an + air of great dilingence and obligingness. I have excellent gloves and + wash-balls, Madam: rappee, Scots, Portugal, and all sorts of snuff. + </p> + <p> + Well, said she, in a very good humour, I'll encourage a young beginner for + once. Here, Andrew, [to her footman,] you want a pair of gloves, don't + you? + </p> + <p> + I took down a parcel of gloves, which Mrs. Smith pointed to, and came + round to the fellow to fit them on myself. + </p> + <p> + No matter for opening them, said I: thy fingers, friend, are as stiff as + drum-sticks. Push!—Thou'rt an awkward dog! I wonder such a pretty + lady will be followed by such a clumsy varlet. + </p> + <p> + The fellow had no strength for laughing: and Joseph was mightily pleased, + in hopes, I suppose, I would borrow a few of Andrew's teeth, to keep him + in countenance: and, father and mother Smith, like all the world, as the + jest was turned from themselves, seemed diverted with the humour. + </p> + <p> + The fellow said the gloves were too little. + </p> + <p> + Thrust, and be d——d to thee, said I: why, fellow, thou hast + not the strength of a cat. + </p> + <p> + Sir, Sir, said he, laughing, I shall hurt your Honour's side. + </p> + <p> + D——n thee, thrust I say. + </p> + <p> + He did; and burst out the sides of the glove. + </p> + <p> + Will. said I, where's thy pruning-knife? By my soul, friend, I had a good + mind to pare thy cursed paws. But come, here's a larger pair: try them, + when thou gettest home; and let thy sweetheart, if thou hast one, mend the + other, so take both. + </p> + <p> + The lady laughed at the humour; as did my fellow, and Mrs. Smith, and + Joseph: even John laughed, though he seemed by the force put upon his + countenance to be but half pleased with me neither. + </p> + <p> + Madam, said I, and stepped behind the compter, bowing over it, now I hope + you will buy something for yourself. Nobody shall use you better, nor sell + you cheaper. + </p> + <p> + Come, said she, give me six-penny worth of Portugal snuff. + </p> + <p> + They showed me where it was, and I served her; and said, when she would + have paid me, I took nothing at my opening. + </p> + <p> + If I treated her footman, she told me, I should not treat her. + </p> + <p> + Well, with all my heart, said I: 'tis not for us tradesmen to be saucy— + Is it, Mrs. Smith? + </p> + <p> + I put her sixpence in my pocket; and, seizing her hand, took notice to her + of the crowd that had gathered about the door, and besought her to walk + into the back-shop with me. + </p> + <p> + She struggled her hand out of mine, and would stay no longer. + </p> + <p> + So I bowed, and bid her kindly welcome, and thanked her, and hoped I + should have her custom another time. + </p> + <p> + She went away smiling; and Andrew after her; who made me a fine bow. + </p> + <p> + I began to be out of countenance at the crowd, which thickened apace; and + bid Will. order the chair to the door. + </p> + <p> + Well, Mrs. Smith, with a grave air, I am heartily sorry Miss Harlowe is + abroad. You don't tell me where she is? + </p> + <p> + Indeed, Sir, I cannot. + </p> + <p> + You will not, you mean.—She could have no notion of my coming. I + came to town but last night. I have been very ill. She has almost broken + my heart by her cruelty. You know my story, I doubt not. Tell her, I must + go out of town to-morrow morning. But I will send my servant, to know if + she will favour me with one half-hour's conversation; for, as soon as I + get down, I shall set out for Dover, in my way to France, if I have not a + countermand from her, who has the sole disposal of my fate. + </p> + <p> + And so flinging down a Portugal six-and-thirty, I took Mr. Smith by the + hand, telling him, I was sorry we had not more time to be better + acquainted; and bidding farewell to honest Joseph, (who pursed up his + mouth as I passed by him, as if he thought his teeth still in jeopardy,) + and Mrs. Smith adieu, and to recommend me to her fair lodger, hummed an + air, and, the chair being come, whipt into it; the people about the door + seeming to be in good humour with me; one crying, a pleasant gentleman, I + warrant him! and away I was carried to White's, according to direction. + </p> + <p> + As soon as I came thither, I ordered Will. to go and change his clothes, + and to disguise himself by putting on his black wig, and keeping his mouth + shut; and then to dodge about Smith's, to inform himself of the lady's + motions. + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + I give thee this impudent account of myself, that thou mayest rave at me, + and call me hardened, and what thou wilt. For, in the first place, I, who + had been so lately ill, was glad I was alive; and then I was so balked by + my charmer's unexpected absence, and so ruffled by that, and by the bluff + treatment of father John, that I had no other way to avoid being out of + humour with all I met with. Moreover I was rejoiced to find, by the lady's + absence, and by her going out at six in the morning, that it was + impossible she should be so ill as thou representest her to be; and this + gave me still higher spirits. Then I know the sex always love cheerful and + humourous fellows. The dear creature herself used to be pleased with my + gay temper and lively manner; and had she been told that I was blubbering + for her in the back-shop, she would have despised me still more than she + does. + </p> + <p> + Furthermore, I was sensible that the people of the house must needs have a + terrible notion of me, as a savage, bloody-minded, obdurate fellow; a + perfect woman-eater; and, no doubt, expected to see me with the claws of a + lion, and the fangs of a tiger; and it was but policy to show them what a + harmless pleasant fellow I am, in order to familiarize the Johns and the + Josephs to me. For it was evident to me, by the good woman's calling them + down, that she thought me a dangerous man. Whereas now, John and I have + shaken hands together, and dame Smith having seen that I have the face, + and hands, and looks of a man, and walk upright, and prate, and laugh, and + joke, like other people; and Joseph, that I can talk of taking his teeth + out of his head, without doing him the least hurt; they will all, at my + next visit, be much more easy and pleasant to me than Andrew's gloves were + to him; and we shall be as thoroughly acquainted, as if we had known one + another a twelvemonth. + </p> + <p> + When I returned to our mother's, I again cursed her and all her nymphs + together; and still refused to see either Sally or Polly! I raved at the + horrid arrest; and told the old dragon that it was owing to her and her's + that the fairest virtue in the world was ruined; my reputation for ever + blasted; and that I was not married and perfectly happy in the love of the + most excellent of her sex. + </p> + <p> + She, to pacify me, said she would show me a new face that would please me; + since I would not see my Sally, who was dying with grief. + </p> + <p> + Where is this new face? cried I: let me see her, though I shall never see + any face with pleasure but Miss Harlowe's. + </p> + <p> + She won't come down, replied she. She will not be at the word of command + yet. She is but just in the trammels; and must be waited upon, I'll assure + you; and courted much besides. + </p> + <p> + Ay! said I, that looks well. Lead me to her this instant. + </p> + <p> + I followed her up: and who should she be, but that little toad Sally! + </p> + <p> + O curse you, said I, for a devil! Is it you? is your's the new face? + </p> + <p> + O my dear, dear Mr. Lovelace! cried she, I am glad any thing will bring + you to me!—and so the little beast threw herself about my neck, and + there clung like a cat. Come, said she, what will you give me, and I'll be + as virtuous for a quarter of an hour, and mimic your Clarissa to the life? + </p> + <p> + I was Belforded all over. I could not bear such an insult upon the dear + creature, (for I have a soft and generous nature in the main, whatever + thou thinkest;) and cursed her most devoutly, for taking my beloved's name + in her mouth in such a way. But the little devil was not to be balked; but + fell a crying, sobbing, praying, begging, exclaiming, fainting, that I + never saw my lovely girl so well aped. Indeed I was almost taken in; for I + could have fancied I had her before me once more. + </p> + <p> + O this sex! this artful sex! there's no minding them. At first, indeed, + their grief and their concern may be real: but, give way to the hurricane, + and it will soon die away in soft murmurs, thrilling upon your ears like + the notes of a well-tuned viol. And, by Sally, one sees that art will + generally so well supply the place of nature, that you shall not easily + know the difference. Miss Clarisa Harlowe, indeed, is the only woman in + the world I believe that can say, in the words of her favourite Job, (for + I can quote a text as well as she,) But it is not so with me. + </p> + <p> + They were very inquisitive about my fair-one. They told me that you seldom + came near them; that, when you did, you put on plaguy grave airs; would + hardly stay five minutes; and did nothing but praise Miss Harlowe, and + lament her hard fate. In short, that you despised them; was full of + sentences; and they doubted not, in a little while, would be a lost man, + and marry. + </p> + <p> + A pretty character for thee, is it not? thou art in a blessed way; yet + hast nothing to do but to go on in it: and then what work hast thou to go + through! If thou turnest back, these sorceresses will be like the czar's + cossacks, [at Pultowa, I think it was,] who were planted with ready primed + and cocked pieces behind the regulars, in order to shoot them dead, if + they did not push on and conquer; and then wilt thou be most lamentably + despised by every harlot thou hast made—and, O Jack, how formidable, + in that case, will be the number of thy enemies! + </p> + <p> + I intend to regulate my motions by Will.'s intelligence; for see this dear + creature I must and will. Yet I have promised Lord M. to be down in two or + three days at farthest; for he is grown plaguy fond of me since I was ill. + </p> + <p> + I am in hopes that the word I left, that I am to go out of town to-morrow + morning, will soon bring the lady back again. + </p> + <p> + Mean time, I thought I would write to divert thee, while thou art of such + importance about the dying; and as thy servant, it seems, comes backward + and forward every day, perhaps I may send thee another letter to-morrow, + with the particulars of the interview between the dear creature and me; + after which my soul thirsteth. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XIV + </h2> + <p> + MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUESDAY, AUG. 22. + </p> + <p> + I must write on, to divert myself: for I can get no rest; no refreshing + rest. I awaked just now in a cursed fright. How a man may be affected by + dreams! + </p> + <p> + 'Methought I had an interview with my beloved. I found her all goodness, + condescension, and forgiveness. She suffered herself to be overcome in my + favour by the joint intercessions of Lord M., Lady Sarah, Lady Betty, and + my two cousins Montague, who waited upon her in deep mourning; the ladies + in long trains sweeping after them; Lord M. in a long black mantle + trailing after him. They told her they came in these robs to express their + sorrow for my sins against her, and to implore her to forgive me. + </p> + <p> + 'I myself, I thought, was upon my knees, with a sword in my hand, offering + either to put it up in the scabbard, or to thrust it into my heart, as she + should command the one or the other. + </p> + <p> + 'At that moment her cousin Morden, I thought, all of a sudden, flashed in + through a window, with his drawn sword—Die, Lovelace! said he; this + instant die, and be d——d, if in earnest thou repairest not by + marriage my cousin's wrongs! + </p> + <p> + 'I was rising to resent this insult, I thought, when Lord M. ran between + us with his great black mantle, and threw it over my face: and instantly + my charmer, with that sweet voice which has so often played upon my + ravished ears, wrapped her arms around me, muffled as I was in my Lord's + mantle: O spare, spare my Lovelace! and spare, O Lovelace, my beloved + cousin Morden! Let me not have my distresses augmented by the fall of + either or both of those who are so dear to me! + </p> + <p> + 'At this, charmed with her sweet mediation, I thought I would have clasped + her in my arms: when immediately the most angelic form I had ever beheld, + all clad in transparent white, descended in a cloud, which, opening, + discovered a firmament above it, crowded with golden cherubs and + glittering seraphs, all addressing her with Welcome, welcome, welcome! + and, encircling my charmer, ascended with her to the region of seraphims; + and instantly, the opened cloud closing, I lost sight of her, and of the + bright form together, and found wrapt in my arms her azure robe (all stuck + thick with stars of embossed silver) which I had caught hold of in hopes + of detaining her; but was all that was left me of my beloved Clarissa. And + then, (horrid to relate!) the floor sinking under me, as the firmament had + opened for her, I dropt into a hole more frightful than that of Elden; + and, tumbling over and over down it, without view of a bottom, I awaked in + a panic; and was as effectually disordered for half an hour, as if my + dream had been a reality.' + </p> + <p> + Wilt thou forgive my troubling thee with such visionary stuff? Thou wilt + see by it only that, sleeping or waking, my Clarissa is always present + with me. + </p> + <p> + But here this moment is Will. come running hither to tell me that his lady + actually returned to her lodgings last night between eleven and twelve; + and is now there, though very ill. + </p> + <p> + I hasten to her. But, that I may not add to her indisposition, by any + rough or boisterous behaviour, I will be as soft and gentle as the dove + herself in my addresses to her. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + That I do love her, I all ye host of Heaven, + Be witness.—That she is dear to me! + Dearer than day, to one whom sight must leave; + Dearer than life, to one who fears to die! +</pre> + <p> + The chair is come. I fly to my beloved. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XV + </h2> + <h3> + MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + </h3> + <p> + Curse upon my stars!—Disappointed again! It was about eight when I + arrived at Smith's.—The woman was in the shop. + </p> + <p> + So, old acquaintance, how do you now? I know my love is above.—Let + her be acquainted that I am here, waiting for admission to her presence, + and can take no denial. Tell her, that I will approach her with the most + respectful duty, and in whose company she pleases; and I will not touch + the hem of her garment, without her leave. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, Sir, you are mistaken. The lady is not in this house, nor near it. + </p> + <p> + I'll see that.—Will.! beckoning him to me, and whispering, see if + thou canst any way find out (without losing sight of the door, lest she + should be below stairs) if she be in the neighbourhood, if not within. + </p> + <p> + Will. bowed, and went off. Up went I, without further ceremony; attended + now only by the good woman. + </p> + <p> + I went into each apartment, except that which was locked before, and was + now also locked: and I called to my Clarissa in the voice of love; but, by + the still silence, was convinced she was not there. Yet, on the strength + of my intelligence, I doubted not but she was in the house. + </p> + <p> + I then went up two pairs of stairs, and looked round the first room: but + no Miss Harlowe. + </p> + <p> + And who, pray, is in this room? stopping at the door of another. + </p> + <p> + A widow gentlewoman, Sir.—Mrs. Lovick. + </p> + <p> + O my dear Mrs. Lovick! said I.—I am intimately acquainted with Mrs. + Lovick's character, from my cousin John Belford. I must see Mrs. Lovick by + all means.—Good Mrs. Lovick, open the door. + </p> + <p> + She did. + </p> + <p> + Your servant, Madam. Be so good as to excuse me.—You have heard my + story. You are an admirer of the most excellent woman in the world. Dear + Mrs. Lovick, tell me what is become of her? + </p> + <p> + The poor lady, Sir, went out yesterday, on purpose to avoid you. + </p> + <p> + How so? she knew not that I would be here. + </p> + <p> + She was afraid you would come, when she heard you were recovered from your + illness. Ah! Sir, what pity it is that so fine a gentleman should make + such ill returns for God's goodness to him! + </p> + <p> + You are an excellent woman, Mrs. Lovick: I know that, by my cousin John + Belford's account of you: and Miss Clarissa Harlowe is an angel. + </p> + <p> + Miss Harlowe is indeed an angel, replied she; and soon will be company for + angels. + </p> + <p> + No jesting with such a woman as this, Jack. + </p> + <p> + Tell me of a truth, good Mrs. Lovick, where I may see this dear lady. Upon + my soul, I will neither fright for offend her. I will only beg of her to + hear me speak for one half-quarter of an hour; and, if she will have it + so, I will never trouble her more. + </p> + <p> + Sir, said the widow, it would be death for her to see you. She was at home + last night; I'll tell you truth: but fitter to be in bed all day. She came + home, she said, to die; and, if she could not avoid your visit, she was + unable to fly from you; and believed she should die in your presence. + </p> + <p> + And yet go out again this morning early? How can that be, widow? + </p> + <p> + Why, Sir, she rested not two hours, for fear of you. Her fear gave her + strength, which she'll suffer for, when that fear is over. And finding + herself, the more she thought of your visit, the less able to stay to + receive it, she took chair, and is gone nobody knows whither. But, I + believe, she intended to be carried to the waterside, in order to take + boat; for she cannot bear a coach. It extremely incommoded her yesterday. + </p> + <p> + But before we talk any further, said I, if she be gone abroad, you can + have no objection to my looking into every apartment above and below; + because I am told she is actually in the house. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, Sir, she is not. You may satisfy yourself, if you please: but Mrs. + Smith and I waited on her to her chair. We were forced to support her, she + was so weak. She said, Whither can I go, Mrs. Lovick? whither can I go, + Mrs. Smith?—Cruel, cruel man!—tell him I called him so, if he + come again!—God give him that peace which he denies me! + </p> + <p> + Sweet creature! cried I; and looked down, and took out my handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + The widow wept. I wish, said she, I had never known so excellent a lady, + and so great a sufferer! I love her as my own child! + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Smith wept. + </p> + <p> + I then gave over the hope of seeing her for this time, I was extremely + chagrined at my disappointment, and at the account they gave of her ill + health. + </p> + <p> + Would to Heaven, said I, she would put it in my power to repair her + wrongs! I have been an ungrateful wretch to her. I need not tell you, Mrs. + Lovick, how much I have injured her, nor how much she suffers by her + relations' implacableness, Mrs. Smith, that cuts her to the heart. Her + family is the most implacable family on earth; and the dear creature, in + refusing to see me, and to be reconciled to me, shows her relation to them + a little too plainly. + </p> + <p> + O Sir, said the widow, not one syllable of what you say belongs to this + lady. I never saw so sweet a temper! she is always accusing herself, and + excusing her relations. And, as to you, Sir, she forgives you: she wishes + you well; and happier than you will let her die in peace? 'tis all she + wishes for. You don't look like a hard-hearted gentleman!—How can + you thus hunt and persecute a poor lady, whom none of her relations will + look upon? It makes my heart bleed for her. + </p> + <p> + And then she wept again. Mrs. Smith wept also. My seat grew uneasy to me. + I shifted to another several times; and what Mrs. Lovick farther said, and + showed me, made me still more uneasy. + </p> + <p> + Bad as the poor lady was last night, said she, she transcribed into her + book a meditation on your persecuting her thus. I have a copy of it. If I + thought it would have any effect, I would read it to you. + </p> + <p> + Let me read it myself, Mrs. Lovick. + </p> + <p> + She gave it to me. It has an Harlowe-spirited title: and, from a forgiving + spirit, intolerable. I desired to take it with me. She consented, on + condition that I showed it to 'Squire Belford. So here, Mr. 'Squire + Belford, thou mayest read it, if thou wilt. + </p> + <p> + ON BEING HUNTED AFTER BY THE ENEMY OF MY SOUL. MONDAY, AUG. 21. + </p> + <p> + Deliver me, O Lord, from the evil man. + </p> + <p> + Preserve me from the violent man. + </p> + <p> + Who imagines mischief in his heart. + </p> + <p> + He hath sharpened his tongue like a serpent. Adders' poison is under his + lips. + </p> + <p> + Keep me, O Lord, from the hands of the wicked. Preserve me from the + violent man, who hath purposed to overthrow my goings. + </p> + <p> + He hath hid a snare for me. He hath spread a net by the way-side. He hath + set gins for me in the way wherein I walked. + </p> + <p> + Keep me from the snares which he hath laid for me, and the gins of this + worker of iniquity. + </p> + <p> + The enemy hath persecuted my soul. He hath smitten my life down to the + ground. He hath made me dwell in darkness, as those that have been long + dead. + </p> + <p> + Therefore is my spirit overwhelmed within me. My heart within me is + desolate. + </p> + <p> + Hide not thy face from me in the day when I am in trouble. + </p> + <p> + For my days are consumed like smoke: and my bones are burnt as the hearth. + </p> + <p> + My heart is smitten and withered like grass: so that I forget to eat my + bread. + </p> + <p> + By reason of the voice of my groaning, my bones cleave to my skin. + </p> + <p> + I am like a pelican of the wilderness. I am like an owl of the desert. + </p> + <p> + I watch; and am as a sparrow alone upon the house-top. + </p> + <p> + I have eaten ashes like bread; and mingled my drink with weeping: + </p> + <p> + Because of thine indignation, and thy wrath: for thou hast lifted me up, + and cast me down. + </p> + <p> + My days are like a shadow that declineth, and I am withered like grass. + </p> + <p> + Grant not, O Lord, the desires of the wicked: further not his devices, + lest he exalt himself. + </p> + <p> + Why now, Mrs. Lovick, said I, when I had read this meditation, as she + called it, I think I am very severely treated by the lady, if she mean me + in all this. For how is it that I am the enemy of her soul, when I love + her both soul and body? + </p> + <p> + She says, that I am a violent man, and a wicked man.—That I have + been so, I own: but I repent, and only wish to have it in my power to + repair the injuries I have done her. + </p> + <p> + The gin, the snare, the net, mean matrimony, I suppose—But is it a + crime in me to wish to marry her? Would any other woman think it so? and + choose to become a pelican in the wilderness, or a lonely sparrow on the + house-top, rather than have a mate that would chirp about her all day and + all night? + </p> + <p> + She says, she has eaten ashes like bread—A sad mistake to be sure!—And + mingled her drink with weeping—Sweet maudlin soul! should I say of + any body confessing this, but Miss Harlowe. + </p> + <p> + She concludes with praying, that the desires of the wicked (meaning poor + me, I doubt) may not be granted; that my devices may not be furthered, + lest I exalt myself. I should undoubtedly exalt myself, and with reason, + could I have the honour and the blessing of such a wife. And if my desires + have so honourable an end, I know not why I should be called wicked, and + why I should not be allowed to hope, that my honest devices may be + furthered, that I MAY exalt myself. + </p> + <p> + But here, Mrs. Lovick, let me ask, as something is undoubtedly meant by + the lonely sparrow on the house-top, is not the dear creature at this very + instant (tell me truly) concealed in Mrs. Smith's cockloft?—What say + you, Mrs. Lovick? What say you, Mrs. Smith, to this? + </p> + <p> + They assured me to the contrary; and that she was actually abroad, and + they knew not where. + </p> + <p> + Thou seest, Jack, that I would fain have diverted the chagrin given me not + only by the women's talk, but by this collection of Scripture-texts drawn + up in array against me. Several other whimsical and light things I said + [all I had for it!] with the same view. But the widow would not let me + come off so. She stuck to me; and gave me, as I told thee, a good deal of + uneasiness, by her sensible and serious expostulations. Mrs. Smith put in + now-and-then; and the two Jack-pudding fellows, John and Joseph, not being + present, I had no provocation to turn the conversation into a farce; and, + at last, they both joined warmly to endeavour to prevail upon me to give + up all thoughts of seeing the lady. But I could not hear of that. On the + contrary, I besought Mrs. Smith to let me have one of her rooms but till I + could see her; and were it but for one, two, or three days, I would pay a + year's rent for it; and quit it the moment the interview was over. But + they desired to be excused; and were sure the lady would not come to the + house till I was gone, were it for a month. + </p> + <p> + This pleased me; for I found they did not think her so very ill as they + would have me believe her to be; but I took no notice of the slip, because + I would not guard them against more of the like. + </p> + <p> + In short, I told them, I must and would see her: but that it should be + with all the respect and veneration that heart could pay to excellence + like her's: and that I would go round to all the churches in London and + Westminster, where there were prayers or service, from sun-rise to + sun-set, and haunt their house like a ghost, till I had the opportunity my + soul panted after. + </p> + <p> + This I bid them tell her. And thus ended our serious conversation. + </p> + <p> + I took leave of them; and went down; and, stepping into my chair, caused + myself to be carried to Lincoln's-Inn; and walked in the gardens till the + chapel was opened; and then I went in, and said prayers, in hopes of + seeing the dear creature enter: but to no purpose; and yet I prayed most + devoutly that she might be conducted thither, either by my good angel, or + her own. And indeed I burn more than ever with impatience to be once more + permitted to kneel at the feet of this adorable woman. And had I met her, + or espied her in the chapel, it is my firm belief that I should not have + been able (though it had been in the midst of the sacred office, and in + the presence of thousands) to have forborne prostration to her, and even + clamorous supplication for her forgiveness: a christian act; the exercise + of it therefore worthy of the place. + </p> + <p> + After service was over, I stept into my chair again, and once more was + carried to Smith's, in hopes I might have surprised her there: but no such + happiness for thy friend. I staid in the back-shop an hour and an half, by + my watch; and again underwent a good deal of preachment from the women. + John was mainly civil to me now; won over a little by my serious talk, and + the honour I professed for the lady. They all three wished matters could + be made up between us: but still insisted that she could never get over + her illness; and that her heart was broken. A cue, I suppose, they had + from you. + </p> + <p> + While I was there a letter was brought by a particular hand. They seemed + very solicitous to hide it from me; which made me suspect it was for her. + I desired to be suffered to cast an eye upon the seal, and the + superscription; promising to give it back to them unopened. + </p> + <p> + Looking upon it, I told them I knew the hand and seal. It was from her + sister.* And I hoped it would bring her news that she would be pleased + with. + </p> + <p> + * See Letter XXVI. of this volume. + </p> + <p> + They joined most heartily in the same hope: and, giving the letter to them + again, I civilly took leave, and went away. + </p> + <p> + But I will be there again presently; for I fancy my courteous behaviour to + these women will, on their report of it, procure me the favour I so + earnestly covet. And so I will leave my letter unsealed, to tell thee the + event of my next visit at Smith's. + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + Thy servant just calling, I sent thee this: and will soon follow it by + another. Mean time, I long to hear how poor Belton is: to whom my best + wishes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XVI + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. TUESDAY, AUG. 22. + </p> + <p> + I have been under such concern for the poor man, whose exit I almost + hourly expect, and at the shocking scenes his illness and his agonies + exhibit, that I have been only able to make memoranda of the melancholy + passages, from which to draw up a more perfect account, for the + instruction of us all, when the writing appetite shall return. + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + It is returned! Indignation has revived it, on receipt of thy letters of + Sunday and yesterday; by which I have reason to reproach thee in very + serious terms, that thou hast not kept thy honour with me: and if thy + breach of it be attended with such effects as I fear it will be, I shall + let thee know more of my mind on this head. + </p> + <p> + If thou wouldst be thought in earnest in thy wishes to move the poor lady + in thy favour, thy ludicrous behaviour at Smith's, when it comes to be + represented to her, will have a very consistent appearance; will it not?—I + will, indeed, confirm in her opinion, that the grave is more to be + wished-for, by one of her serious and pious turn, than a husband incapable + either of reflection or remorse; just recovered, as thou art, from a + dangerous, at least a sharp turn. + </p> + <p> + I am extremely concerned for the poor unprotected lady. She was so + excessively low and weak on Saturday, that I could not be admitted to her + speech: and to be driven out of her lodgings, when it was fitter for her + to be in bed, is such a piece of cruelty, as he only could be guilty of + who could act as thou hast done by such an angel. + </p> + <p> + Canst thou thyself say, on reflection, that it has not the look of a + wicked and hardened sportiveness, in thee, for the sake of a wanton humour + only, (since it can answer no end that thou proposest to thyself, but the + direct contrary,) to hunt from place to place a poor lady, who, like a + harmless deer, that has already a barbed shaft in her breast, seeks only a + refuge from thee in the shades of death. + </p> + <p> + But I will leave this matter upon thy own conscience, to paint thee such a + scene from my memoranda, as thou perhaps wilt be moved by more effectually + than by any other: because it is such a one as thou thyself must one day + be a principal actor in, and, as I thought, hadst very lately in + apprehension: and is the last scene of one of thy more intimate friends, + who has been for the four past days labouring in the agonies of death. + For, Lovelace, let this truth, this undoubted truth, be engraved on thy + memory, in all thy gaieties, That the life we are so fond of is hardly + life; a mere breathing space only; and that, at the end of its longest + date, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thou must die, as well as Belton. +</pre> + <p> + Thou knowest, by Tourville, what we had done as to the poor man's worldly + affairs; and that we had got his unhappy sister to come and live with him + (little did we think him so very near to his end): and so I will proceed + to tell thee, that when I arrived at his house on Saturday night, I found + him excessively ill: but just raised, and in his elbow-chair, held up by + his nurse and Mowbray (the roughest and most untouched creature that ever + entered a sick man's chamber); while the maid-servants were trying to make + that bed easier for him which he was to return to; his mind ten times + uneasier than that could be, and the true cause that the down was no + softer to him. + </p> + <p> + He had so much longed to see me, as I was told by his sister, (whom I sent + for down to inquire how he was,) that they all rejoiced when I entered: + Here, said Mowbray, here, Tommy, is honest Jack Belford! + </p> + <p> + Where, where? said the poor man. + </p> + <p> + I hear his voice, cried Mowbray: he is coming up stairs. + </p> + <p> + In a transport of joy, he would have raised himself at my entrance, but + had like to have pitched out of the chair: and when recovered, called me + his best friend! his kindest friend! but burst into a flood of tears: O + Jack! O Belford! said he, see the way I am in! See how weak! So much, and + so soon reduced! Do you know me? Do you know your poor friend Belton? + </p> + <p> + You are not so much altered, my dear Belton, as you think you are. But I + see you are weak; very weak—and I am sorry for it. + </p> + <p> + Weak, weak, indeed, my dearest Belford, said he, and weaker in mind, if + possible, than in body; and wept bitterly—or I should not thus unman + myself. I, who never feared any thing, to be forced to show myself such a + nursling!—I am quite ashamed of myself!—But don't despise me; + dear Belford, don't despise me, I beseech thee. + </p> + <p> + I ever honoured a man that could weep for the distresses of others; and + ever shall, said I; and such a one cannot be insensible of his own. + </p> + <p> + However, I could not help being visibly moved at the poor fellow's + emotion. + </p> + <p> + Now, said the brutal Mowbray, do I think thee insufferable, Jack. Our poor + friend is already a peg too low; and here thou art letting him down lower + and lower still. This soothing of him in his dejected moments, and joining + thy womanish tears with his, is not the way; I am sure it is not. If our + Lovelace were here, he'd tell thee so. + </p> + <p> + Thou art an impenetrable creature, replied I; unfit to be present at a + scene, the terrors of which thou wilt not be able to feel till thou + feelest them in thyself; and then, if thou hadst time for feeling, my life + for thine, thou behavest as pitifully as those thou thinkest most pitiful. + </p> + <p> + Then turning to the poor sick man, Tears, my dear Belton, are no signs of + an unmanly, but, contrarily of a humane nature; they ease the over-charged + heart, which would burst but for that kindly and natural relief. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Give sorrow words (says Shakspeare) + —The grief that does not speak, + Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break. +</pre> + <p> + I know, my dear Belton, thou usedst to take pleasure in repetitions from + the poets; but thou must be tasteless of their beauties now: yet be not + discountenanced by this uncouth and unreflecting Mowbray, for, as Juvenal + says, Tears are the prerogative of manhood. + </p> + <p> + 'Tis at least seasonably said, my dear Belford. It is kind to keep me in + countenance for this womanish weakness, as Mowbray has been upbraidingly + calling it, ever since he has been with me: and in so doing, (whatever I + might have thought in such high health as he enjoys,) has convinced me, + that bottle-friends feel nothing but what moves in that little circle. + </p> + <p> + Well, well, proceed in your own way, Jack. I love my friend Belton as well + as you can do; yet for the blood of me, I cannot but think, that soothing + a man's weakness is increasing it. + </p> + <p> + If it be a weakness, to be touched at great and concerning events, in + which our humanity is concerned, said I, thou mayest be right. + </p> + <p> + I have seen many a man, said the rough creature, going up Holborn-hill, + that has behaved more like a man than either of you. + </p> + <p> + Ay, but, Mowbray, replied the poor man, those wretches have not had their + minds enervated by such infirmities of body as I have long laboured under. + Thou art a shocking fellow, and ever wert.—But to be able to + remember nothing in these moments but what reproaches me, and to know that + I cannot hold it long, and what may then be my lot, if—but + interrupting himself, and turning to me, Give me thy pity, Jack; 'tis balm + to my wounded soul; and let Mowbray sit indifferent enough to the pangs of + a dying friend, to laugh at us both. + </p> + <p> + The hardened fellow then retired, with the air of a Lovelace; only more + stupid; yawning and stretching, instead of humming a tune as thou didst at + Smith's. + </p> + <p> + I assisted to get the poor man into bed. He was so weak and low, that he + could not bear the fatigue, and fainted away; and I verily thought was + quite gone. But recovering, and his doctor coming, and advising to keep + him quiet, I retired, and joined Mowbray in the garden; who took more + delight to talk of the living Lovelace and levities, than of the dying + Belton and his repentance. + </p> + <p> + I just saw him again on Saturday night before I went to bed; which I did + early; for I was surfeited with Mowbray's frothy insensibility, and could + not bear him. + </p> + <p> + It is such a horrid thing to think of, that a man who had lived in such + strict terms of—what shall I call it? with another; the proof does + not come out so, as to say, friendship; who had pretended so much love for + him; could not bear to be out of his company; would ride an hundred miles + on end to enjoy it; and would fight for him, be the cause right or wrong: + yet now, could be so little moved to see him in such misery of body and + mind, as to be able to rebuke him, and rather ridicule than pity him, + because he was more affected by what he felt, than he had seen a + malefactor, (hardened perhaps by liquor, and not softened by previous + sickness,) on his going to execution. + </p> + <p> + This put me strongly in mind of what the divine Miss HARLOWE once said to + me, talking of friendship, and what my friendship to you required of me: + 'Depend upon it, Mr. Belford,' said she, 'that one day you will be + convinced, that what you call friendship, is chaff and stubble; and that + nothing is worthy of that sacred name, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'That has not virtue for its base.' +</pre> + <p> + Sunday morning, I was called up at six o'clock, at the poor man's earnest + request, and found him in a terrible agony. O Jack! Jack! said he, looking + wildly, as if he had seen a spectre—Come nearer me!—Dear, dear + Belford, save me! Then clasping my arm with both his hands, and rearing up + his head towards me, his eyes strangely rolling, Save me! dear Belford, + save me! repeated he. + </p> + <p> + I put my other arm about him—Save you from what, my dear Belton! + said I; save you from what? Nothing shall hurt you. What must I save you + from? + </p> + <p> + Recovering from his terror, he sunk down again, O save me from myself! + said he; save me from my own reflections. O dear Jack! what a thing it is + to die; and not to have one comfortable reflection to revolve! What would + I give for one year of my past life?—only one year—and to have + the same sense of things that I now have? + </p> + <p> + I tried to comfort him as well as I could: but free-livers to free-livers + are sorry death-bed comforters. And he broke in upon me: O my dear + Belford, said he, I am told, (and I have heard you ridiculed for it,) that + the excellent Miss Harlowe has wrought a conversion in you. May it be so! + You are a man of sense: O may it be so! Now is your time! Now, that you + are in full vigour of mind and body!—But your poor Belton, alas! + your poor Belton kept his vices, till they left him—and see the + miserable effects in debility of mind and despondency! Were Mowbray here, + and were he to laugh at me, I would own that this is the cause of my + despair—that God's justice cannot let his mercy operate for my + comfort: for, Oh! I have been very, very wicked; and have despised the + offers of his grace, till he has withdrawn it from me for ever. + </p> + <p> + I used all the arguments I could think of to give him consolation: and + what I said had such an effect upon him, as to quiet his mind for the + greatest part of the day; and in a lucid hour his memory served him to + repeat these lines of Dryden, grasping my hand, and looking wistfully upon + me: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O that I less could fear to lose this being, + Which, like a snow-ball, in my coward hand, + The more 'tis grasped, the faster melts away! +</pre> + <p> + In the afternoon of Sunday, he was inquisitive after you, and your present + behaviour to Miss Harlowe. I told him how you had been, and how light you + made of it. Mowbray was pleased with your impenetrable hardness of heart, + and said, Bob. Lovelace was a good edge-tool, and steel to the back: and + such coarse but hearty praises he gave you, as an abandoned man might + give, and only an abandoned man could wish to deserve. + </p> + <p> + But hadst thou heard what the poor dying Belton said on this occasion, + perhaps it would have made thee serious an hour or two, at least. + </p> + <p> + 'When poor Lovelace is brought,' said he, 'to a sick-bed, as I am now, and + his mind forebodes that it is impossible he should recover, (which his + could not do in his late illness: if it had, he could not have behaved so + lightly in it;) when he revolves his past mis-spent life; his actions of + offence to helpless innocents; in Miss Harlowe's case particularly; what + then will he think of himself, or of his past actions? his mind + debilitated; his strength turned into weakness; unable to stir or to move + without help; not one ray of hope darting in upon his benighted soul; his + conscience standing in the place of a thousand witnesses; his pains + excruciating; weary of the poor remnant of life he drags, yet dreading, + that, in a few short hours, his bad will be changed to worse, nay, to + worst of all; and that worst of all, to last beyond time and to all + eternity; O Jack! what will he then think of the poor transitory + gratifications of sense, which now engage all his attention? Tell him, + dear Belford, tell him, how happy he is if he know his own dying + happiness; how happy, compared to his poor dying friend, that he has + recovered from his illness, and has still an opportunity lent him, for + which I would give a thousand worlds, had I them to give!' + </p> + <p> + I approved exceedingly of his reflections, as suited to his present + circumstances; and inferred consolations to him from a mind so properly + touched. + </p> + <p> + He proceeded in the like penitent strain. I have lived a very wicked life; + so have we all. We have never made a conscience of doing whatever mischief + either force or fraud enabled us to do. We have laid snares for the + innocent heart; and have not scrupled by the too-ready sword to extend, as + occasions offered, the wrongs we did to the persons whom we had before + injured in their dearest relations. But yet, I flatter myself, sometimes, + that I have less to answer for than either Lovelace or Mowbray; for I, by + taking to myself that accursed deceiver from whom thou hast freed me, (and + who, for years, unknown to me, was retaliating upon my own head some of + the evils I had brought upon others,) and retiring, and living with her as + a wife, was not party to half the mischiefs, that I doubt they, and + Tourville, and even you, Belford, committed. As to the ungrateful + Thomasine, I hope I have met with my punishment in her. But + notwithstanding this, dost thou not think, that such an action—and + such an action—and such an action; [and then he recapitulated + several enormities, in the perpetration of which (led on by false bravery, + and the heat of youth and wine) we have all been concerned;] dost thou not + think that these villanies, (let me call them now by their proper name,) + joined to the wilful and gloried-in neglect of every duty that our better + sense and education gave us to know were required of us as men and + christians, are not enough to weigh down my soul into despondency?— + Indeed, indeed, they are! and now to hope for mercy; and to depend upon + the efficacy of that gracious attribute, when that no less shining one of + justice forbids me to hope; how can I!—I, who have despised all + warnings, and taken no advantage of the benefit I might have reaped from + the lingering consumptive illness I have laboured under, but left all to + the last stake; hoping for recovery against hope, and driving off + repentance, till that grace is denied me; for, oh! my dear Belford! I can + now neither repent, nor pray, as I ought; my heart is hardened, and I can + do nothing but despair!— + </p> + <p> + More he would have said; but, overwhelmed with grief and infirmity, he + bowed his head upon his pangful bosom, endeavouring to hide from the sight + of the hardened Mowbray, who just then entered the room, those tears which + he could not restrain. + </p> + <p> + Prefaced by a phlegmatic hem; sad, very sad, truly! cried Mowbray; who sat + himself down on one side of the bed, as I sat on the other: his eyes half + closed, and his lips pouting out to his turned-up nose, his chin curdled + [to use one of thy descriptions]; leaving one at a loss to know whether + stupid drowsiness or intense contemplation had got most hold of him. + </p> + <p> + An excellent, however uneasy lesson, Mowbray! said I.—By my faith it + is! It may one day, who knows how soon? be our own case! + </p> + <p> + I thought of thy yawning-fit, as described in thy letter of Aug. 13. For + up started Mowbray, writhing and shaking himself as in an ague-fit; his + hands stretched over his head—with thy hoy! hoy! hoy! yawning. And + then recovering himself, with another stretch and a shake, What's o'clock? + cried he; pulling out his watch—and stalking by long tip-toe strides + through the room, down stairs he went; and meeting the maid in the + passage, I heard him say—Betty, bring me a bumper of claret; thy + poor master, and this d——d Belford, are enough to throw a + Hercules into the vapours. + </p> + <p> + Mowbray, after this, assuming himself in our friend's library, which is, + as thou knowest, chiefly classical and dramatical, found out a passage in + Lee's Oedipus, which he would needs have to be extremely apt; and in he + came full fraught with the notion of the courage it would give the dying + man, and read it to him. 'Tis poetical and pretty. This is it: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When the sun sets, shadows that show'd at noon + But small, appear most long and terrible: + So when we think fate hovers o'er our heads, + Our apprehensions shoot beyond all bounds: + Owls, ravens, crickets, seem the watch of death; + Nature's worst vermin scare her godlike sons: + Echoes, the very leavings of a voice, + Grow babbling ghosts, and call us to our graves. + Each mole-hill thought swells to a huge Olympus; + While we, fantastic dreamers, heave and puff, + And sweat with our imagination's weight. +</pre> + <p> + He expected praises for finding this out. But Belton turning his head from + him, Ah, Dick! (said he,) these are not the reflections of a dying man!—What + thou wilt one day feel, if it be what I now feel, will convince thee that + the evils before thee, and with thee, are more than the effects of + imagination. + </p> + <p> + I was called twice on Sunday night to him; for the poor fellow, when his + reflections on his past life annoy him most, is afraid of being left with + the women; and his eyes, they tell me, hunt and roll about for me. Where's + Mr. Belford?—But I shall tire him out, cries he—yet beg of him + to step to me—yet don't—yet do; were once the doubting and + changeful orders he gave: and they called me accordingly. + </p> + <p> + But, alas! What could Belford do for him? Belford, who had been but too + often the companion of his guilty hours; who wants mercy as much as he + does; and is unable to promise it to himself, though 'tis all he can bid + his poor friend rely upon! + </p> + <p> + What miscreants are we! What figures shall we make in these terrible + hours! + </p> + <p> + If Miss HARLOWE'S glorious example, on one hand, and the terrors of this + poor man's last scene on the other, affect me not, I must be abandoned to + perdition; as I fear thou wilt be, if thou benefittest not thyself from + both. + </p> + <p> + Among the consolatory things I urged, when I was called up the last time + on Sunday night, I told him, that he must not absolutely give himself up + to despair: that many of the apprehensions he was under, were such as the + best men must have, on the dreadful uncertainty of what was to succeed to + this life. 'Tis well observed, said I, by a poetical divine, who was an + excellent christian,* That + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Death could not a more sad retinue find, + Sickness and pain before, and darkness all behind. +</pre> + <p> + * The Rev Mr. Norris, of Bremerton. + </p> + <p> + About eight o'clock yesterday (Monday) morning, I found him a little + calmer. He asked me who was the author of the two lines I had repeated to + him; and made me speak them over again. A sad retinue, indeed! said the + poor man. And then expressing his hopelessness of life, and his terrors at + the thoughts of dying; and drawing from thence terrible conclusions with + regard to his future state; There is, said I, such a natural aversion to + death in human nature, that you are not to imagine, that you, my dear + Belton, are singular in the fear of it, and in the apprehensions that fill + the thoughtful mind upon its approach; but you ought, as much as possible, + to separate those natural fears which all men must have on so solemn an + occasion, from those particular ones which your justly-apprehended + unfitness fills you with. Mr. Pomfret, in his Prospect of Death, which I + dipped into last night from a collection in your closet, which I put into + my pocket, says, [and I turned to the place] + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Merely to die, no man of reason fears; + For certainly we must, + As we are born, return to dust; + 'Tis the last point of many ling-ring years; + But whither then we go, + Whither, we fain would know; + But human understanding cannot show. + This makes US tremble—— +</pre> + <p> + Mr. Pomfret, therefore, proceeded I, had such apprehensions of this dark + state as you have: and the excellent divine I hinted at last night, who + had very little else but human frailties to reproach himself with, and + whose miscellanies fell into my hands among my uncle's books in my + attendance upon him in his last hours, says, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + It must be done, my soul: but 'tis a strange, + A dismal, and mysterious change, + When thou shalt leave this tenement of clay, + And to an unknown—somewhere—wing away; + When time shall be eternity, and thou + Shalt be—thou know'st not what—and live— + thou know'st not how! + Amazing state! no wonder that we dread + To think of death, or view the dead; + Thou'rt all wrapt up in clouds, as if to thee + Our very knowledge had antipathy. +</pre> + <p> + Then follows, what I repeated, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Death could not a more sad retinue find, + Sickness and pain before, and darkness all behind. +</pre> + <p> + Alas! my dear Belford [inferred the unhappy deep-thinker] what poor + creatures does this convince me we mortals are at best!—But what + then must be the case of such a profligate as I, who by a past wicked life + have added greater force to these natural terrors? If death be so + repugnant a thing to human nature, that good men will be startled at it, + what must it be to one who has lived a life of sense and appetite; nor + ever reflected upon the end which I now am within view of? + </p> + <p> + What could I say to an inference so fairly drawn? Mercy, mercy, unbounded + mercy, was still my plea, though his repeated opposition of justice to it, + in a manner silenced that plea: and what would I have given to have had + rise in my mind, one good, eminently good action to have remembered him + of, in order to combat his fears with it? + </p> + <p> + I believe, Lovelace, I shall tire thee, and that more with the subject of + my letter, than even with the length of it. But really, I think thy + spirits are so offensively up since thy recovery, that I ought, as the + melancholy subjects offer, to endeavour to reduce thee to the standard of + humanity, by expatiating upon them. And then thou canst not but be curious + to know every thing that concerns the poor man, for whom thou hast always + expressed a great regard. I will therefore proceed as I have begun. If + thou likest not to read it now, lay it by, if thou wilt, till the like + circumstances befall thee, till like reflections from those circumstances + seize thee; and then take it up, and compare the two cases together. + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + At his earnest request, I sat up with him last night; and, poor man! it is + impossible to tell thee, how easy and safe he thought himself in my + company, for the first part of the night: A drowning man will catch at a + straw, the proverb well says: and a straw was I, with respect to any real + help I could give him. He often awaked in terrors; and once calling out + for me, Dear Belford, said he, Where are you!—Oh! There you are!—Give + me your friendly hand!—Then grasping it, and putting his clammy, + half-cold lips to it—How kind! I fear every thing when you are + absent. But the presence of a friend, a sympathising friend—Oh! how + comfortable! + </p> + <p> + But, about four in the morning, he frighted me much: he waked with three + terrible groans; and endeavoured to speak, but could not presently—and + when he did,—Jack, Jack, Jack, five or six times repeated he as + quick as thought, now, now, now, save me, save me, save me—I am + going—going indeed! + </p> + <p> + I threw my arms about him, and raised him upon his pillow, as he was + sinking (as if to hide himself) in the bed-clothes—And staring + wildly, Where am I? said he, a little recovering. Did you not see him? + turning his head this way and that; horror in his countenance; Did you not + see him? + </p> + <p> + See whom, see what, my dear Belton! + </p> + <p> + O lay me upon the bed again, cried he!—Let me not die upon the + floor!— Lay me down gently; and stand by me!—Leave me not!—All, + all will soon be over! + </p> + <p> + You are already, my dear Belton, upon the bed. You have not been upon the + floor. This is a strong delirium; you are faint for want of refreshment + [for he had refused several times to take any thing]: let me persuade you + to take some of this cordial julap. I will leave you, if you will not + oblige me. + </p> + <p> + He then readily took it; but said he could have sworn that Tom. Metcalfe + had been in the room, and had drawn him out of bed by the throat, + upbraiding him with the injuries he had first done his sister, and then + him, in the duel to which he owed that fever which cost him his life. + </p> + <p> + Thou knowest the story, Lovelace, too well, to need my repeating it: but, + mercy on us, if in these terrible moments all the evils we do rise to our + frighted imaginations!—If so, what shocking scenes have I, but still + what more shocking ones hast thou, to go through, if, as the noble poet + says, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + If any sense at that sad time remains! +</pre> + <p> + The doctor ordered him an opiate this morning early, which operated so + well, that he dosed and slept several hours more quietly than he had done + for the two past days and nights, though he had sleeping-draughts given + him before. But it is more and more evident every hour that nature is + almost worn out in him. + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + Mowbray, quite tired with this house of mourning, intends to set out in + the morning to find you. He was not a little rejoiced to hear you were in + town; I believe to have a pretence to leave us. + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + He has just taken leave of his poor friend, intending to go away early: an + everlasting leave, I may venture to say; for I think he will hardly live + till to-morrow night. + </p> + <p> + I believe the poor man would not have been sorry had he left him when I + arrived; for 'tis a shocking creature, and enjoys too strong health to + know how to pity the sick. Then (to borrow an observation from thee) he + has, by nature, strong bodily organs, which those of his soul are not + likely to whet out; and he, as well as the wicked friend he is going to, + may last a great while from the strength of their constitutions, though so + greatly different in their talents, if neither the sword nor the halter + interpose. + </p> + <p> + I must repeat, That I cannot but be very uneasy for the poor lady whom you + so cruelly persecute; and that I do not think that you have kept your + honour with me. I was apprehensive, indeed, that you would attempt to see + her, as soon as you got well enough to come up; and I told her as much, + making use of it as an argument to prepare her for your visit, and to + induce her to stand it. But she could not, it is plain, bear the shock of + it: and indeed she told me that she would not see you, though but for one + half-hour, for the world. + </p> + <p> + Could she have prevailed upon herself, I know that the sight of her would + have been as affecting to you, as your visit could have been to her; when + you had seen to what a lovely skeleton (for she is really lovely still, + nor can she, with such a form and features, be otherwise) you have, in a + few weeks, reduced one of the most charming women in the world; and that + in the full bloom of her youth and beauty. + </p> + <p> + Mowbray undertakes to carry this, that he may be more welcome to you, he + says. Were it to be sent unsealed, the characters we write in would be + Hebrew to the dunce. I desire you to return it; and I'll give you a copy + of it upon demand; for I intend to keep it by me, as a guard against the + infection of your company, which might otherwise, perhaps, some time + hence, be apt to weaken the impressions I always desire to have of the + awful scene before me. God convert us both! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XVII + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. WEDNESDAY MORN. 11 O'CLOCK. + </p> + <p> + I believe no man has two such servants as I have. Because I treat them + with kindness, and do not lord it over my inferiors, and d—n and + curse them by looks and words like Mowbray; or beat their teeth out like + Lovelace; but cry, Pr'ythee, Harry, do this, and, Pr'ythee, Jonathan, do + that; the fellows pursue their own devices, and regard nothing I say, but + what falls in with these. + </p> + <p> + Here, this vile Harry, who might have brought your letter of yesterday in + good time, came not in with it till past eleven at night (drunk, I + suppose); and concluding that I was in bed, as he pretends (because he was + told I sat up the preceding night) brought it not to me; and having + overslept himself, just as I had sealed up my letter, in comes the villain + with the forgotten one, shaking his ears, and looking as if he himself did + not believe the excuses he was going to make. I questioned him about it, + and heard his pitiful pleas; and though I never think it becomes a + gentleman to treat people insolently who by their stations are humbled + beneath his feet, yet could I not forbear to Lovelace and Mowbray him most + cordially. + </p> + <p> + And this detaining Mowbray (who was ready to set out to you before) while + I write a few lines upon it, the fierce fellow, who is impatient to + exchange the company of a dying Belton for that of a too-lively Lovelace, + affixed a supplement of curses upon the staring fellow, that was larger + than my book—nor did I offer to take off the bear from such a + mongrel, since, on this occasion, he deserved not of me the protection + which every master owes to a good servant. + </p> + <p> + He has not done cursing him yet; for stalking about the court-yard with + his boots on, (the poor fellow dressing his horse, and unable to get from + him,) he is at him without mercy; and I will heighten his impatience, + (since being just under the window where I am writing, he will not let me + attend to my pen,) by telling you how he fills my ears as well as the + fellow's, with his—Hay, Sir! And G—d d—n ye, Sir! And + were ye my servant, ye dog ye! And must I stay here till the mid-day sun + scorches me to a parchment, for such a mangy dog's drunken neglect?—Ye + lie, Sirrah!—Ye lie, I tell you—[I hear the fellow's voice in + an humble excusatory tone, though not articulately] Ye lie, ye dog!—I'd + a good mind to thrust my whip down your drunken throat: d—n me, if I + would not flay the skin from the back of such a rascal, if thou wert mine, + and have dog's-skin gloves made of it, for thy brother scoundrels to wear + in remembrance of thy abuses of such a master. + </p> + <p> + The poor horse suffers for this, I doubt not; for, What now! and, Stand + still, and be d—d to ye, cries the fellow, with a kick, I suppose, + which he better deserves himself; for these varlets, where they can, are + Mowbrays and Lovelaces to man or beast; and not daring to answer him, is + flaying the poor horse. + </p> + <p> + I hear the fellow is just escaped, the horse, (better curried than + ordinary, I suppose, in half the usual time,) by his clanking shoes, and + Mowbray's silence, letting me know, that I may now write on: and so, I + will tell thee that, in the first place, (little as I, as well as you, + regard dreams,) I would have thee lay thine to heart; for I could give + thee such an interpretation of it, as would shock thee, perhaps; and if + thou askest me for it, I will. + </p> + <p> + Mowbray calls to me from the court-yard, that 'tis a cursed hot day, and + he shall be fried by riding in the noon of it: and that poor Belton longs + to see me. So I will only add my earnest desire, that you will give over + all thoughts of seeing the lady, if, when this comes to your hand, you + have not seen her: and, that it would be kind, if you'd come, and, for the + last time you will ever see your poor friend, share my concern for him; + and, in him, see what, in a little time, will be your fate and mine, and + that of Mowbray, Tourville, and the rest of us—For what are ten, + fifteen, twenty, or thirty years, to look back to; in the longest of which + periods forward we shall all perhaps be mingled with the dust from which + we sprung? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XVIII + </h2> + <p> + MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. WEDNESDAY MORN. AUG. 23. + </p> + <p> + All alive, dear Jack, and in ecstacy!—Likely to be once more a happy + man! For I have received a letter from my beloved Miss HARLOWE; in + consequence, I suppose, of that which I mentioned in my last to be left + for her from her sister. And I am setting out for Berks directly, to show + the contents to my Lord M. and to receive the congratulations of all my + kindred upon it. + </p> + <p> + I went, last night, as I intended, to Smith's: but the dear creature was + not returned at near ten o'clock. And, lighting upon Tourville, I took him + home with me, and made him sing me out of my megrims. I went to bed + tolerably easy at two; had bright and pleasant dreams; (not such of a + frightful one as that I gave thee an account of;) and at eight this + morning, as I was dressing, to be in readiness against the return of my + fellow, whom I had sent to inquire after the lady, I had the following + letter brought to me by a chairman: + </p> + <p> + TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. TUESDAY NIGHT, 11 O'CLOCK (AUG. 22.) + </p> + <p> + SIR, + </p> + <p> + I have good news to tell you. I am setting out with all diligence for my + father's house, I am bid to hope that he will receive his poor penitent + with a goodness peculiar to himself; for I am overjoyed with the assurance + of a thorough reconciliation, through the interposition of a dear, blessed + friend, whom I always loved and honoured. I am so taken up with my + preparation for this joyful and long-wished-for journey, that I cannot + spare one moment for any other business, having several matters of the + last importance to settle first. So, pray, Sir, don't disturb or interrupt + me—I beseech you don't. You may possibly in time see me at my + father's; at least if it be not your own fault. + </p> + <p> + I will write a letter, which shall be sent you when I am got thither and + received: till when, I am, &c. + </p> + <p> + CLARISSA HARLOWE. *** + </p> + <p> + I dispatched instantly a letter to the dear creature, assuring her, with + the most thankful joy, 'That I would directly set out for Berks, and wait + the issue of the happy reconciliation, and the charming hopes she had + filled me with. I poured out upon her a thousand blessings. I declared + that it should be the study of my whole life to merit such transcendent + goodness: and that there was nothing which her father or friends should + require at my hands, that I would not for her sake comply with, in order + to promote and complete so desirable a reconciliation.' + </p> + <p> + I hurried it away without taking a copy of it; and I have ordered the + chariot-and-six to be got ready; and hey for M. Hall! Let me but know how + Belton does. I hope a letter from thee is on the road. And if the poor + fellow can spare thee, make haste, I command thee, to attend this truly + divine lady. Thou mayest not else see her of months perhaps; at least, not + while she is Miss HARLOWE. And oblige me, if possible, with one letter + before she sets out, confirming to me and accounting for this generous + change. + </p> + <p> + But what accounting for it is necessary? The dear creature cannot receive + consolation herself but she must communicate it to others. How noble! She + would not see me in her adversity; but no sooner does the sun of + prosperity begin to shine upon her than she forgives me. + </p> + <p> + I know to whose mediation all this is owing. It is to Colonel Morden's. + She always, as she says, loved and honoured him! And he loved her above + all his relations. + </p> + <p> + I shall now be convinced that there is something in dreams. The opening + cloud is the reconciliation in view. The bright form, lifting up my + charmer through it to a firmament stuck round with golden cherubims and + seraphims, indicates the charming little boys and girls, that will be the + fruits of this happy reconciliation. The welcomes, thrice repeated, are + those of her family, now no more to be deemed implacable. Yet are they + family, too, that my soul cannot mingle with. + </p> + <p> + But then what is my tumbling over and over through the floor into a + frightful hole, descending as she ascends? Ho! only this! it alludes to my + disrelish to matrimony: Which is a bottomless pit, a gulph, and I know not + what. And I suppose, had I not awoke in such a plaguy fright, I had been + soused into some river at the bottom of the hole, and then been carried + (mundified or purified from my past iniquities,) by the same bright form + (waiting for me upon the mossy banks,) to my beloved girl; and we should + have gone on cherubiming of it and caroling to the end of the chapter. + </p> + <p> + But what are the black sweeping mantles and robes of Lord M. thrown over + my face? And what are those of the ladies? O Jack! I have these too: They + indicate nothing in the world but that my Lord will be so good as to die, + and leave me all he has. So, rest to thy good-natured soul, honest Lord M. + </p> + <p> + Lady Sarah Sadleir and Lady Betty Lawrance, will also die, and leave me + swinging legacies. + </p> + <p> + Miss Charlotte and her sister—what will become of the?—Oh! + they will be in mourning, of course, for their uncle and aunts—that's + right! + </p> + <p> + As to Morden's flashing through the window, and crying, Die, Lovelace, and + be d——d, if thou wilt not repair my cousin's wrong! That is + only, that he would have sent me a challenge, had I not been disposed to + do the lady justice. + </p> + <p> + All I dislike is this part of the dream: for, even in a dream, I would not + be thought to be threatened into any measure, though I liked it ever so + well. + </p> + <p> + And so much for my prophetic dream. + </p> + <p> + Dear charming creature! What a meeting will there be between her and her + father and mother and uncles! What transports, what pleasure, will this + happy, long-wished-for reconciliation give her dutiful heart! And indeed + now methinks I am glad she is so dutiful to them; for her duty to her + parents is a conviction to me that she will be as dutiful to her husband: + since duty upon principle is an uniform thing. + </p> + <p> + Why pr'ythee, now, Jack, I have not been so much to blame as thou + thinkest: for had it not been for me, who have led her into so much + distress, she could neither have received nor given the joy that will now + overwhelm them all. So here rises great and durable good out of temporary + evil. + </p> + <p> + I know they loved her (the pride and glory of their family,) too well to + hold out long! + </p> + <p> + I wish I could have seen Arabella's letter. She has always been so much + eclipsed by her sister, that I dare say she has signified this + reconciliation to her with intermingled phlegm and wormwood; and her + invitation must certainly runs all in the rock-water style. + </p> + <p> + I shall long to see the promised letter too when she is got to her + father's, which I hope will give an account of the reception she will meet + with. + </p> + <p> + There is a solemnity, however, I think, in the style of her letter, which + pleases and affects me at the same time. But as it is evident she loves me + still, and hopes soon to see me at her father's, she could not help being + a little solemn, and half-ashamed, [dear blushing pretty rogue!] to own + her love, after my usage of her. + </p> + <p> + And then her subscription: Till when, I am, CLARISSA HARLOWE: as much as + to say, after that, I shall be, if not to your own fault, CLARISSA + LOVELACE! + </p> + <p> + O my best love! My ever-generous and adorable creature! How much does this + thy forgiving goodness exalt us both!—Me, for the occasion given + thee! Thee, for turning it so gloriously to thy advantage, and to the + honour of both! + </p> + <p> + And if, my beloved creature, you will but connive at the imperfections of + your adorer, and not play the wife with me: if, while the charms of + novelty have their force with me, I should happen to be drawn aside by the + love of intrigue, and of plots that my soul delights to form and pursue; + and if thou wilt not be open-eyed to the follies of my youth, [a + transitory state;] every excursion shall serve but the more to endear thee + to me, till in time, and in a very little time too, I shall get above + sense; and then, charmed by thy soul-attracting converse; and brought to + despise my former courses; what I now, at distance, consider as a painful + duty, will be my joyful choice, and all my delight will centre in thee! + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + Mowbray is just arrived with thy letters. I therefore close my agreeable + subject, to attend to one which I doubt will be very shocking. + </p> + <p> + I have engaged the rough varlet to bear me company in the morning to + Berks; where I shall file off the rust he has contracted in his attendance + upon the poor fellow. + </p> + <p> + He tells me that, between the dying Belton and the preaching Belford, he + shan't be his own man these three days: and says that thou addest to the + unhappy fellow's weakness, instead of giving him courage to help him to + bear his destiny. + </p> + <p> + I am sorry he takes the unavoidable lot so heavily. But he has been long + ill; and sickness enervates the mind as well as the body; as he himself + very significantly observed to thee. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XIX + </h2> + <p> + MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. WEDN. EVENING. + </p> + <p> + I have been reading thy shocking letter—Poor Belton! what a + multitude of lively hours have we passed together! He was a fearless, + cheerful fellow: who'd have thought all that should end in such dejected + whimpering and terror? + </p> + <p> + But why didst thou not comfort the poor man about the rencounter between + him and that poltroon Metcalfe? He acted in that affair like a man of true + honour, and as I should have acted in the same circumstances. Tell him I + say so; and that what happened he could neither help nor foresee. + </p> + <p> + Some people are as sensible of a scratch from a pin's point, as others + from a push of a sword: and who can say any thing for the sensibility of + such fellows? Metcalfe would resent for his sister, when his sister + resented not for herself. Had she demanded her brother's protection and + resentment, that would have been another man's matte, to speak in Lord + M.'s phrase: but she herself thought her brother a coxcomb to busy himself + undesired in her affairs, and wished for nothing but to be provided for + decently and privately in her lying-in; and was willing to take the chance + of Maintenon-ing his conscience in her favour,* and getting him to marry + when the little stranger came; for she knew what an easy, good-natured + fellow he was. And indeed if she had prevailed upon him, it might have + been happy for both; as then he would not have fallen in with his cursed + Thomasine. But truly this officious brother of her's must interpose. This + made a trifling affair important: And what was the issue? Metcalfe + challenged; Belton met him; disarmed him; gave him his life: but the + fellow, more sensible in his skin than in his head, having received a + scratch, was frighted: it gave him first a puke, then a fever, and then he + died, that was all. And how could Belton help that? —But sickness, a + long tedious sickness, will make a bugbear of any thing to a languishing + heart, I see that. And so far was Mowbray à-propos in the verses from Nat. + Lee, which thou hast described. + </p> + <p> + * Madam Maintenon was reported to have prevailed upon Lewis XIV. of + France, in his old age, (sunk, as he was, by ill success in the field,) to + marry her, by way of compounding with his conscience for the freedoms of + his past life, to which she attributed his public losses. + </p> + <p> + Merely to die, no man of reason fears, is a mistake, say thou, or say thy + author, what ye will. And thy solemn parading about the natural repugnance + between life and death, is a proof that it is. + </p> + <p> + Let me tell thee, Jack, that so much am I pleased with this world, in the + main; though, in some points too, the world (to make a person of it,) has + been a rascal to me; so delighted am I with the joys of youth; with my + worldly prospects as to fortune; and now, newly, with the charming hopes + given me by my dear, thrice dear, and for ever dear CLARISSA; that were I + even sure that nothing bad would come hereafter, I should be very loth + (very much afraid, if thou wilt have it so,) to lay down my life and them + together; and yet, upon a call of honour, no man fears death less than + myself. + </p> + <p> + But I have not either inclination or leisure to weigh thy leaden + arguments, except in the pig, or, as thou wouldst say, in the lump. + </p> + <p> + If I return thy letters, let me have them again some time hence, that is + to say, when I am married, or when poor Belton is half forgotten; or when + time has enrolled the honest fellow among those whom we have so long lost, + that we may remember them with more pleasure than pain; and then I may + give them a serious perusal, and enter with thee as deeply as thou wilt + into the subject. + </p> + <p> + When I am married, said I?—What a sound has that! + </p> + <p> + I must wait with patience for a sight of this charming creature, till she + is at her father's. And yet, as the but blossoming beauty, as thou tellest + me, is reduced to a shadow, I should have been exceedingly delighted to + see her now, and every day till the happy one; that I might have the + pleasure of observing how sweetly, hour by hour, she will rise to her + pristine glories, by means of that state of ease and contentment, which + will take place of the stormy past, upon her reconciliation with her + friends, and our happy nuptials. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XX + </h2> + <h3> + MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + </h3> + <p> + Well, but now my heart is a little at ease, I will condescend to take + brief notice of some other passages in thy letters. + </p> + <p> + I find I am to thank thee, that the dear creature has avoided my visit. + Things are now in so good a train that I must forgive thee; else thou + shouldst have heard more of this new instance of disloyalty to thy + general. + </p> + <p> + Thou art continually giving thyself high praise, by way of opposition, as + I may say, to others; gently and artfully blaming thyself for qualities + thou wouldst at the same time have to be thought, and which generally are + thought, praise-worthy. + </p> + <p> + Thus, in the airs thou assumest about thy servants, thou wouldst pass for + a mighty humane mortal; and that at the expense of Mowbray and me, whom + thou representest as kings and emperors to our menials. Yet art thou + always unhappy in thy attempts of this kind, and never canst make us, who + know thee, believe that to be a virtue in thee, which is but the effect of + constitutional phlegm and absurdity. + </p> + <p> + Knowest thou not, that some men have a native dignity in their manner, + that makes them more regarded by a look, than either thou canst be in thy + low style, or Mowbray in his high? + </p> + <p> + I am fit to be a prince, I can tell thee, for I reward well, and I punish + seasonably and properly; and I am generally as well served by any man. + </p> + <p> + The art of governing these underbred varlets lies more in the dignity of + looks than in words; and thou art a sorry fellow, to think humanity + consists in acting by thy servants, as men must act who are not able to + pay them their wages; or had made them masters of secrets, which, if + divulged, would lay them at the mercy of such wretches. + </p> + <p> + Now to me, who never did any thing I was ashamed to own, and who have more + ingenuousness than ever man had; who can call a villany by its own right + name, though practised by myself, and (by my own readiness to reproach + myself) anticipate all reproach from others; who am not such a hypocrite, + as to wish the world to think me other or better than I am— it is my + part, to look a servant into his duty, if I can; nor will I keep one who + knows not how to take me by a nod, or a wink; and who, when I smile, shall + not be all transport; when I frown, all terror. If, indeed, I am out of + the way a little, I always take care to reward the varlets for patiently + bearing my displeasure. But this I hardly ever am but when a fellow is + egregiously stupid in any plain point of duty, or will be wiser than his + master; and when he shall tell me, that he thought acting contrary to my + orders was the way to serve me best. + </p> + <p> + One time or other I will enter the lists with thee upon thy conduct and + mine to servants; and I will convince thee, that what thou wouldst have + pass for humanity, if it be indiscriminately practised to all tempers, + will perpetually subject thee to the evils thou complainest of; and justly + too; and that he only is fit to be a master of servants, who can command + their attention as much by a nod, as if he were to pr'ythee a fellow to do + his duty, on one hand, or to talk of flaying, and horse-whipping, like + Mowbray, on the other: for the servant who being used to expect thy + creeping style, will always be master of his master, and he who deserves + to be treated as the other, is not fit to be any man's servant; nor would + I keep such a fellow to rub my horse's heels. + </p> + <p> + I shall be the readier to enter the lists with thee upon this argument, + because I have presumption enough to think that we have not in any of our + dramatic poets, that I can at present call to mind, one character of a + servant of either sex, that is justly hit off. So absurdly wise some, and + so sottishly foolish others; and both sometime in the same person. Foils + drawn from lees or dregs of the people to set off the characters of their + masters and mistresses; nay, sometimes, which is still more absurd, + introduced with more wit than the poet has to bestow upon their + principals.—Mere flints and steels to strike fire with—or, to + vary the metaphor, to serve for whetstones to wit, which, otherwise, could + not be made apparent; or, for engines to be made use of like the machinery + of the antient poets, (or the still more unnatural soliloquy,) to help on + a sorry plot, or to bring about a necessary eclaircissement, to save the + poet the trouble of thinking deeply for a better way to wind up his + bottoms. + </p> + <p> + Of this I am persuaded, (whatever my practice be to my own servants,) that + thou wilt be benefited by my theory, when we come to controvert the point. + For then I shall convince thee, that the dramatic as well as natural + characteristics of a good servant ought to be fidelity, common sense, + cheerful obedience, and silent respect; that wit in his station, except to + his companions, would be sauciness; that he should never presume to give + his advice; that if he venture to expostulate upon any unreasonable + command, or such a one a appeared to him to be so, he should do it with + humility and respect, and take a proper season for it. But such lessons do + most of the dramatic performances I have seen give, where servants are + introduced as characters essential to the play, or to act very significant + or long parts in it, (which, of itself, I think a fault;) such lessons, I + say, do they give to the footmen's gallery, that I have not wondered we + have so few modest or good men-servants among those who often attend their + masters or mistresses to plays. Then how miserably evident must that + poet's conscious want of genius be, who can stoop to raise or give force + to a clap by the indiscriminate roar of the party-coloured gallery! + </p> + <p> + But this subject I will suspend to a better opportunity; that is to say, + to the happy one, when my nuptials with my Clarissa will oblige me to + increase the number of my servants, and of consequence to enter more + nicely into their qualifications. + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + Although I have the highest opinion that man can have of the generosity of + my dear Miss Harlowe, yet I cannot for the heart of me account for this + agreeable change in her temper but one way. Faith and troth, Belford, I + verily believe, laying all circumstances together, that the dear creature + unexpectedly finds herself in the way I have so ardently wished her to be + in; and that this makes her, at last, incline to favour me, that she may + set the better face upon her gestation, when at her father's. + </p> + <p> + If this be the case, all her falling away, and her fainting fits, are + charmingly accounted for. Nor is it surprising, that such a sweet novice + in these matters should not, for some time, have known to what to + attribute her frequent indispositions. If this should be the case, how I + shall laugh at thee! and (when I am sure of her) at the dear novice + herself, that all her grievous distresses shall end in a man-child; which + I shall love better than all the cherubims and seraphims that may come + after; though there were to be as many of them as I beheld in my dream; in + which a vast expanse of firmament was stuck as full of them as it could + hold! + </p> + <p> + I shall be afraid to open thy next, lest it bring me the account of poor + Belton's death. Yet, as there are no hopes of his recovery—but what + should I say, unless the poor man were better fitted—but thy heavy + sermon shall not affect me too much neither. + </p> + <p> + I enclose thy papers; and do thou transcribe them for me, or return them; + for there are some things in them, which, at a proper season, a mortal man + should not avoid attending to; and thou seemest to have entered deeply + into the shocking subject.—But here I will end, lest I grow too + serious. + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + Thy servant called here about an hour ago, to know if I had any commands; + I therefore hope that thou wilt have this early in the morning. And if + thou canst let me hear from thee, do. I'll stretch an hour or two in + expectation of it. Yet I must be at Lord M.'s to-morrow night, if + possible, though ever so late. + </p> + <p> + Thy fellow tells me the poor man is much as he was when Mowbray left him. + </p> + <p> + Wouldst thou think that this varlet Mowbray is sorry that I am so near + being happy with Miss Harlowe? And, 'egad, Jack, I know not what to say to + it, now the fruit seems to be within my reach—but let what will + come, I'll stand to't: for I find I can't live without her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XXI + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. WEDNESDAY, THREE O'CLOCK. + </p> + <p> + I will proceed where I left off in my last. + </p> + <p> + As soon as I had seen Mowbray mounted, I went to attend upon poor Belton; + whom I found in dreadful agonies, in which he awoke, after he generally + does. + </p> + <p> + The doctor came in presently after, and I was concerned at the scene that + passed between them. + </p> + <p> + It opened with the dying man's asking him, with melancholy earnestness, if + nothing—if nothing at all could be done for him? + </p> + <p> + The doctor shook his head, and told him, he doubted not. + </p> + <p> + I cannot die, said the poor man—I cannot think of dying. I am very + desirous of living a little longer, if I could but be free from these + horrible pains in my stomach and head. Can you give me nothing to make me + pass one week—but one week, in tolerable ease, that I may die like a + man, if I must die! + </p> + <p> + But, Doctor, I am yet a young man; in the prime of my years—youth is + a good subject for a physician to work upon—Can you do nothing—nothing + at all for me, Doctor? + </p> + <p> + Alas! Sir, replied his physician, you have been long in a bad way. I fear, + I fear, nothing in physic can help you! + </p> + <p> + He was then out of all patience: What, then, is your art, Sir?—I + have been a passive machine for a whole twelvemonth, to be wrought upon at + the pleasure of you people of the faculty.—I verily believe, had I + not taken such doses of nasty stuff, I had been now a well man—But + who the plague would regard physicians, whose art is to cheat us with + hopes while they help to destroy us?—And who, not one of you, know + any thing but by guess? + </p> + <p> + Sir, continued he, fiercely, (and with more strength of voice and + coherence, than he had shown for several hours before,) if you give me + over, I give you over.—The only honest and certain part of the art + of healing is surgery. A good surgeon is worth a thousand of you. I have + been in surgeons' hands often, and have always found reason to depend upon + their skill; but your art, Sir, what is it?—but to daub, daub, daub; + load, load, load; plaster, plaster, plaster; till ye utterly destroy the + appetite first, and the constitution afterwards, which you are called in + to help. I had a companion once, my dear Belford, thou knewest honest + Blomer, as pretty a physician he would have made as any in England, had he + kept himself from excess in wine and women; and he always used to say, + there was nothing at all but the pick-pocket parade in the physician's + art; and that the best guesser was the best physician. And I used to + believe him too—and yet, fond of life, and fearful of death, what do + we do, when we are taken ill, but call ye in? And what do ye do, when + called in, but nurse our distempers, till from pigmies you make giants of + them? and then ye come creeping with solemn faces, when ye are ashamed to + prescribe, or when the stomach won't bear its natural food, by reason of + your poisonous potions,—Alas, I am afraid physic can do no more for + him!—Nor need it, when it has brought to the brink of the grave the + poor wretch who placed all his reliance in your cursed slops, and the + flattering hopes you gave him. + </p> + <p> + The doctor was out of countenance; but said, if we could make mortal men + immortal, and would not, all this might be just. + </p> + <p> + I blamed the poor man; yet excused him to the physician. To die, dear + Doctor, when, like my poor friend, we are so desirous of life, is a + melancholy thing. We are apt to hope too much, not considering that the + seeds of death are sown in us when we begin to live, and grow up, till, + like rampant weeds, they choke the tender flower of life; which declines + in us as those weeds flourish. We ought, therefore, to begin early to + study what our constitutions will bear, in order to root out, by + temperance, the weeds which the soil is most apt to produce; or, at least, + to keep them down as they rise; and not, when the flower or plant is + withered at the root, and the weed in its full vigour, expect, that the + medical art will restore the one, or destroy the other; when that other, + as I hinted, has been rooting itself in the habit from the time of our + birth. + </p> + <p> + This speech, Bob., thou wilt call a prettiness; but the allegory is just; + and thou hast not quite cured me of the metaphorical. + </p> + <p> + Very true, said the doctor; you have brought a good metaphor to illustrate + the thing. I am sorry I can do nothing for the gentleman; and can only + recommend patience, and a better frame of mind. + </p> + <p> + Well, Sir, said the poor angry man, vexed at the doctor, but more at + death, you will perhaps recommend the next succession to the physician, + when he can do no more; and, I suppose, will send your brother to pray by + me for those virtues which you wish me. + </p> + <p> + It seems the physician's brother is a clergyman in the neighbourhood. + </p> + <p> + I was greatly concerned to see the gentleman thus treated; and so I told + poor Belton when he was gone; but he continued impatient, and would not be + denied, he said, the liberty of talking to a man, who had taken so many + guineas of him for doing nothing, or worse than nothing, and never + declined one, though he know all the time he could do him no good. + </p> + <p> + It seems the gentleman, though rich, is noted for being greedy after fees! + and poor Belton went on raving at the extravagant fees of English + physicians, compared with those of the most eminent foreign ones. But, + poor man! he, like the Turks, who judge of a general by his success, (out + of patience to think he must die,) would have worshipped the doctor, and + not grudged thee times the sum, could he have given him hopes of recovery. + </p> + <p> + But, nevertheless, I must needs say, that gentlemen of the faculty should + be more moderate in their fees, or take more pains to deserve them; for, + generally, they only come into a room, feel the sick man's pulse, ask the + nurse a few questions, inspect the patient's tongue, and, perhaps, his + water; then sit down, look plaguy wise, and write. The golden fee finds + the ready hand, and they hurry away, as if the sick man's room were + infectious. So to the next they troll, and to the next, if men of great + practice; valuing themselves upon the number of visits they make in a + morning, and the little time they make them in. They go to dinner and + unload their pockets; and sally out again to refill them. And thus, in a + little time, they raise vast estates; for, as Ratcliffe said, when first + told of a great loss which befell him, It was only going up and down one + hundred pairs of stairs to fetch it up. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sambre (Belton's sister) had several times proposed to him a minister + to pray by him, but the poor man could not, he said, bear the thoughts of + one; for that he should certainly die in an hour or two after; and he was + willing to hope still, against all probability, that he might recover; and + was often asking his sister if she had not seen people as bad as he was, + who, almost to a miracle, when every body gave them over, had got up + again? + </p> + <p> + She, shaking her head, told him she had; but, once saying, that their + disorders were of an acute kind, and such as had a crisis in them, he + called her Small-hopes, and Job's comforter; and bid her say nothing, if + she could not say more to the purpose, and what was fitter for a sick man + to hear. And yet, poor fellow, he has no hopes himself, as is plain by his + desponding terrors; one of which he fell into, and a very dreadful one, + soon after the doctor went. + </p> + <p> + *** WEDNESDAY, NINE O'CLOCK AT NIGHT. + </p> + <p> + The poor man had been in convulsions, terrible convulsions! for an hour + past. O Lord! Lovelace, death is a shocking thing! by my faith it is!— + I wish thou wert present on this occasion. It is not merely the concern a + man has for his friend; but, as death is the common lot, we see, in his + agonies, how it will be one day with ourselves. I am all over as if cold + water were poured down my back, or as if I had a strong ague-fit upon me. + I was obliged to come away. And I write, hardly knowing what.—I wish + thou wert here. + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + Though I left him, because I could stay no longer, I can't be easy by + myself, but must go to him again. + </p> + <p> + ELEVEN O'CLOCK. + </p> + <p> + Poor Belton!—Drawing on apace! Yet was he sensible when I went in—too + sensible, poor man! He has something upon his mind to reveal, he tells me, + that is the worst action of his life; worse than ever you or I knew of + him, he says. It must then be very bad! + </p> + <p> + He ordered every body out; but was seized with another convulsion-fit, + before he could reveal it; and in it he lies struggling between life and + death—but I'll go in again. + </p> + <p> + ONE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING. + </p> + <p> + All now must soon be over with him: Poor, poor fellow! He has given me + some hints of what he wanted to say; but all incoherent, interrupted by + dying hiccoughs and convulsions. + </p> + <p> + Bad enough it must be, Heaven knows, by what I can gather!—Alas! + Lovelace, I fear, I fear, he came too soon into his uncle's estate. + </p> + <p> + If a man were to live always, he might have some temptation to do base + things, in order to procure to himself, as it would then be, everlasting + ease, plenty, or affluence; but, for the sake of ten, twenty, thirty years + of poor life to be a villain—Can that be worth while? with a + conscience stinging him all the time too! And when he comes to wind up + all, such agonizing reflections upon his past guilt! All then appearing as + nothing! What he most valued, most disgustful! and not one thing to think + of, as the poor fellow says twenty and twenty times over, but what is + attended with anguish and reproach!— + </p> + <p> + To hear the poor man wish he had never been born!—To hear him pray + to be nothing after death! Good God! how shocking! + </p> + <p> + By his incoherent hints, I am afraid 'tis very bad with him. No pardon, no + mercy, he repeats, can lie for him! + </p> + <p> + I hope I shall make a proper use of this lesson. Laugh at me if thou wilt; + but never, never more, will I take the liberties I have taken; but + whenever I am tempted, will think of Belton's dying agonies, and what my + own may be. + </p> + <p> + *** THURSDAY, THREE IN THE MORNING. + </p> + <p> + He is now at the last gasp—rattles in the throat—has a new + convulsion every minute almost! What horror is he in! His eyes look like + breath-stained glass! They roll ghastly no more; are quite set; his face + distorted, and drawn out, by his sinking jaws, and erected staring + eyebrows, with his lengthened furrowed forehead, to double its usual + length, as it seems. It is not, it cannot be the face of Belton, thy + Belton, and my Belton, whom we have beheld with so much delight over the + social bottle, comparing notes, that one day may be brought against us, + and make us groan, as they very lately did him—that is to say, while + he had strength to groan; for now his voice is not to be heard; all + inward, lost; not so much as speaking by his eyes; yet, strange! how can + it be? the bed rocking under him like a cradle. + </p> + <p> + FOUR O'CLOCK. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Alas: he's gone! that groan, that dreadful groan, + Was the last farewell of the parting mind! + The struggling soul has bid a long adieu + To its late mansion—Fled! Ah! whither fled? +</pre> + <p> + Now is all indeed over!—Poor, poor Belton! by this time thou knowest + if thy crimes were above the size of God's mercies! Now are every one's + cares and attendance at an end! now do we, thy friends,—poor Belton!— + know the worst of thee, as to this life! Thou art released from + insufferable tortures both of body and mind! may those tortures, and thy + repentance, expiate for thy offences, and mayest thou be happy to all + eternity! + </p> + <p> + We are told, that God desires not the death, the spiritual death of a + sinner: And 'tis certain, that thou didst deeply repent! I hope, + therefore, as thou wert not cut off in the midst of thy sins by the sword + of injured friendship, which more than once thou hadst braved, [the + dreadfullest of all deaths, next to suicide, because it gives no + opportunity for repentance] that this is a merciful earnest that thy + penitence is accepted; and that thy long illness, and dreadful agonies in + the last stages of it, were thy only punishment. + </p> + <p> + I wish indeed, I heartily wish, we could have seen one ray of comfort + darting in upon his benighted mind, before he departed. But all, alas! to + the very last gasp, was horror and confusion. And my only fear arises from + this, that, till within the four last days of his life, he could not be + brought to think he should die, though in a visible decline for months; + and, in that presumption, was too little inclined to set about a serious + preparation for a journey, which he hoped he should not be obliged to + take; and when he began to apprehend that he could not put it off, his + impatience, and terror, and apprehension, showed too little of that + reliance and resignation, which afford the most comfortable reflections to + the friends of the dying, as well as to the dying themselves. + </p> + <p> + But we must leave poor Belton to that mercy, of which we have all so much + need; and, for my own part (do you, Lovelace, and the rest of the + fraternity, as ye will) I am resolved, I will endeavour to begin to repent + of my follies while my health is sound, my intellects untouched, and while + it is in my power to make some atonement, as near to restitution or + reparation, as is possible, to those I have wronged or misled. And do ye + outwardly, and from a point of false bravery, make as light as ye will of + my resolution, as ye are none of ye of the class of abandoned and stupid + sots who endeavour to disbelieve the future existence of which ye are + afraid, I am sure you will justify me in your hearts, if not by your + practices; and one day you will wish you had joined with me in the same + resolution, and will confess there is more good sense in it, than now + perhaps you will own. + </p> + <p> + SEVEN O'CLOCK, THURSDAY MORNING. + </p> + <p> + You are very earnest, by your last letter, (just given me) to hear again + from me, before you set out for Berks. I will therefore close with a few + words upon the only subject in your letter which I can at present touch + upon: and this is the letter of which you give me a copy from the lady. + </p> + <p> + Want of rest, and the sad scene I have before my eyes, have rendered me + altogether incapable of accounting for the contents of it in any shape. + You are in ecstacies upon it. You have reason to be so, if it be as you + think. Nor would I rob you of your joy: but I must say I am amazed at it. + </p> + <p> + Surely, Lovelace, this surprising letter cannot be a forgery of thy own, + in order to carry on some view, and to impose upon me. Yet, by the style + of it, it cannot though thou art a perfect Proteus too. + </p> + <p> + I will not, however, add another word, after I have desired the return of + this, and have told you that I am + </p> + <p> + Your true friend, and well-wisher, J. BELFORD. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XXII + </h2> + <p> + MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. AUG. 24, THURSDAY MORNING. + </p> + <p> + I received thy letter in such good time, by thy fellow's dispatch, that it + gives me an opportunity of throwing in a few paragraphs upon it. I read a + passage or two of it to Mowbray; and we both agree that thou art an + absolute master of the lamentable. + </p> + <p> + Poor Belton! what terrible conflicts were thy last conflicts!—I + hope, however, that he is happy: and I have the more hope, because the + hardness of his death is likely to be such a warning to thee. If it have + the effect thou declarest it shall have, what a world of mischief will it + prevent! how much good will it do! how many poor wretches will rejoice at + the occasion, (if they know it,) however melancholy in itself, which shall + bring them in a compensation for injuries they had been forced to sit down + contented with! But, Jack, though thy uncle's death has made thee a rich + fellow, art thou sure that the making good of such a vow will not totally + bankrupt thee? + </p> + <p> + Thou sayest I may laugh at thee, if I will. Not I, Jack: I do not take it + to be a laughing subject: and I am heartily concerned at the loss we all + have in poor Belton: and when I get a little settled, and have leisure to + contemplate the vanity of all sublunary things (a subject that will + now-and-then, in my gayest hours, obtrude itself upon me) it is very + likely that I may talk seriously with thee upon these topics; and, if thou + hast not got too much the start of me in the repentance thou art entering + upon, will go hand-in-hand with thee in it. If thou hast, thou wilt let me + just keep thee in my eye; for it is an up-hill work; and I shall see thee, + at setting out, at a great distance; but as thou art a much heavier and + clumsier fellow than myself, I hope that without much puffing and + sweating, only keeping on a good round dog-trot, I shall be able to + overtake thee. + </p> + <p> + Mean time, take back thy letter, as thou desirest. I would not have it in + my pocket upon any account at present; nor read it once more. + </p> + <p> + I am going down without seeing my beloved. I was a hasty fool to write her + a letter, promising that I would not come near her till I saw her at her + father's. For as she is now actually at Smith's, and I so near her, one + short visit could have done no harm. + </p> + <p> + I sent Will., two hours ago, with my grateful compliments, and to know how + she does. + </p> + <p> + How must I adore this charming creature! for I am ready to think my + servant a happier fellow than myself, for having been within a pair of + stairs and an apartment of her. + </p> + <p> + Mowbray and I will drop a tear a-piece, as we ride along, to the memory of + poor Belton:—as we ride along, said I: for we shall have so much joy + when we arrive at Lord M.'s, and when I communicate to him and my cousins + the dear creature's letter, that we shall forget every thing grievous: + since now their family-hopes in my reformation (the point which lies so + near their hearts) will all revive; it being an article of their faith, + that if I marry, repentance and mortification will follow of course. + </p> + <p> + Neither Mowbray nor I shall accept of thy verbal invitation to the + funeral. We like not these dismal formalities. And as to the respect that + is supposed to be shown to the memory of a deceased friend in such an + attendance, why should we do any thing to reflect upon those who have made + it a fashion to leave this parade to people whom they hire for that + purpose? + </p> + <p> + Adieu, and be cheerful. Thou canst now do no more for poor Belton, wert + thou to howl for him to the end of thy life. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XXIII + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. SAT. AUG. 26. + </p> + <p> + On Thursday afternoon I assisted at the opening of poor Belton's will, in + which he has left me his sole executor, and bequeathed me a legacy of an + hundred guineas; which I shall present to his unfortunate sister, to whom + he has not been so kind as I think he ought to have been. He has also left + twenty pounds a-piece to Mowbray, Tourville, thyself, and me, for a ring + to be worn in remembrance of him. + </p> + <p> + After I had given some particular orders about the preparations to be made + for his funeral, I went to town; but having made it late before I got in + on Thursday night, and being fatigued for want of rest several nights + before, and now in my spirits, [I could not help it, Lovelace!] I + contented myself to send my compliments to the innocent sufferer, to + inquire after her health. + </p> + <p> + My servant saw Mrs. Smith, who told him, she was very glad I was come to + town; for that lady was worse than she had yet been. + </p> + <p> + It is impossible to account for the contents of her letter to you; or to + reconcile those contents to the facts I have to communicate. + </p> + <p> + I was at Smith's by seven yesterday (Friday) morning; and found that the + lady was just gone in a chair to St. Dunstan's to prayers: she was too ill + to get out by six to Covent-garden church; and was forced to be supported + to her chair by Mrs. Lovick. They would have persuaded her against going; + but she said she knew not but it would be her last opportunity. Mrs. + Lovick, dreading that she would be taken worse at church, walked thither + before her. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Smith told me she was so ill on Wednesday night, that she had desired + to receive the sacrament; and accordingly it was administered to her, by + the parson of the parish: whom she besought to take all opportunities of + assisting her in her solemn preparation. + </p> + <p> + This the gentleman promised: and called in the morning to inquire after + her health; and was admitted at the first word. He staid with her about + half an hour; and when he came down, with his face turned aside, and a + faltering accent, 'Mrs. Smith,' said he, 'you have an angel in your house.—I + will attend her again in the evening, as she desires, and as often as I + think it will be agreeable to her.' + </p> + <p> + Her increased weakness she attributed to the fatigues she had undergone by + your means; and to a letter she had received from her sister, which she + answered the same day. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Smith told me that two different persons had called there, one on + Thursday morning, one in the evening, to inquire after her state of + health; and seemed as if commissioned from her relations for that purpose; + but asked not to see her, only were very inquisitive after her visiters: + (particularly, it seems, after me: What could they mean by that?) after + her way of life, and expenses; and one of them inquired after her manner + of supporting them; to the latter of which, Mrs. Smith said, she had + answered, as the truth was, that she had been obliged to sell some of her + clothes, and was actually about parting with more; at which the inquirist + (a grave old farmer-looking man) held up his hands, and said, Good God!—this + will be sad, sad news to somebody! I believe I must not mention it. But + Mrs. Smith says she desired he would, let him come from whom he would. He + shook his head, and said if she died, the flower of the world would be + gone, and the family she belonged to would be no more than a common + family.* I was pleased with the man's expression. + </p> + <p> + * This man came from her cousin Morden; as will be seen hereafter, Letters + LII. and LVI. of this volume. + </p> + <p> + You may be curious to know how she passed her time, when she was obliged + to leave her lodging to avoid you. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Smith tells me 'that she was very ill when she went out on Monday + morning, and sighed as if her heart would break as she came down stairs, + and as she went through the shop into the coach, her nurse with her, as + you had informed me before: that she ordered the coachman (whom she hired + for the day) to drive any where, so it was into the air: he accordingly + drove her to Hampstead, and thence to Highgate. There at the Bowling-green + House, she alighted, extremely ill, and having breakfasted, ordered the + coachman to drive very slowly any where. He crept along to Muswell-hill, + and put up at a public house there; where she employed herself two hours + in writing, though exceedingly weak and low, till the dinner she had + ordered was brought in: she endeavoured to eat, but could not: her + appetite was gone, quite gone, she said. And then she wrote on for three + hours more: after which, being heavy, she dozed a little in an + elbow-chair. When she awoke, she ordered the coachman to drive her very + slowly to town, to the house of a friend of Mrs. Lovick; whom, as agreed + upon, she met there: but, being extremely ill, she would venture home at a + late hour, although she heard from the widow that you had been there; and + had reason to be shocked at your behaviour. She said she found there was + no avoiding you: she was apprehensive she should not live many hours, and + it was not impossible but the shock the sight of you must give her would + determine her fate in your presence. + </p> + <p> + 'She accordingly went home. She heard the relation of your astonishing + vagaries, with hands and eyes often lifted up; and with these words + intermingled, Shocking creature! incorrigible wretch! And will nothing + make him serious? And not being able to bear the thoughts of an interview + with a man so hardened, she took to her usual chair early in the morning, + and was carried to the Temple-stairs, where she had ordered her nurse + before her, to get a pair of oars in readiness (for her fatigues the day + before made her unable to bear a coach;) and then she was rowed to + Chelsea, where she breakfasted; and after rowing about, put in at the Swan + at Brentford-ait, where she dined; and would have written, but had no + conveniency either of tolerable pens, or ink, or private room; and then + proceeding to Richmond, they rowed her back to Mort-lake; where she put + in, and drank tea at a house her waterman recommended to her. She wrote + there for an hour; and returned to the Temple; and, when she landed, made + one of the watermen get her a chair, and so was carried to the widow's + friend, as the night before; where she again met the widow, who informed + her that you had been after her twice that day. + </p> + <p> + 'Mrs. Lovick gave her there her sister's letter;* and she was so much + affected with the contents of it, that she was twice very nigh fainting + away; and wept bitterly, as Mrs. Lovick told Mrs. Smith; dropping some + warmer expressions than ever they had heard proceed from her lips, in + relation to her friends; calling them cruel, and complaining of ill + offices done her, and of vile reports raised against her. + </p> + <p> + * See Letter XXVI. of this volume. + </p> + <p> + 'While she was thus disturbed, Mrs. Smith came to her, and told her, that + you had been there a third time, and was just gone, (at half an hour after + nine,) having left word how civil and respectful you would be; but that + you was determined to see her at all events. + </p> + <p> + 'She said it was hard she could not be permitted to die in peace: that her + lot was a severe one: that she began to be afraid she should not forbear + repining, and to think her punishment greater than her fault: but, + recalling herself immediately, she comforted herself, that her life would + be short, and with the assurance of a better.' + </p> + <p> + By what I have mentioned, you will conclude with me, that the letter + brought her by Mrs. Lovick (the superscription of which you saw to be + written in her sister's hand) could not be the letter on the contents of + which she grounded that she wrote to you, on her return home. And yet + neither Mrs. Lovick, nor Mrs. Smith, nor the servant of the latter, know + of any other brought her. But as the women assured me, that she actually + did write to you, I was eased of a suspicion which I had begun to + entertain, that you (for some purpose I could not guess at) had forged the + letter from her of which you sent me a copy. + </p> + <p> + On Wednesday morning, when she received your letter, in answer to her's, + she said, Necessity may well be called the mother of invention—but + calamity is the test of integrity.—I hope I have not taken an + inexcusable step—And there she stopt a minute or two; and then said, + I shall now, perhaps, be allowed to die in peace. + </p> + <p> + I staid till she came in. She was glad to see me; but, being very weak, + said, she must sit down before she could go up stairs: and so went into + the back-shop; leaning upon Mrs. Lovick: and when she had sat down, 'I am + glad to see you, Mr. Belford, said she; I must say so—let + mis-reporters say what they will.' + </p> + <p> + I wondered at this expression;* but would not interrupt her. + </p> + <p> + * Explained in Letter XXVIII. of this volume. + </p> + <p> + O Sir, said she, I have been grievously harassed. Your friend, who would + not let me live with reputation, will not permit me to die in peace. You + see how I am. Is there not a great alteration in me within this week! but + 'tis all for the better. Yet were I to wish for life, I must say that your + friend, your barbarous friend, has hurt me greatly. + </p> + <p> + She was so weak, so short breathed, and her words and actions so very + moving, that I was forced to walk from her; the two women and her nurse + turning away their faces also, weeping. + </p> + <p> + I have had, Madam, said I, since I saw you, a most shocking scene before + my eyes for days together. My poor friend Belton is no more. He quitted + the world yesterday morning in such dreadful agonies, that the impression + they have left upon me have so weakened my mind— + </p> + <p> + I was loth to have her think that my grief was owing to the weak state I + saw her in, for fear of dispiriting her. + </p> + <p> + That is only, Mr. Belford, interrupted she, in order to strengthen it, if + a proper use be made of the impression. But I should be glad, since you + are so humanely affected with the solemn circumstance, that you could have + written an account of it to your gay friend, in the style and manner you + are master of. Who knows, as it would have come from an associate, and of + an associate, it might have affected him? + </p> + <p> + That I had done, I told her, in such a manner as had, I believed, some + effect upon you. + </p> + <p> + His behaviour in this honest family so lately, said she, and his cruel + pursuit of me, give me but little hope that any thing serious or solemn + will affect him. + </p> + <p> + We had some talk about Belton's dying behaviour, and I gave her several + particulars of the poor man's impatience and despair; to which she was + very attentive; and made fine observations upon the subject of + procrastination. + </p> + <p> + A letter and packet were brought her by a man on horseback from Miss Howe, + while we were talking. She retired up stairs to read it; and while I was + in discourse with Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Lovick, the doctor and apothecary + both came in together. They confirmed to me my fears, as to the dangerous + way she is in. They had both been apprized of the new instances of + implacableness in her friends, and of your persecutions: and the doctor + said he would not for the world be either the unforgiving father of that + lady, or the man who had brought her to this distress. Her heart's broken: + she'll die, said he: there is no saving her. But how, were I either the + one or the other of the people I have named, I should support myself + afterwards, I cannot tell. + </p> + <p> + When she was told we were all three together, she desired us to walk up. + She arose to receive us, and after answering two or three general + questions relating to her health, she addressed herself to us, to the + following effect: + </p> + <p> + As I may not, said she, see you three gentlemen together again, let me + take this opportunity to acknowledge my obligations to you all. I am + inexpressibly obliged to you, Sir, and to you, Sir, [courtesying to the + doctor and to Mr. Goddard] for your more than friendly, your paternal care + and concern for me. Humanity in your profession, I dare say, is far from + being a rare qualification, because you are gentlemen by your profession: + but so much kindness, so much humanity, did never desolate creature meet + with, as I have met with from you both. But indeed I have always observed, + that where a person relies upon Providence, it never fails to raise up a + new friend for every old one that falls off. + </p> + <p> + This gentleman, [bowing to me,] who, some people think, should have been + one of the last I should have thought of for my executor—is, + nevertheless, (such is the strange turn that things have taken!) the only + one I can choose; and therefore I have chosen him for that charitable + office, and he has been so good as to accept of it: for, rich as I may + boast myself to be, I am rather so in right than in fact, at this present. + I repeat, therefore, my humble thanks to you all three, and beg of God to + return to you and yours [looking to each] an hundred-fold, the kindness + and favour you have shown me; and that it may be in the power of you and + of yours, to the end of time, to confer benefits, rather than to be + obliged to receive them. This is a godlike power, gentlemen: I once + rejoiced in it some little degree; and much more in the prospect I had of + its being enlarged to me; though I have had the mortification to + experience the reverse, and to be obliged almost to every body I have seen + or met with: but all, originally, through my own fault; so I ought to bear + the punishment without repining: and I hope I do. Forgive these + impertinencies: a grateful heart, that wants the power it wishes for, to + express itself suitably to its own impulses, will be at a loss what + properly to dictate to the tongue; and yet, unable to restrain its + overflowings, will force the tongue to say weak and silly things, rather + than appear ungratefully silent. Once more, then, I thank ye all three for + your kindness to me: and God Almighty make you that amends which at + present I cannot! + </p> + <p> + She retired from us to her closet with her eyes full; and left us looking + upon one another. + </p> + <p> + We had hardly recovered ourselves, when she, quite easy, cheerful, and + smiling, returned to us: Doctor, said she (seeing we had been moved) you + will excuse me for the concern I give you; and so will you, Mr. Goddard, + and you, Mr. Belford; for 'tis a concern that only generous natures can + show: and to such natures sweet is the pain, if I may say so, that attends + such a concern. But as I have some few preparations still to make, and + would not (though in ease of Mr. Belford's future cares, which is, and + ought to be, part of my study) undertake more than it is likely I shall + have time lent me to perform, I would beg of you to give me your opinions + [you see my way of living, and you may be assured that I will do nothing + wilfully to shorten my life] how long it may possibly be, before I may + hope to be released from all my troubles. + </p> + <p> + They both hesitated, and looked upon each other. Don't be afraid to answer + me, said she, each sweet hand pressing upon the arm of each gentleman, + with that mingled freedom and reserve, which virgin modesty, mixed with + conscious dignity, can only express, and with a look serenely earnest, + tell me how long you think I may hold it! and believe me, gentlemen, the + shorter you tell me my time is likely to be, the more comfort you will + give me. + </p> + <p> + With what pleasing woe, said the Doctor, do you fill the minds of those + who have the happiness to converse with you, and see the happy frame you + are in! what you have undergone within a few days past has much hurt you: + and should you have fresh troubles of those kinds, I could not be + answerable for your holding it—And there he paused. + </p> + <p> + How long, Doctor?—I believe I shall have a little more ruffling—I + am afraid I shall—but there can happen only one thing that I shall + not be tolerably easy under—How long then, Sir?— + </p> + <p> + He was silent. + </p> + <p> + A fortnight, Sir? + </p> + <p> + He was still silent. + </p> + <p> + Ten days?—A week?—How long, Sir? with smiling earnestness. + </p> + <p> + If I must speak, Madam, if you have not better treatment than you have + lately met with, I am afraid—There again he stopt. + </p> + <p> + Afraid of what, Doctor? don't be afraid—How long, Sir? + </p> + <p> + That a fortnight or three weeks may deprive the world of the finest flower + in it. + </p> + <p> + A fortnight or three weeks yet, Doctor?—But God's will be done! I + shall, however, by this means, have full time, if I have but strength and + intellect, to do all that is now upon my mind to do. And so, Sirs, I can + but once more thank you [turning to each of us] for all your goodness to + me; and, having letters to write, will take up no more of your time—Only, + Doctor, be pleased to order me some more of those drops: they cheer me a + little, when I am low; and putting a fee into his unwilling hand—You + know the terms, Sir!—Then, turning to Mr. Goddard, you'll be so + good, Sir, as to look in upon me to-night or to-morrow, as you have + opportunity: and you, Mr. Belford, I know, will be desirous to set out to + prepare for the last office for your late friend: so I wish you a good + journey, and hope to see you when that is performed. + </p> + <p> + She then retired with a cheerful and serene air. The two gentlemen went + away together. I went down to the women, and, inquiring, found, that Mrs. + Lovick was this day to bring her twenty guineas more, for some other of + her apparel. + </p> + <p> + The widow told me that she had taken the liberty to expostulate with her + upon the occasion she had for raising this money, to such great + disadvantage; and it produced the following short and affecting + conversation between them. + </p> + <p> + None of my friends will wear any thing of mine, said she. I shall leave a + great many good things behind me.—And as to what I want the money + for —don't be surprised:—But suppose I want it to purchase a + house? + </p> + <p> + You are all mystery, Madam. I don't comprehend you. + </p> + <p> + Why, then, Mrs. Lovick, I will explain myself.—I have a man, not a + woman, for my executor: and think you that I will leave to his care any + thing that concerns my own person?—Now, Mrs. Lovick, smiling, do you + comprehend me? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Lovick wept. + </p> + <p> + O fie! proceeded the Lady, drying up her tears with her own handkerchief, + and giving her a kiss—Why this kind weakness for one with whom you + have been so little while acquainted? Dear, good Mrs. Lovick, don't be + concerned for me on a prospect with which I have occasion to be pleased; + but go to-morrow to your friends, and bring me the money they have agreed + to give you. + </p> + <p> + Thus, Lovelace, it is plain she means to bespeak her last house! Here's + presence of mind; here's tranquillity of heart, on the most affecting + occasion—This is magnanimity indeed!—Couldst thou, or could I, + with all our boisterous bravery, and offensive false courage, act thus?—Poor + Belton! how unlike was thy behaviour! + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Lovick tells me that the lady spoke of a letter she had received from + her favourite divine Dr. Lewen, in the time of my absence; and of an + letter she had returned to it. But Mrs. Lovick knows not the contents of + either. + </p> + <p> + When thou receivest the letter I am now writing, thou wilt see what will + soon be the end of all thy injuries to this divine lady. I say when thou + receivest it; for I will delay it for some little time, lest thou + shouldest take it into thy head (under pretence of resenting the + disappointment her letter must give thee) to molest her again. + </p> + <p> + This letter having detained me by its length, I shall not now set out for + Epsom till to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + I should have mentioned that the lady explained to me what the one thing + was that she was afraid might happen to ruffle her. It was the + apprehension of what may result from a visit which Col. Morden, as she is + informed, designs to make you. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XXIV + </h2> + <p> + THE REV. DR. LEWEN, TO MISS CL. HARLOWE FRIDAY, AUG. 18. + </p> + <p> + Presuming, dearest and ever-respectable young lady, upon your former + favour, and upon your opinion of my judgment and sincerity, I cannot help + addressing you by a few lines on your present unhappy situation. + </p> + <p> + I will not look back upon the measures into which you have either been led + or driven. But will only say as to those, that I think you are the least + to blame of any young lady that was ever reduced from happy to unhappy + circumstances; and I have not been wanting to say as much, where I hoped + my freedom would have been better received than I have had the + mortification to find it to be. + </p> + <p> + What I principally write for now is, to put you upon doing a piece of + justice to yourself, and to your sex, in the prosecuting for his life (I + am assured his life is in your power) the most profligate and abandoned of + men, as he must be, who could act so basely, as I understand Mr. Lovelace + has acted by you. + </p> + <p> + I am very ill; and am now forced to write upon my pillow; my thoughts + confused; and incapable of method: I shall not therefore aim at method: + but to give you in general my opinion—and that is, that your + religion, your duty to your family, the duty you owe to your honour, and + even charity to your sex, oblige you to give public evidence against this + very wicked man. + </p> + <p> + And let me add another consideration: The prevention, by this means, of + the mischiefs that may otherwise happen between your brother and Mr. + Lovelace, or between the latter and your cousin Morden, who is now, I + hear, arrived, and resolves to have justice done you. + </p> + <p> + A consideration which ought to affect your conscience, [forgive me, + dearest young lady, I think I am now in the way of my duty;] and to be of + more concern to you, than that hard pressure upon your modesty which I + know the appearance against him in an open court must be of to such a lady + as you; and which, I conceive, will be your great difficulty. But I know, + Madam, that you have dignity enough to become the blushes of the most + naked truth, when necessity, justice, and honour, exact it from you. Rakes + and ravishers would meet with encouragement indeed, and most from those + who had the greatest abhorrence of their actions, if violated modesty were + never to complain of the injury it received from the villanous attempters + of it. + </p> + <p> + In a word, the reparation of your family dishonour now rests in your own + bosom: and which only one of these two alternatives can repair; to wit, + either to marry the offender, or to prosecute him at law. Bitter + expedients for a soul so delicate as your's! + </p> + <p> + He, and all his friends, I understand, solicit you to the first: and it is + certainly, now, all the amends within his power to make. But I am assured + that you have rejected their solicitations, and his, with the indignation + and contempt that his foul actions have deserved: but yet, that you refuse + not to extend to him the christian forgiveness he has so little reason to + expect, provided he will not disturb you farther. + </p> + <p> + But, Madam, the prosecution I advise, will not let your present and future + exemption from fresh disturbance from so vile a molester depend upon his + courtesy: I should think so noble and so rightly-guided a spirit as your's + would not permit that it should, if you could help it. + </p> + <p> + And can indignities of any kind be properly pardoned till we have it in + our power to punish them? To pretend to pardon, while we are labouring + under the pain or dishonour of them, will be thought by some to be but the + vaunted mercy of a pusillanimous heart, trembling to resent them. The + remedy I propose is a severe one: But what pain can be more severe than + the injury? Or how will injuries be believed to grieve us, that are never + honourably complained of? + </p> + <p> + I am sure Miss Clarissa Harlowe, however injured and oppressed, remains + unshaken in her sentiments of honour and virtue: and although she would + sooner die than deserve that her modesty should be drawn into question; + yet she will think no truth immodest that is to be uttered in the + vindicated cause of innocence and chastity. Little, very little difference + is there, my dear young lady, between a suppressed evidence, and a false + one. + </p> + <p> + It is a terrible circumstance, I once more own, for a young lady of your + delicacy to be under the obligation of telling so shocking a story in + public court: but it is still a worse imputation, that she should pass + over so mortal an injury unresented. + </p> + <p> + Conscience, honour, justice, are on your side: and modesty would, by some, + be thought but an empty name, should you refuse to obey their dictates. + </p> + <p> + I have been consulted, I own, on this subject. I have given it as my + opinion, that you ought to prosecute the abandoned man—but without + my reasons. These I reserved, with a resolution to lay them before you + unknown to any body, that the result, if what I wish, may be your own. + </p> + <p> + I will only add that the misfortunes which have befallen you, had they + been the lot of a child of my own, could not have affected me more than + your's have done. My own child I love: but I both love and honour you: + since to love you, is to love virtue, good sense, prudence, and every + thing that is good and noble in woman. + </p> + <p> + Wounded as I think all these are by the injuries you have received, you + will believe that the knowledge of your distresses must have afflicted, + beyond what I am able to express, + </p> + <p> + Your sincere admirer, and humble servant, ARTHUR LEWEN. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I just now understand that your sister will, by proper authority, propose + this prosecution to you. I humbly presume that the reason why you + resolved not upon this step from the first, was, that you did not + know that it would have the countenance and support of your + relations. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XXV + </h2> + <p> + MISS CL. HARLOWE, TO THE REV. DR. LEWEN SAT. AUG. 19. + </p> + <p> + REVEREND AND DEAR SIR, + </p> + <p> + I thought, till I received your affectionate and welcome letter, that I + had neither father, uncle, brother left; nor hardly a friend among my + former favourers of your sex. Yet, knowing you so well, and having no + reason to upbraid myself with a faulty will, I was to blame, (even + although I had doubted the continuance of your good opinion,) to decline + the trial whether I had forfeited it or not; and if I had, whether I could + not honourably reinstate myself in it. + </p> + <p> + But, Sir, it was owing to different causes that I did not; partly to + shame, to think how high, in my happier days, I stood in your esteem, and + how much I must be sunk in it, since those so much nearer in relation to + me gave me up; partly to deep distress, which makes the humbled heart + diffident; and made mine afraid to claim the kindred mind in your's, which + would have supplied to me in some measure all the dear and lost relations + I have named. + </p> + <p> + Then, so loth, as I sometimes was, to be thought to want to make a party + against those whom both duty and inclination bid me reverence: so long + trailed on between hope and doubt: so little my own mistress at one time; + so fearful of making or causing mischief at another; and not being + encouraged to hope, by your kind notice, that my application to you would + be acceptable:—apprehending that my relations had engaged your + silence at least*—THESE—But why these unavailing + retrospections now?—I was to be unhappy—in order to be happy; + that is my hope!—Resigning therefore to that hope, I will, without + any further preamble, write a few lines, (if writing to you, I can write + but a few,) in answer to the subject of your kind letter. + </p> + <p> + * The stiff visit this good divine was prevailed upon to make her, as + mentioned in Vol. II. Letter XXXI. (of which, however, she was too + generous to remind him) might warrant the lady to think that he had rather + inclined to their party, as to the parental side, than to her's. + </p> + <p> + Permit me, then, to say, That I believe your arguments would have been + unanswerable in almost every other case of this nature, but in that of the + unhappy Clarissa Harlowe. + </p> + <p> + It is certain that creatures who cannot stand the shock of public shame, + should be doubly careful how they expose themselves to the danger of + incurring private guilt, which may possibly bring them to it. But as to + myself, suppose there were no objections from the declining way I am in as + to my health; and supposing I could have prevailed upon myself to appear + against this man; were there not room to apprehend that the end so much + wished for by my friends, (to wit, his condign punishment,) would not have + been obtained, when it came to be seen that I had consented to give him a + clandestine meeting; and, in consequence of that, had been weakly tricked + out of living under one roof with him for several weeks; which I did, (not + only without complaint, but) without cause of complaint? + </p> + <p> + Little advantage in a court, (perhaps, bandied about, and jested + profligately with,) would some of those pleas in my favour have been, + which out of court, and to a private and serious audience, would have + carried the greatest weight against him—Such, particularly, as the + infamous methods to which he had recourse— + </p> + <p> + It would, no doubt, have been a ready retort from every mouth, that I + ought not to have thrown myself into the power of such a man, and that I + ought to take for my pains what had befallen me. + </p> + <p> + But had the prosecution been carried on to effect, and had he even been + sentenced to death, can it be supposed that his family would not have had + interest enough to obtain his pardon, for a crime thought too lightly of, + though one of the greatest that can be committed against a creature + valuing her honour above her life?—While I had been censured as + pursuing with sanguinary views a man who offered me early all the + reparation in his power to make? + </p> + <p> + And had he been pardoned, would he not then have been at liberty to do as + much mischief as ever? + </p> + <p> + I dare say, Sir, such is the assurance of the man upon whom my unhappy + destiny threw me; and such his inveteracy to my family, (which would then + have appeared to be justified by their known inveteracy to him, and by + their earnest endeavours to take away his life;) that he would not have + been sorry to have had an opportunity to confront me, and my father, + uncles, and brother, at the bar of a court of justice, on such an + occasion. In which case, would not (on his acquittal, or pardon) + resentments have been reciprocally heightened? And then would my brother, + or my cousin Morden, have been more secure than now? + </p> + <p> + How do these conditions aggravate my fault! My motives, at first, were not + indeed blamable: but I had forgotten the excellent caution, which yet I + was not ignorant of, That we ought not to do evil that good may come of + it. + </p> + <p> + In full conviction of the purity of my heart, and of the firmness of my + principles, [Why may I not, thus called upon, say what I am conscious of, + and yet without the imputation of faulty pride; since all is but a duty, + and I should be utterly inexcusable, could I not justly say what I do?— + In this full conviction,] he has offered me marriage. He has avowed his + penitence: a sincere penitence I have reason to think it, though perhaps + not a christian one. And his noble relations, (kinder to the poor sufferer + than her own,) on the same conviction, and his own not ungenerous + acknowledgements, have joined to intercede with me to forgive and accept + of him. Although I cannot comply with the latter part of their + intercession, have not you, Sir, from the best rules, and from the + divinest example, taught me to forgive injuries? + </p> + <p> + The injury I have received from him is indeed of the highest nature, and + it was attended with circumstances of unmanly baseness and premeditation; + yet, I bless God, it has not tainted my mind; it has not hurt my morals. + No thanks indeed to the wicked man that it has not. No vile courses have + followed it. My will is unviolated. The evil, (respecting myself, and not + my friends,) is merely personal. No credulity, no weakness, no want of + vigilance, have I to reproach myself with. I have, through grace, + triumphed over the deepest machinations. I have escaped from him. I have + renounced him. The man whom once I could have loved, I have been enabled + to despise: And shall not charity complete my triumph? and shall I not + enjoy it?—And where would be my triumph if he deserved my + forgiveness?—Poor man! he has had a loss in losing me! I have the + pride to think so, because I think I know my own heart. I have had none in + losing him. + </p> + <p> + But I have another plea to make, which alone would have been enough (as I + presume) to answer the contents of your very kind and friendly letter. + </p> + <p> + I know, my dear and reverend friend, the spiritual guide and director of + my happier days! I know, that you will allow of my endeavour to bring + myself to this charitable disposition, when I tell you how near I think + myself to that great and awful moment, in which, and even in the ardent + preparation to which, every sense of indignity or injury that concerns not + the immortal soul, ought to be absorbed in higher and more important + contemplations. + </p> + <p> + Thus much for myself. + </p> + <p> + And for the satisfaction of my friends and favourers, Miss Howe is + solicitous to have all those letters and materials preserved, which will + set my whole story in a true light. The good Dr. Lewen is one of the + principal of those friends and favourers. + </p> + <p> + The warning that may be given from those papers to all such young + creatures as may have known or heard of me, may be of more efficacy to the + end wished for, as I humbly presume to think, than my appearance could + have been in a court of justice, pursuing a doubtful event, under the + disadvantages I have mentioned. And if, my dear and good Sir, you are now, + on considering every thing, of this opinion, and I could know it, I should + consider it as a particular felicity; being as solicitous as ever to be + justified in what I may in your eyes. + </p> + <p> + I am sorry, Sir, that your indisposition has reduced you to the necessity + of writing upon your pillow. But how much am I obliged to that kind and + generous concern for me, which has impelled you, as I may say, to write a + letter, containing so many paternal lines, with such inconvenience to + yourself! + </p> + <p> + May the Almighty bless you, dear and reverend Sir, for all your goodness + to me of long time past, as well as for that which engaged my present + gratitude! Continue to esteem me to the last, as I do and will venerate + you! And let me bespeak your prayers, the continuance, I should say, of + your prayers; for I doubt not, that I have always had them: and to them, + perhaps, has in part been owing (as well as to your pious precepts + instilled through my earlier youth) that I have been able to make the + stand I have made; although every thing that you prayed for has not been + granted to me by that Divine Wisdom, which knows what is best for its poor + creatures. + </p> + <p> + My prayers for you are, that it will please God to restore you to your + affectionate flock; and after as many years of life as shall be for his + service, and to your own comfort, give us a happy meeting in those regions + of blessedness, which you have taught me, as well by example, as by + precept, to aspire to! + </p> + <p> + CLARISSA HARLOWE. <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XXVI + </h2> + <p> + MISS ARAB. HARLOWE, TO MISS CL. HARLOWE [IN ANSWER TO HER'S TO HER UNCLE + ANTONY OF AUG. 13.*] MONDAY, AUG. 21. + </p> + <p> + * See Letter IV. of this volume. + </p> + <p> + SISTER CLARY, + </p> + <p> + I find by your letters to my uncles, that they, as well as I, are in great + disgrace with you for writing our minds to you. + </p> + <p> + We can't help it, sister Clary. + </p> + <p> + You don't think it worth your while, I find, a second time to press for + the blessing you pretend to be so earnest about. You think, no doubt, that + you have done your duty in asking for it: so you'll sit down satisfied + with that, I suppose, and leave it to your wounded parents to repent + hereafter that they have not done theirs, in giving it to you, at the + first word; and in making such inquiries about you, as you think ought to + have been made. Fine encouragement to inquire after a run-away daughter! + living with her fellow as long as he would live with her! You repent also + (with your full mind, as you modestly call it) that you wrote to me. + </p> + <p> + So we are not likely to be applied to any more, I find, in this way. + </p> + <p> + Well then, since this is the case, sister Clary, let me, with all + humility, address myself with a proposal or two to you; to which you will + be graciously pleased to give an answer. + </p> + <p> + Now you must know, that we have had hints given us, from several quarters, + that you have been used in such a manner by the villain you ran away with, + that his life would be answerable for his crime, if it were fairly to be + proved. And, by your own hints, something like it appears to us. + </p> + <p> + If, Clary, there be any thing but jingle and affected period in what + proceeds from your full mind, and your dutiful consciousness; and if there + be truth in what Mrs. Norton and Mrs. Howe have acquainted us with; you + may yet justify your character to us, and to the world, in every thing but + your scandalous elopement; and the law may reach the villain: and, could + we but bring him to the gallows, what a meritorious revenge would that be + to our whole injured family, and to the innocents he has deluded, as well + as the saving from ruin many others! + </p> + <p> + Let me, therefore, know (if you please) whether you are willing to appear + to do yourself, and us, and your sex, this justice? If not, sister Clary, + we shall know what to think of you; for neither you nor we can suffer more + than we have done from the scandal of your fall: and, if you will, Mr. + Ackland and counselor Derham will both attend you to make proper + inquiries, and to take minutes of your story, to found a process upon, if + it will bear one with as great a probability of success as we are told it + may be prosecuted with. + </p> + <p> + But, by what Mrs. Howe intimates, this is not likely to be complied with; + for it is what she hinted to you, it seems, by her lively daughter, but + not without effect;* so prudently in some certain points, as to entitle + yourself to public justice; which, if true, the Lord have mercy upon you! + </p> + <p> + * See Vol. VI. Letter LXXII. + </p> + <p> + One word only more as to the above proposal:—Your admirer, Dr. + Lewen, is clear, in his opinion, that you should prosecute the villain. + </p> + <p> + But if you will not agree to this, I have another proposal to make to you, + and that in the name of every one in the family; which is, that you will + think of going to Pensylvania to reside there for some few years till all + is blown over: and, if it please God to spare you, and your unhappy + parents, till they can be satisfied that you behave like a true and + uniform penitent; at least till you are one-and-twenty; you may then come + back to your own estate, or have the produce of it sent you thither, as + you shall choose. A period which my father fixes, because it is the + custom; and because he thinks your grandfather should have fixed it; and + because, let me add, you have fully proved by your fine conduct, that you + were not at years of discretion at eighteen. Poor doting, though good old + man!—Your grandfather, he thought—But I would not be too + severe. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hartley has a widow-sister at Pensylvania, with whom he will undertake + you may board, and who is a sober, sensible, well-read woman. And if you + were once well there, it would rid your father and mother of a world of + cares, and fears, and scandal; and that I think is what you should wish + for of all things. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hartley will engage for all accommodations in your passage suitable to + your rank and fortune; and he has a concern in a ship, which will sail in + a month; and you may take your secret-keeping Hannah with you, or whom you + will of your newer acquaintance. 'Tis presumed that your companions will + be of your own sex. + </p> + <p> + These are what I had to communicate to you; and if you'll oblige me with + an answer, (which the hand that conveys this will call for on Wednesday + morning,) it will be very condescending. + </p> + <p> + ARABELLA HARLOWE. <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XXVII + </h2> + <p> + MISS CL. HARLOWE, TO MISS ARAB. HARLOWE TUESDAY, AUG. 22. + </p> + <p> + Write to me, my hard-hearted Sister, in what manner you please, I shall + always be thankful to you for your notice. But (think what you will of me) + I cannot see Mr. Ackland and the counselor on such a business as you + mention. + </p> + <p> + The Lord have mercy upon me indeed! for none else will. + </p> + <p> + Surely I am believed to a creature past all shame, or it could not be + thought of sending two gentlemen to me on such an errand. + </p> + <p> + Had my mother required of me (or would modesty have permitted you to + inquire into) the particulars of my sad story, or had Mrs. Norton been + directed to receive them from me, methinks it had been more fit: and I + presume to think that it would have been more in every one's character + too, had they been required of me before such heavy judgment had been + passed upon me as has been passed. + </p> + <p> + I know that this is Dr. Lewen's opinion. He has been so good as to enforce + it in a kind letter to me. I have answered his letter; and given such + reasons as I hope will satisfy him. I could wish it were thought worth + while to request of him a sight of my answer.* + </p> + <p> + * Her letter, containing the reasons she refers to, was not asked for; and + Dr. Lewen's death, which fell out soon after he had received it, was the + reason that it was not communicated to the family, till it was too late to + do the service that might have been hoped for from it. + </p> + <p> + To your other proposal, of going to Pensylvania; this is my answer—If + nothing happen within a month which may full as effectually rid my parents + and friends of that world of cares, and fears, and scandals, which you + mention, and if I am then able to be carried on board of ship, I will + cheerfully obey my father and mother, although I were sure to die in the + passage. And, if I may be forgiven for saying so (for indeed it proceeds + not from a spirit of reprisal) you shall set over me, instead of my poor + obliging, but really-unculpable, Hannah, your Betty Barnes; to whom I will + be answerable for all my conduct. And I will make it worth her while to + accompany me. + </p> + <p> + I am equally surprised and concerned at the hints which both you and my + uncle Antony give of new points of misbehaviour in me!—What can be + meant by them? + </p> + <p> + I will not tell you, Miss Harlowe, how much I am afflicted at your + severity, and how much I suffer by it, and by your hard-hearted levity of + style, because what I shall say may be construed into jingle and period, + and because I know it is intended, very possibly for kind ends, to mortify + me. All I will therefore say is, that it does not lose its end, if that be + it. + </p> + <p> + But, nevertheless, (divesting myself as much as possible of all + resentment,) I will only pray that Heaven will give you, for your own + sake, a kinder heart than at present you seem to have; since a kind heart, + I am convinced, is a greater blessing to its possessor than it can be to + any other person. Under this conviction I subscribe myself, my dear Bella, + </p> + <p> + Your ever-affectionate sister, CL. HARLOWE. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XXVIII + </h2> + <p> + MRS. NORTON, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [IN ANSWER TO HER'S OF THURSDAY, + AUG. 17.*] TUESDAY, AUG. 22. + </p> + <p> + * See Letter VI. of this volume. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAREST YOUNG LADY, + </p> + <p> + The letters you sent me I now return by the hand that brings you this. + </p> + <p> + It is impossible for me to express how much I have been affected by them, + and by your last of the 17th. Indeed, my dear Miss Clary, you are very + harshly used; indeed you are! And if you should be taken from us, what + grief and what punishment are not treasuring up against themselves in the + heavy reflections which their rash censures and unforgivingness will + occasion them! + </p> + <p> + But I find to what your uncle Antony's cruel letter is owing, as well as + one you will be still more afflicted by, [God help you, my poor dear + child!] when it comes to your hand, written by your sister, with proposals + to you.* + </p> + <p> + * See Letter XXVI. ibid. + </p> + <p> + It was finished to send you yesterday, I know; and I apprize you of it, + that you should fortify your heart against the contents of it. + </p> + <p> + The motives which incline them all to this severity, if well grounded, + would authorize any severity they could express, and which, while they + believe them to be so, both they and you are to be equally pitied. + </p> + <p> + They are owning to the information of that officious Mr. Brand, who has + acquainted them (from some enemy of your's in the neighbourhood about you) + that visits are made you, highly censurable, by a man of a free character, + and an intimate of Mr. Lovelace; who is often in private with you; + sometimes twice or thrice a day. + </p> + <p> + Betty gives herself great liberties of speech upon this occasion, and all + your friends are too ready to believe that things are not as they should + be; which makes me wish that, let the gentleman's views be ever so + honourable, you could entirely drop acquaintance with him. + </p> + <p> + Something of this nature was hinted at by Betty to me before, but so + darkly that I could not tell what to make of it; and this made me mention + to you so generally as I did in my last. + </p> + <p> + Your cousin Morden has been among them. He is exceedingly concerned for + your misfortunes; and as they will not believe Mr. Lovelace would marry + you, he is determined to go to Lord M.'s, in order to inform himself from + Mr. Lovelace's own mouth, whether he intends to do you that justice or + not. + </p> + <p> + He was extremely caressed by every one at his first arrival; but I am told + there is some little coldness between them and him at present. + </p> + <p> + I was in hopes of getting a sight of this letter of Mr. Brand: (a rash + officious man!) but it seems Mr. Morden had it given him yesterday to + read, and he took it away with him. + </p> + <p> + God be your comfort, my dear Miss! But indeed I am exceedingly disturbed + at the thoughts of what may still be the issue of all these things. I am, + my beloved young lady, + </p> + <p> + Your most affectionate and faithful JUDITH NORTON. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XXIX + </h2> + <p> + MRS. NORTON, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TUESDAY, AUG. 22. + </p> + <p> + After I had sealed up the enclosed, I had the honour of a private visit + from your aunt Hervey; who has been in a very low-spirited way, and kept + her chamber for several weeks past; and is but just got abroad. + </p> + <p> + She longed, she said, to see me, and to weep with me, on the hard fate + that had befallen her beloved niece. + </p> + <p> + I will give you a faithful account of what passed between us; as I expect + that it will, upon the whole, administer hope and comfort to you. + </p> + <p> + 'She pitied very much your good mother, who, she assured me, is obliged to + act a part entirely contrary to her inclinations; as she herself, she + owns, had been in a great measure. + </p> + <p> + 'She said, that the poor lady was with great difficulty with-held from + answering your letter to her; which had (as was your aunt's expression) + almost broken the heart of every one: that she had reason to think that + she was neither consenting to your two uncles writing, nor approving of + what they wrote. + </p> + <p> + 'She is sure they all love you dearly; but have gone so far, that they + know not how to recede. + </p> + <p> + 'That, but for the abominable league which your brother had got every body + into (he refusing to set out for Scotland till it was renewed, and till + they had all promised to take no step towards a reconciliation in his + absence but by his consent; and to which your sister's resentments kept + them up); all would before now have happily subsided. + </p> + <p> + 'That nobody knew the pangs which their inflexible behaviour gave them, + ever since you had begun to write to them in so affecting and humble a + style. + </p> + <p> + 'That, however, they were not inclined to believe that you were either so + ill, or so penitent as you really are; and still less, that Mr. Lovelace + is in earnest in his offers of marriage. + </p> + <p> + 'She is sure, however, she says, that all will soon be well: and the + sooner for Mr. Morden's arrival: who is very zealous in your behalf. + </p> + <p> + 'She wished to Heaven that you would accept of Mr. Lovelace, wicked as he + has been, if he were now in earnest. + </p> + <p> + 'It had always,' she said, 'been matter of astonishment to her, that so + weak a pride in her cousin James, of making himself the whole family, + should induce them all to refuse an alliance with such a family as Mr. + Lovelace's was. + </p> + <p> + 'She would have it, that your going off with Mr. Lovelace was the + unhappiest step for your honour and your interest that could have been + taken; for that although you would have had a severe trial the next day, + yet it would probably have been the last; and your pathetic powers must + have drawn you off some friends—hinting at your mother, at your + uncle Harlowe, at your uncle Hervey, and herself.' + </p> + <p> + But here (that the regret that you did not trust to the event of that + meeting, may not, in your present low way, too much afflict you) I must + observe, that it seems a little too evident, even from this opinion of + your aunt's, that it was not absolutely determined that all compulsion was + designed to be avoided, since your freedom from it must have been owing to + the party to be made among them by your persuasive eloquence and dutiful + expostulation. + </p> + <p> + 'She owned, that some of them were as much afraid of meeting you as you + could be of meeting them:'—But why so, if they designed, in the last + instance, to give you your way? + </p> + <p> + Your aunt told me, 'That Mrs. Williams* had been with her, and asked her + opinion, if it would be taken amiss, if she desired leave to go up, to + attend her dearest young lady in her calamity. Your aunt referred her to + your mother: but had heard no more of it. + </p> + <p> + * The former housekeeper at Harlowe-place. + </p> + <p> + 'Her daughter,' (Miss Dolly,) she said, 'had been frequently earnest with + her on the same subject; and renewed her request with the greatest fervour + when your first letter came to hand.' + </p> + <p> + Your aunt says, 'That she then being very ill, wrote to your mother upon + it, hoping it would not be taken amiss if she permitted Dolly to go; but + that your sister, as from your mother, answered her, That now you seemed + to be coming-to, and to have a due sense of your faults, you must be left + entirely to their own management. + </p> + <p> + 'Miss Dolly,' she said, 'had pined ever since she had heard of Mr. + Lovelace's baseness, being doubly mortified by it: first, on account of + your sufferings; next, because she was one who rejoiced in your getting + off, and vindicated you for it; and had incurred censure and ill-will on + that account; especially from your brother and sister; so that she seldom + went to Harlowe-place.' + </p> + <p> + Make the best use of these intelligences, my dearest young lady, for your + consolation. + </p> + <p> + I will only add, that I am, with the most fervent prayers for your + recovery and restoration to favour, + </p> + <p> + Your ever-faithful JUDITH NORTON. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XXX + </h2> + <p> + MISS CL. HARLOWE, TO MRS. JUDITH NORTON THURSDAY, AUG. 24. + </p> + <p> + The relation of such a conversation as passed between my aunt and you + would have given me pleasure, had it come some time ago; because it would + have met with a spirit more industrious than mine now is, to pick out + remote comfort in the hope of a favourable turn that might one day have + rewarded my patient duty. + </p> + <p> + I did not doubt my aunt's good-will to me. Her affection I did not doubt. + But shall we wonder that kings and princes meet with so little controul in + their passions, be they every so violent, when, in a private family, an + aunt, nay, even a mother in that family, shall choose to give up a + once-favoured child against their own inclinations, rather than oppose an + aspiring young man, who had armed himself with the authority of a father, + who, when once determined, never would be expostulated with? + </p> + <p> + And will you not blame me, if I say, that good sense, that kindred + indulgence, must be a little offended at the treatment I have met with; + and if I own, that I think that great rigour has been exercised towards + me! And yet I am now authorized to call it rigour by the judgment of two + excellent sisters, my mother and my aunt, who acknowledge (as you tell me + from my aunt) that they have been obliged to join against me, contrary to + their inclinations; and that even in a point which might seem to concern + my eternal welfare. + </p> + <p> + But I must not go on at this rate. For may not the inclination my mother + has given up be the effect of a too-fond indulgence, rather than that I + merit the indulgence? And yet so petulantly perverse am I, that I must + tear myself from the subject. + </p> + <p> + All then that I will say further to it, at this time, is, that were the + intended goodness to be granted to me but a week hence, it would possibly + be too late—too late I mean to be of the consolation to me that I + would wish from it: for what an inefficacious preparation must I have been + making, if it has not, by this time, carried me above—But above + what?— Poor mistaken creature! Unhappy self-deluder! that finds + herself above nothing! Nor able to subdue her own faulty impatience! + </p> + <p> + But in-deed, to have done with a subject that I dare not trust myself + with, if it come in your way, let my aunt Hervey, let my dear cousin + Dolly, let the worthy Mrs. Williams, know how exceedingly grateful to me + their kind intentions and concern for me are: and, as the best warrant or + justification of their good opinions, (since I know that their favour for + me is founded on the belief that I loved virtue,) tell them, that I + continued to love virtue to my last hour, as I presume to hope it may be + said; and assure them that I never made the least wilful deviation, + however unhappy I became for one faulty step; which nevertheless was not + owing to unworthy or perverse motives. + </p> + <p> + I am very sorry that my cousin Morden has taken a resolution to see Mr. + Lovelace. + </p> + <p> + My apprehensions on this intelligence are a great abatement to the + pleasure I have in knowing that he still loves me. + </p> + <p> + My sister's letter to me is a most affecting one—so needlessly, so + ludicrously taunting!—But for that part of it that is so, I ought + rather to pity her, than to be so much concerned at it as I am. + </p> + <p> + I wonder what I have done to Mr. Brand—I pray God to forgive both + him and his informants, whoever they be. But if the scandal arise solely + from Mr. Belford's visits, a very little time will confute it. Mean while, + the packet I shall send you, which I sent to Miss Howe, will, I hope, + satisfy you, my dear Mrs. Norton, as to my reasons for admitting his + visits. + </p> + <p> + My sister's taunting letter, and the inflexibleness of my dearer friends + —But how do remoter-begun subjects tend to the point which lies + nearest the heart!—As new-caught bodily disorders all crowd to a + fractured or distempered part. + </p> + <p> + I will break off, with requesting your prayers that I may be blessed with + patience and due resignation; and with assuring you, that I am, and will + be to the last hour of my life, + </p> + <p> + Your equally grateful and affectionate CL. HARLOWE. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XXXI + </h2> + <p> + MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [IN REPLY TO HER'S OF FRIDAY, AUG. + 11.*] YARMOUTH, ISLE OF WIGHT, AUG. 23. + </p> + <p> + * See Letter II. of this volume. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAREST FRIEND, + </p> + <p> + I have read the letters and copies of letters you favoured me with: and I + return them by a particular hand. I am extremely concerned at your + indifferent state of health: but I approve of all your proceedings and + precautions in relation to the appointment of Mr. Belford for an office, + in which, I hope, neither he nor any body else will be wanted to act, for + many, very many years. + </p> + <p> + I admire, and so we do all, that greatness of mind which can make you so + stedfastly [sic] despise (through such inducements as no other woman could + resist, and in such desolate circumstances as you have been reduced to) + the wretch that ought to be so heartily despised and detested. + </p> + <p> + What must the contents of those letters from your relations be, which you + will not communicate to me!—Fie upon them! How my heart rises!—But + I dare say no more—though you yourself now begin to think they use + you with great severity. + </p> + <p> + Every body here is so taken with Mr. Hickman (and the more from the horror + they conceive at the character of the detestable Lovelace,) that I have + been teased to death almost to name a day. This has given him airs: and, + did I not keep him to it, he would behave as carelessly and as insolently + as if he were sure of me. I have been forced to mortify him no less than + four times since we have been here. + </p> + <p> + I made him lately undergo a severe penance for some negligences that were + not to be passed over. Not designed ones, he said: but that was a poor + excuse, as I told him: for, had they been designed, he should never have + come into my presence more: that they were not, showed his want of thought + and attention; and those were inexcusable in a man only in his probatory + state. + </p> + <p> + He hoped he had been more than in a probatory state, he said. + </p> + <p> + And therefore, Sir, might be more careless!—So you add ingratitude + to negligence, and make what you plead as accident, that itself wants an + excuse, design, which deserves none. + </p> + <p> + I would not see him for two days, and he was so penitent, and so humble, + that I had like to have lost myself, to make him amends: for, as you have + said, resentment carried too high, often ends in amends too humble. + </p> + <p> + I long to be nearer to you: but that must not yet be, it seems. Pray, my + dear, let me hear from you as often as you can. + </p> + <p> + May Heaven increase your comforts, and restore your health, are the + prayers of + </p> + <p> + Your ever faithful and affectionate ANNA HOWE. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +P.S. Excuse me that I did not write before: it was owing to a little + coasting voyage I was obliged to give into. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XXXII + </h2> + <p> + MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE FRIDAY, AUG. 25. + </p> + <p> + You are very obliging, my dear Miss Howe, to account to me for your + silence. I was easy in it, as I doubted not that, among such near and dear + friends as you are with, you was diverted from writing by some such + agreeable excursion as that you mention. + </p> + <p> + I was in hopes that you had given over, at this time of day, those very + sprightly airs, which I have taken the liberty to blame you for, as often + as you have given me occasion to so do; and that has been very often. + </p> + <p> + I was always very grave with you upon this subject: and while your own and + a worthy man's future happiness are in the question, I must enter into it, + whenever you forget yourself, although I had not a day to live: and indeed + I am very ill. + </p> + <p> + I am sure it was not your intention to take your future husband with you + to the little island to make him look weak and silly among those of your + relations who never before had seen him. Yet do you think it possible for + them (however prepared and resolved they may be to like him) to forbear + smiling at him, when they see him suffering under your whimsical penances? + A modest man should no more be made little in his own eyes, than in the + eyes of others. If he be, he will have a diffidence, which will give an + awkwardness to every thing he says or does; and this will be no more to + the credit of your choice than to that of the approbation he meets with + from your friends, or to his own credit. + </p> + <p> + I love an obliging, and even an humble, deportment in a man to the woman + he addresses. It is a mark of his politeness, and tends to give her that + opinion of herself, which it may be supposed bashful merit wants to be + inspired with. But if the woman exacts it with an high hand, she shows not + either her own politeness or gratitude; although I must confess she does + her courage. I gave you expectations that I would be very serious with + you. + </p> + <p> + O my dear, that it had been my lot (as I was not permitted to live + single,) to have met with a man by whom I could have acted generously and + unreservedly! + </p> + <p> + Mr. Lovelace, it is now plain, in order to have a pretence against me, + taxed my behaviour to him with stiffness and distance. You, at one time, + thought me guilty of some degree of prudery. Difficult situations should + be allowed for: which often make seeming occasions for censure + unavoidable. I deserved not blame from him who made mine difficult. And + you, my dear, had I any other man to deal with, or had he but half the + merit which Mr. Hickman has, would have found that my doctrine on this + subject should have governed my practice. + </p> + <p> + But to put myself out of the question—I'll tell you what I should + think, were I an indifferent by-stander, of those high airs of your's, in + return for Mr. Hickman's humble demeanour. 'The lady thinks of having the + gentleman, I see plainly, would I say. But I see as plainly, that she has + a very great indifference to him. And to what may this indifference be + owing? To one or all of these considerations, no doubt: that she receives + his addresses rather from motives of convenience than choice: that she + thinks meanly of his endowments and intellects; at least more highly of + her own: or, she has not the generosity to use that power with moderation, + which his great affection for her puts into her hands.' + </p> + <p> + How would you like, my dear, to have any of these things said? + </p> + <p> + Then to give but the shadow of a reason for free-livers and free speakers + to say, or to imagine, that Miss Howe gives her hand to a man who has no + reason to expect any share in her heart, I am sure you would not wish that + such a thing should be so much as supposed. Then all the regard from you + to come afterwards; none to be shown before; must, should I think, be + capable of being construed as a compliment to the husband, made at the + expense of the wife's and even of the sex's delicacy! + </p> + <p> + There is no fear that attempts could be formed by the most audacious [two + Lovelaces there cannot be!] upon a character so revered for virtue, and so + charmingly spirited, as Miss Howe's: yet, to have any man encouraged to + despise a husband by the example of one who is most concerned to do him + honour; what, my dear, think you of that? It is but too natural for + envious men (and who that knows Miss Howe, will not envy Mr. Hickman!) to + scoff at, and to jest upon, those who are treated with or will bear + indignity from a woman. + </p> + <p> + If a man so treated have a true and ardent love for the woman he + addresses, he will be easily overawed by her displeasure: and this will + put him upon acts of submission, which will be called meanness. And what + woman of true spirit would like to have it said, that she would impose any + thing upon the man from whom she one day expects protection and defence, + that should be capable of being construed as a meanness, or unmanly + abjectness in his behaviour, even to herself?—Nay, I am not sure, + and I ask it of you, my dear, to resolve me, whether, in your own opinion, + it is not likely, that a woman of spirit will despise rather than value + more, the man who will take patiently an insult at her hands; especially + before company. + </p> + <p> + I have always observed, that prejudices in disfavour of a person at his + first appearance, fix deeper, and are much more difficult to be removed + when fixed, than that malignant principle so eminently visible in little + minds, which makes them wish to bring down the more worthy characters to + their own low level, I pretend not to determine. When once, therefore, a + woman of your good sense gives room to the world to think she has not an + high opinion of the lover, whom nevertheless she entertains, it will be + very difficult for her afterwards to make that world think so well as she + would have it of the husband she has chosen. + </p> + <p> + Give me leave to observe, that to condescend with dignity, and to command + with such kindness, and sweetness of manners, as should let the + condescension, while in a single state, be seen and acknowledged, are + points, which a wise woman, knowing her man, should aim at: and a wise + woman, I should think, would choose to live single all her life rather + than give herself to a man whom she thinks unworthy of a treatment so + noble. + </p> + <p> + But when a woman lets her lover see that she has the generosity to approve + of and reward a well-meant service; that she has a mind that lifts her + above the little captious follies, which some (too licentiously, I hope,) + attribute to the sex in general: that she resents not (if ever she thinks + she has reason to be displeased) with petulance, or through pride: nor + thinks it necessary to insist upon little points, to come at or secure + great ones, perhaps not proper to be aimed at: nor leaves room to suppose + she has so much cause to doubt her own merit, as to put the love of the + man she intends to favour upon disagreeable or arrogant trials: but let + reason be the principal guide of her actions— she will then never + fail of that true respect, of that sincere veneration, which she wishes to + meet with; and which will make her judgment after marriage consulted, + sometimes with a preference to a man's own; at other times as a delightful + confirmation of his. + </p> + <p> + And so much, my beloved Miss Howe, for this subject now, and I dare say, + for ever! + </p> + <p> + I will begin another letter by-and-by, and send both together. Mean time, + I am, &c. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XXXIII + </h2> + <h3> + MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +[In this letter, the Lady acquaints Miss Howe with Mr. Brand's report; + with her sister's proposals either that she will go abroad, or + prosecute Mr. Lovelace. She complains of the severe letters of + her uncle Antony and her sister; but in milder terms than they + deserved. + + She sends her Dr. Lewen's letter, and the copy of her answer to it. + +She tells her of the difficulties she had been under to avoid seeing Mr. + Lovelace. She gives her the contents of the letter she wrote to + him to divert him from his proposed visit: she is afraid, she says, + that it is a step that is not strictly right, if allegory or + metaphor be not allowable to one in her circumstances. + +She informs her of her cousin Morden's arrival and readiness to take her + part with her relations; of his designed interview with Mr. + Lovelace; and tells her what her apprehensions are upon it. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +She gives her the purport of the conversation between her aunt Hervey and + Mrs. Norton. And then adds:] +</pre> + <p> + But were they ever so favourably inclined to me now, what can they do for + me? I wish, and that for their sakes more than for my own, that they would + yet relent—but I am very ill—I must drop my pen—a sudden + faintness overspreads my heart—excuse my crooked writing!—Adieu, + my dear!—Adieu! + </p> + <p> + THREE O'CLOCK, FRIDAY. + </p> + <p> + Once more I resume my pen. I thought I had taken my last farewell to you. + I never was so very oddly affected: something that seemed totally to + overwhelm my faculties—I don't know how to describe it—I + believe I do amiss in writing so much, and taking too much upon me: but an + active mind, though clouded by bodily illness, cannot be idle. + </p> + <p> + I'll see if the air, and a discontinued attention, will help me. But, if + it will not, don't be concerned for me, my dear. I shall be happy. Nay, I + am more so already than of late I thought I could ever be in this life. + —Yet how this body clings!—How it encumbers! + </p> + <p> + SEVEN O'CLOCK. + </p> + <p> + I could not send this letter away with so melancholy an ending, as you + would have thought it. So I deferred closing it, till I saw how I should + be on my return from my airing: and now I must say I am quite another + thing: so alert! that I could proceed with as much spirit as I began, and + add more preachment to your lively subject, if I had not written more than + enough upon it already. + </p> + <p> + I wish you would let me give you and Mr. Hickman joy. Do, my dear. I + should take some to myself, if you would. + </p> + <p> + My respectful compliments to all your friends, as well to those I have the + honour to know, as to those I do not know. + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + I have just now been surprised with a letter from one whom I long ago gave + up all thoughts of hearing from. From Mr. Wyerley. I will enclose it. + You'll be surprised at it as much as I was. This seems to be a man whom I + might have reclaimed. But I could not love him. Yet I hope I never treated + him with arrogance. Indeed, my dear, if I am not too partial to myself, I + think I refused him with more gentleness, than you retain somebody else. + And this recollection gives me less pain than I should have had in the + other case, on receiving this instance of a generosity that affects me. I + will also enclose the rough draught of my answer, as soon as I have + transcribed it. + </p> + <p> + If I begin another sheet, I shall write to the end of it: wherefore I will + only add my prayers for your honour and prosperity, and for a long, long, + happy life; and that, when it comes to be wound up, you may be as calm and + as easy at quitting it as I hope in God I shall be. I am, and will be, to + the latest moment, + </p> + <p> + Your truly affectionate and obliged servant, CL. HARLOWE. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XXXIV + </h2> + <p> + MR. WYERLEY, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE WEDNESDAY, AUG. 23. + </p> + <p> + DEAREST MADAM, + </p> + <p> + You will be surprised to find renewed, at this distance of time, an + address so positively though so politely discouraged: but, however it be + received, I must renew it. Every body has heard that you have been vilely + treated by a man who, to treat you ill, must be the vilest of men. Every + body knows your just resentment of his base treatment: that you are + determined never to be reconciled to him: and that you persist in these + sentiments against all the entreaties of his noble relations, against all + the prayers and repentance of his ignoble self. And all the world that + have the honour to know you, or have heard of him, applaud your + resolution, as worthy of yourself; worthy of your virtue, and of that + strict honour which was always attributed to you by every one who spoke of + you. + </p> + <p> + But, Madam, were all the world to have been of a different opinion, it + could never have altered mine. I ever loved you; I ever must love you. Yet + have I endeavoured to resign to my hard fate. When I had so many ways, in + vain, sought to move you in my favour, I sat down seemingly contented. I + even wrote to you that I would sit down contented. And I endeavoured to + make all my friends and companions think I was. But nobody knows what + pangs this self-denial cost me! In vain did the chace, in vain did travel, + in vain did lively company, offer themselves, and were embraced in their + turn: with redoubled force did my passion for you renew my unhappiness, + when I looked into myself, into my own heart; for there did your charming + image sit enthroned; and you engrossed me all. + </p> + <p> + I truly deplore those misfortunes, and those sufferings, for your own + sake; which nevertheless encourage me to renew my old hope. I know not + particulars. I dare not inquire after them; because my sufferings would be + increased with the knowledge of what your's have been. I therefore desire + not to know more than what common report wounds my ears with; and what is + given me to know, by your absence from your cruel family, and from the + sacred place, where I, among numbers of your rejected admirers, used to be + twice a week sure to behold you doing credit to that service of which your + example gave me the highest notions. But whatever be those misfortunes, of + whatsoever nature those sufferings, I shall bless the occasion for my own + sake (though for your's curse the author of them,) if they may give me the + happiness to know that this my renewed address may not be absolutely + rejected.—Only give me hope, that it may one day meet with + encouragement, if in the interim nothing happen, either in my morals or + behaviour, to give you fresh offence. Give me but hope of this—not + absolutely to reject me is all the hope I ask for; and I will love you, if + possible, still more than I ever loved you—and that for your + sufferings; for well you deserve to be loved, even to adoration, who can, + for honour's and for virtue's sake, subdue a passion which common spirits + [I speak by cruel experience] find invincible; and this at a time when the + black offender kneels and supplicates, as I am well assured he does, (all + his friends likewise supplicating for him,) to be forgiven. + </p> + <p> + That you cannot forgive him, not forgive him so as to receive him again to + favour, is no wonder. His offence is against virtue: this is a part of + your essence. What magnanimity is this! How just to yourself, and to your + spotless character! Is it any merit to admire more than ever a lady who + can so exaltedly distinguish? It is not. I cannot plead it. + </p> + <p> + What hope have I left, may it be said, when my address was before + rejected, now, that your sufferings, so nobly borne, have, with all the + good judges, exalted your character? Yet, Madam, I have to pride myself in + this, that while your friends (not looking upon you in the just light I + do) persecute and banish you; while your estate is withheld from you, and + threatened (as I know,) to be withheld, as long as the chicaning law, or + rather the chicaneries of its practisers, can keep it from you: while you + are destitute of protection; every body standing aloof, either through + fear of the injurer of one family, or of the hard-hearted of the other; I + pride myself, I say, to stand forth, and offer my fortune, and my life, at + your devotion. With a selfish hope indeed: I should be too great an + hypocrite not to own this! and I know how much you abhor insincerity. + </p> + <p> + But, whether you encourage that hope or not, accept my best services, I + beseech you, Madam: and be pleased to excuse me for a piece of honest art, + which the nature of the case (doubting the honour of your notice + otherwise) makes me choose to conclude with—it is this: + </p> + <p> + If I am to be still the most unhappy of men, let your pen by one line tell + me so. If I am permitted to indulge a hope, however distant, your silence + shall be deemed, by me, the happiest indication of it that you can give—except + that still happier—(the happiest than can befall me,) a + signification that you will accept the tender of that life and fortune, + which it would be my pride and my glory to sacrifice in your service, + leaving the reward to yourself. + </p> + <p> + Be your determination as it may, I must for ever admire and love you. Nor + will I ever change my condition, while you live, whether you change your's + or not: for, having once had the presumption to address you, I cannot + stoop to think of any other woman: and this I solemnly declare in the + presence of that God, whom I daily pray to bless and protect you, be your + determination what it will with regard to, dearest Madam, + </p> + <p> + Your most devoted and ever affectionate and faithful servant, ALEXANDER + WYERLEY. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XXXV + </h2> + <p> + MISS CL. HARLOWE, TO ALEX. WYERLEY, ESQ. SAT. AUG. 26. + </p> + <p> + SIR, + </p> + <p> + The generosity of your purpose would have commanded not only my notice, + but my thanks, although you had not given me the alternative you are + pleased to call artful. And I do therefore give you my thanks for your + kind letter. + </p> + <p> + At the time you distinguished me by your favourable opinion, I told you, + Sir, that my choice was the single life. And most truly did I tell you so. + </p> + <p> + When that was not permitted me, and I looked round upon the several + gentlemen who had been proposed to me, and had reason to believe that + there was not one of them against whose morals or principles there lay not + some exception, it would not have been much to be wondered at, if FANCY + had been allowed to give a preference, where JUDGMENT was at a loss to + determine. + </p> + <p> + Far be it from me to say this with a design to upbraid you, Sir, or to + reflect upon you. I always wished you well. You had reason to think I did. + You had the generosity to be pleased with the frankness of my behaviour to + you; as I had with that of your's to me; and I am sorry, very sorry, to be + now told, that the acquaintance you obliged me with gave you so much pain. + </p> + <p> + Had the option I have mentioned been allowed me afterwards, (as I not only + wished, but proposed,) things had not happened that did happen. But there + was a kind of fatality by which our whole family was impelled, as I may + say; and which none of us were permitted to avoid. But this is a subject + that cannot be dwelt upon. + </p> + <p> + As matters are, I have only to wish, for your own sake, that you will + encourage and cultivate those good motions in your mind, to which many + passages in your kind and generous letter now before me must be owing. + Depend upon it, Sir, that such motions, wrought into habit, will yield you + pleasure at a time when nothing else can; and at present, shining out in + your actions and conversation, will commend you to the worthiest of our + sex. For, Sir, the man who is so good upon choice, as well as by + education, has that quality in himself, which ennobles the human race, and + without which the most dignified by birth or rank are ignoble. + </p> + <p> + As to the resolution you solemnly make not to marry while I live, I should + be concerned at it, were I not morally sure that you may keep it, and yet + not be detrimented by it: since a few, a very few days, will convince you, + that I am got above all human dependence; and that there is no need of + that protection and favour, which you so generously offer to, Sir, + </p> + <p> + Your obliged well-wisher, and humble servant, CL. HARLOWE. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XXXVI + </h2> + <p> + MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. MONDAY NOON, AUG. 28. + </p> + <p> + About the time of poor Belton's interment last night, as near as we could + guess, Lord M., Mowbray, and myself, toasted once, To the memory of honest + Tom. Belton; and, by a quick transition to the living, Health to Miss + Harlowe; which Lord M. obligingly began, and, To the happy reconciliation; + and then we stuck in a remembrance To honest Jack Belford, who, of late, + we all agreed, is become an useful and humane man; and one who prefers his + friend's service to his own. + </p> + <p> + But what is the meaning I hear nothing from thee?* And why dost thou not + let me into the grounds of the sudden reconciliation between my beloved + and her friends, and the cause of the generous invitation which she gives + me of attending her at her father's some time hence? + </p> + <p> + * Mr. Belford has not yet sent him his last-written letter. His reason for + which see Letter XXIII. of this volume. + </p> + <p> + Thou must certainly have been let into the secret by this time; and I can + tell thee, I shall be plaguy jealous if there is to be any one thing pass + between my angel and thee that is to be concealed from me. For either I am + a principal in this cause, or I am nothing. + </p> + <p> + I have dispatched Will. to know the reason of thy neglect. + </p> + <p> + But let me whisper a word or two in thy ear. I begin to be afraid, after + all, that this letter was a stratagem to get me out of town, and for + nothing else: for, in the first place, Tourville, in a letter I received + this morning, tells me, that the lady is actually very ill! [I am sorry + for it with all my soul!]. This, thou'lt say, I may think a reason why she + cannot set out as yet: but then I have heard, on the other hand, but last + night, that the family is as implacable as ever; and my Lord and I expect + this very afternoon a visit from Colonel Morden; who, undertakes, it + seems, to question me as to my intention with regard to his cousin. + </p> + <p> + This convinces me, that if she has apprized her friends of my offers to + her, they will not believe me to be in earnest, till they are assured that + I am so from my own mouth. But then I understand, that the intended visit + is an officiousness of Morden's own, without the desire of any of her + friends. + </p> + <p> + Now, Jack, what can a man make of all this? My intelligence as to the + continuance of her family's implacableness is not to be doubted; and yet + when I read her letter, what can one say?—Surely, the dear little + rogue will not lie! + </p> + <p> + I never knew her dispense with her word, but once; and that was, when she + promised to forgive me after the dreadful fire that had like to have + happened at our mother's, and yet would not see me the next day, and + afterwards made her escape to Hampstead, in order to avoid forgiving me: + and as she severely smarted for this departure from her honour given, (for + it is a sad thing for good people to break their word when it is in their + power to keep it,) one would not expect that she should set about + deceiving again; more especially by the premeditation of writing. Thou, + perhaps, wilt ask, what honest man is obliged to keep his promise with a + highwayman? for well I know thy unmannerly way of making comparisons; but + I say, every honest man is—and I will give thee an illustration. + </p> + <p> + Here is a marauding varlet, who demands your money, with a pistol at your + breast. You have neither money nor valuable effects about you; and promise + solemnly, if he will spare your life, that you will send him an + agreed-upon sum, by such a day, to such a place. + </p> + <p> + The question is, if your life is not in the fellow's power? + </p> + <p> + How he came by the power is another question; for which he must answer + with his life when caught—so he runs risque for risque. + </p> + <p> + Now if he give you your life, does he not give, think you, a valuable + consideration for the money you engage your honour to send him? If not, + the sum must be exorbitant, or your life is a very paltry one, even in + your own opinion. + </p> + <p> + I need not make the application; and I am sure that even thou thyself, who + never sparest me, and thinkest thou knowest my heart by thy own, canst not + possibly put the case in a stronger light against me. + </p> + <p> + Then, why do good people take upon themselves to censure, as they do, + persons less scrupulous than themselves? Is it not because the latter + allow themselves in any liberty, in order to carry a point? And can my not + doing my duty, warrant another for not doing his?—Thou wilt not say + it can. + </p> + <p> + And how would it sound, to put the case as strongly once more, as my + greatest enemy would put it, both as to fact and in words—here has + that profligate wretch Lovelace broken his vow with and deceived Miss + Clarissa Harlowe.—A vile fellow! would an enemy say: but it is like + him. But when it comes to be said that the pious Clarissa has broken her + word with and deceived Lovelace; Good Lord! would every one say; sure it + cannot be! + </p> + <p> + Upon my soul, Jack, such is the veneration I have for this admirable + woman, that I am shocked barely at putting the case—and so wilt + thou, if thou respectest her as thou oughtest: for thou knowest that men + and women, all the world over, form their opinions of one another by each + person's professions and known practices. In this lady, therefore, it + would be unpardonable to tell a wilful untruth, as it would be strange if + I kept my word.—In love cases, I mean; for, as to the rest, I am an + honest, moral man, as all who know me can testify. + </p> + <p> + And what, after all, would this lady deserve, if she has deceived me in + this case? For did she not set me prancing away, upon Lord M.'s best nag, + to Lady Sarah's, and to Lady Betty's, with an erect and triumphing + countenance, to show them her letter to me? + </p> + <p> + And let me tell thee, that I have received their congratulations upon it: + Well, and now, cousin Lovelace, cries one: Well, and now, cousin Lovelace, + cries t'other; I hope you will make the best of husbands to so excellent + and so forgiving a lady!—And now we shall soon have the pleasure of + looking upon you as a reformed man, added one! And now we shall see you in + the way we have so long wished you to be in, cried the other! + </p> + <p> + My cousins Montague also have been ever since rejoicing in the new + relationship. Their charming cousin, and their lovely cousin, at every + word! And how dearly they will love he! What lessons they will take from + her! And yet Charlotte, who pretends to have the eye of an eagle, was for + finding out some mystery in the style and manner, till I overbore her, and + laughed her out of it. + </p> + <p> + As for Lord M. he has been in hourly expectation of being sent to with + proposals of one sort or other from the Harlowes; and still we have it, + that such proposals will be made by Colonel Morden when he comes; and that + the Harlowes only put on a face of irreconcileableness, till they know the + issue of Morden's visit, in order to make the better terms with us. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, if I had not undoubted reason, as I said, to believe the + continuance of their antipathy to me, and implacableness to her, I should + be apt to think there might be some foundation for my Lord's conjecture; + for there is a cursed deal of low cunning in all that family, except in + the angel of it; who has so much generosity of soul, that she despises + cunning, both name and thing. + </p> + <p> + What I mean by all this is, to let thee see what a stupid figure I shall + make to all my own family, if my Clarissa has been capable, as Gulliver in + his abominable Yahoo story phrases it, if it were only that I should be + outwitted by such a novice at plotting, and that it would make me look + silly to my kinswomen here, who know I value myself upon my contrivances, + it would vex me to the heart; and I would instantly clap a featherbed into + a coach and six, and fetch her away, sick or well, and marry her at my + leisure. + </p> + <p> + But Col. Morden is come, and I must break off. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XXXVII + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. MONDAY NIGHT, AUG. 28. + </p> + <p> + I doubt you will be all impatience that you have not heard from me since + mine of Thursday last. You would be still more so, if you knew that I had + by me a letter ready written. + </p> + <p> + I went early yesterday morning to Epsom; and found every thing disposed + according to the directions I had left on Friday; and at night the solemn + office was performed. Tourville was there; and behaved very decently, and + with greater concern than I thought he would ever have expressed for any + body. + </p> + <p> + Thomasine, they told me, in a kind of disguise, was in an obscure pew, out + of curiosity (for it seems she was far from showing any tokens of grief) + to see the last office performed for the man whose heart she had so + largely contributed to break. + </p> + <p> + I was obliged to stay till this afternoon, to settle several necessary + matters, and to direct inventories to be taken, in order for appraisement; + for every thing is to be turned into money, by his will. I presented his + sister with the hundred guineas the poor man left me as his executor, and + desired her to continue in the house, and take the direction of every + thing, till I could hear from his nephew at Antigua, who is heir at law. + He had left her but fifty pounds, although he knew her indigence; and that + it was owing to a vile husband, and not to herself, that she was indigent. + </p> + <p> + The poor man left about two hundred pounds in money, and two hundred + pounds in two East-India bonds; and I will contrive, if I can, to make up + the poor woman's fifty pounds, and my hundred guineas, two hundred pounds + to her; and then she will have some little matter coming in certain, which + I will oblige her to keep out of the hands of a son, who has completed + that ruin which his father had very nearly effected. + </p> + <p> + I gave Tourville his twenty pounds, and will send you and Mowbray your's + by the first order. + </p> + <p> + And so much for poor Belton's affairs till I see you. + </p> + <p> + I got to town in the evening, and went directly to Smith's. I found Mrs. + Lovick and Mrs. Smith in the back shop, and I saw they had been both in + tears. They rejoiced to see me, however; and told me, that the Doctor and + Mr. Goddard were but just gone; as was also the worthy clergyman, who + often comes to pray by her; and all three were of opinion, that she would + hardly live to see the entrance of another week. I was not so much + surprised as grieved; for I had feared as much when I left her on + Saturday. + </p> + <p> + I sent up my compliments; and she returned, that she would take it for a + favour if I would call upon her in the morning by eight o'clock. Mrs. + Lovick told me that she had fainted away on Saturday, while she was + writing, as she had done likewise the day before; and having received + benefit then by a little turn in a chair, she was carried abroad again. + She returned somewhat better; and wrote till late; yet had a pretty good + night: and went to Covent-garden church in the morning; but came home so + ill that she was obliged to lie down. + </p> + <p> + When she arose, seeing how much grieved Mrs. Lovick and Mrs. Smith were + for her, she made apologies for the trouble she gave them—You were + happy, said she, before I came hither. It was a cruel thing in me to come + amongst honest strangers, and to be sick, and die with you. + </p> + <p> + When they touched upon the irreconcileableness of her friends, I have had + ill offices done me to them, said she, and they do not know how ill I am; + nor will they believe any thing I should write. But yet I cannot sometimes + forbear thinking it a little hard, that out of so many near and dear + friends as I have living, not one of them will vouchsafe to look upon me. + No old servant, no old friend, proceeded she, to be permitted to come near + me, without being sure of incurring displeasure! And to have such a great + work to go through by myself, a young creature as I am, and to have every + thing to think of as to my temporal matters, and to order, to my very + interment! No dear mother, said the sweet sufferer, to pray by me and + bless me!—No kind sister to sooth and comfort me!—But come, + recollected she, how do I know but all is for the best—if I can but + make a right use of my discomforts?—Pray for me, Mrs. Lovick—pray + for me, Mrs. Smith, that I may—I have great need of your prayers.—This + cruel man has discomposed me. His persecutions have given me pain just + here, [putting her hand to her heart.] What a step has he made me take to + avoid him!—Who can touch pitch, and not be defiled? He had made a + bad spirit take possession of me, I think—broken in upon all my + duties —and will not yet, I doubt, let me be at rest. Indeed he is + very cruel —but this is one of my trials, I believe. By God's grace, + I shall be easier to-morrow, and especially if I have no more of his + tormentings, and if I can get a tolerable night. And I will sit up till + eleven, that I may. + </p> + <p> + She said, that though this was so heavy a day with her, she was at other + times, within these few days past especially, blessed with bright hours; + and particularly that she had now and then such joyful assurances, (which + she hoped were not presumptuous ones,) that God would receive her to his + mercy, that she could hardly contain herself, and was ready to think + herself above this earth while she was in it: And what, inferred she to + Mrs. Lovick, must be the state itself, the very aspirations after which + have often cast a beamy light through the thickest darkness, and, when I + have been at the lowest ebb, have dispelled the black clouds of + despondency?—As I hope they soon will this spirit of repining. + </p> + <p> + She had a pretty good night, it seems; and this morning went in a chair to + St. Dunstan's church. + </p> + <p> + The chairmen told Mrs. Smith, that after prayers (for she did not return + till between nine and ten) they carried her to a house in Fleet-street, + whither they never waited on her before. And where dost think this was? + —Why to an undertaker's! Good Heaven! what a woman is this! She went + into the back shop, and talked with the master of it about half an hour, + and came from him with great serenity; he waiting upon her to her chair + with a respectful countenance, but full of curiosity and seriousness. + </p> + <p> + 'Tis evident that she went to bespeak her house that she talked of*—As + soon as you can, Sir, were her words to him as she got into the chair. + Mrs. Smith told me this with the same surprise and grief that I heard it. + </p> + <p> + * See Letter XXIII. of this volume. + </p> + <p> + She was very ill in the afternoon, having got cold either at St. + Dunstan's, or at chapel, and sent for the clergyman to pray by her; and + the women, unknown to her, sent both for Dr. H. and Mr. Goddard: who were + just gone, as I told you, when I came to pay my respects to her this + evening. + </p> + <p> + And thus have I recounted from the good women what passed to this night + since my absence. + </p> + <p> + I long for to-morrow, that I may see her: and yet it is such a melancholy + longing as I never experienced, and know not how to describe. + </p> + <p> + TUESDAY, AUG. 29. + </p> + <p> + I was at Smith's at half an hour after seven. They told me that the lady + was gone in a chair to St. Dunstan's: but was better than she had been in + either of the two preceding days; and that she said she to Mrs. Lovick and + Mrs. Smith, as she went into the chair, I have a good deal to answer for + to you, my good friends, for my vapourish conversation of last night. + </p> + <p> + If, Mrs. Lovick, said she, smiling, I have no new matters to discompose + me, I believe my spirits will hold out purely. + </p> + <p> + She returned immediately after prayers. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Belford, said she, as she entered the back shop where I was, (and upon + my approaching her,) I am very glad to see you. You have been performing + for your poor friend a kind last office. 'Tis not long ago since you did + the same for a near relation. Is it not a little hard upon you, that these + troubles should fall so thick to your lot? But they are charitable + offices: and it is a praise to your humanity, that poor dying people know + not where to choose so well. + </p> + <p> + I told her I was sorry to hear she had been so ill since I had the honour + to attend her; but rejoiced to find that now she seemed a good deal + better. + </p> + <p> + It will be sometimes better, and sometimes worse, replied she, with poor + creatures, when they are balancing between life and death. But no more of + these matters just now. I hope, Sir, you'll breakfast with me. I was quite + vapourish yesterday. I had a very bad spirit upon me. Had I not, Mrs. + Smith? But I hope I shall be no more so. And to-day I am perfectly serene. + This day rises upon me as if it would be a bright one. + </p> + <p> + She desired me to walk up, and invited Mr. Smith and his wife, and Mrs. + Lovick also, to breakfast with her. I was better pleased with her + liveliness than with her looks. + </p> + <p> + The good people retiring after breakfast, the following conversation + passed between us: + </p> + <p> + Pray, Sir, let me ask you, if you think I may promise myself that I shall + be no more molested by your friend? + </p> + <p> + I hesitated: For how could I answer for such a man? + </p> + <p> + What shall I do, if he comes again?—You see how I am.—I cannot + fly from him now—If he has any pity left for the poor creature whom + he has thus reduced, let him not come.—But have you heard from him + lately? And will he come? + </p> + <p> + I hope not, Madam. I have not heard from him since Thursday last, that he + went out of town, rejoicing in the hopes your letter gave him of a + reconciliation between your friends and you, and that he might in good + time see you at your father's; and he is gone down to give all his friends + joy of the news, and is in high spirits upon it. + </p> + <p> + Alas! for me: I shall then surely have him come up to persecute me again! + As soon as he discovers that that was only a stratagem to keep him away, + he will come up, and who knows but even now he is upon the road? I thought + I was so bad that I should have been out of his and every body's way + before now; for I expected not that this contrivance would serve me above + two or three days; and by this time he must have found out that I am not + so happy as to have any hope of a reconciliation with my family; and then + he will come, if it be only in revenge for what he will think a deceit, + but is not, I hope, a wicked one. + </p> + <p> + I believe I looked surprised to hear her confess that her letter was a + stratagem only; for she said, You wonder, Mr. Belford, I observe, that I + could be guilty of such an artifice. I doubt it is not right: it was done + in a hurry of spirits. How could I see a man who had so mortally injured + me; yet pretending a sorrow for his crimes, (and wanting to see me,) could + behave with so much shocking levity, as he did to the honest people of the + house? Yet, 'tis strange too, that neither you nor he found out my meaning + on perusal of my letter. You have seen what I wrote, no doubt? + </p> + <p> + I have, Madam. And then I began to account for it, as an innocent + artifice. + </p> + <p> + Thus far indeed, Sir, it is an innocent, that I meant him no hurt, and had + a right to the effect I hoped for from it; and he had none to invade me. + But have you, Sir, that letter of his in which he gives you (as I suppose + he does) the copy of mine? + </p> + <p> + I have, Madam. And pulled it out of my letter-case. But hesitating— + Nay, Sir, said she, be pleased to read my letter to yourself—I + desire not to see his—and see if you can be longer a stranger to a + meaning so obvious. + </p> + <p> + I read it to myself—Indeed, Madam, I can find nothing but that you + are going down to Harlowe-place to be reconciled to your father and other + friends: and Mr. Lovelace presumed that a letter from your sister, which + he saw brought when he was at Mr. Smith's, gave you the welcome news of + it. + </p> + <p> + She then explained all to me, and that, as I may say, in six words—A + religious meaning is couched under it, and that's the reason that neither + you nor I could find it out. + </p> + <p> + 'Read but for my father's house, Heaven, said she, and for the + interposition of my dear blessed friend, suppose the mediation of my + Saviour (which I humbly rely upon); and all the rest of the letter will be + accounted for.' I hope (repeated she) that it is a pardonable artifice. + But I am afraid it is not strictly right. + </p> + <p> + I read it so, and stood astonished for a minute at her invention, her + piety, her charity, and at thine and mine own stupidity to be thus taken + in. + </p> + <p> + And now, thou vile Lovelace, what hast thou to do (the lady all consistent + with herself, and no hopes left for thee) but to hang, drown, or shoot + thyself, for an outwitted boaster? + </p> + <p> + My surprise being a little over, she proceeded: As to the letter that came + from my sister while your friend was here, you will soon see, Sir, that it + is the cruellest letter she ever wrote me. + </p> + <p> + And then she expressed a deep concern for what might be the consequence of + Colonel Morden's intended visit to you; and besought me, that if now, or + at any time hereafter, I had opportunity to prevent any further mischief, + without detriment or danger to myself, I would do it. + </p> + <p> + I assured her of the most particular attention to this and to all her + commands; and that in a manner so agreeable to her, that she invoked a + blessing upon me for my goodness, as she called it, to a desolate creature + who suffered under the worst of orphanage; those were her words. + </p> + <p> + She then went back to her first subject, her uneasiness for fear of your + molesting her again; and said, If you have any influence over him, Mr. + Belford, prevail upon him that he will give me the assurance that the + short remainder of my time shall be all my own. I have need of it. Indeed + I have. Why will he wish to interrupt me in my duty? Has he not punished + me enough for my preference of him to all his sex? Has he not destroyed my + fame and my fortune? And will not his causeless vengeance upon me be + complete, unless he ruin my soul too?—Excuse me, Sir, for this + vehemence! But indeed it greatly imports me to know that I shall be no + more disturbed by him. And yet, with all this aversion, I would sooner + give way to his visit, though I were to expire the moment I saw him, than + to be the cause of any fatal misunderstanding between you and him. + </p> + <p> + I assured her that I would make such a representation of the matter to + you, and of the state of her health, that I would undertake to answer for + you, that you would not attempt to come near her. + </p> + <p> + And for this reason, Lovelace, do I lay the whole matter before you, and + desire you will authorize me, as soon as this and mine of Saturday last + come to your hands, to dissipate her fears. + </p> + <p> + This gave her a little satisfaction; and then she said that had I not told + her that I could promise for you, she was determined, ill as she is, to + remove somewhere out of my knowledge as well as out of your's. And yet, to + have been obliged to leave people I am but just got acquainted with, said + the poor lady, and to have died among perfect strangers, would have + completed my hardships. + </p> + <p> + This conversation, I found, as well from the length as the nature of it, + had fatigued her; and seeing her change colour once or twice, I made that + my excuse, and took leave of her: desiring her permission, however, to + attend her in the evening; and as often as possible; for I could not help + telling her that, every time I saw her, I more and more considered her as + a beatified spirit; and as one sent from Heaven to draw me after her out + of the miry gulf in which I had been so long immersed. + </p> + <p> + And laugh at me if thou wilt; but it is true that, every time I approach + her, I cannot but look upon her as one just entering into a companionship + with saints and angels. This thought so wholly possessed me, that I could + not help begging, as I went away, her prayers and her blessing, with the + reverence due to an angel. + </p> + <p> + In the evening, she was so low and weak, that I took my leave of her in + less than a quarter of an hour. I went directly home. Where, to the + pleasure and wonder of my cousin and her family, I now pass many honest + evenings: which they impute to your being out of town. + </p> + <p> + I shall dispatch my packet to-morrow morning early by my own servant, to + make thee amends for the suspense I must have kept thee in: thou'lt thank + me for that, I hope; but wilt not, I am sure, for sending thy servant back + without a letter. + </p> + <p> + I long for the particulars of the conversation between you and Mr. Morden; + the lady, as I have hinted, is full of apprehensions about it. Send me + back this packet when perused; for I have not had either time or patience + to take a copy of it. And I beseech you enable me to make good my + engagements to the poor lady that you will not invade her again. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XXXVIII + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. WEDNESDAY, AUG. 30. + </p> + <p> + I have a conversation to give you that passed between this admirable lady + and Dr. H. which will furnish a new instance of the calmness and serenity + with which she can talk of death, and prepare for it, as if it were an + occurrence as familiar to her as dressing and undressing. + </p> + <p> + As soon as I had dispatched my servant to you with my letters of the 26th, + 28th, and yesterday the 29th, I went to pay my duty to her, and had the + pleasure to find her, after a tolerable night, pretty lively and cheerful. + She was but just returned from her usual devotions; and Doctor H. alighted + as she entered the door. + </p> + <p> + After inquiring how she did, and hearing her complaints of shortness of + breath, (which she attributed to inward decay, precipitated by her late + harasses, as well from her friends as from you,) he was for advising her + to go into the air. + </p> + <p> + What will that do for me? said she: tell me truly, good Sir, with a + cheerful aspect, (you know you cannot disturb me by it,) whether now you + do not put on the true physician; and despairing that any thing in + medicine will help me, advise me to the air, as the last resource?—Can + you think the air will avail in such a malady as mine? + </p> + <p> + He was silent. + </p> + <p> + I ask, said she, because my friends (who will possibly some time hence + inquire after the means I used for my recovery) may be satisfied that I + omitted nothing which so worthy and skilful a physician prescribed? + </p> + <p> + The air, Madam, may possibly help the difficulty of breathing, which has + so lately attacked you. + </p> + <p> + But, Sir, you see how weak I am. You must see that I have been consuming + from day to day; and now, if I can judge by what I feel in myself, putting + her hand to her heart, I cannot continue long. If the air would very + probably add to my days, though I am far from being desirous to have them + lengthened, I would go into it; and the rather, as I know Mrs. Lovick + would kindly accompany me. But if I were to be at the trouble of removing + into new lodgings, (a trouble which I think now would be too much for me,) + and this only to die in the country, I had rather the scene were to shut + up here. For here have I meditated the spot, and the manner, and every + thing, as well of the minutest as of the highest consequence, that can + attend the solemn moments. So, Doctor, tell me truly, may I stay here, and + be clear of any imputations of curtailing, through wilfulness or + impatiency, or through resentments which I hope I am got above, a life + that might otherwise be prolonged?—Tell me, Sir; you are not talking + to a coward in this respect; indeed you are not!— Unaffectedly + smiling. + </p> + <p> + The doctor, turning to me, was at a loss what to say, lifting up his eyes + only in admiration of her. + </p> + <p> + Never had any patient, said she, a more indulgent and more humane + physician. But since you are loth to answer my question directly, I will + put it in other words—You don't enjoin me to go into the air, + Doctor, do you? + </p> + <p> + I do not, Madam. Nor do I now visit you as a physician; but as a person + whose conversation I admire, and whose sufferings I condole. And, to + explain myself more directly, as to the occasion of this day's visit in + particular, I must tell you, Madam, that, understanding how much you + suffer by the displeasure of your friends; and having no doubt but that, + if they knew the way you are in, they would alter their conduct to you; + and believing it must cut them to the heart, when too late, they shall be + informed of every thing; I have resolved to apprize them by letter + (stranger as I am to their persons) how necessary it is for some of them + to attend you very speedily. For their sakes, Madam, let me press for your + approbation of this measure. + </p> + <p> + She paused; and at last said, This is kind, very kind, in you, Sir. But I + hope that you do not think me so perverse, and so obstinate, as to have + left till now any means unessayed which I thought likely to move my + friends in my favour. But now, Doctor, said she, I should be too much + disturbed at their grief, if they were any of them to come or to send to + me: and perhaps, if I found they still loved me, wish to live; and so + should quit unwillingly that life, which I am now really fond of quitting, + and hope to quit as becomes a person who has had such a weaning-time as I + have been favoured with. + </p> + <p> + I hope, Madam, said I, we are not so near as you apprehend to that + deplorable catastrophe you hint at with such an amazing presence of mind. + And therefore I presume to second the doctor's motion, if it were only for + the sake of your father and mother, that they may have the satisfaction, + if they must lose you, to think they were first reconciled to you. + </p> + <p> + It is very kindly, very humanely considered, said she. But, if you think + me not so very near my last hour, let me desire this may be postponed till + I see what effect my cousin Morden's mediation may have. Perhaps he may + vouchsafe to make me a visit yet, after his intended interview with Mr. + Lovelace is over; of which, who knows, Mr. Belford, but your next letters + may give an account? I hope it will not be a fatal one to any body. Will + you promise me, Doctor, to forbear writing for two days only, and I will + communicate to you any thing that occurs in that time; and then you shall + take your own way? Mean time, I repeat my thanks for your goodness to me.—Nay, + dear Doctor, hurry not away from me so precipitately [for he was going, + for fear of an offered fee]: I will no more affront you with tenders that + have pained you for some time past: and since I must now, from this + kindly-offered favour, look upon you only as a friend, I will assure you + henceforth that I will give you no more uneasiness on that head: and now, + Sir, I know I shall have the pleasure of seeing you oftener than + heretofore. + </p> + <p> + The worthy gentleman was pleased with this assurance, telling her that he + had always come to see her with great pleasure, but parted with her, on + the account she hinted at, with as much pain; and that he should not have + forborne to double his visits, could he have had this kind assurance as + early as he wished for it. + </p> + <p> + There are few instances of like disinterestedness, I doubt, in this tribe. + Till now I always held it for gospel, that friendship and physician were + incompatible things; and little imagined that a man of medicine, when he + had given over his patient to death, would think of any visits but those + of ceremony, that he might stand well with the family, against it came to + their turns to go through his turnpike. + </p> + <p> + After the doctor was gone, she fell into a very serious discourse of the + vanity of life, and the wisdom of preparing for death, while health and + strength remained, and before the infirmities of body impaired the + faculties of the mind, and disabled them from acting with the necessary + efficacy and clearness: the whole calculated for every one's meridian, but + particularly, as it was easy to observe, for thine and mine. + </p> + <p> + She was very curious to know farther particulars of the behaviour of poor + Belton in his last moments. You must not wonder at my inquiries, Mr. + Belford, said she; For who is it, that is to undertake a journey into a + country they never travelled to before, that inquires not into the + difficulties of the road, and what accommodations are to be expected in + the way? + </p> + <p> + I gave her a brief account of the poor man's terrors, and unwillingness to + die: and, when I had done, Thus, Mr. Belford, said she, must it always be + with poor souls who have never thought of their long voyage till the + moment they are to embark for it. + </p> + <p> + She made other such observations upon this subject as, coming from the + mouth of a person who will so soon be a companion for angels, I shall + never forget. And indeed, when I went home, that I might engraft them the + better on my memory, I entered them down in writing: but I will not let + you see them until you are in a frame more proper to benefit by them than + you are likely to be in one while. + </p> + <p> + Thus far had I written, when the unexpected early return of my servant + with your packet (your's and he meeting at Slough, and exchanging letters) + obliged me to leave off to give its contents a reading.—Here, + therefore, I close this letter. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XXXIX + </h2> + <p> + MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUESDAY MORN. AUG. 29. + </p> + <p> + Now, Jack, will I give thee an account of what passed on occasion of the + visit made us by Col. Morden. + </p> + <p> + He came on horseback, attended by one servant; and Lord M. received him as + a relation of Miss Harlowe's with the highest marks of civility and + respect. + </p> + <p> + After some general talk of the times, and of the weather, and such + nonsense as Englishmen generally make their introductory topics to + conversation, the Colonel addressed himself to Lord M. and to me, as + follows: + </p> + <p> + I need not, my Lord, and Mr. Lovelace, as you know the relation I bear to + the Harlowe family, make any apology for entering upon a subject, which, + on account of that relation, you must think is the principal reason of the + honour I have done myself in this visit. + </p> + <p> + Miss Harlowe, Miss Clarissa Harlowe's affair, said Lord M. with his usual + forward bluntness. That, Sir, is what you mean. She is, by all accounts, + the most excellent woman in the world. + </p> + <p> + I am glad to hear that is your Lordship's opinion of her. It is every + one's. + </p> + <p> + It is not only my opinion, Col. Morden (proceeded the prating Peer), but + it is the opinion of all my family. Of my sisters, of my nieces, and of + Mr. Lovelace himself. + </p> + <p> + Col. Would to Heaven it had been always Mr. Lovelace's opinion of her! + </p> + <p> + Lovel. You have been out of England, Colonel, a good many years. Perhaps + you are not yet fully apprized of all the particulars of this case. + </p> + <p> + Col. I have been out of England, Sir, about seven years. My cousin Clary + was then about 12 years of age: but never was there at twenty so discreet, + so prudent, and so excellent a creature. All that knew her, or saw her, + admired her. Mind and person, never did I see such promises of perfection + in any young lady: and I am told, nor is it to be wondered at, that, as + she advanced to maturity, she more than justified and made good those + promises.—Then as to fortune—what her father, what her uncles, + and what I myself, intended to do for her, besides what her grandfather + had done—there is not a finer fortune in the country. + </p> + <p> + Lovel. All this, Colonel, and more than this, is Miss Clarissa Harlowe; + and had it not been for the implacableness and violence of her family (all + resolved to push her upon a match as unworthy of her as hateful to her) + she had still been happy. + </p> + <p> + Col. I own, Mr. Lovelace, the truth of what you observed just now, that I + am not thoroughly acquainted with all that has passed between you and my + cousin. But permit me to say, that when I first heard that you made your + addresses to her, I knew but of one objection against you; that, indeed, a + very great one: and upon a letter sent me, I gave her my free opinion upon + that subject.* But had it not been for that, I own, that, in my private + mind, there could not have been a more suitable match: for you are a + gallant gentleman, graceful in your person, easy and genteel in your + deportment, and in your family, fortunes, and expectations, happy as a man + can wish to be. Then the knowledge I had of you in Italy (although, give + me leave to say, your conduct there was not wholly unexceptionable) + convinces me that you are brave: and few gentlemen come up to you in wit + and vivacity. Your education has given you great advantages; your manners + are engaging, and you have travelled; and I know, if you'll excuse me, you + make better observations than you are governed by. All these + qualifications make it not at all surprising that a young lady should love + you: and that this love, joined to that indiscreet warmth wherewith my + cousin's friends would have forced her inclinations in favour of men who + are far your inferiors in the qualities I have named, should throw herself + upon your protection. But then, if there were these two strong motives, + the one to induce, the other to impel, her, let me ask you, Sir, if she + were not doubly entitled to generous usage from a man whom she chose for + her protector; and whom, let me take the liberty to say, she could so + amply reward for the protection he was to afford her? + </p> + <p> + * See Vol. IV. Letter XIX. + </p> + <p> + Lovel. Miss Clarissa Harlowe was entitled, Sir, to have the best usage + that man could give her. I have no scruple to own it. I will always do her + the justice she so well deserves. I know what will be your inference; and + have only to say, that time past cannot be recalled; perhaps I wish it + could. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel then, in a very manly strain, set forth the wickedness of + attempting a woman of virtue and character. He said, that men had + generally too many advantages from the weakness, credulity, and + inexperience of the fair sex: that their early learning, which chiefly + consisted in inflaming novels, and idle and improbable romances, + contributed to enervate and weaken their minds: that his cousin, however, + he was sure, was above the reach of common seduction, and not to be + influenced to the rashness her parents accused her of, by weaker motives + than their violence, and the most solemn promises on my part: but, + nevertheless, having those motives, and her prudence (eminent as it was) + being rather the effect of constitution than experience, (a fine + advantage, however, he said, to ground an unblamable future life upon,) + she might not be apprehensive of bad designs in a man she loved: it was, + therefore, a very heinous thing to abuse the confidence of such a woman. + </p> + <p> + He was going on in this trite manner; when, interrupting him, I said, + These general observations, Colonel, suit not perhaps this particular + case. But you yourself are a man of gallantry; and, possibly, were you to + be put to the question, might not be able to vindicate every action of + your life, any more than I. + </p> + <p> + Col. You are welcome, Sir, to put what questions you please to me. And, I + thank God, I can both own and be ashamed of my errors. + </p> + <p> + Lord M. looked at me; but as the Colonel did not by his manner seem to + intend a reflection, I had no occasion to take it for one; especially as I + can as readily own my errors, as he, or any man, can his, whether ashamed + of them or not. + </p> + <p> + He proceeded. As you seem to call upon me, Mr. Lovelace, I will tell you + (without boasting of it) what has been my general practice, till lately, + that I hope I have reformed it a good deal. + </p> + <p> + I have taken liberties, which the laws of morality will by no means + justify; and once I should have thought myself warranted to cut the throat + of any young fellow who should make as free with a sister of mine as I + have made with the sisters and daughters of others. But then I took care + never to promise any thing I intended not to perform. A modest ear should + as soon have heard downright obscenity from my lips, as matrimony, if I + had not intended it. Young ladies are generally ready enough to believe we + mean honourably, if they love us; and it would look like a strange affront + to their virtue and charms, that it should be supposed needful to put the + question whether in your address you mean a wife. But when once a man make + a promise, I think it ought to be performed; and a woman is well warranted + to appeal to every one against the perfidy of a deceiver; and is always + sure to have the world on her side. + </p> + <p> + Now, Sir, continued he, I believe you have so much honour as to own, that + you could not have made way to so eminent a virtue, without promising + marriage; and that very explicitly and solemnly— + </p> + <p> + I know very well, Colonel, interrupted I, all you would say. You will + excuse me, I am sure, that I break in upon you, when you find it is to + answer the end you drive at. + </p> + <p> + I own to you then that I have acted very unworthily by Miss Clarissa + Harlowe; and I'll tell you farther, that I heartily repent of my + ingratitude and baseness to her. Nay, I will say still farther, that I am + so grossly culpable as to her, that even to plead that the abuses and + affronts I daily received from her implacable relations were in any manner + a provocation to me to act vilely by her, would be a mean and low attempt + to excuse myself—so low and so mean, that it would doubly condemn + me. And if you can say worse, speak it. + </p> + <p> + He looked upon Lord M. and then upon me, two or three times. And my Lord + said, My kinsman speaks what he thinks, I'll answer for him. + </p> + <p> + Lovel. I do, Sir; and what can I say more? And what farther, in your + opinion, can be done? + </p> + <p> + Col. Done! Sir? Why, Sir, [in a haughty tone he spoke,] I need not tell + you that reparation follows repentance. And I hope you make no scruple of + justifying your sincerity as to the one or the other. + </p> + <p> + I hesitated, (for I relished not the manner of his speech, and his haughty + accent,) as undetermined whether to take proper notice of it or not. + </p> + <p> + Col. Let me put this question to you, Mr. Lovelace: Is it true, as I have + heard it is, that you would marry my cousin, if she would have you? + —What say you, Sir?— + </p> + <p> + This wound me up a peg higher. + </p> + <p> + Lovel. Some questions, as they may be put, imply commands, Colonel. I + would be glad to know how I am to take your's? And what is to be the end + of your interrogatories? + </p> + <p> + Col. My questions are not meant by me as commands, Mr. Lovelace. The end + is, to prevail upon a gentleman to act like a gentleman, and a man of + honour. + </p> + <p> + Lovel. (briskly) And by what arguments, Sir, do you propose to prevail + upon me? + </p> + <p> + Col. By what arguments, Sir, prevail upon a gentleman to act like a + gentleman!—I am surprised at that question from Mr. Lovelace. + </p> + <p> + Lovel. Why so, Sir? + </p> + <p> + Col. WHY so, Sir! (angrily)—Let me— + </p> + <p> + Lovel. (interrupting) I don't choose, Colonel, to be repeated upon, in + that accent. + </p> + <p> + Lord M. Come, come, gentlemen, I beg of you to be willing to understand + one another. You young gentlemen are so warm— + </p> + <p> + Col. Not I, my Lord—I am neither very young, nor unduly warm. Your + nephew, my Lord, can make me be every thing he would have me to be. + </p> + <p> + Lovel. And that shall be, whatever you please to be, Colonel. + </p> + <p> + Col. (fiercely) The choice be your's, Mr. Lovelace. Friend or foe! as you + do or are willing to do justice to one of the finest women in the world. + </p> + <p> + Lord M. I guessed, from both your characters, what would be the case when + you met. Let me interpose, gentlemen, and beg you but to understand one + another. You both shoot at one mark; and, if you are patient, will both + hit it. Let me beg of you, Colonel, to give no challenges— + </p> + <p> + Col. Challenges, my Lord!—They are things I ever was readier to + accept than to offer. But does your Lordship think that a man, so nearly + related as I have the honour to be to the most accomplished woman on + earth,— + </p> + <p> + Lord M. (interrupting) We all allow the excellencies of the lady—and + we shall all take it as the greatest honour to be allied to her that can + be conferred upon us. + </p> + <p> + Col. So you ought, my Lord!— + </p> + <p> + A perfect Chamont; thought I.* + </p> + <p> + * See Otway's Orphan. + </p> + <p> + Lord M. So we ought, Colonel! and so we do!—and pray let every one + do as he ought!—and no more than he ought; and you, Colonel, let me + tell you, will not be so hasty. + </p> + <p> + Lovel. (coolly) Come, come, Col. Morden, don't let this dispute, whatever + you intend to make of it, go farther than with you and me. You deliver + yourself in very high terms. Higher than ever I was talked to in my life. + But here, beneath this roof, 'twould be inexcusable for me to take that + notice of it which, perhaps, it would become me to take elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + Col. That is spoken as I wish the man to speak whom I should be pleased to + call my friend, if all his actions were of a piece; and as I would have + the man speak whom I would think it worth my while to call my foe. I love + a man of spirit, as I love my soul. But, Mr. Lovelace, as my Lord thinks + we aim at one mark, let me say, that were we permitted to be alone for six + minutes, I dare say, we should soon understand one another perfectly well.—And + he moved to the door. + </p> + <p> + Lovel. I am entirely of your opinion, Sir; and will attend you. + </p> + <p> + My Lord rung, and stept between us: Colonel, return, I beseech you return, + said he: for he had stept out of the room while my Lord held me— + Nephew, you shall not go out. + </p> + <p> + The bell and my Lord's raised voice brought in Mowbray, and Clements, my + Lord's gentleman; the former in his careless way, with his hands behind + him, What's the matter, Bobby? What's the matter, my Lord? + </p> + <p> + Only, only, only, stammered the agitated peer, these young gentlemen are, + are, are—are young gentlemen, that's all.—Pray, Colonel + Morden, [who again entered the room with a sedater aspect,] let this cause + have a fair trial, I beseech you. + </p> + <p> + Col. With all my heart, my Lord. + </p> + <p> + Mowbray whispered me, What is the cause, Bobby?—Shall I take the + gentleman to task for thee, my boy? + </p> + <p> + Not for the world, whispered I. The Colonel is a gentleman, and I desire + you'll not say one word. + </p> + <p> + Well, well, well, Bobby, I have done. I can turn thee loose to the best + man upon God's earth; that's all, Bobby; strutting off to the other end of + the room. + </p> + <p> + Col. I am sorry, my Lord, I should give your Lordship the least + uneasiness. I came not with such a design. + </p> + <p> + Lord M. Indeed, Colonel, I thought you did, by your taking fire so + quickly. I am glad to hear you say you did not. How soon a little spark + kindles into a flame; especially when it meets with such combustible + spirits! + </p> + <p> + Col. If I had had the least thought of proceeding to extremities, I am + sure Mr. Lovelace would have given me the honour of a meeting where I + should have been less an intruder: but I came with an amicable intention; + to reconcile differences rather than to widen them. + </p> + <p> + Lovel. Well then, Colonel Morden, let us enter upon the subject in your + own way. I don't know the man I should sooner choose to be upon terms with + than one whom Miss Clarissa Harlowe so much respects. But I cannot bear to + be treated, either in word or accent, in a menacing way. + </p> + <p> + Lord M. Well, well, well, well, gentlemen, this is somewhat like. Angry + men make to themselves beds of nettles, and, when they lie down in them, + are uneasy with every body. But I hope you are friends. Let me hear you + say you are. I am persuaded, Colonel, that you don't know all this unhappy + story. You don't know how desirous my kinsman is, as well as all of us, to + have this matter end happily. You don't know, do you, Colonel, that Mr. + Lovelace, at all our requests, is disposed to marry the lady? + </p> + <p> + Col. At all your requests, my Lord?—I should have hoped that Mr. + Lovelace was disposed to do justice for the sake of justice; and when at + the same time the doing of justice was doing himself the highest honour. + </p> + <p> + Mowbray lifted up his before half-closed eyes to the Colonel, and glanced + them upon me. + </p> + <p> + Lovel. This is in very high language, Colonel. + </p> + <p> + Mowbr. By my soul, I thought so. + </p> + <p> + Col. High language, Mr. Lovelace? Is it not just language? + </p> + <p> + Lovel. It is, Colonel. And I think, the man that does honour to Miss + Clarissa Harlowe, does me honour. But, nevertheless, there is a manner in + speaking, that may be liable to exception, where the words, without that + manner, can bear none. + </p> + <p> + Col. Your observation in the general is undoubtedly just: but, if you have + the value for my cousin that you say you have, you must needs think + — + </p> + <p> + Lovel. You must allow me, Sir, to interrupt you—IF I have the value + I say I have—I hope, Sir, when I say I have that value, there is no + room for that if, pronounced as you pronounced it with an emphasis. + </p> + <p> + Col. You have broken in upon me twice, Mr. Lovelace. I am as little + accustomed to be broken in upon, as you are to be repeated upon. + </p> + <p> + Lord M. Two barrels of gunpowder, by my conscience! What a devil will it + signify talking, if thus you are to blow one another up at every word? + </p> + <p> + Lovel. No man of honour, my Lord, will be easy to have his veracity called + into question, though but by implication. + </p> + <p> + Col. Had you heard me out, Mr. Lovelace, you would have found, that my if + was rather an if of inference, than of doubt. But 'tis, really a strange + liberty gentlemen of free principles take; who at the same time that they + would resent unto death the imputation of being capable of telling an + untruth to a man, will not scruple to break through the most solemn oaths + and promises to a woman. I must assure you, Mr. Lovelace, that I always + made a conscience of my vows and promises. + </p> + <p> + Lovel. You did right, Colonel. But let me tell you, Sir, that you know not + the man you talk to, if you imagine he is not able to rise to a proper + resentment, when he sees his generous confessions taken for a mark of + base-spiritedness. + </p> + <p> + Col. (warmly, and with a sneer,) Far be it from me, Mr. Lovelace, to + impute to you the baseness of spirit you speak of; for what would that be + but to imagine that a man, who has done a very flagrant injury, is not + ready to show his bravery in defending it— + </p> + <p> + Mowbr. This is d——d severe, Colonel. It is, by Jove. I could + not take so much at the hands of any man breathing as Mr. Lovelace before + this took at your's. + </p> + <p> + Col. Who are you, Sir? What pretence have you to interpose in a cause + where there is an acknowledged guilt on one side, and the honour of a + considerable family wounded in the tenderest part by that guilt on the + other? + </p> + <p> + Mowbr. (whispering to the Colonel) My dear child, you will oblige me + highly if you will give me the opportunity of answering your question. And + was going out. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel was held in by my Lord. And I brought in Mowbray. + </p> + <p> + Col. Pray, my good Lord, let me attend this officious gentleman, I beseech + you do. I will wait upon your Lordship in three minutes, depend upon it. + </p> + <p> + Lovel. Mowbray, is this acting like a friend by me, to suppose me + incapable of answering for myself? And shall a man of honour and bravery, + as I know Colonel Morden to be, (rash as perhaps in this visit he has + shown himself,) have it to say, that he comes to my Lord M.'s house, in a + manner naked as to attendants and friends, and shall not for that reason + be rather borne with than insulted? This moment, my dear Mowbray, leave + us. You have really no concern in this business; and if you are my friend, + I desire you'll ask the Colonel pardon for interfering in it in the manner + you have done. + </p> + <p> + Mowbr. Well, well, Bob.; thou shalt be arbiter in this matter; I know I + have no business in it—and, Colonel, (holding out his hand,) I leave + you to one who knows how to defend his own cause as well as any man in + England. + </p> + <p> + Col. (taking Mowbray's hand, at Lord M.'s request,) You need not tell me + that, Mr. Mowbray. I have no doubt of Mr. Lovelace's ability to defend his + own cause, were it a cause to be defended. And let me tell you, Mr. + Lovelace, that I am astonished to think that a brave man, and a generous + man, as you have appeared to be in two or three instances that you have + given in the little knowledge I have of you, should be capable of acting + as you have done by the most excellent of her sex. + </p> + <p> + Lord M. Well, but, gentlemen, now Mr. Mowbray is gone, and you have both + shown instances of courage and generosity to boot, let me desire you to + lay your heads together amicably, and think whether there be any thing to + be done to make all end happily for the lady? + </p> + <p> + Lovel. But hold, my Lord, let me say one thing, now Mowbray is gone; and + that is, that I think a gentleman ought not to put up tamely one or two + severe things that the Colonel has said. + </p> + <p> + Lord M. What the devil canst thou mean? I thought all had been over. Why + thou hast nothing to do but to confirm to the Colonel that thou art + willing to marry Miss Harlowe, if she will have thee. + </p> + <p> + Col. Mr. Lovelace will not scruple to say that, I suppose, notwithstanding + all that has passed: but if you think, Mr. Lovelace, I have said any thing + I should not have said, I suppose it is this, that the man who has shown + so little of the thing honour, to a defenceless unprotected woman, ought + not to stand so nicely upon the empty name of it, with a man who is + expostulating with him upon it. I am sorry to have cause to say this, Mr. + Lovelace; but I would, on the same occasion, repeat it to a king upon his + throne, and surrounded by all his guards. + </p> + <p> + Lord M. But what is all this, but more sacks upon the mill? more coals + upon the fire? You have a mind to quarrel both of you, I see that. Are you + not willing, Nephew, are you not most willing, to marry this lady, if she + can be prevailed upon to have you? + </p> + <p> + Lovel. D—n me, my Lord, if I'd marry my empress upon such treatment + as this. + </p> + <p> + Lord M. Why now, Bob., thou art more choleric than the Colonel. It was his + turn just now. And now you see he is cool, you are all gunpowder. + </p> + <p> + Lovel. I own the Colonel has many advantages over me; but, perhaps, there + is one advantage he has not, if it were put to the trial. + </p> + <p> + Col. I came not hither, as I said before, to seek the occasion: but if it + were offered me, I won't refuse it—and since we find we disturb my + good Lord M. I'll take my leave, and will go home by the way of St. + Alban's. + </p> + <p> + Lovel. I'll see you part of the way, with all my heart, Colonel. + </p> + <p> + Col. I accept your civility very cheerfully, Mr. Lovelace. + </p> + <p> + Lord M. (interposing again, as we were both for going out,) And what will + this do, gentlemen? Suppose you kill one another, will the matter be + bettered or worsted by that? Will the lady be made happier or unhappier, + do you think, by either or both of your deaths? Your characters are too + well known to make fresh instances of the courage of either needful. And, + I think, if the honour of the lady is your view, Colonel, it can by no + other way so effectually promoted as by marriage. And, Sir, if you would + use your interest with her, it is very probable that you may succeed, + though nobody else can. + </p> + <p> + Lovel. I think, my Lord, I have said all that a man can say, (since what + is passed cannot be recalled:) and you see Colonel Morden rises in + proportion to my coolness, till it is necessary for me to assert myself, + or even he would despise me. + </p> + <p> + Lord M. Let me ask you, Colonel, have you any way, any method, that you + think reasonable and honourable to propose, to bring about a + reconciliation with the lady? That is what we all wish for. And I can tell + you, Sir, it is not a little owing to her family, and to their implacable + usage of her, that her resentments are heightened against my kinsman; who, + however, has used her vilely; but is willing to repair her wrongs.— + </p> + <p> + Lovel. Not, my Lord, for the sake of her family; nor for this gentleman's + haughty behaviour; but for her own sake, and in full sense of the wrongs I + have done her. + </p> + <p> + Col. As to my haughty behaviour, as you call it, Sir, I am mistaken if you + would not have gone beyond it in the like case of a relation so + meritorious, and so unworthily injured. And, Sir, let me tell you, that if + your motives are not love, honour, and justice, and if they have the least + tincture of mean compassion for her, or of an uncheerful assent on your + part, I am sure it will neither be desired or accepted by a person of my + cousin's merit and sense; nor shall I wish that it should. + </p> + <p> + Lovel. Don't think, Colonel, that I am meanly compounding off a debate, + that I should as willingly go through with you as to eat or drink, if I + have the occasion given me for it: but thus much I will tell you, that my + Lord, that Lady Sarah Sadleir, Lady Betty Lawrance, my two cousins + Montague, and myself, have written to her in the most solemn and sincere + manner, to offer her such terms as no one but herself would refuse, and + this long enough before Colonel Morden's arrival was dreamt of. + </p> + <p> + Col. What reason, Sir, may I ask, does she give, against listening to so + powerful a mediation, and to such offers? + </p> + <p> + Lovel. It looks like capitulating, or else— + </p> + <p> + Col. It looks not like any such thing to me, Mr. Lovelace, who have as + good an opinion of your spirit as man can have. And what, pray, is the + part I act, and my motives for it? Are they not, in desiring that justice + may be done to my Cousin Clarissa Harlowe, that I seek to establish the + honour of Mrs. Lovelace, if matters can once be brought to bear? + </p> + <p> + Lovel. Were she to honour me with her acceptance of that name, Mr. Morden, + I should not want you or any man to assert the honour of Mrs. Lovelace. + </p> + <p> + Col. I believe it. But still she has honoured you with that acceptance, + she is nearer to me than to you, Mr. Lovelace. And I speak this, only to + show you that, in the part I take, I mean rather to deserve your thanks + than your displeasure, though against yourself, were there occasion. Nor + ought you take it amiss, if you rightly weigh the matter: For, Sir, whom + does a lady want protection against but her injurers? And who has been her + greatest injurer?—Till, therefore, she becomes entitled to your + protection, as your wife, you yourself cannot refuse me some merit in + wishing to have justice done my cousin. But, Sir, you were going to say, + that if it were not to look like capitulating, you would hint the reasons + my cousin gives against accepting such an honourable mediation? + </p> + <p> + I then told him of my sincere offers of marriage: 'I made no difficulty, I + said, to own my apprehensions, that my unhappy behaviour to her had + greatly affected her: but that it was the implacableness of her friends + that had thrown her into despair, and given her a contempt for life.' I + told him, 'that she had been so good as to send me a letter to divert me + from a visit my heart was set upon making her: a letter on which I built + great hopes, because she assured me that in it she was going to her + father's; and that I might see her there, when she was received, if it + were not my own fault. + </p> + <p> + Col. Is it possible? And were you, Sir, thus earnest? And did she send you + such a letter? + </p> + <p> + Lord M. confirmed both; and also, that, in obedience to her desires, and + that intimation, I had come down without the satisfaction I had proposed + to myself in seeing her. + </p> + <p> + It is very true, Colonel, said I: and I should have told you this before: + but your heat made me decline it; for, as I said, it had an appearance of + meanly capitulating with you. An abjectness of heart, of which, had I been + capable, I should have despised myself as much as I might have expected + you would despise me. + </p> + <p> + Lord M. proposed to enter into the proof of all this. He said, in his + phraseological way, That one story was good till another was heard; and + that the Harlowe family and I, 'twas true, had behaved like so many Orsons + to one another; and that they had been very free with all our family + besides: that nevertheless, for the lady's sake, more than for their's, or + even for mine, (he could tell me,) he would do greater things for me than + they could ask, if she could be brought to have me: and that this he + wanted to declare, and would sooner have declared, if he could have + brought us sooner to patience, and a good understanding. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel made excuses for his warmth, on the score of his affection to + his cousin. + </p> + <p> + My regard for her made me readily admit them: and so a fresh bottle of + Burgundy, and another of Champagne, being put upon the table, we sat down + in good humour, after all this blustering, in order to enter closer into + the particulars of the case: which I undertook, at both their desires, to + do. + </p> + <p> + But these things must be the subject of another letter, which shall + immediately follow this, if it do not accompany it. + </p> + <p> + Mean time you will observe that a bad cause gives a man great + disadvantages: for I myself think that the interrogatories put to me with + so much spirit by the Colonel made me look cursedly mean; at the same time + that it gave him a superiority which I know not how to allow to the best + man in Europe. So that, literally speaking, as a good man would infer, + guilt is its own punisher: in that it makes the most lofty spirit look + like the miscreant he is—a good man, I say: So, Jack, proleptically + I add, thou hast no right to make the observation. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XL + </h2> + <p> + MR. LOVELACE [IN CONTINUATION.] TUESDAY AFTERNOON, AUG. 29. + </p> + <p> + I went back, in this part of our conversation, to the day that I was + obliged to come down to attend my Lord in the dangerous illness which some + feared would have been his last. + </p> + <p> + I told the Colonel, 'what earnest letters I had written to a particular + friend, to engage him to prevail upon the lady not to slip a day that had + been proposed for the private celebration of our nuptials; and of my + letters* written to her on that subject;' for I had stepped to my closet, + and fetched down all the letters and draughts and copies of letters + relating to this affair. + </p> + <p> + * See Vol. VI. Letters XXXVII. XXXVIII. XXXIX. XLIII. + </p> + <p> + I read to him, 'several passages in the copies of those letters, which, + thou wilt remember, make not a little to my honour.' And I told him, 'that + I wished I had kept copies of those to my friend on the same occasion; by + which he would have seen how much in earnest I was in my professions to + her, although she would not answer one of them;' and thou mayest remember, + that one of those four letters accounted to herself why I was desirous she + should remain where I had left her.* + </p> + <p> + * See Vol. VI. Letter XXXVII. + </p> + <p> + I then proceeded to give him an account 'of the visit made by Lady Sarah + and Lady Betty to Lord M. and me, in order to induce me to do her justice: + of my readiness to comply with their desires; and of their high opinion of + her merit: of the visit made to Miss Howe by my cousins Montague, in the + name of us all, to engage her interest with her friend in my behalf: of my + conversation with Miss Howe, at a private assembly, to whom I gave the + same assurances, and besought her interest with her friend.' + </p> + <p> + I then read a copy of the letter (though so much to my disadvantage) which + was written to her by Miss Charlotte Montague, Aug. 1,* entreating her + alliance in the names of all our family. + </p> + <p> + * See Vol. VII. Letter LXVI. + </p> + <p> + This made him ready to think that his fair cousin carried her resentment + against me too far. He did not imagine, he said, that either myself or our + family had been so much in earnest. + </p> + <p> + So thou seest, Belford, that it is but glossing over one part of a story, + and omitting another, that will make a bad cause a good one at any time. + What an admirable lawyer should I have made! And what a poor hand would + this charming creature, with all her innocence, have made of it in a court + of justice against a man who had so much to say and to show for himself! + </p> + <p> + I then hinted at the generous annual tender which Lord M. and his sisters + made to his fair cousin, in apprehension that she might suffer by her + friends' implacableness. + </p> + <p> + And this also the Colonel highly applauded, and was pleased to lament the + unhappy misunderstanding between the two families, which had made the + Harlowes less fond of an alliance with a family of so much honour as this + instance showed ours to be. + </p> + <p> + I then told him, 'That having, by my friend, [meaning thee,] who was + admitted into her presence, (and who had always been an admirer of her + virtues, and had given me such advice from time to time in relation to her + as I wished I had followed,) been assured that a visit from me would be + very disagreeable to her, I once more resolved to try what a letter would + do; and that, accordingly, on the seventh of August, I wrote her one. + </p> + <p> + 'This, Colonel, is the copy of it. I was then out of humour with my Lord + M. and the ladies of my family. You will, therefore, read it to + yourself.'* + </p> + <p> + * See Vol. VII. Letter LXXIX. + </p> + <p> + This letter gave him high satisfaction. You write here, Mr. Lovelace, from + your heart. 'Tis a letter full of penitence and acknowledgement. Your + request is reasonable—To be forgiven only as you shall appear to + deserve it after a time of probation, which you leave to her to fix. Pray, + Sir, did she return an answer to this letter? + </p> + <p> + She did, but with reluctance, I own, and not till I had declared by my + friend, that, if I could not procure one, I would go up to town, and throw + myself at her feet. + </p> + <p> + I wish I might be permitted to see it, Sir, or to hear such parts of it + read as you shall think proper. + </p> + <p> + Turning over my papers, Here it is, Sir.* I will make no scruple to put it + into your hands. + </p> + <p> + This is very obliging, Mr. Lovelace. + </p> + <p> + He read it. My charming cousin!—How strong her resentments!—Yet + how charitable her wishes!—Good Heaven! that such an excellent + creature— But, Mr. Lovelace, it is to your regret, as much as to + mine, I doubt not — + </p> + <p> + Interrupting him, I swore that it was. + </p> + <p> + So it ought, said he. Nor do I wonder that it should be so. I shall tell + you by-and-by, proceeded he, how much she suffers with her friends by + false and villanous reports. But, Sir, will you permit me to take with me + these two letters? I shall make use of them to the advantage of you both. + </p> + <p> + I told him I would oblige him with all my heart. And this he took very + kindly (as he had reason); and put them in his pocket-book, promising to + return hem in a few days. + </p> + <p> + I then told him, 'That upon this her refusal, I took upon myself to go to + town, in hopes to move her in my favour; and that, though I went without + giving her notice of my intention, yet had she got some notion of my + coming, and so contrived to be out of the way: and at last, when she found + I was fully determined at all events to see her, before I went abroad, + (which I shall do, said I, if I cannot prevail upon her,) she sent me the + letter I have already mentioned to you, desiring me to suspend my purposed + visit: and that for a reason which amazes and confounds me; because I + don't find there is any thing in it: and yet I never knew her once + dispense with her word; for she always made it a maxim, that it was not + lawful to do evil, that good might come of it: and yet in this letter, for + no reason in the world but to avoid seeing me (to gratify an humour only) + has she sent me out of town, depending upon the assurance she had given + me.' + </p> + <p> + Col. This is indeed surprising. But I cannot believe that my cousin, for + such an end only, or indeed for any end, according to the character I hear + of her, should stoop to make use of such an artifice. + </p> + <p> + Lovel. This, Colonel, is the thing that astonishes me; and yet, see here!—This + is the letter she wrote me—Nay, Sir, 'tis her own hand. + </p> + <p> + Col. I see it is; and a charming hand it is. + </p> + <p> + Lovel. You observe, Colonel, that all her hopes of reconciliation with her + parents are from you. You are her dear blessed friend! She always talked + of you with delight. + </p> + <p> + Col. Would to Heaven I had come to England before she left Harlowe-place!—Nothing + of this had then happened. Not a man of those whom I have heard that her + friends proposed for her should have had her. Nor you, Mr. Lovelace, + unless I had found you to be the man every one who sees you must wish you + to be: and if you had been that man, no one living should I have preferred + to you for such an excellence. + </p> + <p> + My Lord and I both joined in the wish: and 'faith I wished it most + cordially. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel read the letter twice over, and then returned it to me. 'Tis + all a mystery, said he. I can make nothing of it. For, alas! her friends + are as averse to a reconciliation as ever. + </p> + <p> + Lord M. I could not have thought it. But don't you think there is + something very favourable to my nephew in this letter—something that + looks as if the lady would comply at last? + </p> + <p> + Col. Let me die if I know what to make of it. This letter is very + different from her preceding one!—You returned an answer to it, Mr. + Lovelace? + </p> + <p> + Lovel. An answer, Colonel! No doubt of it. And an answer full of + transport. I told her, 'I would directly set out for Lord M.'s, in + obedience to her will. I told her that I would consent to any thing she + should command, in order to promote this happy reconciliation. I told her + that it should be my hourly study, to the end of my life, to deserve a + goodness so transcendent.' But I cannot forbear saying that I am not a + little shocked and surprised, if nothing more be meant by it than to get + me into the country without seeing her. + </p> + <p> + Col. That can't be the thing, depend upon it, Sir. There must be more in + it than that. For, were that all, she must think you would soon be + undeceived, and that you would then most probably resume your intention— + unless, indeed, she depended upon seeing me in the interim, as she knew I + was arrived. But I own I know not what to make of it. Only that she does + me a great deal of honour, if it be me that she calls her dear blessed + friend, whom she always loved and honoured. Indeed I ever loved her: and + if I die unmarried, and without children, shall be as kind to her as her + grandfather was: and the rather, as I fear there is too much of envy and + self-love in the resentments her brother and sister endeavour to keep up + in her father and mother against her. But I shall know better how to judge + of this, when my cousin James comes from Edinburgh; and he is every hour + expected. + </p> + <p> + But let me ask you, Mr. Lovelace, what is the name of your friend, who is + admitted so easily into my cousin's presence? Is it not Belford, pray? + </p> + <p> + Lovel. It is, Sir; and Mr. Belford's a man of honour; and a great admirer + of your fair cousin. + </p> + <p> + Was I right, as to the first, Jack? The last I have such strong proof of, + that it makes me question the first; since she would not have been out of + the way of my intended visit but for thee. + </p> + <p> + Col. Are you sure, Sir, that Mr. Belford is a man of honour? + </p> + <p> + Lovel. I can swear for him, Colonel. What makes you put this question? + </p> + <p> + Col. Only this: that an officious pragmatical novice has been sent up to + inquire into my cousin's life and conversation: And, would you believe it? + the frequent visits of this gentlemen have been interpreted basely to her + disreputation.—Read that letter, Mr. Lovelace; and you will be + shocked at ever part of it. + </p> + <p> + This cursed letter, no doubt, is from the young Levite, whom thou, Jack, + describest as making inquiry of Mrs. Smith about Miss Harlowe's character + and visiters.* + </p> + <p> + * See Vol. VII. Letter LXXXI. + </p> + <p> + I believe I was a quarter of an hour in reading it: for I made it, though + not a short one, six times as long as it is, by the additions of oaths and + curses to every pedantic line. Lord M. too helped to lengthen it, by the + like execrations. And thou, Jack, wilt have as much reason to curse it as + we. + </p> + <p> + You cannot but see, said the Colonel, when I had done reading it, that + this fellow has been officious in his malevolence; for what he says is + mere hearsay, and that hearsay conjectural scandal without fact, or the + appearance of fact, to support it; so that an unprejudiced eye, upon the + face of the letter, would condemn the writer of it, as I did, and acquit + my cousin. But yet, such is the spirit by which the rest of my relations + are governed, that they run away with the belief of the worst it + insinuates, and the dear creature has had shocking letters upon it; the + pedant's hints are taken; and a voyage to one of the colonies has been + proposed to her, as the only way to avoid Mr. Belford and you. I have not + seen these letters indeed; but they took a pride in repeating some of + their contents, which must have cut the poor soul to the heart; and these, + joined to her former sufferings,—What have you not, Mr. Lovelace, to + answer for? + </p> + <p> + Lovel. Who the devil could have expected such consequences as these? Who + could have believe there could be parents so implacable? Brother and + sister so immovably fixed against the only means that could be taken to + put all right with every body?—And what now can be done? + </p> + <p> + Lord M. I have great hopes that Col. Morden may yet prevail upon his + cousin. And, by her last letter, it runs in my mind that she has some + thoughts of forgiving all that's past. Do you think, Colonel, if there + should not be such a thing as a reconciliation going forward at present, + that her letter may not imply that, if we could bring such a thing to bear + with her friends, she would be reconciled with Mr. Lovelace? + </p> + <p> + Col. Such an artifice would better become the Italian subtilty than the + English simplicity. Your Lordship has been in Italy, I presume? + </p> + <p> + Lovel. My Lord has read Boccaccio, perhaps; and that's as well, as to the + hint he gives, which may be borrowed from one of that author's stories. + But Miss Clarissa Harlowe is above all artifice. She must have some + meaning I cannot fathom. + </p> + <p> + Col. Well, my Lord, I can only say that I will make some use of the + letters Mr. Lovelace has obliged me with: and after I have had some talk + with my cousin James, who is hourly expected; and when I have dispatched + two or three affairs that press upon me; I will pay my respects to my dear + cousin; and shall then be able to form a better judgment of things. Mean + time I will write to her; for I have sent to inquire about her, and find + she wants consolation. + </p> + <p> + Lovel. If you favour me, Colonel, with the d——d letter of that + fellow Brand for a day or two, you will oblige me. + </p> + <p> + Col. I will. But remember, the man is a parson, Mr. Lovelace; an innocent + one too, they say. Else I had been at him before now. And these college + novices, who think they know every thing in their cloisters, and that all + learning lies in books, make dismal figures when they come into the world + among men and women. + </p> + <p> + Lord M. Brand! Brand! It should have been Firebrand, I think in my + conscience! + </p> + <p> + Thus ended this doughty conference. + </p> + <p> + I cannot say, Jack, but I am greatly taken with Col. Morden. He is brave + and generous, and knows the world; and then his contempt of the parsons is + a certain sign that he is one of us. + </p> + <p> + We parted with great civility: Lord M. (not a little pleased that we did, + and as greatly taken with Colonel) repeated his wish, after the Colonel + was gone, that he had arrived in time to save the lady, if that would have + done it. + </p> + <p> + I wish so too. For by my soul, Jack, I am every day more and more uneasy + about her. But I hope she is not so ill as I am told she is. + </p> + <p> + I have made Charlotte transcribe the letter of this Firebrand, as my Lord + calls him; and will enclose her copy of it. All thy phlegm I know will be + roused into vengeance when thou readest it. + </p> + <p> + I know not what to advise as to showing it to the lady. Yet, perhaps, she + will be able to reap more satisfaction than concern from it, knowing her + own innocence; in that it will give her to hope that her friends' + treatment of her is owing as much to misrepresentation as to their own + natural implacableness. Such a mind as her's, I know, would be glad to + find out the shadow of a reason for the shocking letters the Colonel says + they have sent her, and for their proposal to her of going to some one of + the colonies [confound them all—but, if I begin to curse, I shall + never have done]—Then it may put her upon such a defence as she + might be glad of an opportunity to make, and to shame them for their + monstrous credulity—but this I leave to thy own fat-headed prudence—Only + it vexes me to the heart, that even scandal and calumny should dare to + surmise the bare possibility of any man sharing the favours of a woman, + whom now methinks I could worship with a veneration due only to a + divinity. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte and her sister could not help weeping at the base aspersion: + When, when, said Patty, lifting up her hands, will this sweet lady's + sufferings be at an end?—O cousin Lovelace!— + </p> + <p> + And thus am I blamed for every one's faults!—When her brutal father + curses her, it is I. I upbraid her with her severe mother. The + implacableness of her stupid uncles is all mine. The virulence of her + brother, and the spite of her sister, are entirely owing to me. The letter + of this rascal Brand is of my writing—O Jack, what a wretch is thy + Lovelace! + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + Returned without a letter!—This d——d fellow Will. is + returned without a letter!—Yet the rascal tells me that he hears you + have been writing to me these two days! + </p> + <p> + Plague confound thee, who must know my impatience, and the reason for it! + </p> + <p> + To send a man and horse on purpose; as I did! My imagination chained me to + the belly of the beast, in order to keep pace with him!—Now he is + got to this place; now to that; now to London; now to thee! + </p> + <p> + Now [a letter given him] whip and spur upon the return. This town just + entered, not staying to bait: that village passed by: leaves the wind + behind him; in a foaming sweat man and horse. + </p> + <p> + And in this way did he actually enter Lord M.'s courtyard. + </p> + <p> + The reverberating pavement brought me down—The letter, Will.! The + letter, dog!—The letter, Sirrah! + </p> + <p> + No letter, Sir!—Then wildly staring round me, fists clenched, and + grinning like a maniac, Confound thee for a dog, and him that sent thee + without one!—This moment out of my sight, or I'll scatter thy stupid + brains through the air. I snatched from his holsters a pistol, while the + rascal threw himself from the foaming beast, and ran to avoid the fate + which I wished with all my soul thou hadst been within the reach of me to + have met with. + </p> + <p> + But, to be as meek as a lamb to one who has me at his mercy, and can wring + and torture my soul as he pleases, What canst thou mean to send back my + varlet without a letter?—I will send away by day-dawn another fellow + upon another beast for what thou hast written; and I charge thee on thy + allegiance, that thou dispatch him not back empty-handed. + </p> + <p> + POSTSCRIPT + </p> + <p> + Charlotte, in a whim of delicacy, is displeased that I send the enclosed + letter to you—that her handwriting, forsooth! should go into the + hands of a single man! + </p> + <p> + There's encouragement for thee, Belford! This is a certain sign that thou + may'st have her if thou wilt. And yet, till she has given me this unerring + demonstration of her glancing towards thee, I could not have thought it. + Indeed I have often in pleasantry told her that I would bring such an + affair to bear. But I never intended it; because she really is a dainty + girl; and thou art such a clumsy fellow in thy person, that I should as + soon have wished her a rhinoceros for a husband as thee. But, poor little + dears! they must stay till their time's come! They won't have this man, + and they won't have that man, from seventeen to twenty-five: but then, + afraid, as the saying is, that God has forgot them, and finding their + bloom departing, they are glad of whom they can get, and verify the fable + of the parson and the pears. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XLI + </h2> + <p> + MR. BRAND, TO JOHN HARLOWE, ESQ. [ENCLOSED IN THE PRECEDING.] + </p> + <p> + WORTHY SIR, MY VERY GOOD FRIEND AND PATRON, + </p> + <p> + I arrived in town yesterday, after a tolerably pleasant journey + (considering the hot weather and dusty roads). I put up at the Bull and + Gate in Holborn, and hastened to Covent-garden. I soon found the house + where the unhappy lady lodgeth. And, in the back shop, had a good deal of + discourse* with Mrs. Smith, (her landlady,) whom I found to be so 'highly + prepossessed'** in her 'favour,' that I saw it would not answer your + desires to take my informations 'altogether' from her: and being obliged + to attend my patron, (who to my sorrow, + </p> + <p> + * See Vol. VII. Letter LXXXI. ** Transcriber's note: Mr. Brand's letters + are characterized by a style that makes excessive use of italics for + emphasis. Although in the remainder of <i>Clarissa</i> I have largely + disregarded italics for the sake of plain-text formatting, this style + makes such emphatic use of italics that I have indicated all such + instances in his letters by placing the italicized words and phrases in + quotations, thus ' '. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Miserum et aliena vivere quadra,') +</pre> + <p> + I find wanteth much waiting upon, and is 'another' sort of man than he was + at college: for, Sir, 'inter nos,' 'honours change manners.' For the + 'aforesaid causes,' I thought it would best answer all the ends of the + commission with which you honoured me, to engage, in the desired scrutiny, + the wife of a 'particular friend,' who liveth almost over-against the + house where she lodgeth, and who is a gentlewoman of 'character,' and + 'sobriety,' a 'mother of children,' and one who 'knoweth' the 'world' + well. + </p> + <p> + To her I applied myself, therefore, and gave her a short history of the + case, and desired she would very particularly inquire into the 'conduct' + of the unhappy young lady; her 'present way of life' and 'subsistence'; + her 'visiters,' her 'employments,' and such-like: for these, Sir, you + know, are the things whereof you wished to be informed. + </p> + <p> + Accordingly, Sir, I waited upon the gentlewoman aforesaid, this day; and, + to 'my' very great trouble, (because I know it will be to 'your's,' and + likewise to all your worthy family's,) I must say, that I do find things + look a little more 'darkly' than I hoped the would. For, alas! Sir, the + gentlewoman's report turneth out not so 'favourable' for Miss's + reputation, as 'I' wished, as 'you' wished, and as 'every one' of her + friends wished. But so it is throughout the world, that 'one false step' + generally brings on 'another'; and peradventure 'a worse,' and 'a still + worse'; till the poor 'limed soul' (a very fit epithet of the Divine + Quarles's!) is quite 'entangled,' and (without infinite mercy) lost for + ever. + </p> + <p> + It seemeth, Sir, she is, notwithstanding, in a very 'ill state of health.' + In this, 'both' gentlewomen (that is to say, Mrs. Smith, her landlady, and + my friend's wife) agree. Yet she goeth often out in a chair, to 'prayers' + (as it is said). But my friend's wife told me, that nothing is more common + in London, than that the frequenting of the church at morning prayers is + made the 'pretence' and 'cover' for 'private assignations.' What a sad + thing is this! that what was designed for 'wholesome nourishment' to the + 'poor soul,' should be turned into 'rank poison!' But as Mr. Daniel de Foe + (an ingenious man, though a 'dissenter') observeth (but indeed it is an + old proverb; only I think he was the first that put it into verse) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + God never had a house of pray'r + But Satan had a chapel there. +</pre> + <p> + Yet to do the lady 'justice,' nobody cometh home with her: nor indeed + 'can' they, because she goeth forward and backward in a 'sedan,' or + 'chair,' (as they call it). But then there is a gentleman of 'no good + character' (an 'intimado' of Mr. Lovelace) who is a 'constant' visiter of + her, and of the people of the house, whom he 'regaleth' and 'treateth,' + and hath (of consequence) their 'high good words.' + </p> + <p> + I have thereupon taken the trouble (for I love to be 'exact' in any + 'commission' I undertake) to inquire 'particularly' about this + 'gentleman,' as he is called (albeit I hold no man so but by his actions: + for, as Juvenal saith, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + —'Nobilitas sola est, atque unica virtus') +</pre> + <p> + And this I did 'before' I would sit down to write to you. + </p> + <p> + His name is Belford. He hath a paternal estate of upwards of one thousand + pounds by the year; and is now in mourning for an uncle who left him very + considerably besides. He beareth a very profligate character as to + 'women,' (for I inquired particularly about 'that,') and is Mr. Lovelace's + more especial 'privado,' with whom he holdeth a 'regular correspondence'; + and hath been often seen with Miss (tête à tête) at the 'window'—in + no 'bad way,' indeed: but my friend's wife is of opinion that all is not + 'as it should be.' And, indeed, it is mighty strange to me, if Miss be so + 'notable a penitent' (as is represented) and if she have such an + 'aversion' to Mr. Lovelace, that she will admit his 'privado' into 'her + retirements,' and see 'no other company.' + </p> + <p> + I understand, from Mrs. Smith, that Mr. Hickman was to see her some time + ago, from Miss Howe; and I am told, by 'another' hand, (you see, Sir, how + diligent I have been to execute the 'commissions' you gave me,) that he + had no 'extraordinary opinion' of this Belford at first; though they were + seen together one morning by the opposite neighbour, at 'breakfast': and + another time this Belford was observed to 'watch' Mr. Hickman's coming + from her; so that, as it should seem, he was mighty zealous to + 'ingratiate' himself with Mr. Hickman; no doubt to engage him to make a + 'favourable report to Miss Howe' of the 'intimacy' he was admitted into by + her unhappy friend; who ('as she is very ill') may 'mean no harm' in + allowing his visits, (for he, it seemeth, brought to her, or recommended, + at least, the doctor and apothecary that attend her:) but I think (upon + the whole) 'it looketh not well.' + </p> + <p> + I am sorry, Sir, I cannot give you a better account of the young lady's + 'prudence.' But, what shall we say? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Uvaque conspectâ livorem ducit ab uvâ,' +</pre> + <p> + as Juvenal observeth. + </p> + <p> + One thing I am afraid of; which is, that Miss may be under 'necessities'; + and that this Belford (who, as Mrs. Smith owns, hath 'offered her money,' + which she, 'at the time,' refused) may find an opportunity to 'take + advantage' of those 'necessities': and it is well observed by that poet, + that + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Ægrè formosam poteris servare puellam: + Nunc prece, nunc pretio, forma petita ruit.' +</pre> + <p> + And this Belford (who is a 'bold man,' and hath, as they say, the 'look' + of one) may make good that of Horace, (with whose writings you are so well + acquainted; nobody better;) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Audax omnia perpeti, + Gens humana ruit per vetitum nefas.' +</pre> + <p> + Forgive me, Sir, for what I am going to write: but if you could prevail + upon the rest of your family to join in the scheme which 'you,' and her + 'virtuous sister,' Miss Arabella, and the Archdeacon, and I, once talked + of, (which is to persuade the unhappy young lady to go, in some + 'creditable' manner, to some one of the foreign colonies,) it might not + save only her 'own credit' and 'reputation,' but the 'reputation' and + 'credit' of all her 'family,' and a great deal of 'vexation' moreover. For + it is my humble opinion, that you will hardly (any of you) enjoy + yourselves while this ('once' innocent) young lady is in the way of being + so frequently heard of by you: and this would put her 'out of the way' + both of 'this Belford' and of 'that Lovelace,' and it might, peradventure, + prevent as much 'evil' as 'scandal.' + </p> + <p> + You will forgive me, Sir, for this my 'plainness.' Ovid pleadeth for me, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + '——Adulator nullus amicus erit.' +</pre> + <p> + And I have no view but that of approving myself a 'zealous well-wisher' to + 'all' your worthy family, (whereto I owe a great number of obligations,) + and very particularly, Sir, + </p> + <p> + Your obliged and humble servant, ELIAS BRAND. + </p> + <p> + WEDN. AUG. 9. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +P.S. I shall give you 'farther hints' when I come down, (which will be in + a few days;) and who my 'informants' were; but by 'these' you will + see, that I have been very assiduous (for the time) in the task you + set me upon. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The 'length' of my letter you will excuse: for I need not tell you, Sir, + what 'narrative,' 'complex,' and 'conversation' letters (such a one + as 'mine') require. Every one to his 'talent.' 'Letter-writing' + is mine. I will be bold to say; and that my 'correspondence' was + much coveted in the university, on that account, by 'tyros,' and + by 'sophs,' when I was hardly a 'soph' myself. But this I should + not have taken upon myself to mention, but only in defence of the + 'length' of my letter; for nobody writeth 'shorter' or 'pithier,' + when the subject requireth 'common forms' only—but, in apologizing + for my 'prolixity,' I am 'adding' to the 'fault,' (if it were one, + which, however, I cannot think it to be, the 'subject' considered: + but this I have said before in other words:) so, Sir, if you will + excuse my 'post-script,' I am sure you will not find fault with my + 'letter.' +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +One word more as to a matter of 'erudition,' which you greatly love to + hear me 'start' and 'dwell upon.' Dr. Lewen once, in 'your' + presence, (as you, 'my good patron,' cannot but remember,) in a + 'smartish' kind of debate between 'him' and 'me,' took upon him to + censure the 'paranthetical' style, as I call it. He was a very + learned and judicious man, to be sure, and an ornament to 'our + function': but yet I must needs say, that it is a style which I + greatly like; and the good Doctor was then past his 'youth,' and + that time of life, of consequence, when a 'fertile imagination,' + and a 'rich fancy,' pour in ideas so fast upon a writer, that + parentheses are often wanted (and that for the sake of 'brevity,' + as well as 'perspicuity') to save the reader the trouble of reading + a passage 'more than once.' Every man to his talent, (as I said + before.) We are all so apt to set up our 'natural biasses' for + 'general standards,' that I wondered 'the less' at the worthy + Doctor's 'stiffness' on this occasion. He 'smiled at me,' you may + remember, Sir—and, whether I was right or not, I am sure I 'smiled + at him.' And 'you,' my 'worthy patron,' (as I had the satisfaction + to observe,) seemed to be of 'my party.' But was it not strange, + that the 'old gentleman' and 'I' should so widely differ, when the + 'end' with 'both' (that is to say, 'perspicuity' or 'clearness,') + was the same?—But what shall we say?— + + 'Errare est hominis, sed non persistere.' +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I think I have nothing to add until I have the honour of attending you in + 'person'; but I am, (as above,) &c. &c. &c. +</pre> + <p> + E.B. <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XLII + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. WEDNESDAY NIGHT, AUG. 30. + </p> + <p> + It was lucky enough that our two servants met at Hannah's,* which gave + them so good an opportunity of exchanging their letters time enough for + each to return to his master early in the day. + </p> + <p> + * The Windmill, near Slough. + </p> + <p> + Thou dost well to boast of thy capacity for managing servants, and to set + up for correcting our poets in their characters of this class of people,* + when, like a madman, thou canst beat their teeth out, and attempt to shoot + them through the head, for not bringing to thee what they had no power to + obtain. + </p> + <p> + * See Letter XX. of this volume. + </p> + <p> + You well observe* that you would have made a thorough-paced lawyer. The + whole of the conversation-piece between you and the Colonel affords a + convincing proof that there is a black and a white side to every cause: + But what must the conscience of a partial whitener of his own cause, or + blackener of another's, tell him, while he is throwing dust in the eyes of + his judges, and all the time knows his own guilt? + </p> + <p> + * See Letter XL. of this volume. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel, I see, is far from being a faultless man: but while he sought + not to carry his point by breach of faith, he has an excuse which thou + hast not. But, with respect to him, and to us all, I can now, with the + detestation of some of my own actions, see, that the taking advantage of + another person's good opinion of us to injure (perhaps to ruin) that + other, is the most ungenerous wickedness that can be committed. + </p> + <p> + Man acting thus by man, we should not be at a loss to give such actions a + name: But is it not doubly and trebly aggravated, when such advantage is + taken of an unexperienced and innocent young creature, whom we pretend to + love above all the women in the world; and when we seal our pretences by + the most solemn vows and protestations of inviolable honour that we can + invent? + </p> + <p> + I see that this gentleman is the best match thou ever couldest have had, + upon all accounts: his spirit such another impetuous one as thy own; soon + taking fire; vindictive; and only differing in this, that the cause he + engages in is a just one. But commend me to honest brutal Mowbray, who, + before he knew the cause, offers his sword in thy behalf against a man who + had taken the injured side, and whom he had never seen before. + </p> + <p> + As soon as I had run through your letters, and the copy of that of the + incendiary Brand's, (by the latter of which I saw to what cause a great + deal of this last implacableness of the Harlowe family is owing,) I took + coach to Smith's, although I had been come from thence but about an hour, + and had taken leave of the lady for the night. + </p> + <p> + I sent up for Mrs. Lovick, and desired her, in the first place, to + acquaint the lady (who was busied in her closet,) that I had letters from + Berks: in which I was informed, that the interview between Colonel Morden + and Mr. Lovelace had ended without ill consequences; that the Colonel + intended to write to her very soon, and was interesting himself mean + while, in her favour, with her relations; that I hoped that this agreeable + news would be means of giving her good rest; and I would wait upon her in + the morning, by the time she should return from prayers, with all the + particulars. + </p> + <p> + She sent me word that she should be glad to see me in the morning; and was + highly obliged to me for the good news I had sent her up. + </p> + <p> + I then, in the back shop, read to Mrs. Lovick and to Mrs. Smith the copy + of Brand's letter, and asked them if they could guess at the man's + informant? They were not at a loss; Mrs. Smith having seen the same fellow + Brand who had talked with her, as I mentioned in the former,* come out of + a milliner's shop over against them; which milliner, she said, had also + lately been very inquisitive about the lady. + </p> + <p> + * See Vol. VII. Letter LXXXI. + </p> + <p> + I wanted no farther hint; but, bidding them take no notice to the lady of + what I had read, I shot over the way, and, asking for the mistress of the + house, she came to me. + </p> + <p> + Retiring with her, at her invitation, into her parlour, I desired to know + if she were acquainted with a young country clergyman of the name of + Brand. She hesitatingly, seeing me in some emotion, owned that she had + some small knowledge of the gentleman. Just then came in her husband, who + is, it seems, a petty officer of excise, (and not an ill-behaved man,) who + owned a fuller knowledge of him. + </p> + <p> + I have the copy of a letter, said I, from this Brand, in which he has + taken great liberties with my character, and with that of the most + unblamable lady in the world, which he grounds upon information that you, + Madam, have given him. And then I read to them several passages in his + letter, and asked what foundation she had for giving that fellow such + impressions of either of us? + </p> + <p> + They knew not what to answer: but at last said, that he had told them how + wickedly the young lady had run away from her parents: what worthy and + rich people they were: in what favour he stood with them; and that they + had employed him to inquire after her behaviour, visiters, &c. + </p> + <p> + They said, 'That indeed they knew very little of the young lady; but that + [curse upon their censoriousness!] it was but too natural to think, that, + where a lady had given way to a delusion, and taken so wrong a step, she + would not stop there: that the most sacred places and things were but too + often made clokes for bad actions; that Mr. Brand had been informed + (perhaps by some enemy of mine) that I was a man of very free principles, + and an intimado, as he calls it, of the man who had ruined her. And that + their cousin Barker, a manteau-maker, who lodged up one pair of stairs,' + (and who, at their desire, came down and confirmed what they said,) 'had + often, from her window, seen me with the lady in her chamber, and both + talking very earnestly together; and that Mr. Brand, being unable to + account for her admiring my visits, and knowing I was but a new + acquaintance of her's, and an old one of Mr. Lovelace, thought himself + obliged to lay these matters before her friends.' + </p> + <p> + This was the sum and substance of their tale. O how I cursed the + censoriousness of this plaguy triumvirate! A parson, a milliner, and a + mantua-maker! The two latter, not more by business led to adorn the + persons, than generally by scandal to destroy the reputations, of those + they have a mind to exercise their talents upon! + </p> + <p> + The two women took great pains to persuade me that they themselves were + people of conscience;—of consequence, I told them, too much + addicted, I feared, to censure other people who pretended not to their + strictness; for that I had ever found censoriousness, with those who + affected to be thought more pious than their neighbours. + </p> + <p> + They answered, that that was not their case; and that they had since + inquired into the lady's character and manner of life, and were very much + concerned to think any thing they had said should be made use of against + her: and as they heard from Mrs. Smith that she was not likely to live + long, they should be sorry she should go out of the world a sufferer by + their means, or with an ill opinion of them, though strangers to her. The + husband offered to write, if I pleased, to Mr. Brand, in vindication of + the lady; and the two women said they should be glad to wait upon her in + person, to beg her pardon for any thing she had reason to take amiss from + them; because they were now convinced that there was not such another + young lady in the world. + </p> + <p> + I told them that the least said of the affair to the lady, in her present + circumstances, was best. That she was a heavenly creature, and fond of + taking all occasions to find excuses for her relations on their + implacableness to her: that therefore I should take some notice to her of + the uncharitable and weak surmises which gave birth to so vile a scandal: + but that I would have him, Mr. Walton, (for that is the husband's name,) + write to his acquaintance Brand as soon as possible, as he had offered; + and so I left them. + </p> + <p> + As to what thou sayest of thy charming cousin, let me know if thou hast + any meaning in it. I have not the vanity to think myself deserving of such + a lady as Miss Montague; and should not therefore care to expose myself to + her scorn and to thy derision. But were I assured I might avoid both of + these, I would soon acquaint thee that I should think no pains nor + assiduity too much to obtain a share in the good graces of such a lady. + </p> + <p> + But I know thee too well to depend upon any thing thou sayest on this + subject. Thou lovest to make thy friends the objects of ridicule to + ladies; and imaginest, from the vanity, (and, in this respect, I will say + littleness,) of thine own heart, that thou shinest the brighter for the + foil. + </p> + <p> + Thus didst thou once play off the rough Mowbray with Miss Hatton, till the + poor fellow knew not how to go either backward or forward. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XLIII + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. THURSDAY, 11 O'CLOCK, AUG. 31. + </p> + <p> + I am just come from the lady, whom I left cheerful and serene. + </p> + <p> + She thanked me for my communication of the preceding night. I read to her + such parts of your letters as I could read to her; and I thought it was a + good test to distinguish the froth and whipt-syllabub in them from the + cream, in what one could and could not read to a woman of so fine a mind; + since four parts out of six of thy letters, which I thought entertaining + as I read them to myself, appeared to me, when I should have read them to + her, most abominable stuff, and gave me a very contemptible idea of thy + talents, and of my own judgment. + </p> + <p> + She as far from rejoicing, as I had done, at the disappointment her letter + gave you when explained. + </p> + <p> + She said, she meant only an innocent allegory, which might carry + instruction and warning to you, when the meaning was taken, as well as + answer her own hopes for the time. It was run off in a hurry. She was + afraid it was not quite right in her. But hoped the end would excuse (if + it could not justify) the means. And then she again expressed a good deal + of apprehension lest you should still take it into your head to molest + her, when her time, she said, was so short, that she wanted every moment + of it; repeating what she had once said before, that, when she wrote, she + was so ill that she believed she should not have lived till now: if she + had thought she should, she must have studied for an expedient that would + have better answered her intentions. Hinting at a removal out of the + knowledge of us both. + </p> + <p> + But she was much pleased that the conference between you and Colonel + Morden, after two or three such violent sallies, as I acquainted her you + had had between you, ended so amicably; and said she must absolutely + depend upon the promise I had given her to use my utmost endeavours to + prevent farther mischief on her account. + </p> + <p> + She was pleased with the justice you did her character to her cousin. + </p> + <p> + She was glad to hear that he had so kind an opinion of her, and that he + would write to her. + </p> + <p> + I was under an unnecessary concern, how to break to her that I had the + copy of Brand's vile letter: unnecessary, I say; for she took it just as + you thought she would, as an excuse she wished to have for the + implacableness of her friends; and begged I would let her read it herself; + for, said she, the contents cannot disturb me, be they what they will. + </p> + <p> + I gave it to her, and she read it to herself; a tear now and then being + ready to start, and a sigh sometimes interposing. + </p> + <p> + She gave me back the letter with great and surprising calmness, + considering the subject. + </p> + <p> + There was a time, said she, and that not long since, when such a letter as + this would have greatly pained me. But I hope I have now go above all + these things: and I can refer to your kind offices, and to those of Miss + Howe, the justice that will be done to my memory among my friends. There + is a good and a bad light in which every thing that befalls us may be + taken. If the human mind will busy itself to make the worst of every + disagreeable occurrence, it will never want woe. This letter, affecting as + the subject of it is to my reputation, gives me more pleasure than pain, + because I can gather from it, that had not my friends been prepossessed by + misinformed or rash and officious persons, who are always at hand to + flatter or soothe the passions of the affluent, they could not have been + so immovably determined against me. But now they are sufficiently cleared + from every imputation of unforgivingness; for, while I appeared to them in + the character of a vile hypocrite, pretending to true penitence, yet + giving up myself to profligate courses, how could I expect either their + pardon or blessing? + </p> + <p> + But, Madam, said I, you'll see by the date of this letter, that their + severity, previous to that, cannot be excused by it. + </p> + <p> + It imports me much, replied she, on account of my present wishes, as to + the office you are so kind to undertake, that you should not think harshly + of my friends. I must own to you, that I have been apt sometimes myself to + think them not only severe but cruel. Suffering minds will be partial to + their own cause and merits. Knowing their own hearts, if sincere, they are + apt to murmur when harshly treated: But, if they are not believed to be + innocent, by persons who have a right to decide upon their conduct + according to their own judgments, how can it be helped? Besides, Sir, how + do you know, that there are not about my friends as well-meaning + misrepresenters as Mr. Brand really seems to be? But, be this as it will, + there is no doubt that there are and have been multitudes of persons, as + innocent as myself, who have suffered upon surmises as little probable as + those on which Mr. Brand founds his judgment. Your intimacy, Sir, with Mr. + Lovelace, and (may I say?) a character which, it seems, you have been less + solicitous formerly to justify than perhaps you will be for the future, + and your frequent visits to me may well be thought to be questionable + circumstances in my conduct. + </p> + <p> + I could only admire her in silence. + </p> + <p> + But you see, Sir, proceeded she, how necessary it is for young people of + our sex to be careful of our company. And how much, at the same time, it + behoves young persons of your's to be chary of their own reputation, were + it only for the sake of such of our's as they may mean honourably by, and + who otherwise may suffer in their good names for being seen in their + company. + </p> + <p> + As to Mr. Brand, continued she, he is to be pitied; and let me enjoin you, + Mr. Belford, not to take any resentments against him which may be + detrimental either to his person or his fortunes. Let his function and his + good meaning plead for him. He will have concern enough, when he finds + every body, whose displeasure I now labour under, acquitting my memory of + perverse guilt, and joining in a general pity for me. + </p> + <p> + This, Lovelace, is the woman whose life thou hast curtailed in the blossom + of it!—How many opportunities must thou have had of admiring her + inestimable worth, yet couldst have thy senses so much absorbed in the + WOMAN, in her charming person, as to be blind to the ANGEL, that shines + out in such full glory in her mind! Indeed, I have ever thought myself, + when blest with her conversation, in the company of a real angel: and I am + sure it would be impossible for me, were she to be as beautiful, and as + crimsoned over with health, as I have seen her, to have the least thought + of sex, when I heard her talk. + </p> + <p> + THURSDAY, THREE O'CLOCK, AUG. 31. + </p> + <p> + On my re-visit to the lady, I found her almost as much a sufferer from joy + as she had sometimes been from grief; for she had just received a very + kind letter from her cousin Morden; which she was so good as to + communicate to me. As she had already begun to answer it, I begged leave + to attend her in the evening, that I might not interrupt her in it. + </p> + <p> + The letter is a very tender one * * * * + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +[Here Mr. Belford gives the substance of it upon his memory; but that is + omitted; as the letter is given at length (see the next letter.) + And then adds:] +</pre> + <p> + But, alas! all will be now too late. For the decree is certainly gone out—the + world is unworthy of her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XLIV + </h2> + <p> + COLONEL MORDEN, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TUESDAY, AUG. 29. + </p> + <p> + I should not, my dearest Cousin, have been a fortnight in England, without + either doing myself the honour of waiting upon you in person, or of + writing to you; if I had not been busying myself almost all the time in + your service, in hopes of making my visit or letter still more acceptable + to you—acceptable as I have reason to presume either will be from + the unquestionable love I ever bore you, and from the esteem you always + honoured me with. + </p> + <p> + Little did I think that so many days would have been required to effect my + well-intended purpose, where there used to be a love so ardent on one + side, and where there still is, as I am thoroughly convinced, the most + exalted merit on the other! + </p> + <p> + I was yesterday with Mr. Lovelace and Lord M. I need not tell you, it + seems, how very desirous the whole family and all the relations of that + nobleman are of the honour of an alliance with you; nor how exceedingly + earnest the ungrateful man is to make you all the reparation in his power. + </p> + <p> + I think, my dear Cousin, that you cannot now do better than to give him + the honour of your hand. He says just and great things of your virtue, and + so heartily condemns himself, that I think there is honorable room for you + to forgive him: and the more room, as it seems you are determined against + a legal prosecution. + </p> + <p> + Your effectual forgiveness of Mr. Lovelace, it is evident to me, will + accelerate a general reconciliation: for, at present, my other cousins + cannot persuade themselves that he is in earnest to do you justice; or + that you would refuse him, if you believed he was. + </p> + <p> + But, my dear Cousin, there may possibly be something in this affair, to + which I may be a stranger. If there be, and you will acquaint me with it, + all that a naturally-warm heart can do in your behalf shall be done. + </p> + <p> + I hope I shall be able, in my next visits to my several cousins, to set + all right with them. Haughty spirits, when convinced that they have + carried resentments too high, want but a good excuse to condescend: and + parents must always love the child they once loved. + </p> + <p> + But if I find them inflexible, I will set out, and attend you without + delay; for I long to see you, after so many years' absence. + </p> + <p> + Mean while, I beg the favour of a few lines, to know if you have reason to + doubt Mr. Lovelace's sincerity. For my part, I can have none, if I am to + judge from the conversation that passed between us yesterday, in presence + of Lord M. + </p> + <p> + You will be pleased to direct for me at your uncle Antony's. + </p> + <p> + Permit me, my dearest Cousin, till I can procure a happy reconciliation + between you and your father, and brother, and uncles, to supply the place + to you of all those near relations, as well as that of + </p> + <p> + Your affectionate kinsman, and humble servant, WM. MORDEN. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XLV + </h2> + <p> + MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO WM. MORDEN, ESQ. THURSDAY, AUG. 31. + </p> + <p> + I most heartily congratulate you, dear Sir, on your return to your native + country. + </p> + <p> + I heard with much pleasure that you were come; but I was both afraid and + ashamed, till you encouraged me by a first notice, to address myself to + you. + </p> + <p> + How consoling is it to my wounded heart to find that you have not been + carried away by that tide of resentment and displeasure with which I have + been so unhappily overwhelmed—but that, while my still nearer + relations have not thought fit to examine into the truth of vile reports + raised against me, you have informed yourself of my innocence, and + generously credited the information! + </p> + <p> + I have not the least reason to doubt Mr. Lovelace's sincerity in his + offers of marriage; nor that all his relations are heartily desirous of + ranking me among them. I have had noble instances of their esteem for me, + on their apprehending that my father's displeasure must have had + absolutely refused their pressing solicitations in their kinsman's favour + as well as his own. + </p> + <p> + Nor think me, my dear Cousin, blamable for refusing him. I had given Mr. + Lovelace no reason to think me a weak creature. If I had, a man of his + character might have thought himself warranted to endeavour to take + ungenerous advantage of the weakness he had been able to inspire. The + consciousness of my own weakness (in that case) might have brought me to a + composition with his wickedness. + </p> + <p> + I can indeed forgive him. But that is, because I think his crimes have set + me above him. Can I be above the man, Sir, to whom I shall give my hand + and my vows, and with them a sanction to the most premeditated baseness? + No, Sir, let me say, that your cousin Clarissa, were she likely to live + many years, and that (if she married not this man) in penury or want, + despised and forsaken by all her friends, puts not so high a value upon + the conveniencies of life, nor upon life itself, as to seek to re-obtain + the one, or to preserve the other, by giving such a sanction: a sanction, + which (were she to perform her duty,) would reward the violator. + </p> + <p> + Nor is it so much from pride as from principle that I say this. What, Sir! + when virtue, when chastity, is the crown of a woman, and particularly of a + wife, shall form an attempt upon her's but upon a presumption that she was + capable of receiving his offered hand when he had found himself mistaken + in the vile opinion he had conceived of her? Hitherto he has not had + reason to think me weak. Nor will I give an instance so flagrant, that + weak I am in a point in which it would be criminal to be found weak. + </p> + <p> + One day, Sir, you will perhaps know all my story. But, whenever it is + known, I beg that the author of my calamities may not be vindictively + sought after. He could not have been the author of them, but for a strange + concurrence of unhappy causes. As the law will not be able to reach him + when I am gone, the apprehension of any other sort of vengeance terrifies + me; since, in such a case, should my friends be safe, what honour would + his death bring to my memory?—If any of them should come to + misfortune, how would my fault be aggravated! + </p> + <p> + God long preserve you, my dearest Cousin, and bless you but in proportion + to the consolation you have given me, in letting me know that you still + love me; and that I have one near and dear relation who can pity and + forgive me; (and then you will be greatly blessed;) is the prayer of + </p> + <p> + Your ever grateful and affectionate CL. HARLOWE. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XLVI + </h2> + <p> + MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. [IN ANSWER TO HIS LETTERS XXIII. + XXXVII. OF THIS VOLUME.] THURSDAY, AUG. 31. + </p> + <p> + I cannot but own that I am cut to the heart by this Miss Harlowe's + interpretation of her letter. She ought never to be forgiven. She, a meek + person, and a penitent, and innocent, and pious, and I know not what, who + can deceive with a foot in the grave!— + </p> + <p> + 'Tis evident, that she sat down to write this letter with a design to + mislead and deceive. And if she be capable of that, at such a crisis, she + has as much need of Heaven's forgiveness, as I have of her's: and, with + all her cant of charity and charity, if she be not more sure of it than I + am of her real pardon, and if she take the thing in the light she ought to + take it in, she will have a few darker moments yet to come than she seems + to expect. + </p> + <p> + Lord M. himself, who is not one of those (to speak in his own phrase) who + can penetrate a millstone, sees the deceit, and thinks it unworthy of her; + though my cousins Montague vindicate her. And no wonder this cursed + partial sex [I hate 'em all—by my soul, I hate 'em all!] will never + allow any thing against an individual of it, where our's is concerned. And + why? Because, if they censure deceit in another, they must condemn their + own hearts. + </p> + <p> + She is to send me a letter after she is in Heaven, is she? The devil take + such allegories, and the devil take thee for calling this absurdity an + innocent artifice! + </p> + <p> + I insist upon it, that if a woman of her character, at such a critical + time, is to be justified in such a deception, a man in full health and + vigour of body and mind, as I am, may be excused for all his stratagems + and attempts against her. And, thank my stars, I can now sit me down with + a quiet conscience on that score. By my soul, I can, Jack. Nor has any + body, who can acquit her, a right to blame me. But with some, indeed, + every thing she does must be good, every thing I do must be bad— And + why? Because she has always taken care to coax the stupid misjudging + world, like a woman: while I have constantly defied and despised its + censures, like a man. + </p> + <p> + But, notwithstanding all, you may let her know from me that I will not + molest her, since my visits would be so shocking to her: and I hope she + will take this into her consideration as a piece of generosity which she + could hardly expect after the deception she has put upon me. And let her + farther know, that if there be any thing in my power, that will contribute + either to her ease or honour, I will obey her, at the very first + intimation, however disgraceful or detrimental to myself. All this, to + make her unapprehensive, and that she may have nothing to pull her back. + </p> + <p> + If her cursed relations could be brought as cheerfully to perform their + parts, I'd answer life for life for her recovery. + </p> + <p> + But who, that has so many ludicrous images raised in his mind by the + awkward penitence, can forbear laughing at thee? Spare, I beseech thee, + dear Belford, for the future, all thine own aspirations, if thou wouldst + not dishonour those of an angel indeed. + </p> + <p> + When I came to that passage, where thou sayest that thou considerest her* + as one sent from Heaven to draw thee after her—for the heart of me I + could not for an hour put thee out of my head, in the attitude of dame + Elizabeth Carteret, on her monument in Westminster Abbey. If thou never + observedst it, go thither on purpose: and there wilt thou see this dame in + effigy, with uplifted head and hand, the latter taken hold of by a cupid + every inch of stone, one clumsy foot lifted up also, aiming, as the + sculptor designed it, to ascend; but so executed, as would rather make one + imagine that the figure (without shoe or stocking, as it is, though the + rest of the body is robed) was looking up to its corn-cutter: the other + riveted to its native earth, bemired, like thee (immersed thou callest it) + beyond the possibility of unsticking itself. Both figures, thou wilt find, + seem to be in a contention, the bigger, whether it should pull down the + lesser about its ears—the lesser (a chubby fat little varlet, of a + fourth part of the other's bigness, with wings not much larger than those + of a butterfly) whether it should raise the larger to a Heaven it points + to, hardly big enough to contain the great toes of either. + </p> + <p> + * See Letter XXXVII. of this volume. + </p> + <p> + Thou wilt say, perhaps, that the dame's figure in stone may do credit, in + the comparison, to thine, both in grain and shape, wooden as thou art all + over: but that the lady, who, in every thing but in the trick she has + played me so lately, is truly an angel, is but sorrily represented by the + fat-flanked cupid. This I allow thee. But yet there is enough in thy + aspirations to strike my mind with a resemblance of thee and the lady to + the figures on the wretched monument; for thou oughtest to remember, that, + prepared as she may be to mount to her native skies, it is impossible for + her to draw after her a heavy fellow who has so much to repent of as thou + hast. + </p> + <p> + But now, to be serious once more, let me tell you, Belford, that, if the + lady be really so ill as you write she is, it will become you [no Roman + style here!] in a case so very affecting, to be a little less pointed and + sarcastic in your reflections. For, upon my soul, the matter begins to + grate me most confoundedly. + </p> + <p> + I am now so impatient to hear oftener of her, that I take the hint + accidentally given me by our two fellows meeting at Slough, and resolve to + go to our friend Doleman's at Uxbridge; whose wife and sister, as well as + he, have so frequently pressed me to give them my company for a week or + two. There shall I be within two hours' ride, if any thing should happen + to induce her to see me: for it will well become her piety, and avowed + charity, should the worst happen, [the Lord of Heaven and Earth, however, + avert that worst!] to give me that pardon from her lips, which she has not + denied to me by pen and ink. And as she wishes my reformation, she knows + not what good effects such an interview may have upon me. + </p> + <p> + I shall accordingly be at Doleman's to-morrow morning, by eleven at + farthest. My fellow will find me there at his return from you (with a + letter, I hope). I shall have Joel with me likewise, that I may send the + oftener, as matters fall out. Were I to be still nearer, or in town, it + would be impossible to withhold myself from seeing her. + </p> + <p> + But, if the worst happen!—as, by your continual knelling, I know not + what to think of it!—[Yet, once more, Heaven avert that worst!—How + natural it is to pray, when once cannot help one's self!]—THEN say + not, in so many dreadful words, what the event is—Only, that you + advise me to take a trip to Paris—And that will stab me to the + heart. + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + I so well approve of your generosity to poor Belton's sister, that I have + made Mowbray give up his legacy, as I do mine, towards her India bonds. + When I come to town, Tourville shall do the like; and we will buy each a + ring to wear in memory of the honest fellow, with our own money, that we + may perform his will, as well as our own. + </p> + <p> + My fellow rides the rest of the night. I charge you, Jack, if you would + save his life, that you send him not back empty-handed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XLVII + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. TUESDAY NIGHT, AUG. 30. + </p> + <p> + When I concluded my last, I hoped that my next attendance upon this + surprising lady would furnish me with some particulars as agreeable as now + could be hoped for from the declining way she is in, by reason of the + welcome letter she had received from her cousin Morden. But it proved + quite otherwise to me, though not to herself; for I think I was never more + shocked in my life than on the occasion I shall mention presently. + </p> + <p> + When I attended her about seven in the evening, she told me that she found + herself in a very petulant way after I had left her. Strange, said she, + that the pleasure I received from my cousin's letter should have such an + effect upon me! But I could not help giving way to a comparative humour, + as I may call it, and to think it very hard that my nearer relations did + not take the methods which my cousin Morden kindly took, by inquiring into + my merit or demerit, and giving my cause a fair audit before they + proceeded to condemnation. + </p> + <p> + She had hardly said this, when she started, and a blush overspread her + sweet face, on hearing, as I also did, a sort of lumbering noise upon the + stairs, as if a large trunk were bringing up between two people: and, + looking upon me with an eye of concern, Blunderers! said she, they have + brought in something two hours before the time.—Don't be surprised, + Sir —it is all to save you trouble. + </p> + <p> + Before I could speak, in came Mrs. Smith: O Madam, said she, what have you + done?—Mrs. Lovick, entering, made the same exclamation. Lord have + mercy upon me, Madam! cried I, what have you done?—For she, stepping + at the same instant to the door, the women told me it was a coffin.—O + Lovelace! that thou hadst been there at that moment!—Thou, the + causer of all these shocking scenes! Surely thou couldst not have been + less affected than I, who have no guilt, as to her, to answer for. + </p> + <p> + With an intrepidity of a piece with the preparation, having directed them + to carry it to her bed-chamber, she returned to us: they were not to have + brought it in till after dark, said she—Pray, excuse me, Mr. + Belford: and don't you, Mrs. Lovick, be concerned: nor you, Mrs. Smith.—Why + should you? There is nothing more in it than the unusualness of the thing. + Why may we not be as reasonably shocked at going to church where are the + monuments of our ancestors, with whose dust we even hope our dust shall be + one day mingled, as to be moved at such a sight as this? + </p> + <p> + We all remaining silent, the women having their aprons at their eyes, Why + this concern for nothing at all? said she. If I am to be blamed for any + thing, it is for showing too much solicitude, as it may be thought, for + this earthly part. I love to do every thing for myself that I can do. I + ever did. Every other material point is so far done, and taken care of, + that I have had leisure for things of lesser moment. Minutenesses may be + observed, where greater articles are not neglected for them. I might have + had this to order, perhaps, when less fit to order it. I have no mother, + no sister, no Mrs. Norton, no Miss Howe, near me. Some of you must have + seen this in a few days, if not now; perhaps have had the friendly trouble + of directing it. And what is the difference of a few days to you, when I + am gratified rather than discomposed by it? I shall not die the sooner for + such a preparation. Should not every body that has any thing to bequeath + make their will? And who, that makes a will, should be afraid of a coffin?—My + dear friends, [to the women] I have considered these things; do not, with + such an object before you as you have had in me for weeks, give me reason + to think you have not. + </p> + <p> + How reasonable was all this!—It showed, indeed, that she herself had + well considered it. But yet we could not help being shocked at the + thoughts of the coffin thus brought in; the lovely person before our eyes + who is, in all likelihood, so soon to fill it. + </p> + <p> + We were all silent still, the women in grief; I in a manner stunned. She + would not ask me, she said; but would be glad, since it had thus earlier + than she had intended been brought in, that her two good friends would + walk in and look upon it. They would be less shocked when it was made more + familiar to their eye: don't you lead back, said she, a starting steed to + the object he is apt to start at, in order to familiarize him to it, and + cure his starting? The same reason will hold in this case. Come, my good + friends, I will lead you in. + </p> + <p> + I took my leave; telling her she had done wrong, very wrong; and ought + not, by any means, to have such an object before her. + </p> + <p> + The women followed her in.—'Tis a strange sex! Nothing is too + shocking for them to look upon, or see acted, that has but novelty and + curiosity in it. + </p> + <p> + Down I posted; got a chair; and was carried home, extremely shocked and + discomposed: yet, weighing the lady's arguments, I know not why I was so + affected—except, as she said, at the unusualness of the thing. + </p> + <p> + While I waited for a chair, Mrs. Smith came down, and told me that there + were devices and inscriptions upon the lid. Lord bless me! is a coffin a + proper subject to display fancy upon?—But these great minds cannot + avoid doing extraordinary things! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XLVIII + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. FRIDAY MORN. SEPT. 1. + </p> + <p> + It is surprising, that I, a man, should be so much affected as I was, at + such an object as is the subject of my former letter; who also, in my late + uncle's case, and poor Belton's had the like before me, and the directing + of it: when she, a woman, of so weak and tender a frame, who was to fill + it (so soon perhaps to fill it!) could give orders about it, and draw out + the devices upon it, and explain them with so little concern as the women + tell me she did to them last night after I was gone. + </p> + <p> + I really was ill, and restless all night. Thou wert the subject of my + execration, as she was of my admiration, all the time I was quite awake: + and, when I dozed, I dreamt of nothing but of flying hour-glasses, + deaths-heads, spades, mattocks, and eternity; the hint of her devices (as + given me by Mrs. Smith) running in my head. + </p> + <p> + However, not being able to keep away from Smith's, I went thither about + seven. The lady was just gone out: she had slept better, I found, than I, + though her solemn repository was under her window, not far from her + bed-side. + </p> + <p> + I was prevailed upon by Mrs. Smith and her nurse Shelburne (Mrs. Lovick + being abroad with her) to go up and look at the devices. Mrs. Lovick has + since shown me a copy of the draught by which all was ordered; and I will + give thee a sketch of the symbols. + </p> + <p> + The principal device, neatly etched on a plate of white metal, is a + crowned serpent, with its tail in its mouth, forming a ring, the emblem of + eternity: and in the circle made by it is this inscription: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + April x. + + [Then the year.] + + ÆTAT. XIX. +</pre> + <p> + For ornaments: at top, an hour-glass, winged. At bottom, an urn. + </p> + <p> + Under the hour-glass, on another plate, this inscription: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HERE the wicked cease from troubling: and HERE the + weary be at rest. Job. iii. 17. +</pre> + <p> + Over the urn, near the bottom: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Turn again unto thy rest, O my soul! for the Lord hath + rewarded thee: And why? Thou hast delivered my + soul from death; mine eyes from tears; and my feet + from falling. Ps. cxvi. 7, 8. +</pre> + <p> + Over this is the head of a white lily snapt short off, and just falling + from the stalk; and this inscription over that, between the principal + plate and the lily: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The days of man are but as grass. For he flourisheth as a + flower of the field: for, as soon as the wind goeth over + it, it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no + more. Ps. ciii. 15, 16. +</pre> + <p> + She excused herself to the women, on the score of her youth, and being + used to draw for her needleworks, for having shown more fancy than would + perhaps be thought suitable on so solemn an occasion. + </p> + <p> + The date, April 10, she accounted for, as not being able to tell what her + closing-day would be; and as that was the fatal day of her leaving her + father's house. + </p> + <p> + She discharged the undertaker's bill after I went away, with as much + cheerfulness as she could ever have paid for the clothes she sold to + purchase this her palace: for such she called it; reflecting upon herself + for the expensiveness of it, saying, that they might observe in her, that + pride left not poor mortals to the last: but indeed she did not know but + her father would permit it, when furnished, to be carried down to be + deposited with her ancestors; and, in that case, she ought not to + discredit those ancestors in her appearance amongst them. + </p> + <p> + It is covered with fine black cloth, and lined with white satin; soon, she + said, to be tarnished with viler earth than any it could be covered by. + </p> + <p> + The burial-dress was brought home with it. The women had curiosity enough, + I suppose, to see her open that, if she did open it.—And, perhaps, + thou wouldst have been glad to have been present to have admired it too!— + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Lovick said, she took the liberty to blame her; and wished the + removal of such an object—from her bed-chamber, at least: and was so + affected with the noble answer she made upon it, that she entered it down + the moment she left her. + </p> + <p> + 'To persons in health, said she, this sight may be shocking; and the + preparation, and my unconcernedness in it, may appear affected: but to me, + who have had so gradual a weaning-time from the world, and so much reason + not to love it, I must say, I dwell on, I indulge, (and, strictly + speaking, I enjoy,) the thoughts of death. For, believe me,' [looking + stedfastly at the awful receptacle,] 'believe what at this instant I feel + to be most true, That there is such a vast superiority of weight and + importance in the thought of death, and its hoped-for happy consequences, + that it in a manner annihilates all other considerations and concerns. + Believe me, my good friends, it does what nothing else can do: it teaches + me, by strengthening in me the force of the divinest example, to forgive + the injuries I have received; and shuts out the remembrance of past evils + from my soul.' + </p> + <p> + And now let me ask thee, Lovelace, Dost thou think that, when the time + shall come that thou shalt be obliged to launch into the boundless ocean + of eternity, thou wilt be able (any more than poor Belton) to act thy part + with such true heroism, as this sweet and tender blossom of a woman has + manifested, and continues to manifest! + </p> + <p> + Oh! no! it cannot be!—And why can't it be?—The reason is + evident: she has no wilful errors to look back upon with self-reproach—and + her mind is strengthened by the consolations which flow from that + religious rectitude which has been the guide of all her actions; and which + has taught her rather to choose to be a sufferer than an aggressor! + </p> + <p> + This was the support of the divine Socrates, as thou hast read. When led + to execution, his wife lamenting that he should suffer being innocent, + Thou fool, said he, wouldst thou wish me to be guilty! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER XLIX + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. FRIDAY, SEPT. 1. + </p> + <p> + How astonishing, in the midst of such affecting scenes, is thy mirth on + what thou callest my own aspirations! Never, surely, was there such + another man in this world, thy talents and thy levity taken together!— + Surely, what I shall send thee with this will affect thee. If not, nothing + can, till thy own hour come: and heavy will then thy reflections be! + </p> + <p> + I am glad, however, that thou enablest me to assure the lady that thou + wilt no more molest her; that is to say, in other words, that, after + having ruined her fortunes, and all her worldly prospects, thou wilt be so + gracious, as to let her lie down and die in peace. + </p> + <p> + Thy giving up to poor Belton's sister the little legacy, and thy + undertaking to make Mowbray and Tourville follow thy example, are, I must + say to thy honour, of a piece with thy generosity to thy Rose-bud and her + Johnny; and to a number of other good actions in pecuniary matters: + although thy Rose-bud's is, I believe, the only instance, where a pretty + woman was concerned, of such a disinterested bounty. + </p> + <p> + Upon my faith, Lovelace, I love to praise thee; and often and often, as + thou knowest, have I studied for occasions to do it: insomuch that when, + for the life of me, I could not think of any thing done by thee that + deserved praise, I have taken pains to applaud the not ungraceful manner + in which thou hast performed actions that merited the gallows. + </p> + <p> + Now thou art so near, I will dispatch my servant to thee, if occasion + requires. But, I fear, I shall soon give thee the news thou art + apprehensive of. For I am just now sent for by Mrs. Smith; who has ordered + the messenger to tell me, that she knew not if the lady will be alive when + I come. + </p> + <p> + FRIDAY, SEPT. 1, TWO O'CLOCK, AT SMITH'S. + </p> + <p> + I could not close my letter in such an uncertainty as must have added to + your impatience. For you have, on several occasions, convinced me, that + the suspense you love to give would be the greatest torment to you that + you could receive. A common case with all aggressive and violent spirits, + I believe. I will just mention then (your servant waiting here till I have + written) that the lady has had two very severe fits: in the last of which + whilst she lay, they sent to the doctor and Mr. Goddard, who both advised + that a messenger should be dispatched for me, as her executor; being + doubtful whether, if she had a third, it would not carry her off. + </p> + <p> + She was tolerably recovered by the time I cane; and the doctor made her + promise before me, that, while she was so weak, she would not attempt any + more to go abroad; for, by Mrs. Lovick's description, who attended her, + the shortness of her breath, her extreme weakness, and the fervour of her + devotions when at church, were contraries, which, pulling different ways + (the soul aspiring, the body sinking) tore her tender frame in pieces. + </p> + <p> + So much for the present. I shall detain Will. no longer than just to beg + that you will send me back this packet and the last. Your memory is so + good, that once reading is all you ever give, or need to give, to any + thing. And who but ourselves can make out our characters, were you + inclined to let any body see what passes between us? If I cannot be + obliged, I shall be tempted to withhold what I write, till I have time to + take a copy of it.* + </p> + <p> + * It may not be amiss to observe, that Mr. Belford's solicitude to get + back his letters was owing to his desire of fulfilling the lady's wishes + that he would furnish Miss Howe with materials to vindicate her memory. + </p> + <p> + A letter from Miss Howe is just now brought by a particular messenger, who + says he must carry back a few lines in return. But, as the lady is just + retired to lie down, the man is to call again by-and-by. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0053" id="link2H_4_0053"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER L + </h2> + <p> + MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. UXBRIDGE, SEPT. 1, TWELVE O'CLOCK AT + NIGHT. + </p> + <p> + I send you the papers with this. You must account to me honestly and + fairly, when I see you, for the earnestness with which you write for them. + And then also will we talk about the contents of your last dispatch, and + about some of your severe and unfriendly reflections. + </p> + <p> + Mean time, whatever thou dost, don't let the wonderful creature leave us! + Set before her the sin of her preparation, as if she thought she could + depart when she pleased. She'll persuade herself, at this rate, that she + has nothing to do, when all is ready, but to lie down, and go to sleep: + and such a lively fancy as her's will make a reality of a jest at any + time. + </p> + <p> + A jest I call all that has passed between her and me; a mere jest to die + for—For has not her triumph over me, from first to last, been + infinitely greater than her sufferings from me? + </p> + <p> + Would the sacred regard I have for her purity, even for her personal as + well as intellectual purity, permit, I could prove this as clear as the + sun. Tell, therefore, the dear creature that she must not be wicked in her + piety. There is a too much, as well as too little, even in righteousness. + Perhaps she does not think of that.—Oh! that she would have + permitted my attendance, as obligingly as she does of thine!—The + dear soul used to love humour. I remember the time that she knew how to + smile at a piece of apropos humour. And, let me tell thee, a smile upon + the lips, or a sparkling in the eye, must have had its correspondent + cheerfulness in a heart so sincere as her's. + </p> + <p> + Tell the doctor I will make over all my possessions, and all my + reversions, to him, if he will but prolong her life for one twelvemonth to + come. But for one twelvemonth, Jack!—He will lose all his reputation + with me, and I shall treat him as Belton did his doctor, if he cannot do + this for me, on so young a subject. But nineteen, Belford!—nineteen + cannot so soon die of grief, if the doctor deserve that title; and so + blooming and so fine a constitution as she had but three or four months + ago! + </p> + <p> + But what need the doctor to ask her leave to write to her friends? Could + he not have done it without letting her know any thing of the matter? That + was one of the likeliest means that could be thought of to bring some of + them about her, since she is so desirous to see them. At least it would + have induced them to send up her favourite Norton. But these plaguy solemn + fellows are great traders in parade. They'll cram down your throat their + poisonous drugs by wholesale, without asking you a question; and have the + assurance to own it to be prescribing: but when they are to do good, they + are to require your consent. + </p> + <p> + How the dear creature's character rises in every line of thy letters! But + it is owing to the uncommon occasions she has met with that she blazes out + upon us with such a meridian lustre. How, but for those occasions, could + her noble sentiments, her prudent consideration, her forgiving spirit, her + exalted benevolence, and her equanimity in view of the most shocking + prospects (which set her in a light so superior to all her sex, and even + to the philosophers of antiquity) have been manifested? + </p> + <p> + I know thou wilt think I am going to claim some merit to myself, for + having given her such opportunities of signalizing her virtues. But I am + not; for, if I did, I must share that merit with her implacable relations, + who would justly be entitled to two-thirds of it, at least: and my soul + disdains a partnership in any thing with such a family. + </p> + <p> + But this I mention as an answer to thy reproaches, that I could be so + little edified by perfections, to which, thou supposest, I was for so long + together daily and hourly a personal witness—when, admirable as she + was in all she said, and in all she did, occasion had not at that time + ripened, and called forth, those amazing perfections which now astonish + and confound me. + </p> + <p> + Hence it is that I admire her more than ever; and that my love for her is + less personal, as I may say, more intellectual, than ever I thought it + could be to a woman. + </p> + <p> + Hence also it is that I am confident (would it please the Fates to spare + her, and make her mine) I could love her with a purity that would draw on + my own FUTURE, as well as ensure her TEMPORAL, happiness.—And hence, + by necessary consequence, shall I be the most miserable of all men, if I + am deprived of her. + </p> + <p> + Thou severely reflectest upon me for my levity: the Abbey instance in + thine eye, I suppose. And I will be ingenuous enough to own, that as thou + seest not my heart, there may be passages, in every one of my letters, + which (the melancholy occasion considered) deserve thy most pointed + rebukes. But faith, Jack, thou art such a tragi-comical mortal, with thy + leaden aspirations at one time, and thy flying hour-glasses and dreaming + terrors at another, that, as Prior says, What serious is, thou turn'st to + farce; and it is impossible to keep within the bounds of decorum or + gravity when one reads what thou writest. + </p> + <p> + But to restrain myself (for my constitutional gayety was ready to run away + with me again) I will repeat, I must ever repeat, that I am most + egregiously affected with the circumstances of the case: and, were this + paragon actually to quit the world, should never enjoy myself one hour + together, though I were to live to the age of Methusalem. + </p> + <p> + Indeed it is to this deep concern, that my levity is owing: for I struggle + and struggle, and try to buffet down my cruel reflections as they rise; + and when I cannot, I am forced, as I have often said, to try to make + myself laugh, that I may not cry; for one or other I must do: and is it + not philosophy carried to the highest pitch, for a man to conquer such + tumults of soul as I am sometimes agitated by, and, in the very height of + the storm, to be able to quaver out an horse-laugh? + </p> + <p> + Your Seneca's, your Epictetus's, and the rest of your stoical tribe, with + all their apathy nonsense, could not come up to this. They could forbear + wry faces: bodily pains they could well enough seem to support; and that + was all: but the pangs of their own smitten-down souls they could not + laugh over, though they could at the follies of others. They read grave + lectures; but they were grave. This high point of philosophy, to laugh and + be merry in the midst of the most soul-harrowing woes, when the + heart-strings are just bursting asunder, was reserved for thy Lovelace. + </p> + <p> + There is something owing to constitution, I own; and that this is the + laughing-time of my life. For what a woe must that be, which for an hour + together can mortify a man six or seven and twenty, in high blood and + spirits, of a naturally gay disposition, who can sing, dance, and + scribble, and take and give delight in them all?—But then my grief, + as my joy, is sharper-pointed than most other men's; and, like what Dolly + Welby once told me, describing the parturient throes, if there were not + lucid intervals, if they did not come and go, there would be no bearing + them. + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + After all, as I am so little distant from the dear creature, and as she is + so very ill, I think I cannot excuse myself from making her one visit. + Nevertheless, if I thought her so near—[what word shall I use, that + my soul is not shocked at!] and that she would be too much discomposed by + a visit, I would not think of it.—Yet how can I bear the + recollection, that, when she last went from me (her innocence so + triumphant over my premeditated guilt, as was enough to reconcile her to + life, and to set her above the sense of injuries so nobly sustained, that) + she should then depart with an incurable fracture in her heart; and that + that should be the last time I should ever see her!—How, how, can I + bear this reflection! + </p> + <p> + O Jack! how my conscience, that gives edge even to thy blunt reflections, + tears me!—Even this moment would I give the world to push the cruel + reproacher from me by one ray of my usual gayety!—Sick of myself!—sick + of the remembrance of my vile plots; and of my light, my momentary ecstacy + [villanous burglar, felon, thief, that I was!] which has brought on me + such durable and such heavy remorse! what would I give that I had not been + guilty of such barbarous and ungrateful perfidy to the most excellent of + God's creatures! + </p> + <p> + I would end, methinks, with one sprightlier line!—but it will not + be.— Let me tell thee then, and rejoice at it if thou wilt, that I + am + </p> + <p> + Inexpressibly miserable! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0054" id="link2H_4_0054"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER LI + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. SAT. MORNING, SEPT. 2. + </p> + <p> + I have some little pleasure given me by thine, just now brought me. I see + now that thou hast a little humanity left. Would to Heaven, for the dear + lady's sake, as well as for thy own, that thou hadst rummaged it up from + all the dark forgotten corners of thy soul a little sooner! + </p> + <p> + The lady is alive, and serene, and calm, and has all her noble intellects + clear and strong: but nineteen will not however save her. She says she + will now content herself with her closet duties, and the visits of the + parish-minister; and will not attempt to go out. Nor, indeed, will she, I + am afraid, ever walk up or down a pair of stairs again. + </p> + <p> + I am sorry at my soul to have this to say: but it would be a folly to + flatter thee. + </p> + <p> + As to thy seeing her, I believe the least hint of that sort, now, would + cut off some hours of her life. + </p> + <p> + What has contributed to her serenity, it seems, is, that taking the alarm + her fits gave her, she has entirely finished, and signed and sealed, her + last will: which she had deferred till this time, in hopes, as she said, + of some good news from Harlowe-place; which would have induced her to + alter some passages in it. + </p> + <p> + Miss Howe's letter was not given her till four in the afternoon, + yesterday; at which time the messenger returned for an answer. She + admitted him into her presence in the dining-room, ill as she then was, + and she would have written a few lines, as desired by Miss Howe; but, not + being able to hold a pen, she bid the messenger tell her that she hoped to + be well enough to write a long letter by the next day's post; and would + not now detain him. + </p> + <p> + *** SATURDAY, SIX IN THE AFTERNOON. + </p> + <p> + I called just now, and found the lady writing to Miss Howe. She made me a + melancholy compliment, that she showed me not Miss Howe's letter, because + I should soon have that and all her papers before me. But she told me that + Miss Howe had very considerably obviated to Colonel Morden several things + which might have occasioned misapprehensions between him and me; and had + likewise put a lighter construction, for the sake of peace, on some of + your actions than they deserved. + </p> + <p> + She added, that her cousin Morden was warmly engaged in her favour with + her friends: and one good piece of news Miss Howe's letter contained, that + her father would give up some matters, which (appertaining to her of + right) would make my executorship the easier in some particulars that had + given her a little pain. + </p> + <p> + She owned she had been obliged to leave off (in the letter she was + writing) through weakness. + </p> + <p> + Will. says he shall reach you to-night. I shall send in the morning; and, + if I find her not worse, will ride to Edgware, and return in the + afternoon. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER LII + </h2> + <p> + MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TUESDAY, AUG. 29. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAREST FRIEND, + </p> + <p> + We are at length returned to our own home. I had intended to wait on you + in London: but my mother is very ill—Alas! my dear, she is very ill + indeed—and you are likewise very ill—I see that by your's of + the 25th— What shall I do, if I lose two such near, and dear, and + tender friends? She was taken ill yesterday at our last stage in our + return home—and has a violent surfeit and fever, and the doctors are + doubtful about her. + </p> + <p> + If she should die, how will all my pertnesses to her fly in my face!— + Why, why, did I ever vex her? She says I have been all duty and obedience!—She + kindly forgets all my faults, and remembers every thing I have been so + happy as to oblige her in. And this cuts me to the heart. + </p> + <p> + I see, I see, my dear, that you are very bad—and I cannot bear it. + Do, my beloved Miss Harlowe, if you can be better, do, for my sake, be + better; and send me word of it. Let the bearer bring me a line. Be sure + you send me a line. If I lose you, my more than sister, and lose my + mother, I shall distrust my own conduct, and will not marry. And why + should I?—Creeping, cringing in courtship!—O my dear, these + men are a vile race of reptiles in our day, and mere bears in their own. + See in Lovelace all that is desirable in figure, in birth, and in fortune: + but in his heart a devil!—See in Hickman—Indeed, my dear, I + cannot tell what any body can see in Hickman, to be always preaching in + his favour. And is it to be expected that I, who could hardly bear control + from a mother, should take it from a husband?—from one too, who has + neither more wit, nor more understanding, than myself? yet he to be my + instructor!—So he will, I suppose; but more by the insolence of his + will than by the merit of his counsel. It is in vain to think of it. I + cannot be a wife to any man breathing whom I at present know. This I the + rather mention now, because, on my mother's danger, I know you will be for + pressing me the sooner to throw myself into another sort of protection, + should I be deprived of her. But no more of this subject, or indeed of any + other; for I am obliged to attend my mamma, who cannot bear me out of her + sight. + </p> + <p> + *** WEDNESDAY, AUG. 30. + </p> + <p> + My mother, Heaven be praised! has had a fine night, and is much better. + Her fever has yielded to medicine! and now I can write once more with + freedom and ease to you, in hopes that you also are better. If this be + granted to my prayers, I shall again be happy, I write with still the + more alacrity as I have an opportunity given me to touch upon a subject in + which you are nearly concerned. + </p> + <p> + You must know then, my dear, that your cousin Morden has been here with + me. He told me of an interview he had on Monday at Lord M.'s with + Lovelace; and asked me abundance of questions about you, and about that + villanous man. + </p> + <p> + I could have raised a fine flame between them if I would: but, observing + that he is a man of very lively passions, and believing you would be + miserable if any thing should happen to him from a quarrel with a man who + is known to have so many advantages at his sword, I made not the worst of + the subjects we talked of. But, as I could not tell untruths in his + favour, you must think I said enough to make him curse the wretch. + </p> + <p> + I don't find, well as they all used to respect Colonel Morden, that he has + influence enough upon them to bring them to any terms of reconciliation. + </p> + <p> + What can they mean by it!—But your brother is come home, it seems: + so, the honour of the house, the reputation of the family, is all the cry! + </p> + <p> + The Colonel is exceedingly out of humour with them all. Yet has he not + hitherto, it seems, seen your brutal brother.—I told him how ill you + were, and communicated to him some of the contents of your letter. He + admired you, cursed Lovelace, and raved against all your family.—He + declared that they were all unworthy of you. + </p> + <p> + At his earnest request, I permitted him to take some brief notes of such + of the contents of your letter to me as I thought I could read to him; + and, particularly, of your melancholy conclusion.* + </p> + <p> + * See Letter XXXII. of this volume. + </p> + <p> + He says that none of your friends think you are so ill as you are; nor + will believe it. He is sure they all love you; and that dearly too. + </p> + <p> + If they do, their present hardness of heart will be the subject of + everlasting remorse to them should you be taken from us—but now it + seems [barbarous wretches!] you are to suffer within an inch of your life. + </p> + <p> + He asked me questions about Mr. Belford: and, when he had heard what I had + to say of that gentleman, and his disinterested services to you, he raved + at some villanous surmises thrown out against you by that officious + pedant, Brand: who, but for his gown, I find, would come off poorly enough + between your cousin and Lovelace. + </p> + <p> + He was so uneasy about you himself, that on Thursday, the 24th, he sent up + an honest serious man,* one Alston, a gentleman farmer, to inquire of your + condition, your visiters, and the like; who brought him word that you was + very ill, and was put to great straits to support yourself: but as this + was told him by the gentlewoman of the house where you lodge, who, it + seems, mingled it with some tart, though deserved, reflections upon your + relations' cruelty, it was not credited by them: and I myself hope it + cannot be true; for surely you could not be so unjust, I will say, to my + friendship, as to suffer any inconveniencies for want of money. I think I + could not forgive you, if it were so. + </p> + <p> + * See Letter XXIII. ibid. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel (as one of your trustees) is resolved to see you put into + possession of your estate: and, in the mean time, he has actually engaged + them to remit to him for you the produce of it accrued since your + grandfather's death, (a very considerable sum;) and proposes himself to + attend you with it. But, by a hint he dropt, I find you had disappointed + some people's littleness, by not writing to them for money and supplies; + since they were determined to distress you, and to put you at defiance. + </p> + <p> + Like all the rest!—I hope I may say that without offence. + </p> + <p> + Your cousin imagines that, before a reconciliation takes place, they will + insist that you make such a will, as to that estate, as they shall approve + of: but he declares that he will not go out of England till he has seen + justice done you by every body; and that you shall not be imposed on + either by friend or foe— + </p> + <p> + By relation or foe, should he not have said?—for a friend will not + impose upon a friend. + </p> + <p> + So, my dear, you are to buy your peace, if some people are to have their + wills! + </p> + <p> + Your cousin [not I, my dear, though it was always my opinion*] says, that + the whole family is too rich to be either humble, considerate, or + contented. And as for himself, he has an ample fortune, he says, and + thinks of leaving it wholly to you. + </p> + <p> + * See Vol. I. Letter X. + </p> + <p> + Had this villain Lovelace consulted his worldly interest only, what a + fortune would he have had in you, even although your marrying him had + deprived you of a paternal share! + </p> + <p> + I am obliged to leave off here. But having a good deal still more to + write, and my mother better, I will pursue the subject in another letter, + although I send both together. I need not say how much I am, and will ever + be, + </p> + <p> + Your affectionate, &c. ANNA HOWE. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0056" id="link2H_4_0056"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER LIII + </h2> + <p> + MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE THURSDAY, AUGUST 31. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel thought fit once, in praise of Lovelace's generosity, to say, + that (as a man of honour ought) he took to himself all the blame, and + acquitted you of the consequences of the precipitate step you had taken; + since he said, as you loved him, and was in his power, he must have had + advantages which he would not have had, if you had continued at your + father's, or at any friend's. + </p> + <p> + Mighty generous, I said, (were it as he supposed,) in such insolent + reflectors, the best of them; who pretend to clear reputations which never + had been sullied but by falling into their dirty acquaintance! but in this + case, I averred, that there was no need of any thing but the strictest + truth, to demonstrate Lovelace to be the blackest of villains, you the + brightest of innocents. + </p> + <p> + This he catched at; and swore, that if any thing uncommon or barbarous in + the seduction were to come out, as indeed one of the letters you had + written to your friends, and which had been shown him, very strongly + implied; that is to say, my dear, if any thing worse than perjury, breach + of faith, and abuse of a generous confidence, were to appear! [sorry + fellows!] he would avenge his cousin to the utmost. + </p> + <p> + I urged your apprehensions on this head from your last letter to me: but + he seemed capable of taking what I know to be real greatness of soul, in + an unworthy sense: for he mentioned directly upon it the expectations your + friends had, that you should (previous to any reconciliation with them) + appear in a court of justice against the villain—IF you could do it + with the advantage to yourself that I hinted might be done. + </p> + <p> + And truly, if I would have heard him, he had indelicacy enough to have + gone into the nature of the proof of the crime upon which they wanted to + have Lovelace arraigned. Yet this is a man improved by travel and + learning!—Upon my word, my dear, I, who have been accustomed to the + most delicate conversation ever since I had the honour to know you, + despise this sex from the gentleman down to the peasant. + </p> + <p> + Upon the whole, I find that Mr. Morden has a very slender notion of + women's virtue in particular cases: for which reason I put him down, + though your favourite, as one who is not entitled to cast the first stone. + </p> + <p> + I never knew a man who deserved to be well thought of himself for his + morals, who had a slight opinion of the virtue of our sex in general. For + if, from the difference of temperament and education, modesty, chastity, + and piety too, are not to be found in our sex preferably to the other, I + should think it a sign of much worse nature in ours. + </p> + <p> + He even hinted (as from your relations indeed) that it is impossible but + there most be some will where there is much love. + </p> + <p> + These sort of reflections are enough to make a woman, who has at heart her + own honour and the honour of her sex, to look about her, and consider what + she is doing when she enters into an intimacy with these wretches; since + it is plain, that whenever she throws herself into the power of a man, and + leaves for him her parents or guardians, every body will believe it to be + owing more to her good luck than to her discretion if there be not an end + of her virtue: and let the man be ever such a villain to her, she must + take into her own bosom a share of his guilty baseness. + </p> + <p> + I am writing to general cases. You, my dear, are out of the question. Your + story, as I have heretofore said, will afford a warning as well as an + example:* For who is it that will not infer, that if a person of your + fortune, character, and merit, could not escape ruin, after she had put + herself into the power of her hyæna, what can a thoughtless, fond, giddy + creature expect? + </p> + <p> + * See Vol. IV. Letter XXIII. + </p> + <p> + Every man, they will say, is not a LOVELACE—True: but then, neither + is every woman a CLARISSA. And allow for the one and for the other the + example must be of general use. + </p> + <p> + I prepared Mr. Morden to expect your appointment of Mr. Belford for an + office that we both hope he will have no occasion to act in (nor any body + else) for many, very many years to come. He was at first startled at it: + but, upon hearing such of your reasons as had satisfied me, he only said + that such an appointment, were it to take place, would exceedingly affect + his other cousins. + </p> + <p> + He told me, he had a copy of Lovelace's letter to you, imploring your + pardon, and offering to undergo any penance to procure it;* and also of + your answer to it.** + </p> + <p> + * See Vol. VII. Letter LXXIX. ** Ibid. Letter LXXXIII. + </p> + <p> + I find he is willing to hope that a marriage between you may still take + place; which, he says, will heal up all breaches. + </p> + <p> + I would have written much more—on the following particulars + especially; to wit, of the wretched man's hunting you out of your + lodgings: of your relations' strange implacableness, [I am in haste, and + cannot think of a word you would like better just now:] of your last + letter to Lovelace, to divert him from pursuing you: of your aunt Hervey's + penitential conversation with Mrs. Norton: of Mr. Wyerley's renewed + address: of your lessons to me in Hickman's behalf, so approvable, were + the man more so than he is; but indeed I am offended with him at this + instant, and have been for these two days: of your sister's + transportation-project: and of twenty and twenty other things: but am + obliged to leave off, to attend my two cousins Spilsworth, and my cousin + Herbert, who are come to visit us on account of my mother's illness—I + will therefore dispatch these by Rogers; and if my mother gets well soon + (as I hope she will) I am resolved to see you in town, and tell you every + thing that now is upon my mind; and particularly, mingling my soul with + your's, how much I am, and will ever be, my dearest, dear friend, + </p> + <p> + Your affectionate ANNA HOWE. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Let Rogers bring one line, I pray you. I thought to have sent him this + afternoon; but he cannot set out till to-morrow morning early. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I cannot express how much your staggering lines and your conclusion + affect me! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0057" id="link2H_4_0057"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER LIV + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. SUNDAY EVENING, SEPT. 3. + </p> + <p> + I wonder not at the impatience your servant tells me you express to hear + from me. I was designing to write you a long letter, and was just returned + from Smith's for that purpose; but, since you are urgent, you must be + contented with a short one. + </p> + <p> + I attended the lady this morning, just before I set out for Edgware. She + was so ill over-night, that she was obliged to leave unfinished her letter + to Miss Howe. But early this morning she made an end of it, and just + sealed it up as I came. She was so fatigued with writing, that she told me + she would lie down after I was gone, and endeavour to recruit her spirits. + </p> + <p> + They had sent for Mr. Goddard, when she was so ill last night; and not + being able to see him out of her own chamber, he, for the first time, saw + her house, as she calls it. He was extremely shocked and concerned at it; + and chid Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Lovick for not persuading her to have such an + object removed form her bed-chamber: and when they excused themselves on + the little authority it was reasonable to suppose they must have with a + lady so much their superior, he reflected warmly on those who had more + authority, and who left her to proceed with such a shocking and solemn + whimsy, as he called it. + </p> + <p> + It is placed near the window, like a harpsichord, though covered over to + the ground: and when she is so ill that she cannot well go to her closet, + she writes and reads upon it, as others would upon a desk or table. But + (only as she was so ill last night) she chooses not to see any body in + that apartment. + </p> + <p> + I went to Edgware; and, returning in the evening, attended her again. She + had a letter brought her from Mrs. Norton (a long one, as it seems by its + bulk,) just before I came. But she had not opened it; and said, that as + she was pretty calm and composed, she was afraid to look into the + contents, lest she should be ruffled; expecting now to hear of nothing + that could do her good or give her pleasure from that good woman's dear + hard-hearted neighbours, as she called her own relations. + </p> + <p> + Seeing her so weak and ill, I withdrew; nor did she desire me to tarry, as + sometimes she does, when I make a motion to depart. + </p> + <p> + I had some hints, as I went away, from Mrs. Smith, that she had + appropriated that evening to some offices, that were to save trouble, as + she called it, after her departure; and had been giving orders to her + nurse, and to Mrs. Lovick, and Mrs. Smith, about what she would have done + when she was gone; and I believe they were of a very delicate and + affecting nature; but Mrs. Smith descended not to particulars. + </p> + <p> + The doctor had been with her, as well as Mr. Goddard; and they both joined + with great earnestness to persuade her to have her house removed out of + her sight; but she assured them that it gave her pleasure and spirits; + and, being a necessary preparation, she wondered they should be surprised + at it, when she had not any of her family about her, or any old + acquaintance, on whose care and exactness in these punctilios, as she + called them, she could rely. + </p> + <p> + The doctor told Mrs. Smith, that he believed she would hold out long + enough for any of her friends to have notice of her state, and to see her; + and hardly longer; and since he could not find that she had any certainty + of seeing her cousin Morden, (which made it plain that her relations + continued inflexible,) he would go home, and write a letter to her father, + take it as she would. + </p> + <p> + She had spent great part of the day in intense devotions; and to-morrow + morning she is to have with her the same clergyman who has often attended + her; from whose hands she will again receive the sacrament. + </p> + <p> + Thou seest, Lovelace, that all is preparing, that all will be ready; and I + am to attend her to-morrow afternoon, to take some instructions from her + in relation to my part in the office to be performed for her. And thus, + omitting the particulars of a fine conversation between her and Mrs. + Lovick, which the latter acquainted me with, as well as another between + her and the doctor and apothecary, which I had a design this evening to + give you, they being of a very affecting nature, I have yielded to your + impatience. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I shall dispatch Harry to-morrow morning early with her letter to Miss + Howe: an offer she took very kindly; as she is extremely + solicitous to lessen that young lady's apprehensions for her on + not hearing from her by Saturday's post: and yet, if she write + truth, as no doubt but she will, how can her apprehensions be + lessened? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0058" id="link2H_4_0058"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER LV + </h2> + <p> + MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE SATURDAY, SEPT. 2. + </p> + <p> + I write, my beloved Miss Howe, though very ill still: but I could not by + the return of your messenger; for I was then unable to hold a pen. + </p> + <p> + Your mother's illness (as mentioned in the first part of your letter,) + gave me great distress for you, till I read farther. You bewailed it as + became a daughter so sensible. May you be blessed in each other for many, + very many years to come! I doubt not, that even this sudden and grievous + indisposition, by the frame it has put you in, and the apprehension it has + given you of losing so dear a mother, will contribute to the happiness I + wish you: for, alas! my dear, we seldom know how to value the blessings we + enjoy, till we are in danger of losing them, or have actually lost them: + and then, what would we give to have them restored to us! + </p> + <p> + What, I wonder, has again happened between you and Mr. Hickman? Although I + know not, I dare say it is owing to some petty petulance, to some + half-ungenerous advantage taken of his obligingness and assiduity. Will + you never, my dear, give the weight you and all our sex ought to give to + the qualities of sobriety and regularity of life and manners in that sex? + Must bold creatures, and forward spirits, for ever, and by the best and + wisest of us, as well as by the indiscreetest, be the most kindly treated? + </p> + <p> + My dear friends know not that I have actually suffered within less than an + inch of my life. + </p> + <p> + Poor Mr. Brand! he meant well, I believe. I am afraid all will turn + heavily upon him, when he probably imagined that he was taking the best + method to oblige. But were he not to have been so light of belief, and so + weakly officious; and had given a more favourable, and, it would be + strange if I could not say, a juster report; things would have been, + nevertheless, exactly as they are. + </p> + <p> + I must lay down my pen. I am very ill. I believe I shall be better + by-and-by. The bad writing would betray me, although I had a mind to keep + from you what the event must soon— + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + Now I resume my trembling pen. Excuse the unsteady writing. It will be so— + </p> + <p> + I have wanted no money: so don't be angry about such a trifle as money. + Yet I am glad of what you inclined me to hope, that my friends will give + up the produce of my grandfather's estate since it has been in their + hands: because, knowing it to be my right, and that they could not want + it, I had already disposed of a good part of it; and could only hope they + would be willing to give it up at my last request. And now how rich shall + I think myself in this my last stage!—And yet I did not want before—indeed + I did not—for who, that has many superfluities, can be said to want! + </p> + <p> + Do not, my dear friend, be concerned that I call it my last stage; For + what is even the long life which in high health we wish for? What, but, as + we go along, a life of apprehension, sometimes for our friends, oftener + for ourselves? And at last, when arrived at the old age we covet, one + heavy loss or deprivation having succeeded another, we see ourselves + stript, as I may say, of every one we loved; and find ourselves exposed, + as uncompanionable poor creatures, to the slights, to the contempts, of + jostling youth, who want to push us off the stage, in hopes to possess + what we have:—and, superadded to all, our own infirmities every day + increasing: of themselves enough to make the life we wished for the + greatest disease of all! Don't you remember the lines of Howard, which + once you read to me in my ivy-bower?* + </p> + <p> + * These are the lines the lady refers to: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + From death we rose to life: 'tis but the same, + Through life to pass again from whence we came. + With shame we see our PASSIONS can prevail, + Where reason, certainty, and virtue fail. + HONOUR, that empty name, can death despise; | + SCORN'D LOVE to death, as to a refuge, flies; | + And SORROW waits for death with longing eyes. | + HOPE triumphs o'er the thoughts of death; and FATE + Cheats fools, and flatters the unfortunate. + We fear to lose, what a small time must waste, + Till life itself grows the disease at last. + Begging for life, we beg for more decay, + And to be long a dying only pray. +</pre> + <p> + In the disposition of what belongs to me, I have endeavoured to do every + thing in the justest and best manner I could think of; putting myself in + my relations' places, and, in the greater points, ordering my matters as + if no misunderstanding had happened. + </p> + <p> + I hope they will not think much of some bequests where wanted, and where + due from my gratitude: but if they should, what is done, is done; and I + cannot now help it. Yet I must repeat, that I hope, I hope, I have pleased + every one of them. For I would not, on any account, have it thought that, + in my last disposition, any thing undaughterly, unsisterly, or unlike a + kinswoman, should have had place in a mind that is a truly free (as I will + presume to say) from all resentment, that it now overflows with gratitude + and blessings for the good I have received, although it be not all that my + heart wished to receive. Were it even an hardship that I was not favoured + with more, what is it but an hardship of half a year, against the most + indulgent goodness of eighteen years and an half, that ever was shown to a + daughter? + </p> + <p> + My cousin, you tell me, thinks I was off my guard, and that I was taken at + some advantage. Indeed, my dear, I was not. Indeed I gave no room for + advantage to be taken of me. I hope, one day, that will be seen, if I have + the justice done me which Mr. Belford assures me of. + </p> + <p> + I should hope that my cousin has not taken the liberties which you (by an + observation not, in general, unjust) seem to charge him with. For it is + sad to think, that the generality of that sex should make so light of + crimes, which they justly hold so unpardonable in their own most intimate + relations of our's—yet cannot commit them without doing such + injuries to other families as they think themselves obliged to resent unto + death, when offered to their own. + </p> + <p> + But we women are too often to blame on this head; since the most virtuous + among us seldom make virtue the test of their approbation of the other + sex; insomuch that a man may glory in his wickedness of this sort without + being rejected on that account, even to the faces of women of + unquestionable virtue. Hence it is, that a libertine seldom thinks himself + concerned so much as to save appearances: And what is it not that our sex + suffers in their opinion on this very score? And what have I, more than + many others, to answer for on this account in the world's eye? + </p> + <p> + May my story be a warning to all, how they prefer a libertine to a man of + true honour; and how they permit themselves to be misled (where they mean + the best) by the specious, yet foolish hope of subduing riveted habits, + and, as I may say, of altering natures!—The more foolish, as + constant experience might convince us, that there is hardly one in ten, of + even tolerably happy marriages, in which the wife keeps the hold in the + husband's affections, which she had in the lover's. What influence then + can she hope to have over the morals of an avowed libertine, who marries + perhaps for conveniency, who despises the tie, and whom, it is too + probable, nothing but old age, or sickness, or disease, (the consequence + of ruinous riot,) can reclaim? + </p> + <p> + I am very glad you gave my cous— + </p> + <p> + SUNDAY MORNING, SEPT. 3, SIX O'CLOCK. + </p> + <p> + Hither I had written, and was forced to quit my pen. And so much weaker + and worse I grew, that had I resumed it, to have closed here, it must have + been with such trembling unsteadiness, that it would have given you more + concern for me, than the delay of sending it away by last night's post can + do. I deferred it, therefore, to see how it would please God to deal with + me. And I find myself, after a better night than I expected, lively and + clear; and hope to give a proof that I do, in the continuation of my + letter, which I will pursue as currently as if I had not left off. + </p> + <p> + I am glad that you so considerately gave my cousin Morden favourable + impressions of Mr. Belford; since, otherwise, some misunderstanding might + have happened between them: for although I hope this Mr. Belford is an + altered man, and in time will be a reformed one, yet is he one of those + high spirits that has been accustomed to resent imaginary indignities to + himself, when, I believe, he has not been studious to avoid giving real + offences to others; men of this cast acting as if they thought all the + world was made to bar with them, and they with nobody in it. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Lovelace, you tell me, thought fit to intrust my cousin with the copy + of his letter of penitence to me, and with my answer to it, rejecting him + and his suit: and Mr. Belford, moreover, acquaints me, how much concerned + Mr. Lovelace is for his baseness, and how freely he accused himself to my + cousin. This shows, that the true bravery of spirit is to be above doing a + vile action; and that nothing subjects the human mind to so much meanness, + as the consciousness of having done wilful wrong to our fellow creatures. + How low, how sordid, are the submissions which elaborate baseness compels! + that that wretch could treat me as he did, and then could so poorly creep + to me for forgiveness of crimes so wilful, so black, and so premeditated! + how my soul despised him for his meanness on a certain occasion, of which + you will one day be informed!* and him whose actions one's heart despises, + it is far from being difficult to reject, had one ever so partially + favoured him once. + </p> + <p> + * Meaning his meditated second violence (See Vol. VI. Letter XXXVI.) and + his succeeding letters to her, supplicating for her pardon. + </p> + <p> + Yet am I glad this violent spirit can thus creep; that, like a poisonous + serpent, he can thus coil himself, and hide his head in his own narrow + circlets; because this stooping, this abasement, gives me hope that no + farther mischief will ensue. + </p> + <p> + All my apprehension is, what may happen when I am gone; lest then my + cousin, or any other of my family, should endeavour to avenge me, and risk + their own more precious lives on that account. + </p> + <p> + If that part of Cain's curse were Mr. Lovelace's, to be a fugitive and + vagabond in the earth; that is to say, if it meant no more harm to him + than that he should be obliged to travel, as it seems he intends, (though + I wish him no ill in his travels;) and I could know it; then should I be + easy in the hoped-for safety of my friends from his skilful violence—Oh! + that I could hear he was a thousand miles off! + </p> + <p> + When I began this letter, I did not think I could have run to such a + length. But 'tis to YOU, my dearest friend, and you have a title to the + spirits you raise and support; for they are no longer mine, and will + subside the moment I cease writing to you. + </p> + <p> + But what do you bid me hope for, when you tell me that, if your mother's + health will permit, you will see me in town? I hope your mother's health + will be perfected as you wish; but I dare not promise myself so great a + favour; so great a blessing, I will call it—and indeed I know not if + I should be able to bear it now! + </p> + <p> + Yet one comfort it is in your power to give me; and that is, let me know, + and very speedily it must be, if you wish to oblige me, that all matters + are made up between you and Mr. Hickman; to whom, I see, you are resolved, + with all your bravery of spirit, to owe a multitude of obligations for his + patience with your flightiness. Think of this, my dear proud friend! and + think, likewise, of what I have often told you, that PRIDE, in man or + woman, is an extreme that hardly ever fails, sooner or later, to bring + forth its mortifying CONTRARY. + </p> + <p> + May you, my dear Miss Howe, have no discomforts but what you make to + yourself! as it will be in your own power to lessen such as these, they + ought to be your punishment if you do not. There is no such thing as + perfect happiness here, since the busy mind will make to itself evils, + were it to find none. You will, therefore, pardon this limited wish, + strange as it may appear, till you consider it: for to wish you no + infelicity, either within or without you, were to wish you what can never + happen in this world; and what perhaps ought not to be wished for, if by a + wish one could give one's friend such an exemption; since we are not to + live here always. + </p> + <p> + We must not, in short, expect that our roses will grow without thorns: but + then they are useful and instructive thorns: which, by pricking the + fingers of the too-hasty plucker, teach future caution. And who knows not + that difficulty gives poignancy to our enjoyments; which are apt to lose + their relish with us when they are over easily obtained? + </p> + <p> + I must conclude— + </p> + <p> + God for ever bless you, and all you love and honour, and reward you here + and hereafter for your kindness to + </p> + <p> + Your ever obliged and affectionate CLARISSA HARLOWE. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0059" id="link2H_4_0059"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER LVI + </h2> + <p> + MRS. NORTON, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [IN ANSWER TO HER'S OF THURSDAY, + AUGUST 24. SEE LETTER XXX. OF THIS VOLUME.] THURSDAY, AUG. 31. + </p> + <p> + I had written sooner, my dearest young lady, but that I have been + endeavouring, ever since the receipt of your last letter, to obtain a + private audience of your mother, in hopes of leave to communicate it to + her. But last night I was surprised by an invitation to breakfast at + Harlowe-place this morning; and the chariot came early to fetch me—an + honour I did not expect. + </p> + <p> + When I came, I found there was to be a meeting of all your family with + Col. Morden, at Harlowe-place; and it was proposed by your mother, and + consented to, that I should be present. Your cousin, I understand, had + with difficulty brought this meeting to bear; for your brother had before + industriously avoided all conversation with him on the affecting subject; + urging that it was not necessary to talk to Mr. Morden upon it, who, being + a remoter relation than themselves, had no business to make himself a + judge of their conduct to their daughter, their niece, and their sister; + especially as he had declared himself in her favour; adding, that he + should hardly have patience to be questioned by Mr. Morden on that head. + </p> + <p> + I was in hopes that your mother would have given me an opportunity of + talking with her alone before the company met; but she seemed studiously + to avoid it; I dare say, however, not with her inclination. + </p> + <p> + I was ordered in just before Mr. Morden came; and was bid to sit down— + which I did in the window. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel, when he came, began the discourse, by renewing, as he called + it, his solicitations in your favour. He set before them your penitence; + your ill health; your virtue, though once betrayed, and basely used; he + then read to them Mr. Lovelace's letter, a most contrite one indeed,* and + your high-souled answer;** for that was what he justly called it; and he + treated as it deserved Mr. Brand's officious information, (of which I had + before heard he had made them ashamed,) by representations founded upon + inquiries made by Mr. Alston,*** whom he had procured to go up on purpose + to acquaint himself with your manner of life, and what was meant by the + visits of that Mr. Belford. + </p> + <p> + * See Vol. VII. LXXIX. ** Ibid. Letter LXXXIII. *** See Vol. VIII. Letter + XXIII. + </p> + <p> + He then told them, that he had the day before waited upon Miss Howe, and + had been shown a letter from you to her,* and permitted to take some + memorandums from it, in which you appeared, both by handwriting, and the + contents, to be so very ill, that it seemed doubtful to him, if it were + possible for you to get over it. And when he read to them that passage, + where you ask Miss Howe, 'What can be done for you now, were your friends + to be ever so favourable? and wish for their sakes, more than for your + own, that they would still relent;' and then say, 'You are very ill—you + must drop your pen—and ask excuse for your crooked writing; and + take, as it were, a last farewell of Miss Howe;—adieu, my dear, + adieu,' are your words— + </p> + <p> + * Ibid. Letter XXXIII. + </p> + <p> + O my child! my child! said you mamma, weeping, and clasping her hands. + </p> + <p> + Dear Madam, said your brother, be so good as to think you have more + children than this ungrateful one. + </p> + <p> + Yet your sister seemed affected. + </p> + <p> + Your uncle Harlowe, wiping his eyes, O cousin, said he, if one thought the + poor girl was really so ill— + </p> + <p> + She must, said your uncle Antony. This is written to her private friend. + God forbid she should be quite lost! + </p> + <p> + Your uncle Harlowe wished they did not carry their resentments too far. + </p> + <p> + I begged for God's sake, wringing my hands, and with a bended knee, that + they would permit me to go up to you; engaging to give them a faithful + account of the way you were in. But I was chidden by your brother; and + this occasioned some angry words between him and Mr. Morden. + </p> + <p> + I believe, Sir, I believe, Madam, said your sister to her father and + mother, we need not trouble my cousin to read any more. It does but grieve + and disturb you. My sister Clary seems to be ill: I think, if Mrs. Norton + were permitted to go up to her, it would be right; wickedly as she has + acted, if she be truly penitent— + </p> + <p> + Here she stopt; and every one being silent, I stood up once more, and + besought them to let me go; and then I offered to read a passage or two in + your letter to me of the 24th. But I was taken up again by your brother, + and this occasioned still higher words between the Colonel and him. + </p> + <p> + Your mother, hoping to gain upon your inflexible brother, and to divert + the anger of the two gentlemen from each other, proposed that the Colonel + should proceed in reading the minutes he had taken from your letter. + </p> + <p> + He accordingly read, 'of your resuming your pen; that you thought you had + taken your last farewell; and the rest of that very affecting passage, in + which you are obliged to break off more than once, and afterwards to take + an airing in a chair.' Your brother and sister were affected at this; and + he had recourse to his snuff-box. And where you comfort Miss Howe, and + say, 'You shall be happy;' It is more, said he, than she will let any body + else be. + </p> + <p> + Your sister called you sweet soul! but with a low voice: then grew + hard-hearted again; set said [sic], Nobody could help being affected by + your pathetic grief—but that it was your talent. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel then went on to the good effect your airing had upon you; to + your good wishes to Miss Howe and Mr. Hickman; and to your concluding + sentence, that when the happy life you wished to her comes to be wound up, + she may be as calm and as easy at quitting it, as you hope in God you + shall be. Your mother could not stand this; but retired to a corner of the + room, and sobbed, and wept. Your father for a few minutes could not speak, + though he seemed inclined to say something. + </p> + <p> + Your uncles were also both affected; but your brother went round to each, + and again reminded your mother that she had other children.—What was + there, he said, in what was read, but the result of the talent you had of + moving the passions? And he blamed them for choosing to hear read what + they knew their abused indulgence could not be a proof against. + </p> + <p> + This set Mr. Morden up again—Fie upon you, Cousin Harlowe, said he, + I see plainly to whom it is owing that all relationship and ties of blood, + with regard to this sweet sufferer, are laid aside. Such rigours as these + make it difficult for a sliding virtue ever to recover itself. + </p> + <p> + Your brother pretended the honour of the family; and declared, that no + child ought to be forgiven who abandoned the most indulgent of parents + against warning, against the light of knowledge, as you had done. + </p> + <p> + But, Sir, and Ladies, said I, rising from the seat in the window, and + humbly turning round to each, if I may be permitted to speak, my dear Miss + asks only for a blessing. She does not beg to be received to favour; she + is very ill, and asks only for a last blessing. + </p> + <p> + Come, come, good Norton, [I need not tell you who said this,] you are up + again with your lamentables!—A good woman, as you are, to forgive so + readily a crime, that has been as disgraceful to your part in her + education as to her family, is a weakness that would induce one to suspect + your virtue, if you were to be encountered by a temptation properly + adapted. + </p> + <p> + By some such charitable logic, said Mr. Morden, as this, is my cousin + Arabella captivated, I doubt not. If virtue, you, Mr. James Harlowe, are + the most virtuous young man in the world. + </p> + <p> + I knew how it would be, replied your brother, in a passion, if I met Mr. + Morden upon this business. I would have declined it; but you, Sir, to his + father, would not permit me to do so. + </p> + <p> + But, Sir, turning to the Colonel, in no other presence—— + </p> + <p> + Then, Cousin James, interrupted the other gentleman, that which is your + protection, it seems, is mine. I am not used to bear defiances thus— + you are my Cousin, Sir, and the son and nephew of persons as dear as near + to me—There he paused— + </p> + <p> + Are we, said your father, to be made still more unhappy among ourselves, + when the villain lives that ought to be the object of every one's + resentment who has either a value for the family, or for this ungrateful + girl? + </p> + <p> + That's the man, said your cousin, whom last Monday, as you know, I went + purposely to make the object of mine. But what could I say, when I found + him so willing to repair his crime?—And I give it as my opinion, and + have written accordingly to my poor cousin, that it is best for all round + that his offer should be accepted; and let me tell you— + </p> + <p> + Tell me nothing, said your father, quite enraged, or that very vile + fellow! I have a rivetted hatred to him. I would rather see the rebel die + an hundred deaths, were it possible, than that she should give such a + villain as him a relation to my family. + </p> + <p> + Well, but there is no room to think, said you mother, that she will give + us such a relation, my dear. The poor girl will lessen, I fear, the number + of our relations not increase it. If she be so ill as we are told she is, + let us send Mrs. Norton up to her.—That's the least we can do— + let us take her, however, out of the hands of that Belford. + </p> + <p> + Both your uncles supported this motion; the latter part of it especially. + </p> + <p> + Your brother observed, in his ill-natured way, what a fine piece of + consistency it was in you to refuse the vile injurer, and the amends he + offered; yet to throw yourself upon the protection of his fast friend. + </p> + <p> + Miss Harlowe was apprehensive, she said, that you would leave all you + could leave to that pert creature, Miss Howe, [so she called her,] if you + should die. + </p> + <p> + O do not, do not suppose that, my Bella, said your poor mother. I cannot + think of parting with my Clary—with all her faults, she is my child—her + reasons for her conduct are not heard—it would break my heart to + lose her.—I think, my dear, to your father, none so fit as I to go + up, if you will give me leave, and Mrs. Norton shall accompany me. + </p> + <p> + This was a sweet motion, and your father paused upon it. Mr. Morden + offered his service to escort her; your uncles seemed to approve of it; + but your brother dashed all. I hope, Sir, said he, to his father—I + hope, Madam, to his mother—that you will not endeavour to recover a + faulty daughter by losing an unculpable son. I do declare, that if ever my + sister Clary darkens these doors again, I never will. I will set out, + Madam, the same hour you go to London, (on such an errand,) to Edinburgh; + and there I will reside, and try to forget that I have relations in + England, so near and so dear as you are now all to me. + </p> + <p> + Good God, said the Colonel, what a declaration is this! And suppose, Sir, + and suppose, Madam, [turning to your father and mother,] this should be + the case, whether it is better, think you, that you should lose for ever + such a daughter as my cousin Clary, or that your son should go to + Edinburgh, and reside there upon an estate which will be the better for + his residence upon it?— + </p> + <p> + Your brother's passionate behaviour hereupon is hardly to be described. He + resented it as promising an alienation of the affection of the family to + him. And to such an height were resentments carried, every one siding with + him, that the Colonel, with hands and eyes lifted up, cried out, What + hearts of flint am I related to!—O, Cousin Harlowe, to your father, + are you resolved to have but one daughter?—Are you, Madam, to be + taught, by a son, who has no bowels, to forget you are a mother? + </p> + <p> + The Colonel turned from them to draw out his handkerchief, and could not + for a minute speak. The eyes of every one, but the hard-hearted brother, + caught tears from his. + </p> + <p> + But then turning to them, (with the more indignation, as it seemed, as he + had been obliged to show a humanity, which, however, no brave heart should + be ashamed of,) I leave ye all, said he, fit company for one another. I + will never open my lips to any of you more upon this subject. I will + instantly make my will, and in me shall the dear creature have the father, + uncle, brother, she has lost. I will prevail upon her to take the tour of + France and Italy with me; nor shall she return till ye know the value of + such a daughter. + </p> + <p> + And saying this, he hurried out of the room, went into the court-yard, and + ordered his horse. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Antony Harlowe went to him there, just as he was mounting, and said he + hoped he should find him cooler in the evening, (for he, till then, had + lodged at his house,) and that then they would converse calmly, and every + one, mean time, would weigh all matters well.—But the angry + gentleman said, Cousin Harlowe, I shall endeavour to discharge the + obligations I owe to your civility since I have been in England; but I + have been so treated by that hot-headed young man, (who, as far as I know, + has done more to ruin his sister than Lovelace himself, and this with the + approbation of you all,) that I will not again enter into your doors, or + theirs. My servants shall have orders whither to bring what belongs to me + from your house. I will see my dear cousin Clary as soon as I can. And so + God bless you altogether!—only this one word to your nephew, if you + please—That he wants to be taught the difference between courage and + bluster; and it is happy for him, perhaps, that I am his kinsman; though I + am sorry he is mine. + </p> + <p> + I wondered to hear your uncle, on his return to them all, repeat this; + because of the consequences it may be attended with, though I hope it will + not have bad ones; yet it was considered as a sort of challenge, and so it + confirmed every body in your brother's favour; and Miss Harlowe forgot not + to inveigh against that error which had brought on all these evils. + </p> + <p> + I took the liberty again, but with fear and trembling, to desire leave to + attend you. + </p> + <p> + Before any other person could answer, your brother said, I suppose you + look upon yourself, Mrs. Norton, to be your own mistress. Pray do you want + our consents and courtship to go up?—If I may speak my mind, you and + my sister Clary are the fittest to be together.—Yet I wish you would + not trouble your head about our family matters, till you are desired to do + so. + </p> + <p> + But don't you know, brother, said Miss Harlowe, that the error of any + branch of a family splits that family into two parties, and makes not only + every common friend and acquaintance, but even servants judges over both?—This + is one of the blessed effects of my sister Clary's fault! + </p> + <p> + There never was a creature so criminal, said your father, looking with + displeasure at me, who had not some weak heads to pity and side with her. + </p> + <p> + I wept. Your mother was so good as to take me by the hand; come, good + woman, said she, come along with me. You have too much reason to be + afflicted with what afflicts us, to want additions to your grief. + </p> + <p> + But, my dearest young lady, I was more touched for your sake than for my + own; for I have been low in the world for a great number of years; and, of + consequence, have been accustomed to snubs and rebuffs from the affluent. + But I hope that patience is written as legibly on my forehead, as + haughtiness on that of any of my obligers. + </p> + <p> + Your mother led me to her chamber; and there we sat and wept together for + several minutes, without being able to speak either of us one word to the + other. At last she broke silence, asking me, if you were really and indeed + so ill as it was said you were? + </p> + <p> + I answered in the affirmative; and would have shown her your last letter; + but she declined seeing it. + </p> + <p> + I would fain have procured from her the favour of a line to you, with her + blessing. I asked, what was intended by your brother and sister? Would + nothing satisfy them but your final reprobation?—I insinuated, how + easy it would be, did not your duty and humility govern you, to make + yourself independent as to circumstances; but that nothing but a blessing, + a last blessing, was requested by you. And many other things I urged in + your behalf. The following brief repetition of what she was pleased to say + in answer to my pleas, will give you a notion of it all; and of the + present situation of things. + </p> + <p> + She said, 'She was very unhappy!—She had lost the little authority + she once had over her other children, through one child's failing! and all + influence over Mr. Harlowe and his brothers. Your father, she said, had + besought her to leave it to him to take his own methods with you; and, (as + she valued him,) to take no step in your favour unknown to him and your + uncles; yet she owned, that they were too much governed by your brother. + They would, however, give way in time, she knew, to a reconciliation—they + designed no other, for they all still loved you. + </p> + <p> + 'Your brother and sister, she owned, were very jealous of your coming into + favour again;—yet could but Mr. Morden have kept his temper, and + stood her son's first sallies, who (having always had the family grandeur + in view) had carried his resentment so high, that he knew not how to + descend, the conferences, so abruptly broken off just now, would have + ended more happily; for that she had reason to think that a few + concessions on your part, with regard to your grandfather's estate, and + your cousin's engaging for your submission as from proper motives, would + have softened them all. + </p> + <p> + 'Mr. Brand's account of your intimacy with the friend of the obnoxious + man, she said, had, for the time very unhappy effects; for before that she + had gained some ground: but afterwards dared not, nor indeed had + inclination, to open her lips in your behalf. Your continued intimacy with + that Mr. Belford was wholly unaccountable, and as wholly inexcusable. + </p> + <p> + 'What made the wished-for reconciliation, she said, more difficult, was, + first, that you yourself acknowledged yourself dishonoured; (and it was + too well known, that it was your own fault that you ever were in the power + of so great a profligate;) of consequence, that their and your disgrace + could not be greater than it was; yet, that you refuse to prosecute the + wretch. Next, that the pardon and blessing hoped for must probably be + attended with your marriage to the man they hate, and who hates them as + much: very disagreeable circumstances, she said, I must allow, to found a + reconciliation upon. + </p> + <p> + 'As to her own part, she must needs say, that if there were any hope that + Mr. Lovelace would become a reformed man, the letter her cousin Morden had + read to them from him to you, and the justice (as she hoped it was) he did + your character, though to his own condemnation, (his family and fortunes + being unexceptionable,) and all his relations earnest to be related to + you, were arguments that would weigh with her, could they have any with + your father and uncles.' + </p> + <p> + To my plea of your illness, 'she could not but flatter herself, she + answered, that it was from lowness of spirits, and temporary dejection. A + young creature, she said, so very considerate as you naturally were, and + fallen so low, must have enough of that. Should they lose you, which God + forbid! the scene would then indeed be sadly changed; for then those who + now most resented, would be most grieved; all your fine qualities would + rise to their remembrance, and your unhappy error would be quite + forgotten. + </p> + <p> + 'She wished you would put yourself into your cousin's protection entirely, + and have nothing to more to say to Mr. Belford. + </p> + <p> + And I would recommend it to your most serious consideration, my dear Miss + Clary, whether now, as your cousin (who is your trustee for your + grandfather's estate,) is come, you should not give over all thoughts of + Mr. Lovelace's intimate friend for your executor; more especially, as that + gentleman's interfering in the concerns of your family, should the sad + event take place (which my heart aches but to think of) might be attended + with those consequences which you are so desirous, in other cases, to + obviate and prevent. And suppose, my dear young lady, you were to write + one letter more to each of your uncles, to let them know how ill you are?—And + to ask their advice, and offer to be governed by it, in relation to the + disposition of your estate and effects?—Methinks I wish you would. + </p> + <p> + I find they will send you up a large part of what has been received from + that estate since it was your's; together with your current cash which you + left behind you: and this by your cousin Morden, for fear you should have + contracted debts which may make you uneasy. + </p> + <p> + They seem to expect, that you will wish to live at your grandfather's + house, in a private manner, if your cousin prevail not upon you to go + abroad for a year or two. + </p> + <p> + FRIDAY MORNING. + </p> + <p> + Betty was with me just now. She tells me, that your cousin Morden is so + much displeased with them all, that he has refused to lodge any more at + your uncle Antony's; and has even taken up with inconvenient lodgings, + till he is provided with others to his mind. This very much concerns them; + and they repent their violent treatment of him: and the more, as he is + resolved, he says, to make you his sole executrix, and heir to all his + fortune. + </p> + <p> + What noble fortunes still, my dearest young lady, await you! I am + thoroughly convinced, if it please God to preserve your life and your + health, that every body will soon be reconciled to you, and that you will + see many happy days. + </p> + <p> + Your mother wished me not to attend you as yet, because she hopes that I + may give myself that pleasure soon with every body's good liking, and even + at their desire. Your cousin Morden's reconciliation with them, which they + are very desirous of, I am ready to hope will include theirs with you. + </p> + <p> + But if that should happen which I so much dread, and I not with you, I + should never forgive myself. Let me, therefore, my dearest young lady, + desire you to command my attendance, if you find any danger, and if you + wish me peace of mind; and no consideration shall withhold me. + </p> + <p> + I hear that Miss Howe has obtained leave from her mother to see you; and + intends next week to go to town for that purpose; and (as it is believed) + to buy clothes for her approaching nuptials. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hickman's mother-in-law is lately dead. Her jointure of 600£. a-year + is fallen to him; and she has, moreover, as an acknowledgement of his good + behaviour to her, left him all she was worth, which was very considerable, + a few legacies excepted to her own relations. + </p> + <p> + These good men are uniformly good: indeed could not else be good; and + never fare the worse for being so. All the world agrees he will make that + fine young lady an excellent husband: and I am sorry they are not as much + agreed in her making him an excellent wife. But I hope a woman of her + principles would not encourage his address, if, whether she at present + love him or not, she thought she could not love him; or if she preferred + any other man to him. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Pocock undertakes to deliver this; but fears it will be Saturday night + first, if not Sunday morning. + </p> + <p> + May the Almighty protect and bless you!—I long to see you—my + dearest young lady, I long to see you; and to fold you once more to my + fond heart. I dare to say happy days are coming. Be but cheerful. Give way + to hope. + </p> + <p> + Whether for this world, or the other, you must be happy. Wish to live, + however, were it only because you are so well fitted in mind to make every + one happy who has the honour to know you. What signifies this transitory + eclipse? You are as near perfection, by all I have heard, as any creature + in this world can be: for here is your glory—you are brightened and + purified, as I may say, by your sufferings!—How I long to hear your + whole sad, yet instructive story, from your own lips! + </p> + <p> + For Miss Howe's sake, who, in her new engagements will so much want you; + for your cousin Morden's sake, for your mother's sake, if I must go on + farther in your family; and yet I can say, for all their sakes; and for my + sake, my dearest Miss Clary; let your resumed and accustomed magnanimity + bear you up. You have many things to do which I know not the person who + will do if you leave us. + </p> + <p> + Join your prayers then to mine, that God will spare you to a world that + wants you and your example; and, although your days may seem to have been + numbered, who knows but that, with the good King Hezekiah, you may have + them prolonged? Which God grant, if it be his blessed will, to the prayers + of + </p> + <p> + Your JUDITH NORTON + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0060" id="link2H_4_0060"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER LVII + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. MONDAY, SEPT. 4. + </p> + <p> + The lady would not read the letter she had from Mrs. Norton till she had + received the Communion, for fear it should contain any thing that might + disturb that happy calm, which she had been endeavouring to obtain for it. + And when that solemn office was over, she was so composed, she said, that + she thought she could receive any news, however affecting, with + tranquillity. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, in reading it, she was forced to leave off several times + through weakness and a dimness in her sight, of which she complained; if I + may say complained; for so easy and soft were her complaints, that they + could hardly be called such. + </p> + <p> + She was very much affected at divers parts of this letter. She wept + several times, and sighed often. Mrs. Lovick told me, that these were the + gentle exclamations she broke out into, as she read:—Her unkind, her + cruel brother!—How unsisterly!—Poor dear woman! seeming to + speak of Mrs. Norton. Her kind cousin!—O these flaming spirits! And + then reflecting upon herself more than once—What a deep error is + mine!—What evils have I been the occasion of!— + </p> + <p> + When I was admitted to her presence, I have received, said she, a long and + not very pleasing letter from my dear Mrs. Norton. It will soon be in your + hands. I am advised against appointing you to the office you have so + kindly accepted of: but you must resent nothing of these things. My choice + will have an odd appearance to them: but it is now too late to alter it, + if I would. + </p> + <p> + I would fain write an answer to it, continued she: but I have no distinct + sight, Mr. Belford, no steadiness of fingers.—This mistiness, + however, will perhaps be gone by-and-by.—Then turning to Mrs. + Lovick, I don't think I am dying yet—not actually dying, Mrs. Lovick—for + I have no bodily pain—no numbnesses; no signs of immediate death, I + think.—And my breath, which used of late to be so short, is now + tolerable—my head clear, my intellects free—I think I cannot + be dying yet—I shall have agonies, I doubt—life will not give + up so blessedly easy, I fear—yet how merciful is the Almighty, to + give his poor creature such a sweet serenity!—'Tis what I have + prayed for!—What encouragement, Mrs. Lovick, so near one's + dissolution, to have it to hope that one's prayers are answered. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Smith, as well as Mrs. Lovick, was with her. They were both in tears; + nor had I, any more than they, power to say a word in answer: yet she + spoke all this, as well as what follows, with a surprising composure of + mind and countenance. + </p> + <p> + But, Mr. Belford, said she, assuming a still sprightlier air and accent, + let me talk a little to you, while I am thus able to say what I have to + say. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Lovick, don't leave us, [for the women were rising to go,] pray sit + down; and do you, Mrs. Smith, sit down too.—Dame Shelbourne, take + this key, and open the upper drawer. I will move to it. + </p> + <p> + She did, with trembling knees. Here, Mr. Belford, is my will. It is + witnessed by three persons of Mr. Smith's acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + I dare to hope, that my cousin Morden will give you assistance, if you + request it of him. My cousin Morden continued his affection for me: but as + I have not seen him, I leave all the trouble upon you, Mr. Belford. This + deed may want forms; and it does, no doubt: but the less, as I have my + grandfather's will almost by heart, and have often enough heard that + canvassed. I will lay it by itself in this corner; putting it at the + further end of the drawer. + </p> + <p> + She then took up a parcel of letters, enclosed in one cover, sealed with + three seals of black wax: This, said she, I sealed up last night. The + cover, Sir, will let you know what is to be done with what it encloses. + This is the superscription [holding it close to her eyes, and rubbing + them]; As soon as I am certainly dead, this to be broke open by Mr. + Belford.—Here, Sir, I put it [placing it by the will].—These + folded papers are letters, and copies of letters, disposed according to + their dates. Miss Howe will do with those as you and she shall think fit. + If I receive any more, or more come when I cannot receive them, they may + be put into this drawer, [pulling out and pushing in the looking-glass + drawer,] to be given to Mr. Belford, be they from whom they will. You'll + be so kind as to observe that, Mrs. Lovick, and dame Shelbourne. + </p> + <p> + Here, Sir, proceeded she, I put the keys of my apparel [putting them into + the drawer with her papers]. All is in order, and the inventory upon them, + and an account of what I have disposed of: so that nobody need to ask Mrs. + Smith any questions. + </p> + <p> + There will be no immediate need to open or inspect the trunks which + contain my wearing apparel. Mrs. Norton will open them, or order somebody + to do it for her, in your presence, Mrs. Lovick; for so I have directed in + my will. They may be sealed up now: I shall never more have occasion to + open them. + </p> + <p> + She then, though I expostulated with her to the contrary, caused me to + seal them up with my seal. + </p> + <p> + After this, she locked up the drawer where were her papers; first taking + out her book of meditations, as she called it; saying, she should, + perhaps, have use for that; and then desired me to take the key of that + drawer; for she should have no further occasion for that neither. + </p> + <p> + All this in so composed and cheerful a manner, that we were equally + surprised and affected with it. + </p> + <p> + You can witness for me, Mrs. Smith, and so can you, Mrs. Lovick, proceeded + she, if any one ask after my life and conversation, since you have known + me, that I have been very orderly; have kept good hours; and never have + lain out of your house but when I was in prison; and then you know I could + not help it. + </p> + <p> + O, Lovelace! that thou hadst heard her or seen her, unknown to herself, on + this occasion!—Not one of us could speak a word. + </p> + <p> + I shall leave the world in perfect charity, proceeded she. And turning + towards the women, don't be so much concerned for me, my good friends. + This is all but needful preparation; and I shall be very happy. + </p> + <p> + Then again rubbing her eyes, which she said were misty, and looked more + intently round upon each, particularly on me—God bless you all! said + she; how kindly are you concerned for me!—Who says I am friendless? + Who says I am abandoned, and among strangers?—Good Mr. Belford, + don't be so generously humane!—Indeed [putting her handkerchief to + her charming eyes,] you will make me less happy, than I am sure you wish + me to be. + </p> + <p> + While we were thus solemnly engaged, a servant came with a letter from her + cousin Morden:—Then, said she, he is not come himself! + </p> + <p> + She broke it open; but every line, she said, appeared two to her: so that, + being unable to read it herself, she desired I would read it to her. I did + so; and wished it were more consolatory to her: but she was all patient + attention: tears, however, often trickling down her cheeks. By the date, + it was written yesterday; and this is the substance of it. + </p> + <p> + He tells her, 'That the Thursday before he had procured a general meeting + of her principal relations, at her father's; though not without + difficulty, her haughty brother opposing it, and, when met, rendering all + his endeavours to reconcile them to her ineffectual. He censures him, as + the most ungovernable young man he ever knew: some great sickness, he + says, some heavy misfortune, is wanted to bring him to a knowledge of + himself, and of what is due from him to others; and he wishes that he were + not her brother, and his cousin. Nor doe he spare her father and uncles + for being so implicitly led by him.' + </p> + <p> + He tells her, 'That he parted with them all in high displeasure, and + thought never more to darken any of their doors: that he declared as much + to her two uncles, who came to him on Saturday, to try to accommodate with + him; and who found him preparing to go to London to attend her; and that, + notwithstanding their pressing entreaties, he determined so to do, and not + to go with them to Harlowe-place, or to either of their own houses; and + accordingly dismissed them with such an answer. + </p> + <p> + 'But that her noble letter,' as he calls it, of Aug. 31,* 'being brought + him about an hour after their departure, he thought it might affect them + as much as it did him; and give them the exalted opinion of her virtue + which was so well deserved; he therefore turned his horse's head back to + her uncle Antony's, instead of forwards toward London. + </p> + <p> + * See Letter XLV. of this volume. + </p> + <p> + 'That accordingly arriving there, and finding her two uncles together, he + read to them the affecting letter; which left none of the three a dry eye: + that the absent, as is usual in such cases, bearing all the load, they + accused her brother and sister; and besought him to put off his journey to + town, till he could carry with him the blessings which she had formerly in + vain solicited for; and (as they hoped) the happy tidings of a general + reconciliation. + </p> + <p> + 'That not doubting but his visit would be the more welcome to her, if + these good ends could be obtained, he the more readily complied with their + desires. But not being willing to subject himself to the possibility of + receiving fresh insult from her brother, he had given her uncles a copy of + her letter, for the family to assemble upon; and desired to know, as soon + as possible, the result of their deliberations. + </p> + <p> + 'He tells her, that he shall bring her up the accounts relating to the + produce of her grandfather's estate, and adjust them with her; having + actually in his hands the arrears due to her from it. + </p> + <p> + 'He highly applauds the noble manner in which she resents your usage of + her. It is impossible, he owns, that you can either deserve her, or to be + forgiven. But as you do justice to her virtue, and offer to make her all + the reparation now in your power; and as she is so very earnest with him + not to resent that usage; and declares, that you could not have been the + author of her calamities but through a strange concurrence of unhappy + causes; and as he is not at a loss to know how to place to a proper + account that strange concurrence; he desires her not to be apprehensive of + any vindictive measures from him.' + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless (as may be expected) 'he inveighs against you; as he finds + that she gave you no advantage over her. But he forbears to enter further + into this subject, he says, till he has the honour to see her; and the + rather, as she seems so much determined against you. However, he cannot + but say, that he thinks you a gallant man, and a man of sense; and that + you have the reputation of being thought a generous man in every instance + but where the sex is concerned. In such, he owns, that you have taken + inexcusable liberties. And he is sorry to say, that there are very few + young men of fortune but who allow themselves in the same. Both sexes, he + observes, too much love to have each other in their power: yet he hardly + ever knew man or woman who was very fond of power make a right use of it. + </p> + <p> + 'If she be so absolutely determined against marrying you, as she declares + she is, he hopes, he says, to prevail upon her to take (as soon as her + health will permit) a little tour abroad with him, as what will probably + establish it; since traveling is certainly the best physic for all those + disorders which owe their rise to grief or disappointment. An absence of + two or three years will endear her to every one, on her return, and every + one to her. + </p> + <p> + 'He expresses his impatience to see her. He will set out, he says, the + moment he knows the result of her family's determination; which, he doubts + not, will be favourable. Nor will he wait long for that.' + </p> + <p> + When I had read the letter through to the languishing lady, And so, my + friends, said she, have I heard of a patient who actually died, while five + or six principal physicians were in a consultation, and not agreed upon + what name to give his distemper. The patient was an emperor, the emperor + Joseph, I think. + </p> + <p> + I asked, if I should write to her cousin, as he knew not how ill she was, + to hasten up? + </p> + <p> + By no means, she said; since, if he were not already set out, she was + persuaded that she should be so low by the time he could receive my + letter, and come, that his presence would but discompose and hurry her, + and afflict him. + </p> + <p> + I hope, however, she is not so very near her end. And without saying any + more to her, when I retired, I wrote to Colonel Morden, that if he expects + to see his beloved cousin alive, he must lose no time in setting out. I + sent this letter by his own servant. + </p> + <p> + Dr. H. sent away his letter to her father by a particular hand this + morning. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Walton the milliner has also just now acquainted Mrs. Smith, that her + husband had a letter brought by a special messenger from Parson Brand, + within this half hour, enclosing the copy of one he had written to Mr. + John Harlowe, recanting his officious one. + </p> + <p> + And as all these, and the copy of the lady's letter to Col. Morden, will + be with them pretty much at a time, the devil's in the family if they are + not struck with a remorse that shall burst open the double-barred doors of + their hearts. + </p> + <p> + Will. engages to reach you with this (late as it will be) before you go to + rest. He begs that I will testify for him the hour and the minute I shall + give it him. It is just half an hour after ten. + </p> + <p> + I pretend to be (now by use) the swiftest short-hand writer in England, + next to yourself. But were matter to arise every hour to write upon, and I + had nothing else to do, I cannot write so fast as you expect. And let it + be remembered, that your servants cannot bring letters or messages before + they are written or sent. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0061" id="link2H_4_0061"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER LVIII + </h2> + <p> + DR. H. TO JAMES HARLOWE, SENIOR, ESQ. LONDON, SEPT. 4. + </p> + <p> + SIR, + </p> + <p> + If I may judge of the hearts of other parents by my own, I cannot doubt + but you will take it well to be informed that you have yet an opportunity + to save yourself and family great future regret, by dispatching hither + some one of it with your last blessing, and your lady's, to the most + excellent of her sex. + </p> + <p> + I have some reason to believe, Sir, that she has been represented to you + in a very different light from the true one. And this it is that induces + me to acquaint you, that I think her, on the best grounds, absolutely + irreproachable in all her conduct which has passed under my eye, or come + to my ear; and that her very misfortunes are made glorious to her, and + honourable to all that are related to her, by the use she has made of + them; and by the patience and resignation with which she supports herself + in a painful, lingering, and dispiriting decay! and by the greatness of + mind with which she views her approaching dissolution. And all this from + proper motives; from motives in which a dying saint might glory. + </p> + <p> + She knows not that I write. I must indeed acknowledge, that I offered to + do so some days ago, and that very pressingly: nor did she refuse me from + obstinacy—she seemed not to know what that is—but desired me + to forbear for two days only, in hopes that her newly-arrived cousin, who, + as she heard, was soliciting for her, would be able to succeed in her + favour. + </p> + <p> + I hope I shall not be thought an officious man on this occasion; but, if I + am, I cannot help it, being driven to write, by a kind of parental and + irresistible impulse. + </p> + <p> + But, Sir, whatever you think fit to do, or permit to be done, must be + speedily done; for she cannot, I verily think, live a week: and how long + of that short space she may enjoy her admirable intellects to take comfort + in the favours you may think proper to confer upon her cannot be said. I + am, Sir, + </p> + <p> + Your most humble servant, + </p> + <p> + R.H. <a name="link2H_4_0062" id="link2H_4_0062"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER LIX + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD, TO WILLIAM MORDEN, ESQ. LONDON, SEPT. 4. + </p> + <p> + SIR, + </p> + <p> + The urgency of the case, and the opportunity by your servant, will + sufficiently apologize for this trouble from a stranger to your person, + who, however, is not a stranger to your merit. + </p> + <p> + I understand you are employing your good offices with the parents of Miss + Clarissa Harlowe, and other relations, to reconcile them to the most + meritorious daughter and kinswoman that ever family had to boast of. + </p> + <p> + Generously as this is intended by you, we here have too much reason to + think all your solicitudes on this head will be unnecessary: for it is the + opinion of every one who has the honour of being admitted to her presence, + that she cannot live over three days: so that, if you wish to see her + alive, you must lose no time to come up. + </p> + <p> + She knows not that I write. I had done it sooner, if I had had the least + doubt that before now she would not have received from you some news of + the happy effects of your kind mediation in her behalf. I am, Sir, + </p> + <p> + Your most humble servant, J. BELFORD. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0063" id="link2H_4_0063"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER LX + </h2> + <p> + MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. [IN ANSWER TO LETTER LVII.] UXBRIDGE, + TUESDAY MORN, BETWEEN 4 AND 5. + </p> + <p> + And can it be, that this admirable creature will so soon leave this cursed + world! For cursed I shall think it, and more cursed myself, when she is + gone. O, Jack! thou who canst sit so cool, and, like Addison's Angel, + direct, and even enjoy, the storm, that tears up my happiness by the + roots; blame me not for my impatience, however unreasonable! If thou + knowest, that already I feel the torments of the damned, in the remorse + that wrings my heart, on looking back upon my past actions by her, thou + wouldst not be the devil thou art, to halloo on a worrying conscience, + which, without my merciless aggravations, is altogether intolerable. + </p> + <p> + I know not what to write, nor what I would write. When the company that + used to delight me is as uneasy to me as my reflections are painful, and I + can neither help nor divert myself, must not every servant about me + partake in a perturbation so sincere! + </p> + <p> + Shall I give thee a faint picture of the horrible uneasiness with which my + mind struggles? And faint indeed it must be; for nothing but outrageous + madness can exceed it; and that only in the apprehension of others; since, + as to the sufferer, it is certain, that actual distraction (take it out of + its lucid intervals) must be an infinitely more happy state than the state + of suspense and anxiety, which often brings it on. + </p> + <p> + Forbidden to attend the dear creature, yet longing to see her, I would + give the world to be admitted once more to her beloved presence. I ride + towards London three or four times a day, resolving pro and con, twenty + times in two or three miles; and at last ride back; and, in view of + Uxbridge, loathing even the kind friend, and hospitable house, turn my + horse's head again towards the town, and resolve to gratify my humour, let + her take it as she will; but, at the very entrance of it, after infinite + canvassings, once more alter my mind, dreading to offend and shock her, + lest, by that means, I should curtail a life so precious. + </p> + <p> + Yesterday, in particular, to give you an idea of the strength of that + impatience, which I cannot avoid suffering to break out upon my servants, + I had no sooner dispatched Will., than I took horse to meet him on his + return. + </p> + <p> + In order to give him time, I loitered about on the road, riding up this + lane to the one highway, down that to the other, just as my horse pointed; + all the way cursing my very being; and though so lately looking down upon + all the world, wishing to change conditions with the poorest beggar that + cried to me for charity as I rode by him—and throwing him money, in + hopes to obtain by his prayers the blessing my heart pants after. + </p> + <p> + After I had sauntered about an hour or two, (which seemed three or four + tedious ones,) fearing I had slipt the fellow, I inquired at every + turnpike, whether a servant in such a livery had not passed through in his + return from London, on a full gallop; for woe had been to the dog, had I + met him on a sluggish trot! And lest I should miss him at one end of + Kensingtohn, as he might take either the Acton or Hammersmith road; or at + the other, as he might come through the Park, or not; how many score times + did I ride backwards and forwards from the Palace to the Gore, making + myself the subject of observation to all passengers whether on horseback + or on foot; who, no doubt, wondered to see a well-dressed and well-mounted + man, sometimes ambling, sometimes prancing, (as the beast had more fire + than his master) backwards and forwards in so short a compass! + </p> + <p> + Yet all this time, though longing to espy the fellow, did I dread to meet + him, lest he should be charged with fatal tidings. + </p> + <p> + When at distance I saw any man galloping towards me, my + resemblance-forming fancy immediately made it to be him; and then my heart + choked me. But when the person's nearer approach undeceived me, how did I + curse the varlet's delay, and thee, by turns! And how ready was I to draw + my pistol at the stranger, for having the impudence to gallop; which none + but my messenger, I thought, had either right or reason to do! For all the + business of the world, I am ready to imagine, should stand still on an + occasion so melancholy and so interesting to me. Nay, for this week past, + I could cut the throat of any man or woman I see laugh, while I am in such + dejection of mind. + </p> + <p> + I am now convinced that the wretches who fly from a heavy scene, labour + under ten times more distress in the intermediate suspense and + apprehension, than they could have, were they present at it, and to see + and know the worst: so capable is fancy or imagination, the more immediate + offspring of the soul, to outgo fact, let the subject be either joyous or + grievous. + </p> + <p> + And hence, as I conceive, it is, that all pleasures are greater in the + expectation, or in the reflection, than in fruition; as all pains, which + press heavy upon both parts of that unequal union by which frail mortality + holds its precarious tenure, are ever most acute in the time of suffering: + for how easy sit upon the reflection the heaviest misfortunes, when + surmounted!—But most easy, I confess, those in which body has more + concern than soul. This, however, is a point of philosophy I have neither + time nor head just now to weigh: so take it as it falls from a madman's + pen. + </p> + <p> + Woe be to either of the wretches who shall bring me the fatal news that + she is no more! For it is but too likely that a shriek-owl so hated will + never hoot or scream again; unless the shock, that will probably disorder + my whole frame on so sad an occasion, (by unsteadying my hand,) shall + divert my aim from his head, heart, or bowels, if it turn not against my + own. + </p> + <p> + But, surely, she will not, she cannot yet die! Such a matchless + excellence, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ——whose mind + Contains a world, and seems for all things fram'd, +</pre> + <p> + could not be lent to be so soon demanded back again! + </p> + <p> + But may it not be, that thou, Belford, art in a plot with the dear + creature, (who will not let me attend her to convince myself,) in order to + work up my soul to the deepest remorse; and that, when she is convinced of + the sincerity of my penitence, and when my mind is made such wax, as to be + fit to take what impression she pleases to give it, she will then raise me + up with the joyful tidings of her returning health and acceptance of me! + </p> + <p> + What would I give to have it so! And when the happiness of hundreds, as + well as the peace and reconciliation of several eminent families, depend + upon her restoration and happiness, why should it not be so? + </p> + <p> + But let me presume it will. Let me indulge my former hope, however + improbable—I will; and enjoy it too. And let me tell thee how + ecstatic my delight would be on the unravelling of such a plot as this! + </p> + <p> + Do, dear Belford, let it be so!—And, O, my dearest, and ever-dear + Clarissa, keep me no loner in this cruel suspense; in which I suffer a + thousand times more than ever I made thee suffer. Nor fear thou that I + will resent, or recede, on an ecclaircissement so desirable; for I will + adore thee for ever, and without reproaching thee for the pangs thou hast + tortured me with, confess thee as much my superior in virtue and honour! + </p> + <p> + But once more, should the worst happen—say not what that worst is—and + I am gone from this hated island—gone for ever—and may eternal—but + I am crazed already—and will therefore conclude myself, + </p> + <p> + Thine more than my own, (and no great compliment neither) R.L. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0064" id="link2H_4_0064"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER LXI + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. TUES. SEPT. 9 IN THE MORN. AT MR. + SMITH'S. + </p> + <p> + When I read yours of this morning, I could not help pitying you for the + account you give of the dreadful anxiety and suspense you labour under. I + wish from my heart all were to end as you are so willing to hope: but it + will not be; and your suspense, if the worst part of your torment, as you + say it is, will soon be over; but, alas! in a way you wish not. + </p> + <p> + I attended the lady just now. She is extremely ill: yet is she aiming at + an answer to her Norton's letter, which she began yesterday in her own + chamber, and has written a good deal: but in a hand not like her own fine + one, as Mrs. Lovick tells me, but larger, and the lines crooked. + </p> + <p> + I have accepted of the offer of a room adjoining to the widow Lovick's, + till I see how matters go; but unknown to the lady; and I shall go home + every night, for a few hours. I would not lose a sentence that I could + gain from lips so instructive, nor the opportunity of receiving any + command from her, for an estate. + </p> + <p> + In this my new apartment I now write, and shall continue to write, as + occasions offer, that I may be the more circumstantial: but I depend upon + the return of my letters, or copies of them, on demand, that I may have + together all that relates to this affecting story; which I shall re-peruse + with melancholy pleasure to the end of my life. + </p> + <p> + I think I will send thee Brand's letter to Mr. John Harlowe, recanting his + base surmises. It is a matchless piece of pedantry; and may perhaps a + little divert thy deep chagrin: some time hence at least it may, if not + now. + </p> + <p> + What wretched creatures are there in the world! What strangely mixed + creatures!—So sensible and so silly at the same time! What a + various, what a foolish creature is man!— + </p> + <p> + THREE O'CLOCK. + </p> + <p> + The lady has just finished her letter, and has entertained Mrs. Lovick, + Mrs. Smith, and me, with a noble discourse on the vanity and brevity of + life, to which I cannot do justice in the repetition: and indeed I am so + grieved for her, that, ill as she is, my intellects are not half so clear + as her's. + </p> + <p> + A few things which made the strongest impression upon me, as well from the + sentiments themselves as from her manner of uttering them, I remember. She + introduced them thus: + </p> + <p> + I am thinking, said she, what a gradual and happy death God Almighty + (blessed be his name) affords me! Who would have thought, that, suffering + what I have suffered, and abandoned as I have been, with such a tender + education as I have had, I should be so long a dying!—But see now by + little and little it had come to this. I was first take off from the power + of walking; then I took a coach—a coach grew too violent an + exercise: then I took up a chair—the prison was a large DEATH-STRIDE + upon me—I should have suffered longer else!—Next, I was unable + to go to church; then to go up or down stairs; now hardly can move from + one room to another: and a less room will soon hold me.—My eyes + begin to fail me, so that at times I cannot see to read distinctly; and + now I can hardly write, or hold a pen.—Next, I presume, I shall know + nobody, nor be able to thank any of you; I therefore now once more thank + you, Mrs. Lovick, and you, Mrs. Smith, and you, Mr. Belford, while I can + thank you, for all your kindness to me. And thus by little and little, in + such a gradual sensible death as I am blessed with, God dies away in us, + as I may say, all human satisfaction, in order to subdue his poor + creatures to himself. + </p> + <p> + Thou mayest guess how affected we all were at this moving account of her + progressive weakness. We heard it with wet eyes; for what with the women's + example, and what with her moving eloquence, I could no more help it than + they. But we were silent nevertheless; and she went on applying herself to + me. + </p> + <p> + O Mr. Belford! This is a poor transitory life in the best enjoyments. We + flutter about here and there, with all our vanities about us, like painted + butterflies, for a gay, but a very short season, till at last we lay + ourselves down in a quiescent state, and turn into vile worms: And who + knows in what form, or to what condition we shall rise again? + </p> + <p> + I wish you would permit me, a young creature, just turned of nineteen + years of age, blooming and healthy as I was a few months ago, now nipt by + the cold hand of death, to influence you, in these my last hours, to a + life of regularity and repentance for any past evils you may have been + guilty of. For, believe me, Sir, that now, in this last stage, very few + things will bear the test, or be passed as laudable, if pardonable, at our + own bar, much less at a more tremendous one, in all we have done, or + delighted in, even in a life not very offensive neither, as we may think! + —Ought we not then to study in our full day, before the dark hours + approach, so to live, as may afford reflections that will soften the agony + of the last moments when they come, and let in upon the departing soul a + ray of Divine mercy to illuminate its passage into an awful eternity? + </p> + <p> + She was ready to faint, and choosing to lie down, I withdrew; I need not + say with a melancholy heart: and when I got to my new-taken apartment, my + heart was still more affected by the sight of the solemn letter the + admirable lady had so lately finished. It was communicated to me by Mrs. + Lovick; who had it to copy for me; but it was not to be delivered to me + till after her departure. However, I trespassed so far, as to prevail upon + the widow to let me take a copy of it; which I did directly in character. + </p> + <p> + I send it enclosed. If thou canst read it, and thy heart not bleed at thy + eyes, thy remorse can hardly be so deep as thou hast inclined me to think + it is. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0065" id="link2H_4_0065"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER LXII + </h2> + <p> + MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. NORTON [IN ANSWER TO LETTER LVI.*] + </p> + <p> + * Begun on Monday Sept. 4, and by piecemeal finished on Tuesday; but not + sent till the Thursday following. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAREST MRS. NORTON, + </p> + <p> + I am afraid I shall not be able to write all that is upon my mind to say + to you upon the subject of your last. Yet I will try. + </p> + <p> + As to my friends, and as to the sad breakfasting, I cannot help being + afflicted for them. What, alas! has not my mother, in particular, suffered + by my rashness!—Yet to allow so much for a son!—so little for + a daughter!—But all now will soon be over, as to me. I hope they + will bury all their resentments in my grave. + </p> + <p> + As to your advice, in relation to Mr. Belford, let me only say, that the + unhappy reprobation I have met with, and my short time, must be my apology + now.—I wish I could have written to my mother and my uncles as you + advise. And yet, favours come so slowly from them. + </p> + <p> + The granting of one request only now remains as a desirable one from them. + Which nevertheless, when granted, I shall not be sensible of. It is that + they will be pleased to permit my remains to be laid with those of my + ancestors—placed at the feet of my dear grandfather, as I have + mentioned in my will. This, however, as they please. For, after all, this + vile body ought not so much to engage my cares. It is a weakness— + but let it be called a natural weakness, and I shall be excused; + especially when a reverential gratitude shall be known to be the + foundation of it. You know, my dear woman, how my grandfather loved me. + And you know how much I honoured him, and that from my very infancy to the + hour of his death. How often since have I wished, that he had not loved me + so well! + </p> + <p> + I wish not now, at the writing of this, to see even my cousin Morden. O, + my blessed woman! My dear maternal friend! I am entering upon a better + tour than to France or Italy either!—or even than to settle at my + once-beloved Dairy-house!—All these prospects and pleasures, which + used to be so agreeable to me in health, how poor seem they to me now!— + </p> + <p> + Indeed, indeed, my dear Mamma Norton, I shall be happy! I know I shall! + —I have charming forebodings of happiness already!—Tell all my + dear friends, for their comfort, that I shall!—Who would not bear + the punishments I have borne, to have the prospects and assurances I + rejoice in!—Assurances I might not have had, were my own wishes to + have been granted to me! + </p> + <p> + Neither do I want to see even you, my dear Mrs. Norton. Nevertheless I + must, in justice to my own gratitude, declare, that there was a time, + could you have been permitted to come, without incurring displeasure from + those whose esteem it is necessary for you to cultivate and preserve, that + your presence and comfortings would have been balm to my wounded mind. But + were you now, even by consent, and with reconciliatory tidings, to come, + it would but add to your grief; and the sight of one I so dearly love, so + happily fraught with good news, might but draw me back to wishes I have + had great struggles to get above. And let me tell you for your comfort, + that I have not left undone any thing that ought to be done, either + respecting mind or person; no, not to the minutest preparation: so that + nothing is left for you to do for me. Every one has her direction as to + the last offices.—And my desk, that I now write upon —O my + dearest Mrs. Norton, all is provided!—All is ready! And all will be + as decent as it should be! + </p> + <p> + And pray let my Miss Howe know, that by the time you will receive this, + and she your signification of the contents of it, will, in all + probability, be too late for her to do me the inestimable favour, as I + should once have thought it, to see me. God will have no rivals in the + hearts of those he sanctifies. By various methods he deadens all other + sensations, or rather absorbs them all in the love of him. + </p> + <p> + I shall nevertheless love you, my Mamma Norton, and my Miss Howe, whose + love to me has passed the love of woman, to my latest hour!—But yet, + I am now above the quick sense of those pleasures which once delighted me, + and once more I say, that I do not wish to see objects so dear to me, + which might bring me back again into sense, and rival my supreme love. + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + Twice have I been forced to leave off. I wished, that my last writing + might be to you, or to Miss Howe, if it might not be to my dearest Ma—— + </p> + <p> + Mamma, I would have wrote—is the word distinct?—My eyes are so + misty!— If, when I apply to you, I break off in half-words, do you + supply them— the kindest are your due.—Be sure take the + kindest, to fill up chasms with, if any chasms there be— + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + Another breaking off!—But the new day seems to rise upon me with + healing in its wings. I have gotten, I think, a recruit of strength: + spirits, I bless God, I have not of late wanted. + </p> + <p> + Let my dearest Miss Howe purchase her wedding-garments—and may all + temporal blessings attend the charming preparation!—Blessings will, + I make no question, notwithstanding the little cloudiness that Mr. Hickman + encounters with now and then, which are but prognostications of a future + golden day to him: for her heart is good, and her head not wrong.—But + great merit is coy, and that coyness had not always its foundation in + pride: but if it should seem to be pride, take off the skin-deep covering, + and, in her, it is noble diffidence, and a love that wants but to be + assured! + </p> + <p> + Tell Mr. Hickman I write this, and write it, as I believe, with my last + pen; and bid him bear a little at first, and forbear; and all the future + will be crowning gratitude, and rewarding love: for Miss Howe had great + sense, fine judgment, and exalted generosity; and can such a one be + ungrateful or easy under those obligations which his assiduity and + obligingness (when he shall be so happy as to call her his) will lay her + under to him? + </p> + <p> + As for me, never bride was so ready as I am. My wedding garments are + bought—-and though not fine or gawdy to the sight, though not + adorned with jewels, and set off with gold and silver, (for I have no + beholders' eyes to wish to glitter in,) yet will they be the easiest, the + happiest suit, that ever bridal maiden wore—for they are such as + carry with them a security against all those anxieties, pains, and + perturbations, which sometimes succeed to the most promising outsettings. + </p> + <p> + And now, my dear Mrs. Norton, do I wish for no other. + </p> + <p> + O hasten, good God, if it be thy blessed will, the happy moment that I am + to be decked out in his all-quieting garb! And sustain, comfort, bless, + and protect with the all-shadowing wing of thy mercy, my dear parents, my + uncles, my brother, my sister, my cousin Morden, my ever-dear and + ever-kind Miss Howe, my good Mrs. Norton, and every deserving person to + whom they wish well! is the ardent prayer, first and last, of every + beginning hour, as the clock tells it me, (hours now are days, nay, + years,) of + </p> + <p> + Your now not sorrowing or afflicted, but happy, CLARISSA HARLOWE. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0066" id="link2H_4_0066"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER LXIII + </h2> + <p> + MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. WED. MORN. SEPT. 6, HALF AN HOUR AFTER + THREE. + </p> + <p> + I am not the savage which you and my worst enemies think me. My soul is + too much penetrated by the contents of the letter which you enclosed in + your last, to say one word more to it, than that my heart has bled over it + from every vein!—I will fly from the subject—but what other + can I choose, that will not be as grievous, and lead into the same? + </p> + <p> + I could quarrel with all the world; with thee, as well as the rest; + obliging as thou supposest thyself for writing to me hourly. How darest + thou, (though unknown to her,) to presume to take an apartment under the + sane roof with her?—I cannot bear to think that thou shouldest be + seen, at all hours passing to and repassing from her apartments, while I, + who have so much reason to call her mine, and one was preferred by her to + all the world, am forced to keep aloof, and hardly dare to enter the city + where she is! + </p> + <p> + If there be any thing in Brand's letter that will divert me, hasten it to + me. But nothing now will ever divert me, will ever again give me joy or + pleasure! I can neither eat, drink, nor sleep. I am sick of all the world. + </p> + <p> + Surely it will be better when all is over—when I know the worst the + Fates can do against me—yet how shall I bear that worst?—O + Belford, Belford! write it not to me!—But if it must happen, get + somebody else to write; for I shall curse the pen, the hand, the head, and + the heart, employed in communicating to me the fatal tidings. But what is + this saying, when already I curse the whole world except her—myself + most? + </p> + <p> + In fine, I am a most miserable being. Life is a burden to me. I would not + bear it upon these terms for one week more, let what would be my lot; for + already is there a hell begun in my own mind. Never more mention it to me, + let her, or who will say it, the prison—I cannot bear it—May d——n——n + seize quick the cursed woman, who could set death upon taking that large + stride, as the dear creature calls it!—I had no hand in it!— + But her relations, her implacable relations, have done the business. All + else would have been got over. Never persuade me but it would. The fire of + youth, and the violence of passion, would have pleaded for me to good + purpose, with an individual of a sex, which loves to be addressed with + passionate ardour, even to tumult, had it not been for that cruelty and + unforgivingness, which, (the object and the penitence considered,) have no + example, and have aggravated the heinousness of my faults. + </p> + <p> + Unable to rest, though I went not to bed till two, I dispatch this ere the + day dawn—who knows what this night, this dismal night, may have + produced! + </p> + <p> + I must after my messenger. I have told the varlet I will meet him, perhaps + at Knightsbridge, perhaps in Piccadilly; and I trust not myself with + pistols, not only on his account, but my own—for pistols are too + ready a mischief. + </p> + <p> + I hope thou hast a letter ready for him. He goes to thy lodgings first— + for surely thou wilt not presume to take thy rest in an apartment near + her's. If he miss thee there, he flies to Smith's, and brings me word + whether in being, or not. + </p> + <p> + I shall look for him through the air as I ride, as well as on horseback; + for if the prince of it serve me, as well as I have served him, he will + bring the dog by his ears, like another Habakkuk, to my saddle-bow, with + the tidings that my heart pants after. + </p> + <p> + Nothing but the excruciating pangs the condemned soul fells, at its + entrance into the eternity of the torments we are taught to fear, can + exceed what I now feel, and have felt for almost this week past; and + mayest thou have a spice of those, if thou hast not a letter ready written + for thy + </p> + <p> + LOVELACE. <a name="link2H_4_0067" id="link2H_4_0067"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER LXIV + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. TUEDAY, SEPT. 5, SIX O'CLOCK. + </p> + <p> + The lady remains exceedingly weak and ill. Her intellects, nevertheless, + continue clear and strong, and her piety and patience are without example. + Every one thinks this night will be her last. What a shocking thing is + that to say of such an excellence! She will not, however, send away her + letter to her Norton, as yet. She endeavoured in vain to superscribe it: + so desired me to do it. Her fingers will not hold the pen with the + requisite steadiness.—She has, I fear, written and read her last! + </p> + <p> + EIGHT O'CLOCK. + </p> + <p> + She is somewhat better than she was. The doctor had been here, and thinks + she will hold out yet a day or two. He has ordered her, as for some time + past, only some little cordials to take when ready to faint. She seemed + disappointed, when he told her she might yet live two or three days; and + said, she longed for dismission!—Life was not so easily + extinguished, she saw, as some imagined.—Death from grief, was, she + believed, the slowest of deaths. But God's will must be done!—Her + only prayer was now for submission to it: for she doubted not but by the + Divine goodness she should be an happy creature, as soon as she could be + divested of these rags of mortality. + </p> + <p> + Of her own accord she mentioned you; which, till then, she had avoided to + do. She asked, with great serenity, where you were? + </p> + <p> + I told her where, and your motives for being so near; and read to her a + few lines of your's of this morning, in which you mention your wishes to + see her, your sincere affliction, and your resolution not to approach her + without her consent. + </p> + <p> + I would have read more; but she said, Enough, Mr. Belford, enough!—Poor + man, does his conscience begin to find him!—Then need not any body + to wish him a greater punishment!—May it work upon him to an happy + purpose! + </p> + <p> + I took the liberty to say, that as she was in such a frame that nothing + now seemed capable of discomposing her, I could wish that you might have + the benefit of her exhortations, which, I dared to say, while you were so + seriously affected, would have a greater force upon you than a thousand + sermons; and how happy you would think yourself, if you could but receive + her forgiveness on your knees. + </p> + <p> + How can you think of such a thing, Mr. Belford? said she, with some + emotion; my composure is owing, next to the Divine goodness blessing my + earnest supplications for it, to the not seeing him. Yet let him know that + I now again repeat, that I forgive him.—And may God Almighty, + clasping her fingers, and lifting up her eyes, forgive him too; and + perfect repentance, and sanctify it to him!—Tell him I say so! And + tell him, that if I could not say so with my whole heart, I should be very + uneasy, and think that my hopes of mercy were but weakly founded; and that + I had still, in my harboured resentment, some hankerings after a life + which he has been the cause of shortening. + </p> + <p> + The divine creature then turning aside her head—Poor man, said she! + I once could have loved him. This is saying more than ever I could say of + any other man out of my own family! Would he have permitted me to have + been an humble instrument to have made him good, I think I could have made + him happy! But tell him not this if he be really penitent—it may too + much affect him!—There she paused.— + </p> + <p> + Admirable creature!—Heavenly forgiver!—Then resuming—but + pray tell him, that if I could know that my death might be a mean to + reclaim and save him, it would be an inexpressible satisfaction to me! + </p> + <p> + But let me not, however, be made uneasy with the apprehension of seeing + him. I cannot bear to see him! + </p> + <p> + Just as she had done speaking, the minister, who had so often attended + her, sent up his name; and was admitted. + </p> + <p> + Being apprehensive that it would be with difficulty that you could prevail + upon that impetuous spirit of your's not to invade her in her dying hours, + and of the agonies into which a surprise of this nature would throw her, I + thought this gentleman's visit afforded a proper opportunity to renew the + subject; and, (having asked her leave,) acquainted him with the topic we + had been upon. + </p> + <p> + The good man urged that some condescensions were usually expected, on + these solemn occasions, from pious souls like her's, however satisfied + with themselves, for the sake of showing the world, and for example-sake, + that all resentments against those who had most injured them were subdued; + and if she would vouchsafe to a heart so truly penitent, as I had + represented Mr. Lovelace's to be, that personal pardon, which I had been + pleading for there would be no room to suppose the least lurking + resentment remained; and it might have very happy effects upon the + gentleman. + </p> + <p> + I have no lurking resentment, Sir, said she—this is not a time for + resentment: and you will be the readier to believe me, when I can assure + you, (looking at me,) that even what I have most rejoiced in, the truly + friendly love that has so long subsisted between my Miss Howe and her + Clarissa, although to my last gasp it will be the dearest to me of all + that is dear in this life, has already abated of its fervour; has already + given place to supremer fervours; and shall the remembrance of Mr. + Lovelace's personal insults, which I bless God never corrupted that mind + which her friendship so much delighted, be stronger in these hours with + me, then the remembrance of a love as pure as the human heart ever + boasted? Tell, therefore, the world, if you please, and (if, Mr. Belford, + you think what I said to you before not strong enough,) tell the poor man, + that I not only forgive him, but have such earnest wishes for the good of + his soul, and that from consideration of its immortality, that could my + penitence avail for more sins than my own, my last tear should fall for + him by whom I die! + </p> + <p> + Our eyes and hands expressed to us both what our lips could not utter. + </p> + <p> + Say not, then, proceeded she, nor let it be said, that my resentments are + unsubdued!—And yet these eyes, lifted up to Heaven as witness to the + truth of what I have said, shall never, if I can help it, behold him more!—For + do you not consider, Sirs, how short my time is; what much more important + subjects I have to employ it upon; and how unable I should be, (so weak as + I am,) to contend even with the avowed penitence of a person in strong + health, governed by passions unabated, and always violent?—And now I + hope you will never urge me more on this subject? + </p> + <p> + The minister said, it were pity ever to urge this plea again. + </p> + <p> + You see, Lovelace, that I did not forget the office of a friend, in + endeavouring to prevail upon her to give you her last forgiveness + personally. And I hope, as she is so near her end, you will not invade her + in her last hours; since she must be extremely discomposed at such an + interview; and it might make her leave the world the sooner for it. + </p> + <p> + This reminds me of an expression which she used on your barbarous hunting + of her at Smith's, on her return to her lodgings; and that with a serenity + unexampled, (as Mrs. Lovick told me, considering the occasion, and the + trouble given her by it, and her indisposition at the time;) he will not + let me die decently, said the angelic sufferer!—He will not let me + enter into my Maker's presence with the composure that is required in + entering into the drawing-room of an earthly prince! + </p> + <p> + I cannot, however, forbear to wish, that the heavenly creature could have + prevailed upon herself, in these her last hours, to see you; and that for + my sake, as well as yours; for although I am determined never to be guilty + of the crimes, which, till within these few past weeks have blackened my + former life; and for which, at present, I most heartily hate myself; yet + should I be less apprehensive of such a relapse, if wrought upon by the + solemnity which such an interview must have been attended with, you had + become a reformed man: for no devil do I fear, but one in your shape. + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + It is now eleven o'clock at night. The lady who retired to rest an hour + ago, is, as Mrs. Lovick tells me, in a sweet slumber. + </p> + <p> + I will close here. I hope I shall find her the better for it in the + morning. Yet, alas! how frail is hope—How frail is life; when we are + apt to build so much on every shadowy relief; although in such a desperate + case as this, sitting down to reflect, we must know, that it is but + shadowy! + </p> + <p> + I will enclose Brand's horrid pedantry. And for once am aforehand with thy + ravenous impatience. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0068" id="link2H_4_0068"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER LXV + </h2> + <p> + MR. BRAND, TO MR. JOHN WALTON SAT. NIGHT, SEPT. 2. + </p> + <p> + DEAR MR. WALTON, + </p> + <p> + I am obliged to you for the very 'handsomely penned', (and 'elegantly + written,') letter which you have sent me on purpose to do 'justice' to the + 'character' of the 'younger' Miss Harlowe; and yet I must tell you that I + had reason, 'before that came,' to 'think,' (and to 'know' indeed,) that + we were 'all wrong.' And so I had employed the 'greatest part' of this + 'week,' in drawing up an 'apologetical letter' to my worthy 'patron,' Mr. + John Harlowe, in order to set all 'matters right' between 'me and them,' + and, ('as far as I could,') between 'them' and 'Miss.' So it required + little more than 'connection' and 'transcribing,' when I received + 'your's'; and it will be with Mr. Harlowe aforesaid, 'to-morrow morning'; + and this, and the copy of that, will be with you on 'Monday morning.' + </p> + <p> + You cannot imagine how sorry I am that 'you' and Mrs. Walton, and Mrs. + Barker, and 'I myself,' should have taken matters up so lightly, (judging, + alas-a-day! by appearance and conjecture,) where 'character' and + 'reputation' are concerned. Horace says truly, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Et semel emissum volat irrevocabile verbum.' +</pre> + <p> + That is, 'Words one spoken cannot be recalled.' But, Mr. Walton, they may + be 'contradicted' by 'other' words; and we may confess ourselves guilty of + a 'mistake,' and express our 'concern' for being 'mistaken'; and resolve + to make our 'mistake' a 'warning' to us for the 'future': and this is all + that 'can be done,' and what every 'worthy mind will do'; and what nobody + can be 'readier to do' than 'we four undesigning offenders,' (as I see by + 'your letter,' on 'your part,' and as you will see by the 'enclosed copy,' + on 'mine';) which, if it be received as I 'think it ought,' (and as I + 'believe it will,') must give me a 'speedy' opportunity to see you when I + 'visit the lady'; to whom, (as you will see in it,) I expect to be sent up + with the 'olive-branch.' + </p> + <p> + The matter in which we all 'erred,' must be owned to be 'very nice'; and + (Mr. Belford's 'character considered') 'appearances' ran very strong + 'against the lady.' But all that this serveth to show is, 'that in + doubtful matters, the wisest people may be mistaken'; for so saith the + 'Poet,' + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Fallitur in dubiis hominum solertia rebus.' +</pre> + <p> + If you have an 'opportunity,' you may (as if 'from yourself,' and 'unknown + to me') show the enclosed to Mr. Belford, who (you tell me) 'resenteth' + the matter very heinously; but not to let him 'see' or 'hear read,' those + words 'that relate to him,' in the paragraph at the 'bottom of the second + page,' beginning, ['But yet I do insist upon it,] to the 'end' of that + paragraph; for one would not make one's self 'enemies,' you know; and I + have 'reason to think,' that this Mr. 'Belford' is as 'passionate' and + 'fierce' a man as Mr. Lovelace. What pity it is the lady could find no + 'worthier a protector!' You may paste those lines over with 'blue' or + 'black paper,' before he seeth it: and if he insisteth upon taking a copy + of my letter, (for he, or any body that 'seeth it,' or 'heareth it read,' + will, no doubt, be glad to have by them the copy of a letter so full of + the 'sentiments' of the 'noblest writers' of 'antiquity,' and 'so well + adapted,' as I will be bold to say they are, to the 'point in hand'; I + say, if he insisteth upon taking a copy,) let him give you the 'strongest + assurances' not to suffer it to be 'printed' on 'any account'; and I make + the same request to you, that 'you' will not; for if any thing be to be + made of a 'man's works,' who, but the 'author,' should have the + 'advantage'? And if the 'Spectators,' the 'Tatlers,' the 'Examiners,' the + 'Guardians,' and other of our polite papers, make such a 'strutting' with + a 'single verse,' or so by way of 'motto,' in the 'front' of 'each day's' + paper; and if other 'authors' pride themselves in 'finding out' and + 'embellishing' the 'title-pages' of their 'books' with a 'verse' or + 'adage' from the 'classical writers'; what a figure would 'such a letter + as the enclosed make,' so full fraught with 'admirable precepts,' and + 'à-propos quotations,' from the 'best authority'? + </p> + <p> + I have been told that a 'certain noble Lord,' who once sat himself down to + write a 'pamphlet' in behalf of a 'great minister,' after taking 'infinite + pains' to 'no purpose' to find a 'Latin motto,' gave commission to a + friend of 'his' to offer to 'any one,' who could help him to a 'suitable + one,' but of one or two lines, a 'hamper of claret.' Accordingly, his + lordship had a 'motto found him' from 'Juvenal,' which he 'unhappily + mistaking,' (not knowing 'Juvenal' was a 'poet,') printed as a prose + 'sentence' in his 'title-page.' + </p> + <p> + If, then, 'one' or 'two' lines were of so much worth, (A 'hamper of + claret'! No 'less'!) of what 'inestimable value' would 'such a letter as + mine' be deemed?—And who knoweth but that this noble P—r, (who + is now* living,) if he should happen to see 'this letter' shining with + such a 'glorious string of jewels,' might give the 'writer a scarf,' in + order to have him 'always at hand,' or be a 'mean' (some way or other) to + bring him into 'notice'? And I would be bold to say ('bad' as the 'world' + is) a man of 'sound learning' wanteth nothing but an 'initiation' to make + his 'fortune.' + </p> + <p> + * i.e. At the time this Letter was written. + </p> + <p> + I hope, my good friend, that the lady will not 'die': I shall be much + 'grieved,' if she doth; and the more because of mine 'unhappy + misrepresentation': so will 'you' for the 'same cause'; so will her + 'parents' and 'friends.' They are very 'rich' and 'very worthy' + gentlefolks. + </p> + <p> + But let me tell you, 'by-the-by,' that they had carried the matter against + her 'so far,' that I believe in my heart they were glad to 'justify + themselves' by 'my report'; and would have been 'less pleased,' had I made + a 'more favourable one.' And yet in 'their hearts' they 'dote' upon her. + But now they are all (as I hear) inclined to be 'friends with her,' and + 'forgive her'; her 'brother,' as well as 'the rest.' + </p> + <p> + But their 'cousin,' Col. Morden, 'a very fine gentleman,' had had such + 'high words' with them, and they with him, that they know not how to + 'stoop,' lest it should look like being frighted into an 'accommodation.' + Hence it is, that 'I' have taken the greater liberty to 'press the + reconciliation'; and I hope in 'such good season,' that they will all be + 'pleased' with it: for can they have a 'better handle' to save their + 'pride' all round, than by my 'mediation'? And let me tell you, (inter + nos, 'betwixt ourselves,') 'very proud they all are.' + </p> + <p> + By this 'honest means,' (for by 'dishonest ones' I would not be + 'Archbishop of Canterbury,') I hope to please every body; to be + 'forgiven,' in the 'first place,' by 'the lady,' (whom, being a 'lover of + learning' and 'learned men,' I shall have great 'opportunities' of + 'obliging'; for, when she departed from her father's house, I had but just + the honour of her 'notice,' and she seemed 'highly pleased' with my + 'conversation';) and, 'next' to be 'thanked' and 'respected' by her + 'parents,' and 'all her family'; as I am (I bless God for it) by my 'dear + friend' Mr. John Harlowe: who indeed is a man that professeth a 'great + esteem' for 'men of erudition'; and who (with 'singular delight,' I know) + will run over with me the 'authorities' I have 'quoted,' and 'wonder' at + my 'memory,' and the 'happy knack' I have of recommending 'mine own sense + of things' in the words of the 'greatest sages of antiquity.' + </p> + <p> + Excuse me, my good friend, for this 'seeming vanity.' The great Cicero + (you must have heard, I suppose) had a 'much greater' spice of it, and + wrote a 'long letter begging' and 'praying' to be 'flattered.' But if I + say 'less of myself' than other people (who know me) 'say of me,' I think + I keep a 'medium' between 'vanity' and 'false modesty'; the latter of + which oftentimes gives itself the 'lie,' when it is 'declaring of' the + 'compliments,' that 'every body' gives it as its due: an hypocrisy, as + well as folly, that, (I hope,) I shall for ever scorn to be guilty of. + </p> + <p> + I have 'another reason' (as I may tell to you, my 'old school-fellow') to + make me wish for this 'fine lady's recovery' and 'health'; and that is, + (by some distant intimations,) I have heard from Mr. John Harlowe, that it + is 'very likely' (because of the 'slur' she hath received) that she will + choose to 'live privately' and 'penitently'—and will probably (when + she cometh into her 'estate') keep a 'chaplain' to direct her in her + 'devotions' and 'penitence'—If she doth, who can stand a 'better + chance' than 'myself'?—And as I find (by 'your' account, as well as + by 'every body's') that she is innocent as to 'intention,' and is resolved + never to think of Mr. 'Lovelace more,' who knoweth 'what' (in time) 'may + happen'? —And yet it must be after Mr. 'Lovelace's death,' (which + may possibly sooner happen than he 'thinketh' of, by means of his + 'detestable courses':) for, after all, a man who is of 'public utility,' + ought not (for the 'finest woman' in the world) to lay his 'throat' at the + 'mercy' of a man who boggleth at nothing. + </p> + <p> + I beseech you, let not this hint 'go farther' than to 'yourself,' your + 'spouse,' and Mrs. 'Barker.' I know I may trust my 'life' in 'your hands' + and 'theirs.' There have been (let me tell ye) 'unlikelier' things come to + pass, and that with 'rich widows,' (some of 'quality' truly!) whose + choice, in their 'first marriages' hath (perhaps) been guided by 'motives + of convenience,' or 'mere corporalities,' as I may say; but who by their + 'second' have had for their view the 'corporal' and 'spiritual' mingled; + which is the most eligible (no doubt) to 'substance' composed 'of both,' + as 'men' and 'women' are. + </p> + <p> + Nor think (Sir) that, should such a thing come to pass, 'either' would be + 'disgraced,' since 'the lady' in 'me' would marry a 'gentleman' and a + 'scholar': and as to 'mine own honour,' as the 'slur' would bring her + 'high fortunes' down to an 'equivalence' with my 'mean ones,' (if + 'fortune' only, and not 'merit,' be considered,) so hath not the 'life' of + 'this lady' been 'so tainted,' (either by 'length of time,' or + 'naughtiness of practice,') as to put her on a 'foot' with the 'cast + Abigails,' that too, too often, (God knoweth,) are thought good enough for + a 'young clergyman,' who, perhaps, is drawn in by a 'poor benefice'; and + (if the 'wicked one' be not 'quite worn out') groweth poorer and poorer + upon it, by an 'increase of family' he knoweth not whether 'is most his,' + or his 'noble,' ('ignoble,' I should say,) 'patrons.' + </p> + <p> + But, all this 'apart,' and 'in confidence.' + </p> + <p> + I know you made at school but a small progress in 'languages.' So I have + restrained myself from 'many illustrations' from the 'classics,' that I + could have filled this letter with, (as I have done the enclosed one:) + and, being at a 'distance,' I cannot 'explain' them to you, as I 'do to my + friend,' Mr. John Harlowe; and who, (after all,) is obliged to 'me' for + pointing out to 'him' many 'beauties' of the 'authors I quote,' which + otherwise would lie concealed from 'him,' as they must from every 'common + observer.'—But this (too) 'inter nos'—for he would not take it + well to 'have it known'—'Jays' (you know, old school-fellow, 'jays,' + you know) 'will strut in peacocks' feathers.' + </p> + <p> + But whither am I running? I never know where to end, when I get upon + 'learned topics.' And albeit I cannot compliment 'you' with the 'name of a + learned man,' yet are you 'a sensible man'; and ('as such') must have + 'pleasure' in 'learned men,' and in 'their writings.' + </p> + <p> + In this confidence, (Mr. Walton,) with my 'kind respects' to the good + ladies, (your 'spouse' and 'sister,') and in hopes, for the 'young lady's + sake,' soon to follow this long, long epistle, in 'person,' I conclude + myself, + </p> + <p> + Your loving and faithful friend, ELIAS BRAND. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +You will perhaps, Mr. Walton, wonder at the meaning of the 'lines drawn + under many of the words and sentences,' (UNDERSCORING we call it;) + and were my letters to be printed, those would be put in a + 'different character.' Now, you must know, Sir, that 'we learned + men' do this to point out to the readers, who are not 'so learned,' + where the 'jet of our arguments lieth,' and the 'emphasis' they are + to lay upon 'those words'; whereby they will take in readily our + 'sense' and 'cogency.' Some 'pragmatical' people have said, that + an author who doth a 'great deal of this,' either calleth his + readers 'fools,' or tacitly condemneth 'his own style,' as + supposing his meaning would be 'dark' without it, or that all of + his 'force' lay in 'words.' But all of those with whom I have + conversed in a learned way, 'think as I think.' And to give a very + 'pretty,' though 'familiar illustration,' I have considered a page + distinguished by 'different characters,' as a 'verdant field' + overspread with 'butter-flowers' and 'daisies,' and other + summer-flowers. These the poets liken to 'enamelling'—have you + not read in the poets of 'enamelled meads,' and so forth? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0069" id="link2H_4_0069"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER LXVI + </h2> + <p> + MR. BRAND, TO JOHN HARLOWE, ESQ. SAT. NIGHT, SEPT. 2. + </p> + <p> + WORTHY SIR, + </p> + <p> + I am under no 'small concern,' that I should (unhappily) be the 'occasion' + (I am sure I 'intended' nothing like it) of 'widening differences' by + 'light misreport,' when it is the 'duty' of one of 'my function' (and no + less consisting with my 'inclination') to 'heal' and 'reconcile.' + </p> + <p> + I have received two letter to set me 'right': one from a 'particular + acquaintance,' (whom I set to inquire of Mr. Belford's character); and + that came on Tuesday last, informing me, that your 'unhappy niece' was + greatly injured in the account I had had of her; (for I had told 'him' of + it, and that with very 'great concern,' I am sure, apprehending it to be + 'true.') So I 'then' set about writing to you, to 'acknowledge' the + 'error.' And had gone a good way in it, when the second letter came (a + very 'handsome one' it is, both in 'style' and 'penmanship') from my + friend Mr. Walton, (though I am sure it cannot be 'his inditing,') + expressing his sorrow, and his wife's, and his sister-in-law's likewise, + for having been the cause of 'misleading me,' in the account I gave of the + said 'young lady'; whom they 'now' say (upon 'further inquiry') they find + to be the 'most unblameable,' and 'most prudent,' and (it seems) the most + 'pious' young lady, that ever (once) committed a 'great error'; as (to be + sure) 'her's was,' in leaving such 'worthy parents' and 'relations' for so + 'vile a man' as Mr. Lovelace; but what shall we say?— Why, the + divine Virgil tells us, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Improbe amor, quid non mortalia pectora cogis?' +</pre> + <p> + For 'my part,' I was but too much afraid (for we have 'great + opportunities),' you are sensible, Sir, at the 'University,' of knowing + 'human nature' from 'books,' the 'calm result' of the 'wise man's wisdom,' + as I may say, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + '(Haurit aquam cribro, qui discere vult sine libro)' +</pre> + <p> + 'uninterrupted' by the 'noise' and 'vanities' that will mingle with + 'personal conversation,' which (in the 'turbulent world') is not to be + enjoyed but over a 'bottle,' where you have an 'hundred foolish things' + pass to 'one that deserveth to be remembered'; I was but too much afraid + 'I say', that so 'great a slip' might be attended with 'still greater' and + 'worse': for 'your' Horace, and 'my' Horace, the most charming writer that + ever lived among the 'Pagans' (for the 'lyric kind of poetry,' I mean; + for, the be sure, 'Homer' and 'Virgil' would 'otherwise' be 'first' named + 'in their way') well observeth (and who understood 'human nature' better + than he?) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Nec vera virtus, cum semel excidit, + Curat reponi deterioribus.' +</pre> + <p> + And 'Ovid' no less wisely observeth: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Et mala sunt vicina bonis. Errore sub illo + Pro vitio virtus crimina sæpe tulit.' +</pre> + <p> + Who, that can draw 'knowledge' from its 'fountain-head,' the works of the + 'sages of antiquity,' (improved by the 'comments' of the 'moderns,') but + would 'prefer' to all others the 'silent quiet life,' which 'contemplative + men' lead in the 'seats of learning,' were they not called out (according + to their 'dedication') to the 'service' and 'instruction' of the world? + </p> + <p> + Now, Sir, 'another' favourite poet of mine (and not the 'less a favourite' + for being a 'Christian') telleth us, that ill is the custom of 'some,' + when in a 'fault,' to throw the blame upon the backs of 'others,' + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + '——Hominum quoque mos est, + Quæ nos cunque premunt, alieno imponere tergo.' + MANT. +</pre> + <p> + But I, though (in this case) 'misled,' ('well intendedly,' nevertheless, + both in the 'misleaders' and 'misled,' and therefore entitled to lay hold + of that plea, if 'any body' is so entitled,) will not however, be classed + among such 'extenuators'; but (contrarily) will always keep in mind that + verse, which 'comforteth in mistake,' as well as 'instructeth'; and which + I quoted in my last letter; + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Errare est hominis, sed non persistere——' +</pre> + <p> + And will own, that I was very 'rash' to take up with 'conjectures' and + 'consequences' drawn from 'probabilites,' where (especially) the + 'character' of so 'fine a lady' was concerned. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Credere fallacy gravis est dementia famæ.' MANT. +</pre> + <p> + Notwithstanding, Miss Clarissa Harlowe (I must be bold to say) is the + 'only young lady,' that ever I heard of (or indeed read of) that, 'having + made such a false step,' so 'soon' (of 'her own accord,' as I may say) + 'recovered' herself, and conquered her 'love of the deceiver'; (a great + conquest indeed!) and who flieth him, and resolveth to 'die,' rather than + to be his; which now, to her never-dying 'honour' (I am well assured) is + the case—and, in 'justice' to her, I am now ready to take to myself + (with no small vexation) that of Ovid, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Heu! patior telis vulnera facta meis.' +</pre> + <p> + But yet I do insist upon it, that all 'that part' of my 'information,' + which I took upon mine own 'personal inquiry,' which is what relates to + Mr. 'Belford' and 'his character,' is 'literally true'; for there is not + any where to be met with a man of a more 'libertine character' as to + 'women,' Mr. 'Lovelace' excepted, than he beareth. + </p> + <p> + And so, Sir, I must desire of you, that you will not let 'any blame' lie + upon my 'intention'; since you see how ready I am to 'accuse myself' of + too lightly giving ear to a 'rash information' (not knowing it to be so, + however): for I depended the more upon it, as the 'people I had it from' + are very 'sober,' and live in the 'fear of God': and indeed when I wait + upon you, you will see by their letter, that they must be 'conscientious' + good people: wherefore, Sir, let me be entitled, from 'all your good + family,' to that of my last-named poet, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Aspera confesso verba remitte reo.' +</pre> + <p> + And now, Sir, (what is much more becoming of my 'function,') let me, + instead of appearing with the 'face of an accuser,' and a 'rash censurer,' + (which in my 'heart' I have not 'deserved' to be thought,) assume the + character of a 'reconciler'; and propose (by way of 'penance' to myself + for my 'fault') to be sent up as a 'messenger of peace' to the 'pious + young lady'; for they write me word 'absolutely' (and, I believe in my + heart, 'truly') that the 'doctors' have 'given her over,' and that she + 'cannot live.' Alas! alas! what a sad thing would that be, if the 'poor + bough,' that was only designed (as I 'very well know,' and am 'fully + assured') 'to be bent, should be broken!' + </p> + <p> + Let it not, dear Sir, seem to the 'world' that there was any thing in your + 'resentments' (which, while meant for 'reclaiming,' were just and fit) + that hath the 'appearance' of 'violence,' and 'fierce wrath,' and + 'inexorability'; (as it would look to some, if carried to extremity, after + 'repentance' and 'contrition,' and 'humiliation,' on the 'fair offender's' + side:) for all this while (it seemeth) she hath been a 'second Magdalen' in + her 'penitence,' and yet not so bad as a 'Magdalen' in her 'faults'; + (faulty, nevertheless, as she hath been once, the Lord knoweth! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Nam vitiis nemo sine nascitur: optimus ille est, + Qui minimis urgentur'——saith Horace). +</pre> + <p> + Now, Sir, if I may be named for this 'blessed' employment, (for, 'Blessed + is the peace-maker!') I will hasten to London; and (as I know Miss had + always a 'great regard' to the 'function' I have the honour to be of) I + have no doubt of making myself acceptable to her, and to bring her, by + 'sound arguments,' and 'good advice,' into a 'liking of life,' which must + be the 'first step' to her 'recovery': for, when the 'mind' is 'made + easy,' the 'body' will not 'long suffer'; and the 'love of life' is a + 'natural passion,' that is soon 'revived,' when fortune turneth about, and + smileth: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Vivere quisque diu, quamvis & egenus & ager, + Optat.—— —— ——' OVID. +</pre> + <p> + And the sweet Lucan truly observeth, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + '—— —— Fatis debentibus annos + Mors invita subit.—— ——' +</pre> + <p> + And now, Sir, let me tell you what shall be the 'tenor' of my 'pleadings' + with her, and 'comfortings' of her, as she is, as I may say, a 'learned + lady'; and as I can 'explain' to her 'those sentences,' which she cannot + so readily 'construe herself': and this in order to convince 'you' (did + you not already 'know' my 'qualifications') how well qualified I 'am' for + the 'christian office' to which I commend myself. + </p> + <p> + I will, IN THE FIRST PLACE, put her in mind of the 'common course of + things' in this 'sublunary world,' in which 'joy' and 'sorrow, sorrow' and + joy,' succeed one another by turns'; in order to convince her, that her + griefs have been but according to 'that' common course of things: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Gaudia post luctus veniunt, post gaudia luctus.' +</pre> + <p> + SECONDLY, I will remind her of her own notable description of 'sorrow,' + whence she was once called upon to distinguish wherein 'sorrow, grief,' + and 'melancholy,' differed from each other; which she did 'impromptu,' by + their 'effects,' in a truly admirable manner, to the high satisfaction of + every one: I myself could not, by 'study,' have distinguished 'better,' + nor more 'concisely'—SORROW, said she, 'wears'; GRIEF 'tears'; but + MELANCHOLY 'sooths.' + </p> + <p> + My inference to her shall be, that since a happy reconciliation will take + place, 'grief' will be banished; 'sorrow' dismissed; and only sweet + 'melancholy' remain to 'sooth' and 'indulge' her contrite 'heart,' and + show to all the world the penitent sense she hath of her great error. + </p> + <p> + THIRDLY, That her 'joys,'* when restored to health and favour, will be the + greater, the deeper her griefs were. + </p> + <p> + * 'Joy,' let me here observe, my dear Sir, by way of note, is not + absolutely inconsistent with 'melancholy'; a 'soft gentle joy,' not a + 'rapid,' not a 'rampant joy,' however; but such a 'joy,' as shall lift her + 'temporarily' out of her 'soothing melancholy,' and then 'let her down + gently' into it again; for 'melancholy,' to be sure, her 'reflection' will + generally make to be her state. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Gaudia, quæ multo parta labore, placent.' +</pre> + <p> + FOURTHLY, That having 'really' been guilty of a 'great error,' she should + not take 'impatiently' the 'correction' and 'anger' with which she hath + been treated. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Leniter, ex merito quicquid patiare ferundum est.' +</pre> + <p> + FIFTHLY, That 'virtue' must be established by 'patience'; as saith + Prudentius: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Hæc virtus vidua est, quam non patientia firmat.' +</pre> + <p> + SIXTHLY, That in the words of Horace, she may 'expect better times,' than + (of late) she had 'reason' to look for. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Grata superveniet, quæ non sperabitur, hora.' +</pre> + <p> + SEVENTHLY, That she is really now in 'a way' to be 'happy,' since, + according to 'Ovid,' she 'can count up all her woe': + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Felix, qui patitur quæ numerare potest.' +</pre> + <p> + And those comforting lines, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Estque serena dies post longos gratior imbres, + Et post triste malum gratior ipsa salus.' +</pre> + <p> + EIGHTHLY, That, in the words of Mantuan, her 'parents' and 'uncles' could + not 'help loving her' all the time they were 'angry at her': + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Æqua tamen mens est, & amica voluntas, + Sit licet in natos austere parentum.' +</pre> + <p> + NINTHLY, That the 'ills she hath met with' may be turned (by the 'good + use' to be made of them) to her 'everlasting benefit'; for that, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Cum furit atque ferit, Deus olim parcere quærit.' +</pre> + <p> + TENTHLY, That she will be able to give a 'fine lesson' (a 'very' fine + lesson) to all the 'young ladies' of her 'acquaintance,' of the 'vanity' + of being 'lifted up' in 'prosperity,' and the 'weakness' of being 'cast + down' in 'adversity'; since no one is so 'high,' as to be above being + 'humbled'; so 'low,' as to 'need to despair': for which purpose the advice + of 'Ausonius,' + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Dum fortuna juvat, caveto tolli: + Dum fortuna tonat, caveto mergi.' +</pre> + <p> + I shall tell her, that Lucan saith well, when he calleth 'adversity the + element of patience'; + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + '——Gaudet patientia duris:' +</pre> + <p> + That + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Fortunam superat virtus, prudential famam.' +</pre> + <p> + That while weak souls are 'crushed by fortune,' the 'brave mind' maketh + the fickle deity afraid of it: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Fortuna fortes metuit, ignavos permit.' +</pre> + <p> + ELEVENTHLY, That if she take the advice of 'Horace,' + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Fortiaque adversis opponite pectora rebus,' +</pre> + <p> + it will delight her 'hereafter' (as 'Virgil' saith) to 'revoke her past + troubles': + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + '——Forsan & hæc olim meminisse juvabit.' +</pre> + <p> + And, to the same purpose, 'Juvenal' speaking of the 'prating joy' of + mariners, after all their 'dangers are over': + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Gaudent securi narrare pericula nautæ.' +</pre> + <p> + Which suiting the case so well, you'll forgive me, Sir, for 'popping down' + in 'English metre,' as the 'translative impulse' (pardon a new word, and + yet we 'scholars' are not fond of 'authenticating new' words) came upon me + 'uncalled for': + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The seaman, safe on shore, with joy doth tell + What cruel dangers him at sea befell. +</pre> + <p> + With 'these,' Sir, and an 'hundred more' wise 'adages,' which I have + always at my 'fingers' end,' will I (when reduced to 'form' and 'method') + entertain Miss; and as she is a 'well-read,' and (I might say, but for + this 'one' great error) a 'wise' young lady, I make no doubt but I shall + 'prevail' upon her, if not by 'mine own arguments,' by those of 'wits' and + 'capacities' that have a 'congeniality' (as I may say) to 'her own,' to + take to heart, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ——Nor of the laws of fate complain, + Since, though it has been cloudy, now't clears up again.—— +</pre> + <p> + Oh! what 'wisdom' is there in these 'noble classical authors!' A 'wise + man' will (upon searching into them,) always find that they speak 'his' + sense of 'men' and 'things.' Hence it is, that they so readily occur to my + 'memory' on every occasion—though this may look like 'vanity,' it is + too true to be omitted; and I see not why a man may not 'know these things + of himself,' which 'every body' seeth and 'saith of him'; who, + nevertheless, perhaps know not 'half so much as he,' in other matters. + </p> + <p> + I know but of 'one objection,' Sir, that can lie against my going; and + that will arise from your kind 'care' and 'concern' for the 'safety of my + person,' in case that 'fierce' and 'terrible man,' the wicked Mr. + Lovelace, (of whom every one standeth in fear,) should come cross me, as + he may be resolved to try once more to 'gain a footing in Miss's + affections': but I will trust in 'Providence' for 'my safety,' while I + shall be engaged in a 'cause so worthy of my function'; and the 'more' + trust in it, as he is a 'learned man' as I am told. + </p> + <p> + Strange too, that so 'vile a rake' (I hope he will never see this!) should + be a 'learned man'; that is to say, that a 'learned man' may be a 'sly + sinner,' and take opportunities, 'as they come in his way'—which, + however, I do assure you, 'I never did,' + </p> + <p> + I repeat, that as he is a 'learned man,' I shall 'vest myself,' as I may + say, in 'classical armour'; beginning 'meekly' with him (for, Sir, + 'bravery' and 'meekness' are qualities 'very consistent with each other,' + and in no persons so shiningly 'exert' themselves, as in the 'Christian + priesthood'; beginning 'meekly' with him, I say) from Ovid, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Corpora magnanimo satis est protrasse leoni:' +</pre> + <p> + So that, if I should not be safe behind the 'shield of mine own prudence,' + I certainly should be behind the 'shields' of the 'ever-admirable + classics': of 'Horace' particularly; who, being a 'rake' (and a 'jovial + rake' too,) himself, must have great weight with all 'learned rakes.' + </p> + <p> + And who knoweth but I may be able to bring even this 'Goliath in + wickedness,' although in 'person' but a 'little David' myself, (armed with + the 'slings' and 'stones' of the 'ancient sages,') to a due sense of his + errors? And what a victory would that be! + </p> + <p> + I could here, Sir, pursuing the allegory of David and Goliath, give you + some of the 'stones' ('hard arguments' may be called 'stones,' since they + 'knock down a pertinacious opponent') which I could 'pelt him with,' were + he to be wroth with me; and this in order to take from you, Sir, all + apprehensions for my 'life,' or my 'bones'; but I forbear them till you + demand them of me, when I have the honour to attend you in person. + </p> + <p> + And now, (my dear Sir,) what remaineth, but that having shown you (what + yet, I believe, you did not doubt) how 'well qualified' I am to attend the + lady with the 'olive-branch,' I beg of you to dispatch me with it 'out of + hand'? For if she be so 'very ill,' and if she should not live to receive + the grace, which (to my knowledge) all the 'worthy family' design her, how + much will that grieve you all! And then, Sir, of what avail will be the + 'eulogies' you shall all, peradventure, join to give to her memory? For, + as Martial wisely observeth, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + '—— Post cineres gloria sera venit.' +</pre> + <p> + Then, as 'Ausonius' layeth it down with 'equal propriety,' that 'those + favours which are speedily conferred are the most grateful and obliging' + —— + </p> + <p> + And to the same purpose Ovid: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Gratia ab officio, quod mora tar dat, abest.' +</pre> + <p> + And, Sir, whatever you do, let the 'lady's pardon' be as 'ample,' and as + 'cheerfully given,' as she can 'wish for it': that I may be able to tell + her, that it hath your 'hands,' your 'countenances,' and your 'whole + hearts,' with it—for, as the Latin verse hath it, (and I presume to + think I have not weakened its sense by my humble advice), + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Dat bene, dat multum, qui dat cum munere vultum.' +</pre> + <p> + And now, Sir, when I survey this long letter,* (albeit I see it enamelled, + as a 'beautiful meadow' is enamelled by the 'spring' or 'summer' flowers, + very glorious to behold!) I begin to be afraid that I may have tired you; + and the more likely, as I have written without that 'method' or 'order,' + which I think constituteth the 'beauty' of 'good writing': which 'method' + or 'order,' nevertheless, may be the 'better excused' in a 'familiar + epistle,' (as this may be called,) you pardoning, Sir, the 'familiarity' + of the 'word'; but yet not altogether 'here,' I must needs own; because + this is 'a letter' and 'not a letter,' as I may say; but a kind of 'short' + and 'pithy discourse,' touching upon 'various' and 'sundry topics,' every + one of which might be a 'fit theme' to enlarge upon of volumes; if this + 'epistolary discourse' (then let me call it) should be pleasing to you, + (as I am inclined to think it will, because of the 'sentiments' and + 'aphorisms' of the 'wisest of the antients,' which 'glitter through it' + like so many dazzling 'sunbeams,') I will (at my leisure) work it up into + a 'methodical discourse'; and perhaps may one day print it, with a + 'dedication' to my 'honoured patron,' (if, Sir, I have 'your' leave,) + 'singly' at first, (but not till I have thrown out 'anonymously,' two or + three 'smaller things,' by the success of which I shall have made myself + of 'some account' in the 'commonwealth of letters,') and afterwards in my + 'works'—not for the 'vanity' of the thing (however) I will say, but + for the 'use' it may be of to the 'public'; for, (as one well observeth,) + 'though glory always followeth virtue, yet it should be considered only as + its shadow.' + </p> + <p> + * And here, by way of note, permit me to say, that no 'sermon' I ever + composed cost me half the 'pains' that this letter hath done—but I + knew your great 'appetite' after, as well as 'admiration' of, the 'antient + wisdom,' which you so justly prefer to the 'modern'—and indeed I + join with you to think, that the 'modern' is only 'borrowed,' (as the + 'moon' doth its light from the 'sun,') at least, that we 'excel' them in + nothing; and that our 'best cogitations' may be found, generally speaking, + more 'elegantly' dressed and expressed by them. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Contemnit laudem virtus, licet usque sequatur + Gloria virtutem, corpus ut umbra suum.' +</pre> + <p> + A very pretty saying, and worthy of all men's admiration. + </p> + <p> + And now, ('most worthy Sir,' my very good friend and patron,) referring + the whole to 'your's,' and to your 'two brothers,' and to 'young Mr. + Harlowe's' consideration, and to the wise consideration of good 'Madam + Harlowe,' and her excellent daughter, 'Miss Arabella Harlowe'; I take the + liberty to subscribe myself, what I 'truly am,' and 'every shall delight + to be,' in 'all cases,' and at 'all times,' + </p> + <p> + Your and their most ready and obedient as well as faithful servant, ELIAS + BRAND. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0070" id="link2H_4_0070"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER LXVII + </h2> + <p> + MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. [IN ANSWER TO LETTER LXIV. OF THIS + VOLUME.] WEDN. MORN. SEPT. 6. + </p> + <p> + And is she somewhat better?—Blessings upon thee without number or + measure! Let her still be better and better! Tell me so at least, if she + be not so: for thou knowest not what a joy that poor temporary reprieve, + that she will hold out yet a day or two, gave me. + </p> + <p> + But who told this hard-hearted and death-pronouncing doctor that she will + hold it no longer? By what warrant says he this? What presumption in these + parading solemn fellows of a college, which will be my contempt to the + latest hour of my life, if this brother of it (eminent as he is deemed to + be) cannot work an ordinary miracle in her favour, or rather in mine! + </p> + <p> + Let me tell thee, Belford, that already he deserves the utmost contempt, + for suffering this charming clock to run down so low. What must be his + art, if it could not wind it up in a quarter of the time he has attended + her, when, at his first visits, the springs and wheels of life and motion + were so god, that they seemed only to want common care and oiling! + </p> + <p> + I am obliged to you for endeavouring to engage her to see me. 'Twas acting + like a friend. If she had vouchsafed me that favour, she should have seen + at her feet the most abject adorer that ever kneeled to justly-offended + beauty. + </p> + <p> + What she bid you, and what she forbid you, to tell me, (the latter for + tender considerations:) that she forgives me; and that, could she have + made me a good man, she would have made me a happy one! That she even + loved me! At such a moment to own that she once loved me! Never before + loved any man! That she prays for me! That her last tear should be shed + for me, could she by it save a soul, doomed, without her, to perdition!— + O Belford! Belford! I cannot bear it!—What a dog, what a devil have + I been to a goodness so superlative!—Why does she not inveigh + against me? —Why does she not execrate me?—O the triumphant + subduer! Ever above me!—And now to leave me so infinitely below her! + </p> + <p> + Marry and repair, at any time; this, wretch that I was, was my plea to + myself. To give her a lowering sensibility; to bring her down from among + the stars which her beamy head was surrounded by, that my wife, so greatly + above me, might not despise me; this was one of my reptile motives, owing + to my more reptile envy, and to my consciousness of inferiority to her!—Yet + she, from step to step, from distress to distress, to maintain her + superiority; and, like the sun, to break out upon me with the greater + refulgence for the clouds that I had contrived to cast about her!—And + now to escape me thus!—No power left me to repair her wrongs!—No + alleviation to my self-reproach!—No dividing of blame with her!— + </p> + <p> + Tell her, O tell her, Belford, that her prayers and wishes, her + superlatively-generous prayers and wishes, shall not be vain: that I can, + and do repent—and long have repented.—Tell her of my frequent + deep remorses—it was impossible that such remorses should not at + last produce effectual remorse—yet she must not leave me—she + must live, if she would wish to have my contrition perfect—For what + can despair produce? + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + I will do every thing you would have me do, in the return of your letters. + You have infinitely obliged me by this last, and by pressing for an + admission for me, though it succeeded not. + </p> + <p> + Once more, how could I be such a villain to so divine a creature! Yet love + her all the time, as never man loved woman!—Curse upon my contriving + genius!—Curse upon my intriguing head, and upon my seconding heart!—To + sport with the fame, with the honour, with the life, of such an angel of a + woman!—O my d——d incredulity! That, believing her to be + a woman, I must hope to find her a woman! On my incredulity, that there + could be such virtue (virtue for virtue's sake) in the sex, founded I my + hope of succeeding with her. + </p> + <p> + But say not, Jack, that she must leave us yet. If she recover, and if I + can but re-obtain her favour, then, indeed, will life be life to me. The + world never saw such an husband as I will make. I will have no will but + her's. She shall conduct me in all my steps. She shall open and direct my + prospects, and turn every motion of my heart as she pleases. + </p> + <p> + You tell me, in your letter, that at eleven o'clock she had sweet rest; + and my servant acquaints me, from Mrs. Smith, that she has had a good + night. What hopes does this fill me with! I have given the fellow five + guineas for his good news, to be divided between him and his + fellow-servant. + </p> + <p> + Dear, dear Jack! confirm this to me in thy next—for Heaven's sake, + do!— Tell the doctor I'll make a present of a thousand guineas if he + recover her. Ask if a consultation then be necessary. + </p> + <p> + Adieu, dear Belford! Confirm, I beseech thee, the hopes that now, with + sovereign gladness, have taken possession of a heart, that, next to her's, + is + </p> + <p> + Thine. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0071" id="link2H_4_0071"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER LXVIII + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. WEDN. MORN. EIGHT O'CLOCK, (6 SEPT.) + </p> + <p> + Your servant arrived here before I was stirring. I sent him to Smith's to + inquire how the lady was; and ordered him to call upon me when he came + back. I was pleased to hear she had tolerable rest. As soon as I had + dispatched him with the letter I had written over night, I went to attend + her. + </p> + <p> + I found her up, and dressed; in a white satin night-gown. Ever elegant; + but now more so than I had seen her for a week past: her aspect serenely + cheerful. + </p> + <p> + She mentioned the increased dimness of her eyes, and the tremor which had + invaded her limbs. If this be dying, said she, there is nothing at all + shocking in it. My body hardly sensible of pain, my mind at ease, my + intellects clear and perfect as ever. What a good and gracious God have I!—For + this is what I always prayed for. + </p> + <p> + I told her it was not so serene with you. + </p> + <p> + There is not the same reason for it, replied she. 'Tis a choice comfort, + Mr. Belford, at the winding up of our short story, to be able to say, I + have rather suffered injuries myself, than offered them to others. I bless + God, though I have been unhappy, as the world deems it, and once I thought + more so than at present I think I ought to have done, since my calamities + were to work out for me my everlasting happiness; yet have I not wilfully + made any one creature so. I have no reason to grieve for any thing but for + the sorrow I have given my friends. + </p> + <p> + But pray, Mr. Belford, remember me in the best manner to my cousin Morden; + and desire him to comfort them, and to tell them, that all would have been + the same, had they accepted of my true penitence, as I wish and as I trust + the Almighty has done. + </p> + <p> + I was called down: it was to Harry, who was just returned from Miss + Howe's, to whom he carried the lady's letter. The stupid fellow being bid + to make haste with it, and return as soon as possible, staid not until + Miss Howe had it, she being at the distance of five minutes, although Mrs. + Howe would have had him stay, and sent a man and horse purposely with it + to her daughter. + </p> + <p> + WEDNESDAY MORNING, TEN O'CLOCK. + </p> + <p> + The poor lady is just recovered from a fainting fit, which has left her at + death's door. Her late tranquillity and freedom from pain seemed but a + lightening, as Mrs. Lovick and Mrs. Smith call it. + </p> + <p> + By my faith, Lovelace, I had rather part with all the friends I have in + the world, than with this lady. I never knew what a virtuous, a holy + friendship, as I may call mine to her, was before. But to be so new to it, + and to be obliged to forego it so soon, what an affliction! Yet, thank + Heaven, I lose her not by my own fault!—But 'twould be barbarous not + to spare thee now. + </p> + <p> + She has sent for the divine who visited her before, to pray with her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0072" id="link2H_4_0072"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER LXIX + </h2> + <p> + MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. KENSINGTON, WEDNESDAY NOON. + </p> + <p> + Like Æsop's traveller, thou blowest hot and cold, life and death, in the + same breath, with a view, no doubt, to distract me. How familiarly dost + thou use the words, dying, dimness, tremor? Never did any mortal ring so + many changes on so few bells. Thy true father, I dare swear, was a + butcher, or an undertaker, by the delight thou seemest to take in scenes + of death and horror. Thy barbarous reflection, that thou losest her not by + thy own fault, is never to be forgiven. Thou hast but one way to atone for + the torments thou hast given me, and that is, by sending me word that she + is better, and will recover. Whether it be true or not, let me be told so, + and I will go abroad rejoicing and believing it, and my wishes and + imaginations shall make out all the rest. + </p> + <p> + If she live but one year, that I may acquit myself to myself (no matter + for the world!) that her death is not owing to me, I will compound for the + rest. + </p> + <p> + Will neither vows nor prayers save her? I never prayed in my life, put all + the years of it together, as I have done for this fortnight past: and I + have most sincerely repented of all my baseness to her—And will + nothing do? + </p> + <p> + But after all, if she recovers not, this reflection must be my comfort; + and it is truth; that her departure will be owing rather to wilfulness, to + downright female wilfulness, than to any other cause. + </p> + <p> + It is difficult for people, who pursue the dictates of a violent + resentment, to stop where first they designed to stop. + </p> + <p> + I have the charity to believe, that even James and Arabella Harlowe, at + first, intended no more by the confederacy they formed against this their + angel sister, than to disgrace and keep her down, lest (sordid wretches!) + their uncles should follow the example their grandfather had set, to their + detriment. + </p> + <p> + So this lady, as I suppose, intended only at first to vex and plague me; + and, finding she could do it to purpose, her desire of revenge insensibly + became stronger in her than the desire of life; and now she is willing to + die, as an event which she thinks will cut my heart-strings asunder. And + still, the more to be revenged, puts on the Christian, and forgives me. + </p> + <p> + But I'll have none of her forgiveness! My own heart tells me I do not + deserve it; and I cannot bear it!—And what is it but a mere verbal + forgiveness, as ostentatiously as cruelly given with a view to magnify + herself, and wound me deeper! A little, dear, specious—but let me + stop —lest I blaspheme! + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + Reading over the above, I am ashamed of my ramblings; but what wouldest + have me do?—Seest thou not that I am but seeking to run out of + myself, in hope to lose myself; yet, that I am unable to do either? + </p> + <p> + If ever thou lovedst but half so fervently as I love—but of that thy + heavy soul is not capable. + </p> + <p> + Send me word by the next, I conjure thee, in the names of all her kindred + saints and angels, that she is living, and likely to live!—If thou + sendest ill news, thou wilt be answerable for the consequences, whether it + be fatal to the messenger, or to + </p> + <p> + Thy LOVELACE. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0073" id="link2H_4_0073"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER LXX + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. WEDNESDAY, ELEVEN O'CLOCK. + </p> + <p> + Dr. H. has just been here. He tarried with me till the minister had done + praying by the lady; and then we were both admitted. Mr. Goddard, who came + while the doctor and the clergyman were with her, went away with them when + they went. They took a solemn and everlasting leave of her, as I have no + scruple to say; blessing her, and being blessed by her; and wishing (when + it came to be their lot) for an exit as happy as her's is likely to be. + </p> + <p> + She had again earnestly requested of the doctor his opinion how long it + was now probable that she could continue; and he told her, that he + apprehended she would hardly see to-morrow night. She said, she should + number the hours with greater pleasure than ever she numbered any in her + life on the most joyful occasion. + </p> + <p> + How unlike poor Belton's last hours her's! See the infinite differences in + the effects, on the same awful and affecting occasion, between a good and + a bad conscience! + </p> + <p> + This moment a man is come from Miss Howe with a letter. Perhaps I shall be + able to send you the contents. + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + She endeavoured several times with earnestness, but in vain, to read the + letter of her dear friend. The writing, she said, was too fine for her + grosser sight, and the lines staggered under her eye. And indeed she + trembled so, she could not hold the paper; and at last desired Mrs. Lovick + to read it to her, the messenger waiting for an answer. + </p> + <p> + Thou wilt see in Miss Howe's letter, how different the expression of the + same impatience, and passionate love, is, when dictated by the gentler + mind of a woman, from that which results from a mind so boisterous and + knotty as thine. For Mrs. Lovick will transcribe it, and I shall send it—to + be read in this place, if thou wilt. + </p> + <p> + MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TUESDAY, SEPT. 5. + </p> + <p> + O MY DEAREST FRIEND! + </p> + <p> + What will become of your poor Anna Howe! I see by your writing, as well as + read by your own account, (which, were you not very, very ill, you would + have touched more tenderly,) how it is with you! Why have I thus long + delayed to attend you! Could I think, that the comfortings of a faithful + friend were as nothing to a gentle mind in distress, that I could be + prevailed upon to forbear visiting you so much as once in all this time! + I, as well as every body else, to desert and abandon my dear creature to + strangers! What will become of you, if you be as bad as my apprehensions + make you! + </p> + <p> + I will set out this moment, little as the encouragement is that you give + me to do so! My mother is willing I should! Why, O why was she not before + willing? + </p> + <p> + Yet she persuades me too, (lest I should be fatally affected were I to + find my fears too well justified,) to wait the return of this messenger, + who rides our swiftest horse.—God speed him with good news to me—One + line from your hand by him!—Send me but one line to bid me attend + you! I will set out the moment, the very moment I receive it. I am now + actually ready to do so! And if you love me, as I love you, the sight of + me will revive you to my hopes.—But why, why, when I can think this, + did I not go up sooner! + </p> + <p> + Blessed Heaven! deny not to my prayers, my friend, my admonisher, my + adviser, at a time so critical to myself. + </p> + <p> + But methinks, your style and sentiments are too well connected, too full + of life and vigour, to give cause for so much despair as thy staggering + pen seems to forbode. + </p> + <p> + I am sorry I was not at home, [I must add thus much, though the servant is + ready mounted at the door,] when Mr. Belford's servant came with your + affecting letter. I was at Miss Lloyd's. My mamma sent it to me—and + I came home that instant. But he was gone: he would not stay, it seems. + Yet I wanted to ask him an hundred thousand questions. But why delay I + thus my messenger? I have a multitude of things to say to you—to + advise with you about!—You shall direct me in every thing. I will + obey the holding up of your finger. But, if you leave me—what is the + world, or any thing in it, to your + </p> + <p> + ANNA HOWE? + </p> + <p> + The effect this letter had on the lady, who is so near the end which the + fair writer so much apprehends and deplores, obliged Mrs. Lovick to make + many breaks in reading it, and many changes of voice. + </p> + <p> + This is a friend, said the divine lady, (taking the letter in her hand, + and kissing it,) worth wishing to live for.—O my dear Anna Howe! how + uninterruptedly sweet and noble has been our friendship!—But we + shall one day meet, (and this hope must comfort us both,) never to part + again! Then, divested of the shades of body, shall be all light and all + mind!— Then how unalloyed, how perfect, will be our friendship! Our + love then will have one and the same adorable object, and we shall enjoy + it and each other to all eternity! + </p> + <p> + She said, her dear friend was so earnest for a line or two, that she fain + would write, if she could: and she tried—but to no purpose. She + could dictate, however, she believed; and desired Mrs. Lovick would take + pen and paper. Which she did, and then she dictated to her. I would have + withdrawn; but at her desire staid. + </p> + <p> + She wandered a good deal at first. She took notice that she did. And when + she got into a little train, not pleasing herself, she apologized to Mrs. + Lovick for making her begin again and again; and said, that the third time + should go, let it be as it would. + </p> + <p> + She dictated the farewell part without hesitation; and when she came to + blessing and subscription, she took the pen, and dropping on her knees, + supported by Mrs. Lovick, wrote the conclusion; but Mrs. Lovick was forced + to guide her hand. + </p> + <p> + You will find the sense surprisingly entire, her weakness considered. + </p> + <p> + I made the messenger wait while I transcribed it. I have endeavoured to + imitate the subscriptive part; and in the letter made pauses where, to the + best of my remembrance, she paused. In nothing that relates to this + admirable lady can I be too minute. + </p> + <p> + WEDN. NEAR THREE O'CLOCK. MY DEAREST MISS HOWE, + </p> + <p> + You must not be surprised—nor grieved—that Mrs. Lovick writes + for me. Although I cannot obey you, and write with my pen, yet my heart + writes by her's—accept it so—it is the nearest to obedience I + can! + </p> + <p> + And now, what ought I to say? What can I say?—But why should not you + know the truth? since soon you must—very soon. + </p> + <p> + Know then, and let your tears be those, if of pity, of joyful pity! for I + permit you to shed a few, to embalm, as I may say, a fallen blossom— + know then, that the good doctor, and the pious clergyman, and the worthy + apothecary, have just now—with joint benedictions—taken their + last leave of me; and the former bids me hope—do, my dearest, let me + say hope —hope for my enlargement before to-morrow sun-set. + </p> + <p> + Adieu, therefore, my dearest friend!—Be this your consolation, as it + is mine, that in God's good time we shall meet in a blessed eternity, + never more to part!—Once more, then, adieu!—and be happy!—Which + a generous nature cannot be, unless—to its power—it makes + others so too. + </p> + <p> + God for ever bless you!—prays, dropt on my bended knees, although + supported upon them, + </p> + <p> + Your obliged, grateful, affectionate, CL. HARLOWE. + </p> + <p> + *** + </p> + <p> + When I had transcribed and sealed this letter, by her direction, I gave it + to the messenger myself, who told me that Miss Howe waited for nothing but + his return to set out for London. + </p> + <p> + Thy servant is just come; so I will close here. Thou art a merciless + master. These two fellows are battered to death by thee, to use a female + word; and all female words, though we are not sure of their derivation, + have very significant meanings. I believe, in their hearts, they wish the + angel in the Heaven that is ready to receive her, and thee at the proper + place, that there might be an end of their flurries—another word of + the same gender. + </p> + <p> + What a letter hast thou sent me!—Poor Lovelace!—is all the + answer I will return. + </p> + <p> + [FIVE O'CLOCK.] Col. Morden is this moment arrived. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0074" id="link2H_4_0074"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTER LXXI + </h2> + <p> + MR. BELFORD [IN CONTINUATION.] EIGHT IN THE EVENING. + </p> + <p> + I had but just time, in my former, to tell you that Col. Morden was + arrived. He was on horseback, attended by two servants, and alighted at + the door just as the clock struck five. Mrs. Smith was then below in her + back-shop, weeping, her husband with her, who was as much affected as she; + Mrs. Lovick having left them a little before, in tears likewise; for they + had been bemoaning one another; joining in opinion that the admirable lady + would not live the night over. She had told them, it was her opinion too, + from some numbnesses, which she called the forerunners of death, and from + an increased inclination to doze. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel, as Mrs. Smith told me afterwards, asked with great + impatience, the moment he alighted, how Miss Harlowe was? She answered— + Alive!—but, she feared, drawing on apace.—Good God! said he, + with his hands and eyes lifted up, can I see her? My name is Morden. I + have the honour to be nearly related to her.—Step up, pray, and let + her know, (she is sensible, I hope,) that I am here—Who is with her? + </p> + <p> + Nobody but her nurse, and Mrs. Lovick, a widow gentlewoman, who is as + careful of her as if she were her mother. + </p> + <p> + And more careful too, interrupted he, or she is not careful at all—— + </p> + <p> + Except a gentleman be with her, one Mr. Belford, continued Mrs. Smith, who + has been the best friend she has had. + </p> + <p> + If Mr. Belford be with her, surely I may—but pray step up, and let + Mr. Belford know that I shall take it for a favour to speak with him + first. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Smith came up to me in my new apartment. I had but just dispatched + your servant, and was asking her nurse if I might be again admitted? Who + answered, that she was dozing in the elbow chair, having refused to lie + down, saying, she should soon, she hoped, lie down for good. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel, who is really a fine gentleman, received me with great + politeness. After the first compliments—My kinswoman, Sir, said he, + is more obliged to you than to any of her own family. For my part, I have + been endeavouring to move so many rocks in her favour; and, little + thinking the dear creature so very bad, have neglected to attend her, as I + ought to have done the moment I arrived; and would, had I known how ill + she was, and what a task I should have had with the family. But, Sir, your + friend has been excessively to blame; and you being so intimately his + friend, has made her fare the worse for your civilities to her. But are + there no hopes of her recovery? + </p> + <p> + The doctors have left her, with the melancholy declaration that there are + none. + </p> + <p> + Has she had good attendance, Sir? A skilful physician? I hear these good + folks have been very civil and obliging to her. + </p> + <p> + Who could be otherwise? said Mrs. Smith, weeping.—She is the + sweetest lady in the world! + </p> + <p> + The character, said the Colonel, lifting up his eyes and one hand, that + she has from every living creature!—Good God! How could your + accursed friend— + </p> + <p> + And how could her cruel parents? interrupted I.—We may as easily + account for him, as for them. + </p> + <p> + Too true! returned me, the vileness of the profligates of our sex + considered, whenever they can get any of the other into their power. + </p> + <p> + I satisfied him about the care that had been taken of her, and told him of + the friendly and even paternal attendance she had had from Dr. H. and Mr. + Goddard. + </p> + <p> + He was impatient to attend her, having not seen her, as he said, since she + was twelve years old; and that then she gave promises of being one of the + finest women in England. + </p> + <p> + She was so, replied I, a very few months ago: and, though emaciated, she + will appear to you to have confirmed those promises; for her features are + so regular and exact, her proportions so fine, and her manner so + inimitably graceful, that, were she only skin and bone, she must be a + beauty. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Smith, at his request, stept up, and brought us down word that Mrs. + Lovick and her nurse were with her; and that she was in so sound a sleep, + leaning upon the former in her elbow-chair, that she had neither heard her + enter the room, nor go out. The Colonel begged, if not improper, that he + might see her, though sleeping. He said, that his impatience would not let + him stay till he awaked. Yet he would not have her disturbed; and should + be glad to contemplate her sweet features, when she saw not him; and + asked, if she thought he could not go in, and come out, without disturbing + her? + </p> + <p> + She believed he might, she answered; for her chair's back was towards the + door. + </p> + <p> + He said he would take care to withdraw, if she awoke, that his sudden + appearance might not surprise her. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Smith, stepping up before us, bid Mrs. Lovick and nurse not stir, + when we entered; and then we went up softly together. + </p> + <p> + We beheld the lady in a charming attitude. Dressed, as I told you before, + in her virgin white. She was sitting in her elbow-chair, Mrs. Lovick close + by her, in another chair, with her left arm round her neck, supporting it, + as it were; for, it seems, the lady had bid her do so, saying, she had + been a mother to her, and she would delight herself in thinking she was in + her mamma's arms; for she found herself drowsy; perhaps, she said, for the + last time she should be so. + </p> + <p> + One faded cheek rested upon the good woman's bosom, the kindly warmth of + which had overspread it with a faint, but charming flush; the other paler + and hollow, as if already iced over by death. Her hands white as the lily, + with her meandering veins more transparently blue than ever I had seen + even her's, (veins so soon, alas! to be choked up by the congealment of + that purple stream, which already so languidly creeps, rather than flows, + through them!) her hands hanging lifelessly, one before her, the other + grasped by the right-hand of the kind widow, whose tears bedewed the sweet + face which her motherly boson supported, though unfelt by the fair + sleeper; and either insensibly to the good woman, or what she would not + disturb her to wipe off, or to change her posture: her aspect was sweetly + calm and serene: and though she started now and then, yet her sleep seemed + easy; her breath, indeed short and quick; but tolerably free, and not like + that of a dying person. + </p> + <p> + In this heart-moving attitude she appeared to us when we approached her, + and came to have her lovely face before us. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel, sighing often, gazed upon her with his arms folded, and with + the most profound and affectionate attention; till at last, on her + starting, and fetching her breath with greater difficulty than before, he + retired to a screen, that was drawn before her house, as she calls it, + which, as I have heretofore observed, stands under one of the windows. + This screen was placed there at the time she found herself obliged to take + to her chamber; and in the depth of our concern, and the fulness of other + discourse at our first interview, I had forgotten to apprize the Colonel + of what he would probably see. + </p> + <p> + Retiring thither, he drew out his handkerchief, and, overwhelmed with + grief, seemed unable to speak; but, on casting his eye behind the screen, + he soon broke silence; for, struck with the shape of the coffin, he lifted + up a purplish-coloured cloth that was spread over it, and, starting back, + Good God! said he, what's here? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Smith standing next him, Why, said he, with great emotion, is my + cousin suffered to indulge her sad reflections with such an object before + her? + </p> + <p> + Alas! Sir, replied the good woman, who should controul her? We are all + strangers about her, in a manner: and yet we have expostulated with her + upon this sad occasion. + </p> + <p> + I ought, said I, (stepping softly up to him, the lady again falling into a + doze,) to have apprized you of this. I was here when it was brought in, + and never was so shocked in my life. But she had none of her friends about + her, and no reason to hope for any of them to come near her; and, assured + she should not recover, she was resolved to leave as little as possible, + especially as to what related to her person, to her executor. But it is + not a shocking object to her, though it be to every body else. + </p> + <p> + Curse upon the hard-heartedness of those, said he, who occasioned her to + make so sad a provision for herself!—What must her reflections have + been all the time she was thinking of it, and giving orders about it? And + what must they be every time she turns her head towards it? These uncommon + genius's—but indeed she should have been controuled in it, had I + been here. + </p> + <p> + The lady fetched a profound sigh, and, starting, it broke off our talk; + and the Colonel then withdrew farther behind the screen, that his sudden + appearance might not surprise her. + </p> + <p> + Where am I?—said she. How drowsy I am! How long have I dozed? Don't + go, Sir, (for I was retiring,) I am very stupid, and shall be more and + more so, I suppose. + </p> + <p> + She then offered to raise herself; but being ready to faint through + weakness, was forced to sit down again, reclining her head on her chair + back; and, after a few moments, I believe now, my good friends, said she, + all your kind trouble will soon be over. I have slept, but am not + refreshed, and my fingers' ends seem numbed—have no feeling! + (holding them up,)—'tis time to send the letter to my good Norton. + </p> + <p> + Shall I, Madam, send my servant post with it? + </p> + <p> + O no, Sir, I thank you. It will reach the dear woman too soon, (as she + will think,) by the post. + </p> + <p> + I told her this was not post-day. + </p> + <p> + Is it Wednesday still, said she; bless me! I know not how the time goes + —but very tediously, 'tis plain. And now I think I must soon take to + my bed. All will be most conveniently, and with least trouble, over there— + will it not, Mrs. Lovick?—I think, Sir, turning to me, I have left + nothing to these last incapacitating hours. Nothing either to say, or to + do—I bless God, I have not. If I had, how unhappy should I be! Can + you, Sir, remind me of any thing necessary to be done or said to make your + office easy? + </p> + <p> + If, Madam, your cousin Morden should come, you would be glad to see him, I + presume? + </p> + <p> + I am too weak to wish to see my cousin now. It would but discompose me, + and him too. Yet, if he come while I can see him, I will see him, were it + but to thank him for former favours, and for his present kind intentions + to me. Has any body been here from him? + </p> + <p> + He has called, and will be here, Madam, in half an hour; but he feared to + surprise you. + </p> + <p> + Nothing can surprise me now, except my mamma were to favour me with her + last blessing in person. That would be a welcome surprise to me, even yet. + But did my cousin come purposely to town to see me? + </p> + <p> + Yes, Madam, I took the liberty to let him know, by a line last Monday, how + ill you were. + </p> + <p> + You are very kind, Sir. I am, and have been greatly obliged to you. But I + think I shall be pained to see him now, because he will be concerned to + see me. And yet, as I am not so ill as I shall presently be—the + sooner he comes the better. But if he come, what shall I do about the + screen? He will chide me, very probably, and I cannot bear chiding now. + Perhaps, [leaning upon Mrs. Lovick and Mrs. Smith,] I can walk into the + next apartment to receive him. + </p> + <p> + She motioned to rise, but was ready to faint again, and forced to sit + still. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel was in a perfect agitation behind the screen to hear this + discourse; and twice, unseen by his cousin, was coming from it towards + her; but retreated for fear of surprising her too much. + </p> + <p> + I stept to him, and favoured his retreat; she only saying, Are you going, + Mr. Belford? Are you sent for down? Is my cousin come? For she heard + somebody step softly across the room, and thought it to be me; her hearing + being more perfect than her sight. + </p> + <p> + I told her, I believed he was; and she said, We must make the best of it, + Mrs. Lovick, and Mrs. Smith. I shall otherwise most grievously shock my + poor cousin: for he loved me dearly once.—Pray give me a few of the + doctor's last drops in water, to keep up my spirits for this one + interview; and that is all, I believe, that can concern me now. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel, (who heard all this,) sent in his name; and I, pretending to + go down to him, introduced the afflicted gentleman; she having first + ordered the screen to be put as close to the window as possible, that he + might not see what was behind it; while he, having heard what she had said + about it, was determined to take no notice of it. + </p> + <p> + He folded the angel in his arms as she sat, dropping down on one knee; + for, supporting herself upon the two elbows of the chair, she attempted to + rise, but could not. Excuse, my dear Cousin, said she, excuse me, that I + cannot stand up—I did not expect this favour now. But I am glad of + this opportunity to thank you for all your generous goodness to me. + </p> + <p> + I never, my best-beloved and dearest Cousin, said he, (with eyes running + over,) shall forgive myself, that I did not attend you sooner. Little did + I think you were so ill; nor do any of your friends believe it. If they + did— + </p> + <p> + If they did, repeated she, interrupting him, I should have had more + compassion from them. I am sure I should—But pray, Sir, how did you + leave them? Are you reconciled to them? If you are not, I beg, if you love + your poor Clarissa, that you will; for every widened difference augments + but my fault; since that is the foundation of all. + </p> + <p> + I had been expecting to hear from them in your favour, my dear Cousin, + said he, for some hours, when this gentleman's letter arrived, which + hastened me up; but I have the account of your grandfather's estate to + make up with you, and have bills and drafts upon their banker for the sums + due to you; which they desire you may receive, lest you should have + occasion for money. And this is such an earnest of an approaching + reconciliation, that I dare to answer for all the rest being according to + your wishes, if—— + </p> + <p> + Ah! Sir, interrupted she, with frequent breaks and pauses—I wish—I + wish this does not rather show that, were I to live, they would have + nothing more to say to me. I never had any pride in being independent of + them; all my actions, when I might have made myself more independent, show + this —But what avail these reflections now?—I only beg, Sir, + that you, and this gentleman—to whom I am exceedingly obliged—will + adjust those matters—according to the will I have written. Mr. + Belford will excuse me; but it was in truth more necessity than choice + that made me think of giving him the trouble he so kindly accepts. Had I + the happiness to see you, my Cousin, sooner—or to know that you + still honoured me with your regard—I should not have had the + assurance to ask this favour of him.— But, though the friend of Mr. + Lovelace, he is a man of honour, and he will make peace rather than break + it. And, my dear Cousin, let me beg of you while I have nearer relations + than my Cousin Morden, dear as you are, and always were to me, you have no + title to avenge my wrongs upon him who has been the occasion of them. But + I wrote to you my mind on this subject, and my reasons—and I hope I + need not further urge them. + </p> + <p> + I must do Mr. Lovelace so much justice, answered he, wiping his eyes, as + to witness how sincerely he repents him of his ungrateful baseness to you, + and how ready he is to make you all the amends in his power. He owns his + wickedness, and your merit. If he did not, I could not pass it over, + though you have nearer relations; for, my dear Cousin, did not your + grandfather leave me in trust for you? And should I think myself concerned + for your fortune, and not for your honour? But since he is so desirous to + do you justice, I have the less to say; and you may make yourself entirely + easy on that account. + </p> + <p> + I thank you, thank you, Sir, said she;—all is now as I wished.—But + I am very faint, very weak. I am sorry I cannot hold up; that I cannot + better deserve the honour of this visit—but it will not be—and + saying this, she sunk down in her chair, and was silent. + </p> + <p> + Hereupon we both withdrew, leaving word that we would be at the Bedford + Head, if any thing extraordinary happened. + </p> + <p> + We bespoke a little repast, having neither of us dined; and, while it was + getting ready, you may guess at the subject of our discourse. Both joined + in lamentation for the lady's desperate state; admired her manifold + excellencies; severely condemned you and her friends. Yet, to bring him + into better opinion of you, I read to him some passages from your last + letters, which showed your concern for the wrongs you had done her, and + your deep remorse: and he said it was a dreadful thing to labour under the + sense of a guilt so irredeemable. + </p> + <p> + We procured Mr. Goddard, (Dr. H. not being at home,) once more to visit + her, and to call upon us in his return. He was so good as to do so; but he + tarried with her not five minutes; and told us, that she was drawing on + apace; that he feared she would not live till morning; and that she wished + to see Colonel Morden directly. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel made excuses where none were needed; and though our little + refection was just brought in, he went away immediately. + </p> + <p> + I could not touch a morsel; and took pen and ink to amuse myself, and + oblige you; knowing how impatient you would be for a few lines: for, from + what I have recited, you see it was impossible I could withdraw to write + when your servant came at half an hour after five, or have an opportunity + for it till now; and this is accidental; and yet your poor fellow was + afraid to go away with the verbal message I sent; importing, as no doubt + he told you, that the Colonel was with us, the lady excessively ill, and + that I could not stir to write a line. + </p> + <p> + TEN O'CLOCK. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel sent to me afterwards, to tell me that the lady having been in + convulsions, he was so much disordered that he could not possibly attend + me. + </p> + <p> + I have sent every half hour to know how she does—and just now I have + the pleasure to hear that her convulsions have left her; and that she is + gone to rest in a much quieter way than could be expected. + </p> + <p> + Her poor cousin is very much indisposed; yet will not stir out of the + house while she is in such a way; but intends to lie down on a couch, + having refused any other accommodation. + </p> + <p> + END OF VOL. 8. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12180 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |