he remembers what he was driving at-but enough, and too much, of Mr Tourville. the others gave up to him, when his lips began to open. The haughty Mowbray would call upon the prating Tourville for silence, and would elbow the supercilious Belton into attention, when Lovelace was going to speak. And when he had spoken, the words, Charming fellow ! with a free word of admiration or envy, fell from a every mouth. Mr Belford is the fourth gentleman, and one of whom Mr Lovelace seems more fond than any of the rest; for he is a man of tried bravery, it seems; and this pair of friends came acquaint ed upon occasion of a quarrel, (possibly about a woman,) which brought on a challenge, and meeting at Kensington Gravel-pits; which ended without unhappy consequences, by the mediation of three gentlemen strangers, just as each had made a pass at the other. Mr Belford, it seems, is about seven or eight and twenty. He is the youngest of the five, except Mr Lovelace, and they are perhaps the wickedest; for they seem to lead the other three as they please. Mr Belford, as the others, dresses gaily; but has not those advantages of person, nor from his dress, which Mr Lovelace is too proud of. He has, however, the appearance and air of a gentleman. He is well read in classical authors, and in the best English poets and writers; and, by his means, the conversation took now and then a more agreeable turn. And I, who endeavoured to put the best face I could upon my situation, as I passed for Mrs Lovelace with them, made shift to join in it, at such times, and received abundance of compliments from all the company, on the observations I made.* Mr Belford seems good-natured and obliging; and, although very complaisant, not so fulsomely so as Mr Tourville; and has a polite and easy manner of expressing his sentiments on all occasions. He seems to delight in a logical way of argumentation, as also does Mr Belton. These two attacked each other in this way; and both looked at us women, as if to observe whether we did not admire their learning, or, when they had said a smart thing, their wit. But Mr Belford had visibly the advantage of the other, having quicker parts, and, by taking the worst side of the argument, seemed to think he had. Upon the whole of his behaviour and conversation, he put me in mind of that character in Milton: His tongue Dropt manna, and could make the worse appear The better reason, to perplex and dash Maturest counsels; for his thoughts were low; To vice industrious: but to nobler deeds Tim'rous and slothful: yet he pleas'd the ear. How little soever matters in general may be to our liking, we are apt, when hope is strong enough to permit it, to endeavour to make the best we can of the lot we have drawn; and I could not but observe often, how much Mr Lovelace excelled all his four friends in every thing they seemed desirous to excel in. But as to wit and vivacity, he had no equal there. All He has indeed so many advantages in his person and manner, that what would be inexcusable in another, would, if one watched not over one's self, and did not endeavour to distinguish what is the essence of right and wrong, look becoming in him. Mr Belford, to my no small vexation and confusion, with the forwardness of a favoured and intrusted friend, singled me out, on Mr Lovelace's being sent for down, to make me congratulatory compliments on my supposed nuptials; which he did with a caution, not to insist too long on the rigorous vow I had imposed upon a man so universally admired— "See him among twenty men," said he, "all of distinction, and nobody is regarded but Mr · Lovelace." It must, indeed, be confessed, that there is, in his whole deportment, a natural dignity, which renders all insolent or imperative demeanour as unnecessary as inexcusable. Then that deceiving sweetness which appears in his smiles, in his accent, in his whole aspect and address, when he thinks it worth his while to oblige, or endeavour to attract, how does this shew that he was born innocent, as I may say; that he was not naturally the cruel, the boisterous, the impetuous creature, which the wicked company he may have fallen into have made him! For he has, besides, an open, and, I think; an honest countenance. Don't you think so, my dear? On all these specious appearances, have I founded my hopes of seeing him a reformed man. But it is amazing to me, I own, that with so much of the gentleman, such a general knowledge of books and men, such a skill in the learned as well as modern languages, he can take so much delight as he does in the company of such persons as I have described, and in subjects of frothy impertinence, unworthy of his talents, and his natural and acquired advantages. I can think but of one reason for it, and that must argue a very low mind,-his VANITY; which makes him desirous of being considered as the head of the people he consorts with.-A man to love praise, yet to be content to draw it from such contaminated springs! One compliment passed from Mr Belford to Mr Lovelace, which hastened my quitting the shocking company-" You are a happy man, Mr Lovelace," said he, upon some fine speeches VOL. VI. See Letter CXXIX. made him by Mrs Sinclair, and assented to by Miss Partington:-" You have so much courage, and so much wit, that neither man nor woman can stand before you." Mr Belford looked at me when he spoke yes, my dear, he smilingly looked at me; and he looked upon his complimented friend; and all their assenting, and therefore affronting eyes, both men's and women's, were turned upon your Clarissa; at least, my self-reproaching heart made me think so ; for that would hardly permit my eye to look up. Oh! my dear, were but a woman, who gives reason to the world to think her to be in love with a man, [And this must be believed to be my case; or to what can my supposed voluntary going off with Mr Lovelace be imputed ? to reflect one moment on the exaltation she gives him, and the disgrace she brings upon herself, the low pity, the silent contempt, the insolent sneers and whispers, to which she makes herself obnoxious from a censuring world of both sexes, -how would she despise herself! and how much more eligible would she think death itself than such a discovered debasement! What I have thus in general touched upon, will account to you why I could not more particularly relate what passed in this evening's conversation: which, as may be gathered from what I have written, abounded with approbatory accusations, and supposed witty retorts. LETTER LXIX. MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO MISS HOWE. Monday Midnight. I AM very much vexed and disturbed at an odd incident. Mrs Sinclair has just now left me, I believe in displeasure, on my declining to comply with a request she made me: which was, to admit Miss Partington to a share in my bed, her house being crowded by her nieces' guests and by their attendants, as well as by those of Miss Partington. There might be nothing in it; and my denial carried a stiff and ill-natured appearance. But instantly, upon her making the request, it came into my thought, that I was in a manner a stranger to every body in the house: not so much as a servant I could call my own, or of whom I had any great opinion: that there were four men of free manners in the house, avowed supporters of Mr Lovelace in matters of offence; himself a man of enterprize; all, as far as I knew, (and as I had reason to think by their noisy mirth after I left them,) drinking deeply: that Miss Partington herself is not so bashful a person as she was represented to me to be: that officious pains were taken to give me a good opinion of her: and that Mrs Sinclair made a greater pa rade in prefacing the request, than such a request needed. To deny, thought I, can carry only an appearance of singularity to people, who already think me singular. To consent may possibly, if not probably, be attended with inconveniencies. The consequences of the alternative so very disproportionate, I thought it more prudent to incur the censure, than to risk the inconvenience. I told her that I was writing a long letter: that I should choose to write till I were sleepy, and that a companion would be a restraint upon me, and I upon her. She was loath, she said, that so delicate a young creature, and so great a fortune as Miss Partington, should be put to lie with Dorcas in a press-bed. She should be very sorry, if she had asked an improper thing. She had never been so put to it before. And Miss would stay up with her till I had done writing. Alarmed at this urgency, and it being easier to persist in a denial given, than to give it at first, I said, Miss Partington should be welcome to my whole bed, and I would retire into the dining-room, and there, locking myself in, write all the night. The poor thing, she said, was afraid to lie alone. To be sure Miss Partington would not put me to such an inconvenience. She then withdrew,-but returned-begged my pardon for returning, but the poor child, she said, was in tears.-Miss Partington had never seen a young lady she so much admired, and so much wished to imitate, as me. The dear girl hoped that nothing had passed in her behaviour to give me dislike to her. Should she bring her to me? I was very busy, I said: the letter I was writing was upon a very important subject. I hoped to see the young lady in the morning, when I would apologize to her for my particularity. And then Mrs Sinclair hesitating, and moving towards the door, (though she turned round to me again,) I desired her, (lighting her,) to take care how she went down. Pray, madam, said she, on the stairs-head, don't give yourself all this trouble. God knows my heart, I meant no affront: but, since you seem to take my freedom amiss, I beg you will not acquaint Mr Lovelace with it; for he perhaps will think me bold and impertinent. Now, my dear, is not this a particular incident, either as I have made it, or as it was designed? I don't love to do an uncivil thing. And if nothing were meant by the request, my refusal deserves to be called uncivil. Then I have shewn a suspicion of foul usage by it, which surely dare not be meant. If just, I ought to apprehend every thing, and fly the house and the man as I would do an infection. If not just, and if I cannot contrive to clear myself of having entertained suspicions, by assigning some other plausible reason for my denial, the very staying here will have an appearance not at all reputable to myself. I am now out of humour with him,-with myself, with all the world, but you. His companions are shocking creatures. Why, again I repeat, should he have been desirous to bring me into such company? Once more I like him not. -Indeed I do not like him! LETTER LXX. MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO MISS HOWE. Tuesday, May 2. WITH infinite regret I am obliged to tell you, that I can no longer write to you, or receive letters from you. Your mother has sent me a letter enclosed in a cover to Mr Lovelace, directed for him at Lord M.'s, (and which was brought him just now,) reproaching me on this subject in very angry terms, and forbidding me," as I would not be thought to intend to make her and you unhappy, to write to you without her leave." This, therefore, is the last you must receive from me, till happier days. And as my prospects are not very bad, I presume we will soon have leave to write again; and even to see each other: since an alliance with a family so honourable as Mr Lovelace's is, will not be a disgrace. She is pleased to write, "That if I would wish to inflame you, I should let you know her written prohibition: but if otherwise, find some way of my own accord (without bringing her into the question) to decline a correspondence, which I must know she has for some time past forbidden." But all I can say is, to beg of you not to be inflamed: to beg of you not to let her know, or even by your behaviour to her, on this occasion, guess, that I have acquainted you with my reason for declining to write to you. For how else, after the scruples I have heretofore made on this very subject, yet proceeding to correspond, can I honestly satisfy you about my motives for this sudden stop? So, my dear, I choose, you see, rather to rely upon your discretion, than to feign reasons with which you would not be satisfied, but with your usual active penetration, sift to the bottom, and at last find me to be a mean and low qualifier; and that with an implication injurious to you, that I supposed you had not prudence enough to be trusted with the naked truth. I repeat, that my prospects are not bad. The house, I presume, will soon be taken. The people here are very respectful, notwithstanding my nicety about Miss Partington. Miss Martin, who is near marriage with an eminent tradesman in the Strand, just now, in a very respectful manner, asked my opinion of some patterns of rich silks for the occasion. The widow has a less forbidding appearance than at first. Mr Lovelace, on my declared dislike of his four friends, has assured me that neither they nor anybody else shall be introduced to me without my leave. These circumstances I mention (as you will suppose) that your kind heart may be at ease about me; that you may be induced by them to acquiesce with your mother's commands, (cheerfully acquiesce,) and that for my sake, lest I should be thought an inflamer; who am, with very contrary intentions, my dearest and best beloved friend, Your ever obliged and affectionate LETTER LXXI. MISS HOWE TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE. Wednesday, May 3. I AM astonished that my mother should take such a step, purely to exercise an unreasonable act of authority; and to oblige the most remorseless hearts in the world. If I find that I can be of use to you, either by advice or information, do you think I will not give it? Were it to any other person, much less dear to me than you are, do you think, in such a case, I would forbear giving it? Mr Hickman, who pretends to a little casuistry in such nice matters, is of opinion that I ought not to decline a correspondence thus circumstanced. And it is well he is; for my mother having set me up, I must have somebody to quarrel with. This I will come into if it will make you easy I will forbear to write to you for a few days, if nothing extraordinary happen, and till the rigour of her prohibition is abated. But be assured that I will not dispense with your writing to me. My heart, my conscience, my honour, will not permit it. But how will I help myself? How! easily enough. For I do assure you that I want but very little farther provocation to fly privately to London. And if I do, I will not leave you till I see you either honourably married, or absolutely quit of the wretch: and, in this last case, I will take you down with me, in defiance of the whole world: or, if you refuse to go with me, stay with you, and accompany you as your shadow, whithersoever you go. Don't be frighted at this declaration. There is but one consideration, and but one hope, that withholds me, watched as I am in all my retirements; obliged to read to her without a voice; to work in her presence without fingers; and to lie with her every night against my will. The consideration is, lest you should apprehend that a step of this nature would look like a doubling of your fault, in the eyes of such as think your going away a fault. The hope is, that things will still end happily, and that some people will have reason to take shame to themselves for the sorry part they have acted. Nevertheless I am often balancing-but your resolving to give up the correspondence at this crisis will turn the scale. Write, therefore, or take the consequence. A few words upon the subject of your last letters. I know not whether your brother's wise project be given up or not. A dead silence reigns in your family. Your brother was absent three days; then at home one; and is now absent; but whether with Singleton, or not, I cannot find out. By your account of your wretch's companions, I see not but they are a set of infernals, and he the Beelzebub. What could he mean, as you say, by his earnestness to bring you into such company, and to give you such an opportunity to make him and them reflecting-glasses to one another? The man's a fool, to be sure, my dear-a silly fellow, at least-the wretches must put on their best before you, no doubt Lords of the creation!-noble fellows these!Yet who knows how many poor despicable souls of our sex the worst of them has had to whine after him! You have brought an inconvenience upon yourself, as you observe, by your refusal of Miss Partington for your bedfellow. Pity you had not admitted her! watchful as you are, what could have happened? If violence were intended, he would not stay for the night. You might have sat up after her, or not gone to bed. Mrs Sinclair pressed it too far. You was over-scrupulous. If anything happen to delay your nuptials, I would advise you to remove: but, if you marry, perhaps you may think it no great matter to stay where you are till you take possession of your own estate. The knot once tied, and with so resolute a man, it is my opinion your relations will soon resign what they cannot legally hold: and, were even a litigation to follow, you will not be able, nor ought you to be willing, to help it; for your estate will then be his right, and it will be unjust to wish it to be withheld from him. One thing I would advise you to think of; and that is, of proper settlements: it will be to the credit of your prudence and of his justice (and the more as matters stand) that something of this should be done before you marry. Bad as he is, nobody accounts him a sordid man. And I wonder he has been hitherto silent on that subject. I am not displeased with his proposal about the widow lady's house. I think it will do very well. But if it must be three weeks before you can be certain about it, surely you need not put off his day for that space: and he may bespeak his equipages. Surprising to me, as well as to you, that he could be so acquiescent! I repeat-continue to write to me. I insist upon it; and that as minutely as possible; or, take the consequence. I send this by a particular hand. I am, and ever will be, Your most affectionate ANNA HOWE. LETTER LXXII. MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO MISS HOWE. Thursday, May 4. I FOREGO every other engagement, I suspend every wish, I banish every other fear, to take up my pen, to beg of you that you will not think of being guilty of such an act of love as I can never thank you for; but must for ever regret. If I must continue to write to you, I must. I know full well your impatience of control, when you have the least imagination that your generosity or friendship is likely to be wounded by it. My dearest, dearest creature, would you incur a maternal, as I have a paternal, malediction? Would not the world think there was an infection in my fault, if it were to be followed by Miss Howe? There are some points so flagrantly wrong that they will not bear to be argued upon. This is one of them. I need not give reasons against such a rashness. Heaven forbid that it should be known that you had it but once in your thought, be your motives ever so noble and generous, to follow so bad an example, the rather as that you would, in such a case, want the extenuations that might be pleaded in my favour; and particularly that one of being surprised into the unhappy step! The restraint your mother lays you under would not have appeared heavy to you but on my account. Would you have once thought it a hardship to be admitted to a part of her bed? How did I use to be delighted with such a favour from my mother! How did I love to work in her presence! So did you in the presence of your's once. And to read to her in winter evenings I know was one of your joys. Do not give me cause to reproach myself on the reason that may be assigned for the change in you. Learn, my dear, I beseech you, learn to subdue your own passions. Be the motives what they will, excess is excess. Those passions in our sex, which we take no pains to subdue, may have one and the same source with those infinitely blacker passions, which we used so often to condemn in the violent and headstrong of the other sex; and which may be only heightened in them by custom, and their freer education. Let us both, my dear, ponder well this thought: look into ourselves, and fear. If I write, as I find I must, I insist upon your forbearing to write. Your silence to this I HAVE the honour of dear Miss Howe's commands to acquaint you, without knowing the occasion, "That she is excessively concerned for the concern she has given you in her last letter: and that, if you will but write to her, under cover as before, she will have no thoughts of what you are so very apprehensive about."Yet she bid me write, "That if she has but the least imagination that she can serve you, and save you, (those are her words,) all the censures of the world will be but of second consideration with her." I have great temptations, on this occasion, to express my own resentments upon your present state; but not being fully apprized of what that is only conjecturing from the disturbance upon the mind of the dearest lady in the world to me, and the most sincere of friends to you, that that is not altogether so happy as were to be wished; and being, moreover, forbid to enter into the cruel subject; I can only offer, as I do, my best and faithfullest services! and wish you a happy deliverance from all your troubles. For I am, Most excellent young lady, LETTER LXXIV. MR LOVELACE TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. Tuesday, May 2. MERCURY, as the fabulist tells us, having the curiosity to know the estimation he stood in among mortals, descended in disguise, and in a statuary's shop cheapened a Jupiter, then a Juno, then one, then another, of the dii majores; and, at last, asked, What price that same statue of Mercury bore? O sir, says the artist, buy one of the others, and I'll throw you in that for nothing. How sheepish must the god of thieves look upon this rebuff to his vanity! So thou! a thousand pounds wouldst thou give for the good opinion of this single lady-to be only thought tolerably of, and not quite unworthy of her conversation, would make thee happy. And at parting last night, or rather this morning, thou madest me promise a few lines to Edgware, to let thee know what she thinks of thee, and of thy brethren. Thy thousand pounds, Jack, is all thy own: for most heartily does she dislike ye all-thee as much as any of the rest. I am sorry for it too, as to thy part; for two reasons-one, that I think thy motive for thy curiosity was fear or consciousness: whereas that of the arch-thief was vanity, intolerable vanity: and he was, therefore, justly sent away with a blush upon his cheeks to heaven, and could not brag-the other, that I am afraid, if she dislikes thee, she dislikes me : for are we not birds of a feather? I must never talk of reformation, she told me, having such companions, and taking such delight, as I seemed to take, in their frothy con versation. I, no more than you, Jack, imagined she could possibly like ye: but then, as my friends, I thought a person of her education would have been more sparing of her censures. I don't know how it is, Belford: but women think themselves entitled to take any freedoms with us; while we are unpolite, forsooth, and I can't tell what, if we don't tell a pack of cursed lies, and make black white, in their favour— teaching us to be hypocrites, yet stigmatizing us at other times for deceivers. I defended ye all as well as I could; but you know there was no attempting aught but a palliative defence, to one of her principles. I will summarily give thee a few of my pleas. "To the pure, every little deviation seemed offensive yet I saw not, that there was any thing amiss the whole evening, either in the words or behaviour of any of my friends Some people could talk but upon one or two subjects: |