prevailed on him to think the loss of their children a judgment upon the parents for their wicked way of life; [a time will come, Lovelace, if we live to advanced years, in which reflection will take hold of the enfeebled mind; and then it was not difficult for his woman to induce him, by way of compounding with Heaven, to marry her. When this was done, he had leisure to sit down, and contemplate; and to recollect the many offers of persons of family and fortune which he had declined in the prime of life: his expenses equal at least: his reputation not only less, but lost his enjoyments stolen: his partnership unequal, and such as he had always been ashamed of. But the woman said, that, after twelve or thirteen years' cohabitation, Tony did an honest thing by her. And that was all my poor cousin got by making his old mistress his new wife-not a drum, not a trumpet, not a fife, not a tabret, nor the expectation of a new joy, to animate him on !

What Belton will do with his Thomasine, I know not; nor care I to advise him; for I see the poor fellow does not like that anybody should curse her but himself. This he does very heartily. And so low is he reduced, that he blubbers over the reflection upon his past fondness for her cubs, and upon his present doubts of their being his: "What a damn'd thing is it, Belford, if Tom and Hal should be the hostler dog's puppies, and not mine!"

Very true! and I think the strong health of the chubby-faced muscular whelps confirms the too great probability.

But I say not so to him.

You, he says, are such a gay, lively mortal, that this sad tale would make no impression upon you: especially now, that your whole heart is engaged as it is. Mowbray would be too violent upon it: he has not, he says, a feeling heart. Tourville has no discretion: and a pretty jest! although he and his Thomasiue lived without reputation in the world, (people guessing that they were not married, notwithstanding she went by his name,) yet "he would not too much discredit the cursed ingrate neither!"

Could a man act a weaker part, had he been really married; and were he sure he was going to separate from the mother of his own children?

I leave this as a lesson upon thy heart, without making any application: only with this remark, That after we libertines have indulged our licentious appetites, reflecting, (in the conceit of our vain hearts,) both with our lips and by our lives, upon our ancestors and the good old ways, we find out, when we come to years of discretion, if we live till then (what all who knew us found out before, that is to say, we find out) our own despicable folly; that those good old ways would have been best for us, as well as for the rest of the world; and that in every step we have deviated from them we have only

I AM pleased with the sober reflection with which thou concludest thy last; and I thank thee for it. Poor Belton!-I did not think his Thomasine would have proved so very a devil. But this must everlastingly be the risk of a keeper, who takes up with a low-bred girl. This I never did. Nor had I occasion to do it. Such a one as I, Jack, needed only, till now, to shake the stateliest tree, and the mellow fruit dropt into my mouth :-always of Montaigne's taste thou knowest :-thought it a glory to subdue a girl of family.-More truly delightful to me the seduction-progress, than the crowned act; for that's a vapour, a bubble! and most cordially do I thank thee for thy indirect hint, that I am right in my present pursuit.

From such a woman as Miss Harlowe, a man is secured from all the inconveniences thou expatiatest upon.

Once more, therefore, do I thank thee, Belford, for thy approbation !—A man need not, as thou sayest, sneak into holes and corners, and shun the day, in the company of such a woman as this. How friendly in thee, thus to abet the favourite purpose of my heart!-nor can it be a disgrace to me, to permit such a lady to be called by my name !—nor shall I be at all concerned about the world's censure, if I live to the years of discretion, which thou mentionest, should I be taken in, and prevailed upon to tread with her the good old path of my ancestors.

A blessing on thy heart, thou honest fellow! I thought thou wert in jest, and but acquitting thyself of an engagement to Lord M., when thou wert pleading for matrimony in behalf of this lady!-It could not be principle, I knew, in thee: it could not be compassion-a little envy indeed I suspected!-But now I see thee once more thyself: and once more, say I, a blessing on thy heart, thou true friend, and very honest fellow!

Now will I proceed with courage in all my schemes, and oblige thee with the continued narrative of my progressions towards bringing them to effect!-But I could not forbear to interrupt my story, to show my gratitude.

LETTER CI.

MR LOVELACE TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.

AND now will I favour thee with a brief açcount of our present situation.

From the highest to the lowest we are all extremely happy.-Dorcas stands well in her lady's graces. Polly has asked her advice in relation to a courtship-affair of her own. No oracle ever gave better. Sally has had a quarrel with her woollen-draper, and made my charmer ladychancellor in it. She blamed Sally for behaving tyrannically to a man who loves her. Dear creature! to stand against a glass, and to shut her eyes because she will not see her face in it! —Mrs Sinclair has paid her court to so unerring a judge, by requesting her advice with regard to both nieces.

This is the way we have been in for several days with the people below. Yet sola generally at her meals, and seldom at other times in their company. They now, used to her ways, perseve rance must conquer, never press her; so when they meet, all is civility on both sides. Even married people, I believe, Jack, prevent abundance of quarrels, by seeing one another but seldom.

But how stands it between thyself and the lady, methinks thou askest, since her abrupt departure from thee, and undutiful repulse of Wednesday morning?

Why, pretty well in the main. Nay, very well. For why? the dear saucy-face knows not how to help herself-can fly to no other protection—and has, besides, overheard a conversation who would have thought she had been so near? which passed between Mrs Sinclair, Miss Martin, and myself, that very Wednesday afternoon, which has set her heart at ease with respect to several doubtful points.

Such as, particularly, Mrs Fretchville's unhappy state of mind-most humanely pitied by Miss Martin, who knows her very well-the husband she has lost, and herself, (as Sally says,) lovers from their cradles. Pity from one begets pity from another, be the occasion for it either strong or weak; and so many circumstances were given to poor Mrs Fretchville's distress, that it was impossible but my beloved must extremely pity her whom the less tenderhearted Miss Martin greatly pitied.

My Lord M.'s gout his only hinderance from visiting my spouse. Lady Betty and Miss Montague soon expected in town.

My earnest desire signified to have my spouse receive those ladies in her own house, if Mrs Fretchville would but know her own mind; and I pathetically lamented the delay occasioned by her not knowing it.

My intention to stay at Mrs Sinclair's, as I said I had told them before, while my spouse resides in her own house, (when Mrs Fretchville could be brought to quit it,) in order to gratify her utmost punctilio.

My passion for my beloved (which, as I told them in a high and fervent accent, was the truest that man could have for woman) I boasted of. It was, in short, I said, of the true pla

tonic kind; or I had no notion of what platonic love was.

So it is, Jack; and must end as platonic love generally does end.

Sally and Mrs Sinclair next praised, but not grossly, my beloved. Sally particularly admired purity; called it exemplary; yet (to avoid suspicion) expressed her thoughts that she was rather over-nice, if she might presume to say so before me. But nevertheless she applauded me for the strict observation I made of my vow.

I more freely blamed her reserves to me; called her cruel; inveighed against her relations; doubted her love. Every favour I asked of her denied me. Yet my behaviour to her as pure and delicate when alone, as when before them. Hinted at something that had passed between us that very day, that shewed her indifference to me in so strong a light, that I could not bear it. But that I would ask her for her company to the play of Venice Preserved, given out for Saturday night as a benefit-play; the prime actors to be in it; and this, to see if I were to be denied every favour. Yet, for my own part, I loved not tragedies; though she did, for the sake of the instruction, the warning, and the example generally given in them.

I had too much feeling, I said. There was enough in the world to make our hearts sad, without carrying grief into our diversions, and making the distresses of others our own.

True enough, Belford; and I believe, generally speaking, that all the men of our cast are of my mind-They love not any tragedies but those in which they themselves act the parts of tyrants and executioners; and, afraid to trust themselves with serious and solemn reflections, run to comedies, in order to laugh away compunction on the distresses they have occasioned, and to find examples of men as immoral as themselves. For very few of our comic performances, as thou knowest, give us good ones. I answer, however, for myself-yet thou, I think, on recollection, lovest to deal in the lamentable.

Sally answered for Polly, who was absent; Mrs Sinclair for herself, and for all her acquaintance, even for Miss Partington, in preferring the comic to the tragic scenes.-And I believe they are right; for the devil's in it if a confided-in rake does not give a girl enough of tragedy in his comedy.

I asked Sally to oblige my fair-one with her company. She was engaged, [that was right, thou'lt suppose. I asked Mrs Sinclair's leave for Polly. To be sure, she answered, Polly would think it an honour to attend Mrs Lovelace; but the poor thing was tender-hearted; and, as the tragedy was deep, would weep herself blind.

Sally, meantime, objected Singleton, that I might answer the objection, and save my beloved the trouble of making it, or debating the

point with me; and on this occasion I regretted that her brother's projects were not laid aside; since, if they had been given up, I would have gone in person to bring up the ladies of my family to attend my spouse.

I then, from a letter just before received from one in her father's family, warned them of a person who had undertaken to find us out, and whom I thus in writing [having called for pen and ink described, that they might arm all the family against him." A sun-burnt, pockfretten sailor, ill-looking, big-boned; his stature about six feet; a heavy eye, an overhanging-brow, a deck-treading stride in his walk; a couteau generally by his side; lips parched from his gums, as if by staring at the sun in hot climates; a brown coat; a coloured handkerchief about his neck; an oaken plant in his hand near as long as himself, and proportionably thick."

No questions asked by this fellow must be answered. They should call me to him. But not let my beloved know a tittle of this, so long as it could be helped. And I added, that if her brother or Singleton came, and if they behaved civilly, I would, for her sake, be civil to them; and in this case, she had nothing to do but to own her marriage, and there could be no pretence for violence on either side. But most fervently I swore, that if she were conveyed away, either by persuasion or force, I would directly, on missing her but one day, go to demand her at Harlowe-Place, whether she were there or not; and if I recovered not a sister, I would have a brother; and should find out a captain of a ship as well as he.

And now, Jack, dost thou think she'll attempt to get from me, do what I will?

Mrs Sinclair began to be afraid of mischief in her house-I was apprehensive that she would over-do the matter, and be out of character. I therefore winked at her. She primmed; nodded, to shew she took me ; twanged out a highho through her nose, lapped one horse-lip over the other, and was silent.

Here's preparation, Belford !-Dost think I will throw it all away for anything thou canst say, or Lord M. write?-No indeed as my charmer says, when she bridles.

AND what must necessarily be the consequence of all this with regard to my beloved's behaviour to me? Canst thou doubt, that it was all complaisance next time she admitted me into her presence?

Thursday we were very happy. All the morning extremely happy. I kissed her charming hand-I need not describe to thee her hand and arm. When thou sawest her, I took notice that thy eyes dwelt upon them whenever

thou couldst spare them from that beauty spot of wonders, her face-fifty times kissed her hand, I believe-once her cheek, intending her lip, but so rapturously, that she could not help seeming angry.

Had she not thus kept me at arm's length; had she not denied me those innocent liberties which our sex, from step to step, aspire to; could I but have gained access to her in her hours of heedlessness and dishabille, [for full dress creates dignity, augments consciousness, and compels distance; we had familiarized to each other long ago. But, keep her up ever so late, meet her ever so early, by breakfast-time she is dressed for the day; and at her earliest hour, as nice as others dressed. All her forms thus kept up, wonder not that I have made so little progress in the proposed trial.-But how must all this distance stimulate!

Thursday morning, as I said, we were extremely happy-about noon, she numbered the hours she had been with me; all of them to me but as one minute; and desired to be left to herself. I was loath to comply; but observing the sun-shine begin to shut in, I yielded.

I dined out. Returning, I talked of the house, and of Mrs Fretchville-had seen Mennell-had pressed him to get the widow to quit: she pitied Mrs Fretchville Canother good effect of the overheard conversation]-had written to Lord M.; expected an answer soon from him. I was admitted to sup with her. I urged for her approbation or correction of my written terms. She again promised an answer as soon as she had heard from Miss Howe.

Then I pressed for her company to the play on Saturday night. She made objections, as I had foreseen: her brother's projects, warmth of the weather, &c. But in such a manner, as if half afraid to disoblige me [another happy effect of the overheard conversation. I soon got over these, therefore; and she consented to favour me.

Friday passed as the day before.

Here were two happy days to both. Why cannot I make every day equally happy? It looks as if it were in my power to do so. Strange, I should thus delight in teazing a woman I so dearly love! I must, I doubt, have something in my temper like Miss Howe, who loves to plague the man who puts himself in her power.

-But I could not do thus by such an angel as this, did I not believe, that, after her probation time shall be expired, and if she be not to be brought to cohabitation, (my darling view,) I shall reward her as she wishes.

Saturday is half over. We are equally happy-preparing for the play. Polly has offered her company, and is accepted. I have directed her where to weep: and this not only to shew her humanity, a weeping eye indicates a gentle heart, but to have a pretence to hide her face

with a fan and handkerchief.-Yet Polly is far from being every man's girl; and we shall sit in the gallery green-box.

The woes of others, so well represented as those of Belvidera particularly will be, must, I hope, unlock and open my charmer's heart. Whenever I have been able to prevail upon a girl to permit me to attend her to a play, I have thought myself sure of her. The female heart (all gentleness and harmony by nature) expands, and forgets its forms, when its attention is carried out of itself at an agreeable or affecting entertainment-music, and perhaps a collation afterwards, co-operating.

Indeed, I have no hope of such an effect here; but I have more than one end to answer by getting her to a play. To name but one-Dorcas has a master-key, as I have told thee.-But it were worth while to carry her to the play of Venice Preserved, were it but to shew her, that there have been, and may be, much deeper distress than she can possibly know.

Thus exceedingly happy are we at present. I hope we shall not find any of Nat. Lee's lefthanded gods at work, to dash our bowl of joy with wormwood.

R. LOVELACE.

LETTER CII.

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO MISS HOWE.

Friday, May 19.

I WOULD not, if I could help it, be so continually brooding over the dark and gloomy face of my condition [all nature, you know, my dear, and everything in it, has a bright and a gloomy side] as to be thought unable to enjoy a more hopeful prospect. And this, not only for my own sake, but for yours, who take such generous concern in all that befals me.

Let me tell you then, my dear, that I have known four-and-twenty hours together not unhappy ones, my situation considered.

[She then gives the particulars of the conversation which she had overheard between Mr Lovelace, Mrs Sinclair, and Miss Martin; but accounts more minutely than he had done for the opportunity she had of overhearing it, unknown to them.

She gives the reasons she has to be pleased with what she heard from each; but is shocked at the measure he is resolved to take, if he misses her but for one day. Yet is pleased that he proposes to avoid aggressive violence, if her brother and he meet in town.]

Even Dorcas, says she, appears less exceptionable to me than before; and I cannot but pity her for her neglected education, as it is matter of so much regret to herself: else, there would

not be much in it; as the low and illiterate are the most useful people in the common-wealth, (since such constitute the labouring part of the public ;) and as a lettered education but too generally sets people above those servile offices by which the business of the world is carried on. Nor have I any doubt but there are, take the world through, twenty happy people among the unlettered, to one among those who have had a school-education.

This, however, concludes not against learning or letters; since one would wish to lift to some little distinction, and more genteel usefulness, those who have capacity, and whose parentage one respects, or whose services one would wish to reward.

Were my mind quite at ease, I could enlarge, perhaps not unusefully, upon this subject; for I have considered it with as much attention as my years, and little experience and observation, will permit.

But the extreme illiterateness and indocility of this maid are surprising, considering that she wants not inquisitiveness, appears willing to learn, and, in other respects, has quick parts. This confirms to me what I have heard remarked, That there is a docible season, a learningtime, as I may say, for every person, in which the mind may be led, step by step, from the lower to the higher, (year by year,) to improvement. How industriously ought these seasons, as they offer, to be taken hold of by tutors, parents, and other friends, to whom the cultivation of the genius of children and youth is committed; since, one elapsed, and no foundation laid, they hardly ever return!-And yet it must be confessed, that there are some geniuses, which, like some fruits, ripen not till late. And industry and perseverance will do prodigious things-but for a learner to have those first rudiments to master at twenty years of age, suppose, which others are taught, and they themselves might have attained, at ten, what an up-hill labour!

These kind of observations you have always wished me to intersperse, as they arise to my thoughts. But it is a sign that my prospects are a little mended, or I should not, among so many more interesting ones that my mind has been of late filled with, have had heart's ease enough to make them.

Let me give you my reflections on my more hopeful prospects.

I am now, in the first place, better able to account for the delays about the house than I was before-Poor Mrs Fretchville!-Though I know her not, I pity her!-Next, it looks well, that he had apprized the women (before this conversation with them) of his intention to stay in this house, after I was removed to the other. By the tone of his voice he seemed concerned for the appearance this new delay would have with

me.

So handsomely did Miss Martin express her

self of me, that I am sorry, methinks, that I judged so hardly of her, when I first came hither-free people may go a great way, but not all the way; and as such are generally unguarded, precipitate, and thoughtless, the same quickness, changeableness, and suddenness of spirit, as I may call it, may intervene (if the heart be not corrupted) to recover them to thought and duty,

His reason for declining to go in person to bring up the ladies of his family, while my brother and Singleton continue their machinations, carries no bad face with it; and one may the rather allow for their expectations, that so proud a spirit as his should attend them for this purpose, as he speaks of them sometimes as persons of punctilio.

Other reasons I will mention for my being easier in my mind than I was before I overheard this conversation.

Such as, the advice he has received in relation to Singleton's mate; which agrees but too well with what you, my dear, wrote to me in yours of May the 10th.*

His not intending to acquaint me with it. His cautions to the servants about the sailor, if he should come and make inquiries about us. His resolution to avoid violence, were he to fall in either with my brother or this Singleton; and the easy method he has chalked out, in this case, to prevent mischief; since I need only not to deny my being his. But yet I should be exceedingly unhappy in my own opinion to be driven into such a tacit acknowledgment to any new persons, till I am so, although I have been led (so much against my liking) to give countenance to the belief of the persons below that we are married.

I think myself obliged, from what passed between Mr Lovelace and me on Wednesday, and from what I overheard him say, to consent to go with him to the play; and the rather, as he had the discretion to propose one of the nieces to accompany me.

I cannot but acknowledge that I am pleased to find that he has actually written to Lord M. I have promised to give Mr Lovelace an answer to his proposals as soon as I have heard from you, my dear, on the subject.

I hope that in my next letter I shall have reason to confirm these favourable appearances. Favourable I must think them in the wreck I have suffered.

I hope, that in the trial which you hint may happen between me and myself, (as yout express it,) if he should so behave as to oblige me to leave him, I shall be able to act in such a manner as to bring no discredit upon myself in your eye; and that is all now that I have to wish for. But, if I value him so much as you are pleased

* See Letter LXXXIV. of this Volume.

to suppose I do, the trial, which you imagine will be so difficult to me, will not, I conceive, be upon getting from him, when the means to effect my escape are lent me ; but how I shall behave when got from him; and if, like the Israelites of old, I shall be so weak as to wish to return to my Egyptian bondage.

I think it will not be amiss, notwithstanding the present favourable appearances, that you should perfect the scheme (whatever it be) which you tell me you have thought of, in order to procure for me an asylum, in case of necessity. Mr Lovelace is certainly a deep and dangerous man; and it is therefore but prudence to be watchful, and to be provided against the worst. Lord bless me, my dear, how am I reduced! Could I ever have thought to be in such a situation, as to be obliged to stay with a man, of whose honour by me I could have but the shadow of a doubt!-But I will look forward, and hope the best.

I am certain that your letters are safe. Be perfectly easy, therefore, on that head.

Mr Lovelace will never be out of my company by his good will, otherwise I have no doubt that I am mistress of my goings-out and comings-in; and did I think it needful, and were I not afraid of my brother, and Captain Singleton, I would oftener put it to trial.

I never had any doubt of the man's justice and generosity in matters of settlement; and all his relations are as noble in their spirit as in their descent; but now, it may not be amiss for you to wait, to see what returns my lord makes to his letter of invitation.

The scheme I think of is this:

There is a person, whom I believe you have seen with me, her name Townsend, who is a great dealer in Indian silks, Brussels and French laces, cambrics, linen, and other valuable goods; which she has a way of coming at duty-free; and has a great vend for them (and for other curiosities which she imports) in the private families of the gentry round us.

She has her days of being in town, and then is at a chamber she rents at an inn in Southwark, where she keeps patterns of all her silks,