This is true of the Harlowes, Jack; they have been called The proud Harlowes; and I have ever found, that all young honour is supercilious and touchy.

But seest thou not how right I was in my endeavour to persuade my fair-one to allow her uncle's friend to think us married; especially as he came prepared to believe it; and as her uncle hoped it was so?-But nothing on earth is so perverse as a woman, when she is set upon carrying a point, and has a meek man, or one who loves his peace, to deal with.

My beloved was vexed. She pulled out her handkerchief; but was more inclined to blame me than herself.

Had you kept your word, Mr Lovelace, and left me when we came to town-And there she stopt; for she knew, that it was her own fault that we were not married before we left the country; and how could I leave her afterwards, while her brother was plotting to carry her off by violence?

Nor has this brother yet given over his machinations.

For, as the captain proceeds, Mr John Harlowe owned to him (but in confidence) that his nephew is at this time busied in endeavouring to find out where we are; being assured (as I am not to be heard of at any of my relations', or at my usual lodgings) that we are together. And that we are not married is plain, as he will have it, from Mr Hickman's application so lately made to her uncle; and which was seconded by Mrs Norton to her mother. And her brother cannot bear that I should enjoy such a triumph unmolested.

A profound sigh, and the handkerchief again lifted to the eye. But did not the sweet soul deserve this turn upon her, for feloniously resolving to rob me of herself, had the application made by Hickman succeeded?

I read on to the following effect:Why, (asked Mr Harlowe,) was it said to his other inquiring friend, that we were married; and that by his niece's woman, who ought to know? who could give convincing reasons, no doubt

Here again she wept; took a turn cross the room; then returned-Read on, says she

Will you, my dearest life, read it yourself? I will take the letter with me, by and by-I cannot see to read it just now, wiping her eyes -read on-let me hear it all-that I may know your sentiments upon this letter, as well as give

my own.

The captain then told uncle John the reasons that induced me to give out that we were married; and the conditions on which my beloved was brought to countenance it; which had kept us at the most punctilious distance.

But still Mr Harlowe objected my character. And went away dissatisfied. And the captain was also so much concerned, that he cared not

to write what the result of his first conference

was.

But in the next, which was held on receipt of the draughts, at the captain's house, (as the former was, for the greater secrecy,) when the old gentleman had read them, and had the captain's opinion, he was much better pleased. And yet he declared, that it would not be easy to persuade any other person of his family to believe so favourably of the matter, as he was now willing to believe, were they to know that we had lived so long together unmarried.

And then the captain says, his dear friend made a proposal :-It was this-That we should marry out of hand, but as privately as possible, as indeed he found we intended, (for he could have no objection to the draughts)—but yet, he expected to have present one trusty friend of his own, for his better satisfaction

Here I stopt, with a design to be angry-but she desiring me to read on, I obeyed.

-But that it should pass to every one living, except to that trusty person, to himself, and to the captain, that we were married from the time that we had lived together in one house; and that this time should be made to agree with that of Mr Hickman's application to him from Miss Howe.

This, my dearest life, said I, is a very considerate proposal. We have nothing to do, but to caution the people below properly on this head. I did not think your uncle Harlowe capable of hitting upon such a charming expedient as this. But you see how much his heart is in the reconciliation.

This was the return I met with-You have always, as a mark of your politeness, let me know how meanly you think of every one of my family.

Yet thou wilt think, Belford, that I could forgive her for the reproach.

The captain does not know, he says, how this proposal will be relished by us. But, for his part, he thinks it an expedient that will obviate many difficulties, and may possibly put an end to Mr James Harlowe's farther designs; and on this account he has, by the uncle's advice, already declared to two several persons, by whose means it may come to that young gentleman's, that he [Captain Tomlinson has very great reason to believe that we were married soon after Mr Hickman's application was rejected.

And this, Mr Lovelace, (says the captain,) will enable you to pay a compliment to the family, that will not be unsuitable to the generosity of some of the declarations you were pleased to make to the lady before me, (and which Mr John Harlowe may make some advantage of in favour of a reconciliation,) in that you have not demanded your lady's estate so soon as you were entitled to make the demand.-An excellent contriver, surely, she must think this worthy Mr Tomlinson to be!

But the captain adds, that if either the lady

or I disapprove of his report of our marriage, he will retract it. Nevertheless, he must tell me, that Mr John Harlowe is very much set upon this way of proceeding; as the only one, in his opinion, capable of being improved into a general reconciliation. But if we do acquiesce in it, he beseeches my fair-one not to suspend my day, that he may be authorized in what he says, as to the truth of the main fact. [How conscientious this good man!] Nor must it be expected, he says, that her uncle will take one step towards the wished-for reconciliation, till the solemnity is actually over.

He adds, that he shall be very soon in town on other affairs; and then proposes to attend us, and give us a more particular account of all that has passed, or shall farther pass, between Mr Harlowe and him.

Well, my dearest life, what say you to your uncle's expedient? Shall I write to the captain, and acquaint him, that we have no objection to it?

She was silent for a few minutes. At last, with a sigh, See, Mr Lovelace, said she, what you have brought me to, by treading after you in such crooked paths!-See what disgrace I have incurred!--Îndeed you have not acted like a wise man.

My beloved creature, do you not remember, how earnestly I besought the honour of your hand before we came to town?-Had I been then favoured

Well, well, sir; there has been much amiss somewhere; that's all I will say at present. And since what's past cannot be recalled, my uncle must be obeyed, I think.

Charmingly dutiful!-I had nothing then to do, that I might not be behindhand with the worthy captain and her uncle, but to press for the day. This I fervently did. But (as I might have expected) she repeated her former answer; to wit, That when the settlements were completed; when the licence was actually obtained; it would be time enough to name the day: and, O Mr Lovelace, said she, turning from me with a grace inimitably tender, her handkerchief at her eyes, what a happiness, if my dear uncle could be prevailed upon to be personally a father, on this occasion, to the poor fatherless girl!

What's the matter with me!-Whence this dew-drop!-A tear!-As I hope to be saved, it is a tear, Jack!-Very ready methinks!-Only on reciting!-But her lovely image was before me, in the very attitude she spoke the wordsand, indeed, at the time she spoke them, these lines of Shakespeare came into my head :

Thy heart is big. Get thee apart and weep!
Passion, I see, is catching :-For my eyes,
Sceing those beads of sorrow stand in thine,
Begin to water-

following effect :-I desired that he would be so good as to acquaint his dear friend that we entirely acquisced with what he proposed; and had already properly cautioned the gentlewomen of the house, and their servants, as well as our own; and to tell him, that if he would in person give me the blessing of his dear niece's hand, it would crown the wishes of both. In this case, I consented, that his own day, as I presumed it would be a short one, should be ours; that by this means the secret would be with fewer persons; that I myself, as well as he, thought the ceremony could not be too privately performed; and this not only for the sake of the wise end he had proposed to answer by it, but because I would not have Lord M. think himself slighted; since that nobleman, as I had told him [the captain], had once intended to be our nuptial-father; and actually made the offer; but that we had declined to accept of it, and that for no other reason than to avoid a public wedding; which his beloved niece would not come into, while she was in disgrace with her friends. But that if he chose not to do us this honour, I wished that Captain Tomlinson might be the trusty person whom he would have to be present on the happy occasion.

I shewed this letter to my fair-one. She was not displeased with it. So, Jack, we cannot now move too fast, as to settlements and licence; the day is her uncle's day, or Captain Tomlinson's perhaps, as shall best suit the occasion. Miss Howe's smuggling scheme is now surely provided against in all events.

But I will not by anticipation make thee a judge of all the benefits that may flow from this my elaborate contrivance. Why will these girls put me upon my master-strokes?

And now for a little mine which I am getting ready to spring. The first that I have sprung, and, at the rate I go on (now a resolution, and now a remorse), perhaps the last that I shall attempt to spring.

A little mine, I call it. But it may be attended with great effects. I shall not, however, absolutely depend upon the success of it, having much more effectual ones in reserve. And yet great engines are often moved by small springs. A little spark falling by accident into a powdermagazine, hath done more execution in a siege, than a hundred cannon.

Come the worst, the hymeneal torch, and a white sheet, must be my amende honorable, as the French have it.

LETTER CXXIX.

MR BELFORD TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.

Tuesday, June 6. UNSUCCESSFUL as hitherto my application to has been, I cannot for the heart of me for

you

rable woman; and yet am unable to account for the zeal which impels me to take her part with an earnestness so sincere.

But all her merit thou acknowledgest; all thy own vileness thou confessest, and even gloriest in it: What hope, then, of moving so hardened a man?-Yet, as it is not too late, and thou art nevertheless upon the crisis, I am resolved to try what another letter will do. It is but my writing in vain, if it do no good; and if thou wilt let me prevail, I know thou wilt hereafter think me richly entitled to thy thanks. To argue with thee would be folly. The case cannot require it. I will only entreat thee, therefore, that thou wilt not let such an excellence lose the reward of her vigilant virtue.

I believe there never were libertines so vile, but purposed, at some future period of their lives, to set about reforming; and let me beg of thee, that thou wilt, in this great article, make thy future repentance as easy, as some time hence thou wilt wish thou hadst made it. If thou proceedest, I have no doubt that this affair will end tragically, one way or other. It must. Such a woman must interest both gods and men in her cause. But what I most apprehend is, that with her own hand, in resentment of the perpetrated outrage, she (like another Lucretia) will assert the purity of her heart; or, if her piety preserve her from this violence, that wasting grief will soon put a period to her days. And, in either case, will not the remembrance of thy ever-during guilt, and transitory triumph, be a torment of torments to thee?

'Tis a seriously sad thing, after all, that so fine a creature should have fallen into such vile and remorseless hands; for, from thy cradle, as I have heard thee own, thou ever delightedst to sport with and torment the animal, whether bird or beast, that thou lovedst, and hadst a power over.

How different is the case of this fine woman from that of any other whom thou hast seduced! -I need not mention to thee, nor insist upon the striking difference: justice, gratitude, thy interest, thy vows, all engaging thee; and thou certainly loving her, as far as thou art capable of love, above all her sex. She not to be drawn aside by art, or to be made to suffer from credulity, nor for want of wit and discernment, (that will be another cutting reflection to so fine a mind as hers :) the contention between you only unequal, as it is between naked innocence and armed guilt. In everything else, as thou ownest, her talents greatly superior to thine! What a fate will hers be, if thou art not at last overcome by thy reiterated remorses! At first, indeed, when I was admitted into her presence,* (and till I observed her meaning

air, and heard her speak,) I supposed that she had no very uncommon judgment to boast of; for I made, as I thought, but just allowances for her blossoming youth, and for that loveliness of person, and for that ease and elegance in her dress, which I imagined must have taken up half her time and study to cultivate; and yet I had been prepared by thee to entertain a very high opinion of her sense and her reading. Her choice of this gay fellow, upon such hazardous terms, (thought I,) is a confirmation that her wit wants that maturity which only years and experience can give it. Her knowledge (argued I to myself) must be all theory; and the complaisance ever consorting with an age so green and so gay, will make so inexperienced a lady at least forbear to shew herself disgusted at freedoms of discourse in which those present of her own sex, and some of ours, (so learned, so well read, and so travelled,) allow themselves.

In this presumption I ran on; and having the advantage, as I conceited, of all the company but you, and being desirous to appear in her eyes a mighty clever fellow, I thought I shewed away, when I said any foolish things that had more sound than sense in them; and when I made silly jests, which attracted the smiles of thy Sinclair, and the specious Partington: and that Miss Harlowe did not smile too, I thought was owing to her youth or affectation, or to a mixture of both, perhaps to a greater command of her features.-Little dreamt I, that I was incurring her contempt all the time.

But when, as I said, I heard her speak, which she did not till she had fathomed us all; when I heard her sentiments on two or three subjects, and took notice of that searching eye, darting into the very inmost cells of our frothy brains; by my faith, it made me look about me; and Í began to recollect, and be ashamed of all I had said before; in short, was resolved to sit silent, till every one had talked round, to keep my folly in countenance. And then I raised the subjects that she could join in, and which she did join in, so much to the confusion and surprise of every one of us!-For even thou, Lovelace, so noted for smart wit, repartee, and a vein of raillery, that delight all who come near thee, sattest in palpable darkness, and lookedst about thee, as well as we.

of.

One instance only of this shall I remind thee

We talked of wit, and of wit, and aimed at it, bandying it like a ball from one to another, and resting it chiefly with thee, who wert always proud enough and vain enough of the attribute; and then more especially as thou hadst assembled us, as far as I know, principally to shew the lady thy superiority over us, and us

thy triumph over her. And then Tourville (who is always satisfied with wit at second-hand; wit upon memory: other men's wit) repeated some verses, as applicable to the subject; which two of us applauded, though full of double entendre. Thou, seeing the lady's serious air on one of those repetitions, appliedst thyself to her, desiring her notions of wit: a quality, thou saidst, which every one prized, whether flowing from himself, or found in another.

Then it was that she took all our attention. It was a quality much talked of, she said, but, she believed, very little understood. At least, if she might be so free as to give her judgment of it from what had passed in the present conversation, she must say, that wit with men was one thing; with women, another.

This startled us all :-How the women looked!-How they pursed in their mouths; a broad smile the moment before upon each, from the verses they had heard repeated, so well understood, as we saw, by their looks! While I besought her to let us know, for our instruction, what wit was with women; for such I was sure it ought to be with men.

Cowley, she said, had defined it prettily by negatives. Thou desiredst her to repeat his definition.

She did; and with so much graceful ease, and beauty, and propriety of accent, as would have made bad poetry delightful.

A thousand diff'rent shapes it bears;
Comely in thousand shapes appears.
"Tis not a tale, 'tis not a jest,
Admired with laughter at a feast,
Nor florid talk, which must this title gain:
The proofs of wit for ever must remain.

Much less can that have any place,
At which a virgin hides her face.
Such dross the fire must purge away :-'Tis just
The author blush there, where the reader must.

Here she stopt, looking round her upon us all with conscious superiority, as I thought. Lord, how we stared! Thou attemptedst to give us thy definition of wit, that thou mightest have something to say, and not seem to be surprised into silent modesty.

But as if she cared not to trust thee with the subject, referring to the same author as for his more positive decision, she thus, with the same harmony of voice and accent, emphatically decided upon it:

Wit, like a luxuriant vine,

Unless to virtue's prop it join,

Firm and erect, tow'rd heaven bound,

Tho' it with beauteous leaves and pleasant fruit be crown'd,

It lies deform'd, and rotting on the ground.

If thou recollectest this part of the conversation, and how like fools we looked at one another; how much it put us out of conceit with ourselves, and made us fear her, when we found our conversation thus excluded from the very character which our vanity had made us think unquestionably ours; and if thou profitest properly by the recollection; thou wilt be of my mind, that there is not so much wit in wickedness as we had flattered ourselves there was.

And after all, I have been of opinion ever since that conversation, that the wit of all the rakes and libertines I ever conversed with, from the brilliant Bob Lovelace down to little Johnny Hartop the punster, consists mostly in saying bold and shocking things, with such courage as shall make the modest blush, the impudent laugh, and the ignorant stare.

And why dost thou think I mention these things, so mal-à-propos, as it may seem!-Only, let me tell thee, as an instance (among many that might be given from the same evening's conversation) of this fine woman's superiority in those talents which ennoble nature, and dignify her sex-evidenced not only to each of us, as we offended, but to the flippant Partington, and the grosser, but egregiously hypocritical Sinclair, in the correcting eye, the discouraging blush, in which was mixed as much displeasure as modesty, and sometimes, as the occasion called for it, (for we were some of us hardened above the sense of feeling delicate reproof,) by the sovereign contempt, mingled with a disdainful kind of pity, that shewed at once her own conscious worth, and our despicable worthlessness.

O Lovelace! what then was the triumph, even in my eye, and what is it still upon reflection, of true modesty, of true wit, and true politeness, over frothy jest, laughing impertinence, and an obscenity so shameful, even to the guilty, that they cannot hint at it but under a double meaning!

Then, as thou hast somewhere observed,* all her correctives avowed by her eye. Not poorly, like the generality of her sex, affecting ignorance of meanings too obvious to be concealed; but so resenting, as to shew each impudent laugher the offence given to, and taken by, a purity, that had mistaken its way, when it fell into such company.

Such is the woman, such is the angel, whom thou hast betrayed into thy power, and wouldst deceive and ruin.-Sweet creature! did she but know how she is surrounded, (as I then thought, as well as now think,) and what is intended, howe much sooner would death be her choice, than so dreadful a situation!-And how effectually would her story, were it generally known, warn all the sex against throwing themselves into the power of ours, let our vows, oaths, and protestations, be what they will!