and now abandoned by all her friends, she is for finding out something paternal and maternal in every one, (the latter qualities in Mrs Lovick and Mrs Smith,) to supply to herself the father and mother her dutiful heart pants after.

Mrs Smith told me, that, after we were gone, she gave the keys of her trunk and drawers to her and the widow Lovick, and desired them to take an inventory of them; which they did in her presence.

They also informed me, that she had request ed them to find her a purchaser for two rich dressed suits; one never worn, the other not above once or twice.

This shocked me exceedingly-perhaps it may thee a little!!!-Her reason for so doing, she told them, was, that she should never live to wear them; that her sister, and other relations, were above wearing them; that her mother would not endure in her sight anything that was hers; that she wanted the money; that she would not be obliged to anybody, when she had effects by her for which she had no occasion; and yet, said she, I expect not that they will fetch a price answerable to their value.

They were both very much concerned, as they owned; and asked my advice upon it; and, the richness of her apparel having given them a still higher notion of her rank than they had before, they supposed she must be of quality; and again wanted to know her story.

I told them, that she was indeed a woman of family and fortune; I still gave them room to suppose her married; but left it to her to tell them all in her own time and manner; all I would say was, that she had been very vilely treated; deserved it not; and was all innocence and purity.

You may suppose that they both expressed their astonishment, that there could be a man in the world who could ill-treat so fine a creature.

As to disposing of the two suits of apparel, I told Mrs Smith that she should pretend that, upon inquiry, she had found a friend who would purchase the richest of them; but (that she might not mistrust) would stand upon a good bargain. And, having twenty guineas about me, I left them with her, in part of payment; and bid her pretend to get her to part with it for as little more as she could induce her to take.

I am setting out for Edgeware with poor Belton-more of whom in my next. I shall return to-morrow; and leave this in readiness for your messenger, if he call in my absence. Adieu.

M. Hall, Wed. Night, July 19. You might well apprehend that I should think you were playing me booty in communicating my letter to the lady.

You ask, Who would think you might not read to her the least exceptionable parts of a letter written in my own defence?—I'll tell you who the man who, in the same letter that he asks this question, tells the friend whom he exposes to her resentment, That there is such an air of levity runs through his most serious letters, that those of his are least fit to be seen which ought to be most to his credit: And now what thinkest thou of thy self-condemned folly? Be, however, I charge thee, more circumspect for the future, that so this clumsy error may stand singly by itself.

It is painful to her to think of me !—Libertine froth! So pernicious and so despicable a plotter! A man whose friendship is no credit to anybody! Hardened wretch! The devil's counterpart! A wicked, wicked man!—But did she, could she, dared she, to say, or imply all this?

and say it to a man whom she praises for humanity, and prefers to myself for that virtue; when all the humanity he shews, and she knew it too, is by my direction-so robs me of the credit of my own works; admirably entitled, all this shows her, to thy refinement upon the words resentment and revenge. But thou wert always aiming and blundering at something thou never couldst make out.

The praise thou givest to her ingenuousness, is another of thy peculiars. I think not as thou dost, of her tell-tale recapitulations and exclamations:-what end can they answer?-only that thou hast an holy love for her, [the devil fetch thee for thy oddity!] or it is extremely provoking to suppose one sees such a charming creature stand upright before a libertine, and talk of the sin against her, that cannot be forgiven !-I wish, at my heart, that these chaste ladies would have a little modesty in their anger! -It would sound very strange, if I, Robert Lovelace, should pretend to have more true delicacy, in a point that requires the utmost, than Miss Clarissa Harlowe.

I think I will put it into the head of her nurse Norton, and her Miss Howe, by some one of my agents, to chide the dear novice for her proclamations.

But to be serious; let me tell thee, that, severe as she is, and saucy, in asking so contemptuously, What a man is your friend, sir, to set

himself to punish guilty people! I will never forgive the cursed woman, who could commit this last horrid violence on so excellent a creature.

The barbarous insults of the two nymphs, in their visits to her; the choice of the most execrable den that could be found out, in order, no doubt, to induce her to go back to theirs; and the still more execrable attempt, to propose to her a man who would pay the debt; a snare, I make no question, laid for her despairing and resenting heart by that devilish Sally, (thinking her, no doubt, a woman,) in order to ruin her with me; and to provoke me, in a fury, to give her up to their remorseless cruelty; are outrages, that, to express myself in her style, I never can, never will forgive.

But, as to thy opinion, and the two women's at Smith's, that her heart is broken! that is the true women's language: I wonder how thou camest into it; thou who hast seen and heard of so many female deaths and revivals.

I'll tell thee what makes against this notion of theirs.

Her time of life, and charming constitution; the good she ever delighted to do, and fancified she was born to do; and which she may still continue to do, to as high a degree as ever; nay, higher; since I am no sordid varlet, thou knowest; her religious turn; a turn that will always teach her to bear inevitable evils with patience; the contemplation upon her last noble triumph over me, and over the whole crew; and upon her succeeding escape from us all; her will unviolated; and the inward pride of having not deserved the treatment she has met with.

How is it possible to imagine, that a woman, who has all these consolations to reflect upon,

will die of a broken heart!

On the contrary, I make no doubt, but that, as she recovers from the dejection into which this last scurvy villainy (which none but wretches of her own sex could have been guilty of) has thrown her, returning love will re-enter her time-pacified mind; her thoughts will then turn once more on the conjugal pivot; of course, she will have livelier notions in her head; and these will make her perform all her circumvolutions with ease and pleasure; though not with so high a degree of either, as if the dear proud rogue could have exalted herself above the rest of her sex, as she turned round.

Thou askest, on reciting the bitter invectives that the lady made against thy poor friend, (standing before her, I suppose, with thy fingers in thy mouth,) What couldst thou say FOR me? Have I not, in my former letters, suggested a hundred things, which a friend, in earnest to vindicate or excuse a friend, might say on such an occasion?

*

Had I begun there, I am confident, as I have heretofore said, that I should not have had half the difficulty with her as I have had with her charming friend. For these passionate girls have high pulses, and a clever fellow may make what sport he pleases with their unevenness—now too high, now too low, you need only to provoke and appease them by turns; to bear with them, and to forbear; to teaze and ask pardon; and sometimes to give yourself the merit of a sufferer from them; then, catching them in the moment of concession, conscious of their ill usage of you, they are all your own.

But these sedate, contemplative girls, never out of temper but with reason, when that reason is given them, hardly ever pardon, or afford you another opportunity to offend.

It was in part the apprehension that this would be so with my dear Miss Harlowe, that made me carry her to a place where I believed she would be unable to escape me, although I were not to succeed in my first attempts. Else widow Sorlings's would have been as well for me as widow Sinclair's. For early I saw that there was no credulity in her to graft upon; no pretending to whine myself into her confidence. She was proof against amorous persuasion. She

had reason in her love. Her penetration and good sense made her hate all compliments that had not truth and nature in them. What could I have done with her in any other place? and yet how long, even there, was I kept in awe, in spite of natural incitement, and unnatural instigations, (as I now think them,) by the mere force of that native dignity, and obvious purity of mind and manners, which fill every one with reverence, if not with holy love, as thou callest it, the moment he sees her!-Else, thinkest thou not it was easy for me to be a fine gentleman, and a delicate lover, or, at least, a specious and flattering one?

*

Lady Sarah and Lady Betty, finding the treaty, upon the success of which they have set their foolish hearts, likely to run into length, are about departing to their own seats; having taken from me the best security the nature of the case will admit of, that is to say, my word, to marry the lady, if she will have me.

And, after all, (methinks thou askest,) art thou still resolved to repair, if reparation be put into thy power?

Why, Jack, I must needs own that my heart has now and then some retrograde motions upon thinking seriously of the irrevocable ceremony. We do not easily give up the desire of our hearts, and what we imagine essential to our happiness, let the expectation or hope of compassing it be ever so unreasonable or absurd in the opinion of others. Recurrings there will be; hankerings that will, on every but-remotely-favourable incident, (however before discouraged and beaten back by ill success,) pop up, and abate the satisfaction we should otherwise take in contrariant overtures.

'Tis ungentlemanly, Jack, man to man, to lie.- -But matrimony I do not heartily love although with a CLARISSA-yet I am in earnest to marry her.

But I am often thinking, that, if now this dear creature, suffering time, and my penitence, my relations' prayers, and Miss Howe's mediation to soften her resentments, (her revenge thou hast prettily distinguished away,) and to recal repulsed inclination, should consent to meet me at the altar-How vain will she then make all thy eloquent periods of execration !-How many charming interjections of her own will she spoil! And what a couple of old patriarchs shall we become, going on in the mill-horse round; getting sons and daughters; providing nurses for them first, governors and governesses next; teaching them lessons their father never practised, nor which their mother, as her parents will say, was much the better for! And at last, perhaps, when life shall be turned into the dully sober stillness, and I become desirous to forget all my past rogueries, what comfortable reflections will it af

See Letter CCXLVI. of this Vol.

t

ford to find them all revived, with equal, or probably greater, trouble and expense, in the persons and manners of so many young Lovelaces of the boys; and to have the girls run away with varlets, perhaps not half so ingenious as myself; clumsy fellows, as it might happen, who could not afford the baggages one excuse for their weakness, besides those disgraceful ones of sex and nature-O Belford! who can bear to think of these things!Who, at my time of life especially, and with such a bias for mischief!

Of this I am absolutely convinced, that, if a man ever intends to marry, and to enjoy in peace his own reflections, and not be afraid of retribution, or of the consequences of his own example, he should never be a rake.

This looks like conscience; don't it, Belford? But, being in earnest still, as I have said, all I have to do in my present uncertainty, is, to brighten up my faculties, by filing off the rust they have contracted by the town smoke, a long imprisonment in my close attendance to so little purpose on my fair perverse; and to brace up, if I can, the relaxed fibres of my mind, which have been twitched and convulsed like the nerves of some tottering paralytic, by means of the tumults she has excited in it; that so I may be able to present to her a husband as worthy as I can be of her acceptance; or, if she reject me, be in a capacity to resume my usual gaiety of heart, and show others of the misleading sex, that I am not discouraged, by the difficulties I have met with from this sweet individual of it, from endeavouring to make myself as acceptable to them as before.

In this latter case, one tour to France and Italy, I dare say, will do the business. Miss Harlowe will by that time have forgotten all she has suffered from her ungrateful Lovelace; though it will be impossible that her Lovelace should ever forget a woman, whose equal he despairs to meet with, were he to travel from one end of the world to the other.

If thou continuest paying off the heavy debts my long letters, for so many weeks together, have made thee groan under, I will endeavour to restrain myself in the desires I have, (importunate as they are,) of going to town, to throw myself at the feet of my soul's beloved. Policy and honesty, both join to strengthen the restraint my own promise and thy engagement have laid me under on this head. I would not afresh provoke; on the contrary, would give time for her resentments to subside, that so all that follows may be her own act and deed.

HICKMAN I have a mortal aversion to that fellow! has, by a line, which I have just now

+ See Letter CCXLIII. ibid.

received, requested an interview with me on Friday at Mr Dormer's, as at a common friend's. Does the business he wants to meet me upon require that it should be at a common friend's? -A challenge implied: Is it not, Belford ?-I shall not be civil to him, I doubt. He has been an intermeddler. Then I envy him on Miss Howe's account; for, if I have a right notion of this Hickman, it is impossible that that virago can ever love him.

Every one knows that the mother, (saucy as the daughter sometimes is,) crams him down her throat. Her mother is one of the most violent-spirited women in England. Her late husband could not stand in the matrimonial contention of Who should? but tipt off the perch in it, neither knowing how to yield, nor knowing how to conquer.

A charming encouragement for a man of intrigue, when he has reason to believe that the woman he has a view upon has no love for her husband! What good principles must that wife have, who is kept in against temptation by a sense of her duty, and plighted faith, where affection has no hold of her!

Pr'ythee, let's know, very particularly, how it fares with poor Belton. 'Tis an honest fellow. Something more than his Thomasine seems to stick with him.

Thou hast not been preaching to him conscience and reformation, hast thou ?-Thou shouldest not take liberties with him of this sort, unless thou thoughtest him absolutely irrecoverable. A man in ill health, and crop-sick, cannot play with these solemn things as thou canst, and be neither better nor worse for them.-Repentance, Jack, I have a notion, should be set about while a man is in health and spirits. What's a man fit for, [not to begin a new work surely when he is not himself, nor master of his faculties!--Hence, as I apprehend, it is that a death-bed repentance is supposed to be such a precarious and ineffectual thing.

As to myself, I hope I have a great deal of time before me; since I intend one day to be a reformed man. I have very serious reflections now and then. Yet am I half afraid of the truth of what my charmer once told me, that a man cannot repent when he will.-Not to hold it, I suppose she meant! By fits and starts I have repented a thousand times.

Casting my eye over the two preceding paragraphs, I fancy there is something like contradiction in them. But I will not reconsider them. The subject is a very serious one. I don't at present quite understand it. But now for one more airy.

Tourville, Mowbray, and myself, pass away our time as pleasantly as possibly we can without thee. I wish we don't add to Lord M.'s gouty days by the joy we give him.

This is one advantage, as I believe I have elsewhere observed, that we male-delinquents in

love-matters have of the other sex:-for, while they, poor things! sit sighing in holes and corners, or run to woods and groves to bemoan themselves on their baffled hopes, we can rant and roar, hunt and hawk; and, by new loves, banish from our hearts all remembrance of the old ones.

Merrily, however, as we pass our time, my reflections upon the injuries done to this noble creature bring a qualm upon my heart very often. But I know she will permit me to make her amends, after she has plagued me heartily; and that's my consolation.

An honest fellow still-clap thy wings, and crow, Jack!

LETTER CCXLIX.

MISS HOWE TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE.

Thursday, Morning, July 20. WHAT, my dearest creature, have been your sufferings!-What must have been your anguish on so disgraceful an insult, committed in the open streets, and in the broad day!

No end, I think, of the undeserved calamities of a dear soul, who has been so unhappily driven and betrayed into the hands of a vile libertine!How was I shocked at the receiving of your letter written by another hand, and only dictated by you!-You must be very ill. Nor is it to be wondered at. But I hope it is rather from hurry, and surprise, and lowness, which may be overcome, than from a grief given way to, which may be attended with effects I cannot bear to think of.

But, whatever you do, my dear, you must not despond! Indeed you must not despond! Hitherto you have been in no fault; but despair would be all your own; and the worst fault you can be guilty of.

I cannot bear to look upon another hand instead of yours. My dear creature, send me a few lines, though ever so few, in your own hand, if possible.-For they will revive my heart; especially if they can acquaint me of your amended health.

I expect your answer to my letter of the 13th. We all expect it with impatience.

His relations are persons of so much honour they are so very earnest to rank you among them-the wretch is so very penitent; every one of his family says he is your own are so implacable-your last distress, though the consequence of his former villainy, yet neither brought on by his direction nor with his knowledge; and so much resented by him-that my mother is absolutely of opinion that you should be his— especially if, yielding to my wishes, as expressed in my letter, and those of all his friends, you would have complied, had it not been for this horrid arrest.

I will enclose the copy of the letter I wrote to Miss Montague the last Tuesday, on hearing that nobody knew what was become of you; and the answer to it, under-written and signed by Lord M., Lady Sarah Sadleir, and Lady Betty Lawrence, as well as by the young ladies; and also by the wretch himself.

I own, that I don't like the turn of what he has written to me; and, before I will farther interest myself in his favovr, I have determined to inform myself, by a friend, from his mouth, of his sincerity, and whether his whole inclination be, in his request to me, exclusive of the wishes of his relations. Yet my heart rises against him, on the supposition that there is the shadow of a reason for such a question, the woman Miss Clarissa Harlowe. But I think, with my mother, that marriage is now the only means left to make your future life tolerably easyhappy there is no saying.-His disgraces, in that case, in the eye of the world itself, will be more than yours: and, to those who know you, glorious will be your triumph.

I am obliged to accompany my mother soon to the Isle of Wight. My aunt Harman is in a declining way, and insists upon seeing us both -and Mr Hickman too, I think.

His sister, of whom we had heard so much, with her lord, were brought t'other day to visit us. She strangely likes me, or says she does.

I can't say but that I think she answers the excellent character we heard of her.

It would be death to me to set out for the little island, and not see you first: and yet my mother (fond of exerting an authority that she herself, by that exertion, often brings into question) insists, that my next visit to you must be a congratulatory one as Mrs Lovelace.

When I know what will be the result of the questions to be put in my name to that wretch, and what is your mind on my letter of the 13th, I shall tell you more of mine.

The bearer promises to make so much dispatch as to attend you this very afternoon. May he return with good tidings to

Your ever affectionate
ANNA HOWE.

LETTER CCL.

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO MISS HOWE.

Thursday Afternoon.

You pain me, my dearest Miss Howe, by the ardour of your noble friendship. I will be very brief, because I am not well; yet a good deal better than I was; and because I am preparing an answer to yours of the 13th. But, beforehand, I must tell you, my dear, I will not have that man-don't be angry with me. But indeed I won't. So let him be asked no questions about me, I beseech you.

I do not despond, my dear. I hope I may say, I will not despond. Is not my condition greatly mended? I thank Heaven it is!

I am no prisoner now in a vile house. I am not now in the power of that man's devices. I am not now obliged to hide myself in corners for fear of him. One of his intimate companions is become my warm friend, and engages to keep him from me, and that by his own consent. I am among honest people. I have all my clothes and effects restored to me. The wretch himself bears testimony to my honour.

Indeed I am very weak and ill: but I have an excellent physician, Dr H., and as worthy an apothecary, Mr Goddard.-Their treatment of me, my dear, is perfectly paternal !—My mind too, I find, begins to strengthen: and methinks, at times, I find myself superior to my calamities.

I shall have sinkings sometimes. I must expect such. And my father's maledict-But you will chide me for introducing that, now I am enumerating my comforts.

But I charge you, my dear, that you do not suffer my calamities to sit too heavy upon your own mind. If you do, that will be to new-point some of those arrows that have been blunted and lost their sharpness.

If you would contribute to my happiness, give way, my dear, to your own; and to the cheerful prospects before you!

You will think very meanly of your Clarissa, if you do not believe, that the greatest pleasure she can receive in this life is in your prosperity and welfare. Think not of me, my only friend, but as we were in times past: and suppose me gone a great, great way off!-A long journey!

-How often are the dearest of friends, at their country's call, thus parted-with a certainty for years-with a probability for ever.

Love me still, however. But let it be with a weaning love. I am not what I was, when we were inseparable lovers, as I may say.-Our views must now be different.-Resolve, my dear, to make a worthy man happy, because a worthy man must make you so. And so, my dearest love, for the present, adieu !-adieu, my dearest love!-but I shall soon write again, I hope!

LETTER CCLI.

MR BELFORD TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. [In answer to Letter CCXLVIII.]

Thursday, July 20.

I READ that part of your conclusion to poor Belton, where you inquire after him, and mention how merrily you and the rest pass your time at M. Hall. He fetched a deep sigh-You are all very happy! were his words.-I am sorry they were his words, for, poor fellow, he is going very fast. Change of air, he hopes, will mend him,