LETTER XLIII.

MISS HOWE TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE.

Friday Morning, April 21.

My mother will not comply with your condition, my dear. I hinted it to her, as from myself. But the Harlowes (excuse me) have got her entirely in with them. It is a scheme of mine, she told me, formed to draw her into your party against your parents; which, for your own sake, she is very careful about.

Don't be so much concerned about my mother and me, once more, I beg you. We shall do well enough together-now a falling-out, now a falling-in.

It used to be so, when you were not in the question.

Yet do I give you my sincere thanks for every line of your reprehensive letters, which I intend to read as often as I find my temper rises.

I will freely own, however, that I winced a little at first reading them. But I see that, on every re-perusal, I shall love and honour you still more, if possible, than before.

Yet, I think I have one advantage over you, and which I will hold through this letter, and through all my future letters, that is, that I will treat you as freely as you treat me, and yet will never think an apology necessary to you for my freedom.

But that you so think with respect to me, is the effect of your gentleness of temper, with a little sketch of implied reflection on the warmth of mine. Gentleness in a woman you hold to be no fault; nor do I a little due or provoked warmth-But what is this, but praising on both sides what neither of us can help, nor perhaps wish to help? You can no more go out of your road, than I can go out of mine. It would be a pain to either to do so: What then is it in either's approving of her own natural bias, but making a virtue of necessity?

But one observation I will add, that were your character and my character to be truly drawn, mine would be allowed to be the most natural. Shades and lights are equally necessary in a fine picture. Yours would be surrounded with such a flood of brightness, with such a glory, that it would indeed dazzle, but leave one heartless to imitate it.

O may you not suffer from a base world for your gentleness; while my temper, by its warinth, keeping all imposition at a distance, though less amiable in general, affords me not reason, as I have mentioned heretofore, to wish to make an exchange with you!

I should indeed be inexcusable to open my lips by way of contradiction to my mother, had I such a fine spirit as yours to deal with. Truth is truth, my dear! Why should narrowness run

away with the praises due to a noble expansion of heart? If everybody would speak out, as I do, (that is to say, give praise where only praise is due; dispraise where due likewise,) shame, if not principle, would mend the world-nay, shame would introduce principle in a generation or two. Very true, my dear. Do you apply. I dare not ; for I fear you, almost as much as I love you.

I will give you an instance, nevertheless, which will anew demonstrate that none but very generous and noble-minded people ought to be implicitly obeyed. You know what I said before, that truth is truth.

Inconveniences will sometimes arise from having to do with persons of modesty and scrupulousness. Mr Hickman, you say, is a modest man. He put your corrective packet into my hand with a very fine bow, and a self-satisfied air; we'll consider what you say of this honest man by-and-by, my dear; his strut was not gone off, when in came my mother, as I was reading it.

When some folks find their anger has made them considerable, they will be always angry, or seeking occasions for anger.

Why, now, Mr Hickman-why, now, Nancy, as I was huddling in the packet between my gown and my stays, at her entrance.] You have a letter brought you this instant. While the modest man, with his pausing brayings, Mad-da-Mad-dam, looked as if he knew not whether he had best to run, and leave me and my mother to fight it out, or to stand his ground, and see fair play.

It would have been poor to tell a lie for it. She flung away. I went out at the opposite door, to read the contents, leaving Mr Hickman to exercise his white teeth upon his thumbnails.

When I had read your letters, I went to find out my mother. I told her the generous contents, and that you desired that the prohibition might be adhered to. I proposed your condition, as for myself; and was rejected, as above.

She supposed, she was finely painted between two young creatures, who had more wit than prudence; and instead of being prevailed upon by the generosity of your sentiments, made use of your opinion only to confirm her own, and renewed her prohibitions, charging me to return no other answer, but that she did renew them; adding, that they should stand, till your relations were reconciled to you; hinting as if she had engaged for as much; and expected my compliance.

I thought of your reprehensions, and was meek, though not pleased. And let me tell you, my dear, that as long as I can satisfy my own mind, that good is intended, and that it is hardly possible that evil should ensue from our correspondence-as long as I know that this prohibition proceeds originally from the same spite

ful minds which have been the occasion of all these mischiefs-as long as I know that it is not your fault if your relations are not reconciled to you, and that upon conditions which no reasonable people would refuse-you must give me leave, with all deference to your judgment, and to your excellent lessons, (which would reach almost every case of this kind but the present,) to insist upon your writing to me, and that minutely, as if this prohibition had not been laid. It is not from humour, from perverseness, that I insist upon this. I cannot express how much my heart is in your concerns. And you must, in short, allow me to think, that if I can do you service by writing, I shall be better justified in continuing to write, than my mother is in her prohibition.

But yet, to satisfy you all I can, I will as seldom return answers, while the interdict lasts, as may be consistent with my notions of friendship, and with the service I owe you, and can do

you.

As to your expedient of writing by Hickman [and now, my dear, your modest man comes in ; and as you love modesty in that sex, I will do my endeavour, by holding him at a proper distance, to keep him in your favour] I know what you mean by it, my sweet friend. It is to make that man significant with me. As to the correspondence, THAT shall go on, I do assure you, be as scrupulous as you please so that that will not suffer if I do not close with your proposal as to him.

I must tell you, that I think it will be honour enough for him to have his name made use of so frequently betwixt us. This, of itself, is placing a confidence in him, that will make him walk bolt upright, and display his white hand, and his fine diamond ring; and most mightily lay down his services, and his pride to oblige, and his diligence, and his fidelity, and his contrivances to keep our secret, and his excuses, and his evasions to my mother, when challenged by her; with fifty ands beside ; and will it not, moreover, give him pretence and excuse oftener than ever to pad-nag it hither to good Mrs Howe's fair daughter?

But to admit him into my company tête-àtéte, and into my closet, as often as I would wish to write to you, I only to dictate to his pen-my mother all the time supposing that I was going to be heartily in love with him-to make him master of my sentiments, and of my heart, as I may say, when I write to you-indeed, my dear, I won't. Nor, were I married to the best HE in England, would I honour him with the communication of my corresponden

ces.

No, my dear, it is sufficient, surely, for him to parade in the character of our letter-conveyer, and to be honoured in a cover, and never fear but, modest as you think him, he will make enough of that.

You are always blaming me for want of generosity to this man, and for abuse of power; but I profess, my dear, I cannot tell how to help it. Do, dear, now, let me spread my plumes a little, and now and then make myself feared. This is my time, you know, since it would be no more to my credit than to his, to give myself those airs when I am married. He has a joy when I am pleased with him that he would not know, but for the pain my displeasure gives him.

Men, no more than women, know how to make a moderate use of power. Is not that seen every day, from the prince to the peasant? If I do not make Hickman quake now and then, he will endeavour to make me fear. All the animals in the creation are more or less in a state of hostility with each other. The wolf, that runs away from a lion, will devour a lamb the next moment. I remember, that I was once so enraged at a game chicken that was continually pecking at another, (a poor humble one, as I thought him,) that I had the offender caught, and without more ado, in a pet of humanity, wrung his neck off. What followed this execution? Why, that other grew insolent, as soon as his insulter was gone, and was continually pecking at one or two under him. Peck and be hanged, said I,I might as well have preserved the first, for I see it is the nature of the beast.

Excuse my flippancies. I wish I were with you. I would make you smile in the midst of your gravest airs, as I used to do. O that you had accepted of my offer to attend you! but nothing that I offer will you accept-Take care! -You will make me very angry with you; and when I am, you know I value nobody; for, dearly as I love you, I must be, and cannot always help it, Your saucy

ANNA HOWE.

LETTER XLIV.

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO MISS HOWE.

Friday, April 21.

MR LOVELACE communicated to me this morning early, from his intelligencer, the news of my brother's scheme. I like him the better for making very light of it, and for his treating it with contempt. And indeed, had I not had the hint of it from you, I should have suspected it to be some contrivance of his, in order to hasten me to town, where he has long wished to be himself.

He read me the passage in that Leman's letter, which is pretty much to the effect of what you wrote to me from Miss Lloyd, with this addition, that one Singleton, a master of a Scots vessel, is the man who is to be the principal in this act of violence.

I have seen him. He has been twice enter

a time when I had very little over mine! till at last I burst into tears, and was going from him in high disgust, when, throwing his arms about me, with an air, however, the most tenderly respectful, he gave a stupid turn to the subject. It was far from his heart, he said, to take so much advantage of the streight which the discovery of my brother's foolish project had brought me into, as to renew, without my permission, a proposal which I had hitherto discountenanced, and which for that reason

And then he came with his half sentences, apologizing for what he had not so much as half proposed.

Surely he had not the insolence to intend to teaze me, to see if I could be brought to speak what became me not to speak. But, whether he had or not, it did teaze me; insomuch, that my very heart was fretted, and I broke out at last into fresh tears, and a declaration that I was very unhappy. And just then recollecting how, like a tame fool, I stood with his arms about me, I flung from him with indignation; but he seized my hand as I was going out of the room, and upon his knees besought my stay for one moment; and then, in words the most clear and explicit, tendered himself to my acceptance, as the most effectual means to disappoint my brother's scheme, and set all right.

But what could I say to this, extorted from him, as it seemed to me, rather as the effect of his compassion than his love? What could I say? I paused, I looked silly-I am sure I looked very silly. He suffered me to pause, and look silly, waiting for me to say something; and at last (ashamed of my confusion, and aiming to make an excuse for it) I told him that I de sired he would avoid such measures as might add to the uneasiness which it must be visible to him I had, when he reflected upon the irreconcilableness of my friends, and upon what might follow from this unaccountable project of my brother.

He promised to be governed by me in every thing. And again the wretch, instead of pressing his former question, asked me, If I forgave him for the humble suit he had made to me? What had I to do but to try for a palliation of my confusion, since it served me not?

I told him I had hopes it would not be long before Mr Morden arrived, and doubted not that that gentleman would be the readier to engage in my favour, when he found that I made no other use of his (Mr Lovelace's) assistance, than to free myself from the addresses of a man so disagreeable to me as Mr Solmes; I must therefore wish that everything might remain as it was, till I could hear from my cousin.

This, although teazed by him as I was, was not, you see, my dear, a denial. But he must throw himself into a heat, rather than try to persuade, which any other man in his situation, I should think, would have done; and this

warmth obliged me to adhere to my seeming negative.

This was what he said, with a vehemence that must harden any woman's mind, who had a spirit above being frighted into passivenessGood God! and will you, madam, still resolve to shew me that I am to hope for no share in your favour, while any the remotest prospect remains that you will be received by my bitterest enemies, at the price of my utter rejection?

This was what I returned, with warmth, and with a salving art too-You have seen, Mr Lovelace, how much my brother's violence can affect me; but you will be mistaken if you let loose yours upon me, with a thought of terrifying me into measures, the contrary of which you have acquiesced with.

He only besought me to suffer his future actions to speak for him; and if I saw him worthy of any favour, that I would not let him be the only person within my knowledge who was not entitled to my consideration.

You refer to a future time, Mr Lovelace, so do I, for the future proof of a merit you seem to think for the past time wanting; and justly you think so. And I was again going from him.

One word more he begged me to hear-He was determined studiously to avoid all mischief, and every step that might lead to mischief, let my brother's proceedings, short of violence upon my person, be what they would; but if any attempt that should extend to that were to be made, would I have him to be a quiet spectator of my being seized, or carried back, or on board, by this Singleton; or, in case of extremity, was he not permitted to stand up in my defence?

Stand up in my defence, Mr Lovelace !-I should be very miserable, were there to be a call for that. But do you think I might not be safe and private in London? By your friend's description of the widow's house, I should think I might be safe there.

The widow's house, he replied, as described by his friend, being a back house within a front one, and looking to a garden, rather than to a street, had the appearance of privacy; but if, when there, it was not approved, it would be easy to find another more to my liking, though, as to his part, the method he would advise should be, to write to my uncle Harlowe, as one of my trustees, and wait the issue of it here at Mrs Sorlings's, fearlessly directing it to be answered hither. To be afraid of little spirits was but to encourage insults, he said. The substance of the letter should be, To demand as a right, what they would refuse if requested as a courtesy; to acknowledge that I had put myself [too well, he said, did their treatment justify me] into the protection of the ladies of his family [by whose orders, and Lord M.'s, he himself would appear to act]: but that upon my own terms, which were such, that I was under no obligation to those ladies for the favour, it

being no more than they would have granted to any one of my sex, equally distressed. If I approved not of this method, happy should he think himself, he said, if I would honour him with the opportunity of making such a claim in his own name-but this was a point [with his buts again in the same breath! that he durst but just touch upon. He hoped, however, that I would think their violence a sufficient inducement for me to take such a wished-for resolution.

Inwardly vexed, I told him that he himself had proposed to leave me when I was in town; that I expected he would; and that, when I was known to be absolutely independent, I should consider what to write, and what to do; but that while he was with me, I neither would nor could.

He would be very sincere with me, he said: This project of my brother's had changed the face of things. He must, before he left me, see whether I should or should not approve of the London widow and her family, if I chose to go thither. They might be people whom my brother might buy; but if he saw they were persons of integrity, he then might go for a day or two, or so. But he must needs say, he could not leave me longer at a time.

Do you propose, sir, said I, to take up your lodgings in the house where I shall lodge?

He did not, he said, as he knew the use I intended to make of his absence, and my punctilio-And yet the house where he had lodgings was new-fronting, and not in condition to receive him; but he could go to his friend Belford's, in Soho, or perhaps he might reach to the same gentleman's house at Edgware, over night, and return on the mornings, till he had reason to think this wild project of my brother's laid aside. But to no greater distance till then should

he care to venture.

The result of all was, to set out on Monday next for town. I hope it will be in a happy hour.

CL. HARLOWE.

LETTER XLV.

MR LOVELACE TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.

[As it was not probable that the lady could give so particular an account of her own confusion, in the affecting scene she mentions on Mr Lovelace's offering himself to her acceptance, the following extracts are made from his letter of the above date.]

And now, Belford, what wilt thou say, if, like the fly buzzing about the bright taper, I had like to have singed the silken wings of my liberty? Never was man in greater danger of being caught in his own snares: all my views anticipated; all my schemes untried; the ad

mirable creature not brought to town; nor one effort made to know if she be really angel or

woman.

I offered myself to her acceptance, with a suddenness, 'tis true, that gave her no time to wrap herself in reserves; and in terms less tender than fervent, tending to upbraid her for her past indifference, and to remind her of her injunctions, for it was the fear of her brother, not her love of me, that had inclined her to dispense with those injunctions.

I never beheld so sweet a confusion. What a glory to the pencil, could it do justice to it, and to the mingled impatience which visibly informed every feature of the most meaning and most beautiful face in the world! She hemmed twice or thrice; her look, now so charmingly silly, then so sweetly significant, till at last the lovely teazer, teazed by my hesitating expectation of her answer, out of all power of articulate speech, burst into tears, and was turning from me with precipitation, when, presuming to fold her in my happy arms-O think not, best beloved of my heart, said I, think not that this motion, which you may believe to be so contrary to your former injunctions, proceeds from a design to avail myself of the cruelty of your relations; if I have disobliged you by it, (and you know with what respectful tenderness I have presumed to hint it,) it shall be my utmost care for the future-There I stopped.

I

Then she spoke, but with vexation-I amam-very unhappy-tears trickling down her crimson cheeks, and her sweet face, as my arms still encircled the finest waist in the world, sinking upon my shoulder, the dear creature so absent, that she knew not the honour she permitted me.

But why, but why unhappy, my dearest life? said I :-all the gratitude that ever overflowed the heart of the most obliged of men

Justice to myself there stopped my mouth; for what gratitude did I owe her for obligations so involuntary?

Then recovering herself, and her usual reserves, and struggling to free herself from my clasping arms, How now, sir! said she, with a cheek more indignantly glowing, and eyes of fiercer lustre.

I gave way to her angry struggle, but, absolutely overcome by so charming a display of innocent confusion, I caught hold of her hand as she was flying from me, and, kneeling at her feet, O my angel! said I, (quite destitute of reserve, and hardly knowing the tenor of my own speech; and had a parson been there, I had certainly been a gone man,) receive the vows of your faithful Lovelace. Make him yours, and only yours, for ever; this will answer every end. Who will dare to form plots and stratagems against my wife? That you are not so, is the ground of all their foolish attempts, and of their insolent hopes in Solmes's favour.-O