Clarissa Harlowe, Samuel Richardson [black authors fiction .txt] 📗

consulted: and between his violence on one hand, and that of my relations on the other, I find myself in danger from both.

O my dear! what is worldly wisdom but the height of folly!⁠—I, the meanest, at least youngest, of my father’s family, to thrust myself in the gap between such uncontrollable spirits!⁠—To the intercepting perhaps of the designs of Providence, which may intend to make those hostile spirits their own punishers.⁠—If so, what presumption!⁠—Indeed, my dear friend, I am afraid I have thought myself of too much consequence. But, however this be, it is good, when calamities befall us, that we should look into ourselves, and fear.

If I am prevented depositing this and the enclosed, (as I intend to try to do, late as it is), I will add to it as occasion shall offer. Meantime, believe me to be

Your ever-affectionate and grateful

Cl. Harlowe.

[Under the superscription, written with a pencil, after she went down]

“My two former are not yet taken away⁠—I am surprised⁠—I hope you are well⁠—I hope all is right betwixt your mother and you.”

Letter 81 Miss Howe, to Miss Clarissa Harlowe

Thursday Morning, April 9

I have your three letters. Never was there a creature more impatient on the most interesting uncertainty than I was, to know the event of the interview between you and Solmes.

It behoves me to account to my dear friend, in her present unhappy situation, for everything that may have the least appearance of negligence or remissness on my part. I sent Robin in the morning early, in hopes of a deposit. He loitered about the place till near ten to no purpose; and then came away; my mother having given him a letter to carry to Mr. Hunt’s, which he was to deliver before three, when only, in the daytime, that gentleman is at home; and to bring back an answer to it. Mr. Hunt’s house, you know, lies wide from Harlowe-place. Robin but just saved his time; and returned not till it was too late to send him again. I only could direct him to set out before day this morning; and if he got any letter, to ride as for his life to bring it to me.

I lay by myself: a most uneasy night I had through impatience; and being discomposed with it, lay longer than usual. Just as I was risen, in came Kitty, from Robin, with your three letters. I was not a quarter dressed; and only slipped on my morning sack; proceeding no further till I had read them all through, long as they are: and yet I often stopped to rave aloud (though by myself) at the devilish people you have to deal with.

How my heart rises at them all! How poorly did they design to trick you into an encouragement of Solmes, from the extorted interview!⁠—I am very, very angry at your aunt Hervey⁠—to give up her own judgment so tamely!⁠—and, not content to do so, to become such an active instrument in their hands!⁠—But it is so like the world!⁠—so like my mother too!⁠—Next to her own child, there is not anybody living she values so much as you:⁠—Yet it is⁠—Why should we embroil ourselves, Nancy, with the affairs of other people?

Other people!⁠—How I hate the poor words, where friendship is concerned, and where the protection to be given may be of so much consequence to a friend, and of so little detriment to one’s self?

I am delighted with your spirit, however. I expected it not from you. Nor did they, I am sure. Nor would you, perhaps, have exerted it, if Lovelace’s intelligence of Solmes’s nursery-offices had not set you up. I wonder not that the wretch is said to love you the better for it. What an honour would it be to him to have such a wife? And he can be even with you when you are so. He must indeed be a savage, as you say.⁠—Yet he is less to blame for his perseverance, than those of your own family, whom most you reverence for theirs.

It is well, as I have often said, that I have not such provocations and trials; I should perhaps long ago have taken your cousin Dolly’s advice⁠—yet dare I not to touch that key.⁠—I shall always love the good girl for her tenderness to you.

I know not what to say of Lovelace; nor what to think of his promises, nor of his proposals to you. ’Tis certain that you are highly esteemed by all his family. The ladies are persons of unblemished honour. My Lord M. is also (as men and peers go) a man of honour. I could tell what to advise any other person in the world to do but you. So much expected from you!⁠—Such a shining light!⁠—Your quitting your father’s house, and throwing yourself into the protection of a family, however honourable, that has a man in it, whose person, parts, declarations, and pretensions, will be thought to have engaged your warmest esteem;⁠—methinks I am rather for advising that you should get privately to London; and not to let either him, or anybody else but me, know where you are, till your cousin Morden comes.

As to going to your uncle’s, that you must not do, if you can help it. Nor must you have Solmes, that’s certain: Not only because of his unworthiness in every respect, but because of the aversion you have so openly avowed to him; which everybody knows and talks of; as they do of your approbation of the other. For your reputation sake therefore, as well as to prevent mischief, you must either live single, or have Lovelace.

If you think of going to London, let me know; and I hope you will have time to allow me a further concert as to the manner of your getting away, and thither, and how to procure proper lodgings for you.

To obtain this time, you must palliate a little,