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

of her, was more owing to her own generous apprehension that she fell short of her excellencies, than to Miss Harlowe’s consciousness of excellence over her. I have often since I came at Miss Howe’s letters, revolved this just and fine praise contained in one of them:241 “Everyone saw that the preference they gave you to themselves exalted you not into any visible triumph over them; for you had always something to say, on every point you carried, that raised the yielding heart, and left everyone pleased and satisfied with themselves, though they carried not off the palm.”

As I propose, in a more advanced life, to endeavour to atone for my useful freedoms with individuals of the sex, by giving cautions and instructions to the whole, I have made a memorandum to enlarge upon this doctrine;⁠—to wit, that it is full as necessary to direct daughters in the choice of their female companions, as it is to guard them against the designs of men.

I say not this, however, to the disparagement of Miss Howe. She has from pride, what her friend has from principle. (The Lord help the sex, if they had not pride!) But yet I am confident, that Miss Howe is indebted to the conversation and correspondence of Miss Harlowe for her highest improvements. But, both these ladies out of the question, I make no scruple to aver, (and I, Jack, should know something of the matter), that there have been more girls ruined, at least prepared for ruin, by their own sex, (taking in servants, as well as companions), than directly by the attempts and delusions of men.

But it is time enough when I am old and joyless, to enlarge upon this topic.

As to the comparison between the two ladies, I will expatiate more on that subject, (for I like it), when I have had them both. Which this letter of the vixen girl’s, I hope thou wilt allow, warrants me to try for.

I return to the consideration of a few more of its contents, to justify my vengeances so nearly now in view.

As to Mrs. Townsend⁠—her manlike spirit⁠—her two brothers⁠—and the ships’ crews⁠—I say nothing but this to the insolent threatening⁠—Let ’em come!⁠—But as to her sordid menace⁠—To repay the horrid villain, as she calls me, for all my vileness by broken bones!⁠—Broken bones, Belford!⁠—Who can bear this porterly threatening!⁠—Broken bones, Jack!⁠—D⁠⸺⁠n the little vulgar!⁠—Give me a name for her⁠—but I banish all furious resentment. If I get these two girls into my power, Heaven forbid that I should be a second Phalaris, who turned his bull upon the artist!⁠—No bones of their’s will I break⁠—They shall come off with me upon much lighter terms!⁠—

But these fellows are smugglers, it seems. And am not I a smuggler too?⁠—I am⁠—and have not the least doubt but I shall have secured my goods before Thursday, or Wednesday either.

But did I want a plot, what a charming new one does this letter of Miss Howe strike me out! I am almost sorry, that I have fixed upon one.⁠—For here, how easy would it be for me to assemble a crew of swabbers, and to create a Mrs. Townsend (whose person, thou seest, my beloved knows not) to come on Tuesday, at Miss Howe’s repeated solicitations, in order to carry my beloved to a warehouse of my own providing?

This, however, is my triumphant hope, that at the very time that these ragamuffins will be at Hampstead (looking for us) my dear Miss Harlowe and I (so the Fates I imagine have ordained) shall be fast asleep in each other’s arms in town.⁠—Lie still, villain, till the time comes.⁠—My heart, Jack! my heart!⁠—It is always thumping away on the remotest prospects of this nature.

But it seems that the vileness of this specious monster (meaning me, Jack!) has brought Hickman into credit with her. So I have done some good! But to whom I cannot tell: for this poor fellow, should I permit him to have this termagant, will be punished, as many times we all are, by the enjoyment of his own wishes⁠—nor can she be happy, as I take it, with him, were he to govern himself by her will, and have none of his own; since never was there a directing wife who knew where to stop: power makes such a one wanton⁠—she despises the man she can govern. Like Alexander, who wept, that he had no more worlds to conquer, she will be looking out for new exercises for her power, till she grow uneasy to herself, a discredit to her husband, and a plague to all about her.

But this honest fellow, it seems, with tears in his eyes, and with humble prostration, besought the vixen to permit him to set out in his chariot-and-four, in order to give himself the glory of protecting such an oppressed innocent, in the face of the whole world. Nay, he reddened, it seems: and trembled too! as he read the fair complainant’s letter.⁠—How valiant is all this!⁠—Women love brave men; and no wonder that his tears, his trembling, and his prostration, gave him high reputation with the meek Miss Howe.

But dost think, Jack, that I in the like case (and equally affected with the distress) should have acted thus? Dost think, that I should not first have rescued the lady, and then, if needful, have asked excuse for it, the lady in my hand?⁠—Wouldst not thou have done thus, as well as I?

But, ’tis best as it is. Honest Hickman may now sleep in a whole skin. And yet that is more perhaps than he would have done (the lady’s deliverance unattempted) had I come at this requested permission of his any other way than by a letter that it must not be known that I have intercepted.

Miss Howe thinks I may be diverted from pursuing my charmer, by some new-started villany. Villany is a word that she is extremely fond of. But I can tell her, that it is