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

pride all round, than by my mediation? And let me tell you, (inter nos, betwixt ourselves), very proud they all are.

By this honest means, (for by dishonest ones I would not be Archbishop of Canterbury), I hope to please everybody; to be forgiven, in the first place, by the lady, (whom, being a lover of learning and learned men, I shall have great opportunities of obliging; for, when she departed from her father’s house, I had but just the honour of her notice, and she seemed highly pleased with my conversation); and, next to be thanked and respected by her parents, and all her family; as I am (I bless God for it) by my dear friend Mr. John Harlowe: who indeed is a man that professeth a great esteem for men of erudition; and who (with singular delight, I know) will run over with me the authorities I have quoted, and wonder at my memory, and the happy knack I have of recommending mine own sense of things in the words of the greatest sages of antiquity.

Excuse me, my good friend, for this seeming vanity. The great Cicero (you must have heard, I suppose) had a much greater spice of it, and wrote a long letter begging and praying to be flattered. But if I say less of myself than other people (who know me) say of me, I think I keep a medium between vanity and false modesty; the latter of which oftentimes gives itself the lie, when it is declaring of the compliments, that everybody gives it as its due: an hypocrisy, as well as folly, that, (I hope), I shall forever scorn to be guilty of.

I have another reason (as I may tell to you, my old schoolfellow) to make me wish for this fine lady’s recovery and health; and that is, (by some distant intimations), I have heard from Mr. John Harlowe, that it is very likely (because of the slur she hath received) that she will choose to live privately and penitently⁠—and will probably (when she cometh into her estate) keep a chaplain to direct her in her devotions and penitence⁠—If she doth, who can stand a better chance than myself?⁠—And as I find (by your account, as well as by everybody’s) that she is innocent as to intention, and is resolved never to think of Mr. Lovelace more, who knoweth what (in time) may happen?⁠—And yet it must be after Mr. Lovelace’s death, (which may possibly sooner happen than he thinketh of, by means of his detestable courses): for, after all, a man who is of public utility, ought not (for the finest woman in the world) to lay his throat at the mercy of a man who boggleth at nothing.

I beseech you, let not this hint go farther than to yourself, your spouse, and Mrs. Barker. I know I may trust my life in your hands and theirs. There have been (let me tell ye) unlikelier things come to pass, and that with rich widows, (some of quality truly!) whose choice, in their first marriages hath (perhaps) been guided by motives of convenience, or mere corporalities, as I may say; but who by their second have had for their view the corporal and spiritual mingled; which is the most eligible (no doubt) to substance composed of both, as men and women are.

Nor think (Sir) that, should such a thing come to pass, either would be disgraced, since the lady in me would marry a gentleman and a scholar: and as to mine own honour, as the slur would bring her high fortunes down to an equivalence with my mean ones, (if fortune only, and not merit, be considered), so hath not the life of this lady been so tainted, (either by length of time, or naughtiness of practice), as to put her on a foot with the cast Abigails, that too, too often, (God knoweth), are thought good enough for a young clergyman, who, perhaps, is drawn in by a poor benefice; and (if the wicked one be not quite worn out) groweth poorer and poorer upon it, by an increase of family he knoweth not whether is most his, or his noble, (ignoble, I should say), patrons.

But, all this apart, and in confidence.

I know you made at school but a small progress in languages. So I have restrained myself from many illustrations from the classics, that I could have filled this letter with, (as I have done the enclosed one): and, being at a distance, I cannot explain them to you, as I do to my friend, Mr. John Harlowe; and who, (after all), is obliged to me for pointing out to him many beauties of the authors I quote, which otherwise would lie concealed from him, as they must from every common observer.⁠—But this (too) inter nos⁠—for he would not take it well to have it known⁠—Jays (you know, old schoolfellow, jays, you know) will strut in peacock’s feathers.

But whither am I running? I never know where to end, when I get upon learned topics. And albeit I cannot compliment you with the name of a learned man, yet are you a sensible man; and (as such) must have pleasure in learned men, and in their writings.

In this confidence, (Mr. Walton), with my kind respects to the good ladies, (your spouse and sister), and in hopes, for the young lady’ss sake, soon to follow this long, long epistle, in person, I conclude myself,

Your loving and faithful friend,

Elias Brand.

You will perhaps, Mr. Walton, wonder at the meaning of the lines drawn under many of the words and sentences, (underscoring we call it); and were my letters to be printed, those would be put in a different character. Now, you must know, Sir, that we learned men do this to point out to the readers, who are not so learned, where the jet of our arguments lieth, and the emphasis they are to lay upon those words; whereby they will take in