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LETTER XXVI.
Miss Clarissa Harlowe, To Miss Howe.
Friday, Three o'Clock.
You incense, alarm, and terrify me, at the same time---Hasten, my dearest friend, hasten to me, what further intelligence you can gather about this vilest of men.
But never talk of innocence, of simplicity, and this unhappy girl, together! Must she not know, that such a man as That, dignified in his very aspect; and no disguise able to conceal his being of condition; must mean too much, when he places her at the upper end of his table, and calls her by such tender names? Would a girl, modest as simple, above Seventeen, be set a singing at the pleasure of such a man as That? A stranger, and professedly in disguise!---Would her Father and Grandmother, if honest people, and careful of their simple girl, permit such freedoms?
Keep his friend at distance from her!---To be sure his designs are villainous, if they have not been already effected.
Warn, my dear, if not too late, the unthinking Father, of his child's danger. There cannot be a Father in the world, who would sell his child's virtue. No Mother!---The poor thing!---
I long to hear the result of your intelligence. You shall see the simple creature, you tell me.---Let me know what sort of a girl she is.---A sweet pretty girl! you say. A sweet pretty girl, my dear!---They are sweet pretty words from your pen. But are they yours or his of her?---If she be so simple, if she have Ease and Nature in her manner, in her speech, and warbles prettily her wild notes, why, such a girl as That must engage such a profligate wretch (as now indeed I doubt this man is) accustomed, perhaps, to town-women, and their confident ways---Must deeply
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and for a long season engage him: Since perhaps when her Innocence is departed, she will endeavour by Art to supply the loss of the natural charms which now engage him.
Fine hopes of such a wretch's Reformation! I would not, my dear, for the world have any-thing to say---But I need not make resolutions. I have not opened, nor will I open, his Letter.---A sycophant creature!---With his hoarsenesses---got perhaps by a midnight revel, singing to his wild-note singer, and only encreased in the coppice!
To be already on a foot!---In his esteem, I mean: For myself, I despise him. I hate myself almost for writing so much about him, and of such a simpleton as This sweet pretty girl as you call her: But no one can be either sweet or pretty, that is not modest, that is not virtuous.
And now, my dear, I will tell you, how I came to put you upon this enquiry.
This vile Joseph Leman had given a hint to Betty, and she to me, as if Lovelace would be found out to be a very bad man, at a place where he had been lately seen in disguise. But he would see further, he said, before he told her more; and she promised secrecy, in hope to get at further intelligence. I thought it could be no harm, to get you to inform yourself, and me, of what could be gathered (a) [Footnote a: 3Kb]. And now I
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see, his enemies are but too well warranted in their reports of him: And, if the ruin of this poor young creature be his aim, and if he had not known her but for his visits to Harlowe-Place, I shall have reason to be doubly concerned for her; and doubly incensed against so vile a man.
I think I hate him worse than I do Solmes himself.
But I will not add one other word about him; after I have told you, that I wish to know, as soon as possible, what further occurs from your enquiry. I have a Letter from him; but shall not open it till I do: And then, if it come out as I dare say it will, I will directly put the Letter unopened into the place I took it from, and never trouble myself more about him. Adieu, my dearest friend.
Cl. Harlowe.