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LETTER VII.
Miss Clarissa Harlowe, To Miss Howe.
Thursday Night, Mar. 23.
I send you the boasted Confutation Letter, just now put into my hands---My Brother and Sister, my Uncle Antony and Mr. Solmes, are, I understand, exulting over the copy of it below, as an unanswerable performance.
To Miss Clarissa Harlowe.
Once again, my inflexible Sister, I write to you. It is to let you know, that the pretty piece of Art you found out to make me the vehicle of your whining pathetics to your Father and Mother, has not had the expected effect.
I do assure you, that your behaviour has not been misrepresented---Nor need it. Your Mother, who is solicitous to take all opportunities of putting the most favourable constructions upon all you do, has been forced, as you well know, to give you up, upon full trial: No need then of the expedient of pursuing your Needleworks in her sight. She cannot bear your whining pranks: And it is for her sake, that you are not permitted to come into her presence---Nor will be, but upon her own terms.
You had like to have made a simpleton of your Aunt Hervey yesterday: She came down from you, pleading in your favour: But when she was asked, What concession she had brought you to? she looked about her, and knew not what to answer. So your Mother, when surprised into the beginning of your cunning address to her and to your Father, under my name (for I had begun to read it, little suspecting such an ingenious subterfuge) and would then make me read it thro', wrung her hands, Oh! her dear child, her dear child, must not be so compelled!---But
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when she was asked, Whether she would be willing to have for her Son-in-law the man who bids defiance to her whole family; and who had like to have murdered her Son? And what concessions she had gained from her dear child to merit this tenderness? And that for one who had apparently deceived her, in assuring her that her heart was free?---Then could she look about her, as her Sister had done before: Then was she again brought to herself, and to a resolution to assert her authority [Not to transfer it, witty presumer!] over the rebel who of late has so ingratefully struggled to throw it off.
You seem, child, to have a high notion of the matrimonial duty; and I'll warrant, like the rest of your Sex (one or two, whom I have the honour to know, excepted) that you will go to Church to promise what you will never think of afterwards. But, sweet child! as your worthy mamma Norton calls you, think a little less of the matrimonial (at least, till you come into that State) and a little more of the filial duty.
How can you say, you are to bear all the misery, when you give so large a share of it to your Parents, to your Uncles, to your Aunt, to Myself, and to your Sister; who all, for Eighteen years of your life, loved you so well?
If of late I have not given you room to hope for my favour or compassion, it is because of late you have not deserved either. I know what you mean, little reflecting fool, by saying, it is much in my power, altho' but your Brother (a very slight degree of relationship with you) to give you that peace which you can give yourself whenever you please.
The liberty of refusing, pretty Miss, is denied you, because we are all sensible, that the liberty of chusing, to every one's dislike, must follow. The vile wretch you have set your heart upon speaks This plainly to every-body, tho' you won't. He says you are His, and shall be His, and he will be the death of any man
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who robs him of his PROPERTY. So, Miss, we have a mind to try this point with him. My Father, supposing he has the right of a Father in his child, is absolutely determined not to be bullied out of that right. And what must that child be, who prefers the Rake to a Father?
This is the light in which this whole debate ought to be taken. Blush, then, Delicacy, that cannot bear the Poet's Amor omnibus idem!---Blush, then, Purity! Be ashamed, Virgin modesty! And, if capable of conviction, surrender your whole will to the will of the honoured pair, to whom you owe your being: And beg of all your friends to forgive and forget the part you have of late acted.
I have written a longer Letter, than ever I designed to write to you, after the insolent treatment and prohibition you have given me: And now I am commissioned to tell you, that your friends are as weary of confining you, as you are of being confined. And therefore you must prepare yourself to go in a very few days, as you have been told before, to your Uncle Antony's; who, notwithstanding your apprehensions, will draw up his Bridge when he pleases; will see what company he pleases in his own house; nor will he demolish his Chapel to cure you of your foolish late-commenced antipathy to a place of Divine Worship.---The more foolish, as, if we intended to use force, we could have the Ceremony pass in your Chamber as well as any-where else.
Prejudice against Mr. Solmes has evidently blinded you, and there is a charitable necessity to open your eyes: Since no one but you thinks the gentleman so contemptible in his person; nor, for a plain country gentleman, who has too much solid sense to appear like a coxcomb, justly blameable in his manners.---And as to his temper, it is necessary you should speak upon fuller knowlege, than at present it is plain you can have of him.
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Upon the whole, it will not be amiss, that you prepare for your speedy removal, as well for the sake of your own conveniency, as to shew your readiness, in one point, at least, to oblige your friends; one of whom you may, if you please to deserve it, reckon, tho' but a Brother,
James Harlowe.
P. S. If you are disposed to see Mr. Solmes, and to make some excuses to him for your past conduct, in order to be able to meet him somewhere else with the less concern to yourself for your freedoms with him; he shall attend you where you please.
If you have a mind to read the Settlements, before they are read to you for your signing, they shall be sent you up---Who knows, but they will help you to some fresh objections?---Your heart is free you know---It must---For, did you not tell your Mother it was? And will the pious Clarissa fib to her Mamma?
I desire no Reply. The case requires none. Yet I will ask you, Have you, Miss, no more proposals to make?
I was so vexed when I came to the end of this Letter (the postscript to which, perhaps, might be written after the others had seen the Letter) that I took up my pen, with an intent to write to my Uncle Harlowe about resuming my own Estate, in pursuance of your advice: But my heart failed me, when I recollected, that I had not one friend to stand by or support me in my claim; and that it would but the more incense them, without answering any good end. O that my Cousin were but come!
Is it not a sad thing, beloved as I thought myself so lately by every one, that now I have not one person in the world to plead for me, to stand by me, or who would afford me refuge, were I to be under the necessity
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of seeking for it?---I who had the vanity to think I had as many friends as I saw faces, and flattered myself too, that it was not altogether unmerited, because I saw not my Maker's Image, either in man, woman, or child, high or low, rich or poor, whom, comparatively, I loved not as myself.---Would to Heaven, my dear, that you were married! Perhaps, then, you could have induced Mr. Hickman to afford me protection, till these storms were over-blown. But then this might have involved him in difficulties and dangers; and that I would not have had done for the world.
I don't know what to do, not I!---God forgive me, but I am very impatient! I wish---but I don't know what to wish, without a sin!---Yet I wish it would please God to take me to his mercy!---I can meet with none here---What a world is this! What is there in it desirable? The good we hope for, so strangely mixed, that one knows not what to wish for! And one half of mankind tormenting the other, and being tormented themselves in tormenting!---For here in this my particular case, my relations cannot be happy, tho' they make me unhappy!---Except my Brother and Sister, indeed---and they seem to take delight in and enjoy the mischief they make.
But it is time to lay down my pen, since my ink runs nothing but gall.