NewClar_pq1995_l75_n613_1769.txt

THE 
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NEW Clarissa: 
TRUE HISTORY. 
B Y 
MADAME DE BEAUMONT. 
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VOLUME THE FIRST. 
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DUBLIN; 
Printed for J. Exshaw and J. Potts, ind«»^ firtitt 2nd J. Wl L LIA M S in S; }; .f 
M, DCC, LXIX 
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T H E 
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HEW clarissjls 
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T R U E H I S T O R Y. 
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LET T E R T. 
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vzakissd. TO ZADT HARRIET. 
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O lose at the Same time an aunt ^5^ 'p whom I always regarded as'the bell 
of mothers, and a friend who might iwlift ^jw have assuaged my afflictions, by a 
tender Sympathy with them, is more than your Clarissa is abie^to Support; and I am oppressed to a degree that might be taken for insenssbility. rpassed the two days which followed my dear aunt’s death in a stupid Silence. Staring wildly'without feeing, listening without hearing, vol. I. E and 
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2 LETTERS. 
and in a perfect indifference about what was going to become of me. 
You know my parents were strangers to me: 
I never was with them from three years old; and my father’s hatred for his respectable Sister, did not suffer him to keep up the Smallest correspondence' with her. My aunt often told me that I had a mother worthy of my utmost tenderness, and of a happier lot than she experienced; she even assured me that her sister in la w had Subsisted purely by her bounty; and not only So, but, that she was obliged to assist her in Secret; that is to Say, under a false name. these discourses often inspired me with a strong desire to be acquainted with my mother, and an apprehension yet more lively of falling into the power of a father who was painted to me in Such terrible colours. You have more than once been witness to my Sentiments with respect to ' 
these two points, and it was natural that they should be felt with most force in the moment when mydesires and fears were going to be realised. Grief, however, was able to absorb them. 
Seated in Silence near the precious relicksof 
my beloved aunt, the confusion which reigned 
in her houfs was not Sufficient to rouse me from 
my 
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my lethargy. Officers of justice, friends, distant relations, were about me in crowds. The first. Sealing up everything, took the keys, and! gave the necessary orders to hasten the arrival of my father, and the dean of Colborne, to whom my aunt had entrusted her will; the Second did their utmost to recall my Spirits, and Served me in Some measure as a guard against the malice of the last, who evidently looked upon me with fury, in the fear that my aunt might have considered my advantage at their expense; for they could not persuade themselves but she must have excluded my father from the number of her heirs. 
Lady Horton, who has always honoured me with So much friendship, made many uselest efforts to draw me from a Spectacle which noil rished my despair. I shrieked as often as they attempted to take me away; but the third day, my exhausted Spirits had left me in a state of Such weakness, that they had little difficulty to make life of the opportunity to transport me to the house of that generous lady, who Soon Succeeded in rendering my grief more tranquil, without diminishing its force. 
As my father is in Ireland, it must necessarily be a considerable time before he can ar 
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five; and in the interval, I receive great cem. fort from the visits of the dean of Colborne, ■who has made me ashamed of the excess of my Sorrow, in showing me that 1 dishonoured the triumph of a person who had been So dear to me, and who, from the height of heavep, where her eminent virtues no doubt have now placed her, might reproach me with the. little profit I had drawn from her wise lessons, upon the manner in which mortals ought to receive the strokes that come from God. 
As Soon as she perceived me in a state to listen to what he had orders to tell me, he Spoke as follows: “That which I owe, ” Said he, “to the memory of your deceased aunt, obliges me to justify to you her last dispositionts. If hate had caused the distance.in which .she lived, 
with regard to your father, and she died in 
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Sentiments So little Christian, we should have nothing more to do than to mourn for her eternal loss: but how far was she from such a malignant fpirit.l -- -- To make you sensible of this,, 
and to engage you to conduct yourself according to the views of her who was everything to you, 
I find myself obliged to Set before you Some things which preceded your birth : things which, indeed, I would willingly bury in oblivion 
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L E T T E R S. 5 
"Vion, was it in my power; and I could do it without hurt or detriment to you.” 
I FLATTERED myself, my dear Harriet, that I should have Sufficient strength to finish arecital, which will' make you weep over the fate of your poor Clarissa; but it has made an impression upon me, which has froze my heart and my fenses; I am obliged, therefore, to deter the dreadful taie for the Subject: of another letter, 
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Bj LETTER 
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6 E T T E R S: 
L E T T E R II 
CLARISSA ro LADT HARRIET, 
T Take up my pen in continuation, and am now going to tell you what I learned from the mouth of our good dean; and as I have not had an opportunity tostifpatch my former letter, I will Send this under the Same cover. The dean Speaks. 
Mr. Darby, your father, is born of anopu * lent family, which for a long time was apprehensive of the extinction of a very ancient name. Your late aunt was born the first year of your grandfather’s marriage; and the displeafure of having a daughter, was balanced only by the hope that a second birth would bless him with a Son; but eight years rolling away without that bieffingarriving, your grandfather conceived a vexation upon it, of which your aunt became the victim : he had an aver Sion for her, the more Shocking, as in her then state of infancy, she promised ailsheafterwards fulfilled in figure, understanding and goodnefsof heart. It is true, that her mother recompensed her, as far as she could, for the strange hatred of her father; she loved her, with tenderness, and gave her all the marks of 
it 
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LETTERS. 7 
it in her power; but, poor infant, the birth of your father, deprived her even of that comfort, and ravished from her the affections of all the family. Your aunt, born with extreme fensibi lity, felt the alteration of behaviour towards her, and was fo afflicted by it, that the goodness of her constitution could not Support her : sh fell dangerousty ill, and they did not fail to attribute it to envy and jealousy. Indeed, they would have been So glad of an opportunity to lave all the wealth of the family to the newborn Son, that they abandoned his Sister wholly to the care of nature; and it was probably the excellence of her temperament that saved her life. To the great regret of her parents, the marriage contract had Settled twenty thousand pounds sterling upon younger children; and your grandmother giving little hopes of future issue, it was with pain they Saw the inheritance of their adored fon likely to be diminished by the payment of fo considerable a portion. In order therefore, if polfible, to prevent what they considered as a misfortune, they Sent your aunt into France, where they put her in a convent; hoping, that, in time, she would have an inclination to take the veil. Your aunt has herself often told me, that a religious life was the dearest object of her destres, and the end of all her 
B 4 prayers j 
L E T T E R S' S 
prayers; but they were put up in vain; for as st/e was in a Society of truly pious nuns, the hopes' of the great Sum which her parents offered with her, could not engage them to deceive their young pensioner: : the contrary, they encouraged her to withstand all the threats and arguments which her friends used.. make her for fakethe world; she remained among them till' she was seventeen, and her parents informed her that she must expect to stay there till her brother was settled. As she was happy, it was an exile which she had little reluctance to Submit to, bat it was not of fo long a duration as they had endeavoured to make her fear it would. Her father and mother died in a short Space, one after the other; and, in the mean time, the brother, of the prioress, who had. brought hemp, arrived from the Indies j he was a man fifty-five years 
old, who came into his own: country to enjoy an 
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immense fortune, the fruits of his industry abroad; the guardians of your aunt called her into England, and Mr. Harvey was entrusted with the care of transporting her thither : it was in this short Space, that be conceived the.design of making her his wife; and as sh found in him all the qualities which constitute the honest man and the good Christian, the disproportion of ages 
; had nothing to frighten her youthful mind,, who. 
was! 
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was apprehenssve that her guardians, some of whom were not Roman catholics, wouldforceher 1-0 marry a man of another religion than that which her ancestors professed, and she herself had been educated in. Her relations made great difficulties about the conditions; and, under pretence that the affiiirs of the family were in disorder, demanded a certain time for the payment of the portion. Harvey was too much in love to suffer that obstacle to delay his happiness; in short, he married your aunt, and agreed to wait for her fortune till his wife should be of age. The young man now began'to shejv a character from which everything was to be apprehended,. I speak of your father, my dear Clarissa; and my respect for your just delicacy, will make me suppress whatever is not absolbtely necessar}' for you to be acquainted with: let it Suffice to tell you' that he went abroad; and that, to a nature not well disposcd, he added the additional misfortune of falling into the hands of a governor who had no principles of religion, and during their tour associated only .vith men of his own cast; his manners corresponded with his faith; and at two and twenty years old he returned your fatherintoengland, aftershavingdissipated at least one half of his paternal fortune. This last circumstance, however, not being generally known, 
B 5, Mr’ 
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Mr. Darby passed for a considerable match; and Lord Afaph, who was but ill in his affairs, endeavoured at a marriage between him and his daughter. Ah! my dear Clarissa, how worthy was she of a better choice! in Spite of the brilliant figure of her intended husband, she felt a disgust for him, which she combated in vain : and she would have preferred death to his hand, if the election had been left to herself: too timid, however, to restst the despotic orders of a father, whom she had always Seen terrible to his children, she Dvereome her repugnance. You were born the first year of her nuptials, and her tenderness for you was her only comfort. In the mean time, your aunt was become a widow. Mr. Harvey having left her considerable possessions, she Signified to your father that she would give him longer time for the payment of what he owed her; but this condescension did in no sort diminish the hate which he had for his Sister, and he gave her proofs of it, as often as it was in his power. He had dragged after him into England an Irish girl, whom he had runaway with from, one of his friends, whose mistress she was. Ashe was feariul Such a connexion might be prejudicial to his establishment, he kept it concealed till after his marriage j but Scarce was that concluded,, when he proposed this woman to his lady as a 
per Son 
LETTERS. II 
person proper to have the care of her house, of which she Soon became the Scandal. Your mother Saw herself reduced to receive from the hands of this wretch the Smallest necessaries; and when she presumed to remonstrate with her husband, and show him the evil light which Such a conduct must put him in with all good people, he treated her with a cruelty that Sometimes put her life in danger. All her resource was in the friendship of her sister-in-law. But her barbarous husband Suffered her not long to enjoy that : as great partof his estate was in Ireland, he informed her that Sne must prepare to go with him there. You were then three years old, and your virtuous mother had the mortification to see you confounded with two other children, which your father had by the creature he kept in his house. She shuddered lest your morals should be corrupted by ill example; and this fear being forcible enough to engage her to deprive herself of the pleasure of bringing you up, she determined that your aunt should perform that office in her stead. Nothing more was necessary to make your father refuse his consent : his wife and stster desired it. Your worthy aunt, therefore, as I may say, bought you of him : she gave him an acquittance for the twenty thousand pounds Ire owed her, in consequence of his ceding you to her for ever, 
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without his having any future right to exert the authority of a parent, in. order to take you out of her hands. On this condition the affair was concluded : for fourteen years past Mrs. Harvey omitted nothing which might make your father alter his conduct, but in vain : twice she paid considerable Sums to extricate him out of difficulties into, which his extravagance had plunged him. New extravagance was the only consequence and she was obliged to assist the indigence f yoar untortunate mother, in Secret, .if we can call that woman unfortunate, who was able to draw from the adverfiiies of life the inestimable treasure. fi all the virtues.” ' 
Herr, my dear, is the horrible recital I have had from our good dean, which has thrown nae'. into inexpressible perplexities.. The chief is,, the necelstty under which L at first thought myself to hide from you the melancholy circumstances to which your friend is reduced. Nothing Should have prevailed on me to merit the curse of Ham for exposing a father; and, I believe, this delicacy would have restrained my pen, if the dean had not assured me that you were already acquainted with the misfortunes of my mother, whom Mr. Balfour, your husband, had known in Ireland. Indeed I recollected that, 
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immediately before yourdeparture, the fear you 
had of my falling into the hands of my father, was one of the motives for your prayers to Heaven for the prolongation of my aunt’s life. As your discourfe was mysterious', and S little capable of reflection, at a time when grief for losing ymi chiefly occupied my thoughts, what you said made but a slight and short impression upon me:; but, alas I the traces are renewed by the shocking lights which the doctor has been forced to throw upon them; and I now perceii'c^ that it was out of tenderness for me you explained yourself by halves. But I take up too much of your time in talking of myself j and I ought to ak of you, - with your advice, a circumstantial account of your new'sttuation *; if you' are as happy as you ought to be, my misfortunes can never be complete; your felicity will be some compensation for my own sufferings. I do not know why my heart should indulge such melancholy presages twould to Heaven I had nothing to apprehend' but that poverty, which I must necessarily be reduced to, if my aunt has not taken Some care for ray preservation. Thank God I can make use of my needle, and I shall never constder myself unfortunate, while I can live by my labour the evils I have to fear are of a. blacker dye. I will not examine them too attentively; 
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tentively; no, I will give you an example of that reliance on Providence, which I have fo often recommended to your practice: it is the virtue proper to our Sex; brought up in the bosom of a family where we are generally cherished, we are forced to tear ourselves from it, to pafs under a strange yoke, without being able to foresee our fate. Men are not ashamed to descend even to artifice, to deceive a poor victim, who Sacrifices to them all she has dear; and they make her pay, during her whole life, for the restraint in which they are kept for a few months. I am persuaded, that even the most reasonable men have momentary humours from which women Suffer much pain: and I assure you, like my dear auntj I would choose a life of religious celibacy if God had left it to my choice. I have Somewhere read, that if a noviciate was permitted in matrimony, few would become professors: it is, notwithstanding, the state that God has allotted for the greatest number, and we ought, in the first step towards it, to take every justifiable method to render our burden as light as possible. It is to this I exhort my dear Harriet : her excessive vivacity has need of an exordium a little Serious. Your husband passes for one of the best men in the world; but they say that he is of his country, and by no means belies 
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the proverb, fierce as a scotsman.” I own to you, of all faults, it is that I would Support most willingly in a husband; because a wife may avail herself of it on numberless occafiona; and there is nothing more easy than to avoid its ill consequences;; need only respect him who is Subject to it. I know this word respect has always shocked you. “Love one’s husband— — — you have often Said. But by what right would those imperious creatures reduce us to a humiliating subjection?” ?” my dear friend, submif fion to a husband derogates not from the glory of the first woman in the world. In this cafe, respect. Submission, are of divine institution; and we may be assured that the more faithful we are in fulfilling our duty, the more we shall be respected 
in our turn; if I remember right, you 
were a little deaf to this lesson the day we parted. It wain the time of your triumph, the mighty words were not yet pronounced j in a word, Mr. Balfour was but a lover. After the Solemn Yes, the face of things changed. Have you ever made a remark which has not escaped me? I have Seen few marriages, where the bridegroom, led by custom, has not given the right hand to the bride in conducting her to the altar. That mark of respect is no longer in feason, the priest puts things in tfieir proper order, and lets the 
wife 
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wise know the nature of the compact into which she is going to enter, by making herchange Situation, and stand at the left hand of. her husband- -- there, my dear,,, if you are willing to enjoy the privileges of a beloved companion; women never strive to usurp the right with impunity;, and, was I married, I should defpise. my husband, if he. was weak enough to cede it. 
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Do not forget in your answer to let me know in what useful and agreeable manner you pafs your time in the family, of which you now make a. part, among, a nation which has adopted you for its own. Fear not to be too particular, lest 
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you should be tiresome. All things that interest, you (in themselves however trifling) must be of consequence to me, and I cannot.hear too much of them. As I am ignorant how long I shalh stay here, please to address your answer to the. dean, who will send it. to me wherever I am. 
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LETTER III 
LADT HARRIET TO CLARISSA 
teel?, my dear Clarissa; your tears are VV just, and I will most cordially mingle 
mine with them. If you have lost an aunt who loved you with the tenderness of a mother, I have lost a friend, a protectress, to whom I owe the little I am. Let us honour her memory by following her counsels L I consent; but do not go to push your heroism sofar as ta be willing to suffer from your family,, what she had the pati. ence to bear from hers. I am persuaded that my dear Mrs. Harvey would shortly have taken measures which you will be instructed in upon the opening of her will; and suffer not a filial piety, ill understood, to make you disobey her. I would not write to you in this style,, had she not Said to me Several times,, that she hoped God’ would let her live long enough to See you well married; and that, for all the world, she would' not have you in the power of your father. a.fud den death, which she had no reason to.apprehend, has deprived her of the pleasure she wished for; and,, without doubt, prevented her telling yourself what were her views, I wait with impatience for the opening of her will,, which will fix 
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the fate of my dear friend. I am not Surprised' at the gloomy presages that rise in your mind; the Sorrowful spectacle you have lately Seen, the multitude of tears you have shed, has dejected your Spirits, and thrown you into a sstuation, where everything appears clouded. I find that your disposition has been contagious: for four and twenty hours, after the receipt of your letter, I was lost in the blackest melancholy. “what’s the matter with you, my dear said Mr. Balfour, when became into Supper. “Heft you at six o’clock in good health, and, at ten, you have the countenance of one who has been sick a fortnight.” I have received a letter. Sir. “My God, you make me tremble! May I beg of you, without indiscretion, to communicate it?” No, Sir, I am not fool enough to provide you with arms against myself. Clarissa makes a prodigious parade with her advice, but we must pardon everything in her woeful Situation. She has lost her aunt. 
Those who read this little monologue, will accuse me of having a bad heart, and Small feeling of our common loss: they will deceive themselves;; am, without doing you injustice, ai much touched as you can be; but it is not in mj nature to afflict myself in a Serious manner j mj 
heari 
LETTERS. If 
heart does not govern my tongue, you have often told me So : it is moved by the ssightest of all imaginations, without, if I may fo express myself, my soul in the least interfering; while that giddy tongue prattles without common-sense, considering the circumstances I am in, my heart goes Its train; and any one who could confront my discourse with my Sentiments, would be astonished at the contrast.. This remark is yours my dear; So you cannot fail of finding it just : not because you made it j but because you never make any but Such as are well founded : it is a ' rule which one may regard as certain. However, as there are few rules V irhoat exceptions, 
I will tell you, by one means or other, to put you in the rank of ordinary beings, that you are absolutely unreasonable, when you Speak upon the duties of women. My good husband!! am no longer unwilling to show you miss clarissa’s letter, if you will be content to read what lam going to write myself, which is a eounterpoifon. Indeed I am but a ssmpleton, my lord and master will make a jest of my exception, and take your Sermon for good and valid. Well, fo much the worse for him, he had reason to expect my im pertinencies, I apprized him of them, and if he thinks me capable of changing my Skin, he will be mistaken. 
Y 
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You Have done very well, to get the better of the Scruple, which would' have occastoned you to use reserve with me about your fathery I know him, as one may say, Since, Stc. 
He was in the upper classes, when my husband first went to School, arid he well remembers that darby’s morning answered directly to what his day afterwards turned out. Indeed, his evil courses are fo notorious, that there is no person within twenty miles of his estate who does not regard your respectable mother as a martyr. Come now, my dear, cry up gentleness in a wife; I doubt much, if your father had met one' of my character, whether he would have pushed his excesses to Such extremities. I would Have Sent his doxy packing with well boxed ears, and thrown his bastards out of the window at the 
risque of whatever might have happened. If 
Heaven had'sent, me into the world by means of 
Such parents, or given you a head and heart like 
mine, I vvould cry out to you to Succour your 
persecuted mother: ' but !know her humour too' 
well; her lessons woulss be pernicious to yoq. 
Your soul, already humbleand pliable, is but too 
willing today itself under the feet of oppression; 
especially, when: theperfecutorsareperfons whom. 
duty has made it a law to respect. I admire you; 
but 
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blit take care.lest you make me admire you too much. Let us Speak Seriousty, my dear j If you could reasonably expect to be able t comfort the Sorrows of your mother, 1 would tell you that it is your first and most sacred ssevoir; but jiou have no right to flatter yourself with Such hopes; you would only aggravate her miseries, by adding yours to themspare her, then, that new Species of torriient, which might possibly be more insupportable than anj me has yet ex 
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perienced. 
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You desire t would give you some description of the country where I am fettled. You are not in it, and that makes it terribly faulty in my 
eyes: thcytay, however, that Edinburgh con 
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a number of .agreeable people; and such an 
assertion is pardonable from those who have not 
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Seen you; but when they have lived as I have with the masterpiece of the creation, they wist do very well to follow the example of some devout Muslims, who, on turning their backs to Mecca, tear out their eyes, because the world affords nothing besides worthy to be looked at. Stay, I have a charming thought come into ray head; if the women here take airs upon themselves, and join presumption to middling qualities, if they dare to criticise my Sincerity, my 
petu 
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petulance, I have a Sure means to rid myself of three parts in four of them. I will make Mr. Balfour go post, and bring you down by the same carriage; and then, flap, plant you in the middle of one of their most brilliant assemblies. What poor figures will our goddesses make! I cannot help laughing at them : this is the dagger which I keep in reserve, to revenge myself if they have the misfortune to difplease me; yoii shall know it in my next letter; for tomorrow I make my entry into the capital of Scotland: the preparations for that ceremony force me to abridge; and perhaps it would not have been amiss, had I thought on them before, to Spare, you the pain of So silly a letter: but to finish like my uncle the baronet, “the fox must die in his Skin.’* I am incapable of change, especially in that perfect friendship which I vow to you. 
LET 
LETTERS. 23 
L E T T E R IV 
CLARISSA TO LADT HARRIET. 
YO U are in the right, to put me in mind that your discourse is not the expression of >i"our heart; without which, I Should really have been shocked at the levity of your letter: in short, one must resolve to love you such as you are; and, to Say the truth, the task is nothing hard for those who know you as well as I. A grand Scene of new events has opened upon me since my last letter j and, though you should Scold me, I cannot help telling you that I foresee Some happy conclussons; this father So terrible, is, to me the most tender in the world; and, my mother regards as a miracle of paternal affection the prodigious change that is wrought in him : but you are not Satisfied with a general idea of things; you must have particulars: you shall. 
It was the third day after my last letter, that I had the inestimable happiness of finding myself in the arms of my parents. Scarcely had I began to enjoy the pleasure of their embraces, when the dean called us into the great parlour, where 
all the family was assembled; shall I tell you? I 
could 
Ail LETTER S. 
could not help trembling when he broke the Seals of the will. I had received with tianfport the caresses of my father; had I not reason to Sear that the tenderness he showed me would Suffer alteration, if my aunt Should have considered me with too much generosity to hi s prejudice In that instant, I wished from the bottom of my heart to depend always upon him, to whom I wed my life; and if I had been mistress of the fatal testament, I believe, I should have thrown it into the Sire without reading it. I desired a copy from the dean, and I Send one to you; that 
is to Say, of those articles which regard me. 
✓ 
I APPOINT for ray universal heir, Clarissa Darby, my niece; and I will, that, on the day of my death, she shall be put in possession of all my effects, jewels, ready money; and, in a word, of all my personal estate. In respect to rriy estates in houses, lands, ci nominate the dean of Colborne for her guardian, to regulate and take care of the Same; the entire difpost tion of which shall be given up to my niece, the day she attains the age of one and twenty, complete, unless she shall before that age marry a man who k, like herself, a Roman catholic; at which time, her guardian shall put her in possession of all my titles to tiifpofe of as her 
prudence 
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prudence shall think fit; excepting only, that [he shall reserve to herself one Sum of twenty-four thousand pounds sterling, which she shall not dis pofe of during her life, and which shall devolve to her children after her death. In cafe she hold die without ishie, the Said Sum shall be zested in the hands of Six persons whom she shall lominate, to be employed in the foundation of tvorking schools for poor Roman catholics. I ?ermit her to charge ray other estates with an innuity of five hundred pounds sterling for her hther, and the same sum in favour of her mother j which annuity shall be revocable at her pleasure[ 
[ that the said Clarissa, my niece, may Dass her time, till her marriage, under the eyes )f her virtuous mother.; but, for essential reasons i charge, and command, that she shall on no iccount put her foot into her father’s house 
while he stays in Ireland : if he will come and ive at the Seat where I shall finish my life, I alow him the use of it for the term of his, on con lition that he shall never bring any person into t of the female Sex, born in Ireland; revoking he present donation to my niece, if she stays our and twenty hours under the roof with a wo tian of that nation, or in any other dwelling her ather shall choose to inhabit.; and in cafe of diso ledience on her part to this express condition, I ive all I die possessed of to the poor. 
voli. C LETTER 
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L E T TER VI 
L/IDT EARRIE V TO CL A: R ISSA. 
GOD bless our good dean, and give him 
the courage he has need of, in order to moderate the virtues of my dear Clarissa. It h 
VS 
.not the work about which directors are generally employed. Faults are what they have to destroy you have none, and are only to be cautioned against the extremity of your virtue. To judge of you by jmur Ltter, you would be taken foi one ofvthofe Soft souls, who do good through weakness; and, to deal plainly with you, thath the idea Mr. Balfour had of you: nay, before I could bring him to alter his opinion, I wai obliged to cite twentyssacts to prove, that the real temper of your mind was courage and resolution *, and, after all, I can Scarce flatter myself with having succeeded in his conviction; foi these men think they degrade themselves in con 
Selling, in the presence of their meaner moieties that they have turned to the left: in their judge. ments. I ought, however, to do justice to mj best beloved : either he is less tainted than others, with the pride natural to his sex, or better knows how to disguise it; he hears reason, am has not the ridiculous madness to believe, tliai 
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LET E R S. .'27 
t cannot come out of a woman’s mouth. Do vou know that I find myselt a little disappointed with him? They would force me to Submit to a yoke, in Spite of my desire of independence;. ind not being permitted the pleasure of freedom, 
I promised myself Some little recompense in putting my husband out of temper, if I did not 
find him a cornplaisint observer of all my capri 
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humours. I have not been able yet to have this Satisfaction : indeed, my dear, I believe I love the man, and that love blinds me to all his Saults; for, after all, he ought to have Some linctme of his Sex, and I have not yet been able to discover in his character any colour of it. I will say more; I absolutely find myself in danger of being overcome by the foible into which I have unwillingly been Seduced, ever since I perceived with what vivacity my husband inte reflshimfelf in your welfare. It is a treason against my majesty which I had not foreseeri; j. and if he continues it, my gratitude will become love. You will perceive that he has rendered himself worthy of these fentimenls, when you have read his letter, which you are also to suppose Subscribed by me, fori actually believe tiie creature 
has a Secret to read my heart, that he may precisely tell you what I think and what I feel. 
ft 
When you hear his dccision, then you also 
C 2 hear 
28 LETTERS. 
hear mine; for which reason I here stop fliorh to give you the detail of my adventures, as yot desire. 
I HAVE been walked about, drairged, prefent «d, examined, and, perhaps, criticixed by everybody, that is not nobody, in Edinburgh; first in the grose, at the assembly which I told you of, and since in every private house. 1 persuaded myself that they would have some pity for me at .my first visits, and that a card left at every doof would do the business: : by no means; 1 must climb two hundred steps, make a thousand curt fies, and a like number of those compliments that signify nothing. Oh! it k l!s me,; and what’s still more Singular than ast this, it is on account of conscience that they make me undergo those trials.; .that is to Say, they Swallow a earnest for fear.a nat should imperceptibly stick upon it. What good Christians would deny themselves when they are at home 1 would it not be a lie? It is impossible to persuade them that a lie implies deceit, and that there is no deception in refusing to receive a visit of ceremony. When it is agreed to say, my lady is not at home, it is to say, in other words, my lady is too polite to give you the trouble of coming upstairs. 1 am 
Sure you will take the part of those rigorous formalists y 
9 
letters. 
malist’s; however, I have this to comfort me, by the time I receive your reasons, my poor limbs may be pretty well recovered from the horrible fatigue, which, at present, will not suffer me to hear anything in justification of shell False females. J say false, and will not eat my words; for the wretches told above an hundred lies, during the half quarter of an hour I passed with every one of them; for what but lies were 
: hose overstrained compliments with which h they 
* 
oaded me b how could they have the face to Say hat they esteemed me? some of them even did lot blush to go as far as the word friendship • lid they know me, to love me, to esteem me! Flere then are my scrupulous ladies convicted of laving Swallowed the camel, of having told lies. 
! am curious to fct in vvhat manner you will un lertake their defence. T would believe you carcely dare do it, if I did shot know by expe ience how much you excel in the talent of xcusing your neighbour. Do not ask me how • like the women of this country, you knov/ I i^as in a bad humour, and when I am So, I northeast er See clearly. There is one, however, whom have distinguished; but what is ridiculous nougsh, I cannot tell who she is. I had not Suf_ cient retention to remember the name of every ice, and it would take me a year complete to 
C 3 assort 
, 30 LETTER S. 
assort them properly together; expect to have them described by the brown, tiie Lir, the tall the short. You know I have a quick eye at finding out absurdities. Something of that kind wiif make a sign board for every person, and your delicacy will not be wounded, as no name will be written under it. Hold, however, there are two ladies I must bring you acquainted with; fear not,, child; I have nothing to say but in their praife one is the duchess of Roxborough : I had often heard of her grace, and, if I may credit the public voice, she would be just to your taste : she is more than the mother of her children, she is their governant, and, when occasion Serves, their nurse, which is as often as they have the. stightest indispofition. Since the death of my lord’ duke she is become her son’s steward; and I found her at a bureau, where she had twenty let 
ft 
ters to read and answer. She told me she had that amusement twice a week; and it is assured 
f 
that, by her prudent management, she has doubled the young duke’s fortune. She presented me to her family, which consists of two Sons and two daughters: I was in rapture : the two young lords are at School, yet takeoff their hats, and Salute with a good grace : they never put in their words impertinently, always answer with pro" priety, and. in a word, have the air of children 
L E T TERS. 31 
dien of quality. The two daughters are extremely pretty; the elder aiked me very Seriousty if I did not think her Sister was prettier than she,. You are both extremely handsome,. Said I, but why do you ask the question? Because, answered she, I would know whether you are of the Same pinion lam; everybody tells me I am handsomer than my Sister, and yet I like her face better' than my own. Look at her eyes, madam; are they not very fine? And you very modest, my dear, said I, embracing her. If this girl does not alter as she grows up, I will fet her down as one of the few rare things I have seen. The Second person that pleases me here, is lady — 
O Lord I forget her name — but I know she is the younger Sister of lord Brook, or Warwick; she is called Charlotte. I can say no more of her: this young lady is extremely timid, but she has Something in her manners ama7.ingly charming. 
Confess, my dear Clarissa, that this is one of the most fingularctetters that ever came from my pen : a general criticism, long panegyrics; Oh, be assured of it, I make prodigious strides towards reformation: we shall See how fo good a beginning will prosper.. 
^ C 4 Let 
32 LETTERS. 
Let us return to our affairs: I am charmed with the ray o happiness which breaks upon you; Heaven continue it: but do you enjoy the pleasure without troubling yourself about its duration? It will'be permanent, if you follow the counsels of those who love you: place me at their head; you run no risque of being unyush, 
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L E TTER 
letters. s3 
L E T T E R VII 
MK BALFOUR TO CLARISSA: 
I AM much indebted to the dean of Colborne for the good opinion he has of my probity; but I owe him yet more for the honour of a correspondence, which he has procured me, with a lady o your merit. I could express myself in warmer terms, but my dear Harriet stops me with a decisive air. No panegyrics, Mr. Balfour : Clarissa is not send of that style. Your way of thinking, madam, T will venture to Say, is that of all who deserve a panegyric. I will endeavour therefore, to accomodate myself to it, in order not to displease you; but you ought to, be obliged to me for the violence I do myself, when I am brief on an article, where there is So happy an occaston to be copious. But enough; in obedience to your commands, I will give my Sentiments upon yoursituation. 
I KNOW it will be necessary, on this occass on, to manage your delicacy; but my zeal for your interest will not permit me to be So reserved as you could wish: I am not, madam, one of those, who think the time of miracles passed; the arm .of God is not shortened, he can multi 
c5 tiply 
34 L E T TER S. 
tiply them at his'pleafure; and the perfect es teem, the lively interest, which I lake in all that concerns you, makes me wish that he may deign to work one in your favour; it will be uselefsfor me to enter into details, which might prove the nc'ceistity of a miracle, to render a per son, to whom you are strongly attached, such as he ought to be to make you happy. Permit me only to Say, that an apparition from the dead would less furprive me. i cannot, therefore, but greatly applaud the wise precautions, which the dean advises you to take; and, if mine could add any weight to the counsels of fo prudent a man, I beseech you, madam, let what will arrive, lake cafe how you deprive yourself of the means of fedependance. It is not upon a general acquaintance with the character of a certain person, that! ground the admonition I take the liberty to give you: it is founded on certitude 
which cah admit of no doubt.. 
% 
Your charming friend makes me a rival here of every man that sees her. lam not Sure whether my quality of husband will excuse what I am going to say, but I know you love her as well as I do, and will be glad to hear that every day adds new beauties, to those she already possesses; 
Hov/ great would be my happiness, if I could 
hope 
letter S. 35 
hope to join to the gift fo rare of a wife, Just such as I could wish her; that of a friend, fo worthy of the Sentiments with which you inspired me, the very first moment I had the honour of being acquainted with you. 
Lady Harriet in Continuation. 
YOU hear him, my dear Clarissa; I am th 
extraordinary woman, the excellent wife; but do not you go to make yourself any indirect compliments now, in consequence of those praises.. persuading yourself that my exactitude in practising your grave lessons, has given me a right to them. No, my dearest, I am more petulant, more testy, more giddy, more capricious,. more whatever you please, than ever; and, in Spite of all those accomplistiments, which you dare to call faults, Mr. Balfour, who passes for a man of admirable discernment, Mr. Balfour, my master, my governor,, my judge, finds me perfect. I defy you to object anything to this. Are you confounded? West, I will take you out of your confusion. Upon my honour, my husband is buta mere hypocrite; he isj at this mo -- ment,. more a man than all mankind put together. It is a mere piece of art, to pique my honour, and engage me to realise what he has the 
*. .ft « 
goodness 
36 LETTER $. 
goodness to imagine. I ought to Say malice : ■ but, aster all, the turn is not mal adroit, and L pardon him in favour of the invention. 
In short, I must speak stncerely, and tell you, that I am convinced I have not the least llkeness to the flattering picture, which a too indulgent husband has given you of his too imperfect wife: 
• • • r 
but I am content that histbve for me should have impofed upon him; that he should be willing to engage me to become, what he has supposed I am. Most certainly I ought to applaud his mo' lives, and I assure you my heart was out of his debt, the instant he conferred the obligation: I will even confess to you, that this kind of sen» timental payment I think of little value, and that I am determined to omit nothing till L ean pay him. — For what, pray? For praises given apropos. Heavens! how culpable are men, to endeavour to rule with a rod of iron creatures fo casily governed. I married without love, because my uncle desired me; because, he being forced to go to the Indies, I had no inclination to fol low him, and, in his absence, I had need of a protector. This good uncle Swore to me, that Mr. Balfour was one of the honestest men in the world, that he had known him for a long 
time. For my part, I neither liked nor disliked 
him y,, 
L E T TER S. 37 
him; and, if the same testimony had been rendered in favour of Six different men, I woutd have left the choice ter my uncle. Whoever had aiked me, the day of our marriage,. Do you love him? I could have answered with confidence. No, I Shall esteerahim. They toldmeit was necessary to respe, to obey him. these two duties appeared to me incompatible with love, which is always wounded by. an appearance of inequality I do not know if the Sagacity of Mr. Balfour was fusheient to give him a pre knowledge of my disposition;; of this I am sure, he has conducted himself as if he was from the first acquainted wnth it. He has been able to hide from me the master, the chief: I have Seen nothing in him but the lover : and that Submission which lshould have disputed, if he had exacted it, has no difficulty attending itbecaufe it is voluntary. It Seems to me a present which I make him; and, what flatters more than a power to give? it is the noblest part we can act, which brings with it a Satisfaction, and which can receive no augmentation, but from the pleasure the gift causes in shofe who receive.. 
mercy on us, where have I been rambling this half hour? It is her hulband’s writing, my Clarissa will cry out, on reading this pagej at least,, 
it 
ss letters. 
it is a theme she has copied; her head could never give birth to Such a rational difcourse. You may think what you please, miss; but most certainly the words are my own : however, as one ought to be candid with oness friends, I will confess that my wit has had no part in this letter : it has been indited Solely by my heart, and that heart is capable enough of feeling properly,, especially when Clarissa is to be loved and ad? mired. 
f 
L’'E T T E R, 
a 
letter S. 3^ 
L E T T E R VIII 
CLARISSA TO LADT HARRIET. 
m 
My sstuation, my dear Harriet, is such 
that! cannot reasonably rely upon its duration. Felicity, without a cloud, can never, be long the portion of poor mortals; and mine would be perfect, if this reflection did not abate the inclination I have to think it permanent. i put in the rank with those blessings, which I have been for Some time in possession of,., the change in the humour of my inestimable friend; not that it has Surprised me So much as She may imagine.; I know her heart,, and I know that will Succeed in subduing her spirit: but, to tell the truth, I did not believe her conversion So near : next to God, you owe the happy turn to your husband;; is a benefit to merit ten hearts, if you had them, your’s is not made to be ungrateful; mine cannot suffice for all my sentiments of gratitude towards t he author of my felicity. I believed myself completely happy till the day when I lost my respectable aunt: under the shadow of her wings, the blasts of adverssty could not reach me. Wheri I examine my past sstuation with my present, I find in it a tiresome insspidity; Something was wanting to me, and 
it 
4q L E T T E R S; 
it was adversity; a certain piquant; it is, me thinks, the seasoning of happiness; and those whc 
have never Suffered, cannot, in my opinion, boas of having enjoyed. You may, perhaps, find this manner of thinking strange; I experience the truth of it, however; and, if I was not afraid of your being angry with me, I would tell you that I hope you will one day do the same; But why philosophise, you will Say, upon such a Subject;? One ought to have a vast deal of waste time, to employ it in a manner So uselesst i do not know whether your critieism.would be }ust: we hear all the world complain of the miseries with which the life of man is,, as it were. Sown ■; but they never reflect that those accidental pains are the Salt to their pleasures. You and I have always enjoyed perfect health : we Scarce are fensible of that advantage : while poor James our gaistener, is in transports of joy, approaching to madness, every time be makes use of his limbs,, which he was in danger of losing;; walks with a sort of ravishment, merely to convince himself that he can walk; he pays a visit to his crutches ten times a day, and stops everybody he meets, to show that he can walk without them, and to tell them, what little hopes he once had of ever being able to do fo. Count, if you 
can, the pleasures which this poor man is pos 
feffeill 
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L E T T E R S. 41 
fessed of; they are all born of his sufferings and his fears. Let us then no more insolently accuse the Divine Wisdom.. is able to dra w good from evil; but abandon ourselves entirely to his mercy. I resemble James: that which constitutes the exquisite. in the happiness I at present prove, are the little hopes there were of my ever 
arriving at it. Mr. Balfour tells me,, it must be brought about by a miracle. Well, God has wrought it, and my dearest mother sheds tears of joy, in acknowledgment, every instant. It is not the tenderness of a daughter that, puts a fillet over my eyes; I plainly perceive how far my father has erred; 'he wanted morals, and nothing could compensate for that fault; with regard to everything elfe, no more can be desired in man : on 
the fide of wit and figure -- -- In fine, my dear 
girl, you will love him, I am sure; and judge the degree of my affection for him, at a time whenhe makes his whole study the happiness of his wife and me. 
Of my mother we may Say, without exaggeration, she is the phoenix, of her sex. You have fbmet'imes thought proper to praise the difposition of my features; be assured, that, in Spite of the, 
advantages of youth, they will not bear any comparison with those of my mother. As for her 
mind 
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42 L E T T E R S. 
mind, I am reduced to .admire it; all that I could Say to you about it, would disfigure, without painting it. What virtue must her’s have' been, to Support, for twenty years, the contempt of my father? and to whom did he Sacrifice her! I am told that Mrs. Colby has Small pretensions to beauty, and that her understanding is more' contemptible than her figure; and this gives me an idea Sufficiently distinct of the vice. Good God! how malignant must its poison be, when it can conduct a reasonable creature to Such depravity. 
The dean has triumphed through mr.balfour’s letter: it would have been unjust, if my little judgement had carried it from two persons So much my Superior in everything. However, I have obtained two thousand pounds, which I destine to pay my father's debts contracted in Ireland. This is mere justice, my dear; what right Should I have to assist the widow and the orphan, at the expense of a number of merchants and mechanics, who would suffer in the very instant, perhaps, because they were not paid lor their goods, and the prices of their labour? 
My father’s diildren are arrived, and Seem extremely grateful for my kindness in putting 
them 
\ 
LETTER S. 43 
them out; for my father has declared to them, the design and expense are entirely my own. 
I keep the girl near me, till an opportunity offers to send her into France; some years in a convent are necessary for her instruction, and to correct some faults which she has contracted through a bad education. I at first thought of desiring my mother to take charge of her, but a little reflection made me alter that design; her father has. always Spoiled her, and might, perhaps, grow impatient to See her contradicted under his eye. The boy goes this day to London : he has a propensity to trade, and I put him with a merchant, who joins to a great knowledge in that way, a solid piety; indeed my poor bro" there has much need of instructions relative to his religious duties; neither he nor his Sister know fo much as their catechism.. 
live here, pretty nearly, as we did in my 
aunt’s life time : the same Society : 1 Sufpected, 
it would be too grave for my father. He tells me 
often that we Shall be better at my house at Old 
windsor, which is but two and twenty miles 
^ •/ 
from London. Do you know what has determined my mother to insinuate to me, that I should please him much by Submitting to him in this matter? It is in the neighbourhood of my lady 
Roxbojough,. 
44 L E T T E R sh. 
Roxboroughj and another' lady of her friend who lives at her Seat with hen Perhaps, when we are So near London, we shalihe obliged to Spend a month or two there every year. My mother will decide in this, matter; with such a guide I am in no danger of going astray; and I should be unworthy of the favours which Heaven showers upon me in Such abundance, if I aspired to live in the independence which my aunt would never havedesigned for me, but that she could not foresee all those happy events. 
I BEG you will, join to my letter to Mr. Bal? four a thousand acknowledgments for the goodness he has had in writing to ipf* 
LETTER 
LETTER S. 4s 
/ 
L E T T E R IX 
I 
LADT HARRIET TO CLARISSA. 
$ 
GO D bless philosophy and philosophcrs, 
and keep me from having anything to do with either. The pretty imagination! to regard broken limbs as a piece of good fortune, because 'that one will afterwards taste the pleasure of walking with greater Satisfaction! Take care, my good young lady, never to wish me any such' happiness; it is full enough not to drown onesfelf when one passes the water : let us enjoy peaceably the pleasures which we possess, without impertinently inquiring into the causes of them. I am not in the least apprehenstve of that instpi dity which you would make me apprehend from an uninterrupted course of happiness. Thanks to those grains of folly which I have in my composition, new destres Succeed So quickly with me, that I have Scarcely time for Satiety. We are all possessed with a travelling devil, Mr. Balfour excepted., who determines to go to Paris, only because he has important affairs to iransact there. However, as he continues the 
stitest 
46 LETTERS, 
politestof husbands, he hasaffurcd me, that if he had Sufpe6ied m) inclination was fo strongly for that voyage, he would have preferred France to Scotland; and he now terminates an affair in eight days, which he would not have finistied in Six months, but to oblige his Harriet. O! this husband, child, is not made like others; and if to love one’s husband is a foible, in truth, mine will be pardonable. I do not know why I put it off’ So long, it is not fit that baslifuiness Should engage me to deceive my Clarissa, it’s all over, and love is come in spite of me. I Swear it is a most amusing thing to love one’s husband; I could not have Sufpected : it is a certain preventative against drowsiness. Mr. Balfour is forced to dine in town : Harriet, who had a very good appetite, is no longer impatient for dinner. Is stie at table? Heaven help the cooks and the footmen; this thing is too Sweet, another too fait, the meat is hard, the Salad too old, the desert ill chosen; and she calls two or three times for drink. Is there a thundering knock at the door, such as anounces a person of consequence? my lady throws away the napkin, overturns everything in her passage, and makes but three strides across the diningroom, to See by the window if it is not her dear, who has found a pretext to quit a place a few 
minute 
LETTERS. 47 
milnutee Sooner, where he had good company; but company that tired him, because the object .of his affections were not among them'. Is it lethe countenance is cheerful, the appetite re •turns, and not a dish goes away untasted. Is it a false alarm? I return Sadly to my place, call to take away, and my face is as long as my knife; vapours Succeed, and I am determined to scold Mr. Balfour: the resolution holds two minutes, and then his presence makes me forget all. I ’should never finish, if I was to describe to you ■the variety which a little love throws into life. Perhaps it is the novelty of these emotions that .amuse me, and a little habitude will blunt the pleasure. In this cafe, a woman of spirit, as I am, will not want resources, I will beg of Mr. ..Balfour to make me jealous, and if he has not complacence enougl: to comply with my request, I will take care to make him fo. You can easily conceive what a fund of variety that will supply us with. O! depend upon it, my dear, I will never go to steep, for want of Something to keep me waking. 
As it will be impolsible for me to receive your answer here, I beg the favour of you to address it to —, where u'eshall embark. 
In 
4? LETTER S. 
In a worsh in spite of my folly, I am capabli: of tasting what is good and estimable; I therefore applaud the act of justice you have done, in paying your father’s debts. It is on those occasions, my dear, that one feels the pleasure being rich. 
ft 
V 
LETTER 
« 
LETTER S.. 43. 
LETTER IX 
CLARISSA TO LADT HARRIET. 
IT is from London I write to you, my dear : we arrived here two days ago; my house at windsor wanted Some repairs, and my Ither chose that time for a little journey to the capital j I contented to it more willingly, as, at 
4 ' 
present, there is Scarcely any one in town; So 
# 
that I shall neither be obliged to pay, or receive vissts. I profit of this occasion to Satisfy a wish I long have had. I have been in pain for the poor figure my father and mother make; mourn ing has hitherto been an excuse for it, but that is almost at an end, and I take a true pleasure in making them taste the Sweets of that affluence t which they were born, though for a longtime they have not enjoyed it. My mother wants everything, and I do not think less than five hundred pounds will make a proper provision for clothes and linen. I have need of your advice upon this occaston, for I do not pique myself much upon being a connoisseur in dress;; happily my woman has taste, and understands oeconorny; it is to her care I leave this commif sion. 
vol. I. D I am; 
so LETTERS. 
I AM called to read a letter, which an exprd has just brought me. — O great and mercift Ood! My dear Harriet, it informs me of th death of our excellent dean; and what death and in what circumstances! But my agitatio will not permit me to finish this letter. I an 
obliged to lay down my pen. 
« 
I HAVE been in such trouble for these tw( 
ft 
stays past, that I have not had couragejo inforn you of the new misfortunes that threaten me, o which the death of my dear friend and protecto is a woeful presage. At present I find that; terror which has no fixed object, is a thousam times more painful than a certain misfortune You may judge of the state lam in, by the letter I received from farmer Ryding, him whon 
my aunt associated with the dean in the careo my estate. 
( 
m 
LETTER 
^ E T T T R S. 51 L E T TER X 
MK REDING TO MISS CLARISSA. 
Your attachment to the dean of Colborne, will make yon but too sc nsible of his misfortune: he has been found in his closet in an ipoplexy; and, notwithsranding the Speediest succours were procured and administered, he lied in a Sew hours, without recovering the use Df Speech, after having testified by signs his re fignaiion to the will of the Lord. He appeared to me to be taken up with Something which greatly disquieted him, as he incessantly pcinted to the bureau, at which he had been writing 
when his fit Surprised him. I went and Searched t with the clergyman, who was, at that time, raying by him; and I found there a letter be ^un, but not finished'; which he made Signs to 
northeast to put in my pocket. I mentioned a number of my acquaintances, to know lor whom, the mperfect Scroll was designed; and when I pro lounced your name, he, by a lively motion, jave me to understand it was for you : I Send it o you without looking at .the contents. My dear nifs, be nut under the least uneasiness about 
D .3 your 
ft « •* « '; 
52 LETTERS. 
your affairs; the strfl: care of the dean, afl having quit you, was to put them in order, have at present, in my hands, four thoufa pounds, being your half year’s rent, and I w for your orders how to dispose of it. 
The dean’s Servants attribute his accident the visit of a stranger, with whom he had a lo conference the evening before. It appeared trouble him extremely, and he neither fupp that night, nor breakfasted the next mornii ^ You are too good a Christian, madam, not 
accept this cross trom the hand of God: no dot our loss in such a friend is great; but our Hi venly Father knows what is good for us, beti than wee do ourselves; and I hope that he V afford you better comfort, than such a poor i; : ': rant as I am can be supposed capable of. 
The Letter begun by the Dean of colborn 
to Miss Clarissa. 
'W HAT pain does it cost me, my de child, to trouble, with just fears, the Sweet pea of which you believe yourself in lasting pofli Sion. But, my God, how my head Swims! 
t1 
letters. 53 
rhe journey to London hides designs— — am lot able to hold my pen — Let your mother 
watch the actions of 
The rest of this letter, my dear Harriet, is written without any connexion, and in cha acters almost illegible. Alas, I doubt it notais friendship for me occasioned his death; but what could he learn capable of causing such I revolution? The conduct of my father, with regard to my mother, is unexceptionable: his friendship for me increases every day. No matter, I will hurry the workmen, that my house may be in a condition to receive us; it is upon the journey to London, that the fears of our worthy friend Seem founded, and I will leave it as Soon as possible. 
I AM not fo occupied with the fear of what may happen to me, but that I have a lively fense of the loss of him, who has guided my steps from my earliest infancy; and whose Sage advice has given my Soul a love for virtue. But, why weep for him? Ought I to be more interested in my own worldly affairs, than in his 
eternal happiness.? His days are full, and God has spared him the mlferies which he might have 
D 3 tasted. 
54 LETTERS. 
tasted, if — but in vain I'endeavour to fish upo 
an object wh$re my apprehenstbns may fall. mother is under the Same incertitude,, she endei voiirs indeed to encourage and inspire me with tranquillity, which, it is visible, she does nt enjoy hersell 
The circumstances attending the death of oi dear dean, has just been repeated to us by th Servant who attended him the last time he wf at my house. If we may believe this lad, th letter which has disturbed us So much, is nothin but the production of our worthy friend’s dilbr der : his fenses had began to sail the evening be fore his death, and his Servant then advised hir to Send for a physician. He Says, that the mai taken for a stranger, was a poor Roman catho lie, who used to come every year to confess t the dean; but, as he already felt his indifpolitio) upon him, he was not then able to hear him but put him off till the next day. He had beei troubled with violent vapours since his last re turn home; his mind was on the rack, lest m] father should not persevere in the road of reformation. It is not then astonishing, that those ideas should have affected him yet stronger, whei his reason began to give way. My father ap' 
pears 
LETTERS; 55 
pears extremely shocked at the death of our friend, and has prevented my intentions, in begging me to take his Servant, who is now our butler. Commonly good masters make good Servants; and this, having lived four years with the dean, appears to me to be a man in whonai Biie may confide without any risque.. 
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E 4 LETTER 
56 LETTERS: 
I 
L E T T E R XI 
LJDE HARRIET TO CLARISSA. 
WOULD you believe it, my clear Clarissa 
for ten days past: Mr. Balfour has en deavoured to persuade me, that my incomparabs friend is not all perfection! and that one ma) venture to accuse her of a little negligence However, he does not think this, I am sure but he has believed it prudent to put Such a fan cy into my head, in the place of those inquie tudes, which your sslence has caused. I was II my post-chaise when I cried to our landlady, ar you sure no letter has been brought for Lad Harriet Balfour? We have had no letter for an one indeed, madam, said the good woman Send quickly to the post then, cried I; and wait ing for the return of a footman, and Mr. Bal four’s valet de chamber, who ran with all they Speed, I Sat at the door of our lodging, beatin: the bottom of the chaise with my feet, and Say ■ing every minute, but Sure this post house is; prodigious way off, or those fellows creep lik fortoises.” At last they came back, but no let ter; and on the instant my brain Set to work, t imagine an accident which might retard your an Swer, 
Yoi 
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LETTERS. 57 
Y ou may believe, my dear, that nothing, possible to have happened, escaped me. She is dead — (ick — her father — perhaps her coach has been overturned in the journey she was to make. those things engaged me So deeply, that Mr. Balfour was an hour in the chaise with me, before he could obtain a moment’s audience. In the end, however, he contrived to bring to my remembrance, that you had told me, you were going to change your place of residence; and that very probably you had been fo taken up in preparatives for it, you deferred writing to me one day, and missing a Single day, was sufficient to hinder your letter from coming in time. He carried his complaisance So far, as to show me, upon the book of posts, the route of the courier; and I really See that you had but a few hours to read my letter, and answer it. However preising our affairs might be, my husband offered to stay at Edinburgh another post. Indeed this man is adorable, but I would not abusc !iis goodness; and I'part, my head in a Sick, without Seeing where you are, and without being able to give the reins to my imagination, as I was accustomed to do, on what might happen to you, from one letter to another. If I was great lady enough to keep expresses always ready in my Service, there should not pass a day, a Single day, 
D 5 which 
s8 LETTERS. 
which should not bring me news from my Clarissa, and from me to her; if I knew where you are this moment, I vvould Send off this unfinish, ed Scroll; but I muss wait with patience for your letter. I hope to receive it at Calais, and then! will put an end to this. But Mr. Balfour would insinuate to me, that the poft boy, charged with your desired letter, will not probably have wings; that consequently he must wait the return of the packet boat, in which we shall go over, and So it cannot come to my hands before we get to Paris. Indeed, my dear husband.. cannot wait folong; I must — O how negligent is my Clarifi 
fa! — This is my eternal burdem 
/ 
Sure one must have a prod'igioos' inclination to converse with one’s friend, when! write to you in my present condition. Do but listen to our tragi comic entry into Calais. To tell you that in coming into the vessel, the smell of the pitch made me fiek at heart; that in a moment after, my head began to turn round with the motion of the Sea, and that I Suffered for five hours,, all that one Suffers from 
the most violent emetick; would only be to give you the history of all who for the first time go to sea, who rarely fail to pay it that tribute. It is only with misfortunes particular to myself, that I would willingly entertain 
you. 
letters. 59 
yon. — We embarked in the finest weather imaginable : to Speak poetically, Aeolus, who kept the winds Shut up,, had let out a few zephyrs, who, with their breaths, just curled the Surface of the Sea. But all of a Sudden they withdrew, and a dead calm left us immoveable in the middle 5f our passage. Any one less impatient than your friend, would have staid with tranquillity with the rest of the passengers. Wait but an hour, the wind would rise with the tide, and we should enter the port. I Suffered horribly 5 that hour appeared to me an age; and I very willingly lent an ear to an invitation from th people of a boat, which came by the fide of our vessel. Mr. Balfour not having, courage to contradict me, consented to go in with me; and our 
example, drew after it Some others. We were 
three leagues from France, but we had four stout oars, and they promised to land us in daylight 5 for one of my reasons for quitting the ship, was the fear of passing the night in it, or arriving at Calais after the gates were shut: in which cafei they frightened me with the necessity I should be under, of lying in a Suburb hovel, falsely called an inn, the only resource on Such occa -- Sions. We had Scarcely made half a league,, when a terrible black cloud threatened us with a 
shower of rain,, which quickly began to pour in 
suck. 
Co LETTERS, 
Such abundance, that in an instant we were wet to the Skin. however, as the rain had abated the wind, which might have put us in danger, I consoled myself for being wet. - But this calm was not long, and the pilot of our Ikiff foretold a hurricane which would Scarce give time to put us ashore. He hoisted; all his sails, and, I believe, if he had delayed a quarter of an hour, we should not have escaped being wrecked, fo 
violent was the tempest. You know how I am frightened with thunder; imagine, my dear, that one clap Scarce waited for another; and what thunder f I never in my life heard anything So terrible. After all, we had at last a league to walk over the Sands. I would not shir during the storm; besides, the Sand was sotoft, that I Sunk at every step: if I had been as nimble, and as light as my Clarissa, our boatmen could have carried me alternately; they offered it, but considering my Size, it was impossible to attempt it. I was obstinate then to stay on the shore, till a carriage came up; but they made me take notice, that the tide, which began to rise, brought the Sea under cur feet, and that I must advance, or be drowned. You may imagine which I chose. I advanced. Sometimes on foot. Sometimes carried, Sometimes dragged. While I amused ray self with Scolding, Mr. Balfour took the wifest 
method. 
LETTERS. 6i 
method, which was, to Send one of the rowers to bring me the first method of conveyance he could lay hold of, chaise, horse, ass, wheelbarrow, barrow, cart -- 'nothing was excepted. 
One of our Servants went with this man, and it was lucky he did So, as you will See by and by. Though they went as if they had wings to their heels, I had time to walk at least half a league, and to arrive at a sort of bridge, where the tide could no longer incommode us. Here I was resolved to fix, till Some Sort of carriage was procured. When, lo! it appeared, I Saw a kind of Sedan chair, and, with transports, went to fling myself into it, one of our Servants whispered Something to Mr. Balfour, who begged I would not be So precipitate, but that I would let them get me a barrow. I do not know, my dear, if you have any idea of the vehicles in which they carry dung; they are laths joined by four pieces of wood, in the form of a frame; and two sticks. Something like those in our Sedan chairs, but much shorter. Serve to bear them. It was upon this noble carriage that I went the rest of the road. Mr. Balfour walked before with my two maids, and those unfortunate passengers whom I had, by my impatience, engaged in this disagreeable undertaking. Our Servants brought up the rear But what do you think 
your 
6a L E T T E ic S. 
your Silly friend was doing the rest of the way? laughing ready to kill herself: and I doubt whether your grave ladyship would not have done the same, had you Seen our cornical equipage. Imagine to yourself the women draggled, up to the waist, dripping water from all ssdes, Mr. bdfour’a hair as strait as wax candles, all the periwigs in the same condition, and, myself especially, wet to the Ikin, and shook as no unfortunate being ever wasi Happily it was night when we arrived, or we should certainly have raised’ a mob. They had the complaisance to keep the ^ gates open. So we stepti in town, where they ■\(^armed for me a very bad bedct But it was impossible to make me stay in it a quarter of an’ hour; I found myself quite refreshed and hearty, and would get up to Supper.. Here is my lamentable history; and, what makes it still more lamentable, the packet boat arrived in the port as Soon as we; So that, if we had staid in it, we might have avoided all our pains and fatigues. But you must know, I was excessively inquisttive why my husband made choice of such a carriage for me. Ke told me the reason;; chair they had brought, was that in which they carried the Sick to the hospital y and it hadi Served the 
very same day, for a woman in a malignant fever. 
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LETTERS. 63 
Now do you not think, my dear, that Mr. Balfour had a fine occasion to regale me with a good sermon;; it was against his will that I drew him into this ill encountered boat? I expected it, and really should have submitted to the humiliation in Silence, fo much was I down in the mouth However, he has been gracious, and I. have acknowledged the obligation; nay, I have made a vow implicitly to obey him (during the whole voyage;) I have not yet had power to extend it farther: however.. man will certainly succeed in rendering me reasonable, however slight the appearance of such a miracle may be at present. But, after all, what would he lave gained by reproaching me with my imprudence?, I felt it as well as him; ass his lamentations would not have dried a Single drop of the water that had almost drowned us; and would have infallibly put me into a fury; for it is insupportable to hear onesfelf found fault with, when ane is in the wrong t for my part, I think it is pnore easy to have patience under an unjust accusation; for then one is conscious of having the best in the dispute. 
Mr. Balfour resolved to stay, a day at Calais: : let our people rest; it is an act of consideration shat pleases me,, and we slept till eleven o’clock 
in 
64 LETTERS. 
in the morning, without lossng mass : we went to that, for the officers of the garrison and your friend ssied tears of joy there; each part of the Sacrifice was ianounced by beat of drum; at the elevation, the Soldiers presented their arms, and there was a general Sound of all themufic. In short, I think with queen Elizabeth : they Say she loved ceremonies; certainly they areuseful tc beings composed of bodies and souls; they elevate the Soul to God, and shut the dooragainfl distractions, by filling it with an idea of his majesty;; I confess I was distracted: but how? regretting the misfortune of my poor countrymeni and burning with desire to See them united with uj in the Same faith. But, alas! it is with this inestimable gift as with health. Irememberyou tellmc in one of your letters, that a person who always enjoys it, does not feel its value : in like manner, the French, who owe their faith to thehappinefs of their birth, are ignorant of its worth. For myself, I find this moment fo great a pleasure in being a catholic, that I firmly resolve no day of my life shall pafs, without thanks being returned to God for fo great a blessing. 
« 
We Set off tomorrow post, and, I hope, that the day we have passed here, will occasion your letter to meet me in Paris. 
LETTER 
LETTERS. 65 
A 
LETTER XII 
f 
LADT HARRIET TO CLARISSA. 
My melancholy bodings are then verified, 
they foretold me the death of our worthy friend, and the vexatious confeqnences of it to my dear Clarissa. I would willingly believe whit the dean’s Servant tells you about his master’s indispofition; but Mr. Balfour will not give me leave; either he has a wonderful knowledge of your father, or he is furioussy prejudiced against him : he suspects everything he does, and is greatly concerned that you took that fellow into your Service. When I aiked him, why?? answered me ssmply, because Mr. Darby recommended it; and he begs of me to insist upon your taking the first opportunity to part with him; or, at least, that you will be strictly on your guard while he is in your house. He approves much of your retiring to your country seat, and then there are moments when he believes you would be Safer in London. In fine, his last resolution is, to dispatch his affairs as soon as polfible, return to England, and take up his residence Somewhere near you. I cannot tell you how much I am obliged to him, for these instances qf regard for you; but you 
know 
66 LETTER SS 
# 
know my heart, and I leave you to guess if He intreats you to let us know exactly ever) 
thing that passes in your family,, and he wi! 
t 
conduct himself according to your letters. A; these precautions Seem to threaten you with some approaching danger, he has made me eaf) upon that head. You want three years of one and twenty, and, if you die before that age, youi father will lose all; fo that, for that time al least, his own interest will make him careful ol you. However, my dear,, be punctual in letting us hear from you: you may imagine what my terrors will be, should one post pafs without bringing me a letter. If you have time for no more, write only on a strap of paper, them II nothing nevj* 
% 
ft 
ietter 
I 
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letters. 67 
LETTER XII 
CLARISSA ro LADT HARRIET. 
\ 
t 
Al a S, my dear friend, what fatigues and 
difficulties have you gone through; I should not know what to say to you on the Subject, if you had not artfully thrown in an eulogy on the discretion of Mr. Balfour, without doubt, to engage me to imitate it. Not a word then of your past sufferings;; will content myself, with exhorting you, never to violate the vow of obedience which you have made to your husband, I hope your deference for his advice, will extend farther than your travels : I am sure his Gondu.61 will deserve,. that it should be extended to everything, even though it was not your duty. But I will not dwell upon this article; my Harriet hates to be preached to by anything but her own heart; and it Seems to me to acquit itself So well, that she may venture to rely upon it. 
We are fixed at Old windsor, but your duchess is yet in Scotland; truly she stays too long there for my impatience I ought to say, our impatience, for my mother burns with a desire to be acq^uaintcd with her. We are at 
more 
6s LETTER S. 
more than a mile’s distance from any neighbourhood, yet that does not prevent us from frequent company: the proximity of the town, tmd Windsor castle, brings us sufficient to Save us from abfoiute Solitude. My father continues to behave m such a manner, as entirely destroys Mr. balfour’s Suipicions. I Scarcely conceive, how a man, accustomed to a life of dissipation, can be reduced to the uniformity in which we pafs our time; it is varied only by hunting panies which happen but Seldom, and little tours to vsindsor, where he never stays above four and twenty hours. He has told us, however, that, was his fortune less circumscribed, he should like, now and then, a short visit to London, Put yourself in my place, my dear Harriet, I have eight thousand pounds a year, coiild I hear Such an expression drop from the mouth of a father, without immediately telling him, that it was doing me injustice, if he did not believe, everything I possessed was at his disposal?? answered me only, by clasping me in his arms, and I felt my face wet with his tears. In what abundance did mine flow! I never in my life experienced such heartfelt pleasure. I should confider myself as a monster, if, listening to injurious fuspicions, I did not do my utmost to reestablish the author of my birth in 
the 
LETTERS. 69 
the opinion of the man I most esteem. I know, and value Mr. balfour’s motives when he endeavours to inspire me with a diffidence of my father. A dissolute youth has but given too good grounds for it: but riper age, great misfortunes, and, above all, grace, which, indeed, 
I ought to have named first; may not all those things create a change in the heart? How can we tell but the prayers of my pious aunt, those of my respectable mother, for Ixount not much upon my own; how can we tell, I say, but such prayers may have had efficacy Sufficient to touch the father of mercies, in favour of my misguided parent? One may counterfeit for some days. Some weeks; but I have lived in the house with my father six months, and it is not probable that he should be So perfect a master of deceit for So long a time to cscape my observation. My mother begins to have some hopes; and if she blamed the offer which I made my father, it is only, as she tells me, because she is afraid, lest ill company should overturn the good resolution he has Set up. He allows himself, that he has Spent his younger days in a most deplorable manner; he repents it, and even confesses, that he has had some difficulty to conquer bad habits; which confession is, methinks, a proof of his Sincerity. I took the liberty of doing a thing, 
which 
# 
70 LETTERS. 
I 
which I did not think myself capable of; but it has succeeded to my wish. After Spending an hour in 
imploring the divine assistance, I followed my father into the garden: (this was the evening of the day in which I offered him the dispofal of my estate:) he turned into a shady walk, where he sat down. Seemingly Sunk in profound thought, fo that I was kneeling at his feet before he perceived me; I embraced his knees with tenderness; my tears flowed So fast that they took away my power of Speaking. O father, my dear father, cried I, forgive your audacious daughter the liberty she is going to take; permit her to open her heart to you; it is charged with a burden that oppresses, and will kill her, torn by the opposition of contrary duties, equally dear and sacred. My father took me in his arms, and forced me to rise. No, said I, my posture must accord with my Sentiments of profound respect, in Some sort, to expiate the boldneiss of my tongue. Will my father permit me? — All is permitted, dear daughter of my heart, cried he, whom I regard less as a child, than as a tender friend; doomed to make the happiness of my latter days; and in whose faithful breast I may repose the Secrets of my heart with confidence: fear not to open yours then; for, be assured, your happiness is the first object 
of 
L E T T E R S. 74 
of my wishes. Encouraged by this mark of ihounty, I dared to tell him, that my respect fof he memory of my aunt, forced me, in spite of myself, to a reserve which was become my torment. Ah'! cried I, in a transport which I believe truly painted to him the Sentiments of my Soul, if the fortune I enjoy was the fruit of my labour and industry, with what pleasure would I come to lay it at your feet; and receive from you, AS a favour, whatever might benecefsaryforme; dependance on you would make ray happiness ^ and I cannot, without confusion, recall the idea, 'that, at my age, I am drawn outof the common order, by the will of an aunt, whom I ought to obey, because you transmitted to her the authority you had over me. My aunt was virtuous; why has she deprived me of the felicity and merit of obedience, of which she herself So well knew the value? Permit me to makeanend^ added I, Seeing my father ready to interrupt me, in refledling upon what has passed during these six months, that I have had the happiness to live under your eye; I believe, I have found an explication of her conduct. Without doubt, ray 
dear father, she knew your heart; she knew that it was capable of the greatest virtues, and that your errors, pardon me for naming them, were rather the vices of those, with whom certain 
72 LETTERS. 
tain circumstances had fatally connected you she knew how difficult it was to renounce fuel attachments; that long habitude even renderei them necessary; and it was to lay you under th happy necessity,, of doing yourself that violence she put your interest into my hands j it is a depoli of which I ought to render a just account, an this is what causes my misery. If I follow th motions of my affection, which carry me todc liver into your hands, both my person and foi tune, I no longer accommodate myself to their tentions of my benefactress, and, by that mean forfeit my right to her favours; they belong 1 me no more; it is a robbery, because I enje them but upon certain conditions, which I vi late; and what misfortunes might be the cau of my infidelity? How could I answer it to rr conscience, if an ill judging tenderness shou again precipitate my father — 1 have not coi rage to go on, but you understand me, I a sure; Spare your daughter, and put her in a w: of accomplishing her duty. 
I DID myself So great a violence by this free e: 
planation, that I had like to faint away; my f 
there raised me with great concern and tenderne 
took out my Smelling bottle, and refused to a 
•''wer me, till he Saw me entirely recovered; ai 
ss 
LETTERS. 73 
lill demanding his pardon for my boldness. You have not offended me, cried he, ray dear daughter; would to Heaven, that I had always been treated with such gentleness and good sense;; should not now blush before you; nor would ou have just reason to fear following the motions af your tenderness in my behalf. People have not known ray real character, they believed it might be curbed by outrageous Severity : accus toraed to excess of indulgence, from the only relations to whom I owed respect, I considered the authority which my Sister would usurp over me, as an act of tyranny; her good intentions, (which I knew) were not Sufficient to justify the tone in which she made her remonstrances. I had determined to quit my mistress, the virtue ff your mother had engaged me to make that acrifice; but the haughtiness with which your lunt exacted it, bound yet stronger those ties, ^hich I was going to break; I thought it would 36 shameful to give way to her menaces. Here : hen was the unhappy Source of all my indifere: ions: my mistress loved expense, she engaged northeast in it; I first was obliged to mortgage my es: ate, and afterwards Sell it. The cruelty of my Ister, which left me to suffer extremities. Such isl cannot recall the memory of without horror; ler cruelty, I Say, at length, threw me into 
vol. i E despair; 
\ 
74 LETTER S. 
despair: she was very exact in fulfilling thi duties, which religion prescribes; from whdr I concluded, that religion was only proper harden the heart; and this idea confirmed me a disregard for religion, which, in my youth, had too fatally been estranged from. ’ My wi became the object of my aversion, because I a tributed to her complaints, the haughtiness ai cruelty of ray Sister. This was the dispofition my mind, till the moment I fiiw you; nay, was even determined to confound you with tl objects of my hate, but my heart refused to Su mit to the odious design. I thought I discoven in you. Sentiments very different from those which had produced my distiketo persons, wf ought to have been dear to me. The good grai with which you left me master of all, which In been given you to my prejudice, effaced tf imprestiofts of distike, which one naturally h; 
for those who ravisti from us our fortune. 
> 
thought I should always be master, while thinj were left at the dispofal of Such a daughter. Yot conduct has not contradicted the judgement then made, of your duty and affection for mi You have paid my debts, provided against m necessities, with a generosity which 1 should no have done myfelss But, rny dear child, it i hard, at my age, to live in dependance : hi 
true 
LETTERS. 7? 
rue, mine is Supportable, while it is only upon rou: your respect, your tenderness. Softens and indears it. Yet I cannot be easy. You are at an ige when one thinks of fettling, and I cannot upport the idea of a fon in law; who knows ut your generosity to me, might be disagree ible to a husband, who should think less nobly han yourself : who knows but you might be orced to abandon the interests of a father, or dienate the heart of a husband ^ in either cafe, should 1 not regard myself as the most unfortunate of men? I know that, with the annuity which your aunt has permitted you'to give as, we could live in a Sort of ease; but I will 55eak' with confidence to my friend; there is a foperfluity, which custom has changed into northeast: estity, and I feel that I have not courage to renounce it without pain. I hate the country, and shall be soon eaten up with melancholy, if I find myself obliged to continue there always. Some months passed at London would make a diversion which may prolong my life: it is in you, my dear child, to fix its duration, by taking measures to put me in a state more agreeable, than that with wlstch I am at present threatened. 
You shall decide yourself. Said I, on wshatis accessary to your happiness, respectfully kissing 
E 2 his 
LETTERS. 
his hand, which he had given me: at present have no inclination for marriage; and, if w can answer for our own resolutions, I dare pro mise you, that I shall bound my happiness, t live with you, and my dear mother, at least, fo five or six years. However, as nothing is mor uncertain than the human will, I am ready t enter into any bond you please, to double you annuity of a thousand a year before I make any engagement; does that sum appear sufficient?, 
YES, my dear daughter, cried my father, era bracing me, and more fo, as you have alread had the generosity to establish my two children who are his true your nearest relations, notwithstanding the misfortune of their birth. But doubt whether you can execute what your goo heart projects; you cannot dispose of you estates, which are fettled upon your children, o the poor. I do not believe your aunt left muc ready money, and you have drained yourself t pay my debts; So that I should be in a woefii plight indeed was I So unfortunate as to Ibfe yoi Be easy on that head, said I, I can every yea put a considerable sum apart; and, fuppose I di before I have been able to Save anything, m jewels will more than answer any duties that LI 
npo 
LETTERS. 77 
\ 
upon me, independent of those imposed by nature. The thousand pounds a year, which you at present enjoy, is an allowance I make to the author of my being; that which I shall hereaster give you, is a present I make to my friend; for you have honoured me with the name of friend; and I hope you will permit me to fulfil those obligations, which friendship lays me under. But, dear sir, said I, Smiling, (for my father’s manner of treating me, had opened my heart, and taken away all diffidence) will you Sometimes allow me the privilege of a friend? I understand you, said my father, pressing me in his arms : you reserve to yourself the right of preaching to me now and then; observe me, I am an old sin ner, and may often give occasion for a sermon;; will not promise you always to^rofit by it, but I will promise you never to be angry. 
We continued thus chatting together till it was quite dark; and, in returning to the house, 1 begged my father’s leave to rejoice my mother with the recital of our conversation : he paused for a moment, and then Said, it will be better to say nothing to her of it; your mother is fuspici 
ous, and Seeks for a double meaning in a conduct the most simple: however, I will not prevent anything that can give you pleasure, and 
E 3 therefore 
78 LETTERS. 
therefore leave you to act in this matter as yoi please. 
I HAVE been thus Gircumssantial, my dea frieml, to justify what i have done; I am fur your conduct would have been the Same, in m sstuation. As a Christian, I have no right ti judge any man; how then shall I dare to suspef my father? Let us suppose, (which, however, have no reason to think) but let us suppose, say, that my father would take the advantage o my credulity,, to draw from me an allowance which he does not want, but toabuse; I shall a least have the comfort to think, that I have beei deceived by appearances extrevnely plausible. am well convinced, that my aunt was gentlend itself; and that sny father must fie mistaken, whei he says, he was shocked with the haughtinel with which she treated him. But weigh all th circumstances well; my father had been borough up in absolute dominion; his will was a law: hi very caprices were Sacred; and applause followei whatever he Said; nay, perhaps, the first won of disapprobation he met with, came from hi ssster; and, fupposing it was softened ever f( much, must have appeared dissonant to the ear of a man, who never used to be contradicted What must have been the effect of that repre 
hensioj 
LETTER S. 79 
hension then, supposing that zeal for his Safety, or indignation at his conduct:, might have thrown into it ever fo little vivacity t In fine, here is my conclusion; many attempts have been hitherto made,, to bring, my father back to virtue, by contempt, threats,, and hard treatment : friendship, ^entienefs, and prosperity, are now to be tried, to see whether they will not. better answer the m.d. proposed. Granting him to be the worst of men, I repeat it, I am not authorised the more From that, to despair of his conversion, or to Spare any pains to bring it about. Can I regret any Sums of money employed for Such apurpofe? I, who would gladly give the last drop of my alood, to procure him that, which I confider asi the only good; and, in comparison of which, : rowns are less than atoms? 
Yet it appears as if my mother’s hopes were lot equally strong with mine, though she en leavours to dififemble her doubts : however, she ippjoves my conduct in the affair, and I hope Mr. Balfour will follow her example: at least, f he should find anything imprudent in it, I mtreat the favour of him to keep it to himself is to find fault will be ufeless, when the error : annot be retracted; and I am at present in a Ituatien perfectly peaceful. I have a prodigious 
E 4 curiosity 
8e L E T T E R S. 
curiossty to know Something of the manners C those people, among whom.you are going to pal sometime: you.know I al ways loved the French let me know if there is not some exaggeration i the faults attributed to them and what virtue counterbalance those faults,, if they exist. D not be afraid of prolixity, your memoirs will b the thing most likely to entertain us in ou country lolitude. As for James, the dean’s lat Servant, be assured, if he stays in my Service, h must have a conduct that will bear a strict watch and I will in this affair at least, Submit myfs entirely to the determination of Mr, Balfour. 
$ * 
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LETTER 
‘ • * 9 
LETTER S. Si 
♦ A V • i *. 
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J 
LETTER XIV 
LADT HARRIET TO CLARISSA. 
Ma Y Heaven assist a conduct justified, or, 
at least, excused by motives fo noble, and So Christian; it is the only answer I shall make 
J 
to your last letter; and Mr. Balfour hopes, that his silence upon the Subject, will encourage you to continue those informations about yourself, which we fo Sincerely wish to be obliged with. 
This is all he destres of you •, and, as your granting his request is essential to my tranquillity, I hope you will be exact and stncere with us. 
To tell you that the French ladles wear a malk, or, in other words, that rouge disfigures the most beautiful faces; to tell you that the men resemble butterflies, and that they are more frivolous than our coquettes in England; would only be to fet down what thousands have wrote before me. To add, that among those frivolous men and daubed women, one finds knowledge and good sense, which would do honour to our philosophers, would be to add something to the picture, which is frequently done. To conclude with assuring you, that wisdom and virtue mingle with those contrarieties, that there are 
E 5 a num 
82 L E T T E R S. 
a number of people here, who, through prin ciple, Subject themselves to the most impertinen ceremonies; would be to tell you, what yo •will certainly have Some difficulty to believe: bu I will go further, and Say, that among those butterflies are found persons of the first merit provided you Search for them at certain hour: This has need of explanation. 
There are in Paris different Societies; in on house they play, in another they show their wit where also they criticise the wit of other: without being ashamed, when their judgement! which is commonly the cafe, are reversed by th public; here they talk of religion, and charitably condemn all those, who are not of th same opinion with themselves; there they tal less of piety, and practice it more. in a word al! the world associate, and generally expo! themselves. However, the truly wise avoid a this affectation, are chiefly mixed with Societic like themselves, for whom they live three quarters of the day, and abandon the remainde to others, whose extravagancies they Suppoi with a patience, which they regard as a dut) These are the philosophers without cloak staff, or beard. Believe me, my dear, I hav 
fovuid out Some of them by ipstipct: yo 
hav 
LETTERS. 83 
have familiarised rae with that wisdom. Soft and complaisant, which yields to folly, and rejects nothing but malignity and vice. I would willingly enjoy, that sort of Spontaneous philosophy; it warms Societies the moll sterile, and Sometimes produces a flame So. bright, that it enlight ens those who Surround it, and brings them to r^afon.r These are all the remarks I am capable of making at present. I have not been m 
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any public place, and, except a few friends, made in our .voyage, have Seen nobody. An indispofition, which they attribute to the state ef woman, confines, me at present to my.cham ber; they endeavour to amuse me by procuring me pamphlets and Songs; but I have not patience 
sufficient to read the first, and my.morals are too good to Suffer me; to learn the Second. - 
• C 
Bfo T let us <tstit' tstp tone of modesty, and Speak naturally, : db; you know, my dear, that there are authors herev who Seem to have under 
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taken to fihd'dut to'what length the public folly will go? Fairy tales, which have no merit but their obscenity; Scandalous anecdotes? these are what fill all the books of the day. Indeed I regard it as a sort of miracle, if a handsome. French woman can keep herself prudent. To receive Such books from the hand of an agree abk nian, who will know you have read them, 
when 
$4 L E T T E R S. 
when you return them to him; is it not to con fess to him, ^ that your heart is corrupted? that you dip -- with pleasure into dirt and sslthrness? and willingly listen to those libertine discourses, with which Such writings familiarise you? I know, by hearsay, that Such kind of books find 
readers among our country women: in England '; 
but those who have a taste ifo depraved, blush at and endeavour toi conceal it in privacy. You know, that,, with us, a woriiari who should take the liberty of using dfouble entendres in discourfe would be regarded as a tossed creature? and that a girl, who should be licentious enough io firig a loose Song„ would find; it a difficult matter t<j gel a hushancl. I Said this, the other day,, to one 61 those uncloaked philosaphers,, who had hearl i talk of feme English girls, who, notwithstand* || ing public faults, had afterwards been west married; he found this indulgence, very cpn^a dictory to that aeon tempt,; whish we Taye fct 
I women of a Free life, i Eut, I hope,, I was aibli; 
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I to prove to him,, that this difference of condu^ 
was by no means incompatable. 
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A FIRST,, and only, .error in a young person, II not always a proof of a vicious heart yet] i often it is the consequence of a heart too con 
II siding, because she finds herself incapable tt 
P deceive: 
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letters. 85 
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deceive : it often proceeds from imprudence, in throwing herself in the way of dangerous opportunities j and it is not rare to See a poor victim of her own credulity, return for ever into the road of virtue, which she confesses, with Sorrow, she had formerly made one step from; but a licence in double entendres and loose Songs, marks a depraved mind: they are pronounced in com bloodand it is not poseble that a female, wh® has contracted such a habit, can have preserved even the shadow of modesty. Alas! what is a woman without modesty? and where is the man Sufficiently hardy, that dares hope to make her recover a quality, which is the greatest ornament 
to her Sex? I have heard Say, that the most ex 
f 
travagant rakes, love a show of modesty, in women that have no virtue. How then can men 
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dispense with it in those, who are destined to be the mothers of their children? 
Co n fess, my dear, that 1 have made you read a very foolish letter here, with my trite and general remarks.. Cannot you guess the reafbn f k do not you see that you have put me into fetters? Write me this, do not write me that. Till you fet me at liberty, you must expect nothing from me, but letters as cold as 
ice. 
86 L E T T E R S. 
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ice. I leave you the liberty to do what yoi plcase, provided you do not take from me th liberty of finding something in it to talk upon This last: paragraph is one too much, I tool 
the advantage of Mr. Balfour's absence; ti write it., 
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letter XV 
CLARISSA TO LADT HARRIET. 
You are a strange creature; my dear Harriet; and where have you found, I beseech you, that I take from you the liberty of speaking freely? I begged quarter from Mr. Balfour, in a Single article, because nothing he coum have Said to me, would have been able to mend it. In everything elfe, I have followed his counsels;; rather, I am determined to follow them. Pray do not restrain yourself, let your pen run when you write to me. All that comes tome from you, will it not be on the principle of friendship? and when you think proper to scold me, shall I not pardon it from fo beautiful a caufe? you confess to me yourself, that Mr. Balfour may have conceived some prejudices against my father was it not my duty to endeavour to disabuse him? and would you exact of mc, after prevention, crueland barbaroussheha viour towards the anther of my being?; 
We have been in an error wish regard to my' landed estates being entailed; the person whom I fet to copy the article out of the will I Sent you, doubt made a mistake, and the notary; 
88 LETTERS. 
as gross a one in reading it: they omitted both in one and the other some essential words, miefs Jhe Shall otherways dispose of them; So that I am mistress to disposeof my estates. I Sent the other day for a copy of my aunts will; and this liberty which is left me, has prevented my selling, oi pawning my jewels, to make my father the income I promised him. I must do him the justice to Say, he opposed my Sending to London; probably he thought me more attached to those baubles, than, thank Heaven, I am. 
Our Solitude will Soon be enlivened by the arrival of a young Italian ■'hobleman, at whoft birth my father, in some sort, assisted, anc whose godfather he is; the marquis of Montalvt has writ to recommend to him his only Son whose governor is dead in Flanders; and he charges my father to find him such a one as he has lost, who, it Seems, was the phoenix of hij kind. 
The arrival of our stranger, forces me to interrupt my letter; find the orders necessary for lodging his retinue have fo taken me up, that I have been obliged to put it by till this morning. Certainly this Italian must have a prodigious fortune, to draw aster him six persons; 
for 
letters. 89 
for he has three footmen, a valet de chamber and an almoner, who replaces the governor. My house, which we call, very mal apropos, the castle, is exceeding Small, and I have found great difficulty to provide for the entertainment of fo many people. The young marquis is about three and twenty years old; though a certain air of gravity, common to the Italians, gives him the appearance of thirty: his features are regular, his figure charming; in a word, he is the handsomest man I ever Saw in my life. But draw no Sinister consequences from these general remarks. A handsome man, a handsome statue, have equal right to please my eyes; and, till this day, they have made an equal impression upon my heart ^ however, I will hot answer that it shall be always thus; the day may arrive for touching my heart; and, to Spare you the pain of rash judgments and ufeless researches, I'give you my word, to let you into the Secret, as soon as my heart shall be Sensible of the stightest Scratch. After this preamble, which I thought necessary, I will go on with my remarks on the young marquis. He is awkward, and wears his clothes with an ill grace; he wears a periwig at his age, though, I have heard, the young people of his country generally preserve their hair ^ perhaps, some disorder 
has 
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has obliged him to cut it off, for i observe he er deavours to impose upon the tyc by a toupe( which his valet de chamber vainly endeavours t mix with the borrowed halts; this obftinat toupee, in spite of the pomatum with which is charged, falls continually on his foreheac And how long, will you say, when you Sna read this, how long has my Clarissa accustorne herself to pay Such attention to a gentleman figure, without paying any regard to his wit I have had an excellent reason for it, my dear for, to tell you the truth, this beautiful id( never speaks, but for compliment j. there, ir deed, he is prodigal!: and puts six. words whei one would Suffice. They say it. is timidity, an that he has a great deal of wit. One must hav a strong faith to believe.it; men at his years ai; not generally fo fearful; yet it is true, that h 
'eyes are extremely lively. 
1 : 
Since my last letter, ray father lias made I little tour to London, where he stayed four days 
j he is come back more gay, more complaifan 
II more amiable than ever. During his absence 01 
1! days passed like moments. My mother has 
fine understanding, cultivated with, the great care; add fo this,, an.infinite Sweetness often per and solid piety! Heavens! how blind must 
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L E T T E R Sv 91 
man be, to prefer to her a mistress Cofby: that woman, - my dear is in the rank of the most indifferent. It is from my father’s mouth I write what I now fet down, and you may judge that I listen to him with pleasure: he added, that his children formed the fule bond that attached him to her, and really they are amiable, and behave extremely well in the houses I have placed them. I have often endeavoured to engage my mother ia a recital of ber Sufferings from this creature but her scrupulous charity has not permitted her to Satisfy me: she prays for her every day, and says she is obliged to it, because she owes to the misfortunes Mrs. Coshy brought upon her, her 
ft 
attachment and love to virtue. On this theme she would talk for ever. 
I LIVED, Said she, in a great insenstbllity for God, and a monstrous indifference for my Salvation; my manners were indeed pure, I was an honest pagan, and I aspired to be no more; they married me young, my heart was void, your father amiable; and it Seemed natural,, that he should please a young person, whose fortune he assured, for I had but a Small portion. Notwithstanding I conceived an antipathy against him, which I could not conquer, I was dragged to the altar like a victim, while my only hope 
was 
$2 LETTER S. 
was a Sudden death, which I thought inevitabl from the violence offered me. The goodhe of God, which permitted that I should be uti fortunate in this world, only to assure my fel city in the next, rpade use of rriy sister in la’ to open my eyes; she showed me that religic alone could Soften r/iy afflictions, and lighten tl yoke which I imagined insupportable. Grac while it assisted me to begin, blessed my effort and I can assure you, that, for twenty years have Suffered, but never been unhappy; I ha' been content with my fate, because God £ lotted it for me. Nay, if your father con realise your hopes and my destres, I am almc sure that the mercy of God would find out for other means to afflict me; and, without darii 
to put up Such a prayer, I wish it from my foi The cross is the life of a Christian, or rather t love of the cross; for an acquiescence to b that which God Sends us, in Softening its rigoi 
II makes it disappear. 
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Here, Said I to my mother, is what I dor 
comprehend : I know that a Christian may bei stgned under affliction j but I have no idea hi 
: II one can find happiness in it. It is because yc 
faith is imperfect, my dear Clarissa; happin 
is in God alone, the cross approaches us to hi 
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and he never gives it to be born, but through an overflow of his mercy. You will be convinced of this, my dear, added she, tapping me on the shoulder; only wait his good time, he will know where to find my Clarissa, to make her partake the bread of the righteous. We are never nearer pain, than at the moment when our felicity Seems at the highest, and it is a mercy. Rest Satisfied with this momentary happiness, and our desires aster happiness eternal, that only happiness deserving the name, will Soon become cold and languishing. 
On reflecting upon this prediction of my mother, I examined carefully all the avenues to my Soul, to find by what road affliction could reach me; and I find myself inaccessible, except by the route of my heart: firm as a rock everywhere elfe, the wall on that fide is a mere cobweb; that is to say, my dear, I am able to count the occasions of misfortune, by the number of objects which at present constitute my felicity. My Harriet then makes a great ingredient in the physic, which God prepares for me. But what is it I have to fear? Is it fickness, misfortune, or death? No, Surely, that would afflict me, as my mother says, without rendering me unhappy. This is an ill finishing of my letter; 
but 
94 LETTER S. 
but Suspend your judgement, I conjure you. T post, which is just going out, does not pern me to enter into the justification of opinior which appear hard, but are not So, since th are compatable with this truth, that nothing the world, without exception, is more dear more tenderly beloved, than my dear Harriet 1 her Clarissa. 
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LET E 
L E T T E R S. 9*5 
LETTER XVI 
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LADT HARRIET ro CLARISSA. 
IH A V E much to do with your explications, after the fine compliment with which you finish your letter. O what folly to attach ones Self to a philosopher! These sort of people would 
persuade one, that fire does not burn; in short, 
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philosophy will do what you will. But I am much 
I 
less anxious to examine the reason, why fire penetrates me to the bone, as I may Say; than to get out'the redness and Swelling which it leaves upon my skin. I have a great deal of respect for your mother’s virtue, without ever hoping to arrive at it; if Heaven sends me crosses, I will endeavour to be resigned, and comfort myself in the hope to see a calm Succeed the storm : but to have joy in them, to desire afflictions, is only for the Saints.; andt am too sensible of my own impersections, to aspire to that title. Attempt not, out of friendship, to pray for afflictions for your poor Harriet; at present I Suffer only a little uneafiness, which keeps me to my couch, and my Span of patience is almost at an end. At last it is found out that I am breeding, and, in truth, it is no very amusing thing. I do not know whether I would not rather Suffer a fever 
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96 letters. 
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of fifteen days, than this lameness, which nev( is over. Aye, but the fever will not finish i bringing me a fon, and, perhaps, in six month; I shall have the Satisfaction of holding one in m arms. Let us keep the big belly then, and k the fever alone. For the rest, though I say a fo instead of a daughter, it is not that I would pn ferone to the other, but merely in condescenfio to Mr. Balfour. Your friend is become ex tremely complaisant, and her husband has yc something of the man in him. These anima think that nature makes a mistake, when ft produces any Species but theirs. What vanity Does not my Clarissa do more honour to her fa mily, than half a dozen boys? I allow it, fa) Mr. Balfour, who reads this over my shoulder but all women are not Clarissas and Harriet You are too gallant, sir; do not confound thel two names, if you please: your wife is modes and has not the pride to want to be compare with the masterpiece of womankind; that ma be said of your daughter, if I bring you one; fc I will make her a present to my friend, who wi communicate to her all her perfections; o condition, however, that she will let her believ that fire burns, water wets, and grief rendei miserable. 
L E T T T R S. 97 
You may, perhaps, believe, my dear, that mur curious friend is ready to hang herself, m account of the impossibility in which she inds herself, to gallop all over Paris. There is lot a word of truth in this imagination. Most women with child are eat up with the vapours, .n England, I am Sure, they must be black;; he lubtlety of the air one breathes there fuffers : hem not to take that colour, d am only laxy. But what vexes me most, my person is be: ome such an important concern among them, that they will not risque it in a journey. I represented to them, in vain, those peasants, who jiscontinue not their most laborious work, though they are with child. those Soldiers wives, who, if I may use the expression, are brought to bed in the middle of the road, wrap their infants in their apron, and run to avertake the waggcn. They answer me, that, from a habitude of living hard, they are put into a state to Support thcse fatigues. Marry hang those then who brought me up with So much delicacy and gave me a body of glass. Remember, Clarissa, you are to give my daughter a body of iron : I will not expose her to stay nine months in Paris, while she has a friend in England, who, I am sure, will burn with destre to see, to embrace, to watch, to lead, to quarrel with 
vol. I. F her 
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her even, if she should give herself the airs r 
to obey her. 
• 4 
Mr. Balfouris acquainted v/ithyour marq’i and desires me to afi'ure you, that he is not foolish as his air Speaks him, unless he is proi gioufly changed within eight years. When r husband went last to Italy, Mr. Darby charg him with a commission from the father of ti young lord; he was enchanted with the whc family, and cannot help wishing, that you m enter into one wihich resenibles it. Montalvo inch, his figure amiable. Mr. Balfour know nothing of his timidity, he had not that fault fifteen years old : and do you know the concl Sion he draws from it, my dear? that your fi 
glance discouraged him, that he is in love; a nothing gives So awkward an air to a man, w 
loves for the first time. This is Mr. Balfou first concluston. His second, that you will lo him. My dear, his figure pleased you, but 1 understanding was Sufpected; now he is ft that he has an excellent one, therefore — 
Heels third conclusion, which will please you •well as the other two, is, thatif Mr, Darbye courages this youngdord to address you, my hi shand abjures all the fuspicions which he had co 
ceivt 
LETTERS. 99 
ceived, forgets all his reasons to continue them; and firmly believes in the reality of your father’s conversion. This match, my dear Clarissa, is Suitable to you in every respect: haggle not then, but marry, if it he only to iranquiliz, e your friends; and put in the first article of your contract, after the titles of your husband ** said lord also consents, promises, and engages to fulfil the oath which he has taken by the beautiful eyes of his wife, to conduct her to Paris, immediately after the celebration of their nuptials; there to register the wry faces of the right honourable and impatient lady Harriet, when she must deliver up her present deposit;; afterwards breath upon the newborn, as did the fairies of old; wishing that it may hold from her mother, nothing but her friendship for Clarissa, who wishes to be her godmother, and promises to endow her with all her qualities, virtuous perfections, cc. &c.*’ 
Sincerity, if you please;; is adebt which you have indiscreetly enough engaged yourself to pay. You have no experience in this respect, and you do not know how much it costs, to Say, for the first time, those big words — I love. Open as 
you are, if the marquis pleases you, you will tell it to him as frankly as you would to me, or any other female companion. In this respect you 
F 2 would 
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would never have the wit to coquette, to hiih your face with a fan; in a word, tp play al those monkey tricks in which the honour of j ‘ girl is supposed to consift; though nobody is made the dupe of it. One would or one would not marry a man; if one would not, it is easy to tell him fo at first, without amusing him; if one would, he ought not to be left in suspense to let him think there is something to Sacrifice to him. Some inclination to be rooted out. Mr 
4 
Balfour infists that 1 should tell you the finean fv/er I made him, when he was presented to me as a man, who aspired to the happiness, or ill 
luck, of being my husband: for, indeed, marriage is a lottery, in which there are a great many more blanks than prizes: he pretends, that! answered him, “Sir, I have not the honour to know you, therefore I should tell a falsehood, vasi to Say, that I would have for you the ef teeai, respect and love, which a good wife owes a husband;; I will not endeavour to prevent them, if they are willing to come; it is ■ your part to take pains to possess rne with them and to examine yourself well, in order to. know, whether you have in you what is able to produce them. I will esteem you, if you are estimable; I will respect you, if you are more virtuous than myself; I will love you, if you have not more 
faults 
LETTERS. loi 
'aults than your phyfiognorpy announces. The 
jxamination I would have you make, with regard 
0 your difposition, is essential for me, as well as or you. If my friends have deceived me in your haracter, you will make me miserable. We hall both play the Same game, L am shsupporta le to all those I do not love; I tell you fo be 3re hand,, therefore take care of it.” 
I AM obliged to depend upon my dearest, for be truth of this harangue, which I had totally argot; but I have Some reason to believe it eal, because I perfectly remember I had in my ead a song to the Same tune. I desire you will : t me know immediately, what you would have lid in a like case. I conclude, from my forget dnefs, that I was less myself, in that moment, lan I believed j but you know I trouble myself Ss than a certain person, because I do not reflect much; she would then be more troubled than upon Such an occasion,, I should be Sorry 
1 lose her harangue. 
e3 LETTER 
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1g2 LET fe R 
L E T T E R XVII 
CLARISSA TO LADT HARRIET. 
IF your uncle was to read your letters, 1 would have a very good opportunity toen ploy his old adage. The fox mujl die in his fit Do not take this for a reproach, my dear; clans as much as you will, upon certain articles, bi preserve still your heart, and your amiable gai ty. This then is your tone, when you are fic and have the vapours; your peevishness refer hies the joy of others, like two drops of wats I must tell you, however, that I do not likeyo 
indolence; it is a state against nature; shake you 
» 
Self, if the physicians will give you leave; but present you are under their rod, and they oug to make you do penance for your heresies agaii physic. I should be very forty that you were have a daughter, inheriting nothing of her n: there, but her friendship form; she might lo me, but I should hardly love her : I must hav( copy, absolutely like the original; in. whi case, there would be no occasion for fairies; very well perceive, that I am not one, efpecia when I write to you; for, was I in posseffi of a magic wand, stead of a pen, you shoi have a visit, instead of a letter. 
Wi 
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LETTERS. 103 
Why do you Speak of registering grimaces? you mistake the word, you should Say jests; for I am Sure you would dfaw strokes of pleafantrj from your pains, as well as from everything elfe. 
It is because marriage is a lottery, where there are but few prizes, that I am resolved, to think, at least,, four times before I take a ticket: I do not love games of chance but rather those, where caution and good play may assist fortune. This is nearly the answer I madoj about two days ago, to my father, who Solicited me in favour of his godibn : it is to tell you, iit other words, Mr. Balfour had nearly guessed right: I 
say nearly, for the romance is not perfect; ssnccj 
in those Sort of works, love is almost alwaysa shrprife. Now, the marquis came here, expressly to be in love; his father charged him not to sail, and 1 was the governor, which he desired my father to procure for him. 
But a. truce to raillery, I promised you to be Sincere, and I will keep my wmrd. The embar ' rassment which the marquis Seemed at first under, has been, for Some time, worn off; and I am as well content with his understanding, as his person: : this is not the essential point j his heart must accord with the rest,, and it is 
casy to malk it: I require more, religion; a 
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104 L E T T E R B. 
piety. Solid, and not Superstitious: qualities vei rare in an Italian. If, after a strict examine; tion, I can reasonably presume, that he unit these qualities, I will marry him, in preferem to any other man. I do not confider exterior at brilliant qualities as absolutely necessary to tl happiness of a wife; but when they are four united with the more Solid ones,, it is a Superflu ty that hurts nothing. That is. not my questio cries Harriet, with vivacity; one single wor and that will be decisive.. Do you love hirr To answer you, I must, have more experien than I possess; but I will describe my fituatio and'cveg of you to decide yourself. 1 see the ma quis with pleasure, quit him without pain; la never tired of his company, but I never fii myself uneasy when he is absent; I steep n Seven hours, without interruption, and he nev mixes himself with my dreams he causes i distraction in my prayers, nor even in my st dies; I should be truly Sorry if any unlucky a cident was to befall him; I could see him p his addresses to another,, without inquietude, will obey my parents, without repugnance, they order me to marry him; I will obey the without vexation, if they forbid me ever to thii of him. Is this love, Harriet? No, anfwe she, spitefully, •, you deceive us, or you d 
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L E T T E R Si 105 
ceive yourself. Myself I may; but, most as furedly, I do not deceive you : the end will justify 
me, if my protestations are not Sufficient. My father will needs show London to our guest; it is a very unfavourable feason, nobody being in town : however, he goes to see the public edifices; for which, two or three days will be sufficient J and my' father was obliged to promise the marquis, she should not be longer. They made me Some proposals to go with them, but I would not listen. Is this love? I go to profit of the Solitude, which their departure affords me, to demand of God the grace to conduct mein this affair, in such a manner, as will she most conducive this glory, and my Salvation. Methinks, I have only these two motives; and I assure you that I shall pray for the conclusion, or rupture of the affair, with such indifference, that its breaking off will not cost me a sigh. Montalvo, notwithstanding, is not indifferent to me; I feel Something for him which I cannot explain : 1 wish hirh happiness, I think he deserves it; but I should, without repugnance, see him happy with another. these are my last words; and I repeat it again, .1 do not. deceive you. 
F 5 L E T T E R 
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LETTER XVIIL ladr HARRIET TO CLARISSA. 
Be not frightened at the Sight of this packet,. 
my dear Clarissa. Will you have the courage to read this letter, or rather this volume? I accuse rayfelf of indiscretion for sending it to you, and yet I wifi put it In the posh If is. my way, you know, to be fensible of the follies I am going to commit, and go through with them? What hopes can I have that you will read my epistle, when, perhaps, you are busy in dlfcusting a point, the most Serious of youf life? No matter j what is written, is written 5 and, what’s worse, shall go. What I have to jay, is too Singular to be kept in Silence. You - remember, my dear, without doubt,, that I had a taste for romance, which you took a good deal, of pains to triumph over. I have broken the promise I made you, never to read any more; and it is your own fault; you recommended me to Siibmit to the rod of the phystciaiis; and the reading of those trifles, has been recoitjmended to me by the fons of Hypocrates: add to their authority, that of my language master, who assures 
me, mere is no better way to perfect myself in 
F rench j 
L E T T E R‘ s’.r 107 
French; and you will find me Sussiciently justified in my breach of faith. I had sense enough to trust Mr. Balfour to choose me a novel, for I had not been able to read ten pages of the licentious pamphlets, which had been fo much praised to me. He came backi, three days ago, with five volumes, which he put upon my ta -- ble; and, at the Sime lime, he fixed hss eyes upon me Smiling. I thought the Smile was occa lloned by the work which he offered me. L opened a volume; but judge of my surprise when t read the iithy Letters from Clarissa. If stherb bad not been five volumes, I should have tsha gined they had taken the pains to print yotir letters, but you have not yet fulfilled Such a laborious talk. I ran over! I devoured! mylasto -- nishment grew at every line! A Clarissa, whom, at first, you resenqibled feature for feature: I say 
at first, for the resemblance is riot supportecit and she commits follies of which you are incapable : a miss How as giddy as your Harrief,. and almost as' much attached to her Clarissa, as I am to mine. All of a Sudden L am taken with a fancy, to make an extract of these books for you, which, most assuredly, you would not have patience to read. It is,, however. Sown with admirable maxims. The author is English, sh man of worth, and loves' virtue; but he is 
prolix 
io h E T T' E R Si 
prolix to a dreadful degree; and this fault is your aversion. To have a fancy, and Satisfy it, you know,, are two things, which follow immediately; and it is to this bad habit, which, I conv fess to youj as though you were ignorant of it, that you owe the drudgery I at present impose upon you. I must also have your opinion of my criticism upon the work. Clarissa, allsheautisul,. and all perfect, is younger Sister to. a brother and iister, who resemble her in: nothing. Rough? ness, impertinence, obstinacy, is the character of the brother; folly, jealousy.. desire to reveng? herself on her Sister who eclipses her,, is the char jacter of the Sister. Mr. Hariowe, the, father, is described as an honest manj cruel towards his wife, who is said to be perfect j, despotic over his family, and, notwithstanding,, governed by his Son, Two uncles, who have the character of the father; an aunt, who resembles the mother, jwhose Sister she is;. Lovelace, who addresses the eldest of the misa harlowe’s by mistake; but, having found his error, makes her refuse him, and demands Clarissa, the younger, witst whom he is in. love. This Lovelace is one of those characters,, which cannot be defined; in the first volumes, through the most frightful libertb nifm, one discovers Some, rays of goodness which cannot accord, with what passes at. the end 
of 
L E T T E R S; 109 
of the work. The elder brother engages the father in an aversion he had conceived against Lovelace, Since they, were at the university; and the family decide, to get rid of him, by trea’t ing him with rudeness.. He Submits to it, however, in consideration of Clarissa. But, at length,, they push things to extremity : Hariowe, the Son, forces him to fight; is vanquished, receives his life from the conqueror, and orr ]y becomes more enraged against him. Clarissa informsmiss Howe of albthefe accidents. This original, of which I am, in Some Sort, the copy, would make Clarissa confess, that she loves Lovelace, Clarissa answers her, pretty nearly, as you have done me. observe, clarissa’s grandfather had left her. a. considerable estate, where she might live independent; she gives it up, to be disposed of by her father,, and her friends quarrel with her for doing foi would do as much,, but here is what I would not do. During the greatest embarrassments of her friend, misa Howe fills her letters with ill placed jests, at the expense of her mother and one hinckf raan,. her lover : .she falls again upon the har. lowes, whom she turns into ridicule (with all my heart) and finishes by a picture of poor hincks man, whom she is resolved to burlesque at any 
rate. 
< 
The 
no LETTER S. 
THE youngerharlowe proposes one sorr.esfi a husband for his Sister Clarissa; he is extreme rich, nephew of an uncle, who got wealth I base means; and vvould have been the me avaricious of all men, if his nephew had n been more fo. Somes is a Soul of dirt, whocoi Sents to buy Clarissa : all the family, even h mother, enter into the conspiracy. It is true she does it against her will'; she Sacrifices eve thing to a love of peace, which she cannot o’ tain from whence, miss Howe concludes, th a wife, who is too Submiflive to an unreafonal husband, aggravates his faults, and puts it in 1 power to abuse her good nature. This rema is Sufficiently to my taste, but I doubt whether is to your’s: what Say you? 
Before the entire rapture with Lovelace, th had ordered Clarissa to write, to him; .I dor know why : however,, she continues the corr Spondence, dn orderto prevent her furious lov from taking vengeance on her family. Lovelac piqued at their ill behaviour, undertakes tdm; i himself master of Clarissa in spite of them; f which, purpose, he excites them to drive the g to extremities, and even to use violence, in C der to force her t6 marry the monster, to who they would • Sacrifice her. theiharlowes fall in 
t 
LETTERS. rti 
the Snare; Clarissii engages never to marry, if they will, neither Lovelace, nor any other per 
4 
Son; to give up an estate j to depend upon the liberality of a father: but all is refused, rejected,, and her mother has the barbarity to press her to marry Somes, though, at the Same time,. Clarissa tells her,, that both her present and eternal; happiness,. depend upon her refusal. Where now, I beseech you, are the praises which were bestowed upon this virtuous lady? ivas she to be criminal, in order to please her husband?? is it not a crime to use violence to a daughter, who made proposalh fo reasonable? Has the author a mind to show us the danger of an excessive Soft and Submiflive temper? I believe he might Spare himself the trouble; these are: not commonly the faults of womens., and if there are, here and there. Some to be found Subject to (hem, I appre* hend it is an imperfection which will not Spread very far.. lovelace’s promise to Clarissa, that he will not exterminate all her relations, draws a promise from her, to continue unmarried, if she cannot marry him. Afterwards he advises her,, to throw herself into the hands of lady Lawrence,, his aunt; she consents j Changes her mind, and gives her word again, .in the fear that they should take the advantage of a fit to marry her; for she knows that they have brought a minister into the 
house, 
it12 L E T T E R S: 
house, little enough Scrupulous to assist in fuel an action. However, she contradicts herself again; and ■ writes to Mr. Loveldce,. that llie has changed her mind. As he doubts it, he leaves the letter in the place, where.lhey were usually deposited; which forces Clarissa to come to a rendezvous she hadgivenshim, in order to tell him positively that she could not quit her father’s house. While she is talking with him, she hears a.cry, and clashing of Swords; believes that her relations are come to Surprise her; fears they will cut one another’s throats before her eyes, and fussers herself to be dmgged by Lovelace toi coach, which waits for her. She is conduced to a farmhouse;; Lovelace, whose first design was, at least, to prove her virtue, forgets his perverse resolutions on feeing her, and offers 
to marry herdire6lly. She rejects this proposal 
« 
disdain J declares that she will, if possible, he reconciled; to her family -, continue unmarried if that depends upon her. It is in consequence of these resolutions;; she refufesto go to lovelace’s relations; desires that he will conduct, her to London,, and leave her in a house which he shall not approach. Here miss Howe feenis to act the part of a person of sense, and writes to her friend, that she has no choice left, 
butto marry Lovelace j that she wilt be unfortunate 
letter S; 115 
tunate indeed, if she is not able to reform his manners; but that she has put herself under the necessity of becoming So, because it is better to be unfortunate than dishonoured. 
Here is the great fault of this romance; it is certain that a girl, who has been forced to quit the house of hei father, ought togo off with a husband only; we are accountable to God for our virtue, and to men for our reputation : the more the manners of Lovelace are known to be depraved, the less reason she had to hope, that the world would imagine, he had respected a girl, whom he loved, and had in his power y the hope to reconcile herself to her parents was ridiculous, they could no longer regard her, but as a daughter, whose honour was lost. For me, was I in the cafe, to run away with a footman, I would rather be accused of raeannefs in marrying, than, of vice in staying with him j. and if he could not immediately place me among people of honour, who might answer for my conduct, he should be my husband in four and twenty hours. I find nothing which is not preferable to the loss of reputation, except the crime that may occasion it. Now there is no crime in a base alliance, and still less in fuph a one as Clarissa might have made. Her friend repeats 
it 
I 
! ri LETTERS. 
I 
I 
it to her in every letter; Sne allows that hei; friend is in the right; Lovelace offers his hant 
twenty times; but, because he is not prcisinj ' enough, she repulses him, and, through want o 
complaisance, throws him back into his natuia state of perverseness. 
1 
1 
i 
i 
I He conducts her to London, to a. bad house 
the mistress of which pretends to be a woma of fashion; and, to make a long story short, h makes use of a potion, which deprives Clarifl I of her Senses. After this she gets away froi 
him, and constantly refuses the hand of Lovi 1 lace, though she is supplicated to accept it b 
all the family of that monster; and, at lengtl she dies, after receiving Several affronts, which I are but episodes to the Subject. Why, Since thi 
I make use of the name of a gtrl. So perfect as n 
Clarissa, do they not also give her a condust 
perfect? What need had she of Lovelace to fa’ her? Either she could have obeyed her pafeni or her conscience opposed. In the second plac I she should have Swore the peace against her per! 
! cutors; protested before a magistrate that (1 
I would not marry Somes; that all marriages ma 
I otherwise than in the church, and publics 
I 
would be forced on her Side j make the magistrt 
the deposit of the promise to continue a maide 
ai 
L E TTER S. 115 
and, thus sheltered from the violence she feared, returned to her father’s house, and Submitted to persecution with a good grace. It is true, that Lovelace had sufrotind ed her with Spies, and that she might have fallen into his hands; but then she would have been in the cafe of a girl run away with, who, alter that, has no party to take but marrying her ravisher. 
Here are my reflections, my deaf; and, T flatter myself, they will be yours; if fo, have the goodness to confirm it to me. I know myself, all the good I have in me comes from you; and I amt diffident of opinions which appear most just to me, till you have put your Seal upon them. However, let me tell you, that Mr. Balfour is of my fide of the question, and cites an episode of a celebrated author, who thought the same way. Count Roger was on the eve of efpousing a lady he loved, and who loved himshe was 
named Alice. The father of Alice dies, and makes his daughter promise to conclude her marriage; but her mother opposed it, because she. loved Roger; and, to assure him to herself, she makes the count de Martin carry off her daughter. Alice, in Spite of her love for Roger, marries the ravisher, and believes that honour refutes she should do fo while the despairing 
and 
116' LET E R S. 
and afflicted Roger approves the conduct' hj which he loses her. 
And we also approve of your conduct, with rcgardcto the marquis de Montalvo; : we passionately desire, however, to see you married, without being able to tell you half the reasons we have to wish it. Consult God, nothing is more just; but resign yourself to the commands he shall manifest, by, ashidden providence, under the appearance of events Seemingly fortuitous; he could not send you an angel from Heaven, to declare his will to you in a manner more immediate. 
L E TTER^ 
TT T T E R S. •€'i; 7 
LETTER XIX 
clafilssl TO LADT HARRIET. 
YO U will never imagine, my dear, that 
your friend has fallen under a temptation to read the romance you mention, and in eight volumes; for the English author has been abridged by his transsator into French,, whom you have still found too long. I believe, the intention of the author, which is extremely good, has escaped you. It is as much as to iay, even a girl as virtuous and perfect as my iharriet, has lost, through disobedience to her parents, her happiness, her reputation, and her honour. Learn, young women, by her example, that the first fault against the Submifikm which you owe your parents, may conduct you from precipice to precipice; that there are proceedings which 'leave nothing but a choice between two misfortunes; to be in league with an immoral man, is, no doubt, a great one; but it is not without resource;; is a hope to reform, or by patience to Sanctify onesfelf; but reputation once lost, is never to be regained. ‘you say, that if you found yourself under the northeast vceffity to fly with a footman, you would marry shim directly. The cafe is very delicate; one 
must 
w 
nig LETTER S. 
must fuppose an absolute impossibility to find pw tection, or resource. One must — O, one must no expose ones Self to the necessity; and I shall al 
t 
ways have a bad opinion of a girl, who quits th( house of her father, unless she does it to avoit the commission of a crime; and how can she fini! herself in that circumstance.? I think a poorgir much to be pitied in a parallel cafe, if it be possible: : are few fathers who would Seektht ruin of their children. I conceive, however —. but away with those ideas, we shall never havt need of them; and they are things which leave traces in the imagination, that produce no thins either good or useful. 
I 
After having reflected upon the match proposed to me, I found no objection, fufficicntlj valid, against it; I gave my consent with a good grace., to prevent the marquis from suspecting, that I did myself any violence, as you say in one of your letters. I ratified it again with greater joy, when they were going to prepare the articles: the marquis de Montalvo, an only Sod, could well dispense with a fortune with a vise: his father, of whom I have conceived thehighell idea, orders him, in a letter which accompanies his consent, to content himself with a quarter qi 
my fortune, and give up the rest to my parents; 
thej 
L T T T E R S. 119 
they will have no child but you. Said he, and it is not just that they Should have but a bare Subsistence, while you enjoy abundance. The joy with which the marquis Subscribed to this article, transported me to Such a degree, that I could very willingly have embraced him; and at’least, I gave him the liberty to read in my •eyes how much ray friendship for him was increased. I .fay my friendship, Harriet : for asta •tedly I shave no more: the more I examine my delf, the more I am persuaded of it; and I have not concealed it from the marquis : he would shave something of a warmer kind, but it is not ■in my power to give it. Perhaps I am not of a constitution for anything but friendship. Here are the articles which we have agreed upon, and we are to Sign the day after niy marriage j for shy marrying only I acquire a right to dispose cf my estate. My portion will amount to fifty thousand pounds sterling; part in the bank of 'Genoa; the rest, in India bonds, the funds and the bank, shall be dfs[x)fed of, in paying the legacies my aunt left behind her; that is to Say, those which consist in life annuities, and part to purcshase an estate, which shall descend to my heirs; but my father and mother shall enjoy it for their lives. As my mother s inclinations agree entirely with mine, sve will engage my father to 
buy 
320 1b E T T E R S. 
•buy this estate in Italy, that we may have th pleasure of feeing one another: but, notwitli •standing, every two years, we are to pafs fom months in England, to pay a visit to my Harriet and her husband, on'condition that they will, II their turnfi, pay us a visit in Italy. There will not be time to have your answer to this, before the celebration of my marriage; but there will be time enough for you to receive this, and pra’ for me. I am fensible how many virtues are northeast cessary to enable a woman to fulfil the duties of wife; and this frightena me. You See, Harriet that your incense has not intoxicated me. I han said nothing to you hitherto of the excessive flat tery with which you fill your letters : I knou 
you too well, to hope to make you change youi ‘tone; but these praises will be no longer insea fon. If my husband infists upon my showing him the letters I write andreceive, which woulc be nothing extraordinary from an Italian; if, j say, he will see your letters, he may suspect m for taking pleasure in a language which refera hies adulation, but is, in fact, nothing but thi effect of the friendship, a little blind, that yoi have for me. This may diminish the esseeir with which I would wish to inspire him, am would flatter me more than those tender sentiments, which generally disappear after marriage 
L E T T E I 
.D E T T E R S. 521 
LETTER XX 
CLARISSA TO LADT HARRIET. 
i 
WITH what a horrid tale am I going to 
wound your heart, my dear and tender friend! Ho w will Mr. Balfour be shocked, who yet appears to have foreseen it? Ought I not to reproach myself for my obstinacy, in perfisting in that fatal confidence which has undone me, when Such a man as he, had pointed out the precipice to which it conducted me. Yet was it not shocking also to suspect a father of Such villainy?? dear Harriet, when I writ to you in Such Security, that I should never be in the Situation imagined, by the author of the romance of Clarissa; how far was 1 from thinking, that I was arrived at the moment, when I must experience misfortunes a thousand times more terrible; at the moment, when I should be obliged to quit my house, like a fugitive, to Seek near you an asylum against the person who ought to be my protector? But, alas I even that resource Is ravished from me; and your poor Clarissa— — what shall I say — It is from the obfeure chamber fa person unknown, to whose probity stie is obliged to abandon herself; that she implores the pity of you and Mr. Balfour. But I keep you vol. I. Cr too 
i 12a LETTERS. 
1 
% 
4 
> too long in suspense; let me take up the threai 
I oi my unfortunate story, from the conclusion C 
I my last letter. 
i 
I 
I, 
1 
The sword hung over me by a thread, and 
j » 
vas at cafe; I waited, without the least inquie i tude, in regard to my fate, for the momer 
'which was to unite me for ever, to a man, whoti 
; I thought worthy of ail my esteem. Who woali 
not have been deceived } The monster affe6tei virtue, religion, with an hypocrisy, to impof even upon a person, vvhom long experience migli have rendered more Suspicious;; then tb testimony which Mr. Balfour gave in favour the Mvintalvo; was it not sufficient to preven any doubt irom arising in my mind .i' You know that Since the at of parliament, nobody is per mitted to marry without a licence, nor an; where but in their proper parish, which is al extreme inconvenience to Roman catholics some, after having been married by a priest have gone through the protestant ceremony others have gone into France, or other catholii countries, to be married, and avoided, by tha means, an appearance before the minister. The; insmuated, that this ceremony was not neceffar with regard to me, as I was going to quit th kingdom j and that it was sufficient, if I wj 
marrif 
/ 
LETTER S. 123 
married by the chaplain of an ambassador, of snvoy of Some Italian prince. Montalvo knew the chaplain of the grand duke of Tuscany;; undertook to write to him, and he came on the day appointed. At first he made a good deal'of difficulty to marry us; he exposed himself to be transported for fourteen years, and it was natural that he should take every precaution to avoid such a misfortune. My father, however, eased his Scruples, by discovering to him a circumstance, which I forgot to tell you before. The treaty between the young marquis and me, was unknown to anybody out of our house;; domestics even were ignorant that the celebration of our nuptials was So nigh, and it was an easy matter to Send them out of the way. In consequence of this, two were Sent lo London, and two to Windsor, under a pretence of carrying letters of consequence, and buying provisions. My women went to bed be times, as, you may remember, I never had the cruelty to make them, wait for me, when I stayed up beyond a reasonable hour; rather choofing to uiidress myself. Wc would only have kept up the house chaplain, and montalvo’s, who, with rny father and mother, 
made four witnesses; but one of these failed us • 
« 
my chaplain was taken ill alter dinner, and 
forced to go to bed j but he assured me, that the - 
a tiiree 
I 
f 
124 LETTERS. 
three remaining witnesses were susficient. h 
} 
mother thought herself at the happiest period her life; she dressed me with her own ham and, in fpiteof my little regard for magnificenc I was obliged to obey. A description of mydn is necessary, because it produced an incide which Saved me, as you wiil presently he; I had a robe, with a rough ground of filvi wrought in polished Silver, powdered with tiif of roses, very elegant: my black hair u braided with pearl, you know my aunt hai great many of the most beautiful; as myd monds were not fet, I wore a collar and e; rings of amithysts; and my dear mother mad( Sprig of the largest diamonds, to place at 0 Side of my head; fo that my jewels alone m worth at least Seven thousand pounds sterlii Poor victim! How did Montalvo devour w his eyes those riches, which he thought him! 
already in possession of. You know, myde that I was always much attached to Fanny, 1 waiting maid, and her attachment to me mei that I should; I could not make a Secret toi of my marriage, and I risked nothing bydifi veringit, as she was to go with me into It; The poor girl told me, that she should not easy, unless. she had the pleasure of Seeing me piy wedding clothes, and I promised to slip i 
LETTERS. 125 
her chamber, a moment before we Sat down to table. They waited for supper till all the Servants of the house were retired : you know there were but few remaining : those ol the marquis prepared our supper in the village, and it was Served at eleven o’clock at night. While they were occupied in Settling everything, I pretended to have forgot something in my chamber, and ran up, in order to keep my word with Fanny. I was Surprised to find her out of bed, Seemingly in great consternation. An unknown person, Said She, has given me a letter, and he Said, that it was of great importance to you to read it before you was married. I was surprised', that a stranger should be So well acquainted, with a thing, that was a mystery to us all; and would feign have questioned him a little; but he would ■ not stay; only recommended Secrecy to ms, and " dispatch in delivering it to you. I have had it in my pocket these three hours, not knowing how 
to get at you; but if you had not come up now', I was going to ra fe a cry, under pretence of a fit of the cholic. I took the letter, trembling; and not being willing, contain what it would, that they should suspect the. girl had given it to me, I went down into the study; but judge 
what I became, as soon as I read the original ot the copy which I here send you. 
G 3 MRS. 
126 LETTERS. 
MRS. COSBT to miss CLARISSA, 
.Madam, 
\ 
it is upon my knees I write to you th, horrible confession cf rny crimes. Grant, Heaven, that the first: good action of my life, in ditcovering to you the unnatural treason, of which you are going to be made the victim; grant. Heaven, I Say, that this good action may be followed by a Sincere repentance. Yesterday evening, on your account, I, for the first time in my life, felt remorse : till that moment, madam, I Swallowed iniquity like water, and I gloried in a project, which must have rendered you miserable; when, of a hidden, it came into my mind, what injury has the innocent Clarissa done you? Was it not, on the contrary, itie who could not resolve to let you live in that state of necestity, to which you were born; who, out of her own immediate bounty, added a hundred pounds sterling to that pension that was desired "for you, and who has made herself the mother of your children? I hardened not my heart against this just motion, but, fearing'that the malignity of my nature might overcome the mercy of God, I immediately called for Succour against 
myself. 
LETTERS. 127 
myself. I am born a catholic, though Since the fourteenth year of my age I have totally neglected my religion. I knew there was a zealous ecclesiastic, who lived near me : I Sent to him to come to me, and I discovered to him the diabolical Snare which was laid to destroy you; he charged me to write you an account of it, and he will trust no one but himself, to deliver it to the girl whom you honour with your friendship, and whose name I have told him. 
You are upon the pointmf marrying my fon, and perhaps your own brother: this wretched fruit of my crimes was taken from rne by the marquis of Montalvo, who disputed with your father the right of paternity. Piously educated under the care of the marquis, who, Since his marriage, has renounced the errors of his youth, my unfortunate child seemed by his virtues to repair the crime of his birth; he entered into a religious order, very austere, and for Several years seemed content with his Situation; but I perceive, beyond a doubt, that he is the Son of Mr. Darby: the perversenefs of his charabter discovers the Source of his blood; he, by degrees, grew cold in the duties of his profession which at length he abandoned, and, escaping 
from his monastery, came to me in London, 
G 4 where 
iis L E T T E R S. 
where your father has Secretly brought me. He hoped to engage you to live Some time there; your repugnance for this town increased the hatred he bears you, for he cannot think, without horror, that you are in poffestion of a fortune, which he considers as his own right, and whicl he designed for our children. He thought my fon Sufficiently depraved to enter into his defigm of vengeance; he knew, that the marquis ol Montalvo, with whom he has been at variant for these two years, had Sent his fon into England for Six months, in order to learn the language. He found the circumstance favourable: the Sums of money you have fo generously given him, have served to assist his cheat; and, in order to procure a protection, both he and my wretched fon have abjured the Roman catholic religion, before the bishop of London, who, imagining them Sincere, has conceived a great regard for them; Mr, Darby has alio promised to bring his wife and daughter into the pale of the church of England: he flatters not himself, however, with hopesof success; and here follows the rest of his frightful project. A considerable sum of money gained over the attorney employed to take a copy of your aunt’s will. Had the poor dean of Colburn beentuffered to live, he would have confounded all those machinations; but the 
monster, 
letters. 129 
monster, whom you have received into your house, his former Servant, found means to put him out of the way. Your father, in order to turn these crimes to account, found himself under a necessity of committing new ones. You must be surprised into a marriage, with some wretch, who, content with a Small part of your portion, would give the rest up to him. The false will, gives you a right to dispose of your fortune,, when you marry; and,; as your good heart was well known, it was not doubted but you wouldj with pleasure, come into any measures, to insure the hshpiness of your family. My fon is afterwards to take you into Germany, and endeavour, by love and assiduity, to make you forget the deceit put upon you; but you are never, to know his double apostasy. The person to marry you j' is an apostate monk, my son’s companion; for they would have your marriage as good as.postible, in regard to law, in order to Secure the validity of the following deed. There, is nothing more remains for me, madam, but to beg a thousand pardons for the hand I ■ have had in .this black conspiracy: : is eafv for you to punish me,, by revealing the Secret of my intelligence. Your father will regard an additional crime as a trifle, and my death will, in foine.fort, seem a recompenie for the failure of 
G. 5 j his... 
L E T T E R S. 
his project : but, the truth is, you will gab nothing by showing my letter; the worthy clergyman, wsho bears it, will copy it in his own hand., fo that I may deny it for mine : add, that, was the affair brought to a legal proof, it would conduct your father to the gallows; he merits to lose his life, but it is not for his daughter to take it. After having read these horrors, you will not, I apprehend, find it difficult to feign a Sudden indispofition; gain a day, take the advantage of it, and put yourself into a place of security;; is the only advice that can be given you by the criminal, but penitent 
M. Cosby, 
Clarissa in Continuation. 
m 
W A S not the reading of this fatal letter enough to kill me? The desire of escaping from the danger, alone fuffained my. Spirits, and I resolved to follow the coiinsel of this woman, whom ' the mercy of God made the instrument of my preservation. Heavens! upon the point of being united for ever to a Sacrilegious monster! My blood frore in my veins at the thought of it; and when I returned into the parlour, my mother Screamed, on feeing me totter as I walked, and my face covered 
with 
4 
L E T T E R S. ^ 131 
with the shades of death: she ran to me, and took me in her arms; at the moment rny force failed me; however, I did not Swoon aw'iy, and that was my misfortune. Montalvo approached to Support me: but I cried out. Retire, monster, vvhoni hell has vomited for my ruin. It is to this imprudence that I must attribute all the miseries I have Since Suffered. A little diltimulation would have given me time to consult my mother and my — O! I have no courage to pronounce that name, which had such charms for me. Mr. Darby, I shy, would have attributed my sttuation to a phystcal cause;; having no reason to suspect; my knowledge of his \vrked conspiracy, would have consented to a delaj, which he would not have thought dangerous; but my horror for Adontalvo ietlstm see at once I was instructed in all; and, despairing to deceive, he determined to force me. I am betraj^ed, cried he, in a transport; but I will not descend to the unnecessary meanness of a feint, to dispose of a creature, whole artifices 
« of my right. Approach, Sfid he to the clergyman, and instantly marry these two persons: : you. Said he to me, with a look wherein was painted the blackest fury, make haste to Seize the only means, to give you 
back 
I ef • 
I 132 LETTER S. 
In 
i back a father. I will forget all, if you will im t mediately become the wife of Montalvo. 
^ II Si 
fe 
If This terrible discourfe, which one would hav 
fe' 
I ‘ thought enough to destroy me, on the contraq 
|: gave me new strength. Hope not, answered! 
i with vivacity, to force from me a consent which 
III outrages nature; take all I postefs, I confenl 
R but to avoid a death the most cruel, I will not I 
Im|4| i ' ^ ^ 
i obliged to commit the crime you have propofi B‘ to me : and you. Said I to the priest, who ai H vanced towards me, remember that there is i 
avenging God, and Sear, lest his thunder shou B reduce you instantly to powder, if you dare 11 B dertake to tie those criminal bonds, which I r 
fuse to receive. At these words, my furious f W there threw himself upon me; and, witho H doubt, would have taken away my life, if r 
poor mother had not exposed her’s, to Save m I little felt the strokes he had given me; but, Kp Heavens! how those he struck rny mother, tc 
my bleeding heart! I threw myself at his fc' HR] begging with cries, that he would take his pi mi per victim, and spare his wife, who was r 
guilty of my rebellion to his will. Montah spite of his wickedness, was touched at the da ni ger in which he Saw me, and forced me out 
umil his hands. It was a long time before my fat! 
w01 
LETTERS. 133 
would listen to any one; at length, however, getting him to the other fide of the room, Montalvo Spoke to him, for Some time, with great feemhig animation. During this interval I threw myself at my mother’s feet, which I bathed with my tears, without being able to utter a syllable j the astonished priest standing without motior,, till Montalvo called him; probably to fortity the advice he had given my father, to avoid a discovery to the world of what might ruin him; and endeavour to reduce me by gentler methods. Return thanks to love, said Mr. Darby : I give you four and twenty hours to do, with a good grace, that which I require of you; but hope not for a longer delay; you Shall be the wife of: Montalvo, either willingly or by force. Follow me both of you. With these words, he accompanied me and my mother into an obfeure closet, at the extremity of the house,, had but one window, or, rather, hole, near the top, which, even in the daytime. Scarce admitted light. I made no resistance; the comfortable thought of being alone with my mother, and at liberty to bewail myself, en tirely took me up : but in what a condition was I, when I knew the, intention of my persecutors. They gagged my mother, to stifle her cries, and tore her from my dungeon j while hands which 
I Scarce 
134 LETTERS. 
I, Scarce respected, in the sstuation to which 1 was reduced, held me irhmoveable to my place. My cries, wshich, in the parlour, might have alarmed the servants, were useless in a place where they were stifled. I Screamed, however; I called Heaven to help me, and protect my mother; I endeavoured to disengage myself, to fly to her assistance. Vain efforts! they dragged me away; and Mr. Darby, letting me go, dashed me with such violence to the floor, that I was terribly bruised: he then went out and shut the door after him. My first attention was to fasten it within fide, with two bolts, placed there for that purpose, and I resolved to die with hunger rather than open it. This, in some measure, tranquillized me; and I knelt down to implore the assistance of God, with an ardour which Surely reached Heaven, since it gave me a desire and means to break my chains. I had everything to fear for my mother’s life : Mr. Darby, in his rage, had let escape the horrible design to make her life depend upon my mur riage. Ah! if my own alone had been in danger, I could have braved death and torments; but an interest more dear laid hold of my heart. While I was yet praying, I heard a key put in the door : as it turned round without effect, and they perceived the obstacle that kept the door 
from 
LETTERS. 135 
from opening; she odious Montalvo raised his voice, and conjured me, out of regard to my own safety, to condescend to honour him with a quarter of an hour’s conversation. Had I listened only to my indignation, I should have answered him with the just reproaches his crimes deserved; but I had conceived Some hopes of escaping, and that restrained me. I have four and twenty hours to fix my last resolution, Said I to him; hope not to see me before that time, and remember that my determination depends on the treatment my mother meets. Ah, charming Clarissa, replied the monster, would you could read my heart; however filled it may be with love for you, you would find more remorse there than tenderness. A criminal like me dares not call Heaven to witness his oaths: I consent, however, this moment, to receive the punishment it owes my crimes, if I am not sincere in my repentance; if I have not made a vow to repair the injuries I have done you. For your own hike, feign to consent to your father’s designs, you shall not be less mistress of your fate; with my own life I will answer for that of your respectable mother. We shall see tomorrow, said I, how far your repentance may be depended on; and, till that time, I only desire you to let me be quiet. 
How 
i3<5 letter S. 
How easy it is to impose upon an innocent heart! I thought I could perceive the tone of truth in the promises of Montalvo. Is there a man rash enough to invoke the vengeance of Heaven, at the time he provokes it by his treasons? If the promises of that wretch were Sincere — but has he respected those he made to God, when he engaged himself in the Service of the altar? Can his penitence fubfist with the criminal passion with which he confesses yet to burn? Heavens! I should render myself an accomplice of his' crime, was I to confide in his oaths. Let me fly then, though at the risque of my life : God, who only punishes the will, knows that I abridge not my days by choice.' 
There was, in the place where I was shut up, awery narrow chimney; I did not despair, how, ever, of being able to Squeeze up it, and arrive at the top of the house. If you ask mei what I designed to do when I got there, I cannot tell;, if ' it was to go off, I had not considered whether the height would not be an obstacle to my enterprise, *, recommended myself to God, before I attempted to mount this narrow passage, and' more than once I was afraid I should stick by the way : at length, however, with the assistance of my hands and feet, I gained the top, where I • 
was ■ 
LETTERS. 137 
was obliged to stay, for some moments, to take my breath; afterwards, ' by the pale light of the stars, I cast my eyes on all Sides, to see if I could not discover a place where the descent was easy : I knew there was a little building at the end of my house, much lower than it; and, if I could be happy enough to come at it; I might sside without danger, from one roof to another, and arrive below; I thought it would be easy to come to the ground on the fide of the garden, where it was not above fifteen feet high; but I had a long way to scramble, and how should I avoid falling? However, I had no choice, and resolved to hazard all, for all. On horseback then, as I may say, upon the ridge of the roof, one leg on one fide, and one on the other, T, with great lukwardnefs, pain and danger. Sometimes on my stomach, sometimes by the help of my hands, at length reached the end. That moment, I heard Windsor clock strike twelve, and it was well I had got to my journey’s end; the shy began to grow darker, the stars disappeared, everything foretold a storm, and I had Scarce gained the garden, when the little light, I till then had, 
entirely failed : there was yet a wall to get over, not fo high as the buildings I had already dropped from, yet I found greater difficulties j I attempted to mount, but fell j my foot got under 
me 
I 
I 13& LETTERS. 
«• 
i' me in Such a manner, that, with the pain, I wa 
above an hour before I could stir from the place however, my fall being on the ouistde of th garden, I was, in Some Sort, happy; my fear of falling again into the hands of my perfecu I tors, gave me new strength; and, as well as 
J 
i was able to judge, I fet out towards Windsor' 
'though a dreadful rain pierced me to th 
I Skin, I advanced courageousty towards the placi 
where I hoped to find an asylum: I knew they were in the castle some ladies of rank, and I n Solved to throw myself at the feet of the fiistt whom Providence should bring me, intreatin her to hide me for a few days, till I should lear some news of my mother, determining to let they believe what they would of my condition, rath< than accuse him, notwithstanding his cruelty L me, whom it was my duty to respect. butheavi dispofed things in a different manner. I had m walked above a quarrer of an hour, when tl anguish of my foot began to relent. I made fi advantage of it, and doubled my pace, fo th in three hours I had not gone less than fev( miles across the fields : I perceived that I h; misted my way, but it was in vain to think regaining it, and I only thought of getting fa there from Old Windsor; fo that, by break day, I might arrive at some place, where a ca 
ria 
. 
LETTERS. 139 
riage might be taken for London. My foot be ^an again to grow uneasy;; I heard the dock strike four, and, casting my eyes toward the place from whence the sound came, I Saw hat I was betweeen two villages, to the nearest )f which, I began to make : UI possible haste, when I perceived, at a distance. Something : oming towards me. I Soon discovered that it vas a woman, carrying a basket. A few mo nents before, 1 would gladly have ashed her iffistanee; hut the Sound of the clock and the new of the steeple, denoted .a considerable town, where I hoped to find some good inn; I had mo lay enough in my pocket, to procure a short re: eption there, and a carriage, which was all I wanted. While I made these reflections, the woman approached, and lifting up her hands ind eyes in admiration : And from what pretty ilace did you come, my fine lady? Said she bru ilhly : I warrant you have ran away from Some jood house, where the bullies would have drub )ed you. She advanced to have a nearer view )f me, but I crossed the road; and, as Soon as had lost Sight of her, fear, last curiossty should nake her turn back to insult me, made me eapaditch, and scramble over a hedge, which eparated a field of corn from the highroad. I Tossed it, and Saw, with pleasure, that it conducted 
140 L E T T E R S. 
ducted to a double hedge, In the middle of which there was a lane, which seemed to lead totheplace where I wanted to be. The woman’s dilcourfe occasioned me to reflect upon the disorder of my dress, which before I had not thought of; and judging that it would be imprudent to appear fo adorned, I sat down under a little tree to take off my diamonds and pearls. My design was to tuck my robe into a white petticoat, which I wore under it, and to wrap myself up in a capuchin, which I had accidently put in my pocket oncoming from a walk in the garden the evening before. I thought myself, in the solitary place I then was, fussiciently sheltered from curious eyes; but what was my astonishment, to see, about twenty paces from me, a man, with a naked sword under his arm. At that instant, everything I had to fear the most terrible, offered itself to my imagination, already troubled and distracted; and feeing that there was no hopes of escape, I arose upon my knees, throwing my purse at a little distance from me: Have pity, said I, upon an unhappy young woman, and take not advantage of the misfortunes, which put her into your power : there is my purse, you have it with all my heart; take also these diamonds J I only beg, in return, that you will leave me at liberty to go where I please, and to tell 
me 
LETTERS. 141 
me whether I may hope to find a carriage in the village which is before us. The man stopped on hearing my voice, and considering me from head to Soot, Seemed at a loss to imagine, by what accident a girl like me, could come into Such a in a dress So unsuitable to my Seeming circumstances. After a Short Silence, he said to me, in broken English, Take back your money and your diamonds, and tell me, if I can do you any Service? If you think you ought not to accept my offer. Say but the word and I will go away. I confess, however, I shall do it with regret; you may fall into bad hands; I fancy you are not of a rank to beg a shelter in a common inn; and, fora carriage, I assure youyou will not find one in all the village. 
i 
The countenance of this man was So beautiful, the Sound of his voice So moving, his air So respectful, that, in an instant, my fars, deferred me. You are not English, Sir, Said I to him. No, madam, answered he, lam French; and all the men of that nation, regard it as a duty incumbent on them, to devote themselves to the assistance of the fair sex, when they are unfortunate. It was in French he made me this reply, as I Spoke to him in that language. May I alk you. Said I, of what religion you are? Are 
142 letters. 
you a French refugee? I do not know with what design you ask the question, answered he, but though it may possibly diminish that confidence which you Seem willing to repose in me, I will make no Scruple to confess, that I have the honour and happiness of being a Roman catholic. Great God, cried I, raising my eyes to Heaven, have you Sent me a protector? After this short exclamation, I Said to the young man, the ingenuity with which you have declared your faith, without knowing mine, engages me to trust you. Could you procure me a Safe harbour for some hours, furnish me with proper clothes, and get me a carriage? Nothing more easy, says he, if you will accept of my poor lodging: I live with a master, a very honest man, and am the only servant in his house;; may shut yourself up in my chamber till the evening, by which time, I will procure you a safe conveyance to London, or where elfe you please. I had not yet taken notice of the dress of him who spoke to me j it disagreed with his figure; and the powder, with which his coat was filled, informed me that I spoke to a periwig maker. What must the politeness of a French gentleman be when I find fo much in a man of this class? You will not oblige one ungrateful, replied I, rising; it is in my power to make your fortune, and I 
promist 
LETTERS. 143 
romise I will do it : indeed you Seem to be born 
loveyour present station. At these words, the 
3ung man blushed exceedingly. I should be 
reatly concerned. Said he, to find myself fuf — 
Ected of any base and interested views, in the 
ttle Service I am willing to do you, I am poor, 
is true; but my poverty does not make meun 
appy, though I have reason to blush for the 
lufe. With regard to my profession, I confess 
is new to me; but it, in Some measure, re esta 
liffies me in my own esteem, as a desire to fulfil 
ly duty holds me to it. My astonishment aug 
lented at every word he spoke;; respectful 
nd genteel carriage surprised me (lill more. 
dy foot, which was extremely Swelled, began 
a give me more pain as it grew cold. The 
hanger perceived that I could Scarce walk; but, 
iflead of offering me his arm, he plucked a stake 
rom the hedge to serve me for a staff : his re pectful modesty, on this occasion, strengthened 
tiy good opinion of him sofar, that I thought I 
an no risque in desiring leave to lean upon him. 
Ve Spoke little during the rest of the way, which 
ly still between the hedges, till we came to the 
nd of a wall with two or three doors; my con 
uctor opened one, and brought me into a little 
hamber^ aftershaving first crossed a garden, be 
onging to a Small house, where it was the first 
floor. 
144 letters. 
floor. This looks to the street. Says he; and if you have any suspicions of me, you may make yourself easy in the thought, that you have nothing to do but call out. Saying these words, he showed me the street, which was broad, and the houses tolerably handsome. You are here, said he, in security; here is the key of my room, which I will enter no more, without your leave. Only permit me to knock now and then, to see if you Want anything; and if you think you owe me any acknowledgment, condelcend to give me a proof of it, by accepting a dish of chocolate, which I am now going to bring you. Sir, said I, I entertain not the least doubt of you, and willingly accept the refreshment you offer, which, indeed, I have great need of, being almost overcome; and, when your bustnefs will permit, I can do nothing better than cbnfult with you upon the steps necestary for me to take, Perhaps, my dear Harriet, you may think me too confiding; but there are figures to whom we can refuse nothing; and till this moment that I write to you, I have no reason to think I have trusted too far. My guide came back, with some bifeuits and a dish of chocolate, and told me he vas then obliged to quit me, to open his (hop. As the chamber was but low, and nothing but a simple floor of planks, without plastering, divided 
L E T T E R S. 145 
divided from the Shop, I could easily hear every word that was spoke there; and for that reafbn I sat down in a corner, not daring to stir, for fear of discovering myself. Presently I heard a person talking, who was, without doubt, the master of the shop : he said to his man; You are come very early, my poor chevalier, I will iay my life you have not eat a bit since yesterday evening, for you would rather come fasting, than eat or drink with my lord’s servants;; and pride go ill together, my friend, and you ought to change your manners, I, who ani your master, eat with those people, and what right have you to despise them? I do not uefpifc them, replied my guide, but I was afraid you would want me; besides, I was more steepy than hungry. Ay, ay, said the master, I know you; however, you may have occasion for some hours rest; fo go up, and throw yourself upon your bed, we shall have nothing to do all day. As the master finished these words, I heard several horses in a hard gallop, some of which stopped before the shop. I do not know why, I was Seized with an involuntary horror but how were niy fearsaugmen'cedjwhen I heard the voice of Mr. Darby, who ashed, if they had not seen a young woman, dressed in such a manner, describing directly my clothes; there is a hundred guineas, 
vol. I. H said 
146 L E T T E R S, 
said he, for those who will bring her back to her parents. A stroke of thunder would not most have Shocked me. What a temptation for j young mail! he had told me he was poor; will 
he scruple to gain; such a sum of money withfo much ease? But I immediately reproached my. self for the‘thought, as an act of ingratitude, The master replied, that he had but that moment opened his Shop, and that such a person might have pasied an hundred times without his feeing her. I had bet ter luck, replied a woman, who was Twee ping the next door; I met het, just at daybreak, about three quarters of a mile from the town? stie crossed the fields, and made as fast as She could towards; London: If 1 had know wn what was to be got by it, I Should have made her stacken her pace. Judge, of my Sright, my dear: I, ' literally speaking, dared not breathe, lest even my very breath Should be heard. But happily the horsemen norfooner understood thatl was gone for Londoni thamthey took that route at a full stretch. O Providence! cried I to myself, what would have become of me, had not the meeting of that woman obliged me to quit the highroad?? by what enchantment could they fofoon difeover my flight, and follow atmj heels, and put themselves exactly in my track? The arrival of my benefactor interrupted inyrc 
, fle6lions. 
LETTERS. 147 
flections. On entering the chamber, he put his finger upon his mouth, as much as to say Silence; and pointing to a door which opened into another room, he made signs for me to go into it. We should be over heard there, said he, fietting me a chair. Ah, madam, how was I frightened for you just now; ' but, perhaps, you already know the subject of my terrors; you must certainly have heard — Alas I heard all, said I; what obligations have I not to you, and what acknowledgments! Talk not tomeof acknowledgments, answered he, interrupting me, only let me know what is farther to be done, to Save you from the dangers which threaten you : who are your persecutors?? you not apply to justice against them? There is a magistrate in the town, a very honest gentleman; Shall I demand of him an asylum for you, more proper than what 1 ca offer? 
I MELTED into tears, and was a good while b« fore I could answer him; at length, I conquered myself sofar, as to tell ray protector, the cxces* of my misfortune was such, that I could not hate my most cruel enemy : it is my father. Said I; and I would die an hundred times, rather than do him an injury: I fly to avoid an odious marriage.; a mother, whom I love more than my 
H ■ % self. 
14s LETTER S. 
Self, is In clanger of becoming the victim of my refusal; my first, my only desire, is to be reunited to her. How mnny horfeinen were after me? Five, answered the young man. We had no more in the house, replied I, ah. Sir, how should I bleiss your goodness, if you had the courage to go to Old windsor, to inquire for the house of miss Darby, and in that house for her chambermaid Fanny. If you could, by her means, draw my mother from the danger to • which Site is exposed, and bring her to a place, where I may this night go to her, my life would Scarcely Suffice to acquit the obligation. There are certain actions, Said the young man, which carry their recompense along with them, in the eyes of an honest man: but we lose time in talking; Old windsor is but Sour miles from hence; I fly — But, madam, this is the moment of raj life,, in which my poverty is most Vexatious to me; some accident might happen to render money necestary. I understand you, said I, pre tenting my purse. Five guineas will be enough, 
said he : rest quiet here, no one has a key to my chamber but myself; and you will know, by my cracking the whip, when you shall come to the door of the other room, in order to let me in. 
'He 
LETTERS. 149 
He did not wait for my answer, but Saluted me with a grace. Somewhat uncommon in a man of his rank He went down, and Said in the Shop, loud enough for me to hear him, I find my drowsiness is gone off; and. Since you have no occasion for me, I will try to refresh myself, by 
taking the air a little on horseback 
% 
in Continuation... 
WHO would believe, that, in the midst of inquietude and perturbation, steep Should for a moment be able to suspend my sense of affliction? What do I Say? Alas, it Seems to have fallen upon me only to augment my power ■ of feeling, by reestablishing my worn out fa cullies. What frightful images have assailed my soul, during my stumber 1 I thought I saw my prefervcr become that of my mother; he was bringing her to me, when he met her cruel husband;; valiant young man endeavoured to ■ defend her from five others, who would have ravished her from him; I Saw him fall, covered with wounds. My mother who strove to Save his life at the expense of her own, fell by his fide. Their blood ran from them in a mingled stream, and my protector cried, I am rejoiced to shed it for Clarissa. On a hidden, the earth opened, 
H 3 and 
150 LETTERS. 
1, 
and Swallowed my unfortunate father. Montalvi fell at my feet, and joining my hand with that o the expiring youth, I repair, said he, the injuriei 1 have done you. The whole disappeared, an I Saw you at my fide; but with So cold and di stant an air, that I dare not express the pleasure felt at the Sight of you : Mr. Balfour took you Sud ddnly by the arm, and cried, let us fly, let us fli I ran after, and endeavoured to hold you; and th anxiety I was in, awakened me in a cold fwea and I was ready to saint. How weak is you poor friend! in vain do I Say to myself, tb dream is nothing, but the effects of the dangei 
i 
I have gone through, during the last twent] four hours, and those which I yet fear. : leaves an impression of terror that I am not ab to diilipate. What! wiil not Heaven grant i my ardent prayers, the conversion of my wretch father? Must he be an eternal victim of the ju anger of an avenging God? Ah! let him tal my life; in satisfaction for his crimes, or let n 
I 
suffer all the punishmenbs due to them here, that he may be Saved hereafter. Terrib as the image of my dying mother and friei appear, I should have nothing to fear, methinl 
j for their future welfare. My mother had fill 
the measure of her virtues, and the gener ous you thinks too nobly for vice evct to pervert hii 
Inn 
I 
I 
) 
LETTERS. 151 
Innocence, candour, and gentleness, seem printed on his face. May Heaven deign to be his • 
recompense, and put it into my power not to die ungrateful. O, could he but unite me to my 
tender mother ■ why will the author of my 
days dishonour his rank, while a man, born, no doubt, in the obscurest. class,, Sentiments' worthy of a prince? 
A CURIOSITY whichlin vain reproach myself with, obliges me to interrupt my letter. Paper, Scattered upon a table, may give me some lights, as to the character of him,. into whose power am obliged to put myself - if his beautiful outside should hide a heart wicked and cor -- rupt? Had not Montalvo, like him, a Seducing form? Who knows if this curiosity, which I combat and condemn, be not an inspiration from Heaven, .to warn me to fly a danger, equal to that from whence I have escaped?? give way to the temptation; my intention, in Some measure, justifies an action, which, at any other time, and in any other circumstances I should account criminal. 
If I was to conceal what my curiosity has discovered, you might imagine it disadvantageous to my protector. In the first place then he is 
H 4 called 
1^2 LETTERS. 
called Chevalier: that name is upon the addrcfe of the letter, which can be for none but hirr, for his profession is Set down : I was not a little fur prised at the Seal which was upon the cover, being the arms of nobility; the hand a woman’s. Hooked at the letter. A periwig maker, thought T', has not usually Such correspondents. I found nothing, and L am not Sorry for it. I have nothing to fear from a mean man, the meanness of his birth will prevent his lifting his eyes to me, and make me better able to defend myself against a merit, which, unallayed, by that circumstance, would make too strong impressions upon me. What have I said, my dear Harriet? Give me time to examine my heart. 
Thank Heaven, I find myself incapable ol forgetting the blood from whence I have sprung, My sentiments of gratitude were fo strong, that I began to be afraid. Ought they to be otherwise?? I would tear my heart, if it was left sensible. To what dangers may this poor young man be now exposed for my sake, if the frightful dream should become reality? Let me turr from the dreadful thought, I cannot support it. 
There are a great many verses among theft papers, and they are by no means to be rankec 
amon 
letters. 153 
among the indifferent: If he is not a poet, he 
loves poetry. a taste singular enough, for a 
man like him. His choice of some pieces he has copied out, show his discernment. O Heavens! 
I hear the Signal which he gave me! What, returned already! I have hardly strength enough to go and open the door. 
What things have I to tell you my dear! I ' am lost ih confusion! O fatal voyage! It was Heaven, which, in its anger against me, laid you under a neceshty of leaving England. Yet will I not murmur. O my God, am I not your creature; in duty bound to Submit to your de • however rigorous they may Seem? have you not showed yourself my protector, in favouring my escape from the worst of evils? You will finish your work, you will cover with your wings the most virtuous of women; you will restore me to her arms, and those of my tender friend; or, is you refuse me these blessings, of which I am not worthy, you will give me strength to Support the affl ction,, Here follows the melancholy account brought by Chevalier. ^ 
Being arrived af an inn in Old windsor,. he was a long time besoreshe was able to attract the attention of the landlord, whom he ashed 
H 5 for 
154 LETTERS. 
/ 
for something to eat; and of the Servant, whon he desired to put his horse in the stable: ever thing Seemed there in disorder and confusion At last the landlady came in, crying out, Nc they shall never persuade me, I will never be lieve that Madam Darby, or her daughter, hav acted in the least contrary to their duty; poo Fanny Says So; and the brute of a butler threai ens her, as if it was a crime in the eyes of hi master, to assert that he has the best wife, an most virtuous daughter in the world. Why di you not send for the poor girl here, replies th landlord? 1 have always had a bad opinion of th James, I do not think her over Safe with hin Run, call her. Says he to the maid, destre her t drink a dish of tea with us, the poor girl, 1 at certain, has not been able to breakfast. They perceiving Chevalier, who yet held the bridle < his horse, I beg pardon, sir, for having mad you wait; you see us entirely in disorder, wi you please to breakfast with us? With all ra heart, replies Chevalier, I will willingly drin tea with you, provided you give me fom< thing more Substantial: give ms, if you pleas a little meat. Sot I ^stl not stop any more bi tween this and London. But may I take the I herty of inquiring what has happened new i this quarter ^ 
Trul; 
LETTERS. 155 
Truly, says the landlady, we know nothing more at present, than a flying report: but See, Mrs. Fanny, the chambermaid of an excellent young lady that has been carried off, she will tell us everything that happened. 
fanny’s eyes were extremely red, and it was • easily seen she had wept much. She showed a great deal of prudence in everything she said,, young mistress escaped in the night; the track of her footsteps in the garden led to the wall; and the same marks, on the other fide. showed the road she had taken. Mr. Darby, Montalvo, and three Servants, pursued her Some hours after.. Montalvo and James returned to * the house;; first went to a private chamber,. where Mrs. Darby was, and having forced the lock, j^mes, who would have opposed his entrance, was very much beat. After half an i hours conversation, his mistress was forced into ' a post chaise, which Montalvo escorted on horseback. The cries of James had alarmed the whole ^ village; he cried out, that his master was betrayed; that, after having stole his daughter, > they forcbily carried off his wife. But Mrs. Darby having Said something of other, every ' thing was quieted. She added, that the infamous James, threatened to pqt her in the hands 
156 LETTERS. 
of justice as a thief, because she had allisted her young mistress in breaking open the drawers, to take out her diamonds. All the people of the house, and the neighbours, exclaimed greatly against this basenefs, andadvifed Fanny to go to Windsor, and swear the peace against this servant, and offered their Service to conduct her there.. No, Says Fanny, I will embarrass no one in my affairs; provided a horse can be found me, I shall go very well alone to make my deposition. Chevalier then took up the conversation. I have some bustnefs at windsor, Said he to her, and I can dine there as well as here; I offer you to ride behind me; and, as J have the honour of being known to a neighbouring magistrate, I have no doubt but he will do your young lady all imaginable justice : I alk but one recompense for my Services; inform me tomorrow of the sequel of this affair. I interest myself in this lady’s fortune, and, if I was not obliged to be this daj in London, on very urgent bustnefs, I would pul off my journey. 
Fanny blessed a thousand times the gentlemar who was So kind and good-natured j and, befon she quitted the house, emptied her pockets anc shook her petticoats, after having had them examined by Several women, to show that she carried 
LETTERS. 157 
ried nothing away. The landlord was generous enough to insist upon chevalier’sacceptingof his breakfast, but he would pay his reckoning, and threw a guinea upon the table, leaving five shillings for his breakfast and the dinner he had ordered; which raised him greatly in the people’s opinion, who took him for a man of consequence, for he had borrowed a greatcoat in the village, which concealed his dress. 
Chevalier had not gotabove half a mile from the village, when he discovered himself to my maid. The poor girl almost fainted with joy, on hearing him mention my name; she would feign have been carried to me directly; but the chevalier convinced her, that she might be rnore useful to me at Old Windsor, from whence she could give us daily notice of the measures that were concerting, in order to difeover me. They agreed that the steps she had hitherto taken were absolutely necessary for her own security. But as she was afraid, lest I should be uneasy at chevalier’s stay, she begged he would make all the haste to me he could, and she returned herself on foot. — If the desire of information concerning my abandoned house and family did not detain me where I at present am, I have another strong reason for not stirring. James said, that 
1 should 
9 
158 LETTERS. 
I should be in my father’s power in four and twenty hours, for that I had been described at all th turnpikes, and proper authority left to Seize me 
/ wherever I came. To what extremity am I re 
duced! forced, in spite of decorum, to pass thi night with an unknown man. In this, I an more to be pitied than the Clarissa of Mr richardson, who was never left destitute of fe male companions. Yet, on comparing our ad ventures, I find mine the more Supportable, if could but be easy about the fate of my dear me there. I cannot reproach myself with being th cause of my own misfortunes, inevitable northeast Cessity justifies my flight, I did not voluntaril 
put myself under the protection of a man. Th man is not, nor ever tan be my lover; and if had been to choose among all the human raci Mr. Balfour excepted, I do not believe I cou have found a person, with whom I might remal in greater security. The letter which you w; receive from me by next post, will show yc that I speak this on good foundation; and n present Situation, excufess the indiscreet favour am going to beg of you. I am as Safe at th place, as I can be anywhere elfe; and as Fani is to come and stay with me, as Soon as fl ceases to be useful to us at Old windsor, I a determined to keep here, till I See the end of n 
misfortunt 
I 
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LETTERS. 159 
misfortunes, which I shall think entirely past, the moment I have it in my power to throw myself into Mr. balfour’s protection, and go with him into France. I know that, at my age, a daughter is still in the power of her father; mine may claim me, though I know, at the Same time, the abjuration of his right, formally made to my aunt, will, in some measure, weaken that 
claim, and mitigate the power he received from nature; but I will expose myself to everything, rather than stigmatise the author of my being. He may forget that I am his daughter, but I will never forget that hers my father; and, with the aflistance of Heaven, I will always act according to my duty in that quality. The best method then is, to fly my country, and abandon my poitestions: my fortune is what he wishes for, let him have it, and restore me his affections; and I hope Mr. Balfour, as soon as he sees this letter, will have the goodness to let out. It is with infinite pain I propose Such a parting in your present Situation j but it is the only thing which can justify my flight in the eyes of the public, as I cannot, nor will disclofe the true reasons of it. His espousing my interest, will be sufficient to convince the world, I have done nothing wrong. It is prudence alone that makes jne wait here till Mr, Balfour arrives, for Chevalier 
io LETTERS. 
lier offers to conduct me Securely into France; and I should have no Scruples to venture with him, if all the world knew him as well as I fancj 1 do; but Mr. Darby might, perhaps, take such an occasion to villify me; and, if one ought to Suffer with patience the loss of reputation when God orders it, I regard a juff care foi its preservation, among the most Sacred duties; and I have always these words in my ear, Curfet he those who are the cause of fcandai, calas, ] am fallen into that misfortune; in my opinion the greatest of all; my only consolation is, tin resolution I have taken not to aggravate it. The post obliges me to finish. You shall hear fron me again Speedily. 
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letters. ii 
LETTER XXL 
CLARISSA TO LADT HARRIET. 
AS I foresee, my dear Harriet, that I Shall have a great many things to say to you, I begin this letter a day before it can depart; and I take up the thread of my melancholy adventure at the place where the post forced me to 
break it off. 
chevalier’s business obliged him to quit me, as soon as he had given an account of what he had heard and seen;; had that attention for me, that he brought a cold fowl in his pocket, with everything necessary, to support a life which, though threatened .with misfortunes, God commands me to preserve, I raised myself then, and, in Spite of my desponding condition, took some nourishment; which, I think, has 
given vigour, to my fainting Spirits. But two things above the rest cause me mortal inquietude; particularly my fears for my dear and worthy mother : yet I could not help recollecting the promises Montalvo had made me a little before my flight; and, perhaps, the first effect of his repentance, said I to myself, will be his care to preserve the best of women, from the fury of 
a cruel 
A * 
i 6a L E T T E R Sv 
a cruel husband: : followed him willingly 
and, to engage her to do folie must have discovered 
to her all the machinations against ui 
Montalvo probably could conduct her only t 
his mother. The conversion of that poor wc 
man was not equivocal; she run a great rilk i 
• \ 
writing the letter, which tended to my prefervi tion: Such beginnings carry one a great wa’ and I confider her as a Sinner, whom God h chosen for an example of his mercy : and, eve supposing her son’s intentions against my moth were bad, when he bore her off, he might ft take her to his mother; not being instructed the change God had wrought in her. How did regret, at that moment, my not having wait for the effect of his promises: perhaps. Said I myself, had I done that, I should now be in tl arms of my dear mother; but I soon confider again, that, in acting as I did, I had followi the rules of prudence; that is the guide vvhii God gives us for our actions, and we are n refponsible for their fuccess: yet perhaps I ha confided too much in mine, and God tak pleasure in rendering it abortive, to learn r henceforward to rely on his assistance. 
I H A VE quitted my pen a few moments, to r 
over in my mind this last reflection; in effect) 
ha 
LETTERS. i6j 
have reckoned too much upon happiness; I imagined, what I promised myself was my own work; and I left, without perceiving it, that dependance upon God, which, for many years, I have been trained in dreadful consequences of prosperity. I perceived, that foi some months past, I was grown cooler in religious matters. This strange disgrace is, without doubt, a method used by the Father of mercies, to rouse me from the lethargy, into which I had fallen unawares : if he is pleased again to restore me, may he never Suffer me to relax into the same error. I have been, for an hour past, meditating upon a project, which may possibly put an end to my afflictions; and the inclination I have to see my mother at quiet, inspires me with it. What is it that opposes the sentiments of nature, in the heart of Mr. Darby? Is it not the rancour he has conceived, on account of my aunt’s partiality in my favour? Can I esteem a fortune, which causes me Such ilofs? No, better give it up to him. Indigence s but an imaginary evil; let him give me my mother, and take my wealth. Have we not a thousand times agreed,, that happiness and riches : an hardly dwell together? But there’s a tap at ny door j I fly to open it. 
Sleep 
s54 L E T T E R; S. 
Sleep flies from my eyes, my dear Harriet The strange project I was about to explain t you, when interrupted, presents itself to rn imagination in the most Seducing forms; V I have not courage, at present, to let you in! it; perhaps I may conquer that baflifulnefs be fore I finish my letter: in the meanwhile, I mu tell you what has p hl cl from the time ny pri tector left me, to this, when I am again alon One of my inquiesudes was, the uneasiness had at palling the night fo near a strange mar however great the esteem with which his co dut has inspired me, I know, that diffidence the guardian of virtue: he did not put me the pain of explaining what I felt upon thiso cafion; but told me, on entering, that he h; been taking the necestary measures to leave tl chamber to myself that night, and that he h; prevailed upon a friend to give him share of J bed; but, Says he, I constantly retire to r own room every evening, while my master pas two or three hours aria public house, and I ta care to attend him with a light when he com in. If I was to fail in this, he would be d pleased, and perhaps might think me out of orde and, in the last cafe, his regard for me is Sue that I am Sure he would not go to bed till I had looked after me, to see if I wanted any thin 
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y which means our Secret might be discovered. am then obliged, madam, to ask your permis on lo wait in the adjoining chamber till my laster goes out; and till h comes back again will! Sit in the shop, leaving you free from any ifturbance. At present, I thought it was bet; r to be troublesome to you, than give him any aiise of fuspicion *, I am come alio to receive our commands. If you are forced, by some nforeseen accident, to quit this asylum, you, ’ill have occasion for clothes plainer than those ou at present wear : you will want linen, and thousand other necessaries. If your woman is othere to provide them for you, would it not be letter to make a provision in time? 
I PRAISED t he care and attention of my guar lian; and, as I had a great inclination to be letter acquainted with him, I took that oppor 
unity to satisfy myself. I perceive, said I, that, ’ou are fond of solitude: : is very laudable in fo young a man, for you don’t appear to be note than twenty; may I ash how you employ 'ourselves every evening? I love reading, answer d Chevalier, but the want of good authors has )een very irksome to me, for near a twelve nonth, that I have been in England; but for i little time past, my profession has procured me 
admit 
j 
4 
I 
266 LETTER S. 
admittance into Several good houses, where I have procured English books. I begin to un derstand them, and greatly regret that 1 have not had occasion or opportunity to read them: there are Such a number of good works in your language, that it is every mans duty to be acquainted with them. Excuse, madam, my neglect, I should have offered you my little library; it had made your time, perhaps, seem short, cri never read romances, said I. Have you any books of another kind? There are romancesj said he, that may be read with pleasure; however, I confess, few English authors have excelled in that way. I prefer books which treat of morals and Science; and, it must be confessed that here we find an abundant Source of riches for those who are more curious of instructioi than entertainment. At present, I read th great Newton; and the hours I pass witl that author, glide away unperceived. I must re peat to you, said I, what I once said to you al i eady, you are not made for the station you an : n; Such sentiments and education transpire eve i>y moment, as Speak a man not born in mean nefs and obscurity. I am young, replied Chevalier, yet more than half my life has been pass in a mediocrity, not far distant from indigence I have lived by the works of my hands, like ou 
fir] 
X E T TER S. 167 
first parents; and, the happiness of relieving the wants of one, who ought to be dear to me, 
kept me from feeling anything in my Situation 
capable of giving me pain. Happy day! cried he, raising to Heaven his eyes, Swimming with tears, some drops of which fell down his cheeks, 
I have lost you without hopes of return, and the rest: of my deplorable life will be but a Series of unremitting despair. Pardon me, madam. Said 
he, I ought to repress these transports; and if I had nothing to complain of but misfortunes, methinks I should disdain to afflict myself; but I weep for faults, not misfortunes; and faults accompanied with remorse, are evils, against which courage is unable to oppose itfeff. There are few faults, said I, which a lively penitence cannot obliterate. If you have abandoned a wife ora mother, is this evil irreparable? i.apprehend, by the proofs which you have given me of your difinterestedness, that your tears have a nobler cause, than the poverty to which you are reduced; and would to .Deaven, that you had no other misfortunes to weep for, with what pleasure would I repair fortune’s injustice to yoti: you should make me sensible of the pleasure of abundance. 
•# 
Gheva' 
is L E T T E R S. 
Chevalier answered my profestions by a profound inclination; for I had forced him to sit down : after which, he Said, I have not hitherto engaged myself in indiltoluble bands : it is not the duties of marriage I have betrayed, but those of nature : I have wrung the heart of the mod respectable of mothers : the generosity with which She has pardoned my ingratitude, makes me feel, with double weight, the horror of my guilt. I hope one day to see myself at her feet; but the return of tenderness, which made her a month ago the Sole object of my desires, does not prevent me, to the last day of my life, from being the most unfortunate of men. In a word madam, my misfortunes are of that nature, to be finished only with my life; nay, I desire not to outlive them: but, once again, par. don me, madam, tis troubling you too much about a wretched man, who at present looks for no happiness, but to See your vexations at an end, and whose future pains will be softened, sofar as he shall be confeious of having been of Service to the masterpiece of the creation. 
Nothing could be more cautious than chevalier’s .discourse;; his eyes were less upon their guard, and Some looks escaped them, which the unworthy Montalvo first taught me to observe. 

letters. 169 
‘erve I do not know whether he was fensible of hem himself, but I imagined So, from his correct ngthemfrom time to time, and from the prompti: ude with which he changed our dilcourfe. We : alked of French authors, I found that he had ■ead all the good ones. At last we heard the iiafler go out of the Shop, Shutting the door ifter him, and then Chevalier would get me some tea; after which, he asked me, what were my •efolutions for the day following? I have occasion hr rest tonight, said I, in order to consult with myself. You must not appear at Old Windsor tomorrow before ten o’clock, as you are sup )ofed to have been to London on bustnefs; and before that, I hope to have made Some determination able to restore my quiet. At these words [ arose, and went towards a little cupboard, ivhere be told me he had his books; I Sa w, 'with pleasure, among them, many books of devotion which gave me an opportunity of sounding him jpon the Subject: of religion, in which I found him Superiorly instructed. I wished him joy. Ah, madam, replied he, with a Sigh, how weak is the Support of understanding against the inclinations of the heart! The little sense I have, only serves to aggravate my faults, and the deplorable forgetfulness of my principles, during an entire year. Horrid days! that I would efface vol. I. I the 
170 LETTERS. 
the remembrance of, at the expense of my last drop of blood. I dare promise you forgiveness, on the part of God, said I to him, it to the Sorrows they cause you, you have joined the succours which religion offers you in a like cafe : you wilt L find at London ecclesiasticks of great piety; yon 
are, no doubt, already acquainted with Some. Yes, madam, replied he, God has not fo farchaf tifed me in his anger; the misfortunes consequent 
■ my fault, are become the remedy; and I found 
an angel, whose charitable hand, has troubled 
\ 
the poor in my favour. This worthy man lives in a neighbouring villagcj and near him my miseries never fail to find new consolation. I have already had it once or twice in my head, to pro pose to you an interview with him. My master Sometimes Sees him here, and though he is not ignorant of his profession, sees him with pleasure. How great was my Satisfaction, to find that I could meet with an ecclesiastick, in whom I 
■ might confide, and from whose holy assistance I might procure comfort. I begged Chevalier to procure me a visit from him, for I vas impatient to be blessed with such a companion. The young man quitted me, as soon as his master returned, and 1 would not delay giving you an account of our interesting conversation, 'which, for a Short time, suspended my sense of pain. I dare not ask 
his 
L E T T E R S. 171 
ils story. He seemed to me afraid to tell it me, V twice eluding my curiosity : whatever may )e the faults with which he reproaches himself, 
; believe it is rather the effect of eiror than vice, lis heart is made for virtue. 
Continuation and Conclusion of clarissa’s Letter to Lady Harriet. 
CHEVALIER is returned from Windsor, and what dreadful news has he brought me! God give me strength to support the misfortunes I am yet to Suffer. It is from the landlady of the inn he had the following account. The moment she saw him, she cried out, Alas, my dear sir, if you had arrived a few hours sooner, you would have been witness to a scene which would have melted your heart. The poor girl, whom you Siw here yesterday, has been taken up as an accomplice with her mi ilresi'es. Two wretches have Sworn, that madam Darby, and her daughter, would have prevailed upon them to poison Mr. Darby, because be opposed her marriage with the Italian, who passed for a marquis, though he was but a vagabond. The servants (as they say) received the poison, lest it Should be offered to others less Scrupulous, and put it yesterday evening into the hands 
I .2 of 
172 L E T T E R S. 
of Mr. Darby, who, unwilling (hat fach $ thing Should take wind, contented himself with Shutting up his wife and daughter, in different places. His daughter escapcd in the night; and Montalvo, taking advantage of the father’s absence, took off the mother yesterday morning, What confirms this evidence, is, that madam Darby Seems to have gone off with the Italian very willingly. For my part, added the woman, I do not know what to Say : I could have; Sworn that the mother and daughter were faints: it is true, they are papifhes, and it is some months since the father quitted that religion; perhaps they might have done this out of vengeance, and they Say those papifhes are capable of anything., I am Sure I never Saw any ill by the poor gentlewoman in my life; and I willi, from the bottom of my heart, they may get clear. To be certain, they were the best neighbours, in the world, and the kindest to us; when they met me, it was. How do you do dame? how are the children? and Such like. And do you believe, said Chevalier, that the maid is guilty? Ever Since I knew her, said the hostess, She has appeared a very good girl, and I believe (he is only suspected; but it is a cruel thing to be in prison, sir; it is but a little while since they took her away, and she seemed to go with great resolution 
But 
» 
L E T T E R S. 171 
ut I beg pardon for not asking you in before; onst you please to take Something? No, said hcvalier, I have a great way to go today;; 
tell me, does Mr. Darby intend to arrest his ife and daughter? He has got warrants against lem, said she; but,, to tdl you the truth, I; lieve, only with a design to frighten them,, and lake them fiy. The daughter is as rich as a Jew, id perhaps the father has a mind for her wealth : It, after all, God is to judge them, and not I. hevalier had no occaston to hear more, he re irned hither as fast as his horse could go; and ter having given me this melancholy infor lation, fet out for a neighbouring village, to ring the priest of whom he Spoke to me yester • 
Was there ever such a sttuation as mine? have no choice between an infamous death )rmyfelf, and my honoured mother; or to be le means of bringing to the gallows, him to 
hom I owe my life. O Heavens! Mr. Balfour m, from this moment, afford me but one Sort f assistance, which I must never think of but ith horror. Could he grant a protection to creature, under the most infamous accusation, ithout justitying her to the world? and at what lice must that justification be purchased!! must 
I 3 yield 
174 LETTERS. 
yield with a good grace to the fate that pursues me. My resolution is taken; you Shall know what it is, after I have communicated it to the guide I now wait for, whose council I will foi low, as coming immediately from Heaven. 
The fate of your friend is fixed, my dear Harriet, for ever; and if I could hope again to be united to my dear mother, I confess, with out blushing, I should think myself well recora penced for what I lose, by what I gain; if hei who generously helped me, was born the lastol riien, and I destined to a throne, my heart would have chosen, in the moment my reason rejectee him. I endeavoured to hide from myself thf impression he has made upon me, which I wa going to confess to you at the beginning of thi letter. To repair that short want of confidence I will own to you, I loved him from the mo raent I fiw him : nor can Heaven be offended a a palhon, which has suspended the effects of th most cruel mislortunes, under which I mu otherwlfe have perisned. 
But why name passion, a Sentiment fo Immi diately supported by esteem and gratitude! Ca I otherwise repay a protector fo generous? might attribute my marriage to the necessity I ai 
i 
L E T T E R S. 175 
in, todifarm my father. I might justify it by the discoveries I have made Since I resolved upon it. But I consider such disguises as unworthy of me, and offensive to a friend like you. I go then to give you a recital of events, in the order they happened; you may find me culpable,, but suspend your j udgment. 
I mentioned to you, in the beginning of this ■ letter, the distaste I had conceived against the fortune which had brought upon me such unhap piness. When I am reduced to sell the diamonds which I have in my poffestion, Said I, shall I 
not draw from thence a fund Sufficient to pafs in ease the rest of my life? It is true, I deprive myself of the hope of entering into an illustrious family; but what is there in title or wealth? Do they merit that we should expose ourselves to those evils, which the greater part of marriages made upon such terms, arecurfed with? A great fortune is often a misfortune; the love of the in licrltance, rather than the possessor, may engage a dlfhonest man to feign an affection which he has not, in order to get into his net, the prey he wants to devour. At present, as I am poor, and no longer worth deceiving, I may, without fear of wounding decorums, which ought always to be lefpecttct, marry a man in a middling class, 
I 4 ■ where 
176 LETTERS. 
where one generally finds people of better moralsj than among those in more exalted stations. 
These considerations Succeeded the following reflections. There is an order established by Providence, which we are not permitted to depart from. A girl of my age, cannot, with decency, choose a husband for herself. A woman of illustrious birth cannot mif ally herself without shocking modes and customs, which having nothing in them contrary to the law of God, ought to be respected in marriage. I not only give myself a husband, but a father to a family, which has a right to expect from me one equal to myself. My reason was but Second, in declaring in favour of my protector; my eyes directed their choice, and I have good reason to believe, that they have not deluded me, in the favourable opinion they have given me of him. It is reputation that I am most anxious about, and I shall lose it by a match fo little suitable. My father gives out, that a desire to marry, had wrought upon me to attempt his life;; marriage fo contrary to prudence, will give weight to that accusation : but I shall be justified Sooner or later. God has an eye on the wicked; and if I am forbid to wish the chastisement of my father, I am permitted to hope that, his accomplices may 
be 
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LETTERS. 177 
be punished, who will then acquit me for the irregularity I now commit. I defpise the judgement of a blind crowd; but what shall give me courage to support the contempt of my dear Harriet, and her worthy husband?? T be ' able to survive it? Nay, does .not prudence di rect me to wait the arrival of Mr. Balfour? He will fly to my assistance on the receipt of my first letter.!, Will he not have reason to accuse me precipitation, 'Seemingly occastoned by a passion,, the irregular motions of. which I had not power toifuppress? If I am under a neceshty of taking a husband, would it not be better to receive one from the hands of my friend? My fathercon 
fenting to give me up'the money I have in the bank of Genoa, it will be sufficient to procure me a matcss> that my friends and family will have no ■ occasm to blush at. .May I not acquire a right to dispose of my fortune, by entering a convent: perhaps becoming a nun, will Suffice to disarm my ■father J at least I should determine on nothing till .he has rejected that offer.. ', 
On reading the objections which I made to ’ myself against my marriage, my dear Harriet, 
■ may, perhaps, condemn, me tor acting contrary to them j but these .objections were not unanswerable J and here are thole which my reason 
I 5 Suggests; 
178 L E T T E R S. 
Suggests; or, perhaps, my love. I am not of art age to dispose of my hand, without my father’s consent; but, alas, what hopes have I to obtain it! has he not Sold, many years since, the right nature gave him over me? If that right be, as I am convinced it is, unalienable, does not the unworthy use for which he reclaims it, for ever bar him from it? Those who spring from illustrious blood, ought not meanly to illy themselves: : is a prejudice to which we are bound, and how has that prejudice become Sacred? because we suppose that high birth transmits, as an inheritance, the noble and virtuous sentiments which first produced it; because we have reason to hope that a man, who is Spurred by the great actions of his forefathers, and the good example of his immediate parents, will blush to deviate from them. In fine, it is because we fuppose a good education inseparable from high descent, 'Nobility then has no real merit, but what it derives from a greater capability of virtue. He then that is virtuous, is the true nobleman. With the wife, in giving a virtuous ally to my family, I Save it from the danger of being dishonoured by the fon of a peer. If Heaven had prolonged the life of lord Afaph, would not he have grieved, in spite of his Severity, for the 
misfortunes in which he has plunged my incomparable 
LET r L R b. 1/9 
parable mother? The Ihameful poverty to which vice has brought his son in law, would be a Sufficient punishment for his avarice and ambition. I loved him, whom I am going to make master of my fate, before I esteemed. Is then his gracious figure a crime for which he ought to be punished? His air, the regularity of his fta*. lures, make a Smaller part of his beauty, than the gentleness, tenderness, and evenness of his mind, it is that mind which embellishes his face. 
Can you think your ’clarissa So weak, that she : would not soon have been able to recover from a Surprise of the Senses, if the least baseness had disparaged the object of her attraction? I knew ■ him but little, you will say; but circumstances,. critical like mine, for these two days past, un sold a character at a stroke.; It is no longer a. hundred pounds that my father offers to the person who shall difeover me j his desire to destroy me is Such, that he goes as far as a thousand. 
Can Chevalier expect an equal recompense on Tiy part? This is no piece oi artifice to enhance iis difintcrestednefs; I myself read she advertise -, 
in the public papers, stgned wiir. rny father’s 
i.ime; I am described as a parncide, who, by i 
ler artifices, had cheated her tatler, and to that : 
: rhyme would yet add moreenormousones, through I 
ear, lest the last .will of a deceived aunt should. | 
be, I 
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iso LETTER S. 
be Set aside. Chevalier then Seizing me, a creature proscribed, and perhaps culpable, who would blame him for delivering up a criminal and might he not easily have covered a desire to make his fortune, with an apparent zeal for justice? He offered to conduct me into France • and that offer alone, is a certain Sign that he had no particular hope, nor can T suppose he had. Twice interrogated upon his birth, he ehided my questions; from whence I ought to conclude that it was base. People fuppose they have a right to dignify their poverty by titles, when they have any pretensions to them; he setup for none, therefore he had none; he gave himself out for a mean workman j a person of that condition, could have no pretensions to one of mine. He then had no hope of recompense in lieu of those, which he might have Secured to himself by betraying me; and he imposed upon me a law to repair the wrong which his probity had done him, 
O Heavens! new misfortunes are ready tc fall upon the miserable Clarissa: in the middle of the night ffie is obliged to fly on foot, to avoic 
the worst of fates. Great God! what will become of me? 
L £ T T E J 
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LETTERS. ii 
LETTER XXI 
CLARISSA TO LADT HARRIET. 
On board a vessel bound for Bordeaux. 
V O U must have received a letter from me J. which makes me tremble, when I think of it; but I had not time to inform you of the in difpenfible neceltity I was under, to conclude It. Alas, without doubt, I have lost your esteem and friendship; the one cannot survive the other. If my conjectures are well founded, you will not deign to cast your eyes on the letter of an unfortunate creature, whom you blush to have loved. For god’s sake, dear Harriet, condemn me not before you hear me. You have hitherto regarded me with eyes, which your partiality rendered bad judges. You have esteemed me too much : fall not, I conjure you, into the other extremity, and despise: : my heart reproaches me with nothing which should occasion such a change. 
I'HASTEN to give you arecital of mymisfor« tunes, my justification goes hand in hand with such fatal circumstances as I could neither foresee nor avoid. i am confeious but of one fault; 
that 
ia LETTERS. 
that fault has had its principle in virtue, and how can I repent of it? 
In my last, I gave you the reasons, which determined me, in Spite of prejudice, tomarryiny protector; i‘defpaired not to make Mr. Balfour See the reasonableness of the action, and had resolved to remain where I was, till he should arrive, supposing it could not be long till I had the pleasure of feeing him. (Nuld I foresee thai should have but a few hours to remain in my asylum?? priest I ei^ected. And who is that but Mr, Baker, to whom I confided your last letter for the post. This ecclesiastic, I Say, being come, went up, as he was accustomed to' do, into 
the apartment of Chevalier, who, to leave me at liberty to entertain him, staid in the first chamber. I made no Scruple to trust him with my afflictions and designs;; conjured him not to refuse me his assistance — my greatest inquietude was about my mother. I then put into Mr. baker’s hand a letter, which I wrote to my father, and desired to know whether he would 
advise me to send it. — Here follows a copy. 
* 
/ 
CIM RISSA 
LET TERS. 183 
CLARISSA TO MR. BAR BE. 
OH! sir, Shut not your ears against the voice of Nature, who cannot fail to call oh fou, in Savour of an unfortunate daughter, un: onscious of a single thought that ought to iffend you. Why make her fortune a crime? A ortune she never desired, nor valued, but as fly night hare it with you, which she gave up (o loii with pleasure, and which she is still willing 'OU Should postefs. I know it may Seem insolent n me to dictate conditions to him, whom nature las ordered 1 should be obedient to. But I know )f no law at present, but love for my mother, she greatest of misfortunes has hindered her rom partaking your tenderness. I call Heaven witness, that it is not from her complaints I iraw this knowledge, her respect: for you would 
V 
lever suffer her to murmur. Give me that worthy mother, and receive, in exchange, ast possess. Marriage alone can give me a right to lifpofe of my inheritance : I am determined to icquire that right by espousing an obfeure mans vith whom I will go into a strange country and ive there, if neceitary, by the labour of rny lands. I ask only a few days to fulfil my pro nifes. They shall be put in execution, as soon 
as 
184 LETTERS. 
as you give your consent. I will deposit the in ftrument of my marriage and deed of gift, staled up carefully, in the hands of the French am basfador, who will deliver them te whoever you 
Shall appoint to conduct my mother to his house. May Heaven vouchsafe to pour down his blessings on you, in proportion to those I beg for myself. Hay Heaven hear the prayers I daily offer to restore me the heart of a Salher, who Shall ever find from me all the obedience and respect, which he has a right to expect from the most dutiful of children, provided this obedience can be compatible with that She owes her God. 
The unfortunate Clarissa Darby. 
Mr. Baker approved of my letter, but Smiled at the passage, where I mentioned to my father, that I was determined to marry an obfeure mani asked him what this emotion, meant, which had not escaped my notice. If you mean, replied he, by an obscure man, one who is destitute of the gifts of fortune, your expression is just; but if you intended this expression to Signify a man of mean extraction, it is improper. He who has had the happiness of being the instrument of God, to Save you, is descended 
from a very ancient family; his barony might 
have 
LETTERS. 1s5 
ave been erected into a marquisate, under the 
ft reign; and had it not been for the modera 
on and probity of his father, he would have 
een a rich lord. If he has not declared his 
irth to you, it is owing to the confusion of 
3ur Situation, and to a motive more flattering 
lyou. You would have had nothing to Sear 
om the pretensions of Chevalier, perhaps you 
old have Sound yourself in more danger from j 
le baron de Laftic. 
You are Sensible, my dear Harriet, that Such discovery was not likely to lessen the good opi ion I entertained of this amiable young mam Ir. Baker undertook the trouble of acquainting m with it, when it should be proper; and he dged it proper to call him to alsift us with his ivice, with respect to what we ought to do )out my mother and Fanny. 
I WAS entirely ignorant of Mrs. croshy’sad efs, but bad hopes of finding it out, by means a Roman catholic clergyman. Through her we •uld trace her fon, and know what was become 
my mother. With respect to Fanny, there 1 
as no doubt of consoling her, and forcing her accept a sum of money: I had fifty guineas in) purse; I gave them to Mr. Baker, to defray 
the j 
I 
i86 LETTERS. 
the necessary expenses of my motlier’s joumey. I proposed to pledge one of my diamonds; but my advisers remarked, that I ought not to think of it. Since it was very likely, that my father had distributed handbills to flop tiiem, if oltered to Sale. I remained, therefore, with no more than five guineas. Chevalier, whom I ought no more to call So but by his name; the baron, I say, having made use of the rest, to provide me a very plain dress. Mr, Baker promised me to Set out at daybreak, and exhorted me to expect Success from his researches. 
It was tea time, the baron went out to procure some trifles he wanted, and was fo long absent, that his stay began to give us uneasiness' He seemed much diilurbed, when he returned; and behold the cause of his inquietude. 
Being of a benevolent dlfpofition, Mr. de Laftic once had an opportunity of doing a piece ^ of service to the daughter of a customhouse officer, who was married in this village. 'I'his young woman, willing to Show her gratitude had come to give him Some intelligence of consequence. Her father, with two of his companions, were just coming, advice having been given to the customhouse officers, that a great 
con 
LETTER S. 187 
contraband trade was carried on in the villages adjacent to Windsor. They had received an order to make a strict search in all houses which were not inhabited by persons of fashion, and proposed to search his master’s house first; for you know, my dear, all the French hair dressers furnish the ladies they dress, with lace and other French goods. She offered de Lastic to take his goods if he had any, home with her, and promised him they should remain there in safety till the search was over. De Lastic, after returning her 
thanks, and assuring her he had nothing to fear, made the utmost haste to acquaint us with this overwhelming news, which expedited all my resolutions. 
I MUST resolve to quit my asylum, and make | my escape in the middle of the night, under the protection of the Baron. Had not my Harriet, told me that the only step a girl ought to take, on Such an occasion, was to make her escape with a husband? But was I Sure, that a man of quality would consent to ally himself with an iccufed girl, who could not give him certain prools of her innocence? This reflection stopped northeast some moments. Forced to offer my hand, 
Oioiild I h ave the courage to support a refusal, j without dying? Nevertheless we must determine 
upon 
/ 
i88 L E T T E R S. 
upon something, the house might be inverted this moment, and what vvould the world think to find a girl concealed in a man’s chamber? Besides, this notice might be an artifice of my father, who, certain I had not entered London, fufpectred I was Somewhere ia the environs. The fear of falling into his hands, over weighed every other consideration. Sir, says I to the baron, if I had less opinion of your virtue, I should not hesitate a moment about the steps I Should take my misfortune is such, that I cannot justify myself, but at the expense of a perfon’s honour, whom I ought, and wnom I shall, ever respect; 
nothing remains, therefore, but to deliver myself up into his hands, and give him an opportunity to extinguish by my blood, the hatred!have had the misfortune to inspire him with. The most cruel torments should never force from me the confession of a crime, the thought of which alone strikes me with horror; but I can keep filent; my judges will doubllefs say it is a tacit acknowledgment of the crime of which I am accused, I shall die ignominious: if I draw not my respectable mother into my misfortune, I shall bless iny fate; and what will the opinion the world entertains of my memory signify, if the just judge, who examines all our actions, de 
dares me innocent? There is but one method 
to 
LET E R S. 189 
« 
to escape; I may fly, but cannot do it without i an husband. Confider, if the condition I am reduced to will permit you to accept this offer, which polfi'oly, in other circumstances, might have been accompanied with some advantages which are at present wanting, since 
i 
t 
I WAS not permitted to Say more, de Lastic was at my feet; and, with a disorder more eloquent i than the most studied language, acquainted me, with what rapture he received an offer, which he should have made himself a thousand times if he had dared. Mr. Baker interrupted us. It would, 
* 
perhaps. Says he to me, be dangerous to stay much longer; leave me only here to Speak to I the mafier, and expeditiously Set out for my house; i.will meet you there presently to complete your union, and procure you immediately a more sase retreat. 
Happily, I was already dressed in the plain clothes which had been brought me, and had made my Sack into a parcel, which the baron took charge of. The night began to grow dark, we escaped through the garden, and took the rout by which I came to this house, where I expected to See your husband. What words could express the sstuation of my mind on So critical an 
occasion!! 

190 LETTERS. 
occasion! was this the lot to which I was destined! Under what unhappy auspices was this union formed, which must finish with ray life only! Ah, my dear aunt, exclaimed I, from the happy abodes where your virtues have doubtless placed you, look down on your unfortunate Clarissa, and obtain for her from God succour and protection, equal to the danger to which she is exposed. Pardon me, my generous protector, I added, I cannot think without horror, that I shall Soon have only the fatal power of making you a partner in my misfortunes and poverty; for, in short, sir, I have no other means to Save my mother, than by giving to her husband the fortune which has drawn on me his hatred; too happy, if, at the price of this sacrifice, I could regain his heart. How little do you know mine, adorable Clarissa, replied de Lastic, if you think the idea of your fortune can cause a moment’s uneafiness, to a man whom you Snatch from the most Satal destiny. The first moment I Saw you, I adored you. I dare appeal to yourself, with regard to the prosound respect, which Sorced me to conceal these Sentiments in the bottom of my heart if the bufiness had only been to offer to your eyes a train of illustrious ancestors, I might have conceived Some hopes; but, miserable Sport of the dishonesty of mankind, there remains nothing 
letter S. 191 
; iii"ofall my fortune, but a field cultivated by ly labour, and bedewed by the sweat of my •ow. How could I have the temerity, in this tuation, to lift up my eyes towards the divine shrissa? How could I presume to offer her my timble cottage, who would adorn the palace fa king? It is true, my humble roof is inha lited by virtue; a mother, worthy of a better n, practises therein, every day, new virtues, rhat present more precious can I make her han such a daughter as you? I am going to nake her amends with usury, for the torments jith which I have rent her heart! You do no* now, madam, how guilty he is whom you deign oacccpt, and how little he deserves such an hap linefs? Though I am almost afraid, that the con eltion of my ill conduct, will lessen me in your; ood opinion, yet I cannot find in my heart to 
liffemble my faults. Then 1 will hear no 
hing, replied I, interrupting him; I have al" eady told you, that there can hardly be any : rhyme which such a repentance would not efface Suffer me to abandon myself to the transport ng thought, of Seeing our respectable mothers orget in our arms, both our faults and the ri jours of (ortune. A first motion makes me re “ret a fortune which I would have offered you; 
1 second consoles me for its loss, because' 
it 
£92 LETTERS. 
it teaches me to bless the misfortunes, which give mean opportunity of being acquainted with the nobleness of your mind. We Shall live in the mediocrity which nourilhes virtue, preserves it, and produces happiness. I Shall per petually remember the circumstances in which you have accepted my hand; and you will be able 
to Say to yourself, it is not to these circumstances thatl owe Clarista. Decency, in another si tuation, would have obliged her to wait the consent of those on whom stie depended, before fly declared her sentiments;; they were such, that if stie could not have obtained their consent in my favour, she would never have married any other person. De Lastic was not able to moderate his joy, on hearing So Srank an avowal of the Sentiments he had inspired me with; he threw himself at my feet, without considering how improper the place was for Such transports; and, if I had not reminded him that we could not gain an asylum too Soon, he would absolutely have forgot the danger we were in by delaying our escape. Mr. Baker had given us the key of a fmail house where he lived alone, and recommended us to wait there for him, without any light; where he very soon came to us, though loaded with the baron’s goods. My Suture husband had acquainted me, in the interim; that he 
did 
letters. 193 
- 
id not know how he could settle with his master 
0 whom he owed fifteen guineas. His generous riend gave his note for that sum; and, as the leparture of his servant might embarrass him, he rave him fifteen guineas more of my money, which I approved of. He told us afterwards with what pretence he had difguised the baron’s flight. He had there two valuable pieces of goods, which had been entrusted to his care, to be Sold, and he had just learned that a Search was immediately going to be made in your house. You need not be in the least une asy, he has left nothing that can bring you into trouble, and, in a fewdays you will hear of him, as Soon as he has secured his trust in a place of sasety, 
I 
You may imagine with what pleasure we received the happy turn he had given this affair. He interrupted our thanks, to make a short discourse on thefacrament he was about to admi niftertous. I knov/your dispofit'ions, Says lie in finishing; you are worthy of each other, and I hope I shall never have blestest a union more agreeable to the Lord : in a time of greater trap, quillity,. I fiiould have required more precaut ons. You know 1 run a great risque in marrying you, and that you would ruin me, if you madg use of the certificate I shall give you. It is only vol. I. K for 
% 
194 L E T TERS. 
for madam, your mother, says he to the baron, when you get to her, and you cannot dispense with adding some cerenionies to your marriag(| to render it conformable to the custom of the country in which you are going to live; I (hall take care to write.to your archbishop, by means of the apostolic vicar, w ho will certify my being a priest, and you will then Sollow the orders of your prelate, 
Mr. Baker went out a moment, to call in two catholics on whom he could depend; and, in their presence, united me to the most worthy and best beloved of husbands. The ceremony was hardly over, before he Says to us, I do not think you are sase here; who knows but this village may be one of those that are to be Searched? you must, therefore, resolve to depart directly. My mother lives about nine miles hence, in a village far from the main road. I will write a line to her, to desire her to Secure you an asyluni, in which I may acquaint you with the turn your affairs take : one of your witnesses will be your guide. I would, added he, procure you horses, but I think it will be saser for you to go on foot • though it is not likely that Mr. Darby has given a description of you, to the turnpikes on the north road, where you are going; yet the public paper 
1 
. L E T T E R S. 195 
»crs have, no doubt, said enough of your flight to excite curiosity;; passengers escape notice more easily than persons on horseback; besides, they can travel, without being obliged to go through the turnpikes. 
How happy am I, my dear! Our generous friend, Mr. Baker, sends me a letter, which was given him by the peruke maker j I remember the hand of my dear Harriet; I kifs it a thoa 
fand times, and leave everything to read it. 
* 
0 
i 
♦ 
0 
K z LETTER 
196 LETTERS. 
LETTER xxli. 
/ 
« 
LADT HARRIET TO CLARISSA 
TO what trials does God put my patient 
dear and unfortunate friend! How h your Harriet restrained herself from setting o directly, on receipt of your letter, to rescue yc from your cruel persecutor! Is this the only t( ken I can give you of that lively sense, will which you have a right to expect that I fhoul Seel all your afflictions! IS, instead of niyfel you only See a letter from me, attribute it I the Sear I am under of committing a crim( The recital of your misfortunes has made fuc an impression upon me, that I Seel very ill effect from it: however, the physicians are of opinio that the hurt I have received is not incurable, i I consent to remain eight or ten days in bed; am during that interval, my unsortunate friend — O Heavens! I cannot Support the dreadful ap prehensions that cloud my mind'j and if I was no Sure that Mr. Balfour would, on the first intel ligence, Set out to give you that aflistance which you stand in need of, I doubt whether my feeble virtue would be strong enough to keep me here. 
Bj 
letters. 197 
By the greatest misfortune in the world, Mr. Balfour was at Compeigne when I received the dreadful news of your situation;; an express was immediately sent off. I expect my husband every moment, and you may beaffured that he will stay at Paris no longer than is necestary to read your letter. The post chaife is ready, and perhaps you may see him before you hear of bis departure. Poor Clarissa, to what extremities have you been reduced! may God shower d iwn his blessings on that honest man who is become your protector: if I was a queen, he should fjon be a prince : praise him, love him, as much as you please, you cannot love him more than I, My fortune, from this moment, is his: I will not say, to diminish my sense of gratitude, that he must: have been a barbarian to have acted by you in any other manner than lie has done; yet how few men, in his circumft inces, would have refused such a shm, in exchange for their prolii ty 1 But his delicate attention to you. Shows a Soul of the noblest mould. No, my Clarissa, that tnan is not what he appears to be; he confessed that he was poor, but has answered nothing on the article of his birth; and, be assured, it is not obfeure. But, supposing that my conjectures are wrong in this particular, and he Springs from an ignoble stock, he has ennobled his race, 
K 3 and 
ip L E TTER S. 
and has a right to respect from all honest pcs pie. Add not to your misfortunes, my dear, that of tormenting yourself, on account of the sentiments with which he has inspired you; your extreme delicacy renders you timid; and I know, by that warm interest which I take in his affairs, what the most grateful of hearts must fed for him. I have always had a horror for mean alliances; you know it; but if on any account I could excuse one, surely your present situation would justify it to me. Do not. believe that I would encourage that good dlfpofition which you ought to have towards him; all the virtues have their excess, which becomes vice, I would only de send you against yourself; it would be excusable to be tempted in such a cafe, and I Should regard a victory, in that temptation, as an heroic act, of which, perhaps, there is no person, but my Claiissa, capable: but if my sup positions, with regard to this young man, are well grounded; if he is only indigent; if, ai he has told you, he remains in his present low profeillon but to fulfil a duty; if, in short, on could be assured, that his birth is equal to yoursj I say to you ssneerely, my dear friend, do nol come alone, bring me your protector, we will verify his nobility, and accomplish that part oi your dream, in joining your hands, without thai 
monstei 
LETTERS. 199 
mofter montalvo’s meddling. hear my 
husbands 

He departs, my dear Clarissa, he departs with this letter : I put it, however, in the post; the port, perhaps, will make more diligence than, he; if he arrives first:, well and good; if this expression of my friendship arrives only an house before him, my dear friend’s tranquillity will be an hour in advance 
/ > 
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# 
✓ 
k4 LETTER 
zoo LETTERS. 
LETTER XXIII CLARISSA ro LADY HARRIET 
My misfortune is contagious, and catched 
by those who are most dear to me; Heaven grant that the effects may be less dreadful th an I have reason to fear. Mr. balfour’s departure affures me, that he thought .you outof danger. The warmth of your friendfhip does not Surprise me, any more than the address with which you give me advice, that I am no longer in a Slate to follow,. We are now weighing anchor; the moment I arrive in France you shall hear from me. But why do I not leave the Ship and return from whence I came, on being apprised of Mr. balfour’s kindness for me? I beg of you to Suspend your judgement: I have only time to Seal my letter. If you condescend toan swer me at Bonrdeaux, to be left at the poft house, I Snail receive one of the greatest pleasures which I am yet capable of enjoying. 
♦ 
L E T T E R 
LETTERS. 201 
V 
L E T T E R XXIV 
MRS. DJRBT TO MISS CLARISSA. 
Dear, amiable and virtuous daughter, you would have found rne on your landing’, int 

fteadofthis letter, was I not yet in the beginning of an illness, which might be of the most fatal consequence, was I not to nurse it. The irdent destre I have to iee myself asrain in your arms, engages me to take care of a life which belongs to you, and every moment of which I would employ, to testify my gratitude for the sacrifices you have made me. 
Lady Harriet in Continuation. 
\ 
TFIE physicians have permitted your mother to write the few lines above, in order to satisfy her dear daughter. She is Snatched from the jaws of death : but rest allured that the danger IS over. We have an account of your marriage; we approved it, before we received the letter, in which you conveyed us that agreeable news; and we admire the goodnus of Providence which has conducted you lo happiness by ways fo extraordinary. I will not Sold you till by and by, for your ill conceived fears of 
K 5 our 
202 LETTERS. 
our disapprobation of your conduct. I will not amuse you with my babbling, till you know by what happiness we are in poiteffionof your other half; of a woman, to say all in a word, worthy of being the mother of Clarissa. 
I told you in what manner I sent my husband to your assistance. In fifteen hours Mr. Balfour was at Calais, and arrived before the post: the only servant he had with him run to the port, with orders to make a bargain with a captain to Sail the next tide; he was obliged to wait at Calais two hours; and though he had Scarcely taken any nouristiment on the road, he'was angry at 
the delay, however necessary forhimsels, and his Servant as much fatigued. The man was but just gone off, when his impatience persuaded him that he lost a precious time, hoping, by means of an extraordinary recompense, to engage Some captain to put to Sea hals an hour Sooner. He left his chamber to follow his Servant. Judge of his furprise at the sight of Mrs. Costjy, who, at that moment, entered the inn. What She had done for you, the light (he could give with regard to you,, and your mother, made him Salute her by her name. The woman, who had heard from your mother, that you corresponded with us, gave a loud cry as Soon as he 
Spoke 
letters. 203 
spoke and (he knew him; and, without making any answer, run to the door of a room, which opening, Ihe cried, Mrs. Darby, here is Mr. Balfour. You may easily imagine, that my husband was in the room before your mother could come out of it. His first: words were. Is miss Clarissa with you? Your poor mother burst into tears, and falling upon her knees before Mr. Balfour could prevent her. Ah, sir, said (he, I am going to Paris, to demand your protection for my unfortunate daughter; I know not what will become of her, only that the 
search her father makes after her, aftures me, that Ihe is not Sallen into his hands Recover yourself, madam. Said Mr. Balfour, raising her up; your charming daughter is in Safety, and I fly to restore her to your arms; I would Say, to revenge her of her persecutor, did I not know that her Scrupulous virtue, content with the first: service, would not permit the Second. But read yourself the cruel extremities to which Ihe has been reduced, and her Sentiments with regard to 
you, and a man, whom 1 cannot call as he deserves. 
Eager as your mother was to read what might inform her of your situation, her tears and Sighs often obliged her to lay down the letters. I 
will 
204- LETTERS. 
.* t 
will not repeat to you her expressions of grief and tenderness; you know her heart is attached to you, and that knowledge will easily convince you of her feelings upon this occasion: : are things which description always enfeebles, because they are beyond expression. She would have informed Mr. Balfour, by what means Ihe escaped;; considering that every instant employed in that narration, would be So much time lost for your deliverance, she contented herself with telling him, that she owed hcr’s to the Sincere repentance of Mrs. Coshy and Montalvo. Mr. Balfour, wholly occupied by your mother, had not taken notice of that young man, who, with an air of great humility, stood at some distance in a corner of the room. My husband reached him his hand. Saying, it.is for man to err, but he must be a great man, sir, who repairs his faults as you have done yours. Any other time I would partake with you the happiness of conducting Mrs. Darby to my house; but mils clarissa’s interest forces me at present to leave it entirely to you; yet pardon me one reflection, are you in Surety in France? The motives which bring me hither, replied Montalvo, makes me hope to find favour from my superiors; but if I presume too far, I will wiliiugly submit to 
whatever chastilement they think proper to inflict, 
N 
LETTERS. 2^5 
flict, to punish my apostasy. These are worthy sentiments, replied Mr. Balfour; however, let me entreat you to suspend their effects; if Heaven favours my passage, I hope to be in thirty hours at — —, it will scarce take more time to rcpafs the channel. This little interval will not be un ncceffary to rest these ladies. I beg of you then to wait for me here; we will take the road for Paris all together, and you shall stay at my house till you have made conditions with your fupe risrs. Mrs. Coshy conjured your mother to grant this favour to her sop, and she consented with more willingness, as, by that means, she hoped to See you a day or two Sooner. Mr. Balfour being told, that the vessel which the servant had hired, was then in the port, waiting for the tide, the wind being brisk and fair, be went to it immediately; but his return was not fo speedy as he hoped. Here is what happened to him. 
He never left the post chaife which he got into at Dover, till he arrived at; and having 
inquired for the house of the periwig maker, he got out at a little distance from the shop, where he inquired for a young man, that worked there, named Chevalier. He has left this house some days, replied the man; and the 
fifteen 
II 
J' 
II 
2o6 letters. 
fifteen guineas he has sent me, by no mean comforts me for his loss; no, never Shall I meet such a brave lad again : fo Sober, fo diftintpreftedi 
0 he was a treasure. Whatever pleasure my husband took in hearing thus confirmed the praise you bellowed upon your guide, an interest more pressing obliged him to interrupt it. And why is this excellent young man gone from your house?? he. It is a mystery, replied the periwig maker, and I cannot tell you; but you, ' sir, appear to be a man of distinction; pardon my curiosity, if you are a customhouse officer, 
1 can affure you, that I never knew my young man deal in smuggled goods; he had enemies, with out doubt, but he never I am sure deserved them: indeed he was loved by everybody hereabouts, and even those above him, notwithstanding be was known to be a papist. By his mysterious manner, my husband thought him in the secret. 
I am no revenue officer, said he, but a friend cf the person who lived with you : he was a man of quality, and I am come to tell him, that his affairs in France are entirely fettled, and he may return there when he will. My name is Balfour, and you may depend on the truth of what I say. Very likely, sir, replied the other; but as I do not know you, you will excuse my not saying more, efpeciaily as 1 tell you all I 
know. 
LETTERS. 207 
p 
m 
know. The young man lived with me, I have nothing but good to say of him : if he was a person of quality, his air Spoke as much : farther I can answer for his not owing a penny in the village; he went away, because the roads are free; I did not alk him where he was going, because I never meddled with other people’s affairs. 
Thus it isimpofllble for me to say, where he ie though a member of parliament Should ask me or the king himself, because it is impossible to tell what one does not know. 
At any" other time Mr. Balfour would have admired this man’s fidelity, but now he could have wished him less discreet. You drive me to despair, Said he to the periwig maker; I tell you I am just arrived from France, the poft chaife boy will tell you, ask him. At that instant a young woman, in a genteel riding habit, on horseback, stopped besore the shop, and aiked if it was not there Mr. Chevalier lived? Why, ire you all mad? replied the periwig maker : he was here, and he is here no longer; I know w lothing of him, go about your bufiness. You i 
ire very rude. Said the girl; about a fortnight || 
I ' 
igo I saw him at Old windsor; he rode, and look me up behind him, his horse was — Is your wme Fanny? Said my husband. Yes, sir, re || 
111 
I., 
I .'i 
f * < 
208 LETTERS. 
plied (Tie, but to whom have I the honour to speak?? name is Balfour. The girl instantly exclaimed. Ah, Sir, what good fortune brings you here? you certainly have heard of rny poor mistress, and what has happened; I thought to find her here, that Mr. Chevalier gave me his direction, and this Is the place : So Saying, Ihe drew out of her pocket a Small paper, folded up, which She gave to the periwig maker. He drew out his Spectacles, wiped them, fixed them upon his nose, Shook his head Several times, to try if they were fast, because his nose is like Mr. leshy’s, which has So osten made us laugh. Mr. balsour confessed to me, that he had more than .once an inclination to beat him, but that was not the way to unchain his tongue; they were obliged to work fair and Softly, and be angry with patience. The good man turned the note, and returned it three or Sour times: he then Said to himsels, here is a mystery which I cannot comprehend; here is one who ashs Sora young man that lives here no longer, and another that enquires for her mistress who never was here at all; but, notwithstanding, here is the 
writing of poor Chevalier. Then, raising his 
voice. Sir, and young gentlewoman. Said he, 
yop will be pleased to walk into my shop, and 
be So good as to wait here an instant: if miss 
will 
LETTERS. 209 
» 
will be pleased to lend me her horse I shall return quicker. It was the only way that was to be taken, and’ Mr. Balfour made ho doubt that he was going with intelligence to the young man, whom, he imagined, had retired to fame Jiftant village. During his absence, Fanny informed my husband, that she had found securities, and that the first use she made of her liberty,. was to come and look for her mistress: 
(he informed him also that it was James, and pne of the servants of Montalvo, who had deposed against Mrs. and Miss Darby, and who had even put into the hands of a justice of peace, 
the poison which was to be the means of their perdition. With regard to Mr. Darby, he did not return to the house for eight days, and was much surprised to find Old Riding, your guar | 
lian, who had Sealed up all your effects, and f 
refused him admittance. Fanny had wrote to that honest Sarmer, who lost not a moment in flying to your assistance, and Sound her bail. 
He was stopped at an inn, at the entry of the I village, and waited, with impatience, till she had obtained permillion for him to Salute you, | ind receive your orders. His design was to con | 
you to London, there to put you under the guardianship of my lord chancellor, and indict I the two perjured villains who accused you and ||: 
your II 
k f 
Ll;; 

Iti 
aio LET T E R S. 
your mother. Have you, added Fanny, heard nothing of my lady’s mother? do you believe She is with my mistress?? then told the poor girl, that Mrs. Darby was tn safety at Calais, and desired that She would immediately go to the inn, and bid Old Riding come to him. That worthy creature was extremely comforted by the sight of my husband, and promised himself, from the astiftance of his protection, to have the pleasure of soon feeing the two perjurers with their necks in the pillory. But Mr, Balfour much surprised film, when he informed him, that you were determined to commit your justification to Providened, and that you would rather be condemned as culpable, than permit an attack upon the life of your father. Excellent young lady, excellent young lady, repeated twice the good man; may God bless her. I stop here, my dear; I make as much haste to write this letter, as if I was not well assured it would be a long time besore it could come to your hands; but I would rather it should stay at the post house, than you wait for it; and when my fingers are a little rested, I will take up my pen again, and send it off the first opportunity. 
And now, my dear, I begin my narration, 
where I left off. The periwig maker at length 
^ arrived 
LETTERS. an - 
arrived, and brought with him a very well looking man, who desired Mr. Balfour to go up with bim into the chamber, which was over the parlour. As we had not received your second etter, the name of Baker excited no extraordi. lary emotion in my husband; but when he earned from that worthy creature the obliga ionsyou had to him, he embraced him with an irdour, Sufficient to convince him of his attachment to you : he was now informed of your econd flight with the Baron de Laflic, become ?our husband. I addressed them to my mother, vho lives in a village in the next county, aid the good priest j but God, whose designs iccord not always with ours, had permitted hat (he Should depart from thence Some I 
lours before their arrival, to visit, at sixty 
I 
niles distance, one of my sisters, who was sick;; 
as their letters pressed her to Set out on the 
noment, if She wished to See her alive, what 
nth her hurry and her trouble. She was not 
ble to give me previous notice. The baron did 
ot mention this to me in his letter, I heard it | 
rom my mother in the firsl I received from her; 
ut he told me his wife was determined to go | 
..I — where She would find, in the ij 
oust of a gentleman farmer, her guardian, all i 
le protection she could desire; he told me, that ii 

iey would not depart till the next day, because j 
that 
4 
i 
• I 
, 212 LETTERS. 
that madam de Lastic was extremely fatigued; 
but he promised to write to me in a post or two. 
••• 
I have heard nothing from them Since, and having myself writ to the farmer to make inquiries no answer is come from him; however, I am more happy with regard to Mrs. Darby, who, 
I know for a certainty, to have embarked for France, where she must, ere this, be Safely arrived. My husband confirmed this circumstance to him, and Mr. Baker, desiring to know what measures he would take with Mr. Darby, my husband told him, that, was he master of the affair, he would undoubtedly prpsecute him with the utmost rigour, but that you had resolved against any step that would in ought be prejudicial or uneasy to your Sather. Let her enjoy the glory of resignation to the will of Heaven : her resolution to abandon all to her father, appears to me heroic, and I should think I opposed the decrees of God, is I endeavoured to diltuade her from it. Let us leave her to cultivate in ohscurity and retreat, virtues, which, perhaps, might be lost in a more brilliant Situation. Mr. Darby is old; he cannot dispofe of the main Sund, which must, one day, return to Clarissa and her children : let him then enjoy the revenues for his life. Madam de Lallip 
will be better able to Sanctify the use of themj 
whep 
LETTERS. 213 
when she Shall have seen, by a near view, how precious riches may become to those who know how to employ them to the purposes which Providence had, when he made them rich, 
I ONLY give you an extract of Mr. baker’s long discourse, which might be called a sermon;; also a panegyric, where your praises and your hulband’s were not forgotten, but I have the discretion to pass them over in Silence. My Clarissa loves not incense; though her head is too j strong to be affected by it. Mr. Riding was called, and it was agreed, that my hiisband Should See Mr. Darby, and confirm all your promises to him, on condition that he would cease all puri 

fuit, and that he would put into the hands of a | 
justice of peace a certificate, in which he Should ' 
declare his conviction of the innocence of his i 
wife and daughter. This certificate, which i 
Should be sealed in his presence, apd not opened | 
till after his death. Should not be delivered but ' 
in exchange for a due and proper assignment of '! 
your fortune to him, for the terra of his natural j 
life. 
I; 
I 
'j; 
It does not become me to criticise the decision of such wise people, yet it appears to me 
^ I I 
a little hard, that the richesl heiress in England I 
Should ' 
, I 1 
I II > 
|: I 
i i 
i 
214 LETTERS. 
should be reduced to narrow circumstances, while her immense fortune is possessed by a — —. Hold your tongue, Harriet, you will be scolded. My Clarissa will perish to kifs the hand that persecutes her: this, however, comforts me, by the sale of your diamonds, you may raise a sum, which, in France, will be a considerabla fortune; for to tell you that our fortune, such as it is, is yours, would be another thing for which I should be infallibly scolded. My husband was ignorant that Mr. Baker was engaged for fifteen guineas to the honest periwig maker, but thinking that some acknowledgment was due to him, he begged of that worthy clergyman to give him the remainder of the sum, which you had left in his hands, which was an infinite satissafifion to the poor man, without consoling him for the loss of his servant, whom he declared he would make his heir. They did not think it necessary to trust him with more than he already knew, which was only that Chevalier was a great nobleman; and as they did not tell it to him as a secret, he had been everywhere to tell this good news to all the people in the village, who heartily rejoiced at it. He ordered a very good dinner from the inn, and my husband, Mr. Baker, the good Riding, and Fanny, dined at his house, and obliged him to sit at table with them. 
Imme 
LET E R S. 215 
Immediately after dinner, my husband went to Did Windsor, to Speak to Mr. Darby, who at Srft Seemed discouraged at this visit which he received at the inn: asterwards, assuming his flfual audacity, he endeavoured to persuade my husband, that he could ruin you beyond re. source. My husband did not Suffer him to finish, but, assuming a haughtier tone. Thank, Says he to him, the commands of your excellent daughter, otherwise I would have sacrificed ray fortune and life to have done her justice, with respect to the horrible attempt which has been made against her. Your James is not a novice in guilt; he must not think that I am ignorant of the share he had in she sudden death of the flean of Colborne; and if he does not seek safety by a speedy flight, I will have him put into a place, where he shall discover more mysteries. This menace rendered your Sather more tracta ble; he showed my husband the letter you had wrote to him, and aiked if you were determined to abide by what you promised : he added, with an oath, that he desired nothing more than to restore you your mother; but that he would be buried alive, if he knew where the villain mon talvo had concealed her. His jade of’ a mother had disappeared with him, and he wished to God that the devil had taken all three. Only mind 
the 
ti LETTER S. 
the harm I would do my daughter, said he, by making her marry a handsome young fellow, whom she loved, I am certain of it. Since the flight of this wretch Cofby, I have hardly any doubt, but it was her who caused all this confusion: it is the bigotry of my daughter, which throws us into this dilemma. Why not be of the religion of her country? If She had been a Protestant, she would have regarded the vows of this youth as null. I loved her, I would settle 
her -- Do you not blush to avow it? said my 
husband, interrupting him : ought not the uncertainty of his birth to have made you fear incest? None but Cofby could have told this circumstance, said Mr. Darby. lam almost certain, that this lad is the fon of Montalvo, and the treachery he has been guilty of, is a proof of it; but, even if he was ihy fon, people like US', sir, are not swayed by scruples, which affect common people. Where should we have been, if Adam and Eve had paid a regard to them? Did not they marry their fons and daughters? 
My husband omitted nothing, to make Mr. Darby ajbamed of the impious fentirfients he seemed to take pleasure in displaying: : it was in vain, he turned into ridicule everything that was said; and my husband, considering 
that 
L E T T E R S. 217 I 
* i 
\ 
1 
i 
(at such a conversion was a miracle out of the 
y 
wer of man to effect, he left him to the mercy 
the lord, and infiisted only on his dropping 
is prosecution against Fanny. He discharged 
ie bail readily enough and my husband vas 
ot deceived in thinking, I (hold see with 
leisure, a girl, who had shown such an at 
ichment to you. To this proof of his good 
less he joined another, which hastened my re 
overy; that was, to acquaint me, by a line, 
hat he had reaped all the advantage he expected ■ 
rom his voyage. I did not, at that time, doubt 
mt I should see the day that would reftcre my 
!llariita to my arms; and I waited for it with an 
mpatience equal to my tenderness for her. He 
irrived in five days afterwards, having left the 
adies in an apartment near mine. I cried out, 
is soon as I saw him, Where is Clarissa? With 
: he baron de Laftic, her husband, replied he; 
ber marriage, and departure, preceded, for some 
lays, my arrival in England : for want of her, 
[bring you another lady; Mrs. Darby desires permilfion to show you her gratitude, for the friendship of wdirdi you have given such great proofs to her dear Clarissa. But, my dear soul, permit me also to beg a favour of you : moderate your transports, you know not how far ex troardinary emotions may hurt you at present, 
vol. L L Yes, 
2i8 LETTERS, 
4 
Yes, my dear, I will be moderate. Betty, quick, my robe : run, sty, Mr. Balfour, desire her to come in, or I will go myself: in fact, if 
C ^ 
she had not appeared, I believe, I should have forgot that the robe I called for was not put on, and that she would have found me naked on the stairs. I stretched out my arms to her; she clasped me in her’s; and, be it said, without displeasing you, I know not whether I should have received yourself more tenderly than her. After a number of unconnected sentences, I was obliged to be a little quiet, in order to learn what I burnt to know, and I did not give her time to tell me. Would you believe, that, never comprehending that the baron de Lassk and poor Chevalier had anything in common together, I interrupted Mr, Balfour, to Scold him, that he did not bring him with him; yet I had some Suspicion of his birth, and it is here I ought to make you my confeshon. 
Used to understand you by half a word, I doubted not, cn reading your first letter, that the invincible Clarissa had lyiet her vanquisher : less a philosopher tfian my friend, I own, I Seared the excess of her gratitude : had you given up three parts of your wealth to your protector, 
I should not have nturmured : of the gists 
you 
LETTERS. 2tg 
)u could bestow him, there was but that of Dur hand, which appeared to me excessive. I len recalled to mind the expression I had made fe of, in blaming Clarissa : if a young woman i unfortunate enough to quit her father’s house, le ought to fly with no one but her husband. 
U that time, I had in my head, the cafe of /larissaonly; little divining, that, in a few days, our situation would be like hers. I had no are to make the exceptions, which I (hold o herwife have fet against that general rule. Was tnot natural to fear, that you might dwell too nuch, according to the letter, on that, which I lad written with too little reflection; and think t not an insufferable vanity in me, to believe, : hat a judgement like your’s, could be bialted by suggestions like mine. The worst of councils appear good, when they happen to chime with our secret inclinations. But what a multitude ofufelefs words, half a page! employed to Tell, you, I saw you loved Chevalier; and I feared you would claim a right to marry him, from the impertinent sentence I had unwittingly given in your favour. In fine, I would fain have engaged you, at least, to suspend that resolution till the arrival of my husband, supposing that some accident might have retarded his voyage. But think not I disapprove of what you have 
L 2 done. 
220 LETTERS. 
done.. Circumstances were become such, after 
your first letter, that it was impostible for you not to endeavour to extricate yourself at any hazard. I admire the ingenuity with which you confess, that your determination in this respect, preceded your knowledge of his real condition. But even there your humility deludes you. How should sentiments and education, such as had your guide, meet in a man sprung from nothing? It was impostible to be mistaken, it spoke the gentleman at once; .but I must finish a narration interrupted mal a propos. 
We had Scarce enjoyed the possession of your mother, than we vvere in the most cruel concern for fear of lossng her; a malignant fever appeared with Symptoms fo terrible, that the physicians at first despaired of her recovery. They urged my condition, to prevent my entering her chamber; but I protefced in fo positive a manner, that the inquietude would make me inif carry, that they left me to do as I would. You will Scarcely imagine who, next to myself, was the most assiduous of your methects nurses; it was poor Mrs. Coshy. She confessed before she went into her chamber, and prepared for her last hour. In effect, she catched your mother’s dist eirder; the Seventh day took to her bed, and four 
days 
L E T T E Pv S. 22t 
ays after was carried off. ’tis dreadful to have ved like that woman, yet 1 destre no other race of God, than to die like her. It was im ofiibje to hear her talk of her past; irregularities, he favours she had received from her Creator, nd the confidence she had in his mercy, with ut being touched. Heaven has paid your debt, ny dear Clarissa;; holy and composed diffo lition, Teas a recompense for the service she had 
/ 
one you. Montalvo was So tbuched by her last dvice to him, that, instead of returning into ' lis ancient order, he has retired among the shartreux, and is now actually commencing loviciate. Your mother is at pretent ignorant if Mrs. coshy’s death, believing her to be in he country. For myself, I advance in a happy iregnancy, without fo much as a headache. I m to inform you of the motives which engaged idontalvo to Save your mother; but that, with he history of their flight, I will remit to another letter, this already making a volume. I ind, by your last, that you have had new diffi ulties to Surmount in your flight. I depend on ou for an account of them the first oppor unity : let us know particularly in what part 'our hushand’s estate lies, and If he cannot ob ain permiiston from his mother to pay us a visit f Paris during my lying in : you may believe, 
1/ 3 tha 
222 LETTER S. 
that if I was in any other s.tuation, I should not attend your coming, but lay hold of the happy 
occaston to conduct: your mother to your house; but, what vstth Adr. balfour’s lawsuit, and my disorder, I shall not be able to quit this town for six or seven months, which will appear to me fo many ages. Mrs. Darby and my husband charged me to embrace Monsteur le Baron for them, and I do it without Scruple; I could do it no better if he was here, for me to render them that service, otherwise than in idea; for, upon my honour, I regard him passionately; and, notwithstanding my high idea of my Clarissa, J firmly believe him worthy of her. 
P. S. Attempt not, we conjure you, an excess of generosity for Mr. Darby. He has consented to yield your money in the bank of Genoa : why will you give it him? 
« 
J 
C V. LETTER 
* • • 
LETTERS. 223 
LETTER XXV 
CLARISSA ro LADY HARRIET. 
HO W much am I indebted to you, my 
dear friend; and how ought I to acknowledge the goodness of Providence during the rest of my life, in guarding you from those dangers which you run in attending her! And you, Mr. Balfour, my generous protector, how shall I aci; : nowledge, how shall I requite, the consideration you have had for me! To quit a beloved wife in Such circumstances, and then, to permit her to expose herself as she has' done : it is too much, the multitude of your favours make me ungrateful. With the most lively sentiments of acknowledgment, I find my sense of my obligations infinitely below their value. May God be your recompcnscr: it is what I alk of him, upon my knees, every day I live. I also hope that he v\'ill repay poor Mrs. Coshy : she entered late to work in the vineyard of the Lord; but that good master will pay those, who have, begun at the Sixth hour, as much as those who .went through the fatigue of the day, provided they have worked with a good will. I will for ever return God thanks for his grace to that poor penitent, who drew me from the precipice 
L 4 where 
234 LETTERS. 
where I was ready to fall. She will obtain for her fon the grace of perseverance;; if my feeble prayers can have any efficacy, he will wipe out the stains of his youth by a Sincere repentance. That unfortunate young man had naturally good principles; and there was room to hope, that those virtuous Seeds, which had been'^choaked up, as it were, by the tares of passion, would, in the end, produce good fruit. Would to Heaven that I could purchase, at the expense of my life, a like grace for my unfortunate father! Cursed, cursed be they who corrupted his youth, and Spread in his Soul the poison of irreligion, the Source of all his faults. But, alas!! Mr. Balfour once observed, there needs a miracle in order to obtain it. I would willingly devote myself to the most extreme poverty : judge with what pleasure then I would laciifice the Superfluous. I am determined not to claim any, part of my fortune; I would, prov to my father the excellence of that religion which ' ■ he defpises, more by my example than my words. 
I asse nothing in return for all I Sacrifice, but his affection, and permission, from time to time, to give him proofs of mine. My husband approves of my determination; his dissnterested nefs is without example j and I may safely say, 
that this is not the only virtue, in which he 
Surpasses 
LETTERS. 225 
Surpasses other men; every day, every hour, ’ 
I difeover new perfections in him. With Such a partner what tan I wish for; what can I regret? 
As I have been extremely fatigued by the fear am obliged to remain some days at bour deaux, and I lay hold of this opportunity to » finish my adventures. ■ • 
Mr. Baker has already informed you of the ' accident which prevented our obtaining the asy lum which he offered us at his mother’s. We 
4 
arrived at the village where she lives about five o’cloc k in the morning, and I was So fatigued, that I was obliged to repose some hours at a bad inn; the good woman, to whom we were addressed, being So poor, that she had no Servant; and, by cersse .uence, hau carried with her the key of her little Jodg./ ig. Aster having Slept a (licrl time, it was ntcesiary to deliberate on the measures proper to be taken : you know I had but little money, and I found myfdf but 111 able to go far on foot. ’ My first design was to get to Sarmer riding’s, but he lived sixty miles fresh the place we then were at; and aster having paid our guide, we should not have money enougshto hire horses. The honest man who 
l5; accompanied II 
22, 6 LETTER S. 
« 
accompanied us,, seemed sensible of our embar raitment, and we thought we might venture to open ourselves to him. I have Some effects, Said my husband, of considerable value, but there are strong reasons that prevent my Selling them; are you not acquainted with Some Jew in the neighbourhood hereabouts, who would advance money on Some rich toys I have, because I should be unwilling to put them into the hands of a goldsmith? Our guide, aster a short consideration, Said, I am Sure Mr. Baker would not ov/n you for his friends, if you were not good people; I will therefore venture to assist you. There is, about twelve miles from hence, a Jew whom I know : I once lived with him, he is extremely rich, and knows that I would not offer anything ill come by; give me what you would ■willingly leave in pledge; I will carry it to him, if you choose to trust me, and you may wait for me here till I come back; but, in my opinion, you had better come there yourfelvesj it will not take you much out of the way, and you will see how far it is prudent to take what he offers. As the town was not upon the great road, and it advanced us nine miles in that we wifiied fo take, we followed the man’s advice. We hired horses, and fet out the next day. 
I had a necklace of pearl, which was valued 
at 
0 
LETTER S. 227 
I 
at fourteen hundred pounds, which we put into the hands of our guide, and he took it to his Jew. He said that some people, who were to Spend the Summer in the village next to his, • finding themselves in Avant of money, had trusted him with Some effects, and desired five hun 
> % 
pounds on them for six months. The Jew made no difficulty to lend that Sum upon what vas worth twice as much; and our guide returned with Sour hundred pounds in bank bills,, and the rest in gold. My husband delivered them to me, and I immediately gave five guineas to the honest countryman, who.paid it me back with a thousand blessings;; we hid our bank bills in the plaites of my robe, where we Sewed them up; and my hustiand took the * Same precaution with our money, which he Sewed in different parts of his clothes; because, being obliged to take a cross route, it was necessary to guard against ill accidents. •. The rest of my diamonds were put in the corner of a chaise which we hired, and we made one half of our journey, without any accident. : Arrived at Stafford, we began to respire j a day Sufficed to conduct us to Mr. riding’s, and we thought ourselves almost at the end of our troubles; but I could almost Say the. vexations .were yet to be endured.. 
It 
228 LETTERS. 
* 
It was on a Saturday, in the evening, that we arrived at Stafford, and I had a great desire to hear mass besore I Set out the next day. The hoftess was very obliging: coming up to my chamber, to offer her Services, I invited her to drink a dish of tea with me; and as she Seemed fensible of my politeness, I ventured to ask her is there were many catholics about that place? Probably, madam, Said she, you are one : and, tomorrow being Sunday, engages you to alk that quefcion. I told her she guessed right, and she embraced me tenderly; then told me there was at Stafford, a certain number of Roman 
9 
catholics, who entertained a.prieft; and as they were quiet, harmless people, and in the late rebellion had shown much fidelity to the government, they lest them the free exercise of their, religion. She was called into the kitchen; and haying vvished me a good evening, she left aie. It was nine o’dock : they gave us a morsel in our chamber, and I hastened Supper, in order to have Sufficient time to justisy myself to you before I went to bed; when the woman returned, with all the marks of terror imprinted on her countenance. My dear lady. Said she, the moment I Saw you, I had a Secret inclination, which made me wish you well; and nothing 
- would. 
J 
4 
LETTERS. 229 
would shock, fne more, than your encountering any misfortune in my house: but deal Sincerely with me; is there any bad affair? — Had I had an inclination to deny it, the sudden paleness that overspread my countenance, would have made me declare the truth. Listen to me. Said she, I only desire to be of Service to you, and by no means believe you capable of the crime laid to your charge. When you came out of your carriage, there was a man at the door, who had just arrived on horseback, who examined you with much curiosity. When your coachman came into the kitchen to Supper, the man vas there, and ashed him, is you were not corn from the London fide? Why that question? Said the coachman. because, answered the other, I am very much mistaken, if she is not the young woman who has been advertised in the papers So lately; she is V orth stopping, Said he; she is accused of a design to poison her father. what’s that to me, Said tfie coachman? she pays me well; and all those that pay me well, I take for honest people. I am hot So credulous, replied the other, but we will See Sarther. Now, 
my dear lady, added the woman, constder whether you have anything to fear, and reckon 
upon my discretion. The Baron then took the 
word. 
230 LETTERS. 
word. I will not hide from you, said he to the woman, that a love match has embroiled my wife whth a powerful family; but you have 
judged like a virtuous and honest person, that she is incapable of the crime with which that wretch dares to accuse her; I will confess, however, that the falling into the hands of her parents, before she was reconciled to them, would throw me into the deepest despair. Thus, madam, you will acquire an eternal right to our acknowledgmenps, if you will assist us in escaping from those, who would possibly do us a mif chiest Nay, said the woman, I must tell you all the fellow said to my husband, when he had got a cup in his head: there was a thousand pounds for him Who should stop you, and he Swore he would not lose the reward, but he would examine you a little closer in the morning, and then Send for a couple of constables, who should take you up, His my advice then ’ that you take advantage of the night, to make your escape; and, as my lady is a remarkable sto ure, I think, it would be better if she dis 2uised her Sex; I have a Son about her ssze and height, I will provide her With a Suit of his clothes, and his great coat; quit the highroad,. the moon is up, and you may crol's the fields : in keeping always to your left, the way is extremely; 
LETTERS. 231 
tremely unfrequented, and there is no danger of their seeking you there. During all this conversation, your poor friend did nothing but shed tears, which made those of our charitable hostess run down her cheeks plentifully. My husband embraced me, conjuring me to take courage. Providence, said he, declares for us, in inspiring this good woman with the generous design to assisi: us; and fo saying, he drew from his finger a pretty ring, which I had given him, of about ten guineas value, which he begged of her to accept, as a Slight mark of our gratitude. At first she made Some difficulty; I perceived, however, that thds little present gave her zeal new ardour; she ran for her son’s clothes, and dressed me in them herself. The Baron would have given anything in the world for a horse, but it would have exposed us to more easy pursuit. We thanked a thousand times our kind hostess, who conducted us herself out of a back door, and even led us a quarter of a mile over a field; aster which she showed us, in the best manner file could, paths which would bring us near Flint, in the principality of Wales. The first 
night only. Said she, will be painsui to you; for, once distant from this route about a dozen or fourteen miles, you will, wirhout either danger or difficulty, find a horse. When the woman 
left 
232 LETTERS. 
left us, a thousand mortifying ideas crowded upon me : Is it then, said I, the granddaughter of lord Afaph, the great heiress, that finds herself, in the midst of the night, exposed to such adventures! If these sort of thoughts were dif couraghig, those that followed were equally comf rbng. What gracious protection has Providence afforded me under my misfortunes! What would have become of me, "had I fallen into the hands of a difhonest man! He would have been already discouraged by the dangers he had run, in endeavouring to save me; and, perhaps, the best I had to hope from him, would be desertion in this lonely place, which, possibly, his ill conduct might make me confider as a bieltmg. The baron, my tender husband, left me not long a prey to those devouring imagi nations. Plough do I suffer, my dear Clarissa, said he, to see you reduced to such an extremity! Under rhisfortunes, attended with circumstances fo mortifying, will you have sufficient strength to support yourself under the fatigue you are going to encounter? If you will permit me to ease you from, time to time, I Shall feel less eoncern. I am in full strength, you are delicately and lightly made : I can spare you a part of the fatigue, by carrying you : a burden fo precious, 
will Sweeten to me the length of the way. This 
excels 
letters. 233 
excess of tenderness Seemed to inspire me with 
new vigour. What do you propose to me, my 
dear? Said I. Do you think my Sufferings can 
be determined by an increase of yours? No, if 
Heaven has decreed that I Should perish, I vvould 
rather die of fatigue, than of grief to See you 
* 
link under that which I had caused, But why presume So ill of my courage or my strength? In more happy times, I should have considered the way, which I am now obliged to make on Soot, as a walk; I consess that my misfortunes have, in some sort, enfeebled me, but the happy consequences of my misfortunes have given me vigour; my present pains have produced all the happiness of my life, and could I buy it too dearly? The baron, not considering where we were, catched me in his arms; when we heard a sudden noise, within a little way of us, which made him put himself upon his defence; for I should have told you, that he was provided with a pair of pistols. The moon gave fo little light, that we heard the noise some minutes, before we could perceive by what it was caused;; we found ourselves close upon three men, of a sufficient bad appearance, before we were aware cf it, and who appeared to conceive no better opinion of us. We all remained immoveable, looking at one another from head to foot; when 
one 
234 LETTER S. 
one of the men Said, in French, to his companions, What have we to fear? they are but two, we shall be the strongest: party. Have you never seen a Scene in Moliere, where two poltroons meet in the night, who affect the courage to frighten one another, while the Sound of their voices betray their mutual cowardice? We, at this time, made an excellent representation of that Scene; though I ought in justice to Say, that among the actors there was no poltroon but myself. Indeed my hair stood an end with horror. I at present make myself merry with an adventure which had like to kill me, after the manner of those old Sailors, who, in their chimney corner, divert their families with the recital of a shipwreck from whence they escaped, and interest them in proportion to the danger they had run. The baron, at first, doubted the truth of this rencounter. The unhappy, whose misfortunes are alike, ought not to be alarmed at each other. You are French prisoners, gentlemen, and Seek, like us, to recover your lost liberty. You guess right, said one of the three men, who had a voice So terrible, that it made me tremble; let us sit down, and try if we cannot help one another in our design. As I had walked for some hours, and began to be tired, I accepted the proposition, The men informed us 
directly 
LETTERS. 235 
directly who they were : one was the captain of a vessel, the other a lieutenant, and the other a Surgeon. I was comforted at this, thinking that some education might be expected from people, of their rank. The captain told us, that they 
had come from the castle of; that they had 
already travelled four and twenty miles with a guide, who had left them at the beginning of the night, because their money had failed : that their first design was to go to Bristol, where the surgeon had a friend that promised to favour his escape: : the want of money reduced them to despair, with the loss of their guide; as for nourishment, added he, the fields are full of turnips and other roots, which would prevent our dying of hunger; a very happy circumstance, as we speak the language ill, fo that we dare not ask any person the way; there is also half a guinea promised for every French prisoner, who is apprehended making his escape; and the hopes of such a recompense would make us meet as many enemies as we met country fellows. I have a remedy for these inconveniences, replied the baron; and my little companion, having learned English when he was very young, Speaks it as perfectly as if he was born in this country; but he is of a delicate complexion. So that I despair of feeing him come to the end of our journey, 
otherwise 
236 L E T T E R S. 
otherwise we Should be happy in your company, and glad to assist you with anything in our power. If that is all that embarrasses you, replied the captain, make yourself easy: : are four; a few branches of trees will soon make us a machine, and when he can walk no fu'''her, we will carry the boy upon it; for that matter, I could carry' him myself on my shoulders, hk ■ a lamb • I only destre for a recompense, that he wdl use his tongue now and then to ask the road, if they do not deceive us, three nights w 11 bring us to Bristol. During the daytime, we will hide ourselves in the woods, or under the hedges, as we have hitherto done. Our young master here shall go into Bristol alone, and you may be assured, that the next day we shall have a ship, ready to carry us where we destre. The offer of money you make us, my dear countryman, I accept, while we are on our way but it shall only be a loan; for, thank Heaven, we are not quite without means : and, as Soon as ir is day, I will show you a letter of credit upon the Bristol merchant whom I have mentioned to you. Let us walk on till then, the stars will be our guides. In drawing towards the South east, we advance towards the Sea, which is the term of our course. What do you think of it? my dear, Said the baron to me. Does this plan appear to 
you 
LETTERS. ^37 
vou reasonable? In truth, I did not know what to answer. The surgeon observing me hesitate, said very politely, if the gentleman finds any difficulty, he is free to continue his journey a lone. We do not pretend to incommode him; we only desire to borrow a couple of guineas, for which we will give you an order to be paid in France; and these I do not asrc, gentlemen, but because you were generous enough to offer it; and should you have changed your mind, and now refuse to lend it us, .we shall quit you, without taking the least: offence. Sir, said I, you greatly mistake me. Then, turning towards my husband, I desired him to follow the gentlemen; they appear to me honest people, let us trust ourselves with them, under the conduct of Provi 
9 
dence. Saying these words, I rose; and the captain and lieutenant, willing to show me that they were inclined to keep their words, crossing their hands, and grappling together, made me sit down upon them; in which manner they carried me above a mile, without appearing the least fatigued. This greatly refreshed me, and, as if I had acquired new force from the courage of my companions, I walked briskly till daybreak, which discovered to us a village upon our right. They proposed that I should go there to ask the road, and my husband would follow me. In this 
'case, 
¥• 
238 letters. 
cafe, I easily comprehended, that he would not be left the master. Fugitives are always diffident, they would have a hostage for my return. I was obliged then to have resolution to attempt the adventure alone; and the persuaston I was in, that I should risque nothing from discovery, in a place fo distant, and under Such a disguise, animated my courage, and I laughed at those fears which I had felt till that moment. My clothes were tolerably decent, and they might take me for a boy of the better Sort, who had run away from his friends. This was the worst they could think of me. My companions hid themselves in a field of furze, and in order to make themselves easily found by me again, they setup, near their hiding-place, a long stick, which had served one of them for a can. It be ing harvest time, almost all the inhabitants had left the village. I went into a well looking farmhouse - an old man sat before the kitchen door, in order to receive the first rays of the fun : a girl was employed, at Some distance from him, in feeding the poultry. God bless you father, said I : God bless you, daughter, replied the old man. At these words, which made me tremble, the servant wench burst into a loud fit of laughter. You are very knowing, 
cried she to the old man, if all the girls resemble 
this 
LETTERS. 239 
lis youth, there would be a crowd of them in eed. Youth or maid, said the old man, my lefling is not lost, I am Sure it was the voice of girl: is there anything for your service, my hild? My design is for Bristol, replied I j but I )ft my way, and have walked all night; could ou not give me, on paying for it, a morsel to at? Yes, said the old man, and a sup to drink 00, If you are able to pay for it, So much the letter; if you cannot, God will pay for you. He vill not fail to pay you. Said I, though you take ny money; I have more than is necessary for ny journey, and your good will, which he knows, /vill not go without a recompense. Heaven fiefs thee, my child, said the old man; Molly, five him avup of ale : I never touch strong liquor, said I; but I wiil willingly take a couple if eggs, and a little milk. I love eggs exceedingly; and if this girl will boil me a dozen hard, 
I will very willingly charge myself with them. Molly made haste to do what I desired her; and (luring that time, the old man spoke to me as follows : You have undertaken a long journey, my child; do you know that it is one hundred and forty miles to Bristol? Can you go. Such a long way on foot? If i find a horse to buy, which is not too dear, I will purchase it, I could sell it again when I got to Bristol, for I only go there, in order to epibark for Holland. Why, 
said 
24'0 LETTERS. 
Said the old man, if you would accommodate yourself with a bad horse, which we will sell you very cheap; I say it is bad, because it is, blind, but otherwise it goes firm, and will not tyre its rider. As I appeared willing to make the bargain, they immediately brought the horse, which indeed had but an indifferent appearance. They asked three guineas, and I gave it, in order to give a colour of truth to my appearance; and they threw into the bargain, a pair of horferaen’s bags, with two loaves of bread, a dozen of hard eggsi, a piece of Salt beef and some cheese; I could have wished for some beer, but I had said that I never drank any, and happily I was enabled to make a provision of it, before I left the village. 
THUS my first trial was happy; it encouraged me, and I rejoined my companions, who began to be uneasy at my stay. For my husband, he was more dead than alive, and reproached himself for having let me go alone, as the greatest crime, though the village was not distant above half a mile. After having distributed my provisions, the baron said to the prisoners, that he would rather deprive himself of their company, than be Subjected a Second time to the inquietude he hid just now Suffered. This young man. Said he, has been trusted to my care by 
his 
L E T T E R S. 241 
his parents; and I cannot again consent to Suffer himoutofiny Sight. I thought I remarked in the eyes of the surgeon Some looks which Spoke incredulity : this made me blush prodigiousty, and I resolved with myself that we would get away from these people as Soon as they were asleep; a resreshment which they Seemed to have great occasion for; but aq unexpected accident prevented us, Sori Seemed destined to prove in this fatal voyage all manner of sufferings: on a sudden my husband changed colour, and immediately after fell in a Swoon. Imagine, if possible, the shocking ideas that assailed me at this critical moment; my husband was become dearer to me than my life,; I costldmotat tribute his accident to anything but the uneafi liess I had caused him. What will become of me if heaven in its anger takes him from, me? Indeed, it was a stroke more violent than I thought myself capable of Supporting; the humanity of our companionssurpassed what I could have expected from people of their profession, for the sea is apt torender the heart a little hard i but the Surgeon, in particular, endeavoured to bring him to himself, with a zeal which I never shall forget. I had about me a crystal bottle, which you made a present of to me on your marriage, the chain of which you know was of 
vol.i. M diamond. 
242 letters. 
diamond. This toy was Sufficient to difeover us, but I never considered that, for I w^s quite be side myself; I immediately put it into the hands of Monsieur Dulac, the name the surgeon had taken, who, after rubbing the baron’s temples and nostrils, made him swallow a certain tincture he carried in his pocket, which quickly brought about the desired effect; a black bile, which the remedy forced him to throw up, gave him great ease;; Dulac assured me, that if he had not been assisted in time, he would have ' rished an appoplexy. Good God! In what a Situation should I have found myself had this accident happened two hours later, and in a place where I was only with him; ' but, as I said, the abundant evacuation put him out of danger; though, as you may imagine, it left him extremely weak.' The captain and lieutenant now began to Snore like men, who, after a long journey and a Severe fast, hast eaten a good meat: Dulac was well inclined to follow their example; but his desire to tell me what he had in his head, was stronger than his love of rest. It is difficult, said he to us, to impose upon men of my profession; 
■ the delicacy of this lady’s features immediately discovered to me her sex;; the rich Smelling bottle she just now gave me, tells me her condition; your mutual inquietudes, the love you 
have 
letters. 243 
uve for one another, and the modesty which hines in her countenance, assures me that you ire a married couple, or like to become fo. Be iot alarmed. Said he, I am not the only person (vho may make these remarks; but certainly, ao person can make them with less danger for jou than I and my companions: two years in 
prison, have given me sufficient time to know them; and I leave you to judge of their probity. Prom the motives of their present escape. This captain and lieutenant were taken before the declaration of war, as \vcll as myself; fo that we do not think ourselves prisoners according to martial law; however, we shoiild not attsirpt to escape, had we not been assured that the enemy would force us aboard vessels destined for the attack of Quebec. These two men knew perfectly the river St. Laurence, and would risk being hung at the masthead, rather than not endeavour to fink the ships they should conduct there; and what honest man would not rather be torn alive than introduce a foe into his country? Now, when one is capable of Sacrificing one’s life to one’s duty, one cannot be Sufpected of a design to distress the unfortunate. Follow; then the advice which I give you; difeover yourself to my companions; I assure you, you have nothing to apprehend from them, 
m2 and 
% 
x: 
: LET T E R S. 
and your confidence will excite their zeal SI know the captain; he is a man fertile in exp'e dients, and he told me, not an hour ago, that he would answer to make you go all over England at your ease, and without danger, if you would sacrifice the Sum of twenty guineas. 
% 
We were at the discretion of these men; they s seemed full of sentiments of honour, and really were fo. My husband read in my looks my thoughts upon this, occasion;; he answered ' the Surgeon, by drawing from his bosom a little pocketbook, in which was the certificate of our marriage; the reading of which, instructing ‘ Dulac of our birth, redoubled his respect, and he assured ms we were not only safe among them, but that he could answer for his comrades, as well as himself, who would rilk their lives in our service, if it was necessiry. After these protestations, we gave way to that Sleep of which we had fo much need; and it is astonishing, that, in the situation we were, it lasted for near nine hours. My dear, that is to say, we went to steep about eight o’clock in the morning, and it was five in the evening when we awoke; but, no doubt. Heaven afforded us this refresh ment, to prevent us Sinking under the last trial which it would make us undergo. My husband 
had 
L E T T E R S. 245 i 
hid no other complaint than a weakness, caused by want of nourishment. During our repast, the captain, to whom they had declared my (ex, said to us, I conjecture from what the old man told this lady, that we can easily get to Shrewsbury thisnight, after which she > can easily. -. English, procure for each of us a de ■ coat, our present dress Serving only to > make us remarkable, and Subject us to an arrest r; she may then boldly hire a chaise for. herself and i her husband: : will take horses, and follow as' persons in their fuits, and no body will take us for what we really are; however, for the greater Security, we must be careful to stop at Such places as lie a little out of the way. In this manner, I make no doubt I shall be able to arrive at Bristol in safety, and shall not Scruple to go in person to the merehant’s house to whom I am » directed.. 
Notwithstanding what thecaptainsaidj;, the project appeared to me very hazardous, nor had we at that time an opportunity of putting it in execution, as you will hear presently;; it Succeeded with us in part. When we came to the necessity of attempting it, we waited for the night with great impatience, to put ourselves again in motion; and as I feared that the baron might again be Seized with his illness, I pre 
M 3 tended 
V 
246 LETTERS. 
tended that I must have Somebody to ride before me on the horse, to oblige him to mount. W 
were all Surprised at the poor creature’s vigour, who carried us admirably; happily we met one of those troughs, which are often in the road, where the poor beast began to quench his thirst. This trough was at the door of a public house, and a servant wench hearing a horse drink at it, aiked if we would not alight. I answered, No, ” but begged her to fill me a bottle with strong beer, and to give a little oats tp my horse. Our companions, on the opening of the door, advanced a Tittle, and waited for us at the end of the village, with much dependence; they confessed to us afterwards, that they thought we had laid hold of that opportunity to quit their company, but never Sufpected that we would betray them. 
You will, perhaps, be Surprised, that we 
should continue to associate ourselves with the 
# 
prisoners, whom we could have left, only giving 
them a little money: but our reason was this; 
the captain was provided with a passport;; 
thing, without which, in time ot war, nobody 
can embark in any of the ports. In spite of mj^ 
disguise, Mr. Darby had described me So strongly, 
that I never should have dared to present myself 
to 
9 
LETTERS. 247 
to those, who had commission to deliver them; and my husband Spoke bad English, which might have occasioned his being stopped asa deserter. Thus we were prisoners in England, without hopes of escaping, otherwise than by means of the captain. We acted the person, who gave the oats to the horse, how far it was from thence to Shrewshury. Judge of my mortification when he answered seventy-five miles, 
I expected to arrive there the day after tomorrow, says I to him. You must travel a good pace then, replied the boy; and your horse does ■ not Seem very strong: nevertheless, as the weather is fine, if you get forward today a few • miles, you may lie tomorrow night at Bridg north, which is about Sixteen miles off. I paid the lad; and our • horse, which had recovered strength, fet out such a pace as furprised the servant. Our companions began to be tired with waiting for us, and were charmed to See us return. The strong beer which I broughtj > had the Same effect on them, as the oats on the horse; and they walked fo stoutly, that the surgeon, who had a wonderful Sagacity in guef sing at the vicinity of towns by his Smell, assured us we were near Bridgnorth. It was Scarcely daybreak, which we took the advantage of, to turn out of the main road, and con 
M 4 cealed 
z'lb. L E T T E R S. 
cealed ourselves in a thicket; which was at a Small distance. We fettled ourselves there as well as wexould; but had hardly been there above a quarter of anhour, before a coursing dog, .which belonged to Some sportsmen, kept'barking round us. He at length discovered us,, and then retired with precipitation.. the.huntfmen being come up close to usj. our captain rose up, and desired them in his bad English, not tp' injure persons who had never done them harm. A they were only two, and we were five in number, they feigned pity, and repeated Several timesis ** Poor men !” They then left us, but not long; and while we were deliberating what to do, returned with a dozen country fellows, armed with Scythes and pitchforks, who threat ned to kill the first that offered to stir. The baron’s first motion was to throw himself on his pistols : his second to put them in his pockets, for fear of bringing Some accident on me. The countrymen Seized us, and conducted us to the town, where we were carried before a justice of peace. He interrogated us very politely in his bedchamber, for he was not yet stirring, which gave me an opportunity of concealing myself from his notice. Do not alk me all that passed in such a long conversation;; was So abashed, fo frightened, and fo humbled, to find myself 
in 
LETTER S. 249 
inffuch circumstances, that I was incapable of paying the least attention to anything. Wc were all sent to the town dungeon; and, that this word may not fright jou, my dear, .what is • called by this name in England, has no connexion with what that word Signifies in France. Imagine a little room about ten foot Square, or rather a box, for it was wainscotted all round, and entirely unfurnished. I We begged for a little clean straw; and; as we offered to pay for ‘ it, the gaoler brought it immediately, and obligingly offered us whatever we should' have occasion for. : I stretched myself on the straw more dead than alive; and my husband, mixing his tears with mine, plainly showed me how ill. an end he expected our adventure would have,. Certain of my innocence, he was : not less So of my unshaken resolution to perish rather than accuse my father. ' It was to be feared we should be conducted to London;! and how could we eseape the. sight of Such an in finite ^ number of inquisttive persorts! If burr. names were aiked,, on board what vessel we were taken, what answer must we make? I was within a few. moments of beingknown; apd what would have been thought.. of my marriage, slight, and being found in company with deserters?? I wonder. I did ■ Bot loss ray fenses on this occasion. My comm 
-50 papons^ ^ 
9 
250 L E TTER S. 
% 
. • panions in misfortune endeavoured to console' 
me, and the captain, hurried away through custom. Swore heartily, he would perish, or find a means to restore me my liberty. Can you perform miracles, replied I, and is it possible without, to escape from this place, which has but one window, and that secured with iron bars; and, besides, not wider than half a foot? But, says he, I do not pretend you shall make your escape through this window. Indeed, I must brave greater dangers to escape from this place of confinement; however, only give me till after dinner, and look upon me as the greatest rogue in the world, if we do not make our escapes before they receive any orders from the admiralty about us. The confidence with which Dulac and the lieutenant received these promises, was not capable of inspiring me with any; and it I appeared more tranquil, it was because I considered myself as in the hands of him who always disposes of the fate of bis creatures with wisdom and goodness. My husband, to whom I communicated this reflection, eagerly embraced it; and, in proportion as it took possession of our minds, our resignation increased, and dis posed us to wait, without murmuring, what 
God should ordain concerning our fate, 
9 
In 
LETTERS. 251 
- In about two hours, our gaoler returned to inquire, whether we chose to dine? We want air more than victuals. Says the captain : if you will be So kind as fo Suffer us to dine in the yard, we will pay you for our dinner, and shall be obliged to you for yoiur company. What are you willing to give? replies the ‘ gaoler. A shilling a head, exclusive of our drink, answered he.. You. Seem, very honest people,, returns the gaoler,. and. I am a good natured man j make yourselves easy about half an hour; and. you shall hear from me again. 1. He did not exactly sheep*his word, in i point of time, but, in about an hour let us ■ into the prison yard; ..which was large,. and paved with great stones; where we found a table Set out. with Seven pdates; for the gaoler : had a very ugly daughter, r. An indifferent dinner was .Served up; which our companions eat with as good an appetite, and as much chearfulness, as if they had been at home.; They had; Said, I did not understand aword of English; and thus, I was dispensed with from joining in the conversation which pash i I eat, notwithstanding, out of complaisance to my husband;; if I had not been overwhelmed with affliction, 
I should not have been able to have kept a Serious • 
252 LETTERS. 
rious countenance, to hear the encomiums they bestowed on the gaoler’s daughter. Dulac had the impudence to tell her she was very pretty; and I was afraid she would have Scratched his eyes out, the irony was So strong; but what was my furprise, to See the poor creature Swallow greedily all his flattery 1 What poor wretches we are 1 How open to the most absurd adulation! In Such cases we are So credulous, that there is no merit in deceiving us. Excuse this reflection, it occurred of course. 
While Dulac cajoled the girl, and the lieutenant made the father drunk, the captain examined every part nicely; which circumstance did not escape me. The walls of the yard were not very high, and if the gaoler would have Suffered us to pafs the night in the yard, I should not have despaired of being able to get over them; hut this was a favour not to be expected. Towards the end of our meal, the gaoler told us we were at liberty to dispose of our horse; We must drink him, replies the captain; our host will Soon find an opportunity to get rid of him; for, blind as he is, he is worth his weight in gold. Stay a little, says Dulac, 
L had rather drink nothing but water, and buy 
a good 
LETTERS. 253 
a good horfeman’s coat. i’am ashamed to appear in Such a ragged condition, before such a charming young lady. Miss smiled, and undertook to procure him one. We were forced to reenter our box : and the captain ordered a sucking pig for supper, and a pudding to please miss. We were hardly shut in, before the captain jumped with joy; or, rather, made a motion towards it, for his head touched the ceiling. Make yourself easy, fair lady, says he to me, the devil shall be very cunning if we are here three days longer. To work my friends. 'At the Same time, they drew their knives; and, in truth, I could not conceive what they meant to do. Having removed the straw, they Soon broke up a board of the floor; and digging up the earth with their knives, removed it in their hats to the other fide, and artfully laid it under the straw. I then began to comprehend a part of their design, without imagining it was possible to execute it. My husband and I, nevertheless, would partake of the labour; and before night, they had made an hole four feet deep at least, and three feet in length on that fide next the yard. A large piece of timber, which they at last found in their way, almost distracted them, because it directly crossed the passage they were opening, and presented ■ * 
2^4 LETTERS. 
vented all possibility of escaping that way. But of what are not minds capable, animated with the desire of recovering their liberty! They undertook to saw this beam through with their wretched knives, and as it drew towards night, they dexteroussy replaced the board they had wrenched from the floor; fo that nothing but the earth, which was concealed under the straw, could discover us. As Soon as it was quite dark, we were released from our confinement, and were introduced into the gaoler’s house. I admired the confidence of this man, who had only a maid fervant and his daughter in the house, yet trusted himself in the power of five men, who might have used him ill. It must be acknowledged, the English are not distrustful, and do not suspect in others those crimes they are incapable of committing themselves: another reflection which escapes me, in favour of my 
companions. 
While Supper was getting ready, Dulac pushed on his affair with the daughter, and gave her to understand, that he had an estate in his own country; but that he hardly wished ever to See it again. Since he had the happiness of knowing her. I had one of those little hoop 
rings, which cost.about thirty shillings, and 
which 
% 
2s5 
which he begged of me, to make a present to his Sweetheart. As he had no doubt of gaining her confidence, I made no Scruple of giving it him : I put it in my purse, which was crimson and gold, along with twenty guineas. You see us clothed like beggars, Siys Dulac to her: this was an artifice to conceal our flight; but, since we are stopped, we could wish to be dressed better, for, to tell you the truth, our clothes are full of a certain animal I should be sorry to mention. The girl having assured him there was no difficulty in procuring us clothes; Dulac pulled out his purse, and gave her a little list of what he wanted; among which, he did not forget Some boots. I expect. Says he, we shall Soon travel towards London; and, as we are in circumstances to procure us horses, it would be disagreeable to ride without boots. He gave her twelve guineas, and at the same time, begged her acceptance of the ring; pretending to be ashamed to offer her So trifling a present. She made Some excuses, but at last accepted it; and showing it to her fa there, told him, fly Saw by our behaviour that we were gentlefolks; and added, that Dulac had a purse full of gold; and' she thought fo, because the bottom of the purse Was filled with fliillings, wrapped in bits of paper, to prevent their mixing among the gold. 
The 
‘ 256 L E' T T L R S; 
The girl published our riches all over the tow ^ next morning j, and we had several visits 
through our little window. Diilac entertained r the lasses whocamethercj and told them, if tfie' gaoler would give us leave, and they could procure him a violin, he would treat them with a dance in the prifon yard.. I heard the girls say,. the French are very polite, and it is a great pity we are at war with them. Several of them pressed the gaoler fo much, that he promised to let ■ them have a dance in the evening; and this.. good man thought us So well Settled wdth him, -, that he would have Sworn not to have left Dulac a Single guinea, therefore had not the least fuss picion of our desire to escape out of his clutches. During these conversations through the bars of the window, the work went forward; and to gain time to finish it, we pretended to be sleepy. after dinner. Our companions had given their rags to the servant, and had dressed themselves in = i their new clothes, not forgetting their boots.. How many vows did I make to Heaven for the Success of our design in the interval 1 We are very devout on such occasions, I assure you; and at present, now I have reached the port, I can recollect the burlesque prayeraof our Seamen without laughing: these people are fo accustomed to swear, that they interlard their prayers > 
! 
LETTERS. 257 
with oaths. At last, after havine: been well sweat 
i ^ 
CD and having well cursed the hardness of this piece of timber, and having heartily prayed to God to assist them in their work, they gained the better of it, and began to undermine gently the pavement of the yard. I was directed to feign myself Sick after supper; and I did Sot pretend sickness; the approach of the time of the exeeution of our design, and the uncertainty of the consequences, threw me into a real fever. They drank hard, to have an opportunity of retiring the earlier, and the gaoler, his daughter, and maid, were a good deal difguised in liquor, when they rose from table. They had, however, sense enough left, to lock us up closely, and my rats, enough to get to work again. The hole being finished, and the clock having struck twelve, our bufiness was to exert all our strength to lift up the stone which closed our tomb; 1 say, improperly, our strength; for they entertained fo indifferent an opinion of mine, that they did not think it worthy of trial. After a number of ineffectual attempts, the captain gained the 
9 
victory, and kept the stone lifted up with his back, till Dulac had squeezed himself through the opening, and supported it with a piece of wood; for they were afraid the noise it would 
make, if thrown down, should betray us. Be 
fide 
258 LETTERS. 
Sides, they were desirous of leaving it in its place, in order to give us time to get at some distance. Dulac had invented another stratagem; the fuccess of which I am ignorant of. He had wrote a letter in bad English, and had laid it near the door of the dungeon. In this letter he protested to his fair one, that the desire alone of being in a condition to alk her of her father had obliged him to'deceive her; that he hoped this consideration would induce her to conceal our escape, at least for two days, to give us time to reach Ipswich, where a packet boat waited for us; and gave her to understand, he was of a much higher rank than he appeared to be; and that in return for the favour he begged, he would make her a great lady. 
During dinner, the captain had taken notice of a ladder that was Set against an apple tree at the Surther end of the yard he acquainted us of it, and told my husband, that it was customary in prisons for him who paid for the hole, to pafs through it first; and that, therefore, he offered us the ladder first. This was not a time for politeness. Having placed it firmly against the wall, the baron held it fast for me to climb, and was almost as Soon as myself on the top cf the wall; and my companions, by the help of 
their 
L E T T E R B. 259 
their hands and feet were quickly there too; and having jumped down on the other Side, I Sat on the vvall, and ssistdown into the captain’s arms very luckily. There were three or four gardens enclosed with hedges, to clear, which we easily did, at the expense of some Scratches. You guess, perhaps, we directly took the road.. to Bristol: our captain was too experienced to commit such a mistake. We had passed in Sight of a fine town in the middle of. the night which proved fo fatal to us; he directed our course towards that part of the country; for people could hardly imagine we would return back the same way. We had nine miles to get there; and, as we intended to enter the town by day light^ we did not hurry ourselves. The captain and the two new horsemen’s coats went first, and my hustiand and I followed as their servants? When we arrived at the inn, I entered first, and inquired of the landlord, whether my master, could have room there? Upon his showing an. apartment, I held the door respectfully till he and his two companions were entered. I afterwards ordered tea; and I and my husband waited on them in the most respectful manner in the world. I had been aiked the name of my master in the kitchen; and know, my dear, 
I had the impertinence to name your husband; 
and 
260 L E T T E R S. 
and it was in his name that I hired two chaises,, in which our gentlemen placed themselves, and ' my husband and L got up behind. I had paid generously, So that they had not the least fufpi cionj and as our horses were excellent, wc arrived at Bridgnorth at seven o’clock in the morning, an hour when the goaler and his daughter were certainly fast astcep. You may well suppose, I did not perform this journey behind the chaise. Soon after we had got out of the towii, I called to the postillion to stop, because I found myself very ill, and my pretended master being alone in his chaise, had Suffered me to ride within. I forgot to mention, also, that I had ordered a spare horse for my master; because he frequently chose to get out and ride. The postillion, who found himself embarrassed. with this horse, told my master So; and I, by his orders, bid my husband mount it: Such acts of humanity are not uncommon in England; and besides, I had told the postillions, I had one of the best masters in the world, though he was of a, very melancholy dlfpofition, which rendered him silent wirole days together, and; 
that he only travelled to relieve his lowness of Spirits. 
This 
L E T T E R S. 261 
THIS was the first moment we had been at liberty to speak to each other without witnessfince ■eiur last misfortune. I opened my lips to alk pardon of the baron for having made him apart ner in my unhappiness; at the very instant, when he testified the most lively regret, at not 
having it in his power to put an end to my 
/ 
troubles, at the expense of his own life. If I may trust what I feel, they are drawing towards ■a period; and I flatter myself, the justice of God, Satisfied with a punishment So Severe as I have undergone these six days, will forget my former ill conduct. You do not yet know your guilty husband, my dear Clarissa, whom you com .plain of having made a partner in your misfortunes. Alas! it is I who ought to tremble for having united you to a wretch, whom divine justice has pursued these two years. The baron would then have begun to inform me of the events which had reduced him to the abject condition in which I found him : I refused to hear him: he wanted rest, and I begged him to endeavour to procure it; and he the more willingly yielded to my request, as he knew I had need of rest myself. 
We made Such quick dispatch, that we arrived at Bristol on the third day, without the 
least 
» 
262 LETTERS. 
A 
least unlucky accident: we had fetched such a compass about in our journey, that it was night when we entered this city. I abridge a recital already too long. As an exception to the rule, the merchant, who w’as the captain’s friend, was the fon of a French refugee, and yet hated not his countrymen; and as we seemed surprised at it, he opened a drawer, oiit of which he took a handsome purse, which to us seemed empty; and, in fact, it contained only a small piece of French money, value about a penny English, and said to us, I hope this piece will be preserved in my Samily from generation to generation. This is the only fortune my father possessed when he arrived in England, and he hardly left anything more behind him in France, where he gained his living by the trade 
of watchmaking. He got money at London by his industry, put me apprentice to a merchant, and had the satisfaction to see me rich before he died. He frequently laughed with me at the folly of his companions. Most part of them, said he to me, were, like myself, born to wear wooden shoes, yet they are perpetually lamenting the fortunes they quitted in France. There was particularly a little toad of a tradesman, named 
V -- --, whose father left behind him in France 
nothing but the vermin which devoured his 
flesh. 
LETTERS. 2flj 
ilefh, and who now is worth thirty thousand pounds sterling. This little animal had such an hatred for France, that he was almost out of his fenses at the birth of the dauphin : I myself heard him say on this occaston, that he was in hopes the king would have had daughters only : and that a civil-war, bn account of the Succession, would have Set the whole kingdom in ssames. For my part, added my father, I shall all my life love my nation and king. •louis XIV whatever his.enemies may say, was a good and great prince. Persecutions were raised under the sanction of his name, but he ’’ never knew the excess to which they were carried, and we had given reason for it. year republicans through principle, and have never known the bounds between what we owe to God and what we owe our masters; I do not say this because he was the occaston of my making my fortune, but out of regard to truth. 
Our lieutenant, who was a protestant, was a little displeased with this difcourse, and protested to the merchant, whose name was mar tineau, that the king of France had no faith fuller subjects than the Calvinists. You are right, with respect to the present, who are as good Frenchmen as their fathers vvere bad, because 
264 LETTERS. 
cause they no more read the satires and foolish Sermons, which enthusiastic meeters published towards the end of the last age; therefore they are now regarded as good and faithful subjects, and have justice done them. 
Pardon me this anecdote, my dear; it is a testimony (which I could not help mentioning) of the good understanding of our deliverer : he procured us passports, and furnished the captain with money sufficient to reimburse me what I had advanced; which I was obliged to accept, for fear of affronting this honest man, who, notwithstanding the rough behaviour attached to his profession, has a great deal of merit. Nothing can exceed the attention which he and his companions paid to us during our five weeks voyage. I was very ill the first six days, as well as the baron; since this ihterval we have enjoyed a perfect state of health, and amuse ourselves with the recital of the artifices which poor prisoners employ to recover their liberty : it is not astonishing that they run all risks to obtain it: they are treated with a barbarity that shocks human nature, through the insatiable avarice of inferior officers who are 
t 
entrusted with their maintenance; it certainly is not the intention, of the government, which 
suppose 
L E TTER S. 265 
iipposes they are treated better. L am drawing ip a memorial in their favour, which I shall iddrefs to the lords of the admiralty; they will hudder, I am sure, at an account which Seems ilmost incredible, and yet, unhappily, has but 00 much reality. 
m 
We fet out in two days for Again, a village, nine leagues distant from Bordeaux, where my mother in law resides, and where I desire you, to direct: your answer. I expect, with impatience, an account of my mother’s escape: : her secretary, my dear Harriet, if her weakness does not permit her to write herself, I shall say no more about my gratitude. I repeat it again, you and your husband have done fo much for me, that I can never have it in my power to make you both amends. 
% 
\ 
» 
, vol. I N LETTER. 
.3.00 JL 11 IL K S. 
LETTER XXVI 
CLARISSA TO MRS DARBY. 
HEAVEN then has restored you to my 
wishes, my dear, my tender, and respectable mother! What an happiness for me not to have learned your danger till after your .recovery! I do not think I should have been capable of Supporting the fear of losing you for ever, 
: together with all my other misfortunes: consider them, my.dear mother; or, rather strive to, forget them : Such thoughts, are" only proper to rack a heart sensible like yours. I must own, there are moments in which the dangers I have undergone, are So 'strongly painted on my imagination, shat my hair.stands upright wish horror; a cold Sweat creeps over me; and, if I was left to myself in these dreadful moments, ri know not whether nature would not fink un 
r 
fider the terrible imprestion of this recollection. My husband, who perceives it, does not leave me an instant; the sight of him throws me into sentiments fo opposite to shofe I have just described, that I am astonished T have strength to undergo this contrast. God has conducted me to the greatest happiness, by ways Seemingly. very strange. I am not a woman blinded by 
.her 
LETTERS. zsy 
her passion, who figures to herself imaginary virtues in the object of her tenderness. I love, nay more, I loved my husband from the first moment I beheld him; but I dare presume Sufficiently on myself to affure you, that his exterior qualities would have caused on me only a momentary impression, if he had possessed them only; he possesses not only those virtues which are commonly found in those who are called gentlemen, but he carries them to heroism. I will give you two examples of this, which, if you please, shall be for yourself only; he has respected my delicacy. Though nothing essential to our union is wanting, Mr. Baker informed me, that Some formalities were necessary in France; the most essential of which, in my opinion, is' your.consent. I have not been able to confider > myself as trissy married, till these formalities are complied with; and he has consented to live with me in a manner agreeshle to this opinion. Another proof of my hssshandss noble way of thinking, is, his insenssbility 
with respect to a misfortune that would have 
» 
appeared the greatest in the world to a vulgar mind. I have observed to you, shat she fear of accidents, prevented my carrying, my diamonds about me in my journey from Stafford : we had .unnailed the lining of the chaise, and hid thena 
.N a under 
m. L E T TE R S. 
underneath it fo artfully, that it was impossible to have perceived them : you may readily imagine, that, in the confusion we Were in through fear of being stopped, it was easy Sorus not to think of these jewels; my hufloand choose rather to lose them entirely, than leave me alone in the open country; So that, by selling the pearls which I left in pawn at Stafford, I shall Scarcely have two thousand pounds sterling. I am only sensible. of this loss, from its putting it but bf my power to procure independency for all that is dear to me. The baron reproaches me for my uneasiness, and thinks me too rich by half; he maintains, that, .moderate as you are, we have enough to provide abundantly for. all the heceffary wants of. life, and that more would only embarrass us. Conceal this circumstance from our friends, I conjure you; Mr. Balfour is not rich, and would consetit to be less fois J could resolve to partake his foftilrie. 
Providence declares itself.. bfdains T should be poor. I wrote to Mr. Baker when: : embarked, and defired'him to direct shis answer to me at bourdeaux: I have this shoment received the letter,. and the. contents of. it are as follow. 
L E' T T E R S. 269 
% 
f 
You know, ray dear mama, that my worthy aunt was an Irish woman, and that the greatest part of her estates was Situated in Ireland; my father has claimed them as a Protestant; and, as the law gives the inheritance to the nearest relation, in prejudice even of children, if the first changes his religion, and the children remain catholics, he has stripped me of everything from that quarter. I cheerfully restgn to him all he has taken from me; my whole fear is, that the remainder of my fortune will not be considerable enough to engage him to Sacrifice his strong desire to have us considered as parri — cides; perhaps he will let the action he has brought against us subsist; without prosecuting or annulling the accusation, with a view of keeping.us perpetually abroad.. I have informed Mr. Baker, by a letter, that you had a considerable Sum concealed in a private chest of drawers.at Old Windsor, and desired him to charge Some trusty person to be attentive to wshat passes in that quarter. My father never liked the house;; perhaps will sell it, and dispose of the furniture; I begged of him, if this was the cafe, to buy this chest of drawers, which I particularly described to him, at any price. The Jew, to whom I pledged my necklace, is become 3, bankrupt; and our witness, who had borrotved 
N 3 the 
27© L E T T E R S. 
the money in his own name, having declared himself a creditor, has received only two hundred guineas for 9000i. fifty of which he has expended in Searching after the carrier whom he procured for us at Stafford : this person came from London, and was not known at this town. The baron must be contented; he thought my fortune was still too considerable : behold it reduced to 24000 French livres, for he will not suffer me to part with some valuable trinkets I have about me. I have equipped myself at Bordeaux conformable to my present condition; no laces, no silks;; respectable mother in law wears none, and I Should be sorry to appear better dressed than her: he has confessed to me, that the little fortune on which (he lives, does not exceed twelve guineas a year; he is therefore right in saying we are rich with what I ssill have, since this amounts to three rhymes as much. God preserve me from greater misfortunes than that of being poor; I have not occasion for a very strong dose of resignation to support poverty : fo little is wanting for the ■ real necessaries of life, when we are capable of annihilating imaginary wants. 
hov/ever violent an inclination I have to embrace you, prudence commands me to repress 
it. 
I 
# 
L E r T E R s: 271 
it. My husband loves his mother infinitely; : this Seems to me a good presage of his|chara6: er. Notwithstanding his filial piety might deceive in this respect, magnify his good qualities, and lessen his defects, I know what duty directs me • to do in such a cafe; I must accommodate my humour to his; and, through the grace of God,. 
I feel no repugnance in submitting to those he ■ has ordained my Superiors; but, my dear manla^ ^ r Should feel an infinite deal to see you Suffer in. the least; you have only the duties of charity and of Christian condescension to fulfil with regard to this lady, and these are much less extensive than mine; stay then with my friend ‘ till you have determined whether you could live agreeably with us. .The baron earnestly desired.. to assure you of his affectionate duty; he affures me he has not the least uneasiness about the peace of our future Society; but if it should poffibly happen not to be perfectly agreeable to ■ you to live with your children he shall be always ready to reiign to you the income of my. trifling fortune. 
* 
m 
n4 letter: 
m 
272 LETTER SS 
LETTER XXVII 
Lady HARRIET TO CLARISSA. 
» • 
I A M ignorant how romances are composed, my dear, Since I have never read but one; but, I am very certain, there can be none fo affecting or interesting as the history of your .misfortunes. I have followed you in your escapes, and into your prison;; have felt myself almost Suffocated in passing through the hole made with such dispatch and labour : in short, my dear, though your letter was dated from a place where you was in safety, and that you had fet sail the very moment it was directed to me, I could not persuade myself you had surmounted all the obssacles which opposed your escape. My dear, my charming Clarissa, passing the night in the fields, hoissed upon a bllnd horfe, dragged into a dungeon, laid on ssraw, among three desperadoes!! your sailors, whom I would heartily embrace, if I had them here, were, nevertheless, rough unpolished men; witness the energy of their expressions, which must appear very strange to the delicate ears of my incomparable friend. It would doubtless have been much worse if they had been ignorant of your sex; for I am perstiaded these good honest stamen, 
L E T T E R' S. 273 
men, at present, pique themselves upon the reserve and politeness with which they behaved in ‘ your presence. I would lay a good wager, froin the knowledge I have of your dispofition, that you will accuse me of injustice on reading this: you are accustomed to see people on the bright fide, and to forget whatever might lessen your good opinion of thein. ^ Qh 1 I do not oppose 
_ » 
th is good opinioni ' Have not t told you, I would embrace them heartily? Then, you know, that I embrace those only whom I love. Yet, 
this good friendship shall not prevent my thinkr 
ing you were not made for this sort of compariy; and at'the fecondreading ofyour letter,! could not help, laughing whenever you called them my companions; s A fine expression in the mouth 
of my Clarissa! It cost me tears at first, because I was not thoroughly Satisfied you were escaped from this prison j four and twenty hours were necessary to convince me of it, and fropi that instant, I reassumed all my former good-humour. - I don’t know what would havebpjreup my Spirits against tempests and accidents, if yoij had been forced to pass the Streigfits pf Gibraltar. 1 should have perpetually fancied I Saw you fall into the hands of Corsairs.. the rout you took, you only run tffe rilk pf being a pri 
Ihner of yv3f in er^t^'ce: a tristing misfortune 
- N ’ 
274 letters. 
for the wife of a Frenchman. At last, you are 
happily arrived in your new country, with an husband worthy of you. What extraordinary events lead thereto! Might it not.be said. Heaven has preserved you, and would not leave to man the care of providing for you? How happy are we, my dear Clarissa!! have no need of a passion which time diminishes, to be enchanted with our lot, and reason applauds our sentiments in favour of our husbands. Assure yourself these two men render all others contemptible, in my mind, and that I find them a parcel of poor wretches : some day I will amuse myself with pointing out to you the characters of the greatest part I see, and you will acknowledge that their poor ribs would be very excufeable in being jealous of our fate. 
I MUST own to you, my dear, a foolish thought which has come into my head. Could ir be an effect of jealousy?? was in speaking of this hideous passion that I recollected this extravagant thought. I have read over and over » gain all the letters you have wrote me since our fbparation; I have weighed all your words, all your actions, to see if I could not find out some one, to which I might attribute such strange mis fo.rtuaesi, Is it spite, at findjhg you So superior 
to 
LETTERS. "275 
to your poor Harriet, who seeks to find you in fault, to raise herself at your expense? Alas I if my pride had this fine idea without my knowledge, it has been paid for it according to its deserts. I have endeavoured to turn and twist you 
W 
every way; but I have found you yourself in; everything, even in a very critical circumfiance. • To explain myself, if I had been in a like situation, i I don’t' know whether I Should have had the courage to sacrifice a prejudice to my repu • We have two sorts. of it, my dear: that which; concernsi'the morals, prudence and modesty j and; there' are.few. women of a certain rank, who, having been well educated, put themselves in danger through their own fault of • losing this : our! other reputation is that of the. mind, of our understanding, of a certain haughtiness of sentiment, which we. call nobleness of spirit L there is a great number of women who > are still more, jealous of this..fecond reputation than of the first.,, I improve amazingly since I am at Paris, -, except in the art of writing intelligibly,; for Lvery much doubt your understanding this nonsense: : example will render it more intelligible; we hardly dare to despise the mistress of a king; < the nobleness of herehoice justifies it. This woman, who does not blush at the ihame fui title, \yould have hid. herself from the whole 
world -. 
LETTERS. 
world if Ihe had married her footman, though he were the honefteft man in the world, and the moll capable of making her happy. Even though She were under the greatest obligations to him, all these motives would not in the least excuse her choice; the most favourable would Say, Ihe had a vulgar Soul, and had been guilty of a meanness: nevertheless, in fact, it is better to be the wife of the lowest plebeian, than the mistress of a king; we theresore Set more value on what is called greatness of Soul, than on virtue. You have judged otherv/ise; you have preserred the reputation of a modest prudent girl, to that of a girl of noble sentiments: : virtue might perhaps have been fuspected, if you had travelled about in company with an amiable young man; and you have rather chose to be suspected of pofsessing Sentiments less exalted than your birth : you are theresore an heroine, the Lucretia of the age, and the ancient one does not deserve to be compared with you. I Should not Say So much, if you had thrown yourself into the danger, or if you had had any other means of escaping the crime which your father endeavoured to force you to commit. also God, who Saw the purity of • your motives, has made use of your misfortunes 
to elevate you to the height of good fortune 4 
he 
L E T T E R S. 277 
he conducts you fo visibly, that I can no more find fault with the Intention in which you persevere, with regard to your fortune: abandon it 
to -- -- • Should I say your father? Yes; another 
name, which was at my tongue’s end, would Shock your delicacy. Set the world an example of moderation. Sanctify, ennoble a middling condition, a state of poverty if you will; we leave you at full liberty in this respect, provided you permit us to take all the precautions we think necessary, to secure the fortune of your children. 
You comprehend, by this discourse, that your mother has not judged it proper to keep the secret you required of her; it is true, Ihe would not acquaint us with it but under very hard conditions; we have subscribed thereto, do not complain in the least. Justice requires you Should, in this respect, trust to the judgement and conduct of my lord. What right have you to disinherit your children before their birth? How do you fulfil the intentions of your dear aunt? Did Ihe leave you her fortune to be dissipated in debauchery f I have at last found out the foible of my Clariffass conduct; seduced by an apparent good, file has committed a real fault, I acknowkdge, few girls wqwld have 
been 
i • 
278 L E: T T E' R St 
been capable of 'committing such a fault; but it is one, notwithstanding, and must be repaired. Hear what your mother says on this subject 
; you have no right'to mistrustsher counsel, 
or to disobey her orders. 
Mrs. Darby %vritet, r 
✓ 
YES, my dear daughter, the virtues have bounds which we cannot exceed without falling into criminal extremes. I sttalh never recollect, without shedding tears of tenderness, that, to my safety, my Clarista has sacrificed her immense fortune; that she has joined to; this motive, fo worthy of admiration, that of healing an heart embittered against her; by the preference: that has been given to her., Let my virtuous.daugh s ter prove to her father, that he .owes to her filial duty only, the gift she has made him. Easy about my fate, let her not alter her first resolution, but confine herself to. the loss of the income of her fortune, without giving up her property in it. In spite of the law, ■ which gives it to your father, my dear Clarista, Mr. Balfour has an infallible method to oblige him to resign this property, and restore it to you; this is an act of justice which you cannot oppose, without becoming culpable... Do not imagine poverty terrifies, 
LETTERS. 279 
rifies me to my dear child and her posterity; if God gives her children worthy of her, they will always be rich enough; if an earthquake, bankruptcies, or other accidents, which seem to come immediately from God, Should annihilate all your possessions, as the loss could not be attributed to you, it would neither cost me a tear, or Gccalion a single sigh. Leave providence to strip your children, if they put your fortune to an ill life; join your sincere prayers with mine to beg it of God, but do not in the least assist to deprive them of it yourself. 
Do not upbraid me. with having dlfclofed your situation to Mr. Balfour; I first obtained the moss inviolable promise from him not to endeavour to change it; but by such ways as cannot possibly call ablufh in your face. His word, more than the present state of his fortune, places bounds to his generosity;; he will suffer you to enjoy the Christian pleasure of being poor, whatever it costs him : he requires, as a recompense for the violence he does himself in this respect, that I will not leave his wife during his journey to London about your affairs. I approve of your reflections concerning too precipitate a reunion. If unfortunately you may have 
reason to think 1 should not be able to 
agree 
zso LET T E R' SV 
agree with your hufband’s mother, nothing' Shall prevent my fettling in your neighbourhood; and I had rather be accused of oddity, for being fo near you, without living in your family, than run the risk of disturbing your domestic peace,. i fhall not even be under a necessity of lefsening your poor pittance; Providence has provided for my fubfistence. Poor Mrs. Cofby has thought it her duty to leave me what little she had; which, added to the sale of my trinkets that I wore the day you was torn from my ‘ arms, makes double the sum you postefs. Whatever destre I have to embrace you, another motive still keeps me at Paris till next spring. I f could not refuse the, entreaties of my second daughter' ' are surprised mydear Clarista! you do not know of any stster : I flatter myself,, that you will not disapprove the addition I have made to my family. You. have taken the liberty to give me a fon, why should I refuse to accept a second daughter? I. have done it the more willingly, as I am per shaded you will cheerfully approve my adoption i of your Harriet; and what daughter;, excepting Clarista, could have carried her affection. for me farther! Has she not risked her life to > preserve mine? I shall not undertake to particularise her marks of tenderness 3 I tell you : 
all, i 
LETTERS. 2s1 
all, In saying, that you could not have done more than her. There is another account which you expect/rom me; I am about to satisfy you, and acquaint you with things which cannot fail of interesting you. 
Lady Harriet continues. 
YES, my dear Sister, I have at last the happiness of a mother, and I don’t know if I could possibly have had more tenderness and respect for her whom God deprived me of before I was of a Sufficient age to know her, than I have for her he has now given me. No jealousy : if you please, you (hall be the eldest j I yield to you the first place in her heart. I consent, Ihe loves you a little better than me, on condition you permit me to love her as well as you do yourself: : Sister holds the pen, clarhsa j but it is your mother dictates. 
Recollect, my child, the pleasure with which I Saw the time arrive, when your fate was to be fixed : you have only known the joy your marriage gave me; you are ignorant how much it cost me to reconcile mysclf to this establishment. I'he figure of Montalvo was amiable; his mind was cultivated j his heart Seemed excellent; he 
was 
282 LET T E R S. 
was of a great family, and his fortune surpassed i my utmost wishes; yet in spite of all these advantages, I felt at first Sight an antipathy for him, which I thought unjust, because it had no reasonable foundation. I therefore endeavoured 
to combat, surmount, or justify it. I examined this man with the eyes of a mother, who fears for all that is dear to her; and, there were moments, when I Sufpected a mystery I could not. penetrate. I surprised your lover in melancholy iits, which did not seem natural in a person of his age, whose situation vvas^entirely agreeable; the care he took to conceal his melancholy, as soon as he perceived my intention to examine him, increased my suspicions. I learned from himself (and the sequel shows he spoke the truth) that he could not succeed to quiet his remorse. Montalvo had always been virtuous; a want of vigilance, had occastoned his committing a first fault; which, having thrown him into despair, had obliged him to quit his state. He wanted courage to consess this to him, who had always the care of his conscience; and the fear of committing Sacrilege, had determined him to make his escape. We advance a great pace in the road of guilt, when we have the misfortune to engage therein. The poisonous discourse of persons, who were dear to him, 
ashstcd 
LETTERS. 283 
assisted to stifle his conscience;; faith grew weak, he thought it extinct; and flattered himself he had erected a wall of brass, between him and his conscience;; did not know he was mistaken, till the moment, the guilty union, which was to secure his fortune and your unhappiness, was proposed to him. He was shocked to the last degree, at this propossl; and you could not have refrained from tears, at the recital of the torments he endured. He went out of the house like a distracted man; and wan 
V 
dered a long while about London streets, without knowing where he went. I am endeavouring to 'recollect the picture he drew of his sttuation J and tb make use of his own terms. 
t 
After hawing walked a great way, says he to me, a numerous crowd forced me to stacken my pace. It was a holiday; and, by the flnging of priests, I Sound I was near a chapel; and, that all those, who were near, waited for the finishing of high mass, to enter. It was not posti ble for me to continue my rout; my trembling knees shook under me; and I was forced to rest myself against a wall, to prevent my falling down. How happy are these people! says I, casting my eyes on this crowd : in a few minutes they go with joy, to unbosom their hearts at the 
foot 
2g4 LETTERS. 
foot of the altar: and I, wretch that I am! have drove myself from the sanctuary of mercy. This reflection threw me into a deep melancholy; I wept bitterly, and felt such an excessive uneasiness of mind, as is impofsible to be expressed. I was well dressed, and attracted the attention of a woman, who was near me. 
I fancy, Sir, says file, you are not well, the fun may increase your disorder;; me, and I will procure you entrance through the ambas sador’s house; for you Seem a stranger, and perhaps, don’t know the way. The voice of this woman Seemed to me an order from Heaven, which I dared not restst; I followed her with the thoughts of a criminal, whom the officers of justice conduct hesore h’s judge. She Spoke to the porter, and he opened a door, which led to the chapel by a private flair case. When I had got to the top of the stairs, my teriors en creased to Such a degree, that I had not courage to enter. I Sat down on a little bench in tiy passage in sight of the altar; I was alone in this obscure place; and abandoned myseli without restraint to all the impetuosity of my emotions. I hid my eyes with my hands, asis to ■ conceal my face from my angry judge; I She abundance of tears; and doubt not but 
drew the attention of those near me; for, in 
deed,. 
L E T T E R S. 285 
<i^■dee^], I sobbed bitterly. I remained above a quarter of an hour in this situation, almost in fenlible; I was as it were annihilated : I, at length, by degrees, came to myself; and viewing the immense distance which I had placed between God and me, I felt fo cutting an anguish, that I thought my heart would havc broke. You may imagine, perhaps, that these motions of grace worked my conversion?? are mistaken. Alas! how easy it is to commit sin! and how difficult to return to virtue! It is certain I detested mine, and would have sacrificed my life at this moment to have annulled them; but yet, when I thought of the means to expiate them; I felt, as it were, tied, bent down, attached to the earth, without strength to afilst the violent impulse, which caused me to detest them. Several persons received the sacra, jnent. O my God! I exclaimed, from the bottom of my heart, take my life; let it end, if necestary, in the most cruel torments : fo that I have the happiness to receive you'once more, without committing Sacrilege. I pasted about an hour in this sttuation; and Sull of indignation against myself, I offered this prayer with an ardour, that I never in my life felt before; Lord, give me strength to break my chains, or take my life. It is a terrible thing to fall into 
the' 
286 LETTERS. ' 
the hands of thy justice j nevertheless, I desire rather to deliver myself thereto, than continue to live in Sin. I felt myself easier after this ejaculation; I fancied God had heard me favourably; and I arose with a firm resolution not to consent to the sacrilegious union which was proposed to me. I was fo altered when I returned home to my mother’s, that Ihe was frightened. Mr. Darby, whom I would have acquainted with the occasion of it, laughed at my Scruples; and told me, I must resolve to attend him immediately after dinner. I shall not repeat the impieties he uttered to fortify my staggered conscience;; did not make fo great an imprestion on me, as the dreadful picture of my sttuation, if I refused to enter into his views. What would you do in your community? says he : for you must either return there, or perish with hunger in London. You will there meet with the worst usage;; when your apostasy is thought fusticiently expiated, and you are released from a tedious and close confinement you will find yourself wirhout th least consideration in your order, and without esteem. Your flight is a blot, which will be never effaced, unless you go to la Trap * 
* A Carthusian monastery, which praflices the greatest austerities. 
A couple 
I ' 
LETTERS. 287 
A couple of years there will do your business;; you will die a martyr to a ridiculous opinion; a phantom decorated with a fine name, and which frightens women only, or those like them. 
THIS frightful view weakened the salutary impulses, which the mercy of God hast excited in rny soul. I suffered myself to be drawn away, and the sight of the charming Clarissa contributed to stifle them entirely. I expressed myself badly; my remorse seemed to gain new strength, in proportion as I endeavoured to overcome it; and I frequently declared to my father, I Should never have force to restst it; this induced him to hasten the ceremony, which was to feal my crimes. 
I HAVE much weakened, I am certain, the pathetic of montalvo’s discourse. I shall never forget the imprestion it made on me; and I am sensible I cannot put it to paper. His struggles with grace caused those emotions in him, which did not escape me, though I could not guess at their cause. Yet my distike of him did not diminish, and I was angry with myself for it. I Sound him one day at the end of the garden, .wrapped up in a profound reverie; iwas.clofe 
to 
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I 
to him before he perceived me; and not having time to shut a book, which lay open near him; he endeavoured to conceal it from my sight, by sitting upon it. I am not naturally curious j and I was astonished at my violent destre to see what he endeavoured to hide. We were familiar enough, for him not to be offended at the trick I had a mind to play him. I let my fnuff box fall, and, while he attempted to pick it up, I opened the book, and was surprised to find it St. augustin’s Confessions, which he had taken from the book cafe. He blushed at feeing the book in my hands; and I, transported with joy, attributed this confusion to a laudable modesty; on which I paid him a compliment. This accident having determined the subject of our conversation, he talked of the happiness of innocence, of the difficulty of recovering it when lost, like a man affected with the truths of religion. From this instant, my repugnance for him ceased, and gave way to very oppostte sentiments. I looked upon your marriage with him as a singular favour of Heaven. I flattered myself the friendship of Mr. Darby for the person who was to be his fon in law, would be the means, through God, of his conversion; and ever since, I wished to hasten your marriage with one whom I thought fo deserving of 
esteem, 
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.D E T T E R S. 289 
; fteem. Judge my surprise, at your exclama: ion, when he approached to support you, when pu was ready to saint on entering the room. 
AS I could not imagine what could have caused such an alteration in your ideas, within a quarter of an hour, I own I was afraid you was a little disordered in your mind. Tiie words of your father removed this idea. He complained of having been betrayed; there must: be then Some secret which had came to your knowledge. 
I had not time to endeavour to guess the nature of it; I could only tremble for my dear child. You spoke to the minister who came forward to marry you, with fo majestic an air, that you seemed something more than human : your menaces struck him motionless; but montalvo’s moment of mercy was come; he was affected by them in such a manner, that he fancied a storm of lightning suspended over his head; and that a fixed resolution of repairing his crimes, could alone prevent the stroke; he formed it, and had scarcely conceived the design before he felt himself like a man freed from a heavy burden which oppressed him. His knowledge of your father’s Sentiments, Sorced him to dissemble his own; and in the private discourfe they had together at the end of the room, he employed no other motive to engage him to vol.i. O desist 
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. from using force, than the fear of making a noise. Your cries might awaken the Servants, and he would be obliged either to abandon his design, or afford you an infallible ’ opportunity to complain of the violence he offered you. To avoid this. inconvenience he conducted you to a place where your cries could not be heard; and to have nothing to fear from ray fide, he had the cruelty to flop my mouth '.with an handkerchief, and; drag me into a distant room, where he Sastened me strongly. Hay / dragged me, and it literally was foi laid hold of everything I met with in the way : I was furious as a lioness robbed of her whelps;.. and having grasped a bannister of the staircase, T held it fo fast, that Mr. Darby could not possibly force me to quit my hold. Furious; at my resistance, he left me in the hands of Montalvo, and ran to fetch his sword with a • design to run me through the body. For god’s sake, madam, says this young man, pay some regard to what I say; yield to a violence which might have irreparable consequences. I call Heaven, the avenger of perjury, to witness.. I will find a way to deliver you and clarilsa too. I thought I discovered an air of truth in montalvo’s oath, which Sorced me, to use the expression, to Surrender myself to his management; 
L E T T E R S. 291 
ment j Heaven doubtless permitted it, for it was not natural I Should trust to his promises ia' Such circumstances. He threw himself on Mr. Darby, who had drawn his sword to run me through; and my resistance having cealed, he chained me to the floor as I have already told i you. Oh! my dear child, what aflistance from Heaven had I not occasion for in these dreadful eircumftances, to prevent my falling a prey to ^ despair? I was under the most dreadful apprehensions for you j I gnawed my flesh j I struggled to break my bonds; I uttered ufeless cries. Since my mouth was stopped with an handkerchief. Im short, I confider the preservation of ray life and reason as a miracle. After some hours were elapsed, my spirits became a little more quiet; I had the happy thought of lifting up my eyes towards the ceieftial regions, and indeed from thence alone I could expect: assist ■ I recollected, with trembling, that by an ufeless resistance, I might have made myself an accomplice of the homicide who was going to kill me. Ah! what would have become of my soul, if I had rendered it up to my Creator, in the midst of the dreadful transports with which I was agitated? They were not voluntary, it is true; but their violence declared, that this resignation to the will of God, which I flattered 
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myself I possessed, was very weak. I did not suffer myself to be call down with this humiliating reflection; I was convinced of the imperfection of my virtue, and made the greatefi: efforts to repair my weakness, by a courageous fubmiltion to what Gcd Should please to ordain concerning us. I considered you under his immediate protection, tho’ all human succour was denied us; and my confidence began to revive. I endeavoured to strengthen myself in this con 
O J 
fidence*, when I heard a dispute at my chamber door, and plainly diftinguilhed the voices of James and Montalvo. The first kept the keys of my room, and refused to deliver them to Montalvo, who insisted on having them. This desire of opening my prison doors, seemed to me a consequence of his oath; atlaft, Montalvo losing al! patience, laid hold of a large piece of wood which he found near him, and with redoubled blows, attempted to break the door open. As this apartment was inhabited by this servant only, its repair had been neglected; and as it was old, the door soon gave way. Montalvo ran to me, and whilst: he cut the handkerchief off my face which almost suffocated me, said, Madam, your daughter is in a place of safety;; must get the start of Mr. darby’s return, who has pursued her in vain, and follow 
her. 
L E T T E R S. 293 
her. Do not deceive me, Montalvo, says I, in a feeble voice: leave me to die here, if your intention is to separate me from my child; death' is near at hand to free me from your cruelty: in fact, I found myself fo exhausted, that I thought my last hour was come. And what place could be fo proper to remove you from your daughter as this? replies he. All the servants except James think you have fled with her. It is not in the middle of the night, by stealth, that I mean to take you away; a post chaife waits at the door; choose, to conduct' you, any person in the village whom you think ■ you can best trust; order him to carry you where you please in London. If my company is suspicious, I will leave you alone; though as I have some secrets to reveal, I hope you will suffer me to join you there. I was ashamed 
of having distrusted a man who acted with such openness; and my suspicions entirely vanished, when I heard James exclaim that Montalvo had betrayed his master; he was in such 
a rage, that I thought he would have fell into convuhions. I am resolved to accompany you, said I to Montalvo; and at the same time put to rights my clothes and headdress which were in disorder, and gave him my hand. I found the chaise.. by the whole village, 
whom 
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ft 
whom James excited to stop my pasthge, by exclaiming that I was a wicked woman, since I willingly made my escape with a ravisher. His endeavours were fruitless; the people made way for me to get into the chaise, and I heard from every mouth, God bless you, as well as ijiadam Clarissa. I reaped the fruits of your bepeficence, rny dear child; and, notwithstanding the confusion and affliction I was in, the blessings of these poor people, who loudly proclaimed the charities you had bestowed on them, agreeably flattered my ear. 
When we were out of the village, Montalvo requested my orders a second time; and as I knew nobody at London but the mistress of the house where we lodged sometime, I desired him to conduct me there. Our chaise went surprisingly fast; and I am persuaded, we were not more than an hour and an half on our journey. I had counted the mile stones, and wc were no more than five miles distant from Lon don, when we turned out of the main road towards the right. Do not be surprised, madam, says Montalvo, that I quit the usual road; we might meet Mr. Darby in the environs of London; I am even persuaded he waits at the turnpike to flop miss Clarissa, fo that I am 
obliged 
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obliged to go a good deal round about to avoid him. Ah, Heavens! cried I, have you not assured me my dear child was in safety?? does not know it, replies Montalvo, and thinks Ihe has taken the road to the capital; but, madam, suffer me to repeat the favour I begged of you, to suspend your curiosity till you arrive at the asylum you have chose. He had eluded my questions twenty times, and not being able to get him to answer me, I had been Silent till now. If I had been capable of any uneasiness about myself, I Should perhaps have suspected my guide, for we palled thro’ very bye places : at last I perceived the spires of Westminster, and immediately entered the outskirts, and soon arrived at the house I had mentioned; I expected to hear of you there, at least. Montalvo begged me to permit him to leave me half an hour, and promised to acquaint me afterwards with what I was fo desirous of knowing. Oh I my poor child, how long did this half hour seem!! my impatience was insupportable, when I found hours elapse without hearing of Montalvo : he arrived at last. Madam, says he, accosting me, I would willingly have brought you more positive news; but all I can affure you is, that miss Clarista has escaped her father’s pursuit, witness the rage in which I 
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m 
Sound him at Mrs. Coshyss. Mrs. Coshy in" London! cried I. At these words, Montalvo, throwing himself at my feet, declared everything that is contained in this letter, and ended thus : it was five o’clock in the morning, when miss clariftass footsteps were discovered in the garden; and, according to all appearance, she had escaped Several hours before. I conceived, from your hushandss discourse, that your life was not Safe; yet, with a view of Screening his innocent daughter from his first fury, I did not choose to lose sight of him. There is not a village within six miles round, 'where we have not made an inquiry : one woman only told us, she met miss clarilsa at daybreak. We went to the next village, but could get no intelligence of her, whence I concluded she had luckily met with some carriage. Mr. Darby thought the Same, and without considering she had the start of him by two hours, flattered himself he should overtake her with a horse already jaded, and declared he would give a description of her to the turnpikes. I applauded a design, which I could not hinder, and must ac knov/ledge I was not void of fear during the whole pursuit. I offered him to continue the search myself, and flew to your succour. We were to meet at my mother’s. I there met him,, 
foaming 
LETTERS. 297 
foaming with rage, damning those who had made Such a well conducted project, and*so near a conclusion, prove abortive; and not being able to imagine how it was discovered, he told me he would immediately return to Windsor, and put you to the torture, to find out whether you knew anything of it, or where your daughter was gone. He was scarcely gone, before my mother with tears deplored her misfortune, in being concerned in such odious projects, and threatened me with the wrath of Heaven, if I did not rilk everything to shve you from the danger which threatened you. Her Sorrow Seemed fo natural, added Montalvo, that I owned to her what I had just done : She testified Such marks of joy at the hews, as thoroughly convinced me she really detested her 
errors : and the caution Ihe advised, clearly Showed how very desirous (he was of repairing her Saults. She provided a trusty person to watch Mr. Darby, and ordered him to stay at the inn, and give us the earliest intelligence of miss Clarissa. aster the departure of this man, my mother acquainted me that Ihe was the person who informed this innocent young lady, of the Sacrilege she was on the point of committing : Ihe has the utmost desire to throw herself at your feet, to beg pardon for all the 
misfortunes 
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misfortunes she has occasioned you. 7'hink, -. madam, whether you can pardon two wretches,,, who with joy would spill the last drop of their blood, to put an end to your unhappiness? 
Ah! everything is pardoned and forgot, cried IJ Ihe repays with usury everything I have done for her, Since Ihe has saved my poor child." Alas! what is become of this dear child? Who will restore her to her distracted mother? who will strengthen me against the fear of., feeing her again, in the power of her barbarous tyrant? After a thousand other lamentations, which melted Montalvo, I desired him to conduct me to his mother’s; he would not consent to it. Who knows, replied he, but some unfortunate accident may bring your husband back there. I was sensible of the imprudence I was going to commit, and when this penitent came to me, I would not permit her to mention any past circumstances; and we busted ourselves only in consulting what steps to take. She confirmed what I knew before too well, that your father is implacable in his hatred, and capable of Tuning all risks to satisfy it. She convinced me, that Montalvo had everything to fear from his refentmenr, and begged of me to permit him to partake of my asylum. You are sensible, my 
child V 
L E T T E R S, 2^9 
* child, I could not refuse them this favour j the repentance of these two criminals, had entirely effaced their faults in the eyes of God; I hoped So at least, and Should I harbour the least resentment against them? Alas! my heart detested the thought, and I could say on the contrary, 
: they were become dear to me. Nevertheless, my uneasiness about your fate increased every moment. Montalvo at his return, told me a circumstance which quieted my Sears a little. Mr. Darby had published a reward of an hundred guineas for any person who would difeover you : 
'this promise had produced no effect; therefore, yon had got to London, or perhaps were gone to France; you were sure of meeting with an asylum with your friend. I greedily Swallowed 
4 
this hope; one circumstance only prevented my being Satisfied entirely with it. I knew your tenderness, and could hardly believe that you would have quitted England, without first being acquainted with my fate. And it is the lively interest: she takes therein. Says Montalvo, which has hurried her departure. What could your tender daughter do for you, when her virtue Obliges her to respect your common persecutor?? she not judged you had need of a more powerful protection; and, do you think she has neglected that ofa man who too well knows what 
your 
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your husband is capable of, to be astonished at the dreadful confidence she must be obliged to repose in him? Yes, madam, miss clarilsa is either in France, or in some family of honour, from whence she will not fail writing to lady Harriet. The clergyman v.?ho was the instrument of God to strengthen Mrs. Coshy in her good resolutions, confirmed montalvo’s conjectures, and advised me to follow my daughter. If she is in France, Says he to me, you will Soon be reunited. If she is still in England, Mr. Balfour will have the generosity to fly to her assistance. these considerations staggered me; our express, who returns tomorrow, will determine my resolution. It is certain Mr. Darby has had no news of you; 1 therefore think you saved from his pursuits, and I fet out. You know the rest my dear child; the goodness and atten tention of my new children is beyond expression. Mr. Balfour leaves us in a few days; I shall not quit his wife, till she is happily recovered from her lying, in, and I have had the honour of standing god mother to the child, agreeable to. her request. 
* r' • 
i 
E N D OF T H E F IR S T V 0 L U M E. 
THE 
NEW Clarissa: 
fi tooa A 
true history. 
B Y 
MADAME DE BEAUMONT. 
VOLUME THE SECOND. 
R #«^ 
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U B L I N; 
9 
Printed for J. Exshaw and J. Potts in Dame jireety and J. Williams in skinner^ro’w* 
J^DCC^LXIX* 
I 
THE 
NEW CLARISSA: 
% 
# 
- A 
TRUE HISTORY. 
LETTER XXIX 
« 
CLARISSA TO MRS. DARBT. 
My Dear Mamma, 
Depend entirely on yours and Mr. ^ J ^ balfour’s prudence, with respect; to ^ what shall be judged proper to be done 
about my fortune; and, I send you a blank Signed, to fill up as you please. I have not vanity enough to prefer my parts to those of my virtuous mother. She knows the whole extent of my duty as a daughter; who has So well fulfilled the duty of a wife, in much more difficult vol. II B circum. 
2 LETTERS. 
circumstances than I am in at present. She has 
taujyht me, that the faults of our superiors cano 
^ • 
not authorise reprisals; and, I run no rifle of being mistaken, when I take her for my guide. 
I annex to this paper my marriage deed, and the baron’s consent, which authorises me to dispose of ray whole fortune as I please. The lawyers whom we consulted, having afllired us both thete deeds were neceitary to render valid the resignation I intenebto make; I think this action alone, sufficient to convince you of the favour Heaven has bestowed on me, in granting me a noble spirited, and diflnterested hufl3and. Who, besides, in his place, would have resolved to make fo great a sacrifice, and encumber himself with such a poor woman as I am become f 
Tfje Baron contmues. 
ALL who had eyes and an heart, madam. Is there any fortune, however brilliant, which one could condescend to think of, after having had the happiness of knowing your adorable daughter? Is she not a treasure beyond all other 
o 
treasures?? is not as a fond amorous husband that I bear this testimony in her favour; she has adorned my cottage but three weeks, and 
has 
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s 
has already made all those, who have had "the happiness to see her, my rivals. Without distinction of age, rank, or Sex, all admire, love, and respect her. She enchants at first sight; and pleases the mind and heart, if we have the advantage of conversmg with her a few moments. With such a wife, my happiness seems perfect; yet, it is not So, madam; I have another wish to gratify; to see, cherish, serve, and respect you. My heart must be insatiable, surely, since it presumes to wish for something, in the centre of all blessings. I postefs a mother worthy of being compared with you; this is my Claristass expression; and, you are sensible she is a good judge. Had I another, I might boast of harbouring under my humble roof three wonders. What an addition to my happiness, if I could once testify, otherwise than by letter, the respect and lively gratitude, which the great qualities of the respectable couple, to whom we owe everything, have inspired me with! 
Such an attachment and services as we are obliged to Mr. Balfour and his lady for, are debts which leave those who have contracted them, in an incapacity of payment; which would be an humiliating and disagreeable circumstance; if it were not for the consolation of our benefactor’s generosity. Heaven grant, 
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they may never be in a situation to Sound our ’ hearts, in this respect; to Speak for myself only (for my wise has no need of Security with those who know her.) I would chearsuljy Spill the last: drop of my blood, to prove to our illustrious friends that they have not obliged an ungrateful person. My mother infists I have not Said enough for her, and will Speak for herself. 
BARONESS DASTIE TO MRS. DARBT. 
9 
NO, madam, it was not possible to express the Sentiments of my heart for your virtuous, and amiable daughter; Heaven in be stowing her on me, has completed my utmost wishes. I neither mean to pay you a compliment, nor do the honours of my fon; but, indeed, he does not in the least deserve your treasure. Not because I have not long had reason to admire the good inclinations which Heaven has placed in his mind; but, this virtue which I have endeavoured to cultivate in him, has Suffered a terrible eclipse, and that of his wise is spotless. The penitent holds my hand, and is almost dead with Sright, Jest, as he Says, I should do him too strict justice. besore making a general conseffion of his errors to you, he would have time to efface them by his repentance. 
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t 
tance. He is desirous you should be witness of his conversion, that you may be disposed to forgive his past faults. He is afraid of alarming 
you about clarilsa’s fate he says, if he suffers 
me to go on, I shall tell you all, by protesting I will acquaint you with nothing. I will not deprive him of the merit of his confession by anticipating it. 
I am perpetually making my dear daughter repeat all the circumstances of her terrible situation;; I see, with admiration, that she has ever acted as a person of consummate prudence and virtue, notwithstanding her youth. How was it pofilble to hate a person fo perfect! I touch a delicate point, madam, and I am obliged to do it. My dear Clarista was under a northeast cestity of acquainting me with the origin of her misfortunes, to get me to approve the heroic sacrifice she is determined to make. From her Sentiments and yours, a perfect conduct may be formed. I approve of her purchastng, if pof stble, the return of her father’s love, by the present sacrifice of her immense fortune; this would not be buying it too dear. I approve, that she does not confound the rights of her children with her own. To preserve their right of inheritance is her sacred duty. To sacrifice her 
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peisonal interest in it, to deprive herself of the annual income arising' from it, is an act of virtue; ■which I (hold be sorry Hie deprived herself of. The motives of her felf denial will ennoble her in the eyes of men; besides the merit it will procure her in the light of Gcd. An agreeable sight for Heaven; Clarista becomes a farmer’s wdfe; (he who might eclipse the most opulent families! This condition of life has its sweets..; they must have been experienced ta find them out. If Heaven bestows on our children, the blesting of the patriarchs, a numerous ©ffspring; they will bewail their posterity, that a great inheritance will, without doubt, take them from the tranquil and innocent way of life, which they have themselves enjoyed. My dear clarista frequently makes this, objection; riches, seem to her an useless encumbrance, since Ihe sees with her own eyes, how little is Sufficient to Satisfy the real wants of nature. Those of charity are a little more extenstve; nevertheless, file perceives that, with what she has, Ihe can provide for all; and regards the middling star tion of life, to which stie is reduced, as a blesting which her children will want. Leave provi denee to difpostefs them: I'am obliged frequently to repeat to her after you,. Ihovidence can easily find means to. make them poor, without 

f 
LETTER S. 7 
out you; if this state is advantageous for them, let us perpetually pray for this favour for them : Gcd is not accustomed to deny such favours, as are ashed fo Seldom. Heaven blested me with parents as rich in virtue, as destitute of the goods of fortune; the little estate I postess at present was all their patrimony. A marriage, I had no reason to expect, forced me from our happy indigence. I found, in consequence of riches and grandeur, the chagrins, cares, and afflictions, which are almost inseparable from them: my Sather exhorted me continually to preserve my virtue; and told me, perhaps, in. joke, that he hoped to See me poor. Heaven delayed fulfilling his desires in this respect; I enjoyed the whole of my fortune, when it deprived me of this good father. This loss was followed by the death of my husband. At the heels of these two misfortunes,, a number of unfortunate accidents followed, with a rapidity that scarce left time for breathing. Charged with the guardianship of ay fon, I thought it my duty to defend his rights; I defended them without animosity, without perturbation of mind; I saw them took away by force, without hatred for the usurpers. But, to return to our dear daughter, justice obliges me to acquaint you with what, 1 frequently repeat to her j that, in 
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dependant of her good qualities, Ihe will be a fortune to my fon, when Ihe is reduced to what she has at present, the baron’s estate not exceeding one fourth of her fortune. We are indeed rich, for this country, where true blessings are found in abundance; because, we have here few mouths for ‘p^ovifions, and money is extremely Scarce. If I had a mind to compliment you, I Should tell you, madam, that our hamlet is not worthy of a person accustomed to live in grandeur; but, I am ignorant how to make my language and heart contradict each other. I say on the contrary : come, madam, and adorn a riace inhabited by simple honest men, enemies to ail artifice; come into the abode of innocence and peace : here is your true territory; you will here find a person who will glory in giving you proofs, by her actions, of the tender and respectful sentiments, with which Ihe has the honour to be, c— — -- 

i) 
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Sequel 
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L E T T E R S. 9 
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Sequel of clarissa’s Letter to her Mamma 
» 
and Lady Harriet. 
Acknowledge, I am greatly indebted to God for the happy prejudice in my favour; which he has instilled into the hearts of those I have fo great an interest to please. I shall not in the least abuse this favour, and (hall make use of it to acquire the virtues I am supposed to postefs. 
Harriet inststs on an exact: account of the past and the present: be kind enough to inform yourself from her, if I do not favour you with any of the trifles, the recital of which would, doubtless, be tiresome to you. If by chance it amused you, I Should regard it as a proof of the lively interest, which maternal tenderness and friendship, make you take in the fate of a poor little farmer’s wise, whose only merit is her love for you. 
I wrote you my last letter on my disembarkation. My husband hastened to acquaint his 
mother of our arrival in the kingdom; and, had 
. \ 
the goodness to exaggerate greatly my trifling worth. This virtuous’woman was already ac 
B 5 quaintest 
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quainted with our marriage and slight, by Mr. Baker; though, he was not able to let her know what vtzs become of uswhich had caused her strange apprehensions. Our letter having made her easy, (he begged us not to hurry our departure; and to Settle our affairs at Bordeaux, ^ in Such a manner as to have no occasion to make another journey there. We have, therefore, consulted able lawyers, about the manner in which the deeds I send you. ought to be drawn up. 
\ 
During the whole course osthis affair, I have frequently been obliged to do myself violence,, not to exclaim, Oh age! Oh manners! Madam, my mother in law, has had the goodness to fendus a power to conclude, both our marriage, and. our patrimonial conditions; because, my husband is not of age. When twenty-two thousand livres in money, and twelve thousand livres in jewels were mentioned, the lawyers,., on whom our dress had made no great impres lion, became very respectful; but, when the cdston of more than three hundred thousand: livres, which I was desirous of making to my father,, came on the carpet, they were ready to 
fall on their knees before this Sum; for, in fact,. 
theif 
LETTER S. It 
their respects did not in the least regard.the duty 
1 fulfilled. 
« 
After their first astonishment was over, they began to make representations. I can’t take upon me to repeat their whole discourse: it all amounted to these maxims; money constitutes our supreme happinessit gives honour, talents, virtue,, friendswe ought to sacrifice everything to get riches; • therefore, it is folly to renounce our own. Miserable wretches! I died with envy to say to them: will our appetite serve to dine twice, when we have a great quantity of gold? does gold give us the faculty of being nourifiled, clothed,. or lodged doubly? This, if you remember, is the language of Harlequin, in one of Marivaux comedies; but ridicule the thirst of gold ever fb much; it will always be, Regina del Mondo,. Queen of the World. Our lawyers not, being ablc'to prevail on us to bend under the yoke of this imperious Sovereign, the destroyer of all virtues, drew up our writings; but,, with lamentations, which were So comic, as to have excited my laughter, if pity for their dangeroiis prejudices had not prevailed.. 
This. 
^ % 
12 LETTERS. 
This business being concluded, the baron waited on our archbishop. He received us as persons, who had been mentioned to him in a very favourable light; an obligation we owe to Mr. Baker; who, according to his promise, had obtained for us a strong recommendation from he apostolic vicar at London. Our prelate was fatisned nothing was wanting to render our first marriage a sacrament; yet, as it was not conformable to the laws of the kingdom, to leave no room for chicanery or base designs, he published the bans at Bordeaux, and in the ba ronefs’s parish church once; because, the abode 
. cf a minor is at his tutrefs’s house; and, having 
% « 
allowed a dispensation for the second and third time of publishing them, he married us himself n his own chapel, and did us the honour of keeping us to dinner. 
I was a little embarrafied about my banknotes; but a merchant at Bordeaux hath been k nd enough to take charge of this affair. Of all my jewels, only your picture enriched with diamonds, my watch, and my dear harriet’s fmeliing bottle, - are left; they are valued at twelve thousand livres, but are worth double ' hat sum. I would not suffer them to insert in she deed, a ring of two hundred guineas value, 
which 
LETTERS. 13 
which I had made a present of to my husband. This is the amount of all my treasures. 
They are much augmented within this hour, my dear mamma: I have just received a letter from honest Riding, in which I find inciosed, a bill of exchange for one thousand livres (a). He had this Sum in his hands, when the estate of my aunt was adjudged in Savour osmy Sather, and would not part with it. Oh! Say no more, your Clarissa is poor! In fact, Ihe is immensely rich for this country. He desires a receipt antedated; I have done it, without knowing wshether I ought. Is not this a Sraud; and is there any case, in which it is lawful to cheat.? At all events I Shall be able to restore it; the money shall not be made use of, till I am certain it is honestly my property. But, to continue my narrative — 
Notwithstanding the obliging letter, which, madam d’astie wrote me, I could not help being consused at the thoughts of appearing besore her : my misfortunes gave me a little the appearance of an adventurer; a quality which always prejudices a woman; because, it is very 
(a) He had only a thousand livres in his hands, because he had remitted Clarissa the four thousand he had told her oh 
seldom 
H L E T T E R S. 
seldom Ihe has nothing to reproach herself within Such a case.. The testimony osmy conscience heartened me against my own (corn; but it would not have been Sufficient to make me escape the contempt of others; and, in Spite of the fine name of philosopher, which Harriet is pleased' to decorate me with Sometimes, I felt myself nothing less than insenfible of the public opinion. I Should, nevertheless, have braved it, I believe, provided, my hulbandss mother had been Satisfied of my innocence, with respect to the steps I was absolutely forced to take. My fears were removed the very first moment I had 
the honour to See her. Imagine -- -- -- -- -- -- No,, 
imagine nothing at all,, everything you could fancy would be below the truth. Beauty, no bleness, virtue, and the graces,, compose the countenance of my respectable mother in law : : affable, though very discreet and wary; gay without dissipation, grave without starchness;; for my Harriet often Says, that grave women are formal, even ta the last degree.. My husband: and I arrived at her house a day Sooner than v^re promised, lb that Ihe was agreeably Surprised to See us at her feet: She bedewed us with her tears, embracing and blessing usj andi I i mme diately found myself as free with her, as I have been, with you j my dear mamma i She was making 
cloth; 
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LETTER S. 15 
eloth; it was for me she said (he worked. I had travelled like an heroine iit a; romance; more diamonds than shifts. This word diamonds made me recollect my intention, of offering her my watch; I fastened it to her apron, telling her, that, next to. the pleashre of offering it her, I could not receive a greater, than to lee her acccept it. 1 will receive something more precious from my dear daughter, she replied'; her heart, her friendship, her confidence. Indeed, madam, I answered, I have nothing more of that kind to bestow; it is already done, without the least merit in me; for all this escaped me w: ithout my knowledge,, the instant I had the happiness to find myself at your feet and in your arms. She answered me by a tender embrace; and I confess, this half hour fo strongly resembled that when? I had the happiness to see her first, that the confused remembiance made me think the afiertion false, that there is no true happiness on earth. We pasted these first hours in an amiable confusion Which entirely took up my thoughts, and it was the next day before I could examine my new dwelling. Indeed the baron spoke of it too modestly, when he called 
W 
it a cottage. The first entrance is through a middling Sized yard, planted with Several rows of walnut trees,; which form four walks. The 
middle 
i6 LETTERS. 
middle of the yard is a grass plat of about fifteen feet square, opposite to which is a small flight of Steps, which leads into a wainscotted hall, furnished only with chairs with straw seats, two walnut tree tables, and white linen window curtains. There is such a strong air of neatness in this apartment, that I fancy I breathe a purer air there, than in any other place I was ever in: it has the morning fun, but the vivacity of its rays is damped by a vine, which creeps about the outside of the windows, and intercepts only the light which would dazzle the sight. On one fide of this hall is a small kitchen, furnished only with bare neceltaries; and on the other fide a closet, which contains a well chosen library. Three rooms on the first floor compose the rest of the apartments : not a bit of tapestry, but the walls, of a beautiful white, are ornamented with designs painted in fresco, surrounded with garlands of flowers, and a little passage in the middle : this is the work of the baronness. Behind the house is a little pavilion, containing a handsome chamber for a gentleman, two lodging rooms for servants, and a paved dairy fo bright, that one’s face may be seen in it: the beds are callico, and the sheets smell delightfully sweet. The house seems a 
little palace; but how shall I describe the garden. 
LETTERS. 17 
den, and the little grove which terminates it! The neatness and regularity seem to indicate the order which reigns in the mistressss Soul; it produces all necestaries in abundance. I was astonished to See no flowers there : my husband and my mother in law looked at each other and Smiled. The baronness showing me a large square piece of ground in the middle of the garden, which was planted with all sorts of kitchen stuff", this piece of ground, says she, some years ago was planted with the finest flowers; my fon cultivated them with his own hands, with the more pleasure, because he knew I was very fond of them. A reflection turned this parterre into a kitchen garden. How many poor wretches might be relieved at the expense of the trifling pleasure we take? says I to my fon. There are several families in this village, who do not possess a single foot of ground, and are thereby deprived of a thousand little comforts. Let us give up to them this little bit of ground, our income will not be lessened thereby, and we shall have, by cultivating it, the delightful consolation of working for Jesus Christ; it will not produce a Angle herb which will not be a flower of sweet odour to him who regards all the services we render the poor, as done to himself. These words were the condemnation of 
these 
i8 LETTERS. 
these poor flowers; my fon instantly rooted them up; another v/mci may again give them their existence; my dear daughter, this kitchen garden shall again become a parterre of flowers, if you destre it. I was struck motionless with admiration. How ingenious is charity! said I to myself; I thought myself charitable till now; I who have given to the poor only a fuperstuit;,. which never caused me the least privation. As this reflection had prevented my answer, my respectable mother in law thought Ihe had frightened me by giving me an idea of a virtue which denied itself everything. My dear friend, says Ihe, pleasures may be permitted at your age, which we ought to deny ourselves at mine: that which you take in looking at flowers is a very innocent one;, and it would be a real cruelty to deny a person this trifling satisfaction, whom the medio crity of our fortune reduces to; much harder denials. Rely on the baron’s providing you a stov/er garden as soon as the season permits. Heaven forbid,, replied I with vivacity : I Should think I committed a sacrilege, is I took from the poor this small relief. Who am I to prefer my pleasures to their wants? pardon me, madam, my Silence, was the effect of my consuston. I perceive, I am as yet but m the alphabet of the Christian lifebut is I 
LET E R S. t9 
am incapable of finding out in my chanty fucli ingenious resources for the poor, I ihalt at least profit by your good examples, and will endeavour to imitate them. My mother in law answered me by a tender embrace. This,. says fhe, taking her son’s hand, and placing it in mine, this is the daughter I begged of Heaven,, and whom I would have preserred to the richest heiress. 
* 
t 
observe, my dear mother, that I did not arrive till evening, that not a word had beenu said about my little fortune; that my husband.. knew the difinterestedness of his mother, had Said nothing of it in his letters; and that Mr. Baker, who thought me a vast deal riclierj, was desirous of Surprising her agreeably : she had concluded, from the Silence of her Son, that I absolutely had nothing, or, at most,, but a trifle. The sight of my watch, it is true. Seemed to. Show that, at least, I came from a rich family Ihe had been told I was a person of rank, and. had learned by Mr. baker’s letter,, that religious, motives had oecafioned my flight from my relations; wherefore she imagined I could have taken nothing with me; for a, girl of my age could not be supposed to have anything of her ovvn, except her trifling jewels. Her last ex 
prcflioi) 
4 
20 LETTERS. 
pression gave my husband an opportunity to mention what had passed in England. My dear Clarissa vvould be a fortune for a prince, if she brought no other fortune than her valuable qualities; but, madam, she is besides a rich heiress, with respect; to her fortune; and if an heroic virtue did not compel her to dispossess herself, she might pafs for one of the first persons in the kingdom. He then related to my mother in law all the eircumftances of my life, and of my flight, and was interrupted only by the caresses she every moment bestowed on me. Heaven is witness, my dear child, says she, how much I despise riches; I would willingly give the whole world for one single act of virtue; yet I rejoice that you have saved something out of the shipwreck; it would have cost you too much to have submitted to the hard way of life, which long custom had rendered easy to us, and I shall be charmed to See you a little more at your ease. Cannot I contract this habit also? replied I. In ten years it will be as familiar to me as to you j you do me great injustice, if you think me capable of accepting reliefs which you will not partake of. You shall learn to obey, daughter, says my second mother, giving me a little pat with her hand, which I almost devoured with kisses. For instance, we ought, according to 
custom. 
LETTERS. 21 
custom, to have killed the fatted calf, for your husband has some resemblance with the prodigal fon; yet you must be contented with half a ^ lamb. The clock strikes twelve; it is dinner time: go indoors, I see the guests coming, and eat the little feast which you should have had on your first arrival, but for the agreeable trick you played me in coming late last night. 
At the same time the glass door which looked into the garden, opened, and two clergymen advancing towards us, saluted me with a politeness which I did not expect from country priests. Our repast was as gay as sober; and my joy to find myself in such good company, hardly permitted me to take notice that we were served in earthen ware, and that our spoons were pewter. When our guests were departed, my mother in law asked me what I thought of them. I answered plainly, that they seemed to me persons of understanding, very polite, and well acquainted with the world. yo\j would not suspect them, says she, to be saints; nevertheless few men deserve this title better. Indeed, madam, I answered, I entertained a different idea of sanctity; I thought a person who aspired thereto, should have a pale meagre countenance, a grave and austere mien: I saw nothing in these gentlemen which did not show 
them 
zdl LETTER S. 
them to be good honest men; but then I observed nothing which denoted any extraordinary perfection; in Short, it never entered my head that they were persons who aspired at canonization. Neither do they ever stefire to be canonised, though they do everything polfible to deserve it. ' Our conversation was interrupted by a visit we received from all the women and girls in the parish, who cheerfully rendered this homage to the virtues of my mother in law, though there were amongst them several farmers wives much richer than her. She caressed them, and presented them to me one after another, defiritig me to embrace them, and always found something advantageous to say of each as they advanced. I made one remark which struck me, that not one of these women took too much liberty: notwithstanding the free gracious behaviour of the baroness, I never saw more respectful behaviour, I remarked my astonishment to my mother in law when they were gone. We obtain everything, says she, from these good people, when we require nothing; I have always behaved to them as you saw me today, neither familiarly nor haughtily : I have endeavoured to be useful to them; they know I love them; no ■ more is wanting to keep them in 
their place; the poor never depart from theirs, 
till 
I 
0 '. 
LETTERS. 23 
rill the nobility quit their own place. The baroness had excited my curiosity about our curate and vicar, for it was with them we dined j Ihe began lierfelf this chapter, and I am certain you will be charmed to hear their edifying history; hut everything should have bounds; and this letter is already fo long, that I am forced to stnish, if it was only because the post man waits j and would not, I fancy, be troubled with the carriage of my letters for the future, if he guested their contents; for, in fact, I shall have only the trifling events of the farm to acquaint you with, and these not worthy cf a great lady like you. It is to you I speak, lady Harriet, I who am only .a poor little farnxer’s wife. 
# 
letter 
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24. LETTERS. 
LETTER XXX 
ladr HARRIET TO CLARISSA. 
Ah! thp poor little countrywoman is very 
impertinent with her great lady, and her, my lady. If I was not sure my Clarissa was in joke, I Should never forgive the latter part of her letter; I acquaint her these jests difplease me highly; there is no condition which debases a woman like her; there is none which Ihe would not ennoble. I think, indeed, I am foolish, to take a joke in a Serious light; but, I was not mistress of my pen; I was hurt by this expression. Take care, I beseech you, never to be wanting in respect, for I Should never forgive you. While I am in a humour for quarrelling, I must give you your share, Mr. baron. You do not understand badly the interests of your self-love; but, you neglect those of our curiosity. You will make your confession to your mother, some years hence? And we, therefore — Do you imagine we have not as great a desire as her, to be certain you have been a little libertine? No delay, we must have your history well particularised, to join to that of your wife. Who knows, but it may tempt me to become an author? This will not be very difficult; 
LETTERS. 25 
scult; nothing will be wanting, except to find he dates, or to Supply them; for Clarissa and I ire not accustomed to mark any. This want epaired, behold, a new book, entirely finished; i book which will contain nothing but truth; ind yet, nothing probable. This will not hin ler its sale.. world will read, no matter what, it is a fashion, a madness.. a plea ure for me to hear the different opinions of the luthor and his work! For I propose to keep ncog; and the author will be Madam! shall be exactly in the cafe of Apelles behind lis picture. An impertinent petit maitre will ay, what a pitiful performance! it is quite in ipid; yet, the author need only have feigned he baron a little less respectful; cris she would ireferve the character of this, Amadis Montalvo vas quite fit to rank with Lovelace, in the first Clarissa; some attempts on his fide would have nlivened the affair a little; and filled a few lages with the lamentations of the heroine. But, leaven has made for her, men who in nothing efemble those of our times. Even seafaring nen, in the presence of this young lady, acquire; modesty, seldom found among monks. In nfwer to this question, if Clarissas were mul iplied, men of sense Wouldbe multiplied of liemfelves. When men exceed the bounds of vol. II C respect 
26 L E T T E R S. 
respect in their company, it is almost always the fault of the women. But this answer whicl would be a very good one, dees little honou: to our Sex; therefore must be supprefted. Should then tell him, that an author who respect: the morals, if he writes a romance, should northeast ver suffer those dangerous particulars, with whicl the Clarista and Pamela of Mr. Richaistfon art larded, to compose a part of his woric. H did notshnow the human heart, if lie imairine^ such accounts inspired a detestation for vice Llcnow they have produced a different effecs in many instances. Hardly any but youn persons read romances; the author thereson should shave them in view; and .not Suffer : single wmrd to enter which may be likely to ex eifc impure ideas : the author of both theft works intended to inspire an hatred and detestation of vice, and did .not perceive he wai giving lessons of the very vice she proposed tc combat. 
But only.mind where the destre of Seelng youi general conseffion has carried me, Mr. Baron: here is a stupid page of dissertation, which yoi3 would have escaped is you had in earnest Sel about acquainting us with your past life. 
It 
T E "T T E R S. -2i7 
It Is to you I speak, Clarissa, to make’ use ■os your own expreffion : 1 make an oath not to eat an hearty meal till you have engaged your husband to make this confession;; to encou 'tage him thereto., 1 am going to make mine. That these romances expunged from our libraries, at present cover my table; that there are Several of them, the reading of which may be of Some use, and that great advantages might be reaped from them, if they were wrote as they ought. I know you are going to exclaim against: the lost time; in return, I v/isn you a pregnancy like mine to coniine you to your couch, and give you the vapours, black vapours especially : but no, condemn me, accuse me rather of frivoloushefs, than experience a state like mine; it makes me stupid; you are sensible of it by reading my letter. I have filled four .Sides, and have not yet Said anything worth being read. I must fill another fide, to do 
which I take the interval between two vapours. 
# 
I hold my head, I believe, for Sear I should lose it. What has happened to you Some time Since, is as like a misfortune, as two drops of water are like each other; and this apparent misfortune leads you to the most tranquil state that can be wished for in life, .a state that 
C 3 vvoul d 
ft 
28 LETTERS. 
would be envied by the pretended happy of tl age, if they could have an idea of it. I confidi a young rich heiress entering into the world, : a prey on which the greedy hunters cast a will; Sul eye. What efforts do they make to get hi into their toils! The moll audacious becoir respectful, and even servilely fubrniffive; the disguise themselves and become reformed, the roughly determined to repair the time lost i their debaucheries : they swear they are in lovi and indeed they are fo, but it is then only; an was the heiress separated from her estate, the would be consoled for the loss of her, by tb poffestion of her fortune : but scarcely are the masters of it, before the fox refiimes his skin the woman no longer finds a lover in her hiij band. Oh! if this had been my misfortuni I would have got myself unmarried : I woul have told the court, this is not the man whor I married, whom I Swore to love and respect I do not know this person, and I will have no thing in common with him. But supposin one is fortunate enough to draw a prize in thi lottery, an husband like the generality of men with a mixture of virtue and vices, that cause an alternative of happy and insupportable mo ments. Fine felicity! In short, she Vv'ho gair the highest prize, that is to say, an hushan 
lik 
LETTERS. 29 
like mine, is not for all that perfectly happy. Business and other avocations deprive her of his Company three parts of the day; they Share him between them, and leave his Sad wife in a Solitude, the more painful, in proportion as Ihe is sensibleos the happiness Ihe is deprived of. You have nothing of this kind to fear, your mediocrity frees you from these important nothings called decorums. No inattentions, no endeavours to make you conceal your mutual tenderness; the innocent creatures among whom you live, far from being disgusted at it, would return thanks to God for it. Oh! that I was a Ihepherdefs with you, my dear Clarissa!! revenue, which hardly futfices for the wretched wants of luxury and custom, would then be a vast deal more than enough. Since your letter, I dream of nothing but cottages, gardens without flowers, and flocks; and when I wake and behold these fine hangings, beds of damask, pier glasses, and my toilet, I am ready to throw myself out of window. Procure me at least agreeable dreams : I beg the journal of your life : and, if the post grows tired of bringing me such precious parcels, I will send an express for them. 
I must, among the blessings I envy you sometimes, place in the first rank your respectable 
mother in law : wait six months, and you Shall 
C 3 see 
30 L E T T E R S: 
see my lamentations on this article. I poltes at present a treasure which recompenses th Vv'ant of yours. With respect to me, our common mother exceeds the utmost ideas I formed of perfection, maternal tenderness and the delights of friendship; and I also am not behind hand in sentiments of the most respectful tenderness. Ifmyihindis wearied, my heart has not time to partake its disquiet, I affure you; it has never been more busy; and, though divided a mong three, you Seem all placed there easily e nough. I must however crowd you a little, to make room for the dear creature I shall Soon ■bring into the world.; and then more room must be made for your children, which will be as dear to me as my own; for, in my opinion, my dear, our two beings make but one, in which everything is in common. You must give your consent to the perfect community. My mother won’t permit me to Say any more on this article, and pretends this is contrary to the conditions she made us Subscribe, when she entrusted us with your Situation, which you wanted to conceal. I obey her, whatever it costs me, but I hope my hushandss journey will produce Some alteration in her Sentiments. 
V 
4 
LETTER. 
£■ E T T E R S. 31. 
LETTER. XXXI 
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From Mrs. DARBT to the Baroness DASTIE. Madam. 
IS H A L L repeat your obliging words. If Heaven has granted you a daughter in law, such as you prayed for, it has given my dear Clarissa such a mother and husband as I would have chose for her, if Heaven had left' me the difpofai of her. I hope she will render' herself worthy of your goodnefs by her respectful obedience, and endeavour to follow you, at a distance at least, in the practice of heroic vir 
tuesi I expect impatiently the time of profitting 
by your good example; but, however violent my desire, i’cannot quit lady Harriet in her present situation;; considering her husband is gone to London upon my daughter’s business only. If I was writing to a less disinterested lady, I should acquaint you that I expect to secure Clarissa a fortune more worthy of your fon. To render this discourse more sufferable, be kind enough to confider this increase of fortune will enable you to satisfy your benevolent dlfpofition, I flatter 
C 4 my 
32 LETTERS, 
myself, my daughter will never entertain a sentiment contrary to yours : I venture to affure you, that in this respect she will want 
to be curbed. 
I am, Madam, 
With the most perfect esteem, Your very humble servant, ie. 
9 
0 
0 
$ 
A 
I 
LETTER 
letters. 33 
LETTER XXXII 
From MADAM DARBY to CLARISSA. 
blefled be God, a thousand and a thousand times, my dear Clarissa; he has fulfilled the dearest: of my wishes. You are placed in the bosom of a virtuous family, under the eye of a worthy mother, who will be your guide, removed from the illusions of the great world, from opportunities of being corrupted, and are in a Sair way of being Sanctified. What can I desire more? I passed the Short interval we were together, in Sounding your heart, and discovering its inmost recesses. I Sound nothing therein capable to alarm me, but I remained quite undetermined about the degree ospersection which god required of you. You had a great detes tation of evil, a great attachment to your duties, and a mind just enough to esteem your fortune, only as it put it in your power to relieve the wretched. This was already a great deal; and generally God does not require a greater degree of perfection in those who are destined to live in the great world : you seemed called thereto, and I did not oppose your vocation. A secret voice told me, notwithstanding, that such 
C 5 an 
SU L E T T E R rs. 
an happy dlfpofition mull: conduct you still far -- there; I left you. to Divine Providence; my expectations were not deceived; it has manifested: its designs.. Ah! how full of goodness are they for you !: It is very difficult to live in the midst, of the world,, without contracting its stains. We must, expect to be generally reviled, if we live therein, like Christians. God spares you these combats; reflect frequently that you might not have had courage to maintain them, and leap for joy at the asylum he has procured you. submit yourself to the plan of perfection, which God has laid down with respect to you. I See by your letter you have not even an idea o what it consists in. No, my dear, a pale complexion and an austere countenance are not at all the attributes of holiness : it excludes not an innocent mirth, and the Sweets of friendship; or, rather, it is that alone which procures these folid blessings. You will learn, by experience,. I am Sure, that madam D’astie has found the. way of approaching towards Sanctity in the most common ©ccurrence, and in a way of life, in appearance, the most ordinary. As a proof, think 
of the parterre metamorphosed into a kitchen 
garden. This punctuality in corresponding with 
the impulses of grace in trifling things, shows 
great virtue, I trust you to the care of this 
wise 
LETTER S. 33 
wise governess; her example will teach you more than my cold discourse. I join with my second daughter, in requesting a journal of your actions; add to it a list cf your discoveries with respect to madam D’astie : I Shall endeavour from henceforward to take her for a pattern, 
Harriet and I have often wondered how Ihe could give her consent to your marriage without a more particular knowledge of you. You allow yourself, you had a little the air of an adventurer. She thought you poor. Mr. Baker was not sufficiently acquainted with you to answer for your character and motals; there must therefore be, a something which I don’t comprehend, an explanation of which I desire. We also are very desirous of knowing about the: two clergymen who dined with you. 
Lady harri et. continues, 
MORE, the adventures of your worthy com ^ panions in prison. our mother would have foraething solid; fhs is right. I would from time to time have something amusing, because I am still very giddy brained, and have got the ■ vapours. Oh! what a fine thing it is to have the vapours! This distemper is a general excuse; 
,., 
LETTERS. 
cufe, and the woman who has the honour to be attacked by it, may be whatever Ihe likes. Is Ihe absent, peevish, impertinent, tiresome, or contradicting, it is all placed to the account of the poor vapours; they are my excuse for taking the liberty to interrupt a good discourse, for the Sake of prating only. 
Mrs. Darby concludes. 
0 
I was only going to finish, my dear; she did riot interrupt me in the least. I embrace yon and your dear husband, 
N. B. You need not have the least Scruple about ryding’s bill cf exchange; it is what remained in his hands of your income; you have as great a right to this money as to anything else whatever. Mr. balsour maintains, that,, without deviating from your intentions, he will make you rich; I praise his design, but have a notion God will render them useless; he wills you should be poor, you will theresore remain So, and I shall not make myself uneasy about it. 
LETTER 
LETTER S. 37 
LETTER XXXIII CLARISSA TO MRS. DARBT. 
YOU impose on me fo great a task, my dear mamma, that my filter Harriet must be contented with a word only, in this long letter. Not to lengthen it unnecelsarily, I begin. Protestations of my sentiments would be useless,, are convinced of them already. 
9 
The third day after my arrival here, I begged madam D’astie to permit me to join in her country employments, and after much difficulty She granted a part of my request. I am too weakly, Ihe says, to join in the employments she has habituated herself to by degrees, I must do as Ihe has done. As a beginning, she has made me overseer of the cows and dairy; a Servant is under me who understands the business,, She herself has none. There is in particular a black cow, which is the beast of predilection; I have just learned the motives osit: this is the cow of the poor. I keep Seven for my own use, Says the baroness; one more is no great ex,, or trouble. I consecrated to God a fine heiser, whose milk is distributed to the poor, and her calves Sold for their advantage. Most 
of 
t 
3§ LETTER S, 
of our women wean their children, at three o four months old, to take nurstings. The! poor little creatures, abandoned for a stranger would many of them pei ish; I mix this milk fo them with barley water, or something else adapt ed to their state of health. I make of clay arti sscial nipples, and Show the mothers how to maki use of them. Once a day I visit all the nurses I Superintend the care, health, and cleanlines of these children, which has made our villagi famous for good nurses The principal men chants of Bordeaux send their children here which enables our peasants to. live very com; Sortably; we have no real poor here, excep the old and infirm; and besides, they are relieved. About twelve years ago, added thi baroness, there were only sixty houses in thi; parish; this number is now trebled by marriages, strangers who have fettled here, and thf 
old’ inhabitants, whom misery and want had 
* 
formerly drove away, and whom the hope oi getting their bread has occastoned to return. But, madam. Said I, in a furprise, how was you able to provide for the fubfistence of fo many persons? Your income is fo moderate, thatl can hardly conceive how you>maintain yourself; besides, the land can’t have increased in proportion to its' inhabitants. No, replied the 
baroness. 
L E T T E R S. 39, 
b; ’ronefs, but by better cultivation, it has produced threefold: ten times more inhabitantsv would not embarrass us... 
ct'his country is full of uncultivated lands;,, here were immense trabls which produced only brambles, and were of no advantage to the proprietors. misery had broke the courage of the peafant; most of them chose rather to go a begging than die of hunger. I came here at the ' same time that the two clergymen you saw were, appointed, one curate, the other vicar of this unllage : they might have expected a more con fiderabje benefice,. for this vas only worth a • little more than 20 pounds a year: we had. been friends a long time, and they were persuaded we might together do Seme good, and Solicited this cure, which was not very strongly sought for, but in which they could live, because they had a trifling fortune of their own; 
It may be Said, this district offered to the Sight,., the most astecting picture of human .misery;; decrepit parents abandoned by their children,. and buried in filth, almost ready to expire with hunger; naked, half starved, wan children an entire ignorance of religion, which alone could alleviate their misfortunes; an habit of idleness, which prevented their even thinking. 
of. 
40 LETTERS. 
of attempting to put an end to, or at least t lesten them. I Should have been discouraged: 
o 
the sight of these obstacles, if I had not bee Sustained by the ardour of these zealous brethren. They began to labour indefatigably z the instruction of these poor creatures; the gained their hearts, by giving them a little re lies; and at length made them comprehend that laziness leads to hell, and is the mother C all vice. Our examples finished what their in structions began. My fon, though yet ver young. Submitted to labours proportioned to hi strength. I placed myself at the head of fom women : these honest people knew we wer not brought up to this, and were ashamed C their idleness. A family, consisting of a father a niother, and four children, was on the poin of leaving its native home: the curate pur chased for 200 livres a piece of ground, whicl contained 20, 000 toises; he received these poo people into his own house till they had cleare this piece of ground. The' work was difiicull The roots of trees were to be grubbed up which! had formerly grown there, and which wer Spread very deep in the ground. The father and the eldest fon, who was sixteen years of age undertook this work: the mother and her fou young children rooted up the bushes, whiel 
hai 
L E T T E R ‘S. 41 
had not taken Such deep root. In proportion as they cleared away these roots, they covered them with earth, and formed a kind of kilns. From time to time, the curate hired people to help them; So that in less time than could have been expected, the ground was entirely cleared, and well dug up. As the poor family knew this ground was to be the recompense of their labour, they worked with uncommon ardour: they afterwards fet fire to these kilns; and, ai this was done in the beginning of autumn, the rains soon tempered the ashes, which were carefully Spread over the Surface of the earth : one half of this land formed artificial meadows, whose produce the first year was beyond expectation; the rest produced corn. Fact are necessary to convince country people : the greatest part had, laughed at the undertaking; they now began to be more docile; there were few farmers who had not such pieces of ground; they would willingly have performed the same operation, but one reflection stopped them short. This labour might become very advantageous to the proprietors, by increafine the value of uncultivated lands; but the cultivator would receive no other benefit than raising the rent of his farm, and perhaps his taxes. To remedy both these in tonveniencies, Mr. Duboc, the younger (the 
name 
42 LETTER S. 
name of our vicar) undertook to apply to all the proprietaries, and obtained from them a deed, whereby they gave up the profits of these pieces of ground for fifteen years. Several of them furnished the farmers with money to buy cattle, on condition of being repaid again in six years, For my part, I wrote to the intendant of the province, and obtained a promise from him, that the parish fiiould not be taxed at all higher, on account of the riches the inhabitants acquired by their industry. 
Scarcely were these important articles Settled, before an emulation was perceived,, which we were careful to maintain and increase. I had preserved at Bordeaux Some connexions with pious persons devoted to good works; they readily gave their assistance towards this. Every week, prizes were proposed for those wsho cleared the greatest quantity of ground. This part of the country is naturally'dry and barren; pits were sunk to collect the rainwater, and trenches cut to conduct the water into the fields, while the low places where the water stagnated, and. formed bogs, were insensibly drained. Artificial meadov/s were everywhere made, which afforded us an opportunity of maintaining a great quantity of cattle, and vie, soon had the 
means. 
^ • 
LETTERS. 43. 
means to fertilise our lands from a plenty of dung. More hands were wanting than we had to do this wmrk; our worthy pastor and his brother procured them for us. T hey Sacrificed their little fortune, which they divided into two equal parts.; eight thousand livres were employed in pijrchafing uncultivated lands; the remainder was destined to the maintenance of strangers, whom the hopes of bread allured to' us. One thousand toises of ground cleared, were given as a' Salary to each family, that had ■ laboured with, us a year; and, as our pastors had still more at heart,, the Salvation of all these. poor people, than, their corporal, reliefy they, established the following rules. They Set out to work at daybreak;; rendezvous of the labourers was at church, where they joined in a short prayer. At eleven they left off work, and went to church to attend divine Service; then rested themselves till three o’dock. these. four hours were not lost, our labourers commonly employed them in steep, and found themselves refreshed shmuch thereby, as to be able to continue' working till night.. At first we found some disticuity to restrain the young people, who, aster Sapper, would have employed part of the night in dancing, like the harvest people., 
A, little firmness, great praises bestowed on 
those 
44 LETTER S. 
those who abstained from it, some trifling rewards, and familiar discourses from the pulpit; on the darfger of these nocturnal diverstons, 
ridded us of them entirely. 
0 
While our labourers were employed in cultivating the land, our vicar and I endeavoured to instruct ourselves about everything appertaining to agriculture. We learned to distinguish different Soils, and to mend them by different manures. We learned to understand cattle, their diseases, the necessary precautions to preserve them in health, and the remedies proper for their distempers. We asked advice of the men of learning, who devoted themselves to this kind of study, and were Soon capable of instructing them by joining practice to theory. I procured eight thousand livres, from my friends, for our undertaking, without reckoning the cattle, advanced by particular persons, who were paid for them towards the end of the fourth year. 
Its distance from any principal road, or con stderable town, (for it confequenlly could have but a small consumption for its produce) was what rendered this district extremely poor. The inhabitants could not think of sending it to Bordeaux : 
LETTERS. 45 
sseaux : what peasant would go fifty miles to sell a few pounds of butter? After long consideration I invented the following scheme. 
A meeting was held of all those who had cattle; and I proposed to them to put their milk into a corrmon flock. Tuesdays and wed nefdays were fixed to churn the butter; and, for this purpose, some women were chose, who were dispensed with from going to work in the fields. They were furnished with new invented churns, which shortened their labour; and two of them were appointed to fet out every Thursday, to arrive at Bordeaux on market days. The village was at the expense of a large cart, and they were allowed a man to drive it; and were to sell all the butter, and other produce of the village. They were to return on the Saturday; and on Sunday, after evening service, the curate, who received the money arising from the sale, distributed to each their (hare, according to their respective proportions. This method produced great advantages. We sold our goods much better in this great city, than at the neighbouring markets; and, besides, our labourers were not absent from their business;; before, each family was obliged to send a person two or three 
ieague« 
4b LETTER sh 
leagues distant, which was a day lost. An accident furnished us a new method, which proved amazingly advantageous. A disorder brok« out among the cattle, by which, one of our peasants lost six cows in one week. All the rest were terribly Srightened at this, which inspired them with a docility, of which we took the advantage, to make one common stock of all their cattle. The children had been employed in cleaning the lands of stint stones, of which they were Sull. Five large stables were erected, or rather, five of the biggest were enlarged; and the walls partly constructed with these stones. Every stable had women enough to take care of it; and oiae stable was always kept empty, to serve as an infirmary for the Sick beasts. Tn the Sequel we were obliged to multiply these stables. Their whole produce was Sold for the common benefit, and the profit laid out in replacing the cattle which were lost by the distemper; but we lost very sewcleanliness; the Separation of the stck cattle from the healthy, the choice and preparation of their nourishment, occasioned our avoiding the calamities which all France was afflicted with in this respect. I am super intendant of these stables, Mr. Dulac Seconds me, and we are very attentive that those do their duty who are entrusted with the care of 
them. 
LET T E R S. 47 
[hem. Our peasants steep in quiet, because; hey are sensible, nothing but a general mortality can ruin them. The dung is distributed in propcrtion to the number of beasts which each furnisties to the stock, and all are content. 
The Second year. Providence opened to us another Source of plenty. This was the method of hatching chickens in dunghils and ovens. 
It is true this produced but little the first year, we paid for our learning; but, instructed shy our losses, the following years we were great gainers. The mulberry trees we planted the 
third year, produced a quantity of leaves the 
$ 
stxth year; and was .another Source of riches which augmented every day. Every year the young people were married; and, when the parents were quite poor (which is never the cafe at present) we gave them one hundred toises of land cleared; the whole village contributed to Sow it, and to make them a present of two oxen and a cow. At present, the parents stand upon ■their honour, and would be very sorry to be thought to have been Such bad oeconomists, as "to be under a necesstty of having recourse to the ■eemmunity. We have no poor, as I have already mentioned, except, the old, the infirm, and new inhab: tants. Every day poor families ■ 
arrive, 
4 
I 4s LETTERS; 
arrive, whom we are not in a condition to Southeast tie; we relieve them, and expect assistance fro Providence to provide for them further. 
Madam D’astie might have Spoke much loi ger, without my thinking of interrupting he I was in an extasy; and knew not whether Should trust my own eyes, or believe her an ang in human form. When she had ended her di ' course, a mechanical motion threw me at h feet; and from my heart, rather than my moutl proceeded thanksgivings to the Most High, f the favour he had bestowed, in granting n such a pattern. Oh! how much did I desii to be rich at this moment! but, God can Suj ply my want of power; it is true, I had alwa) devoted to him the greatest part of my possession: if I had thought myself mistress to dispose C them. 
ft 
/ 
My mother in law raised me up; after hav ing embraced me, a circumstance Ihe neve omits. I entreated her to permit me to ask he some questions. 
'AI ^ 
I S I inquired why her cows were not in tin 
common stock, like those cf the other inhabitants. I put them there at first, says Ihe, to en 
couragi 
L E T T E R S. 4‘q 
Tourage others. When our peasants were though.. convinced of the advantage of the com minity, I took my beasts away; we should ivoid giving these clownish, illiterate people 'oom to think we have our ov.^n private interest n view, in things which arc established for the 
V 
general good. They ke plainly, I have not in he least increased my fortune these twelve years j ind are thoroughly convinced, when I propose my thing new to them, that I have no self in erested motives; on this their obedience is bunded; it is at present fo great, that they revive my advice as an oracle, and are always lisposed to follow it. And in what are they : mployed in winter? There are but very few lays, replied my mother, that they canst find : mployment in the fields. Our men take this ipportunity to cut down wood, and prepare irops for the vines. We have carpenters who vork on the largest trees, to repair our houses, ind build new ones; our young lads, by assist' ' them, render themselves fit to Succeed them, riiey mend their ragged deaths, make new litches to carry off the water, thresh the wheat; n a word, every one finds some employment ir other. As the evenings are very long, the hildren are put to bed early j after which, they ffemble to Spin in the old stables, which they VOL. II D call 
L E T T E R sh 
; call taverns, and we have twelve of these in the 
■ village. The women sit on one Side, and the men on the other; each family by turns furnishes light a week; the boys wind the thread. An old woman prelides over this assembly, and takes care everything is in order. I visit them 
■ every fifteen days; the curate and his brother do, 
, same. But, Says I, these people do not 
work in silence;; not this mixture of Sexes abuse each other? Is it possible, among these clownish people, shat no quarrels should arise, no oaths, no indecent words, nor iewd Songs 
; be heard? 
Gcd has blessed the care of our pafiors, replied she baron: at present our peasants are 
• tolerably educated; assiduity in work, has made 
• them new creatures; they no longer have time to sin for we have taken away all opportunities of committing it; Such as dancing, alehouses and the, murmurs of poverty. They no longer learn bad Songs, hymns have been Substituted in their room; when we go to their night rendezvous, we relate to them Some histories within the cempass of their understandings; there are Some Sensible persons who know how to read, to whom, we have given the lives of the saints, of she hermits, and such kind of books. 
They 
L E T T E R S. 51 
They divert themselves with relating what they have read, arid the others listen to them with pleasure. Among those who have returned to the village, after having been forced from it by misery and want, there are Some, who, having been in the army or at sea, tell the others what they have seen in their travels, and this takes up the whole attention of the rest. At first they were guilty of Swearing, through custom'; i a penny sorseit for each oath began the reformation, and it was completed by banishing the guilty from these places for Some days. Moreover, none are forced to come there, but they look upon them as recreations, and hardly any but the infirm miss coming. At eleven oblock, prayers are read, and the company retires. The curate reads prayers every morning at Seven o’clock, and we have the pleasure to See all our 
bonest people attend the Service with piety 
» I ’ 
and modesty. ' He makes the hour earlier, in proportion as' the days lengthen, So that they ...are always ready to go to work at day break. 
But, Says I to the baroness, if you take away dancing and other dangerous amusements from your peasants, they must be entirely without recreations? We endeavour to procure tviem innocent ones, replied she. Every Sunday and 
.D; 2 ■ holiday, 
s 
% 
52 LET E R S. 
holiday, after the Service of the day, I affeniblt the women and girls in a barn : in winter, m. play at ninepins and bowls; in Summer, we use less violent diversions. Our pastors, on theii fide, amuse the men with shooting with the bo\ii and arrow, and other diverstons proper to keef up and augment their strength : besides, wc have accustomed them to give little entertainments. On mine and ray son’s birthday, we regale the whole parish with a collation. The curate and his brcthc; ' do the same. Our pea sants imitate us. The fuperintendants of th( evening rendezvouses never fail inviting all thal belong to their affimbly; we are ccntlantly ai these little entertainments, where every thine passes, I assure you, with as much decency ai mirth. 
Are you not ravished at this account, m; ' dear Harriet? We erect Sratues to the destroyer of the human race, to conquerors : how mud more precious to mankind, are these generou: benefactors, whose only care is' to procure thi happiness of ast about thetn! The ungratefu age forgets their services: : all, it would h unable to repay them; in Heaven only can the; meet with a recompense worthy of them. M’ second mother has taken me w th her to repa; 
th 
L E T T E R S. 53 
t 
she visits we received. I have been in each family, and am quite astonished. We dined in a village on the road in our journey here: indeed, my stomach turns whenever I think of the horrid stlthinefs of the inhabitants of this village; 
and I am told, ail the rest resemble this. I no 
% ^ 
longer wonder that difeases depopulate countries. These wretches breathe a poisonous air; every door is ornamented with. an infectious dunghill, or a kennel of stagnant water, which exhales pestilential vapours : their houses are damp and unwholesome'; in general, without windows; for a hole of a foot square cannot properly be called a window; So that they receive light and air through the door only. If people are the real riches of a state, as the baroness Says in her memorial, how greatly ought these causes to excite the attention of government? But if pity for these poor wretches is not capable of exciting the generosity of the wealthy inhabitants of cities, their own interest, at least, should make them join in their endeavours to remedy these inconveniences. In these dungeons their children pafs the first years of their life; a time, when nature is most fusceptible of improvement or decay : they there imbibe the Seeds of all the diseases that parents afterwards find the inconveniences of. I 
D 3 quote 
0 
L E T T E R S. 
I quote this motive only, because it most immediately affects fathers and mothers; A sub fcripticn in cities and great towns, for better lodging the peasants, would furnish healthiei children, without oppressing the citizens. Here, all the houses are four feet above the level of thi street, and have at least two large**windows; not ■ a Single kennel the village is careful levelled, and drains are made to carry off tlw water. The dunghills are at a proper distance, and all collected together into four heaps. My mother in law told me, that, at first, the neighbouring peasants used to take the dung away in the night; this inconvenience was put a stop to, by endofing them within an hedge, and guard mg them with large dogs in the night. The in ssdes of the houses are clean, neat, and paved with pebble : the children bring them home in little carts, and this accustoms them to labour. If you saw how rejoiced these honest people are when the baroness comes among them, with what respect they eagerly press to kiss her hand, you would think her Sufficiently paid for what she has done for them. If I had not absolutely determined to be guided by her counsej,, I should have liberally befcowed what money I have to concur to this good work. She tells me, lini 
ding, that true charity is discreet j that I am 
only 
L E 1" T E R ss; 55^. 
only a Spendthrift, that the poor (hold be put in a vv’ay to get ttieir living, bat we should prevent their growing too rich. The best thing I can do, I believe, is to profit by the favour which God has bestoved on me, in giving me such a guide; and the best way to do this, is to abandon myself blindly to her discretion. 
Every step I take here, furnisnes new subjects of admiration. Being arrived at the end of the village, I perceived a large Space, covered with linen cloth, almost bleached; the women were employed in carrying it away. This is the fruit of the winter evenings : the cart will go twice next week to Bordeaux to sell this linen. At present, we have six persons in the village who weave these clothes, one of whom only ijs master; the five others are boys, taken from the foundling hospital at Bordeaux, at twelve years of age; they were a year in Mr. duboc’g house for instruction : the vicar being appointed Schoolmaster, taught them to write and read, and has instilled into them Such Sentiments of piety, as to render them edisying to the whole parish. At thirteen years of age they were put apprentices to the trade of weaving linen; they enter next week, into their twentieth year, and they will all five be married, together with Seven other 
D 4 Jads, 
56 L E T T E R 
lads, next week.;, their vives will bring them as a portion two cows from the common flock; the'; will be maintained a whole year at their sather’s in law : the master weaver begins to pay them wages this year,, and their money will be laid out in furnishing their little cottage.. You have Several empty then? says I to. the baroness. No, child, replied she, but we ast in this ma lier on fueh occasions. 
The whole parish receives the Sacrament once a month. 'She eve preceding the general communion is called the lords’s day, because the produce of this day’s work is consecrated to charity. Some cut down wood, others bring it home, some work, it into girders and beams, others procure straw to cover the roof. The women lay aside the thread they Spin this day, and make it into a piece of cloth. Which is sold to buy nails, lime,, and other materials. We have two masons who have been Settleddiere these Seven years, who prepare the stonework, and are assisted by young persons, who are called children of good will. This is a fraternity into which we admit those only ia wdiom we remark 
•r 
talents joined to an excellent and natural difpo sstion; and it is a great honour fo be admitted : I will let you. see the statutes of this i[raternity; 
as 
LETTER S. 57 
as fast as these materials are prepared, they are piled up in a warehouse. The .i 6th of September is Ithe day fixed for weddings, and none are married except on that day; that is, no young people; for those who have been married before, if they have a mind to marry again, choose any time that is most convenient to them. The young people are prepared for this ceremony, by explaining to them, during a month before, the duties of a married life. These honest people, whose confidence I have, generally consult me about the marriage, of their children; and, as I know them perfectly well, I Spare no trouble to match them properly.'. This day is a general holiday for the whole village. Tables are Spread under the trees; and, not to put the families to too great an expense, every one, two days before, brings Something or other; Some fowls, others a lamb.. Their pastors and I fet an example of this liberality., The married couples sit at the first table, where my place always is : they pafs the remainder of the day in innocent diversions;; the next morning the children of good will, assist the masons in building the houses of the new married couples. As the materials are ready, and the houses, though sufficiently strong, are simple and uniform, they are soon finished, and have time to dry during 
D 5 the 
.d8 LETTERS. 
the whole winter. But, replied I, you want doors, windows, locks, and a thousand other things. Almost everything is to be met with in the village, answered my mother in law: every year we take five boys from the foundling hospital: the hospital for several years has given a little premium to the master who takes them; some are put to husbandry. Some to Cartwrights, others to masons, joiners, c. and when in spring the houses want to be finished, the great number of hands we employ Soon finish the work. With respect to the locksmith’s trade, we should disdain to fasten our doors, were it not for strangers. Our peasants have a detestation for theft, even for stealing a trifle j therefore we only fasten our outer doors j and, as a single lock is sufficient for each house.. buy it ready made at Bordeaux. I shall never have done asking you questions, says I to madam D’astie. How have you been able to bring all these people to comply with regulations, prudent indeed, but rather rigorous? 
The first years were very laborious and fatiguing. Says she; but religion, the consequence of instruction. Surmounts all obstacles. We had'swearers, drunkards, and persons attached 
to many other vices; most of them are reformed; 
L E T T E R S. 5^ 
formed; Some are dead, two only having left us, finding themselves excluded from all Society; for the incorrigible are banished from all our as femblies. During our twelve years labour, all our young people have been brought up in our way; they fear God, and mutually love each ' other. • The whole village forms but one great family, and I don’t believe one mortal sin is committed therein during a whole year. Our honest folks, always employed, have not leisure for temptations: if any dispute arises, the Sun does not Set while they are at variance; the difference is Soon fettled. Our peasants are convinced we love them, and that we would not commit an unjust action for the world j they regard us as their parents, the authors of their conveniences of life, and therefore place a blind confidence in us. • 
I inquired of my itiother in law what Subjects were most insisted on in their instructions. We strongly inculcate these grand principles : be just towards God and man; do to others as you would be done by. We teach them, that,. to be just towards God, they should remember him in all their actions, and perform them in the manner most proper to please him. We mciine them to have an affection for his service, 
by i 
6o letter S. 
by making them remark the blessings he showers down on them, and compare their own sstuation with that of the neighbouring peasants. The old inform the young, of the difficulties and misery they experienced in their youth, and exhort them incessantly to bless God, whoshas exempted them from their distresses. You will here see no Sad melancholy people, even among our sick; our fields resound wish hymns and thanksgivings;; a word, it is here that happy men are to she found. To the ceremonies of our marriages we join another, added my mother in law.,. 
At first, we received new inhabitants without' difficulty. Two circumstances have. rendered us more circumspect. The first was the difficulty, of procuring them, fubfistence.; we, are Sur. 
. ■ ' ' 
rounded with uncultivated lands, which would come at a moderate price, but we can only buy a, little each year for want of money. The Second, which Seemed most important, was our fear lest the new comers should corrupt our peasants;; have therefore, for the last eight years, established a kind of noviciate. We refuse. work to none, and never give any other relief. We offer a pickaxe, or some other working 
tool, to beggars. The idle make ofif as fast as. 
they 
L E T T E R S. 6i 
•fheycan, and we are rid of them; Some endeavour to work, and those we encourage and instruct : they are lodged in a stable destined for this purpose, but they keep among themselves, and until they are entirely reconciled to labour, are not admitted to our astemblies and diver ssons. If they persevere,,. the end of three months, they enter into their noviciate, in which state they remain nine months.;, and then, if we are Satisfied with their behaviour, we promise to incorporate them.. Frequently whole families come, sometimes boys; we, endeavour to keep them in continual employment, and by that means correct their vices. We shall receive eleven families the ensuing day of marriages, and we hope Providence will afford us the means of establishing them. Providence has found the 
means.. Half the sum that honest Rider sent me shall be devoted to this good work. I say half, because the whole, which I would have cheerfully given, was refused. Next Sunday will be a meeting of the elders, to determine in what manner this sum shall be employed. I will give you an account of the result of this meeting, and of our country diverstons, in my next letter., 
My 
V 
W • « .A...., ^ 
j L E T T E R S. 
My husband ccnsents to make the confeibon required by my dear Harriet. Your Surprise at the readiness with which madam D’aftie gave her consent to my marriage, will cease when you have read the letter Mr. Baker Sent her; but to understand it thoroughly, it ought to be preceded by my hushand’s history: .1 shall therefore delay sending it till then,. 
S 
LETTES 
t 
0 
m 
m 
LETTERS. 63 
LETTER XXXIV 
LADT HARRIET TO CLARISSA. 
I Appeared fo contemptible to myself, aftci' reading your letter, that I had not courage to write to you for some days. Be assured, my Clarissa, that this letter has at once made me ten years older; and, that my way of thinking is So altered, that you would think I was metamor phosed. You know me; I easily give into extremes. If Mr. Balfour had been at Paris, I should have turned his brain, if he would not have obtained for me a place in your corporation. How! Said I to myself, are we poor with one thousand five hundred pounds a year, and, does the respectable baroness D’afiie, with fifteen guineas a year only,, find the means of providing for all her necessities, and possess an overplus for charitable uses! Let us learn to be rich near her. We would only be happy : Since happiness can be purchased at So little expehce, let us not be Such fools as to lose fo good a bargain. Our mother, my dear, has moderated my im petuossty. She has observed to me, that God wills that every ssatioh should be filled, and .that we do no good action, when we depart from the place, in which Providence has fixed us. lam, 
therefore. 
64 LETTER S., 
therefcre,. confined to live with babies; for al. women Seem Such to me, compared with ymurs. When I See them knotting, embroidering. Shuffling cards and drinking tea, I wish to say to them; Spin, ladies; work, rise early in the morning like my heroines, and you will no more have the vapours; I Speak from my own experience,, my dear, you have cured half of mine; industry kills them. If you Saw my chamber, you would take it for one of your stables, which you call taverns. Our mother, my two women, and myself haveset up our distaffs; the whole house is postest with the demon, of industry; even the lackeys are learning to knit in the antechamber. I excite the laughter of the ladies who visit me; they can’t conceive, howl can patiently submit to such mean employment; and I' slant be able to comprehend Soon, how they can pafs half the day in bed, the remainder at the toilet, cards, or in useless visits. You shave reconciled me to the right path; and, if God has not found me worthy to become le gistator of a whole village, I am, at least, determined to play this part in my family; and on my estate wshen my affairs are finished. I have not yet any positive news about yours; my husband acquaints me all goes well, and no more. 
/ 
L am in the sixth month of my pregnancy, and 
my 
L E T T E R Sv 65 
my health is entirely recovered; I use a great deal of exercise.. a good appetite, and take only eight hours sleep;; Short, t am quite a new creature,., and So well, that I should be capable of a journey to lie in at your terrestrial pa radise, if oar affairs did not oblige us to stay at Paris another year. I am told this place is best for me; Since God has placed me here, well and 
good. 
ft 
Our mother affures me it is absolutely neces (ai'y I should be a Saint; at these words I Set up. a cry of astonishment and fright. You cannot tillnk So, madam; have I then the likeness of iny Saint you ever heard of? I would love God with all my heart, and believe I do So. I hate : vil; my unhappy neighbour excites my pity ind charity. It is true, that I love to divert my elf with my neighbour’s, follies, when he is in : asy circumstances; for, was he in distress I would )e blind even to his Saults. Js it my fault that ’ cannot help Seeing them.; does it lie in my ireast not to be the Democritus of my age? It s a diverston which offends nobody. It diverts hose who hear me. The patients whom I show n their natural shape, are. either ignorant of it lecause they are absent, or have the complai.fan.ce q laugh at it with rne; I know some who car 
6 5 L E T T E R Sv 
ry their goodness So far, as to take my irony for praise, and Say they are obliged to me for it. You see a person must be very precife'to take my gaiety in a wrong light. I love myself, the comforts of life, and my [ileafures. Is not this natural? Except Mr. Balfour, I don’t know a Single person in the ubiverfe who takes greater care of Self than I do; and where’s the crime? The world istilly enough to esteem people only, according to their dress, complexion, and a thousand other trifles. Is it a sin to comply with this folly! I wish it was the fashion to wear a dress, that clothed us from head to foot, that could be put en in a minute; I would be the first to submit to the fashion, provided others were obliged to conform too; for I would not be the only person in a fluttish undress, among a company of ladies Sull dressed,. You see L am humble, clarisia; and have abated something of the opinion I entertained of my charms; I no longer think dress necessary only for middling beauties, and absolutely hurtful to perfect beauties. I see here many ordinary women, with whom I would exchange faces, however regular mine is. But the shape, an English shape;; find mine of a stish nefs which cannot bear the easy negligence of a French Snape, where all is ease. These reflections would never have entered into the head 
of 
LETTERS. 67 
of a young saint, they Ell mine; therefore I 
can’t become one: all these trifles, which are 
not in themselves criminal, are obstacles. I say 
these things are not in the least criminal; fori 
have not vet met with a man who is not an 
•/ 
hundred degrees inferior to my husband;; must suppose.. Seeing them in this light, I have no great desire to please them. This, Clarissa, is the fine reasoning I have just held with our mother, concerning my vocation to Sanctity. This was her answer. 
If dear Harriet had vicious habits to corre^ violent passions to surmount, or wicked thoughts to purify, she ought not to think Sanctity impof stble; yet, I Should pardon her trembling at the thought of the painful victories she hast to gain. Nature does not like to suffer to reform; but she allows herself she is prevented, by trifles only, which her reason condemns, and for these trifles she refuses to fulfil the defiens of God on her. No, I do not doubt but she will now blush, thro’ Christianity, at those faults which fly will blush at ten years henoe, through maturity. I pardon her self-love, her taste for dress. Sic. provided — My mother stopped at this word, out of meet malice. She imagined I would press her to finish, she even longed for it. Had she been 
any 
68 L E T T E R S.. 
any other person, I Should have left her in post session of her Secret, which was none to me;, her eyes had already told me what she pretended, to make Such a difficulty of telling; but, she has Such an ascendency over me, that I can’t re ssss; her desires;; was desirous I should alk her,., and I did. She defires'as lively a charity for fools, the presumpl'uous, and ridiculous, as for the poor unfortunate : she pretends these last merit less ccmpasson than the others; because, the disorders of the mind are infinitely more dangerous than the sufferings of the body. Certainly these two women have secret intelligence with each other. I mean Mrs. Darby, and madam D’aftie; they ever return to this precept. Do not to others what you would not have others do to you. What do you think will be the result of all this? I shall become the most insipid person that can possibly be imagined. This fine work is already begun. T promise a company a pleasant story; our mother in the midst of my career, perceives that the jefi: is to be at this poor neighbour’s expense, whom she loves fo generally, and darts at me a suppliant glance, as if to beg mercy for him; and, behold I become quite insipid, and fit my auditors yawning, infieud of making them laugh. An embrace, an approbation from this mother, consoles 

L E T TERS. 69 
eles me for this misfortune. I don’t In the eafl: merit Heaven thereby, I say; fcr, in truth, ny only motive is to please you. She would persuade me that I am mistaken, and that I have loo good a heart not to design to please Gcd, my benefactor, master, and true father; she ends with telling me, (lie won’t examine my motives, which will be purified by degrees; and, that I km, at least, a gainer, by correcting a bad habit, 
tvhere are these people, who tempt us on Providence, by making.us remark the disorders which happen in the world.? For my part, I see God as an imperious master, who sports with the bad designs of the wicked, and makes them serve as instruments of his adorable intentions. Mr. Darby, for many years, gave himself up to the perversity of his heart. He makes a saint of our mother, who, with another husband, would have had only common virtue. He would engage you in the sacrilegious union, to poisefs your fortune; this is his intention; that cf God, is to, .make use of this excess, to awaken the consciences of the two accomplices, and bring them to repentance. He never ceases pursuing you with an inconceivable aversion;; results to you the most happy marriage, and both 
I 
for this life and Jhe life to come, a course open s 
for 
70 L ETTER S. 
N 
for heroic virtues, and into the bargain, a mother for me, who fulfils all the duties annexed to this relation, with a perfection, from which, I have already reaped the most precious fruits. Serioufty, my dear, I will spare nothing to pro sit by this grace; and, I every day feel my confidence and doeility, increase for our worthy mother. 
Mr. Balfour writes me word, that the English bishops think: of persecuting. Searches are jnade in all the countries to abolish popery, and prevent the secret exercise of this religion. This news has just been confirmed to me, by a fanatic, who, promises them Heaven as the reward of their zeal; I can hardly think alienation in general applauds it. The foundation of the reformation is liberty of conscience; every one, say the reformers, receives the light of the holy spirit to interpret the feripture. Consequently all sensible persons respect and cherish the catholics, who are honest, and good Subjects. The quakers who reject baptism instituted by jesus Christ, are tolerated at London, and in all places under the British government, and are Suffered to have public places of. worship. Why deny us our private chapels? Would they reduce us to despair? I don’t believe, it, the king is too good, 
the 
LETTER &. 71 
the government too enlightened to enfringe, a gainll the catholics alone, the law, which permits every one to.believe according to their owii way. My fanatic would have quoted the examples of the kings of France; but, I proved to " him, that the cafe V as quite different. A whole ■kingdom follows a religion, with which it is .content, for upwards of one thousand two hundred years; a small part of the nation wants to introduce another; those who are in poffestion oppose them, this is. natural. don’t imagine T think them authorised to torment the new comers; no; religion forbids persecution;; them think wrong if they will, we are accountable for our thoughts, only to God; the laws have a right over our actions alone, and; may oppose novelties which would disturb Society. The cafe is very different in England : the modern catholics, have been guilty of no innovations, they have antiquity to plead in their favour, and ought to be left unmolested of course. Henry the Eighth found their ancef -- tors in the same sentiments they postefs at present, let them be left in them. I wiil tell you iwhat I will do, says I, to this gentleman, I won’t yield to any Englishman, in love for my country; I love my king, our laws, and liberties, and I will make use of mine. I will settle 
in 
72 LETTERS. 
in the district of Bordeaux, and will carry wit me my persecuted brethren. This will depc pulate the kingdom; for my example will b followed; and the bishops must be thanked fc this, who take the liberty to deprive us of th right, which every Englishman has to be free Luckily my Sortune is in the public Sunds; have wherewithal to form vast colonies here. 
It would, nevertheless, cost me a great deal to banish myself from my country, my dear why won’t they leave things on their former Sooting, we are content to be excluded srom all dig nities, to pay double taxes, to be in danger ol being deprived of the patrimony of our fathers in Ireland; because a distant relation, by changing his religion, Supplants the right heirs, the children of the deceased. This, in my opinion, is Sufficient, and already too much. Prudence obliges those who are at the head of affairs to stop here, unless they would force us to .sty our country, 
( 
LETTER 
LETTERS. 73 
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LETTER XXXV 
MRS. DARBT TO CLARISSA. 
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f 
i < 
I Sincerely share, my dear Clarista, the admiration of my second daughter; it retards my being astbciated with you in your good works; but, God has spared me one here, which I discharge with the greatest pleasure in the world. Your Sister Harriet has an excellent difposttion, and only the fault of eighteen years of age. She does not deceive you, when she says, she is all of a sudden become a new creature. Her husband will hardly know her at his return. He does not explain himself, about the means he proposes to make use of to settle our affairs; but, he inststs he shall certainly succeed. However you ought to be easy; I have his word of honour that your intentions shall be followed with respect to your father; and, that he will respect the orders of Providence, which seem to have destined you to be sanctified through poverty. Harriet has given you a long account, which dispenses me from a longer letter; I foresee that the unravelling of our affairs, will give me occasion to write a much longer letter; and I spare myself for that. My humble respects to tiie ba 
vol. II E roness. 
74 LETTER sh 
ronefs. This is not a compliment without reality; I see no one who has a greater right to those of all mankind. I embrace my dear child, and her husband, whom. she does not deserve, if he resembles hi mother. 
LETTER S. 75 
i 
. LETTER XXXVI 
P 
CLARISSA TO MRS. DARBY. 
S 
I Triumph, I shall not keep a penny of the money I received; I have pleaded the cause of the poor, and God has made me eloquent. This is what I alleged in favour of our peasants. IS my fortune was confined to what I possess at present; it vvould be right to think about my children, is God gives me any: I could then, I think, in conscience, consecrate to the poor only the money tspared from my luxury and pleasures; but, have I not corisented they Should labour to be benefited by my donation? By adding what 1 possessed when I came hereto your little fortune, which you had from poor Mrs. Colby, we shall have about one hundred and Sorty pounds per annum, which is more than enough to bring up my Samily, especially, as I and the baron are resolved to make use of no mercenaries in their education. My present situation will procure them an habit of moderation, a good state of health, pure morals, and will teach them to be sensible of, to share, and to relieve, the di'strestes of the poor; I shall very sincerely bewail them, when a great fortune shall Snatch them from all these blessings, 
E 2 andl 
76 LETTERS. 
and afford them an opportunity to lose them, I have engaged, besides, to confine myself to this one sacrifice, while my fortune remains in its present state. Madam D’astie will not consent to the pleasure I should take in augmenting her trifling income; it was with difficulty she consented to accept fifteen guineas for the year I am to pafs with her; which, she says, will be Sufficient to defray all expenses; I shall, therefore, be reduced to hoard a treasure, which worms and rust may destroy, and robbers take from me; and, as a recompense, she permits me to make this trifling sacrifice. I have just informed you that I have only this year to pafs with my respectable mother in law; this sacrifice is the greatest that could have been proposed to me, but I must obey. This order has been ifliied in consequence of the assembly of our peasants. 
Notwithstanding the good that is done in our parish, our pastors and their aflbciate have still more exalted views. It was necestary, say they, to humour the weakness of persons whose habits were already formed; we therefore kept the meum and tuum, those fruitful sources of all the misfortunes of the universe. They are desirous of consecrating a place where these words 
should 
LETTERS. 7-7 
should never enter, and of whose happy Inhabitants, it might be said as of the primitive Christians, their goods were in common, they had but one mind, one heart j and we are designed to be at the head of this community. 
There is, about half a league distance, an hill covered with bushes; it has good springs, and an excellent exposure. It may be purchased at a very moderate price, for the proprietor reaps no advantage from it at present. At the foot of this hill we propose to settle some of our inhabitants, and form a little hamlet. We have fifteen children of good will, and ten foundlingvs who are to be married next year; my husband and three more who are married this year, in all make twenty-nine families for this hamlet, which will be called the Chrijiian Union. Mr. Duboc, the younger, goes with us, and undertakes to bring up the foundlings, and other children of the village, till their first communion. My husband founds this little college, for which purpose he sells the ring I gave him. I'he fifteen children of good will, relinquish to their families their right of Succestion; their wives follow their example, and the three of this year give up whatever they have received, on condition their families assist us in clearing the land, anss building our houses. 
E 3 The 
7, B. letter SOUTHWEST 

The great village undertakes to furnini us with provisions, for which they are to be paid. AIL cur meals are to be love feasts; that is, in common, and in my favour the poorness of the nourishment is mitigated, d'he bread will, on my account, be less black; we shall eat meat three times a week, the rest of the week garden stuff. A I arge hall will contain us at meal times, during which, one of the schoolboys will read to us. Some aged women,, of the other village,, who are widows, have requested leave to wait on us. Two are appointed for the kitchen, and the others are to take care of an. infirmary, which is to be placed at a distance from our habitations, that we may breathe a pure and wholesome air This infirmary will serve for the sick of the village, and those of the hamlet are to take care of them by turns. ouv lands are to be sown with the overplus that remains after purchasing the estate; the corn necestary for the fubststenee of the colony, is to be furnifbed by the village,, and is to be repaid out of our first crop. The hamlet is never to contain above sixty families,, who are to be chosen from the most exemplary. Those children of the inhabitants, who, by marrying, Shall. return to the village,, are to be portioned at the expense of the hamlet. This 
money shall be taken from the box, into which. 
all. 
LETTERS. 79 
\ 
all the profits that arise from the wares and work of the inhabitants, Shall be deposited. With this money a quantity of fluffs, linens and other necessaries shall be bought for the use 
cf the colonists. This warehouse shall be un 
/ 
der the care of two widows, who shall dillribute to each family the fixed habits, and shall take the old ones back to mend; and when any child is born, shall furnish it with all kind of neces faries. 
If any coicnift is disgusted with this way of life, or behaves in such a manner as to be excluded, he shall receive the value of what he 
• $ 
lost by coming to the mountain; but if hg brought nothing at all, something shall be given him to enable him to Settle himself in the village or elsewhere. 
The colonists must never forget, that they assembled together, to imitate the lives of the primitive chriftlans, who had but one heart and mind, and whose charity extended even to the heathens; much more should they preserve an union with their parents, and the inhabitants of the parish whence they came, 
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8o LETTERS. 
As often as time will permit, they are to go to the village to attend divine service, and may dine with their relations and friends, remembering, that great virtue, modesty and good nature is expected from them. Only in the evening, they must: ask permiftion of their pallor to stay in the village, on condition of returning at night to lie in the hamlet. IS any misfortune Should happen to the village or hamlet, they are mutually to alllft each other to repair it; the colonists especially, are never to forget the place from whence they came. And as they possess nothing of their own, if they become infirm, and are incapable, of getting their livelihood by their industry, they are to be maintained and provided for at the expense of the colony, in a place Set apart for the aged, and those in a state of recovery from fickness. 
In case of Suture contingencies, the colonies Shall astemble, to determine what is best to be done. The clergyman, for the time being, over them, Shall have two votes, and preside at the assembly. The Separation of the hamlet (hall not in the least withdraw it from the jurisdiction of the mother parish, to which it shall punctually pay its tithes. 
Aim 
LETTERS. 8i 
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A Sum of money Shall be hoarded up, not to ■exceed three thousand livres, as a fund for ex, traordinaries, and to portion those who are defi r rous to return to the village; but if any one is excluded for any scandalous crime, he (hall only have half the sum that is given to others. But if God should bless the colony sofar, as to have more than the above named sum, and their stated provisions j the remainder, at the end of the year, shall be distributed by the eurate to the poor of the parish, or in the neighbourhood, and he shall produce receipts from those to whom these alms have been given. 
But if, by length of time, this hamlet should be stiffolved, the lands purchased by madam D’aftie, whose maiden name was Darby," shall be sold, by order of the archbishop, for the time being, and the produce employed in founding charity Schools in those places, where he shall judge them most wanting. 
Such, my dear mother, is the family at the bead of which they mean to place me, notwithstanding my incapacity. Our hamlet might be considered as only one family. May God give his blessing to this work; and, if he blesses my ■marriage with many children, maybe grant me 
E 5 one 
\ 
82 LETTER S. 
. > 
, one willing to devote himself to; this work, in or 
der to repair the faults I have committedthere in. I think I Should have been willing to fi myself here all my life, but I must only stay ti things are thoroughly fettled upon the footing a greed on, after which I shall return to my mo there in law, and we shall content ourselves witi visiting them from time to time. 
1 
I acquainted you that the curacy was worti little more than twenty guineas a year, for several years past; it is at present worth doubt that sum by the increase of tithes; thus our cu rate has found himself in a situation to educat two young persons, whom he intends to succeed himself and his brother. Our archbifiioj having engaged his chapter, on whom this living depends, never to give it to any one who has no been educated to the ministry, we are careful a present not to suffer either priests or monks fo the following reason. 
All our young women are very pious and innocent. A good capuchin who preached oni Advent in the parish, cried up the ad vantages a celibacy fo strongly, and of a monastic life, thai half the parish would no more hear of matrimony. Our pastors have a great respect for th( 
- ■ m 
% 
LETTERS. 83 
state extolledi by St. Paul, but they are of opinion, that the vocation for a monastic life is much rarer than is imagined, and therefore did not encourage this fervour. At the end of six months, all these vocations disappeared;; which they returned God thanks: we have great need of good mothers of families, and they are very scarce. If we find real vocations we encourage 
I 
them! For these two years there have been only three girls and two lads in whom a real vocation has been observed. The boys are brought up to the ministry, as Ishave already told you, and are already in sacred orders. The girls are put into the hospital for the infirm., 
, ' 
» t 
I confess, my dear mother, I am as pafiion ately fond of this project as if it was my own invention; nevertheless, I should not have thought of it, if J had not recollected a project put in execution near St. Denis, in France, where a whole village lived as we propose to do. the superior of the convent of the., vifitatipn; at Rouen, wrote an account of it to my aunt : : I 
was then strongly affected with it; but my extreme youth effaced this pious institution from my mind : I recollect it at present, and hope for fugcefs, unless I spoil the scheme. I am going to turn this year to my advantage by gaining instruction. 

si LETTERS. 
! 
t, 
ftructiion, and Shall afterwards depend on that help of God. The innocence of these young couples will excite his blessing, and obtain me 
his divine assistance 
% 
yesterday finished our ceremonies J would to God people behaved in our churches with as much modesty as these poor people in their diversions;; they are tnerry, and divert themselves heartily. Industry gives a relish to recreation, I see it clearly, and doubt not but my Harriet will experience it at the expense of her vapours : idleness and a luxurious way of living, produces, or rather maintains them; for your condition, it is Said, may occasion them. Yet all our peasants are ignorant of this disorder. Their pregnancy does not in the least interrupt their labour, and frequently they have but just time to return home before they are brought to bed. They are kept within doors as much as 
possible, towards the end of she ninth month; 
\ 
bubcustora renders repose an unnatural state te ‘theai. 
I 
'I 
I 
I ' 
letteir 
I 
) 
I, \ 
1... 
\ 
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r 
i I 
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LETTERS. s 
LETTER XXXVIL 
CLARIS SA TO LADT HARRIET. 
I Give you joy, my dear Sister, on the new existence you have acquired with our common mother; I always hoped for this happy change; but, I Shall asture you, with the srank ness which friendship requires, that I did not expect it So soon. You are right, in Saying, our two mothers agree together; they go to the same School, and must, theresore, have the Same theme. The gospel is their lestbn, jesus their master. Then, this master is he who repeats to us, in a thousand different ways, Learn of me, that am meek, and lowly of heart. Love me,, love your neighbour; behold the law and the prophets. In this consists devotion and sanctity j everything which does not conduce hereto is illusory. I know, my dear friend, that your heart is free from gall; and that, at the moment when your tongue pierces like a pointed arrow, you would be ready to tear yourfdf into pieces, to serve this poor neighbour, whom you have just afflicted. I have sometimes seen children of a good dlfpofition, and extremely choleric, in the excess of their little fury, beat their playfellows; and, if these seemed in a humour to return their blows, the little dragon took fire, 
and 
86 LET E R S. 
and would tear their very eyes out, if he could, Had they, on the contrary, ill treated a meel: spirited timid child, who had no other means ol avenging himself than by his fears, the littk lion was immediately transformed into a lamb; would kifs his companion; embrace him; (hare with him his playthings;; in a word, would not be easy, till he saw him. consoled.for the blows he. had received. > 
* 
% 
This is exactly the cafe with my dear sister; she is almost in a state of despair when (he has wounded; but her repentance does not cure the wound Ihe has made : if she reflects seriously, as she has began to do, her good, heart, will resolve never to afflict any one. I live here in thecen. ter of charity, I asture you; and yet I difeover every day I have need to correct a fault, which makes my inferiours suffer.. Naturally absent!! at these moments with a severe decisive tone. Ash my poor Fanny, show often at first she suffered from this fault? She has even suffered,. when she has been convinced, my iiearl 
has had no share in this tone; which I have perceived, by her colouring, and sometimes bj her tears. I have even shed them myself on this I occasion.;.; I have brought witl 
me here, this fevere.sharp manner of speaking 
» 

LETTER S; 87 
My mother in law, whom, I had on my knees begged to acquaint me with my faults, has had the goodness to make me sensible of it several times. Her example more than her discourse will correct me, I am sure. It is impossible to be more considerate than Ihe is; She has a particular way of Speaking for every one, and this way of Speaking is always adapted to their necessities. Her Son afiures. me this is riot natural to her; file must, therefore, have taken infinite pains to acquire this evenness of temper which flies in a. pafiion at nothing, and is always ready to excuse the action from the intention. The woman Ihe has taken to look after the cattle, is. almost a simpleton,, which very reason, (he preferred her to others who Sought the advantage of being in her Service. If this poor creature was spoke to roughly, says she, she would become quite stupid; whilst, by a little patience, stie may be made fit for another Service. She has already made Several thorough servants;; when they are become Such, She parts with them to others. This Seems a trifle; yet, it is extremely toilsome; her meekness can only be compared with that of our pastors: : difficulties have they encountered to civilise their flocks; I Say, civilise them, my dear ^ 
and I do, not Say too much I find here a complete 
88 LETTERS. 
pleat proof of what I have read somewhere, that true politeness is inseparable frona a lively charity. Apply yourself therefore to render your words like the sentiments of your heart, and then, my dear lister will be perfect. 
I don’t wonder at your envying the peaceable and innocent life we here lead; we here see beautiful nature in everything, and (he is terribly disguised where you are. I have, nevertheless, heard say, that there is not a city in the world where fo many virtuous actions are performed. Since God fixes you there for two years longer, you Should endeavour to form a connexion with Some virtuous persons, whose Society may be at the Same time agreeable and lisesul. I recollect, that, in one of the first letters you wrote me after your arrival, you extolled greatly those philosophers without cloaks, who complied with everything in Society. This is laudable to a certain degree. A magistrate ought lo preserve connexions with his brethren, with his family : I Say as much of every other station; but, it is not necessary he fhoum confine himself to this society only; and, it is lawful to confort with those in whom we find a ‘conformity of taste and sentiment; provided, we '.do ijnot attach ourselves to them too strongly; for 
I think 
I, 
letters. 89 
t 
I think singularity always blameable. You have no connexions in this country; therefore, may better than another allow yourself this satisfaction. I think, I am rather Silly to give you advice j it is like carrying water to a river, and gold to Peru. You are at the Spring head, and run no rilk in following in this as in everything else, the counsels of our mother. The baron is at work for you, and Seems to me to have wrote a great deal. Who would have imagined, that at his age he had already experienced So many vicissitudes of fortune 1 
♦ • • rv 

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LETTER 
go LETTER S. 
LETTER XXXV HI. LADY HARRIET TO CLARISSA 
Behold 1 here is something to pay you beforehand, for the large packet you have made me expect. Mr. Balfour arrived yesterday evening, and has brought us the best news in the world. I make use of your language, my dear filler; for, I canst yet bring myself to rejoice, at feeing you stripped, and consigned to; your mountain. Hold, clarilta!, your project 
does not please me at all. 
J 
Mrs. Darby continues. 
\, 
I BEG my second daughter’s pardon; but, it is entirely to my taste. It is certain that in all Ij ages God relerves some chosen souls, whom 
i he sets apart, to make use of the expression: 
I; behold the origin of monasteries. The lirfl 
Hi ^ 
i: who separated themselves from' the society o: 
ir mankind, to live only for God,,, conceived 
|! that, notwithstanding their reparation, from th( 
i! society of mankind, nothing could dispense then 
I from the duties they owed society. A love of God 
||; which extinguished charity for our fellow crea 
I tures, would be illusory;; a love for ou 
I neighbour, may be considered as a rule by which 
we may found our love for. our Creator. By thi 
II strean 
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Ini 
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LETTERS. 9r 
stream we judge of the abundance of the Spring. Some, and by much the Smallest number, conse erated themselves to prayer; they were moses’s, who, while their brothers Sought in the plain, obtained victory for them, by perpetually list ing up their pure hands to Heaven. The rest, to this duty of charity, added another; and, while they prayed to God for the grace necestary for the wants of the Soul, employed their hands in labour, to afford them the means of relieving those of the body. Their Sobriety rendered their alms plentiful, and they might be considered as doubly usesul to Society. We read that this great number of anchorites,. Scattered over the desarts of the church,, met together in harvest time, and went in companies to hire themselves as labourers. Work interrupted not their prayers, prayers hurt not their labour j they received a certain quantity of corn in payment, and Several vessels might be Seen in the port of Alexandria, loaded with corn, the fruit of their Sweat, which was distributed amongst the poor. those who would imitate in Europe, the Anthonians, and monks of the order of St. Hilaire and St. Pacome, never lost sight of these important points, prayer and labour. We See in the rule of St. Benedict, how effen tiaj he thought this article. Two circumstances 
con 
92 LETTERS. 
i 9 
concurred, to make labour of hands neglested The barbarity of the ages brought on ignorance and the religious only, devoted themselves t study a work doubtless as salutary and mor painsul than corporal labour. The Seculars, t Second the religious and encourage them t study, ridded them from temporal wants, b bequeathing them considerable estates. Th first ardour being abated, they abandoned they studies, and returned not to labour. Parent accustomed themselves to confider monafterie 
i 
as honourable provisions for their families and placed their children there, without con fidering whether they had a vocation for thi way of lise. Many who had an aversion to useful employments through laziness, thought religious habit a Sufficient title to exempt they from being usesul to the state j and this muli 
tiplied these idle people to such a degree as t 
prejudice population and agriculture, either b diministiing the number of married subjects( ( their posteffing the lands which ought to betl property of the Subjects, and thereby reducingtl poor to the necessity of a state of celibacy, throus fear of increasing the number of wretche Hence the outcries against religious orders, though odious appellations of idle drones, hornets, d 
members, c. and wishes, to See these religioi 
houl 
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t 
LETTERS. 93 
loufes diflblved, which retain nothing of their rimitive institution but the name. You have ery justly remarked, that real vocations for ce bacy are very scarce. Your parish, in twelve ears, has had but five instances thereof j and, 
, great number of worthy fathers of families. I lare affirm convents would be reduced to a ery small number, if those only were admitted whom God calls to this state. Piety and religion would be no losers by this diminution of monks. Fhere would be fewer religious, without there leing fewer persons devoted to God j those that emained would be the sweet savour of christia lity J and with the superfluity of the revenue, an lexed to these monks who have only the habit, 
’ would have the same done in all our provinces, which you have done in that where you live. 
[ should like every village to have an hamlet Christian union, where those who were de irous of practising the gospel literally, might ■etire : these would be true monasteries useful to she state. These people would furnish an heal shy numerous race, for fruitfulness and health ire the consequence of labour and a sober way of ise. Their children, by entering into Society, would bring there virtues which would change the Sace osthe earth; our country places would become an heaven. A fine dream, my dear 
child. 
94 LETTERS. 
child, the divine goodness grant it may be re; lized; it Seems difficult only at a distance, ar there wants only one lord of a district, wort! of being foto realise it among his valtal One of the regulations which pleases mebel is the leaving the colonists at.libertyto returni the village. You will find but few who will tat the advantage of it; all would have wished f( it, had they been forced to continue their ref dence at the hamlet. 
i 
•but, my dear child, there is one article anion your rules to which I will never consent; m I think I huve sufficient reason. That which subjects you to common nourishment. God h; made different conditions in life, and will that each should live according to his ftatioi We have received, by succession, less robu bodies than peasants; and, our employments C not demand greater strength; we have, in oi youth, contracted an habit which cannot 1 destroyed, without risquing our lives, Gc forbid, I should make myself an advocate fi luxury and fuperstuous wants; no my child, would only preserve the established order. God designed you for the state of life, you hai yourself chose, he would have manifested h will, by absolutely stripping you of every thin 
ar 
LETTERS. 95 
incl then, I Should have been the first to have incouraged you to walk with joy in the station Providence had placed you in : the contrary has happened; all your fortune is secured to you, 
and it is your duty to act like a person who must 
» • / 
one'day reenter into the society of her equals. If you regard me, your table (hall be separate;; shall Suffer nothing there which looks like luxury; and, you Shall also not experience any of those denials, which are the consequence of poverty. Your honest people would not be offended at this, were they told, that Providence has bestowed on you great riches; and, that your way of living, though above theirs, is infinitely shelow what you are in a condition to follow, if you were not willing to approach their condition. I hope, madam D’astie will not disapprove of my reflections on this subject;; 
think them just. I flatter myself also she will 
0 
herself relax something of her moderation; you would suffer too much to be better treated than her. I respect her virtue infinitely; Ihe has submitted to the orders of Heaven in her poverty; ought the not to have the Same subhiifll6n, an she change it has permitted her to experience; a change she neither wished, or Sought for? 
Mr. 
I. 
.. i, 
o6 LETTERS. 
Mr. Baron, it is to you I recommend daughter; I have consented cheerfully to gift She has made you of herself; but, it on condition you Should take care of our C mon treasure; if you leave her to herself Shall either lose her soon, or have the unha ness to See her drag on a languistiing lise, a broken constitution; stie is not in the lea to undergo the fatigues of a Carmelite. 
I 
Lady Harriet continues, 
AT last my turn is come, they have ir rupted me only to come into my opinion, main in your desert, according to your new der : but no repasts like anchorites. My mo intreats, I threaten. Hear me, Mr. Baron; ] i fist on your word of honour, that my Cla 
Shall be treated like a person of her conditii I don’t desire you to feed her with ortol< though they are plenty where you are; but, least, let her live as persons of easy circi stances do in town. Charity begins at hoi we say in English. This is more than char it is but justice, and I shall cite you as an faffin before the tribunal of the whole unive; if you do not make use of your authority, 
fo 
LETTER S. gy 
Force your wife to live in a proper manner. Persuade, madam, your mother, that her example will be the only means to engage Clarissa to do fo J you are rich enough to afford this expense. I am going to be Mr. balfour’s secretary; or rather to spare him the trouble of dictation, and give you an account of his voyage. 
Some days before he left Paris, lie conceived the most happy prognoscic of the success of his enterprise towards which, Prmidence furnished him with unexpe6ted helps. vse have at Paris no more servants than are absolutely necessary;; in his first voyage, Mr. Balfour was accompanied only by his valet de. chamber, and proposed to take him this journey. By the greatefi: good luck in the world, this lad was seized with a tertian ague; and, notwithstanding his earnest entreaties to go with his master, my hufl)and would not suffer him to hazard increasing his distemper. He was also as unwilling to deprive me of the only servant who spoke English, and being a good deal embarrafied mentioned it to a countryman and acquaintance, whom he met at the coffeehouse. I can eafiiy' do without one of mine, says his friend to llirn I shall stay about four months at Paris before S Set out for Italy; I have hired an Englishman, 
vol. II F ^yhy 
98 LETTERS. 
■who knows the three languages, and is absolutely of no use to me while I remain here. If you expect to return in a month, I will lend you him with all my heart: he is a sensible fellow, and has had a better education than people of his station generally have; has always lived with persons of fashion, and has been several years in the family of a gentleman of distinguished piety and virtue. You will difobligs me very much, if you make any excuse about this matter. 
It was not natural for my husband to "be carious about the name of the mafier, whom this man had served fo long. Nevertheless, a kind of secret impulse engaged him to ask it. Judge his surprise when he heard the name of the dean of Colborne, and discovered that the servant who was offered him, was the infamous James. He knew his friend well enough to be sensible he was incapable of making an ill use of the secret he was about to impart to him; he therefore frankly owned to him, that one of the principal motives of his journey was to secure this wretch who was in his service. He has been guilty of perjury, says he, to charge with an horrible crime, two persons whom I love and re; 
; 
L E T T E R S. 99 
Spect infinitely; they have been forced to fly their country, and one of them is now at my house, where I cherish her as my mother. It is ‘therefore necessary to secure this villain, and draw from him the neceitary difavowals for the justification of my friends. I can’t mention their names, out of respect for their 
persecutor J but...... I guess, replied his friend. 
You certainly mean Mrs. Darby and her daughter. James has entertained me with an account of their flight; but, the rafeal has taken care not to tell me the share he himself had in this affair. Acquaint me with it, that I may be in a better condition to serve you. Is it possible these ladies are innocent? My husband eafliy convinced his friend, and did it with the utmost tenderness, with respect to the father of Clarissa, by observing, that possibly Mr. Darby might have been terribly abused by a servant, in whom (he put confidence. The business was to oblige the calumniator to retract his evidence; and this, which seemed mighty easy in speculation, to them appeared very difficult in the execution, and the more fo as Mr. Balfour was absolutely resolved to spare the reputation of the person who had fet James to work, which excluded the eommon ways of justice. Besides, he was not «ertain he could make use of them in France, 
F 2 against 
ft 
loo LETTERS. 
against a person who had done nothing contrary to the laws of the kingdom, where he then resided. It was possible to gain him by promises, or to intimidate him by menaces; but what weight would the retraction of this wretch be of, if it was not obtained juridically? We might be accused of having forged it. My husband quitted his friend quite undetermined how to act; and, his uneasiness prevented his closing his eyes the whole night. He met his friend early; the next morning, according to appointment, at a coffeehouse;; James must certainly know his name, and it was of consequence not to give him the least suspicion. They resolved to send this villain on a message out of town; and to employ the time of his absence, in searching his box for letters from Mr. Darby, that might serve to prove their intelligence; which scheme was executed. They had looked over almost all his clothes to no purpose; when they found a pair of old stockings rolled up, which felt fo weighty as to induce them to unroll them; they contained one hundred and twenty guineas, two rings of value, 
V 
and your diamond collar. They readily guelsed he had taken an advantage of the moment of your mother’s flight with Montalvo, to com mit this robbery J and, that he had accused hei 
oi 
LETTERS. 101 
bf having broke open the chest of drawers where these jewels were, which had some appearance of probability. They thought they had enough to intimidate him; and, Mr. Balfour waited for him with impatience in his friend’s closet. He did not know my husband’s face; but, trembled when he heard his name, after having taken notice that he locked the door. Then his master laying the diamonds on the table, my husband told him, he claimed them, as the property of miss Darby, from whom he had an authority to apprehend his servant as a thief. The villain at first behaved with great effrontery, and said these diamonds were given him by Mr. Darby, as a reward for his zeal in the pursuit of his daughter. It is not usual to make such presents to a servant, replies Mr. Balfour sternly. Sir, says he to his friend, ring for your servants, and order them to fetch a commissary, and the man we apprehended last night, the worthy accomplice of this perjured rafeal, this poifoner; but he was not concerned in the dean of col borne’s death; and i have promised him his life as a reward for the sincerity, with which he has confessed his crimes; this fellow shall pay for both. \ desire also you would send your chaise to my house for Mrs. Cofby, who has proofs of the dean’s being poisoned, which will prevent 
F 3 his 
102 LETTER S. 
his trial from lasting 3 .great while, and the rack will, doubllefs, difeover many other things. 
James, audacious as he was, was thunderstruck at these words : he Sell on his knees, and begged for mercy; and my husband, after having long Seemed inexorable, at last pretended to yield with difficulty, to the interposttion of his friend, who entreated him to be favourable, and not to expose him. This wretch’s pardon is in his own hands; let him endeavour to sur nifh us with means to justify Mrs. and miss 
Darby from the crimes they have been fo dif 
{ __________________________________ 
gracefully accused of, arid I give my word of i honour to let him escape the justice of man; 
I! but let him Sear falling into the hands of the 
i; justice of God, which is infinitely more terrible. 
A conseffion of his crimes is the first step towards obtaining the mercy of God., 
i. ' 
ft 
i ^ ' 
: !■; Tames promised the utmost sincerity;; to 
1(1 
i give a proof that he would keep his word, took |\; out of his pocketbook a bill for 1000 pounds, 
. 11 t 
I which Mr. Darby had given him on a banker II at Rome, on conditioa of his Settling in this ca 
yij pital of Italy. This was Something; but my 
11 husband was desirous of accumulating means 
III i to induce Mr. Darby to. do whatever he required 
l i'! ‘ -■ ^, 
f' ' ol 
’bi I 
Mli, 
; Ict 
LETTERS. 103 
ot Him, therefore proposed to James to make a conseffion of all these crimes to two ecclefiastics, who (hold draw up a deed thereof, which he should sign, in presence of a notary public : he was a long time before he consented to this 5 but after many repeated promises, that what he did should not at all be made use of against him, he complied. Two ecclesiastics and a notary public were sent for. James wrote first himself an exact confession of. his crimes in English; after which the notary swore him, - and wrote his deposition in French;; under the original. This deed was afterwards ligned by the ecclesiastics, and by Mr. balfour’s friend; my husband himself did not choose to Sign his name. I don’t know whether such an act would have been valid in law, but it was not intended to be produced in a court of justice.. my hushand’s design was only to frighten Mr. Darby, and bring him into reasonable terms. They then, told the criminal that he should be kept prisoner in this closet, and not permitted to go out till your father had publicly repaired your injured reputation. I know my dear sister must suffer infinitely by being acquainted with the violent steps my husband was obliged to take against a person to whom she thinks she still owes respect, d even loves; and that she would have sacri 
F 4 steed 
■ 104 LETTERS. 
ficed everything to spare him this pain. I applaud her attachment to her duty as a daughter; but I entreat her to confider, that her duty towards her mother is as sacred as the other. She has lost her reputation; she is banished like a criminal; everything that is done for her justification ought to.ineet with glarifia’s approbation: : the greatefi: good that can be don her persecutor, is, to force him to repair his injustice. When this first step is taken, his conversion will become more easy;; sirs proceeding is an act which must precede hii repentance. 
.James was almost distracted when he founc his enlargement depended on Mr. Darby; h knew the difficulty of getting him to retract hii I contrivances; and to oblige him to it, he desired 
leave to write to him. This was what Mr ' Balfour wanted, folie permitted him. I omi 
this letter, though an original, as I know i I would afford you no amusement. I shall onl; 
I acquaint you, that, when my husband had go 
I it into his poffestion, he no longer doubted th' 
II. success of his undertaking. I had been very uni; 
easy about the anxiety I had observed him la 
1; hour under, which he had ineffectually endea 
B vou red to conceal from me, under pretence C 
i: ■' ^ 
L E TTER S. 105 
a slight indisposition;; was not less confounded at the prodigious change I remarked in his countenance, when he returned to dinner. He foresaw the questions we Should ask him on this head, and naturally told us his uneasiness and joy had arose from your affairs, desired us to suspend our curiosity with regard to this matter, till his return, and that he could now affure us, his journey would be short, and attended with all possible success. ' 
My dear, my dear. Says I to mysels, thank the presence of my mother; you Should not escape with this declaration, if I was not asraid of the looks she gives me when I commit a Solly.' Secrets for Harriet, for this dear hals of himself, as he frequently calls me! He 
knows her but little, if he flatters himself 
♦ ' 
to keep his, secret till his departure. Doubt not, Clarissa, but I would get it put of him, were it but to convince him of the authority I have over him; but our mother makes me promise not to make any attempt to know it; he will fet out in possession of his secret, and I ftianst deceive you, when I acquaint you I am ignorant of the means he intends to employ, to succeed in his enterprise. 
% 
F 5* Indeed, 
'.’i> 
io LETTER S. 
Indeed, the valet de chambress fever was a favour of the lord’s; I repeat it; it went off ^fter the third fit, exactly at the time he wa wanted; fo that he was able to accompany ray husband. Mr. Darby had lest Old Windsor, and they were two days in London before they could find him out. Mr. Balfour having discovered that he lodged at a hagnio,. went there, attended by his valet de chamber, and two other servants. these three attendants stayed in the antechamber. Mr. Darby vas yet in his nightgown when my husband entered his room, and notwithstanding his endeavours to alturne a chearsul countenance,, it was easy to perceive that this visit was not agreeable to him : he nevertheless ran to embrace Mr. Balfour. You are a man of your word, Says he to him; likely you bring my jade of a daughter’s resignation ol her fortune in my Savour; is The at last married? Whom has She married? At the bottonij I Should have loved her, if if had not been foi the trick (he played me in making my sister disinherit me; but if (he cheerfully repairs this fault, I will restore her my tenderness, and woulc have allowed her something for her maintenance, if the baggage had not already made. provision for that. Do you know the mother 
has carried off all her daughter’s jewels, witl 
ai 
LETTERS. 107 -- * 
an intention to give them to her, doubtless? With this sum, and what Clarissa has got from the sale of her pearls, they must have enough to live decently, in some corner; and the boobv) who has married Clarissa, has reason to be contented with his good fortune; for Ihe informs me he is a mean fellow, perhaps some footman. 
A very fine match for a young lady of quality! 
« 
I have suffered you to say everything you pleased without interrupting you, replied Mr, Balfour; may I expect the same favour from you? First, it is not true, that the person whom Clarissa has married is a mean fellow; Ihe was determined to have even married beneath herself, if She could have found no other match, to have had it in her power the sooner to regctn your heart by the cession of -- — 
Oh! I have no further occasion for her consent, for the greatefi part of her fortune, says Mr. Darby, interrupting him; the law has put me in poffefllon already of her estate in Ireland. The business at present is only about her money in the funds, and two old houses, which I don’t much care about; and if you had come a fortnight later, you would not have met with me, for I propose taking, a journey to Ireland, and I 
have 
ft 
i LETTERS. 
have a project: thereon to communicate to you, You are the friend of my daughter and wife; I have known the time you were mine; would it not be a masterpiece of friendship, to settle everything that is past to the content of all parties? This is the motive of my journey, replied my husband. Explain your views, an be assured, that your wife and daughter will agree to everything you can propose, confiftenl with honour and religion. 
ft 
Stuff"! Mr. Balfour, honour and religion an fine words, which every one makes use of, anc explains after his own way; I have honour anc religion, I myself; it is true, mine don’t in thi least resemble what my females call by thii name, and perhaps is worth more; but this II not the point in question. Apropos, you likely may know where Ihe is? 
At my house, Sir, replied my husband. Youi virtuous daughter is gone with her husband I [ the baron D’aftie, to his mother’s, by whom sh 
is adored; and to make you easy at once about[ [ fate of all who might interest: you, I Ihal 
acquaint you, that Mrs. Colby died, expreflim the utmost detestation for her ill conduct, ai my house, of a malignant fever, which carrier 
hei 
I 
m 
B 
LETTERS. 109 
her off in seven days, but left her time sufficient to discharge her conscience. She thought it her duty to make certain depolitions, the contents whereof I am ignorant of, which are in the hands of your wife; she caught this distemper by attending Mrs. Darby, who was in the utmost danger from the Same fever. Montalvo, after having closed his mother’s eyes, retired to the Chartreux, where he incessantly implores God to turn your heart. 
He has a great deal of goodness left, replied Mr. Darby. To do well, my wife Should die; her prayers in Heaven would have been more efficacious. Alas! my friend, you know there never was an union less properly suited, than mine with this bigot; She told me once, I made her life a purgatory to her; and I can Say, She has made mine an hell to me; Ihe can, if (he pleases, foetus both at liberty; let her consent to a divorce, i’ll soon find out means to obtain it from the ecclesiastical court, I have a mind to marry again. My daughter shall renounce her whole fortune, and i’ll generously allow her a few thousands to live like a baroness. 
Mr. Balfour could scarce contain himself at this discourse j however, being desirous to found 
this 
% 
no E. E T T E R SV 
this myflery.of iniquity, he repressed his indignation, and asked Mr. Darby how he would act, to procure a divorce. Nothing more easy, replied Mr. Darby. A circumstance must first be allowed, which can be disputed by fools only, that a prudent woman is a phoenix, which ought to be ranged among imaginary beings. This granted, I ought not to think myself privileged beyond other husbands. My wife has just given a. proof of the licentiousness of her conduct, by running away with a booby. I shall give this action its full weight, and by, the assistance ofa little money, shall by this means obtain a diftb lution of our marriage, a divorce in proper form. I shall then have it in my power to marry again; and my wish, quit of an husband she hates, will no longer be under a necessity to 
have recourse to poison to -- -- -- -- Stop, Sir, says 
Mr. Balfour,. whose patience was quite exhausted;; will no more have the same helps to calumniate the purest' virtue, as you have heretofore had; your accomplices are— — read james’s letter. At the same time he threw it on the table. Mr. Darby seemed quite thunderstruck; and, after having read the letter, cursed the traitor a thousand times, and said, he would find means to make him repent his impertinent epistle. Believe me, Mr, Darby, 
says 
ti 
\ 
LETTER S. ill 
says my husband, the befl: thing you can do on this occasion, is, to lend your helping hand to the efforts I (hall make to accommodate this affair. Here is a copy of a deed passed in a judicial manner, which would throw you, into the utmost embarrassment, if it was made public. The remains of friendship.. the regard I have for your wife and virtuous daughter, induced me to endeavour to get into my poffellion a writing which might ruin you. Profit by my good will, and be assured, that, without the positive orders of the baroness D’aftie, you would not have come off at fo cheap a rate. As soon as he had done speaking, he Showed him the deed that had been obtained from James, which permitted him to utter only some broken exprefiions, that seemed to indicate a sort of repentance. He concluded, by asking Mr. Balfour if he knew any method of escaping the precipice on which he flood.. 
I have told you, replied Mr. Balfour, I have found means to get. into my possession the original of this deed; I can cancel it, but it is on these conditions. First - act must be annulled, which has put you in poffeftion of your daughter’s estate in Ireland : - you must make a deed of sale of it to me,, and I will consent to 
leave 
II LETTERS. 
. leave you the income thereof, during your life on condition it (hall revert to your grandchildren after your death. Nothing could oblige your virtuous daughter to give up the remainder of her fortune in England, and in the bank of Genoa; nevertheless, Ihe is empowered by her husband to leave you the income thereof during life, fo earnest is her desire to regain your heart. As to the condition I added to this cession in my preceding journey, it is now a matter of indifference to me; I have in my possession sufficient to oblige you to drop the prosecution you have commenced against these two innocent persons: : would fain think, that this villain, James, accuses you of having suborned him to be guilty of perjuring, with a view of excusing himself; yet as he has a bill of yours for loool. this might give credit to the calumny. If you would be ruled by me, you would join in all the necessary proceedings to persuade the public, that it is to you, your wife and daughter owe their justification. Go with me before a judge, and declare you have been imposed on by a rafeal, who, through remorse, has confessed his calumny and perjury : James shall write you in consequence a letter, that you shall make public in the daily papers, and all the periodical works, and I will undertake to publish it 
in 
r 
LETTERS. 113 
in France, and wherever elfe the calumny has transpired. If you consent to this, I will suppress the first letter, and you shall not be in the least accused in the other: if you refuse to follow my idvice, I (hall be under the disagreeable necessity of printing the first letter. You must be Sensible, it must give me the utmost concern, to be the means of bringing disgrace on an old friend, So nearly related to ladies, for whom I have the greatest: regard, 
Mr. balsour, you put me to a nonplus; are you not asraid? — No, Sir, I fear nothing; I brought three persons with me, who wait in the antechamber, and on the first word will call a constable to conduct: us both before a magistrate. I would Save you; don’t through obstinacy ruin yourself. I act with Such stnce rity on this occaston, that you may immediately Secure the income of clarista’s whole fortune to yoursels, by the Same deed which Secures her es tate in Ireland to her children after your death. Send for your council. We won’t talk about the reparation of honour, till your interests are properly Secured. 
N. 
It was very likely that Mr. Darby was asraid my husband would break his word, after having 
§ o 
t • 
• ^ 
\ 
214 L E .DT E R S. 
got from him what he wanted; for he had hardly proposed the execution of these deeds, before he Sa d, I begin to think you mean fairly, Mr. balsour: let us begin with the writings, and directly rung the bell, and ordered one of his servants to fetch Mr., B. —,. who end his business immediately. 
My heedlesthefs made me forget to tell you, that my husband was furnished with this Second letter, which he promised to make James write. Now, says he to Mr. Darby, that you put confidence in my word, I will show you the piece that will serve to justify you to the public. You wie perceive thereby hov: dear your interests are to me. 
LE T terjames, to Mr. Darby, 
S I R, 
A WRETCH tortured by remorse, on his knees, conjures you,, to assist him., in. repairing his crimes. At the instigation of a person, whose name is of no consequence, I have standeredtwo ladies, in whom I ever observed the purest virtue. It is a falsehood that Mrs. and Miss Darbj ever solicited me to attempt your life, as I have 
wickedlj 
LETTERS. 115 
wickedly asserted;; poison which I produced before the magistrate, was given me by a cruel enemy of these ladies. For my reward I was to have one thousand pounds; I renounce this cursed Sum, and humbly beg your pardon for having instigated you to prosecute persons fo dear to you. I entreat you would make this reparation public. I am preparing to go to the new world; but will not leave Europe, till I behold my recantation made as public as my calumny has been. 
J A M E S. 
You are a devil of a man, Mr. Balfour, and you have found the way to catch me like a rat in. a trap. Behold the fine exclamation which Mr. Darby uttered, who, nevertheless, got himself out of this hobble like a man of spirit.. The mo tnent he saw the counsellor he had sent for, he run to him with open arms. Wish me joy, my dear friend, says he, this is the happiest day I have ever seen;; hath discovered the innocence of the persons who are most dear to me in the world.. Read this letter, which Mr. Balfour has been kind enough to bring me : it is a fer viee I shall never forget j this is true friend flstp iadeed, 1 
Lideed, 
m6 LETTERS. 
Indeed, Sir, says the counsellor, this James was a great rascal! It is pity he has. not declared the name of the person who Set him on; I Should take a great pleasure in Seeing Such a villain hanged. Could not you persuade him to copfess who it was? No, Sir, replied my husband;; made Several vain attempts; and at lad I must own I was Satisfied with the reasons he gave for concealing his abettor; let us think only of returning thanks to God for this happy discovery;; do you lend us your assistance, to Seal the reconciliation of a family, whom thii rafeal had fet at variance. Miss Darby, at present the baroness D’aftie, is married very advantageoully; and as she thereby possesses a sufficient fortune to maintain her honourably, according to her rank, Ihe is empowered by her husband, the baron D’aftie, and by his mother, who is his guardian, to make over the produce of her whole fortune to Mr. darby’s use, during his life; who, in return for his daughter’s kindness, consents to execute a deed of Sale and gift of his estate in Ireland to me in trust, for the use of his Said daughter and her lawsul heirs for ever, reserving to himsels the income thereos during his own lise. Nothing can be more generous on the fide of the daughter, or more just on the father’s, replied the counsellor. It is necessary, 
gentlemen, 
t 
LETTERS. 117 
gentlemen, to put in my hands the whole title leeds of madam D’aftie and her aunt, and I will finish the writings in two days. All my laughter’s title deeds are in her house at Old Windsor, says Mr. Darby; as to the will, we 
must procure a copy of it from Mr., the 
notary public, but this will take up two or three days at least. I will undertake to get a copy of the will, says my husband; while Mr. Darby puts the title deeds in order. Oh, my dear friend, replies your father, I am quite ignorant about business, and shall want your judgement to unravel this chaos of papers. Will you undertake it, in concert with Mr., while I 
procure a copy of the will? My husband had his reasons for wanting to see the original of this will; but he also had as strong, to go to your house; folie accepted this last proposal, and agreed to fet out after dining at his inn, along with Mr. Darby and she other gentleman. Mr. Darby conducted them to Windsor, and left them there to continue his route. My husband had not forgot the description which Mrs. Darby had given him of the bureau, where she had de poiited she eight or nine thousand pounds which you had entrusted to her care; and while the counsellor was busied about the writings, attempted to open the private drawer of this 
bureau. 
ii LETTERS. 
bureau, which, by good luck, was in the cham. ber where he was to lie. Notwithstanding the instructions of your mother, it was a Jong while before he could succeed. He found the sum the same as you mentioned, and took care to depo stte it in a place of sasety. Add to this Sum, my dear Clarista, the value of your diamonds, which have been got out of james’s hands, and what you and your marntpa already have, and you will find you have almost Seven hundred pounds per annum. But this is not all, Mr. balsour could not digest: the loss of yout jewels which were hid in the chaise, and was absolutely determined to recover them. He advertised theresore, a reward of one hundred guineas, for the man who drove two persons, 
who were particularly described, to, asa 
recompense for the loss of his time, and the uneasiness their flight might have given him. There was room to fear this man’s suspecting some design; therefore, everything that could be thought of was added to this advertisement, in order to encourage him. This hackney man, who was supposed to live somewhere in the north of England, dwelled at London, and sent the next morning one of his servants to inquire about the affair, to the coffeehouse, that had been mentioned in the advertisement. 
The 
L E T TER S. 119 
The master of this coffeehouse, who had lived with Mr. Balfour twenty years, assured the hackney man’s servant, that he had nothing to fear from his old master, who was one of the worthiest men in the kingdom; and, as the counsellor had put james’s recantation into all the news papers the Same day, he related the whole affair to the master, who came himsels, as Soon 
as he received his servant’s answer. The master 
\ 
the coffeehouse did not wait for this second visit, but immediately sent an express to Mr, Balfour, the moment he knew the coachman lived at London. Though Mr. Darby was expected that very day, my husband did not think it right to delay this affair; and, having promised the counsellor to return the next day before dinner, took post, and arrived at the coffeehouse a few minutes after the hackney man was gone. This man had refused to tell his name and place of abode; but he had been dogged; and, Mr. Balfour went to his house immediately, without giving himself time to pull off his boots. He was not yet returned; and, his wife seemed frighted, when (he knew that the person who was with her was the author of the advertisement, and a member of parliament. Mr. Balfour soon removed her fears, by telling her that you were So well pleased with her hushand’s behaviour on 
the 
120 LETTERS. 
the road, that you was desirous of making him a recompense. Indeed, Sir, says this woman, it would have been cruel to have behaved ill to fo charming and affable a young lady. My husband knew well enough there was Something Strange in hei‘ journey; she Seemed to him to be afraid of being Seen; but, it is not his bufiness to intermeddle with the affairs of people who employ him; he is well paid for what he does; and, at the inns they behaved like gentlefolks; that was all that concerned him. Has She acquainted you, Sir, that Ihe left a parcel behind her? I have taken great care of if, with an intention to return it, is she claimed it upon paying the chaise hire; for I am not a woman who makes use of things which don’t belong to me; everybody knows, thank God, that I am an honest person. You may keep the parcel, iiiys Mr. Balfour, I make you a present of it, besides the hundred guineas I promised your husband. But tell me, good woman, has your husband drove anybody hereabouts.'’ Yes, Sir, he has drove in this very chaise a citizen and his daughter, who went to see one of her aunts. Apropos, about this chaise, says Mr. Balfour, the young lady assured me, there was not an easier carriage in England; and, that your huftiand has also excellent horses; I 
pur 
LETTERS. 
II 
purpose hiring it, during my stay here; and, if your husband has a mind to sell it, i’ll buy it with all my heart, when I return to France: the young lady will be delighted to have the carriage which has done her fo much service in aflisting her to escape. I am persuaded, Says the woman, my husband will do everything in his power to oblige you, Sir; but, here he comes. As Soon as he entered the room, my husband threw an hundred pound bank bill on the table, and Said, here is the reward I promised the person who Saved miss Clarista; give me in a few words an account of your journey. Look ye, Sir, says the hackney man, I have been told, you are a very honest gentleman; and, that you don’t seek to overreach me. I know neither of the persons I drove, I can easiiy prove it; for the rest, they seemed to me gentlefolks, only they did not pay me; but that was not fault. I opened the bundle that was left behind the chaise, and took an account of its contents, in presence of the landlord, his wife, and servants, who stgned their names to the paper; I am ready to deliver it up; and I don’t think I am any more to blame for having kept it, than I am for having let my chaise. One is not obliged, I suppose, to alk those one drives, who they are, and why they travel? Certainly, replitcl Mr. 
vol. II G Balfour 
? 
122 LETTERS. 
I 
Balfour, you are not to blame. As to the bundle, I have given it to your vise, and tb bank note is yours : and, while I have occafioo for one of your business in England, I willem ploy you, depend upon it; I like obligim people, and you have been very much So to the young lady, who will never Sorget it. Thank God, Says the hackney man, nobody has everyet had reasen to complain of me; I always endeavour to give Satisfaction to gentlefolks, by whom I get my living. James, says his wife to him, the young lady would like to buy tlje chaise, to put her in mind of her adventure; I am certain you won’t refuse her this satisfaction. No, nor anything elfe that was in my power, says her husband. You are an honest fellow, replies Mr. Balfour, send it to my inn, and fix your price j tomorrow you, or one of your men, (hall drive me to windsor; and, if it proves as easy a carriage as miss Darby Says, i’ll buy it. 
The hackney man locked up the bank note in his bureau; and desired Mr. Balfour to gc with him to the place where he kept his carriages, and (hewed him the poft chaife you hac rode in. Mr. Balfour, under pretence osexamin ing it, got in, to Seel whether it was well stuffed and at first: discovered nothing. As a blind t( 
letters. 123 
get rid of the man, Mr. Balfour had laid his fnuff box on the chimney-piece, behind a tea cup; when he vas in the chaise, he pretended to want a pinch of snuff; and, having fumbled in all his pockets, says to him, I have left my snuffbox at your house; I would not lose it for the world, though it is not of any great value; be kind enough to step and look for it. IS it is in my house, replied the hackney man, it is as safe as in your own pocket; and immediately went home to search for it. Mr. Balfour having felt every wstiere in vain, lost all patience, and with his knife cut the lining of the chaise into pieces. Indeed your treasure was safe; for it was impossible to difeover it by feeling. He had scarcely found it and put it into his pocket, before the rrsan returned, and seemed greatly Surprised at what had been done in his absence. I doubted. Says Mr. balsour, this chaise was badly stuffed; and, as I did not like the yellow lining, L ent it to look in the inside. Here are six. guineas for you; let it be better stuffed with hair, and let a red bining be piit'in; and in two or three days, rii look at it ag^in. He then went away, immediately took post, and arrived at Old windsor in the evening; where he Sound Mr. Darby but just difinounted. The next morning, the deeds were executed, according to 
G 2 3grce - 
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agreement; and, Mr. Darby was fo well pleased with the turn the affair had taken, that he generously offered to send you all your clothes and linen, as well as those of your mother; which was accepted. 
My husband had determined to go to the notary, with whom the original of your aunt’s will had been deposited;, and did not defer putting this step into execution, as Soon as your affairs wer entirely Settled. He had a long while entertained Suspicions, which he was desirous of clearing up. In the first: mention you made to us of your aunt’s will, you were not at liberty to dispofeof your estate, even by marriage. You had acquainted us, that the person whp copied it had made a mistake: the omisticn of an article of Such consequence, did not Seem natural; and he imagined there was some Secret at the bottom which it might be of consequence to difeover. He went to the notary’s, and told him sternly, that the will which made you heiress was forged, that he had certain proof of it; and that he was going to assemble the persons who were present at the first reading this important deed, whose testimonies would be evidence against him. My husband found he had not guested wrong, by the terror of the notary; and continuing to talk 
like 
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like a person who went on sure grounds in what he did, soon saw the notary at his feet, conjuring him to pity his family, and not be his ruin. He was surprised at such a ready con 
feltion of guilt; because he was ignorant that 
* 
Mr. Darby had acquainted this person, that the principal author of the forgery was in custody; and he at first thought my husband knew more of the affair than he really did. Some words of imprecation against the traitor, informed him of the motives of the notary’s conduct, who offered to do everything in his power to repair his fault. This was not possible, the original will was burnt; and to endeavour to restore it would have made a noise; and this did not fuit Mr. balfour’s intentions. He therefore contented himself with making this wretch refund;, five thousand pounds, which he had received as the reward of his crime; and obtaining from him an acknowledgment in writing of his guilt. What use did my husband intend to make of this writing? to remove the timid cjariffa’s scruples about what has been done. Certainly the person who receives a gift, ought to submit to the conditions the giver imposes. Then the intention of your virtuous aunt was, that her estate should never go out of the hands of you and your children; but to be employed in the instruction and relief 
G 3 of 
V 
0 
126 LETTER S. 
of the poor; you were therefore obliged in conscience to force your father to give up your estate, and there was no other way to procure his consent, except that which my husband has taken; So my dear you ought: not to be difplea sed with what he has done : on the contrary, in 
r' ' 
opinion, lie has managed this affair with the utmost discretion. 
My Clarissa is then rich in Spite of herself; rich through Providence with all the merit of the poverty to which she has submitted So cheerfully; for v/e have reckoned you pofftfs above eleven hundred pounds per annum; free to follow the impulses of her generous and charitable heart, without encroaching on her own real wants. We (hall frequently resume this Subject, my dear friend, for it gives us great concern; and we Snail not be easy in this respect, till vve have a positive promise from Madam d’astie, your husband, and even your worthy pastors. I flatter myself, my dear, you will yield to our united entreaties. vv^efliall expect your Solemn promise with the greatest impatience; and is you refuse it, notwithstanding my condition, I will come myself in person, and insist on it. 
L ETTER 
LETTER S. 127 
LETTER XXXIX 
Faronefs hastle's, answer to "Mrs. DARBT 
and Lady HAP.RIET, 
% 
T Hope, ladies, you won’t imagine it owing to 1 our recjiiefly, that 1 Snail take all possible precautions to pre'erve the precious treashre, V hich divine Providence has entrusted me with. 
■f 
My tenderness for her would have made it my duty. Aik n:. iometiunglefs natural and more diffic .ilr, if you are desirous to have a proof of ni' sincere destre to oblige two persons whom I intinitely respect. If I had the honour to be kn(|)wn to you, I should think I had a right to be offended at your suspicions; yet, I acknowledge they were not without grounds; and, to consess the truth, I should have been very Sorry is you had not entertained them. I must ex plain to you this enigma, and the humiliation of our poor child. 
When she proposed to us the hamlet of chris tian union, I own I was charmed with it, and desired her to draw up the plan, I did not expect she would have placed herself at the head of this undertakins:, and still less that she would have proposed to Submit to the common way of lise of 
Gr 4 the 
128 LETTERS. 
the inhabitants of the hamlet. I thought a jok« .would get me out of this scrape with her. Mj dear Clarissa, says I, I have seen feme districts in France, where the V omen follow the plough; could we not introduce this custom: it would infallibly be established; for, like a good legislator, you would fet an example of the performance of your law. Nothing, in my opinion, would be more affecting, than to see you travelling three or four and twenty miles a day, a driving of oxen. The irony was too strongly marked not to be understood; our child at first laughed heartily, and afterwards' told me the thing perhaps was not fo ridiculous as it seemed at first; that in several parts of America, the men had no other employment than hunting; and left to the women the care of agriculture as well as of the family. Our delicacy of constitution arises from our bad education. If from infancy we were accustomed to laborious employments, we might expect to become as vigorous as peasants. Should we become thereby more proper to fulfil the duties which God has immediately imposed on us? Says I. It is the Same with, country employments as with an army: a great number of hands are continually wanting; but they alone are not enough, an head is wanting; 
if all would be heads or hands, the business could 
not 
% 
LETTERS. 129 
not "go on; or would always go wrong. God points out to each the place he Should occupy, by the station in which he is born, or that whereto his Providence has conducted him. In your first condition, your vocation was to educate your children well, to edify your family, to ■ Ihed your benefits on poor artisans, and to assist your vastals in the country. In your second vocation, your first duties are the same, with the addition of some others. God has transplanted you with his own hand, to use the exprefifon, into the midst of the country, and has seemed to remove you from the society of your equals; this was to consecrate you for the edification and instruction of our poor people, to partake the blessings and misfortunes which are annexed to their condition. These blessings are simplicity, innocence and peace.: The evils (which I call fo only in consormity to custom,) are a hard life, an abridgment of the conveniences of life, which are the portion of the rich, and which they may lawfully mhke use of to a certain degree, without being blameable. You ought, doubtless, to follow a icss indulgent way of living than you would do at court. Such a lise as moderate courtiers lead there, would be a Sort of insult to the poor, among whom you live 5 but, it would be contrary to the order of Prog 
5 viclencp 
130 U JL 1 1 j1 K S. 
vidence, to live as peasants do; God dees not require this abridgment of you; and he has not been pleased to give you the third vocation, which he has granted me twelve years ago. He called me to follow strictly a peafant’s life, Since he permitted me to be almost entirely stripped of my fortune; I regarded this deprivation of fortune as an abfoiute order, and I cheerfully submitted to it, because it was his holy will, 
I thought, without hesitation, that this kind of life was best for me, since he had been pleased to reduce me thereto. He at present affords me the means of living a little more plentifully; I shall take the advantage of it as far as I can, without prejudicing my constitution. For several years I have been accustomed to a very poor diet, and hard labour; perhaps, too great a change might disorder the good state of health I enjoy at present. This, madam, is what I represented to our child, without being able to convince her; she persuades herself a way of life like mine would strengthen her constitution, without considering that she is very delicate, and I never was fo, she has been brought up in cotton, to use the expression, and I was educated in a much less tender manner. Yet, as she is very docile, she has submitted to the provisional 
regulation I have Settled. I have fixed 
our 
LET T E R S. 131 
our table at three d i flies; two of which, at noon, are to be butcher’s meat, and the other is to consist of garden stuff. At supper, a dill of roast meat, another of poultry, and a third of whatever she chooses;; white bread, and the best wine of the country, at the least three years old. I suffer her to dress as she likes; a plain dress keeps out the cold and heat, as well as one embroidered with gold; but, I wiil have her well lodged of a night, though within curtains of linen in sum • and of warm common stuff in winter, and Ihe shall steep eight hours; this is a necessary regimen at her age : she likes to rise early in the • morning, therefore must go to bed the sooner.. the clecilion of the rest, I have allowed her to inform you of her projects; and, I have foretold her you will dislike them; and will have a very bad opinion of me and her husband. Your letters, which have made me triumph, have rendered her very modest, and she promises o bedience. She will go to the hamlet half the ^ year; I shall accompany her in the summer to watch over her; in tiie winter she returns to the village; this is the result of our determination. 
Perhaps the increase of her fortune will induce you ladies to think it necessary to add something 
more 
132 LETTERS. 
more to what has been determined upon. Shall Submit my judgement to yours; though, to confess my weakness, it will cost me something. According to my small understanding, everything ought to be allowed that is confident with health; this, in my opinion, is already done; and a table more plentiful than ours is to be, is a magazine of indigestcn and infirmities for old age. If God sends us grandchildren, they must either be initiated to a luxurious way of living, which furnisties practice for the physicians and apothecaries; or be tantalised, by continually feeing dishes before them, proper to excite gluttony, without being suffered to taste them. be lides, the victuals which were left at our table in ragouts would be absolutely lost; I should make a scruple of poisoning our servants and the sick. Now I mention servants, we shall have but few, in order to be well served. A cook who, but little busied in the kitchen, will have time to keep the house clean; a girl, whom we shall decorate with the title of chambermaid, who, after attending on my daughter in law, will have the care of the family linen; a lad, who in the morn 
« 
is valet de chamber to my fon, won’t be a above acting as gardener the rest of the day; and a dairy maid — very few for a lady of her fortune; but, she will have, in lieu of the pageantry of a 
numerous 
LETTERS. 133 
numerous retinue, the sweet consolation of reflecting, that she does not rob the state of men who owe to it their labour; that she will not have to answer before God, for the vices of a number of lazy people, who might have worked their salvation, by tilling the earth; and who damn themselves in her Service, throuo h 
'O 
idleness, the mother of all vice. 
I repeat it, ladies, I submit mine to your better judgement; give your orders; my heart tells me I shall not be contradicted; and this opinion has its source, in the high opinion I entertain of your Christianity and good sense. 
I am, c 
« 

LETTER 
% ‘ 
f .134 LETTERS. 
LETTER XL 
1 1' 
Ft 'om Clarissa to Mrs. Darby and Lady Harriet, 
T Must say amen to what has been decided i since I find nobody elfe of my opinion. Adiei the fine schemes of poor Clarissa;; is owin; to the large fortune, which Mr. Balfour ha taken fo much pains to procure me. I am fen fible what I owe to his generous cares. He i 
« * 
one of those friends who would gladly fore II people to be guilty of ingratitude, through th 
'impossibility of requiting their benefits; yet, 
shall not embrace this resolution;; like to b j under an obligation to a friend, and think, 
cannot give him a more certain proof of th 
I ‘ _ 
truth of my attachment. To oblige, to bestow 
\. 
to Serve, is commonly thought the most excel lent, commodious, and eafieil part in friend 
i • ^ 
ship : I conceive this may be the cash, when th matter concerns persons with whom we hav connexions in society. We are often mistakei in this article. We talk only of friendship, an no name is oftener prostituted; it is given to a sorts of unions; and, among a thousand, scarcely one real friendship is found. Some time C other, I will show you a complete distertatio 
I 
on everything that is in our hearts; and th 
wi 
LETTER S. 135 
% 
will be a picture, or rather an original of perfect friendship. And why defer doing it, say my second mother and my husband i They would persuade me, that nothing which has been hitherto wrote on the Subject of friendship, has given them Satisfaction; and have a mind to See whether I Shall succeed better in what I Say on this excellent virtue; which is, perhaps, the only real blessing that poor mortals can enjoy in this valley of tears. If to be thoroughly Sensible of it, was Sufficient to write well on this Subject, alas! I could do wonders; but. Sentiment is widely different from expression. However it does not signify, I am resolved to obey; and, if I am mistaken, I only rilk being fet right. I wrote some years ago on this subject to a lady of distinguished merit; and, my letter, by some accident or other. Sell into the hands of an author, who inserted it in a magazine; I don’t know ivliether you have read it in this work; but, I am certain it has never been yet published in France; and that you cannot procure it here. I therefore shall endeavour to recollect it. 
letter 
136 LETTERS. 
Letter from Clarissa to the Marchioness ofq, -- -. Madam, 
Y‘ O U request me to write on friendship, Never, perhaps, has anything been more talked of; and, according to all appearance, been less understood. To treat this subject properly, I ought to have a pen as delicate as yours; but, when you command, I cannot refuse;; the desire of convincing you of my obedience, makes me forget the indifference of my talents. 
You distingulfli, madam, three periods m friendship;; beginning, height, and decliiie. You desire precepts for this third period; they are useless, in your opinion, in the two first; sentiment is then a sure guide. May I presume to inform you, madam, that I entirely differ from you in this article? I think, first, that sentiment Should have no concern in the beginning of friendship. Secondly, that friendship has no decline if real. 
To this you will object your own experience; you have loved certain persons very much, at present you like them less: : hence infer, that this third period of friendship too often exists; 
LETTERS. 137 
ills; but from this very circumstance I conclude, that, with an heart formed to inspire and feel the most tender and lasting friendship, you hav never yet known a real one. 
f 
0 
Every age has its peculiar sentiments. Youth is the season of connexions, but not of friendship. But you wiil Say, at what time of life then do you place the reign of this delicious Sentiment? No certain rules can be given on this head. I • am going to advance a proposition, which, at first Seems a paradox. The more fit the heart is for friendship, the later it tastes its Sweets. suspend your judgement, madam, and do not condemn me, before you understand what I mean. 
By a heart formed for friendship, I mean a tender, honest and constant heart. these qualities, in youth, are obstacles, and hindrances' to friendship. Such an heart has a vivacity which Spoils all: its noise imposes silence on the mind; it would appear on the stage, besore the proper time, to persorm its part; and this puts the whole piece into consufion. This tender, and altogether honest heart, is incapable of sus pccting in others the defects it has not itself; and may be easily beguiled, and made to mistake 
tinsi^ 
138 LETTERS. 
tinsel for solid gold; it bellows itself on fuppo litions which cannot last. At length the curtain rises, it finds itself despifed by the object of its attachment, and suffers infinitely to disengage itself, its constancy becomes its punishment. It is vexed to find that this phantom of friendship sometimes survives esteem. This is what you call the decline of friendship, without reflecting that a decline must suppose a beginning. You have, nevertheless, felt something, was it friendship? No. It was a sentiment, which, without being love, had all its faults. This sentiment, which is a real pafiion, is a rock, which an heart formed for friendship, seldom escapes at a certain age. 
A young person, who possesses a solid reason, and an heart such as I have described, finds himself in a painful situation. The second qualification renders him too subject to love, the first shows him the danger and trouble of such an engagement. He would avoid this inconvenience, but what can be done with this tender heart, and its vast abundance of sentiment?? must find means to rid himself of this insupportable burden. Friendship seems a resource. We think it proper to appease this thirst of loving which devours, we madly give ourselves ujp to it, and, 
to 
i 
i 
11 
LETTERS. 139 
to its profit, dispose of all those riches of sentiment with which our hearts abound. In this Hate, if a serious examination of the object, with which we are desirous to close the tie of friendship is proposed;; answer is, there is no time to do it, we are in too much hurry. But after this first immoderate desire is appeased, aster these exceltive riches of Sentiment are dissipated, the heart, to use the expression, weakened by its excesses, permits the understanding to intermeddle in its affairs. Experience will have corrected the Sault of judging others by. ourselves; and we are convinced that the heart is blind, and incapable of making a proper choice. It will theresore be reduced to a persect neutrality, while reason will be employed in a long and Severe examination of the person, whom we are willing to rr.ife to the quality of a friend. 
I 
Besides, in youth, the heart is of a delicacy, and in an infantile state, which does not render it worthy of knowing friendship, stt pouts at the least fault; It would be flattered, caressed and courted. Real friendship is too serious for it, and if viewed in its true light, would inspire it with a respect, Something like terror. It should be left at liberty to enjoy itself according to its 
fancy, till become more firm and Solid, it has 
strength 
140 LETTER S. 
strength to wean itself from sentiment, which are only delightful, and to substitute in their room, those that are more durable. 
Alas! you will say, under what a form do you represent friendship? Where are its charms and delights? You represent it fo serious, that I could almost fancy it crabbed and disgufting. Recollect, madam, friendship, without softness is tender; gay without wantonness, lively without caprice, constant without pafiion, discreet without constraint, delicate without being exacting and punctilious, and is always equal; for it has everything it desires, everything it expects to have. This last article is the great point, and what distinguiflies friendship from the connexions which are mistaken for it, and from love. 
When we Sorm a connexion with a person, who pleases us at first sight, and in whose favour we are somehow or other prepostested, we are not sufficiently cold, to difeufs and weigh properly the pleasure that is to be expected from this union : we measure it by our desires, which are immense, and find a vast difference between what we experience, and what we expected. 
This 
LETTERS. 141 
This mistake necessarily produces disgust..? Because no kind of defect, no disgust: was ever foreseen. The path we entered, seemed lire wed with flowers, we find it filled with thorns. The heart, incensed at being scorned, forgets all the pleasures that are offered it, to dwell only on the afflictions it did not expect. 
9 
What is friendship then? It is a sentiment, which of two hearts forms but one, which makes all inequality disappear, and mixes all interest, all happiness. Conceive what importance it is of, to make a strict examination, before we consent to Such an union. Thus persect friendship cannot subsist: but in two virtuous hearts. It does not suppose a conformity of tempers, understanding and talents; but, if it lowers the Superior with respect to understanding and virtue, it exalts the mind of the person who is in fefiour. The first easily bears with all the defects of the other’s mind : the second feels the full value of this protection, and recompenses it by the liveliness of his gratitude. The qualities of the heart are therefore essential to friendship : we ought to be less difficult about those of the mind. It is very agreeable to find amiable qualities in a friend, and yet we ought to give a friend, credit 
for 
142 LETTERS. 
for them, when they are supplied by those deserving of our esteem;; I would never advise choosmg as a friend a person of too indifferent an understanding;; kind of people have commonly narrow minds; and, besides, a friend is a counsellor, a confident of our most secret thoughts : we ought therefore to be persuaded of the solidity of his counsels, and have no reason to fear his abusing our confidence through weakness or folly. 
Friendship, between two persons of different rank, can seldom be real. The respect of convention, that is to say, that which is not pro duced by virtue, chills and alienates it; it is very seldom that the superior does not think he ' confers a favour in offering his friendship; and never will friendship, offered in this manner, enjoy the privilege of fecundity; it will never produce an equal pafiion; it will produce gratitude, attachment, and zeal, but this is all. Nothing is more rare than friendship between « perents and children; because it is scarcely possible to forget the inequality of rank, and the superiority of the first, curbs the second. Friendship, in its foundation, is exempt from all interest;; this is one cause which renders it fo 
rare between superiors and inferiours j because, 
widi 
LETTERS. 143 
without perceiving it, we regard as a protector the person who Should appear as a friend only : but it will be said, ought we to make a difficulty of being protected and succoured by a friend? No, certainly; this is the touchlione of friendship. Whenever we are humiliated by a benefit, we may be assured we love but little the person from whom we have received it. A true friend, in this cafe, partakes the pleasure his friend has in obliging him, and receives his services with the same joy he would feel himself in serving his friend. Our pride is hurt at receiving from another, and not at all at the benefits we procure ourselves;; a real friend is another self. Whenever we find ourselves humiliated, or think we act a fine part, by serving, obliging, or bestowing, it is a certain sign that the identity is not perfect, and that we remember we are two distinct persons. 
This, madam, is my opinion concerning friendship;; I may be mistaken; but I speak at a certainty, when I take the liberty to affure you, that I should regard as the greatest happiness, my being able to inspire you with the sentiments I have just described, and that no person would deserve it more than myself, was it the reward cf she most respectful attachment, c. Behold 
144 LETTERS. 
Behold then a formal diltertation, and fo what? To make my dear Harriet and her husband comprehend, that I don’t feel myself ir the least hurt by the excess of their services; that I sincerely share the joy they feel at havine rendered them; that I would not wish they had taken one single trouble less, because thereby they would have been deprived of a pleasure. This is a proof of the most perfect friendship, I have an heart naturally proud; it would suffer to owe anything to indifferent persons, and would receive no consolation, till it had repayed threefold the service it had received; while I confider, without the least repugnance, the impoilibility of making you a proper return. God keep me from having such services to do to you, as you have done to me. 
I have a mind to chide you Harriet. You have not sufficiently spared your friend in a certain affair. If you ever have any act of goodness to acquaint me with, of a person who ought to be dear to me, any hope of his return towards God; ah! pray dispatch an express, if you think an express will arrive sooner than th post. Over all the rest of his actions, throw, I conjure you, the thickest veil. 
Whi! 
LETTERS. 145 
What a parcel have I just received! Do you know, I felt the utmost indignation at the sight of ail this equipage of luxury and magnificence! The price of all these gewgaws, blonds, ribbons, and rich Silks, would have maintained a whole village for a year. Our servants, in raptures at the sight of them, are almost afraid to touch them. The people in the village say, 
I must either be a princess, or some prefidentss daughter *. I would have concealed from them, this magnificence at which I blush; but they have thought differently from me: they pretend that my simplicity will edify them the more, when they compare it with my former magnificence. I say former, my dear; for indeed I would not for the whole world wear here the plainest of these dresses; and I should blufii to consecrate them to the Service of the altar, if I was not encouraged to have the boldness to presume to offer to God things which I have made use of mysels. 
\ 
You know I am not naturally covetous, and that hitherto I have never valued riches much. 
I am very much altered, my dear Harriet, since I jumped with joy, when you acquainted me 
* In places near the parliaments, the peasants imagine, that, next to a prince, nobody is So great as a president. 
vol. II H with 
146 L E TTER S. 
with the greatness of my fortune. I have form ed, I affure you, schemes to employ four times as much. I would not stave a tingle poor person in the world; that is to say, not a single person, who might not get his livelihood by his labour. My destres, which were lively enough on this article, when I was in the great world, extended no farther when we lived together. At present there are other necessities of human nature, whichshegin to affect: me much more. My second mother has thereon such extensive views, that Ihe can hardly talk, of any thing elfe. Charity is a devouring fire : this lire keeps her in a kind of uneasiness, to use the ex prefiion, when Ihe is not employed in doing good to her neighbour; - fo that there'' are few moments but she is busied in their service; and if Ihe would, relate her dreams, I am persuaded nothing passes in her mind when She is asleep, but the exercise. of same new good works. It seems as if all her words were sparks, which seton fire whatever they come near; and when my husband and - I leave her,, .we find ourselves entirely disposed to devote the remainder of our lives, our fortunes, and even ourselves, to the •xercife of good works. 
I must acquaint you candidly, my dear mother 
LETTERS. 147 
there and tender sister, that I feel such a violent disgust for the life that is led in the great world, that I should confider my being obliged to return to it again, as the greatest punishment. I expect, as well as you, to be a mother soon; I shall, doubtless, share the fruitfulness of our women, and shall then be told, that it is my duty to give my children an education suitable to their birth and fortune. That to enter again into this world, which I detest, will soon become a duty of my station. How I should lament, if I was forced to follow this advice'! Alas! can anything be preferable to being happy in this world and the next? Could I conduct my children to the foot of a throne, had I the power to make them the favourites of monarchs, to treble their fortunes, and accumulate on their heads the greatest titles ind honours would all this recompense the loss of the blessings I at present enjoy, and which I expect in future? What happiness, comparable to that of distributing happiness; of giving, to life the expression, a new existence to an infinidf" number of beings, who seemed born only to vegetate in ignorance and misery?? range about, and are perpetually agitated in search of pleasure in the great world; here we are surrounded with it, and have only to reach out our hand 
to possess and taste it. The great are desirous 
H 2 of 
14s LETTERS. 
of being respected and feared; here we are beloved those who come near us, pour out be. fjedictions on us; mothers teach their children to lisp out blessings with our names; and the 
ft 
last sigh of these honest people, is a thanksgiving to the Almighty for the benefits they have received from my worthy mother and her associates. For my part, I can hardly conceive how 
actions, which afford fo pure and perfect a pleasure, can still merit an infinite glory hereafter, God must he very good to reward fo liberally in another life, works which he repays an hundredfold in this. And fiiall I deprive my children of these inestimable blessings! Shall I go to teach them in the great world, to confider themselves as everything, and the poor as nothing; to sacrifice to imaginary wants, what might be come the means of subsisting fo great a nuiuber of unhappy wretches! I will not hear of it, I should indeed be worse than the wicked father mentioned in the gospel, who gives .not a fo pent to his children when they ask him for bread. My pen is snatched from me, otherwise I should fill a rheam of paper without expressing what I feel. 
The Baron D’astie confinma 
Yes; ladies, my Clarissa would never finish; 
she has devoted her children to march with us 
through 
LETTERS. • 149 
through France from village to village, III order to Save the peasants from ignorance, poverty, misery and guilt. We shall See her one of these days stop passengers on the high roads, and invite the poor to assemble together, and form new habitations. A modern Amphion; the fweetness of her voice will make arise from the earth, not walls to ftirround cities, but humble cottages, which harbour innocent and happy minds. She calculates, and finds, that, notwitli ftanding her immense fortune, file shall be hard put to it for all the good schemes Ihe projects; what consoles her is, that her children will carry on what she has begun. don’t you accidentally know any of these philosophers who have discovered the art of making gold? Be kind enough to send them to us, - my Clarissa will procure them a ready vent for their merchandise. I mull relate to you one of her achieve ments. 
Some months ago three ill looking men, well armed, passed through our village. My wife, who saw them at the window, invited them in to eat a bit of something, and waited on them herself, like Sarah, though they had not the least; appearance of three angels. During breakfast, she got acquainted with these honest: genii 3 tlemen; 
150 letters. 
tlemen; and,, as never syren had a more enchanting voice, fo well gained their confidence, that they immediately came to a confession, and acknowledged they were fmugtglers. Good God! says Ihe,. to what do you expose yourselves, my good people? and immeditely preached to them an excellent sermon on the necessity of obedience to the laws and our prince: on the unhappiness of a way of life, which must: always have in view a scaffold, oc death in sin, since such people are always determined to kill or be killed, rather than be taken. To tell you she had the air of an angel when Ihe spoke, would be saying nothing but what you would easily comprehend; but to acquaint you that she was capable of softening these hearts of adamant, that Ihe forced them to fhec! tears, must seem aftonilhing. Inflamed by her success.. added, and why not quit fo miserable and dangerous a profession, my dear friends? The necessity of maintaining our wives and children, obliges us to follow it, replied one of them. Alas! come here, my children, says she, you will here meet with a certain and quiet livelihood. Send your wives and children to us, and we will provide for them. The three men looked at one another; two of them accepted her proposal, and here were two 
boarders 
L E T TER S'; 151 
hoarders for our pafiors. T he third was taken fifteen days after, and hanged the same week. At this news, the two proselytes of my dear Clarissa fell at her feet, called her their angel, their dcliverefs, vowed obedience to her: they hastened to bring their families, and the widow and children of the unhappy wretch, who had despised her counsels: they are in their year of noviciate, and edify us by their ardour in labour, and their docility. the en thufiafm with which my Clariflass letter is fil led, has produced this good effect : take care of yourselves, ladies, it is a. contagious distemper; I give you warning: she has catched it from my mother, and has been very.near communicating it to me; and I don’t know whether you are not in danger of getting it also. I warn you of it, to discharge my conscience. 
Clarissa concludes. 
Heaven grant his prediction mhy beaccom plilhed; not with respect to you, who would be a thousand times'better than me, if you were in'my place; but with respect to the great number of idle rich, who encumber the earth with the weight of their useless selves, and devour the substance which lawfully belongs 
H 4 only 
152 LETTERS. 
only to the man who is employed for the public good. I would willingly barter the possessor of the philofopher’s stone, for half a dozen zealous persons: it is not gold which we want most; treasures are to be found in the earth, at the depth of three feet; the business is only to turn it up, and find persons willing to become tiie soul of our labourers : the harvest is great, but the labourers are few. Stop, Har riet, I am going to give you your mission, Raise us recruits among your dolls of both lexes; propose to them to exchange their toys and nicknacks, for difiaffs and spades; con. jure them; promise them that they will find, in employments like ours, a cure for their spleen. Tell the learned, who make such excellent discoveries for the advantage of agriculture, to join theory to practice; and their example would produce an happy revolutlobv Cities would be desolated to the advantage of the provinces; the rich and the nobility vvould drive from their antichambers three parts of the idle fellows whom they detain from labour: France would become the treasury, the magazine, the granary of Europe; not an inch of ground would be lest uncultivated. Population would be doubled with labour, and produce for 
the king a numerous people, hardened by labour, 
<# 
LETTERS. 153 
lour, fit for the fatigues of war. Plenty 
would take place of poverty, always dreadful when it is the consequence of Iloth: in a word,, we Should become the first nation in the uni 
* 
verse, without exciting the envy of our neighbours. • 
154 LETTER S. 
LETTER XLL 
.. I 
LADT HARRIET ro CLARISSA, 
Yes truly! your disorder is contagious, 
my dear "Clarissa, my amiable sister; and if it was not unbecoming, for a woman with her belly up to her chin, to hold a distaff, I should not have quitted my fpinning wheel. I begin by the most easy work, as you perceive; it is much easier to spin, than to preside over country labours, and manage cattle. But, to talk feri oufiy, my dear; I respect your designs; but, as your dear husband has justly remarked, they are rather enthusiastic. Do you think it possible to reclaim this vast crowd of people, who have fo many years lived in an intoxicating flats of idleness? What stratagems do beggars make use of, to elude the orders of a wise policy, which endeavours to confine them in hospitals, where, by their moderate labour, they are furnished with the necessaries of life? But allowing this, which is impossible, how could you find means to employ them? Land would be wanting for the labourers. Besides, who would be a Soldier or a Sailor, if they had once tasted the Sweets of the tranquil life you have planned? 
Nothing can be more miserable than the lives of 
oiu 
/ 
LETTERS. 155 
our peasants, yet what will they not do to escape serving in the militia? What despair does the wretch experience, who is torn from his family 1 what distress, the unhappy parents! The cafe would be much worse, if their native condition offered them real blessings to regret. Behold many objections, and there are an infinite number besides. A numerous retinue seems necessary for the great, to impose on the vulgar,, and to support their grandeur. Do they not distribute among artisans, the money you would have them expend in the country?. France, indeed, is not the granary of Europe; but it is the storehouse of fashions, where all nations come to furnish themselves.. The Spaniards and portu gueze dig gold from the. bowels of the earth; and the English cultivate agriculture and commerce, to purchase from France the neceitary articles of luxury: The expenses of a great king have been loudly exclaimed against;; to use thst .expression.. rise out of the earth thofe fuperb edifices, those enchanted gardens, which, one would imagine owed their existence to the touch of a Skilful enchanter’s wand. Let the expense be calculated, that, these masterpieces of art cost, and the money that foreigners, who have come to admire them, have expended in. France; and, I am persuaded, the receipt 
would: 
m 
150 L E 'r T £'. K S'. 
would over balance the cost. Sumptuary laws,, which are the preservation of a small state, would cause the ruin and decay of a great kingdom. Everything that promotes the circulation of money is there advantageous. Luxury 
in England is carried as far as in France, tho’ 
✓ • # 
II is of a different kind.; yet our fields do not want hufbah'dmen. Nevertheless, what numbers of people does comfnerce take Smm agriculture! Leave the French, theresore, theit nusherous retinue;, their Snuff boxes,, and brilliant toys. The nutnber of idle cannot be put into cothpetition, with the number of those who are employed ih away. usesul to. themselvesj, though 'quite useless and Superfluous for those. wli'o employ theiii. In morality, one single unhappy 'person caitscs a misfortune; in physia and politics, frecpaently great advantages arise therefrom.. 
»' 
observe, Word for word, what ivas Said to me by an honest and able person, to whom I retailed your adrnanition, by way of beginning to Sulfil the mission yon have charged me with. don’t however think 1 blindly adopt his ideas. itis; true, I remained mute as a fish in his presence; T could find nothing to answer; and, yet I was sensible Something rnight be Said, in answer to 
what 
LETTER S'. 157 
what lie asserted. v7hen my vocation is improved like yours, I (hall likely possess Superior lights, which will render me eloquent; till then, 1' desire your hiss t action. After all, your System has Something in. it, which Seduces, charms, and convinces me. Furnish me with arms to defend it. I surrender myself to you, body and soul,, to fulfil my missfon. 
My letter will be short, I expect every hour the fatal moment. Remember that I am to bring a girl into: the world this time, who' shall resemble you; contrive, if you please, in consequence, to give an husband to this future daughter. If you; are with child of a girl, I shall never forgive you. We will next time make an. exchange; I will have a boy, and you shall have a girl. Those who hear me reason thus, lift up their shoulders. To desire a daughter when persons are of a certain rank, is an extravagance they can have no conception of. And, what would become of this name, if we had boys only? said I, the other day, to an impertinent fellow, who presumed to assert, that a woman of quality who was brought to bed of a girl, had a mifearriage. Leave, replied he, to financers the care of furnishing wives for our fons; they labour to. support our nobility, our iliufiriouf 
nefs. 
1.58 LETTER Sl 
nefs, by their great fortunes, which they wih lingly sacrifice, to enter into a noble family. At present improper matches no longer frighten provided; a heap of.gold hides an obfeure origin. Add, that they sacrifice thereto, the happiness of their daughters,, said I; but, this is not the matter in question. A girl such as mine, though she pofielsed only half the merit of her I have taken for my model, would be worth more to the Slate, than twenty of these wrong heads, who think themselves. the cleverest people in the world, when they Succeed better thaa their coachmen, in raising a cloud of dull oa the ramparts. But it is talking to the deas, my dear; come here, and teach them, by Seeing you, to abate of the vanity which makes them think their Sex Superior to ours in everything,. 
4 
LETTER, 
LET T E R a. 
LETTER XLII 
MRS DARBT TO CLARISSA: 
•• * % 
NO, my. dear, stay where you are; you will make a' better figure there than here. Reckon me, I conjure you, among your proselytes;; if you cannot engage others to execute in great your good projects, we will endeavour to offer models of them in miniature. 
4 
I will not obviate the answer, which my dear daughter Harriet desires of you; but, in my opinion, no great genius is wanted to overturn the objections of her philosopher. One single person fet in motion, at the beginning of this age, ' sixty thousand artisans. I mean the indefatigable Mr. Languet, curate of St. Sulpice; a man to whose memory, statues ought to have been erected; and, whom, his ungrateful countrymen would have made repent his useful labours, if he had not had in view a more solid glory, than their vain applause. It is true, his zeal was seconded, and he every year received immense sums. I am persuaded, if he had lived longer, he would have done three times as much good. Establishments which cost a great deal to form, repay in the sequel with usury, what 
has been expended at first. Besides, the sources 
from 
i16o LETTERS. 
from which he drew assistance are not exhausted through his death; there is still a great number of good souls, who, tho’ attached to the world by their condition of life, or incapable from want. of talents to act themselves, would desire nothing more than to have an opportunity of contributing by their purse to works, which would pro. duce such general good. One of the copies of • the work, in which, your letter on friendship was inserted, has just fell into my hands; it contained some remarks on hospitals, whidi raised in me a curiosity to visit them, Alas! my dear, I am returned with a wounded heart. How much good rernains to be done! How much is omitted or changed into evil, through the Sauk of a neglected management 1 I began with the General hospital. It is a world, my child. I went there Sour different times, before I had examined all. Whatever human misery can offer most affecting, is there to be met with A crowd of unfortunate wretches, abandoned by their parents from their very birth, are heapr; ed one oyer another in rooms which, thou^i of a prodigious Sizcj are too small to contain them. Their countenances show they breathe a poisonous air, infected through the exhalations which proceed from their bodies. Hence, a great number of thein. perish. The rest work, 
~ indeed, 
LETTER S. ii 
indeed, but with dirguft, through constraint, and to avoid punilhmentand in their hearts devote themselves to idleness, to recompense themselves for the disguft which labour occasions. I interrogated Several. Truly their minds were still more neglected than their bodies. Nevertheless, they are instructed at particular hours; I even would believe those who are charged therewith, act with zeal; yet they meet with but little success;; must be attributed, in my opinion, to the vast disproportion there is between the number "of instructors, and of those 
who want instruction. Why not increase the number of mistrestes Why not use the utmost; care in ehoostng them, and in educating the. children? This duty is considered, as but of little importance. Yet, in the Space of twenty years, above forty tliousand families might be procured for the state, from this part aloae,. v/hat a resource for population! What a number of hands to augment the riches of the state! I know that these children are put out at last; yet, I venture to affirm, the state gains little thereby; and, that but Sew good mothers of families come out of these kind of places. Persons who have taken girls as servants, or apprentices, out of this place, have assured me, 
they have hast a great deal of difficulty, before 
t62 L E T T E R S. 
fore they could reap any advantage from them;, the faults of their first: education had taken Such deep footing,. There is in. Paris another house, better governed, called, Bel air, a very proper name for it. The children are there educated with lenity : yet, I think, there is an essential fault in their education; I interrogated Several' of the great girls, who liked the place, and whose ambition extended no farther, than to remain there always, and I found that, laziness has a great Share in the attachment they have for this house, where they are subject to no hard workv I communicated this idea' to a gentleihan, who could not allow the truth of it J because, in fact, these girls are employed. If they were foin a proper manner, the house would soon become very rich. A master who emplbys workmen, maintains and pays them; yet, still finds means to enrich himself from their labour. Why does not the same thing happen in these houses, which want revenues, instead of reaping an advantage from the industry of. the orphans? The reason is, because this work is not performed with the same zeal, which the necessity of providing for the necessaries of life inspires. Because: : of industry has not been inculcated int( these. children; - nor. has care been taken t( 
make 
LETTER S. 163 
aiake them sensible, that their being employed usefully, and for the public good, is in obedience to the divine law; Thou shalt eat thy bread with the sweat of thy brow. This decree has been iitued from the mouth of God himself j who shall dare to elude it? Devotion, piety, and Christianity, ought to consist in employing our time in a fpirit of penitence, to obey God. Children who sucked in this maxim with their milk, would make industrious young women, would repay the state the expenses it had advanced to bring them up in their early years; and would, afford means of extending the good work. I speak only of the girls, my dear; for I have never made any observations on the management of the boys. I have observed with pleasure, that the state studies how to reap an advantage from these children; and, that rewards are bestowed on the peasant, who will take them; whichi nevertheless,, will not prevent there remaining a sufficient number to raise fine recruits, and to repeople the depopulated provinces. 
The place where loose and disorderly women and girls are confined, is another part of the hospital, which I carefully visited. Oh 1 what a vast field is there foe zealous persons I I was 
persuaded, 
i64 letter Sh 
persuaded, at first, that religion had some Share in the confinement of these women; and that endeavours were used to gain them over to God, 
- by gentle methods. .Nothing at all of this kind, my dear; they go out worse than when they came m; the rigour which is used towards them, exasperates them, and they become thereby almost incorrigible. Alas! our milsionarie3 eross the Seas, to convert idolaters to christianity;; the Servants of the faith are miserably neglected. I am sensible it would be improper for ministers of the lord to enter into this kind of hell, where these wretches,, by Swearing, recompense themselves for the impossibility of their doing worse where they are, for Some months. Pious, truly charitable and zealous women, are the proper persons to begin the cure of these poor abandoned wretches. Most part of them have not the least idea of religion; they, therefore, Should be instructed in its principles, and we Should begin, by making them love it. The magistrate is charged only with the exteriour policy, it is the province of piety to change their hearts. We See in, this place women who have been there Several times besore; and, ia all probability, will be brought there again : their confinement theresore answers no manner of 
purpose, As you. are a Scheming lady, build 
u 
N 
* 
1 
LETTERS. 165 
as Some castles in the air, concerning this important matter. The sincere conversion of half a dozen of these women a year, would do the 
m 
state more good, than the imprisonment of many thousands of them for a Short time only. Those who have began these establishments have been in too much hurry; the question at present is, how to bring them to their utmost perfection. The conversion of these poor creatures would be a great means of population. They poison the human species in its very source. 
If anybody Should happen to read our letters., they would laugh at our pretensions. A fine thing, for poor silly women to pretend to fet themselves up for reformers, in a kingdom governed by such wise men, whose policy raises the admiration of strangers. It is efpeciaily a piece of impertinence, in two women, who are hardly received among the number of citizens. Impute it, if yoti please, to the influence of the climate; the air we breathe inspires us with a love for it; and, I already find myself a French woman, without forgeting, however, my native country. Ah! I feel, from the emotions of my heart, that I am a citizen of the 
universe; 
i66 LETTER S. 
universe; and all mankind, whatever they arc, are my brethren. Are we not all children of the same father? How can those who are cold to the duties of humanity, presume to say the lord’s prayer i 
X E T T E R S. i6j LETTER XLIII 
I 
CLARISSA TO LADT HARRIET 
% 
T Flatter myself you .are brought to bed, X my dear J .and, if I may. believe our good women, happily. .They say, that the more we Suffer during pregnancy, the better we are in our lying in; and you ''have suffered a great deal. At this rate, I ought to tremble for myself. I don’t know what is become of that delicate constitution, of which, I used to complain formerly..; 
I grow jolly without losing my agility in the least; I .sleep Swell, and have an excellent stomach. Between you and I, I think this happy change is owing to the regular life L lead here, and to exercise. You would laugh if you was to see me eat of a morning, a stice of bread, .almost half a yard long, .soaked in a.glafs of weak wine, and water. Tea and coffee quite dried me, up, I affure you; I was forced to wean myself from them, in my journey; and, J did not choose to adopt again, a custom which J had fo happily got rid of, and I find the benefit of it. In fact, I was born for the kind of life which I have adopted. On reflecting, a little, L am not at all surprised at it. If labour is the 
calling of all the children of Adam, God. must 
hav 
i68 LETTER S. 
II 
I •, 
ri 
have given them a body, proper for what he ha 
V destined them to. Idleness shortens our days, 
am certain. We here see vigorous old mer who no longer labour under disorders, fine 1 they have redoubled their labour. As to oi 
young people, health sparkles in their eyes and an hundred such villages as ours, would ni furnish an apothecary with water to drink. Tl women bring their children into the world wit a surprising facility; they would abate nothir of their usual labour, if my mother did n oblige them to use some precautions. She e: tends her care of them till the tenth day aft j their delivery. Formerly, they went abro: 
I 
if after the fourth day, which oecafioned the lo 
of many, and made others become old, mu( i earlier than they would, according to the con 
I; mon course of nature. At first, my moth 
|: had great difficulty to keep them within doc 
! fo long J they alleged the necessity of goii 
!i to work. At last, she has compafied it; ai 
f; 
made them comprehend, that these ten da confinement, would save them the loss of mat more; by preserving them from the disordei 
t, 
which were the consequences of their former i: diferetion. These little eircumftances seem ti vial; yet they procure us an healthy and robi offspring. As I suppose you will be in a co 
diti( 
. f 
i 
I I ' 
!: ■ 
I. 
L E T T E R S. i6ft 
dition to hear reading, when this letter shall arrive. I am going to answer your objections, my dear; I say your objections, though you have acquainted me they were another’s. I know your way, you thought of them yourself, before they were mentioned to you. 
If you had been told, that it was difficult to induce persons, accustomed to idleness, to submit to the yoke of labour, I Should have agreed with you. Your philosopher pretends, that the thing is impossible; and brings, as a proof of his assertion, the difficulty of making the poor work, who are confined; and who, certainly, would not remain four minutes in the hospital, if the doors were fet open. I hence conclude, that the management is wrong. Animals are. managed by fear; men are vanquillied by gentle means, and kindness only. What ray mother acquainted me with, about the hospitals flic examined. Madam D’aftie had already told me: in this respect, her experience may safely be relied on. ’ 
The custom of feeing wretched creatures per petually, hardens hearts, which an ardent charity does not make relent. The poor are fo ignorant, brutish, and unthankful; or rather, 
Vot. IJ, I ungrate * 
170 n n 1 1 n K s. 
ungrateful, that it requires a. very fublimevit pi tue, to preserve any degree of good nature i 
their service. A zealous intendant, some tim 
ago, begged my mother .to communicate to hir her sentiments, on the police of an hospital LI intended to found. All depends on the peoph replied (he. The charity that is exercifedo the bod):, ought, to hwe, for its end, the goo of the soul. Tear may oblige the poor to cor form to regulations, without their becoming tl better for it, ssf we would .fulfil the enc which christianity inspires, we Should mals them love these regulations. Among though whom we confine, there are old men pa their labour; and there are others, still robu I and ftrpng. We Should make an advantage! 
these last, for the purposes of agriculture and pc pulation. The first step towards this, is to gai their hearts and confidence; and, how muc must it cost the hospital, besore it can compa this? Instruction must follow. We muster 
\ 
deavour to make them chriftlans, and we (hi Soon have men. Among the vast number ( poor. Some are less perverse, and of a better di position than others: we Should begin, by gaii ing these, by rewarding their docility, with litt presents, praises, and testimonies of friendlhi 
There are few hearts which are not acceffib 
( 
r • * 
'; 
LETTER S. 171 
on this fide. While the poor were employed in vork, some charitable persons Should Study means to eftablilh. them. The prospect of an happy and tranquil Hate, would soften tlieh* confinement; and, by driving away despair from their minds, would dispose them to a ready compliance, with whatever was required of them. 
In what hospitals are these precautions taken or this management made use of? If any such exist, how few are they! Besides, I repeat, it after my mother, those who are entrusted with these kinds of foundations, have too much work to do it well, supposing they were ever fo well disposed toit. Overloaded and fatigued with labour, they forget the motive which induced them to devote themselves to the service of the poor; and works of the most heroic charity become, insensibly,, of ftavery. 
It is not for private persons to find, or rather procure, a remedy for Such evils. But, you alk me to build castles in the air, and I comply with your request. As well amuse myself in that, as in knotting, or Ihufiling a pack of cards. This K the answer I make beforehand to those who 
I 2 pretend 
; i72 L E T T E R S. 
pretend I lose my time in forming fyllems whiiii will never be realised. 
If I possessed power equal to my good will; or, if those who possess it would adopt my system; I Should confider that there were two things to be done: to cure or lessen the ills, which at present subsist: j and to preveni those which might happen hereafter. What are the evils most contrary to the physical good of the state?? and a miferj which dissolves the connexions, which oughi. to attach men to their country; and makes ol them members, who, having no dependana on anything, love nothing, mor concern themselves about anything. Such people deserve not the name of citizens. As they cannol be more miserable than they are, as they enjo) nothing but the air they breathe, and as th kingdom might be turned topsy turvy withoul their sustaining the smallest loss, they care nol whether it prospers, or is utterly overthrown; their condition being fo bad, that it cannot become worse, every change seems advantageou! to them, from the hopes of fishing in troublec waters, and bettering their state. these people are ever at the Service of all turbulent minds, and even of enemies of the kingdom: thej 
wool 
L E T T E R S: 173 
would behold a change of their master with a brutal indifference; all the ties which attach men to their prince, either have never existed with them, or are broken through. Such people are a charge to the government in time of peace, and very dangerous in time of war, especially cf civil intestine broils: they want only a licentious chief. The loss of a million at least of these people in a state, would occasion no vacancy; they are to a state, the Same as vermin to corn; ought they therefore to be' lost? No; we should endeavour to change them, to reconcile them to the state, and to' attach them to it by the tie of love. If th« difficulty of remedying this present evil discourages, the ease of preventing it in future, ought to console us. Let things be left to my management, and in twenty years this race of hornets shall give place to citizens; who, looking on themselves as children of the state, will love it with that love which 'every man has for his family. The matter would be, to take from all beggars and vagabonds, their children of both sexes, that are more than seven years of age. This step would forward seven years the promised metamorphosis, thirteen years more' enly would be wanting., 
I 3 People 
174 E E T T E R' S. 
People, incessantly exclaim, that the revocation of the edict of Nantes, has depopulated th state; If the system thatl propose was adoptee 
means must be sought to discharge the toogre: overplus of inhabitants, by fettling colonii abroad. France, though fo large, could ni contain its subjects. I shall make a calculatio of this new population, after having first poin CD out its sources. 
The religious state is the perfection of chrifi anity. Jesus Christ became the defenderthere V hen he told Martha, that her sister had chofi the better part, which could not be taken fro her. Let us not snatch from the feetofjeft those who are attentive only to hear his word, ai meditate thereon : this vocation is very excf lent, but it is very rare, and the relaxation their primitive institutes, makes the multip cation of regulars be considered as an useless e pence: to diminish their number, nothing me is required than to oblige them to live accordi to their primitive rules; the noviciates * woi soon become desert; and while la Trap a the orders which, by coming near its feverlti were peopled with worshippers in spirit and true 
* Noviciates in monasteries, are places fet apart for the c ption f youngpei'lbnf, who intend taklngthe religious ha 
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LETTERS. 175 
the other monasteries, by degrees, would fall to decay, for want of inhabitants, efpeciaily if the king fixed the time of taking the religious habit to a maturer age, than at present is the custom;; time too near infancy, to be capable of the reflection which such a step requires, that if it does not lead to the first seats in Heaven, precipitates to the lowest hell. The time of life which has been wisely prescribed for taking holy orders, ought, in my opinion, to he considered as the properest age for taking solemn vows. 
y 
What a resource to the state would this diminution of monks offer! The estates which would become useless to them, might be employed in the education cf a vast number of children, taken away from beggars, or voluntarily given by poor parents, who have too numerous a family; what sources opened for population, agriculture, the army, marine, and manufactures! What sources of plenty and riches for the state!! 
us calculate at the lowest the Humber of marriages which must happen from putting these schemes in execution. The foundling hospital at Paris generally has between six and 'Seven thousand children at nurse; if these children were better taken care of, one half of them, at 
I 4 least. 
LETTERS. 
A 
least, would be saved; who, when arrived at man’s estate, would produce at least two thou lnd marriages a year. Reckon double the number for the other provinces, and certainly this would be underrating them vastly; and the 
foundling children alone would furnish each year 
six thousand marriages, which, in thirteen 
years, amounts to -- -- -- -- 78, 000 families. 
Add thereto ten thousand 
marriages of the children of the state; that is to say, of those who were taken from 
m 
vagabonds, c- -- -- - 00© 
Young persons wk take religious orders through infancy, perfuaiion, Source, la ’zlnefs, and other Such motives, in thirteen years, at 
least— — -- -- - 000 
This is for this last class, no more than three thousand marriages and a few over 
each year -- -- -- - 
Total 128000 families. 
Here are then 128000 families more in the 
kingdom, in only thirteen years; which, at 
four children Southwest each family, would, in twenty 
years, 
LET TERS. 17^ 
years, produce 512000 inhabitants, capable of contracting ffelh marriages. If we had profited by this resource immediately after the revocation of the edict, Should we not have replaced our Ioffes? I am sensible it may be objected, that all those who would contract these marriages, would not have lived in a state of celibacy, excepting those who became religious,. To this I answer, 
That the children' of beggars and vagabonds, far from being the riches of the state, are its vermin; that the greatest part - of the others,. would not marry for fear of bringing into the world more wretches.. Therefore, : as I remarked at first, those who absolutely do marry,, seldom make good; citizens; they Should Te made to have an affection for s their country by benefits: let them eat coarse breads and be bedewed with their Sweat; this is .according to the comnaon order of nature; but let them not entirely want, it,. How procure it for them? ' Thus... 
I think'the eftfites, which the charity of the ' 
faithful has consecrated to the Lord, could not,. without sacrilege, be employed for profane uses: : number of monasteries being lessened, their 
1.5 - revenues ^ 
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revenues might be employed to settle these neii families, after having been applied to the edu, cation of those of whom they are to be compo .fed. Shall they be educated in hospitals? No hospitals produce none but lazy people: the ought to be formed into colleges of husbandmen' ' Should divide their time between robul country employments, and the studies fit t 
I. 
promote the progress of agriculture. There i no profession fo bad, but it will maintain th person who practises it, we commonly say, an with truth. If a private person can gain hi expense, certainly those who live in commor and expend less, may subsist by their laboui From fifteen years of age these children, inftea .of being a charge, might gain something moi than sufficient for their maintenance, whicl being put by till it amounted to a sum, migl contribute to their establishment. if agricultui was pushed as far as it possibly could be i France, it is certain the price of provifioi would be lowered. The overplus of these chi dren, who could not be employed in cultivatir the ground, would Surnish hands for our mam Sacturers: being maintained at an easier rat 
I I 
the price of workmanship would be more mod rate, which would turn to the advantage of tl eomraunity in general, who might then furni; 
then 
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LETTER S. 179 
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themselves with all kinds of necessaries in greater plenty. This advantage would be trifling in comparison to what would [arise from exportation; the French would become the purveyors of all Europe, because they would be able to afford their goods at a lower rate. these new citizens, who owed their existence to the state, would have an affection for it. Labour would lose half its hardships, from a habit contracted in insancy: thoroiighly affected by the great principles of religion, they would fulfil the laborious duties of their station, with chearfulness and ardour. The certainty of an eternal recompense, which is the insallible consequence of a voluntary submission to our duties, would console them for the small advantage they reaped from it in this world. ■ Abfoiute poverty would no longer be seen, and with poverty all the vices which it causes, would disappear. 
t 
But how must we manage to succeed in the execution of this project? I repeat it again, it absolutely depends on the care that is taken in the choice of the masters and mistresses who are to superintend these eftablishments. A city which now contains twenty religious houses, would hardly have two remaining, if they were 
obliged to keep strictly to their primitive regulations. 

I, 
1 ip Letters. 
tions. In the room of these monasteries, which would fall to decay of themselves, one Angle community of each sex in great cities Should be formed, for the training up these masters and mistresses: they Should be kept there several years for the sake of instruction, and only those fet apart for this purpose, who gave proofs of a solid enlightened piety, Sree from Superstition. It would be necestary for Some zealous ecclesiastics to bestow their cares on them j and the persons Selected for masters and mistresses, Should be persons of a mature age, who, having an inclination Sora single life, would have no other view than to dedicate themselves to the Lord, in the important ministry which was entrusted 1 to them : they Should be freed from all temporal 
cares, by a genteel provision for their necessary wants,, ih health, sickness, and old age: great good nature and mildness Should be required of them J it is the only method of gaining hearts, I am sensible they would have occasion for great firmness; but without relaxing the fixed regulations, they Should take the trouble to con !i vince the poor children of the necessity of these 
Jaws, which tended only to their advantage. It would be necessary for these masters and mistresses to have good understandings and talents;;; their situation in lish would require these quali 
ficatior^. 
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fications. Their state would be a middle one, between a religious life, and the common way of living in the world j and those who devoted themselves thereto, would have at least as many opportunities of attaining perfection, ' as in a convent. 
The Pagans were sensible of the importance of taking care of the education of children. Minos, Lycurgus, and the ancient Persians, reaped from it all the fruit that could be expected from the imperfection of the methods which they made use of. What might we nct expect from a christian education, where God grants the necessary grace, to do what he commands? 
I answer, beforehand, an objection that might be made. General laws concerning education, are only proper for small states j and it would be scarcely possible to establish them in a great kingdom. Each province should superintend the education of its poor. Thanks to the piety of our ancestors, there are but few where the monks have not estates which were bequeathed t them, to be employed in relieving the poor. to apply these estates according to the intention of the donors, would be a act worthy of a 
kings 
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king; it might absolutely be done without lessening the number of monasteries. La Trap, which has not an income of four hundred pounds per annum, contains one hundred and fifty religious; and distributes plenty of alms, without reckoning the expense of entertaining visitors. The labour of the monks supplies the want of a revenue. What prevents others from imitating them? We see that an artificer maintains his wise and children by his labour; why then could not a monk bring up a poor child? But it will be Said, the monk is confined to a long office *; has hours Set apart for meditation and study; must consess people, preach, and Say mass. The answer is easy. The monk is lodged for nothing, the artificer is not: every monastery has large gardens; the true religious would there find half his Sustenance. It is true, it would be a less delicate food than fish; but the poor who work as hard as the monks ought to do, are contented with vegetables, and make Shift without flesh meats, or fish. Ought the voluntary poor to be more delicate? No. Have they made a Solemn vow of poverty only to Sree themselves from poverty, and that they might want for nothing? IS they preach, they are paid; if they compose books, their works 
* A part of the breviary. 
produce 
LETTERS. 1b3 
produce them a revenue, which far exceeds their wants : the retribution they receive for saying mass, amounts to half as much as a poor handicraft man can earn in a whole day. .Do these last live fewer years than monks? Have they more disorders?? 
Mrs, Darby. 
I HAVE obeyed you, my dear mother: this is what I would do, if God had granted me power equal to my good will. Heaven grant I neglect not the works which God has put into my hands. The time draws near when you are to be restored to me again. I shall, suspend my resolutions till your arrival; they are in general to realise my schemes in miniature, to put to 
this use,, overplus of my fortune, which our manner of living renders very considerable.. If 
any of the happy of the age fiiould read the distribution of our hours, the frugality of our table, and the simplicity of our dress, they would pity us; and we, on our fide, cannot help entertaining a much more justly founded compassion for them. Peace, pleasure, tranquillity, health, and innocence, are blessings which we abundantly enjoy. Who among them can boast of possessing these invaluable treasures?? 

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Tell my dear Harriet, that my husband has 
I almost finished his journal, and that Ihe (hall 
have it loon. It would have been finished sooner, but our duties must take place of our amusements. He Superintends the works at the hill, while madam D’aftie and I preside over the cookery of the labourers. How little is na. ture contented with! One only of those Sumptuous dinners which I have formerly ordered, would have been sufficient to feed two hundred of our workmen. When I think of it, I still blush at our three dishes; and am consoled only by the pleasure of regaling those who are recovering from sickness, I will not say with the remains of our table; (for it would give me un -- easiness to send them a cold bit j) but a bit from; 
our table. Jesus christts always served. first,, as hemught to be. 
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LETTERS. 185 
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LETTER XLIV 
Lady HA R RI eps Answer to CLARIS SA. 
GO D grant, my dear Clarissa, that the frugal life you lead, may preserve you from the horrid pains I have Suffered, as it has Sreed you from the inconveniences of which I was the victim, during nine months. I make an oath JS I am ever in a way of being a mother again, to try your regimen. It is exactly a month this day. Since I was brought to bed of a line boy. If you have managed in consequence of my first resolutions, immediately make an alteration; and, remember that I want a lass for this little angel. I shall tell you, that you have robbed me; and, that I Shall console myself for it only, through hopes of (baring our fortunes with each other, as well as hearts. I have attained the height of friendship. Clarissa, your daughter shall be a great lady, with my Son; and, I don’t at all confider the disproportion of these two children’s fortunes. It would be worse still, if we were to lose our lawsuit;; should then be very poor, and my Son wou’d be a very inconsiderable person; without my losing hopes of hearing him one day call you mother. He shall be early accustomed to call 
you 
i86 LETTER 5. 
you fo; and, whatever pleasure the light of him gives me, I will sacrifice it to the advantage of having him brought up under your management, on condition you continue submissive to your wife directress. I like the plan of your little household; and, without vanity, I had a mind to put ours on the same footing. You thereby gain an inhabitant. I restore to agriculture, one of my men servants, and a maid who was employed under the cook. The 
cook, no longer busied, in preparing six and thirty different ragouts, can do without her. The retrenchment of our table, puts us in a condition to portion this couple; three hundred livres seemed to them a fortune; and, they wilt employ this sum according to your direction. You will render me covetous, Clarissa;; study every day to distinguish my real, from imaginary wants. I cannot, in the rank of life, wherein Heaven has placed me, reduce myself, like you, to a fluff gown; but, I clearly perceive, that without making myself particular, by retrenching the expenses of mere luxury and whim; such as perfumes, flowers, ci shall be able to settle such a family every year. This idea makes me amends for the little violence T under 
ft 
go, in weaning myself from all these gewgaws. 
You Ihashct be quit for one family : Mr. balfour’s 
LETTERS. 187 
four’s valet de chamber is in love with your Fanny; Ihe,. with the description you have given us of your rural life, and is desirous of partaking its sweets. I have tried her vocation, by telling her, that, accustomed fo long to a plentiful table, and easy employments, she could not comply with a peafant’s way of life, and would link under the fatigue : She is vexed, and asks me, whether she can’t do what the baroness D’aftie has done and what her dear mistress does at present t She says, Ihe shall be used to it by degrees; and that, if (he is not fit for hard labour, yet She can teach the little children tp spin cotton. By our mother’s advice, Ihe has been a month at the Fllles de. St. Thornas de ville neuve, at St. Germains en laye, where there is a large school of little spinsters, founded by the deceased Mr. Languet. She is returned, enchanted with it. The little girls come in the morning, and bring in a basket their breakfasts and dinner; and leave off work, only while they receive instruction. At the end of the week, the cotton they have spun is weighed, and they •are paid: the least of all, overjoyed, carry home some pence; the biggest have no more^j but, the remainder is laid by, to cloth them every year, and the overplus is given to their parents., By this means, the mothers, ridded of 
the 
i88 LETTERS. 
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the trouble of their children the whole day, work themselves;; these childreii, instead of being a charge, are an advantage to them, after the first year; for what they earn the first year, belongs to the mistress, and serves to pay for the cotton they spoil at first.. 
have seen in the gallery at windsor, a picture of a locksmith, whom Love made a painter; and, you ftiall See in your village, a flocking weaver, who owes his calling to the same master. I mean the valet of Mr. Balfour, who has presented to his master the firstfruits of his labour. He will weave the cotton which his wife spins, and offers himself to instruct some Soundlings. Here is a new branch of manufacture for you. I should see all these fet out with pleasure, if our mother was not resolved to accompany them hersels. Ah! Clarissa, I cannot reconcile to myself the idea of losing her, in the least. Is it possible you should be amidst such plenty, while your poor Harriet is lest 
quite destitute?? will become of all my good resolutions, when I am deprived of her, who Suftained me in those moments, wherein it seemed almost impossible to fulfil them? Where is friendship, Clarissa?? it not to engage you, to make an effort in my favour? You 
would 
LETTERS. 189 
ft 
would have her the rest of her life; would a year be too much for me? I am thoroughly sensible of the indiscretion of my request;; was I to obtain from your tenderness this heroic sacrifice, the firmness of our mother would render it useless;; thinks herself called where you are, and reproaches herself for all the moments Ihe loses here. I shall not have to reproach myself, with having neglected one of those which remain for me to enjoy her, and shall endeavour to make a provision to serve me my whole life. 
Finally, Fanny and her husband, far from being a charge to the village, undertake to provide furniture for their companion, who is not forich as them; they have three hundred guineas between them j and, flatter themselves they shall be able, with this sum, to establish a little flocking manufactory; prepare scholars for them. I entirely coincide with your opinion, about the means of peopling France with a new race, who might be compared with the myrmidons, who, from ants become men, derived from their first origin, a great inclination for industry. Thus the posterity of those whom you have brought up, will never forget theirs. I am only permitted to fill four Sides, and must therefore finish. Our mother continues. 
Mrs, 
igo LETTER S. 
Mrs. DARBY to CLARISSA. 
r 
Indeed, my dear. She has Suffered a great deal, and has bore it with a patience, that you know was not the effect: of her natural constitution. My poor heart is almost distracted, when I think, that, in Sour months hence, you must undergo a like trial; See how imperfect I ami I am convinced, that Suffering is a blessing; I even think I reap good myself, from those whii^h God sends me; and yet, I cannot, without the utmost terror, behold persons suffer, whom I love. Without'a compliment, my dear, if I could have brought into the world lady harriet’s child, and could do the same by yours, I would do it, I think, if it was only that I might suffer less. Our friend was in great danger for fifteen days; and it was this which prevented my writing to you, I neither would deceive you, nor make you uneasy. I had not an heart to conceal her situation from her : to have done it, in my opinion, would have been the greatest cruelty. Her attendants conjured me not to frighten her : they said, it would certainly kill her. 1 raised myself above all their fears; I had promised her to do foi kept my word, using every possible precaution. She understood 
L E T T E R S. igr 
3erftood me in a moment; and, with a constancy and resignation, very rare in a person of herage, Settled her Spiritual affairs. Some young ladies of her acquaintance, were afraid of her falling into such terrors, as they themselves should have fell into, on such an occasion;; did not lose this opportunity of remarking to them,, the advantage of having lived in innocence, when on a deathbed. I hope the reflections they made on this subject, will produce a good effect. Harriet promifes to make them recollect, what they have said to her about it Since her recovery, which has been very quick. She desired me not to let you know fly had been in danger; I don’t know what end this could have answered j for I am satisfied that, my dear Clarissa is thoroughly persuaded, that God has no need of a lying in, or a distemper, to finish our days, when he thinks proper So to do. I know fly has accus tomed herself to confider every day as the last of her life; and, that she thinks of it without dread. The Sear of God is, without doubt, the beginning of wisdom; but, I have always remarked with pleasure, that your confidence in him, So balanced this fear, that it neither troubled nor discouraged you; and, 1 have frequently returned thanks to his divine goodness, for having this way conducted you to himself. 
Con 
1^2 LETTER S. 
t 
I 
Continue, my dear child, to confider heaven as the only abode where you shall be freed from the fear of sin, and the inevitable evils of this life; Support this life, because it puts you into a condition to labour for the other, which is eternal. This enduring of lise, is all that can be required of a christian, whose faith is lively. 
I have read, with pleasure, your visionary schemes for increasing population; would.to God, that those who have the power in their hands, would form Such another, and put it in execution. But, as this is not to be expected, do yourself in miniature, what you could wish was done in great j perhaps, your good example will excite Some rich persons to Second you. You have very properly observed, that all depends on those who preside over the work. It you do not Sorm persons, capable of Sup 
I porting this good work aster your decease, ava! 
! and private interest, will Soon be the 
I 
means of destroying it: and, in an hundred years hence, no remains of it will be Seen. Man is a clock, the weights are always tending tc descend; and necefifarily require Some person to be attentive to wind them up. What renders this renovation more difficult, is because wc cannot expect: to sustain suchlike eftablishments 
i 
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LET E R S. 
ly fine discourses, examples are wanted. If the world could have a conception oi the charms ox the life to which you have devoted yourself, such persons as madam d’ailie woulci be multiplied: unhappily, its charms are felt only by those who exercise it; and, your kind of life, viewed at a distance, will always Seem insupportable to people who are in a condition to Second you. I have been charmed with fanny’s resolution of Settling with you; this girl is quite fit to enter into all your views; it is to be hoped that God will inspire others with a desire to Second you; and, is he is graciously pleased to grant you children to inherit your vocation, as well as fortune; you may flatter yourself, th good you do will Survive you. 
There are two Sorts of people who may contribute to your work. The rich who are desirous of working their salvation, yet are attached from their eircumftances to the great world, might assist you with their fortunes: there are to be met with also, humane, ingenious men; who, without being animated by the spirit of christianity, wmuld take a pleasure in assisting you with their overplus of fortune, thro’ 3 conviction alone, that your foundations must procure the greatest advantages to the state, vol. II K Their 
• f 
194 LETTERS. 
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Their motives ought not to be examined toi nicely; though less perfect than those of th former, they are laudable; to be a good citizen to love our country, is a virtue. 
The second sort of people, who might ai the success of your enterprizes, are those wh would pay vhth their persons;; these are in comparably the most necessary. By rigour, au thority might force the peasant to submit to part of the regulations which your people foi low, without reaping the same benefit from it whatever is done by force, cannot be of Jon duration. The essential point is to have person: 'who, by their examples, would make these rube 
loved. What numbers of poor nobility migl 
find a resource by assisting your good intention; and thereby emerge from the state of poverty, i which they live! I say, like you, child, I mu hasten to finish, for fear I should never finifl there might be fo much said on this importai article. 
\ 
I propose setting out very early in the fprin We (hall travel commodiously, though wii great oeconorny. we have bespoke a cart, CI vered with oil Skin, with hampers underneat well fluffed with hay, to keep our feet and le 
'wan 
I 
L E T T E R S. 195 
warm. We shall go in this carriage as far as Beziers, with two horses, wdiich are to be bought here. If it is least expensive to go from Beziers by the canal, we shall sell our horses there; if not, we shall come, men and beasts together. Mr. and Mrs. Balfour would have me take a coach; but I won’t listen to this proposition. It would cost much more, and would only be fit to light fires with, when we arrived at your village; whilst our little cart will become pur equipage, in your little journeys, from one settlement to another; and, at other times, will be of use to the community. Mr. balfour’s servant, who marries the kitchenraaid, is an excellent coachman. What we Save by this manner of travelling, shall be devoted to cliarity; it will ennoble whatever seems mean and pitiful i. mt method of performing this journey. 
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196 LETTER S. 
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LETTER XLV 
From the Baroness DAS TIE to Mrs. DARBY. 
I Do not in the least, leave it to our child’s cafe, to give you an account of her actions; I distrust the punctuality of her pen, when ihe is to speak of herself j She would pass over fasts, with Such a rapidity, as to leave them for you to guess at. I never Saw So much activity, info discreet, regular, and'calm a mind. She does everything with Such coolness, as is she had nothing else to do; and fails not to multiply the objects of her cares, in a manner that Seems al 
9 • • 
most miraculous; for, she has undertaken her fels, what would very well employ three persons. As to the rest, she does not deceive you about her health, she is perfectly well; and, if her shape, which every day loses something of its delicacy, did not .show her condition, it would never be suspected that she was far gone in her pregnahcy. It is but just that she should share the advantages of our peasants, since (he fo cheerfully joins in their solicitude; not having been able to obtain permission to partake of their laborious employments, as she wished. In this alone, she has given me some trouble; 
and I was a great while, before I could make 
her 
letters. 197 
her understand that God having placed her .at the head, to become feet and arms, would be an act of disobedience to his divine commands. Notwitliftanding Ihe does not fail to employ hers; her spinning wheel is never from her fide, except vshen She is writing, or at her meals; (he has excited an aflbnifhin.g emulation among our Spinftrefles; and, the quantity of thread is increased a full fourth, since (he has been amongst us. Our women, after her example, Spin or knit, as they go along; ■ even those who go to Bordeaux every week, work during the journey. Gh! how powerful is the force of example! and what might not be obtained from men, if, inllead of multiplying precepts and Sermons, those who deliver them, would execute themselves, what they recommend to others. I am going to acquaint you with your daughter’s conquests within this month. 
She caresully insormed herself of the characters of Several gentlemen, who, in old ruinous houses, which they decorated vvith the name of castles, dragged on in ignorance a miserable life; she had a mind to pay them a visit. We have a great number of such families in the neighbourhood. Same, which enlarges everything, bad acquainted them with the marriage of iny 
K 3 fon, 
L ETTER S. 
fon, with an English lady, richer than a princess, whose clothes were nothing but gold, This account had excited in them, a great desire to be acquainted with her; but, the ftateli ness of our poor neighbours, would have got the better of their curiosity;; proud of their old parchments, we must; have exhibited ours to prove, that our ancestors had quitted the plough 2 few hours before theirs. Our child, abovs these trifles, resolved to obviate them : it istru! her visit was not difinteresced; file was desirous of searching in these ruins, to try whether fhi could not find something (i: for her purpose An ass, which she makes use of, in her littli journeys to the mountain and elsewhere, wa: the equipage, she employed last week, to visi the whole ctivirons of this place. I had ac • quainted her beforehand with their manner o behaviour and customs. The girls, with woodei shoes on their feet, carefully preserved the ol bits of tinsel, which belonged to their great grandmothers; and oftentatioufiy drefied them Selves out vvith them, on Sundays and holidays. Woe to the wealthiest peasants, if LI then prefnmed to look them in the face, or nc salute them in the most respectful manner; tb fathers and brothers would joyfully lay hold ( 
such an opportunity, to draw their rusty fwordi 
1 
LETTERS. 199 
tochaftife the fool hardy wretch, v.'lio had dared to (how such disrefpect. My daughter carefully collected together all the knicknacks, which (he liad considered as useless to her; viz. new ribbons, or which had been but little wore, pom poons, blond laces, artificial riowers, and gauzes. She added to these rags, al! hergowm, and petticoats, which (he could not convert into ornaments for the church. You know fire had a very fine wardrobe. Sacks of striped taf fety, pa nted silk, and printed linen, of which Ihe had tv/enty tvvo remaining, and also some nightcaps, trimmed with ordinary lace; which, for the future, were to be worn only on great holidays. She made them up into as many parcels as fire had visits to make; observing to put the trinkets on one fide, and the clothes on the other; for, Ihe was willing to spare their pride. 
The rumour of her intended visit and of hef presents, outstripped her speed, and had began to soften the vanity of our neighbours. The least haughty received us at the door of their houses;; the ladies, in a little paltry mean room, which they called a parlour, were considering about the punslilios th„y Should observe at our firll meeting. My daughter charmed them all at first sight; and, by an easy politeness free from 
K 4 servility 
200 LETTERS. 
lervihty or pride, made them easily comprehend she was at least born their equal. This fiist visit was short, she had designed twenty-four' hours for each family; but, in two of them, she staid three whole days, for the following reason. y'fter the first night, she aflted per mishon ot the mothers to present the young ladies with a few English trinkets; and, after Tome ceremony, the parcel of trinkets was opened, admired, presented, and accepted. She af terv/ards res; retted her havino; nothing: new. 
o o o r 
to offer them for themselves; and aiked if (lie might presume to offer something, which might serve for furniture : and then, undid her second parcel. She did not take this liberty, except in the two houses where she had staid the longest; in the others, (he, under pretence of consulting the mistress of the family, about the use stie Should put several things to, which she did not intend to wear any more, spread out her goods, and, watching their looks, laid hold of the first opportunity of offering them. A single word, as, It is a great pity to make up into furniture such good clothes as these, made her reply immediately, If they had been new, I should have taken the liberty of offering them to these ladies; but, I did not dare to presume 
sofar. There then arose a combat between 
their 
LETTERS. 201 
their avarice and pride; and,, as she astifted both palsions, her offer was at last accepted. By these means, Ihe has So gained the hearts of this nobility, that she can make them do whatever (he pleases; and has already Sormed considerable projects on this head. 
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Our last visit was at a village about six miles distant from us, where lived two gentlemen, cousin germains, whose wives had been So sruit full, that one of them had fourteen children, and the other twelve, and of these twenty six 
eighteen were girls. What pen can describe 
* > « 
the miserable life these unhappy people led! They could Scarcely procure a bellysul of black, coarse bread. Such as dogs would resuse to eat, unless half famiflied. Nevertheless, they made an effort to give ns a good reception. Some old Sowls were killed, and white bread Sent for from a neighbouring town; and the two cousins joined purses, to entertain us at their mutual expense. Literally Speaking, the girls were clothed in rags; and, our proposal to make them a present of some clothes, was received with transport. Ladies, says the eldest of the cousins, with tears in his eyes, you would scarcely believe, you have been in company with gentry, whose nobility is as ancient as the 
K 5 time 
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time of the earliest cmfades. We have preserved our blood free from mixture, at the expenct of all the conveniences of life, which we have made a Shift to do without; if we had had fewer children, we could have lived on our trifling income, if not in plenty, at least, in a decent way; too great fruitfulness, by obliging us to divide, our morsel into too many bits, has rendered our condition very deplorable; yet, however great our distress, we courageously resist the temptation of relieving ourselves, by means unworthy of us. Some of our relations, less delicate, have made a fortune, at which, we blush, finee they owe it to the finances; they ■ offered us the same resource for our fons; but, we could not descend fo low; and the only favour we have asked of them, has been to place some of our daughters in the royal abbeys, where young ladies are received, without paying any pension. They have procured two vacancies for each of us, which will be some little aflistance; and, they have promised, to get tv; o of our boys into the Military Academy. 
J 
Clarissa applauded everything, even the ridiculous delicacy of these honest gentlemen; and, as soon as Ihe found an opportunity, 
sounded 
LETTERS. 203 
founded the vocation of the Sour victims, who were designed for the cloisters. They had no other besides hunger; and one osthem, told her with tears, that, if it had not been through fear of her father’s anger, She Should have found means of ceasing to be a charge to him, by marrying the fon of a rich farmer, by wliorn she was beloved; but, added (he, he would kill me, if he only knew I had ever thought of such a thing. Therefore, I (hall obey him, whatever I suffer; for I detest a convent; my only consolation will be, the hopes of soon finishing 
there a wretched life^ she stopped at these 
words, ' and Clarissa finifiiecl the sentence— — grief for the loss of your lover. blusn not to own it to me; I will be your friend, and do you all the service in my power. She made much of her, and learned from her, that her sister and her two cousins verein the same situation; bot, that they would never forgive her, if they knew She had betrayed them. don’t be afraid, said our child, only leave the management of your affairs to me, and all will go well. The very same day, file tried to gain they confidence of the parents, and invited them to return our visit. She afterwards said to the gentlemen, ycur two eldest daughters seem to have very good understandings, and will certainly succeed, in whatever 
station 
204 LETTER S. 
I 
lotion you place them in. Yet, I beg permlf fion to make one remark. Speak, Madam, said they. Your daughters, I repeat it, arc charming; but, they" are to enter into a society of nuns, brought up in the great world; and these young ladies are bashful; trust them to madam D’allie till their departure; they will I acquire with us a free easy way; and will, on that 
j account, be better looked on in the abbeys where 
I you design to place them. This proposal was 
accepted with thanks: mantua makers were sent for to the neighbouring town, to fit the 
II linen sacks to their shapes; my daughter and I 
i Worked at their head dresses; and, in fact, 
l these poor girls were hardly to be known in 
1 ' ^ ^ ^ 
b their new dress. Their parents were extremely 
tliankhil, and consented to accompany us, in our i: return, with their wives. Till my daughter’s 
i arrival, I had made no noise, except in our own 
i i village, and these good people hardly knew my 
LI ' hame. clarilta’s clothes had caused a rumour, 
i which spread thirty miles roundabout; they 
could not comprehend the cause of the fimplici i; ty of her dress, and her choice of a village for 
LI her residence. They were still more shrprized 
'' i 
lill at the plainness of our furniture; and concluded 
IV therefrom, that our riches had been exaggerated. 
I i As file had not said a word of her birth; and, as 
VI 7 2 
, fl: they 
1st 
bb.w 
llh B ' 
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they thought it impossible to be flient on an article which seemed to them of such importance, .when a person was really of a noble family; they concluded she was the daughter of Some rich merchant, who had fell in love with my fon, and through complaisance to me, dressed 
ft 
after my manner. They ventured to ask some questions on this head, and were quite aftonilhed, when they found Clarissa was a young lady of family, and pofleited at present above eleven hundred pounds a year; and would have an immense fortune at her father’s death, who was a knight and baronet. She surprised them still more, by telling them, that in England, a man was valued according to his actions, and not according to his birth; that the fon of a lord, or a rninifler of state, was not dithonoured by entering into commerce; that a good honest farmer ranked with gentlemen, and was admitted to the tables of peers, though his family had not the least pretensions to nobility; in short, that high nobility was revered there; but was not thought stained, vshen, to repair the accidents of fortune, those who postelted it submitted to some profeltion, provided it was an useful one to the state, and they exercised it honourably. Our gentlemen at first thought these customs 
strange: : afterwards lamented the prejudice 
that 
I 
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>' 
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I 
1 
I 
II 
I that prevailed in France in this respect, which 
■I condemned them to die in misery. In short, 
I before the day was over, she convinced them 
I ^ 
I that every prejudice, which rendered useless men 
I born to serve the state, was ridiculous and criminal, 
and ought to be shook off by a noble soul; and, that to fet an example thereof, she had reduced herself to the station of a farmer’s wife. This condition, she told them, was not debasing. Since it was that of our primitive ancestors. Abraham, who was considered as a prince, was nevertheless, only a fiiepherd; Jacob, hisgrand fon, was a servant to his uncle; in short, she proved by twenty instances, that he who is of service to the state, is superior to the useless noble. I am sensible, says Mr. de Ferfal, (one of these gentlemen) that he who can serve his king and country, is unworthy the name of a gentleman, if be refuses to do it through love of ease, or fear of danger; but, added he, children like ours, whatever desire they may have to serve their county, are under an impossibility of doing it. A fortune is necessary to maintain a gentleman in the service, and they are absolutely destitute of any. 
Alas! do you think, said Clarissa, that your 
king and country do not want labourers, as 
well 
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LETTERS. - 207 
well as soldiers?? would become of the last, were it not for the first? War is made only to secure subjects the peaceable enjoyment of the fruits which the husbandman procures. My husband, (he added, shall imitate the ancient Romans, who, at one time bore arms, and at another, disdained not to cultivate their little estate, the inheritance of their ancestors. They feared not to commit the fate of the republic into the hands of one Cincinnatus, who was found at plough, when the ensigns of the die.. were brought him. This great man, conqueror almost as soon as armed, returned with eagctnefs to his rural employments. ab dolonim, of the family of the kings of Sydon, became a gardener, and was found at work' in his garden, when news was brought him, that Alexander restored him to his crown, 
ft 
Neither have we ever disdained rural employments, replied Ferfal; but, the smallness of our estate puts it out of our power to employ our children in a manner more suitable to their birth; and, as this is an evil which cannot be remedied, we must fn''mit, and bury our name in all its native purity. Determined to end the number cf wretched beings, which an unhappy fruitfulness in our children, would multiply to 
infinity, 
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I infinity, we are thoroughly resolved never tc 
I consent to the marriage of any of them; foi 
there is little probability, that a young lady ol equal rank, who is rich, should think of raifinp our family again; every one must not expect tc meet with such good fortune as the baron D’aftif has done. 
I This expression was extremely rude, and, 1 
blushed at it, for my fon j he pretended not tc understand it, and resuming the discourse witl 
Ithe utmost coolness, you are in the right. Sir 
Says he, Sew people can expect a happiness lik( mine; but, know, that I don’t think this hap 
ipiness consists in the nobility and immense for j tune of my wife. Had she been born a fliep 
herdefs, and had her ancestors since Noah never been of any other profession, I would havechofi and preserred her to a princess, who pofleffei not her virtues, I acknowledge, replied Ferfal 
I that the virtues of your wife are sufficient t( 
justify a mif alliance; yet, I don’t think it righto mif ally one’s self; and, I should never for give my children if they were to be guilty of: fault of this kind. 
I am entirely of your opinion, Sir, says I but we don’t mean the same thing by an impro 
, pel 
LETTERS. 209 
per alliance. To make an improper alliance, is to marry a woman of a bad character, or one who. copies of a family dishonoured by vice. I confider as a gentleman, the man only who polfefles truly noble sentiments;; I should think my fon very badly allied, if he had married such a person, though her nobility had been as ancient as the times of Pharamcnd. Every man virtuous in a superior degree, is worthy of being noble, and is foin my eyes. 
I flnll not repeat all the arguments we used in trio, before we could get the better of the wretched prejudice of these poor folks; and what is very singular, the women held out a great while after the men were convinced. I have said this was singular, but it is not foin the least; and, with submission to lady Harriet, a foolish woman is four times more silly than a man, and obstinacy is always in proportion to ignorance and folly. We let Sour days pass, to confirm our proselytes in their new Sentiments j and, in Spite of the progress, they imagined they had made in their new philosophy, they v/@rc ready to revolt, when we informed them we could settle four cf their daughters, who had not the least inclination for a religious life, which they were, notwithstanding, resolved to 
embrace, 
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210 LETTER S. 
embrace, if we could not induce them to cotn pafiionate their cafe. My fon, since our first interview, had seen the farmer, whose two fons were in love with two of these young ladies. 
The other two were beloved by their cousins; who not haying a large portion to offer lik« the farmer’s fons, were quite in despair. My foa raised their spirits. Clarissa had a mind to make them the first inhabitants of a plantation (he had projected; and give them wherewithal to liv there. The baron found the farmer very tractable; his fons had threatened him to enlist themselves in the army, if he did not consent to their marriage; and, as they were his only fons, for it is not usual with us, to fet any great value on girls; the good man had given them leave to do as they thought proper. It came into the baron’s head, to propose to him one of ferfal’s fons for his third child, who was a very genteel young woman. You would have me then left alone, and abandoned in my old age, says the honest man, with tears in his eyes. Quite the contrary, says my fon, embracing him. Your farm is lonely, and Hands by itself; our defigq is to surround it with an hamlet, of which you will be the head and the father, since your three children shall be the 
first 
L E T T E R S. II 
the first inhabitants. God bless you, and all your undertakings, replied the farmer; but, I am very much afraid my daughters in law and son-in-law will despise me. The two gentlemen, my neighbours, are very good kind of people, but they are haughty; indeed, if they resembled you, I would on my knees beg of them their daughters, and offer mine, who has had a very good education in a convent; as to my Sons, they know how to read and write, that’s all; they never till now gave me any cause to complain of them. And they will never give you cause again, says my fon; leave the management of this affair to me. With all my heart, replies the old man; I have pretty near fifteen hundred pounds in ready money, I will Share it equally between my three children; and, if I don’t die very Soon, they may expect more. We don’t desire So much of you. Says my Son; you ought not to strip yourself quite, you Should keep something to reward those children, who, by their respectful behaviour shall deserve it best. The peasant was charmed with my fonss care to secure his future felicity, and left him absolute mafier to act as he pleased. 
As this had passed before our last interview 
with 
212 LETTER S. 
with the gentlemen, we offered on the farmer part three hundred and fifty pounds for each of his fons immediately; and, we agreed, that each of the fons in iaw Should make a present of twenty guineas to his father-in-law, in order to reconcile these gentlemens wives to the matches, 
I took this opportunity to propose the farmer’5 daughter as a match for one of their Sons, whom she Should prefer before the rest; and everything was presently fettled. As it still wants seven months of the time fixed for mar riages in our parish, we have undertaken to take care of the girls till then; and we requ; r their future husbands to be afiiduous, during the whole of this time, to the instructions of oui pastors. Our three gentlemen certainly hav 
t 
more occasion for this last clause than the farmer’s fons, for they are stupidly ignorant. We promi e their parents to take four more of their !: daughters, as soon as these are married; we al 
• have views about them, which please 
I God will in time be accomplished. Here then i is a new hamlet, which we are going to establish, 
if’ • 1 - 
j] madam; we only want a clergyman like thee 
I God has bestowed on us already, to watch over 
“• 1 I this future habitation. Our pastors would will 
I lit^gly Sacrifice a part of their revenues, to en 
I able him to live comfortably; see, madam, I whether 
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l > 

LETTERS. 213 
whether you cannot procure us such a person. All those who are educated at Sr. Sulpice, are persons of excellent principles; their worthy superiors might find some one who would fuit, if you would be .kind enough to explain our plan to them. I reckon the days with impatience, till the time arrives that I shall have the honour to possess you, and return you thanks for being the mother of a daughter, who constitutes my whole happiness. lamas much obliged to you for it, as if it had been in your power not to have been fo. My respects, if you please, to lady Harriet: shall we never have the pleasure .of feeing her.? 
s’ 
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LETTER 
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214 LETTER S. 
LETTER XLVI 
CLARISSA ro LADT HARRIET, 
OH my God! my dear Harriet, I was easy and merry, at a time when I was threatened with the greatest misfortune that could possibly happen to me. At reading our mother’s letter, which informed me of your dangerous situation, I was as greatly Shocked, as I should have been to have Seen you in Such extreme danger. Do not imagine, my Sears and anguish were for yoursels; no; death Seems to me stripped of all its horrors, when I have reason to think it only the beginning of a better lise j it was for myself I wept, for Mr. balsour, for iis all. My thanksgivings to the Lord, for his goodness in preserving a person fo dear to me, have been proportionable to the value I seton 
the favour he has bestowed. This is telling you, that I never returned thanks fo heartily before. I was exactly in the same situation, when you acquainted me with my mother’s resurrection, I think these two sentences express everything. You are sensible I am quite a novice in these matters; I had never seen anybody in your situation till I came here; and our women get through it k easily, that I was deceived with 
respect 
\ 
its 
respect to what you had to suffer. Ah! if you are ever again in the same way, come, come, my dear lister, come and partake the benediction which God showers down here on the daughters of Eve; they only suffer enough to fulfil the menace of the Almighty. Does he moderate their pains in proportion to the innocence of their lives? They would have suffered nothing in the terrestrial paradise, and this place recalls the idea of it; for to eat our bread vvith the sweat of our brow, to us seems less an evil, than a remedy againil vice, weariness, and discontent, the consequences of an idle luxurious life. My mother in law, who is much better Ikilled in these matters than our mother, affures me, that I shall have an easy and happy delivery; and I rely on her promises. 
The spring begins to restore to our labourers all their former activity : the hamlet of christian union seems to rise above the earth; the walls only were built; and in a week, almost everything has been nearly finished. The hamlet of the family is begun, which is the name we have given to that which is to be built halfway between the farm and our gentlemens houses, exactly where our parish ends. If God gives a blessing to our intentions, soon this vast territory. 
ai LETTERS, 
tory, on which not a single house could be Seen, will become one continued village: we may labour a great while before we want land, and the overplus of our hands will produce manufactures. A great lord, to whom I propose to pay my respects soon, poitefles here an estate four leagues in circumference, and sacrifices this great extent of ground, to the pleasure of coming here to hunt ten or twelve times in the autumn. What a Shame! This land might maintain Several thousand men, and is made the dwelling place of a thousand hares, which, net Satisfied with this vast pofleltion, destroy and ravage everything, which has the misfortune to be planted or cultivated on the frontiers of their empire. The unhappy peasant, almost distracted to See the hopes of his harvest, and the fruits of a whole year’s labour defiroyed in a moment, must Stifle his sighs and complaints, lest he should be taken up by the game keepers; but if he should unfortunately kill one of these hares, the galleys are talked of. What tyranny! Surely these lords, who fet fo little value on whatever does not relate to themselves, must have bowels of iron. Do they imagine that all nature should labour for them alone! These are, say they gravely, the prerogatives of our 
birth and fortune. What dreadsul and horrid 
pre 
LETTERS. 217 
rogatives are these, which give a right to be cruel, barbarous, and unjust!! I will, if necessary, throw myself at the feet of this man, and say to him : 
> 
Sir, I come to propose to you a pleasure worthy of a nobleman, of a king, in return fob the trifling amusement which this immense warren procures you; you divert yourself with, feeing your hares among the bullies; permit me to change the seen, to diversify the picture, to augment your glory, and even your revenue. Confine your hares into any fixed compass you please, if you cannot resolve to part with therii entirely; we will fence them in if you require it; leave us the residue of this uncultivated iand; suffer us to employ our sweat and labour, to render it fertile. You Shall Soon See rise from the earth a new race, who (hall lisp out your name which their parents have taught them to bless. You Shall be the father of these new families, who will owe their existence to you; you will See them increase before your eyes; they will multiply your vaffels, and those of your children. I ask this Savour in the name of the Most High, who has not created the earth for the pleasure of Some few, but for the use of mankind in general. 
vol. II L A colony 
0 
i LET E R S. 
A colony planted in the middle of the plain, will proclaim to future ages, that Lord such an one, ennobled as much by his virtues as hh birth, was capable cf Sacrificing one of his pleasures for the benefit of mankind. If this effort Seems difficult and painful to you, you will partake the heroic glory of triumphing over yourself. All eyes are fixed on you : how many persons who are your inferiours, will think themselves obliged to follow your example! I behold, on all fides, the flames devour these useless plants : and the earth enriched with their cinders, produce the more plentiful crops, on account of its having been always uncultivated. We are eager to find islands in the new world at a great expense, France is depopulated to people these climates; and we have, in the very centre of the kingdom, desert places which might be rendered fertile. What new sources of plenty does your example open to your country! Prefer the glory of a legislator, of a creator, to use the expression, to that of a great and powerful man, of a conqueror, of a rich man. Redeem your sins by this good work; at the hour of death, when everything leaves you, it will be your consolation and joy, and the foundation of your hope. 
Do 
LETTERS. 219 
Do you think, my dear, there can exist a being hard hearted enough to resist these just considerations?? my part, I cannot believe it; and I (hold think myself criminal, if I. resisted the impulse which moves me to prompt him to this good work. Adieu, my dear Harriet, I leave off to read the account my husband has promised you, which he has just finished; tho’ I have seen it by bits, I am very desirous of revising it altogether: it is a true confession., 
I acquaint you beforehand. 
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f 
ftp 
1.2 LETTER 
ft 
220 n n 1 1 JK. c. 
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LETTER XLVII 
From the Baron DAS TIE to Lady HARRIET, Madam, 
WHILE I only viewed it at a distance, 
I imagined I had courage sufficient to perform the painful task which you imposed on me. At the time of execution, my courage fails me. I pretend to your friendship, to your esteem;; how can I flatter myself ever to possess either, when I have shown you how little I deserve these sentiments?? fact, if I had this confession to write over again, I am afraid I should be guilty of palliating some eircumftances, that I might appear less culpable to you. However great my faults have been, I nevertheless think them cancelled, if it is sufficient to have bewailed them with tears of blood, to use the expression. No, nothing can surpass my repentance. God seems to have forgot them, madam; and I flatter myself, you will not remember them, and punish me for my obedience. Before I can proceed to this humiliating confeftion, I am forced to refer to the time which preceded my existence. What aggravates my fault is, my scorn and contempt of the example and 
counsel 
0 
LETTERS. 221 
counsel of a mother, who has always imitated the virtues of her ancestors;; am perhaps the first of my family, who, for a long Series of ages, has shown himself unworthy of the blood from whence'he sprung. 
The Mi story of the Baron D’A S TIE. 
M Y ancestors did not always live in such poverty as that in which my great grandfather left his fon; but this poverty proceeded from a glorious cause, Since it was ovwing to his loyalty to his king, which he preserved at a time when every one embraced the party which coincided best with his int^refts, and this alone caused the ruin of his estate. My grandfather finding it out of his power to maintain himsels in the Service, confined his whole ambition to cultivate alternatively his little estate, the Sciences, and his only daughter’s education, whose mother died as Soon as she was born. I Snali not take notice that she was a persect beauty; I hope, madam, you will be a judge of it Some time or other yourself. Notwithstanding her trouble and laborious employments, she yet preserves So great a share, that Sew women are to be compared to her. This beauty may be considered as the Source of all her misfortunes, if 
L 3 that 
222 LETTER S. 
that name may be given to accidents, which have conducted her to perfection and happiness; she lived tranquilly in retirement and poverty, when the arriere ban was published to altembli the nobility. 
I 
Fancy, madam, the extreme misery of a man, who has no more to subsist himself and daughter ' on than seven guineas a year, and who could not even depend upon that without procuring it by the sweat of his brow, and assiduous labour. Such was my grandfather’s situation. He might have found a resource in the poverty even of his neighbours; he was adored in the village j and there were none but would have looked on his acceptance of a part of their necessaries, as a favour done them : he received, with thankfulness, the sincere offers of these poor people, without being tempted to take an advantage of them : his maxim was, that a real gentleman should bestow with pleasure, but never receive, except when the refusal of a favour might endanger his life. The sale of his trifling patrimony might pay his daughter’s pension in a convent, and fit himself out to serve his master; he therefore resolved to sacrifice it. Alas! this resource failed him, and being obliged to appear at Bordeaux without delay, he was forced to 
pre 
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TT E R S. 223 
present himselsthere in the equipage of a beggar. Being repulsed at the door of the intendant’s office, he had the utmost difficulty to get to the intend.antss antechamber, wish, coming out of his apartment, inquired of his servants why they fuffereft that wretch to come up : then turning towards him, said. What do you want, honest man? I have appeared to the summons, replied my grandfather, firmly. My name is D. B. and I come to offer my king the remains of a blood, accustomed for many ages to be spilled for' its country. This name was too well known ^ not to strike the intendant: he saluted my grandfather, begged pardon for his mistake, took ' 
him by the hand, conducted him into his closet, and generously offered him his purse, to equip himself in a more decent manner. Sir, replied my grandsather, I do not resuse your assistance; 
I have Sought a resource from the Sale of my very small patrimony, but not finding an opportunity to dispose of it, I am desirous of mortgaging it; and (hall regard, as an essential service, the acquisition you make of it: on this condition, I thankfully receive your generous offer. You are sensible, a gentleman cannot, with decency, receive favours but from his king. 
It is from him. that I make you this offer, replied the intendant, amazed at his disinterested 
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224 LETTERS. 
nefs. Yet, in compliance with your delicacy, 
I undertake to dispose of your estate for you very advantageoully; in the meanwhile, I hope you will accept of my house and table. Permit me to introduce you to my wife; (he knows how to honour virtue, under whatever form it appears; do me the favour to accompany me to her apartment. 
Haughtiness Is the only resource of a noble mind, when endeavours are used to crush it. When we cease trying to humiliate it, a noble mind returns to its natural state, and thinks it a duty to return more politeness than has been received; for pride is a necessary ingredient, when properly applied. My grandfather therefore laid aside his haughtiness which he had assumed, to shpply the place of an equipage Suitable to his birth : and replied to the intendant’s politeness, hke a person who was not born in the station in which he appeared to be, and seemed neither humbled nor elevated at being placed at his table in such an indifferent dress. The inten dant’s wife was a lady of extraordinary merit; and having learned that Mr. D. B. had left behind in his cottage a daughter about fifteen years of age, desired, as a favour, he would permit her to take care of her at her own house, 
during 
LETTERS. 125 
during his absence : She Soon loved this young lady as well as if Ihe had been her own daughter. The peace, which Soon followed, permitting the gentlemen who were assembled for the arriere ban to return home, (he prevailed on my grandfather to leave his daughter in her care; and, as his expenses at Bordeaux had almost consumed the whole of his little fortune, the intendant procured him a gratification from court, which enabled him to augment it to its present value. 
It was at this intendantss house, that the baron D’aftie Saw my mother; he enjoyed a fortune which enabled him to disregard the want of one in a wife, and thought himself happy to obtain her hand. I was the only fruit of this marriage; and my mother, who by the change of her condition did not forget the great principles of virtue (he had imbibed in her youth, would not trust to any one the care of inculcating them in me. I lost my father when I was entering my ninth year; and, as there never was a more tender father or husband, none was ever more regretted. My grandfather died Soon after,, and these Succeftive Ioffes were in danger oscauf ing another. Maternal love, to usc the exprdii on, persormed a miracle in my favour, and with 
L 5 held 
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226 LETTERS. 
held the soul of my mother, which was almost 
on the wing to follow what was most dear to 
her in this world. 
% 
Resolved to surmount In my favour, her ex. ceffive grief, madam D’aftie renounced everything which might take her attention from the care she proposed to bestow on me; and retired to a very fine estate of my father’s, where she proposed to pafs the remainder of her days in retirement, when a piece of injustice, which could not be foreseen, obliged her to return to the world, 
A steward who had lived eighteen years in my grandfather’s service, by my father’s fide, produced, of a sudden, an account, by which his master owed him near three thousand pounds, money advanced at different times. As the debt, which he produced, bore interest, it a mounted to double the first mentioned sum; and he insisted on being paid the whole. It was notoriously clear that the deed, on which this man founded his demand, was a forgery; it was, however, necessary to convict him of this, and commence a fuit: whatever aversion my mother had for going to law, she was my guardian, and could not in conscience abandon 
my 
LETTERS. 227 
my interest;; therefore, courageously entered into this career, fo thorny, and disagreeable to a person of her dlfpofition. To heighten the misfortune, my deceased father had several relations and friends in the parliament of Bordeaux; they were excepted against, by our adversaries; and the cause was moved to the parliament of tholouse; where, aster three years ' proceedings, in Spite of our utmost endeavours to convict our adversary of forgery; the judges, though satisfied themselves of the justice of our cause, were, at length, obliged to give judgement against us, according to the letter of the law; and we lost our fuit with eofts.. 
I had accompanied my mother to Toulouse; and was witness of the incredible trouble this unhappy affair gave her. • I setup a Shout of joy, when I saw it finished; preferring the poverty to which we were about to be reduced, to the fear of her ruining her health, which I valued beyond all riches. It was to her I was indebted > for this fortitude, she had herself fet me the example. She uttered no complaints against her judges; nor did a single reproach, against the ravishers of my fortune escape her lips. God knows. Says she, embracing me, what is best for you j think, without hesitation, my Son, 
that 
228 LETTERS. 
that you would have made a bad use of what you have lost; the christian fortitude he inspires us with, is infinitely more valuable than the greatest treasures. He gives us more than he has taken away, and, these are blessings, which are beyond the reach of the injustice of man. He restores us to the humble retired indiiftrious life of our ancestors; and, though he is the author of our patience and Submission, he will recompense us an hundred Sold, even in this life, if consiftent with his glory and our Salvation. 
Oh! truly heroic woman, you were then inspired. God, by your mouth, declared the in cftimable blessings he designed me; and which, I Should never have arrived to, by any other way. Yes, madam, to the loss of this law fuit I owe my Clarissa;; is, at least, the first origin. of my happiness; but, can I recollect without horror as it has also been, through my Sault, the occasion of the ill conduct, which I (hall never cease to bewail, during lise, though divine mercy has changed the poisori into a remedy. My mother’s courage and tranquillity under Such an heavy Stroke, heightened the admiration her beauty had excited. Several lovers paid their addresses; but, faithsul to my father’s 
ashes, 
LETTER S. 229 
jlhes. She was not moved by their advantageous offers, and was preparing for her departure, when Ihe received information of a visit from her adversary. 
Her first determination was to refuse to see him; and would to God ftie had kept this resolution. She reproached herself for it, and Searing to preserve the least spark of resentment against a man whom She had fo much reason to hate, received him with a politeness that must have confounded him. He was accompanied by a girl about two years older than myself; she certainly was not a beauty; and, at present, when I coolly recollect the features which subdued me then, I clearly perceive she was hardly indifferently handsome: : this moment she appeared to me quite charming. You will be afto niftied, that a lad not thirteen years of age, should be susceptible of a tender pafiion. Alas, madam! indifferent to all other blessings, a romance which I had read above a year before, unknown to my mother, had taught me that I had an heart; and, that I could only be happy or miserable thro’ this heart. The pafiion I conceived at this time for Rofella, which was the girl’s name, was, perhaps, more the effect of a desire to love, and want of an object, than of an impression; and, without I had happened 
to 
23c LETTER S. 
to have read this romance, would doubtless have been attended with no consequences. The difr course of her Sather finished what my inclinations had began. Madam, Says he, to my mother, you See at your Sect, the most unhappy of mankind; (and he had, indeed, thrown himself at her feet.) My duty to this child, whom I love entirely, has not permitted me to listen to the Sentiments of my respectful attachment to your Samily. I was a long while Silent about the Sums that were owing me; and, is I had remained childless, I should have rather chose to die in middling eircumftances, than strip the grandson of my master, from whom I have received a thousand testimonies of his goodness.. Judge, madam, of my veneration for his memory, by the proposal which I have the boldness to make to you. I know the nature of the deceased Mr. d’aftie’s fortune; what he has left will scarcely suffice to pay what is due to me; and, I cannot think, without trembling, on the fate you and your Son are on the point of undergoing. I come to offer you all the recompense in my power; if you will consent to the marriage of Mr. D’aftie with my daughter, she shall bring him for a fortune, the whole estate, which a just decree has deprived him of. I am 
sensible she is defeended from an obfeure Samily; 
but, 
LETTERS, 231 
but, her charms and fortune give her a right to except everything; and she would already have been placed in a rank superior to what I ask of you for her, if I had not preferred the delicate pleasure of making the fortune of my mafterss grandson, to the marrying her to a man as rich as Ihe is herself, from the cession of the whole of my fortune. 
During this discourse, my mother’s face was as red as scarlet, and she felt the utmost indignation, fo that it was easy to foresee the answer she would make; and without yet well knowing what passed in my soul, I could not help trembling at the apprehension of it. She was, however, more moderate than this wretch could have expected. So great was her command of her passions. Sir, Says Ihe to him, I wish the proposal you have presumed to make me, had remorse for its principle; and, had I the power to engage my Son,. to Sacrifice the estate, which you unjustly withhold from him, I should think this Sacrifice inconsiderable, if it could obtain you, from God, a sincere repentance. This wish, christian charity obliged me to form in your Savour. But the most cruel extremity shall never force me to consent to an union, which, I think debasing. 
IS you were only of low birth, I could get the 
better 
232 L E T T E R S. 
better of the prejudice which forbids improper alliances, in favour of your generosity, in seeking the alliance of my Son, when ruined beyond resource. Do yourself justice. Sir, and Say to yourself what I spare your ears the hearing of. Were you a prince, I would refuse you my Son, if you were capable of a crime which you would repair wkh another. I pray Heaven to pardon you, as I forgive you, I repeat it again; and, it is less for my fonss interest than your own, that I warn you, that the restitution you would have made us, does not in the least discharge your conscience from the obligation of doing it in another manner. 
You are wanting in respect to your judges, 
replied this wretch, raising himself from the ground, with a furious air. You dare accuse them of injustice, and me of robbery? Tremble for the effects of my just resentment; and, since you reject my goodness, expect'every thing from my hatred. 
These viords suspended the growing inclination I felt for the daughter of fo guilty a father; and, notwithstanding my youth, I know not whether he would have escaped lily resentment, if he had not immediately ridded us of his odious 
presence. 
LETTERS. 233 
presence. Yet, I elsayed to engage my mother not to confound the daughter, who was innocent, with her guilty father: by the warmth, with which I defended her, my mother perceived what a rilk I Should run, if I saw her again; and hastened her design of removing me from a place, where my virtue, yet weak, had been in danger. The new employments, to which I Was forced to submit, soon weakened an impression, which had only been proportionate to my age; notwithstanding, there always remained a tender remembrance of this young person;; was, as it were, the seed of the violent passion (he inspired me with, in the sequel. I was never able to comprehend her in the just contempt which I had for her father, who forgot nothing he thought capable of doing us an injury; and extended to thehigheft pitch, the indignation with which the judges already beheld him, by the endeavours he used to pol fon the few words my mother had spoke. 
I shall not repeat what past during the first years of our abode in the country; my dear Clarissa has already acquainted you with it: I (hall only add, I have reason to be convinced, that the cause of premature excesses, is to be sought for, only in the idleness, in which, young people 
are 
234 LET T E R S. 
are suffered to remain. I am, unhappily, born with the most lively passions: : had scarcely time to be sensible of this, my time was divided between study and labour; I knew no oilier recreation than the diversity of my exercises; a sensible conversation, or works of charity. A day fo employed, to me seemed ftiort; I had not time sufficient for what I wanted to do; and, to make use of a trite expression, but which is too true, not to deserve to be preferred before every other: The devil could not have found a moment to tempt me. 
ft 
If my mother had consulted only her own inclination, She would not have wished me any greater happiness than what I then tasted. In the meanwhile, she saw the time draw near, when I should want a eomnanion chose for me: 
k 
our village offered to her choice, amiable, discreet, virtuous young women; but, though (he was sensible of the necessity of sacrificing prejudice to my happiness, supposing I had taken a liking to any one of them, she thought it her duty to spare no pains to prevent such a step. By inculcating every day, that true nobility 
consisted in virtue alone; she, at the same time, insinuated, that those, in whom both these 
I 
advantages were found, could not be too much 
respected; 
LETTERS. 235 
respected; that a girl of a good family, had, generally, a better education than one sprung from the dregs of the people; that it was the design of Providence, for persons to match themselves with their equals; and that eircumftances which very seldom happened, were necessary to justify a deviation from this rule. These repeated leflbns, uttered as if without design, insensibly made an impression on me, and preserved me from the danger of allying myself with any of those amongst whom I lived. I was, notwithstanding, in a situation which did not permit me to expect a suitable alliance; my mother, therefore, thought it her duty to endeavour to change it. 
My fon, says Ihe, when I had completed my eighteenth year, you have not seen me murmur in the least, against the order of Providence, when it consigned us to this solitude. I even own, that hardly any condition of life, would to me be preferable to this which you lead here; and that, if it belonged to me, to desire or choose one for you, I ftiould confine my whole ambition to this. But, as it is requisite, that God alone should place us according to his designs, I (hold be afraid of encroaching on his right, by keeping you longer with me. You must 
sound 
236 LETTERS. 
• 
found your own heart, in order to find its determinate resolution. I ssved some jewels from the wreck of our fortune; which I Sold for a thousand crowns, and have placed this Sum in the hands of a merchant at Bordeaux. The capital, at present, amounts to Something more; and, I have destined this Sum towards finifiiing your education. IS you have any particular inclination, either for the army or the gown, I shall confider this inclination, as the beginning of your vocation, and will Sacrifice everything, to put you in a condition to follow it. Take eight days to confider of what I propose; consult with Mr. Duboc the younger; he thoroughly knows your dispofition; I shall blindly Subscribe to whatever you determine upon together; and, on my part, shall pray to the Lord to enlighten you. 
I obeyed my mother; and after having well weighed the" duties of every state, which might be proper for me, I Sound none more excellent, or more noble, than that in which God had placed me. To Soften the manners of these simple men; who, in return for the bread, with which they Surnish the ungratesul citizens, are despised by them as vile Slaves; to learn them to sanctisy their poverty and their labours; 
to 
y 
V 
L E 1 TERS. 237 
to perform to them the respectable offices of a father, comforter, supporter, friend, and peace maker: can I aspire to a more excellent calling? I applaud, said my mother, the design you have to finish your days in the laudable employments, in which you have already past thf early part of your life; but, my dear child, you know no other condition than this; perhaps, your disgust: for others is only founded on your ignorance of the advantages they may procure you. To remove all my doubts on this head, I think it necessary that you Should try some other way of lise. Among my remaining friends at Bordeaux, I reckon a lawyer of undoubted probity. His delicacy has not suffered him to push his fortune sofar as most: part of his brethren; besides, being burdened' with a numerous family, necessity, as well as inclination, has engaged him to separate himself from the great world, where one is exposed to an expense, which equally impairs our salvation, health, and fortune; So that there your innocence and morals will be sase. I ani told he has Several very amiable daughters; I should be charmed if your heart chose one of them. During this year you shall try your inclination for the bar. If you persevere in preferring your first: way of life, 
you shall return with the companion of your lise, 
1 
and 
23? LETTERS. 
and acquire a new means of serving our poor, by preventing disputes, that may arise, and by deciding between them, conformable to th Jaws of this province, which you Shall particularly study. But, if your inclination alters, I shall Spare nothing to Support you in the pro feftion you wish to pursue, and, in which, I hope to See you make a rapid progress, provided you continue to fear and Serve the Lord. Remember frequently these words of the prophet; unless the Lord buildeth the house, it shall not Stand firmly. Let him then be the architect of your state, whatever it be. Depend more on his assistance, than on your own talents and application; he never abandons those who put their trust in him; and, as best fuks his designs, extends or contracts their lights. 
You will, doubtless, be surprised at the hopes my mother entertained of feeing me an able lawyer, from my having neglected to inform you, that I had employed the two years I remained at Toulouse, in pursuing my studies;; 
. that, wheii I left this city, I wrote, and spoke Latin, as fluently as my native language. 
I was not left to the common methods. An able man, who, willingly complied with my 
mother’s ideas, Shortened iny labour vastly. 
She 
LETTER S. 239 
She esteemed learning; yet, frequently said, Ihe would cheerfully have given up a knowledge of languages; if, to acquire this accomplishment, I must have risked my morals, and been exposed to the contagion of colleges. Mr. Duboc finished my education; and few boys of my age had made So great a progress. Alas! madam, I had made but little, in the Science of sciences, the art of conquerring myself: you will form a better judgement of this, by the sequel. 
My departure was fixed for the day appointed for carrying our goods to Bordeaux, and I was to follow the carriage on horseback. Being tired of this slow pace, I told our women I would go on besore, and wait for them at the inn to return their iiorse. I had breakfasted in the carriage, and did not propose flopping a .gain till I arrived at Bordeaux. About three miles from this town, I felt Such an excessive hunger, that, not being able to resist it, I stopped at an hedge alehouse to take a little refreshment. 1 was going to mount my horse again, when a very handsome chaise stopped at the door, to give the miftress of the house a little parcel, which the poftillionctiad undertaken to deliver to her. Curiosity oecafioned me to look at the lady who was in the chaise j and, though 
at 
240 L E T T E R S. 
at the sight of her, Ifelt an emotion, of which, I could not conceive the cause; in all probability, this rencounter would have been attended with no consequences, if this lady, viewing me earnestly in her turn, had not endeavoured to recollect: my features. Less timid than me, she asked me, in a tone of voice which charmed me, whether She was mistaken, in fancying Site had Seen me before. I don’t remember to have ever had that honour, madam, replied I; yet, I can’t help thinking, your features are not entirely unknown to me; and, is I might believe an emotion, which I never felt but once — ^ — Ah! you are the baron D’aftie, replied Ihe, with transport: the place we are in at present, is improper Sora recollection of one another; but, my house is but a very little way off; do me the honour to accompany me there, that we may explain to. each other, many circumstances of consequence to us both. 
You, doubtless, find me very weak, madam! I thought at this moment of being only polite; or rather, I did not think at all; the emotions of my heart had suspended all the functions of my mind; I was impelled away. Subdued, and without answering a single word, I stepped into the chaise, the door of which, this lady had 
ordered 
letter S. 241 
ordered her servant to open, and ride my horse;; at the same time, as if she had been afraid I should escape, bid her coachman make all possible expedition. Scarcely was I placed by this Syrenss Side, than I felt a tremor, which seemed a presage of my future missortunes; and I do not know whether I should not have remained in a stupid Silence, if She had not began with reproaching me, for having So entirely forgot her, as not to recollect her name. Some vague words void of meaning, were ail my answer. I arrived at her house, got out of the 
chaise, and presented her my hand, to assist her in getting out, as it were mechanically. I endeavoured to Sorget the remembrance of this name, which she accused me of having forgot; and, not being able to Succeed therein, asked myself, by what enchantment I found myself in company with the daughter of my most cruel enemy; for you certainly guess, madam, that it was Rofella, whose fortune and hand had been offered me, whom I met. She was toe 
ft 
experienced, to be mistaken with respect to the cause of my confusion; and, however flattering for her charms, sought to diminish it. What shall I say? My talents and remorse 
ft 
were unequal to a pafiion, which had got such possession of my heart, as to deprive me even of vol. II M the 
242 LETTERS. 
the desire of attempting to subdue it: (hutting my eyes against: the abyss into which I was about to plunge myself, I forgot everything which religion, honour, and filial tenderness, ought to have objected against a person who did not even endeavour to make me purchase her defeat. The new Rinaldo of this dangerous ar inida, I lost at the Sight of her the remembrance of the whole world. She at length recalled me to 
f 
myself, by Saying, we are notin Safety here longer than tomorrow; your mother will not delay making an exact Search aster you. I am too well known at the place where you met me, to flatter myself with the possibility of escaping her inquiries; I Shall lose you, and this will break my heart. Ah! replied I, with transport, who could tear you from my arms? I would die in your presence, besore I would Suffer mysels to be Separated from you. Your age. Says Ihe, still Subjects you to her tyrannic yoke; I know hr implacable hatred to me, and what have I not done to appease it? My Sather, on his deathbed, commanded me to make you a Second offer of my hand and Sortune; She rejected both. Alas! of what does (he accuse me? Have I been a party in the persecution which you have Suffered? Have I not done all in my power to repair the injury? Doubt not but Ihe will Soon be 
acquainted 
LETTERS. 243 
acquainted with the visit, that you have made me: afuperior order will separate us; and, who can tell how far she will carry her hatred? I will not disguise from you the dangers to which my inconsiderate blind pafiion for you exposes me. I am older than you, I have solicited your hand; 
I shall be accused of having seduced you; and, if grief for the loss of you, should not finish my wretched life, I shall be in danger of losing it on a scaffold j I shall be accused of a rape. 
Ah! I would perish a thousand times, sooner than expose you to the least danger, said L speak, my dear Rofella, I am ready to follow you to the farthest part of the universe. Let us seek an asylum, in which I may give you the quality of my wife; my mother’s tenderness for me will prevail over her aversion for the daughter of her enemy. But, if she remains inflexible, we will wait patiently in a foreign country, 
till the time when the law gives me a right to dispose of myself. But, alas! ought you to receive no other fruits of my tenderness, than the cruel necessity of banishing yourself? 
We do not descend gradually into the abyss of guilt, as you perceive, madam; we roll therein with a surprising rapidity. What a change had 
M 2 twenty 
244 LETTERS. 
# 
twenty-four hours made in my inclinations! I am aftonuhed I did not die vvith fright, to find myself in fiich a short space of time fo unlike myself. Alas! the kind of intoxication into which 
I was fallen, fo ftupified rny fenses at first, that I felt but little remorse. But, I paid dear, in the Sequel, for this criminal feiicity, which gave me then too much pleasure to endeavour to undeceive myself; the fatal dream lasted but a 
. short time, and rny awaking was terrible. 
1 
rosella, since her father’s death, had lived in the most Scandalous debauchery. This wretched usurper of my Sortune, had in a few years dis fipated the greatefi part thereof: his daughter, brought up in luxury and pleasure, could not resolve to renounce it; and had sought a resource in libertinism. At the time she met me, she had just received advice, that the father of a young fellow, whom she had ruined, had obtained an order to confine her; she was, therefore, determined to quit the kingdom; and, was charmed to find a man who was willing to attend her, Nevertheless, she loved me at this moment, as well as a woman of her character is capable of loving: but, the sequel showed, that her ungenerous foul, was capable of sacrificing everything 
to ease and luxury. Poor, blind wretch 
that 
L E T T E R S. 245 
that I was! I looked on her proposal to abandon everything for the Sake of Sollowing me, as a proof of the rnoft perfect love; and, if I had then had it in my power to have disposed of a crown, I should have esteemed its poftelsion only, as it gave me an opportunity of throwing it at her feet. Our departure was fixed for the following night, the time when we supposed my mother would first have an account of my flight; and, though I foresaw the cruel pains, this tender mother would suffer, I had the barbarous eolirage to fliifle the cries of nature; and, fet out, without endeavouring to moderate her grief, by giving her hopes of feeing me again sometime or other. Rofella had already taken measures to go to England; and procured paftstorts for hersels and Servants under fictitious names; yet I have learned, since my return, that we should not have escaped the vigilance of the gentleman who had obtained the order for her confinement, if he had not thought it more advantageous for his Son, to let her quit the kingdom; So that we met with no difficulty. We passed the night in packing up goods j this wretch, not content with leaving considerable debts unpaid, had the baseness to strip the house of its best Surniture; Such as India hangings, bed furniture, window curtains, and feather beds. 
m3 I was 
246 LETTERS. 
I was innocently an accomplice in this robbery I was ignorant that the house to which she conducted me, had been hired ready furnished; but my ignorance in this respect, did not in rny opinion, exempt me from the necessity of making a restitution: and, my first care, as soon as God opened my eyes, was to entreat my mother to employ, for this purpose, the money she had placed out for my use. Permit me to throw a veil over the remainder of my error; I passed six months at London quite intoxicated with a pafiion, which fo engrofted my attention, that I was incapable of thinking of anything except my love. At quitting Bordeaux, Rofella made me promise to marry her when we came to London, and I regarded this engagement as the feal f my happiness. Heaven, which was willing to save me at the time when I took every step to ruin myself, did not permit me to consummate my ruin, by an alliance with this detestable wretch. She eluded, under several pretences, the offers I frequently made her on this head; she, doubtless, already premeditated the horrid treachery she was afterwards guilty of; and was afraid of giving me a; power over her, which I might claim on some future occasion. As her will was a sacred order to me, I thought, as she endeavoured to make me believe, that her aversion for the in 
LETTERS. 247 
diflbluble tie, proceeded from the delicacy of her passion; she feared, she said, lest marriage should prove the tomb of my love, and net all my protestations could cheat her up against the fear of my coldness, which would certainly be her death. Had I been leis blind, I should have perceived in her the symptoms of an inconstancy, which she pretended to fear from me; she often found pretences for going out without me; the decrease of our stock, Ihe said, laid her under a necessity of cultivating an acquaintance with some Bordeaux merchants who were fettled at London, through whose means she hoped to procure some part of her rents; she every day brought me good news on this subject; and at last, told me, that one of these merchants would advance her a considerable sum. This gentleman was in the country, about seven miles from London; she had acquainted him of her marriage, and he required a receipt from under my hand for the money. We resolved, therefore, to wait on him the next day. In the night, Rofella complained of a violent cholic, and could not get a wink of sleep. Alarmed at her illness, I conjured her to put off the journey; she told me, in the morning, that she found herself scarcely able to undertake it, though her pains were abated, 
M 4. and 
4 
248 LETTER S. 
and that she was fo fatigued as to require rest; yet, added she, it is of the utmost; consequence to us, not to let this affair cool, and I will at all events endeavour to go, unless you will yourself carry an excuse to him; I will give you a note to acquaint him of the accident that has happened to me, and will write a receipt for the sum he is to pay, which he expects you should ftgn also. I made no other objections to Rofella about this journey, than what her condition furnished, and the uneasiness I should be in to leave her to the care of a servant only. She repeated fo often, that fly was quite recovered, except the fatigue, that I agreed to leave her alone, provided she gave me her word to send an express after me, if she found the least return of her disorder. 
I confess, madam, I am shocked and humbled at the corruption cf the human heart, when I recollect the eircumftances of the treachery, of which I was going to be the victim. I had just 
given this infamous creature proofs of the utmost tenderness; I had been more dead than alive, at the idea only of the pain Ihe pretended to have felt. My parting with' her was fo tender! Hov/ was it possible for her not to be affected with it r Mow could fly have the barbarity 
9 
LETTERS. 249 
barity to abandon me to the emotions of despair, to which She must think I Should become a prey? But, why be aftonilhed at the terrible depravation of an heart abandoned to lin? Was I mysels, less culpable than rosella, who had. racked the heart of my tender mother, and for six months plunged her into the utmost an •? This reflection which I at present make, ^ unsortunately did not occur at that time, or it would have Spared me many afflictions, or would, have Sanctified them. But to return to my narrative - 
went to the inn from whence the ftage coach Set out, which was to carry me to the merchant’s; and waited there an hour, which to me seemed an age. It was still worse when we were upon the road. Our coachman had parcels to deliver at twenty different places, So that we were two long hours travelling six miles.. 
9 
Being at last arrived at Brentford, our coachman allied me, where 1 would please to be Set 
1 
down. I Showed him my direction, which he 
t 
examined attentively; and then, told me, he had ^ never heard of any Such people, as the merchant Said he lodged vvith. ' I was theresore obliged to run from door to door with my direction in my hand. please to take notice, that this vil 
M 5 lage 
250 LETTERS. 
< 
lage is a full mile and an half in length, and that, being obliged to flop continually, I was a great while before I got to the end of it. Wonder at my stupidity and blindness, I had not the least suspicion of the treachery that was intended; and, after being certain there was no other village of this name, I persuaded myself there was Some mistake in the direction, and that the. person I wanted, lived in Some place, the name of which resembled this. To heighten my mis fortune, I Saw my Servant arrive, who told me, his miftress had Sent him to desire me not to stay dinner, and to return as Soon as I had finished my bufiness, because she found herself worse. Had I had wings I should have flown to London; for want of this assistance, I rode post, and came to town in less than an hour. I had the master key of the house in my pocket, and attempted to open the door, but found it bolted within. I fancied that my Servant had played me this trick; I did not dare knock at the door, for fear of disturbing Rofella; I was, therefore, obliged to walk up and down the street, like a madman, kicking my heels, and curling tfie footman. At last my impatience got the better of me; I went back to look for my servant, who was to return in the stage; the coach was arrived, but no servant he had been fet down at the turnpike. 
LETTERS. 251 
pike. I returned home like a man out of his Senses; and having knocked in vain several times, I desired a neighbour to lend me a ladder, to get down into the area. I fly to rofella’s chamber, find the door open, and the room stripped; that is to say, of our boxes, clothes, and her toilet. Ask me not what I then became. I was thunderstruck, became motionless, and doubted not 
V 
but I had been betrayed. Nevertheless, there 
were moments when I Sought another cause, or what I called my misfortune; and being unwilling to neglect any opportunity of clearing up this matter, I went to a shop a Sew doors off, to endeavour to get Some information. While I was asking useless questions, the penny post: man knocked at our door, and the miftress 
of the house calling him back, he gave me the following letter. 
rosella’s Letter to the Baron D’astie. 
I PITY your mistake, my poor baron, and will show you that you have not loved an ungrateful person, by affording you the means of forgetting me; for your foolish passion might carry you to extremities, for which I should be Sorry. I Swear, my dear, I did not deceive you, when I Said I loved you j and you may boast: of having 
fixed 
25i LETTER S. 
P 
fixed my inconstant disposition for three whole weeks. After this time, forfeited with the violence of your fine sentiments, I endeavoured through pure generosity to difiemble the change of mine. I have difsembled long enough to think myself quit with you; but in truth, I was quite tired out, and Should have died of the spleen, notwithstanding the little interludes I have managed, if I had difsembled any longer. IS anything can console you, remember that your predeceffbrs have not been So well treated; and that those who Succeed you must: not expect So much complaisance from me. Return and plant cabbages, my dear; it is the only thing I think you fit for. If I had thought you a man capable of surmounting ridiculous prejudices, I might have employed you usefully for our common interest;; what could be done with a man of a scrupulous probity, who has not understanding enough to comprehend that everything ought to give place to the necessity of enjoying the pleasures of life; and, that everything which procures them is lawful. Adieu, my dear, take my word for it, you will always be a fool. 
Acknowledge, Madam, that I willingly undergo the whole shame of my fault. I am 
Sensible 
LETTERS. 253 
fcafible how heartily you will laugh at reading this letter; which I Should have Softened, had I not rather expose mysels to it, than be wanting in the Sincerity I promised you to observe. You must doubtless think that Such an epistle entirely extinguished my love; it did not survive this base letter a single minute; indignation and shame were th only emotions I Selt. I then recollected a thousand eircumftances which ought to have given me an infight into the character of this vile creature; (he had owned that the furniture which ftie had taken away from Bordeaux, did not belong to her, and had diverted herself with the exclamations of grief of the mistress of the house, who, she Said, was avarice 
itself. She had laughed at my reproaching her with having made me an accomplice in this piece of injustice;; short, I found great difficulty to juftisy her to mysels on Several other occasions, wherein I discovered that she had no principle. As she was extremely giddy headed, I fancied her heart had no share in this discourse; that it was a consequence of the bad education she had received, and that it would be an easy matter to rectify her sentiments. Her letter convinced me that her morals were depraved and corrupted beyond all probability of amendment; and, I returned thanks to Heaven, for having 
riddeft 
t 
ft 
254 LETTERS. 
ridded me, in spite of myself, of such a dangerous creature. 
I had only a moment to make these different reflections; for scarcely had I time to read my letter, before three men, who were loiterins about, came up to me; and one of them tap ped me on the Shoulder, and told me, that 
4 
he arreffed me by the king’s order. I only underffood these few words, to which he added a great many more, which I did not in the least comprehend, though the charitable shopkeeper endeavoured to explain them to me. At last, a gentleman came who spoke both languages; he told me, that I was arrested at the fuit of the landlord where we lodged, to whom a quarter’s rent was due; and that the man aiked me, whether I chose to pay the debt, or give bail; and offered to keep me at his own house a few days, till I had acquainted my friends with the affair, and could procure 
bail. 
I returned him thanks for this offer, his motive for which I was ignorant of; and at the same time acquainted him, that I should not be any better able to pay the debt, or give security in a week’s time, than at present, since 
every 
LETTERS. 255 
everything in the world had been taken from me, except the clothes on my back; and that being a foreigner, I had no acquaintance in England. This declaration restored to these people all their customary brutality, which had been suspended through hopes of getting some money out of me, during the time I remained at their house j for my dress, which was very genteel, had deceived them, and they imagined I was capable of spending a great deal of money. The shopkeeper and some neighbours, who had assembled together, alone seemed touched with compassion, and collected among one another a guinea for me, which I at first: obstinately refused; and which he, who served as an interpreter for me, forced me to accept, by telling me, that in prison I should have nothing allowed me towards my maintenance: I therefore received this alms (for Things ought to be called by their proper names) and alsured these charitable persons, that I hoped God in his goodness would enable me to return them what they fo generously lent me; for they were poor people, and this trifling sum was considerable with regard to their situation in life. 
The bailiff at the sight of this guinea, made me an offer of his house 9 second time, which 
my 
256 LETTERS. 
my interpreter diltuaded me from accepting, because I had not more than sufficient to defray the expenses of such a place above two days at 
farthest: : therefore desired them to conduct me to prison immediately; and the bailiffs, to punish me for having refused their offer, dragged me away in an ignominious manner, though I made no reliftance, and begged of them to let me have a coach, to Spare me the shame of being exposed to the eyes of the populace. 
My situation, doubtless, appears very terri ble to you; yet this was only the prelude to what I was to Suffer. The Same evening detainers were laid against me to the amount of twenty guineas, by Several different persons; 
So that, reckoning the expenses of the arrests, and the gaol fees, I found myself a prisoner for. forty guineas, without the least hopes of being able to pay my debts; and with great propriety might have Said, on entering the prison, in ■ facula faculorum. You will be Surprised that : I did not think of imploring my mother’s as fiftance. I confess, madam, I Should have preferred death, to the shame of letting her know the extremity I was reduced to through my folly. An haughty obstinacy persuaded me, that ’ 
myself alone ought to bear the whole weight 
of 
1 
LETTERS. 257 
of the misfortunes I had brought upon my head; after all, said I to myself, it is impossible they should extend farther than the course of my life; it cannot be long, if what I am told is true. Entirely deprived of every resource, I must die of hunger In the prison, and this is my resolution. 
It was late when I arrived at the prison. I was put into a room without a window, where was nothing to lie down upon, or even to lit on, and there pasted a night, which seemed to me fo long, that I thought it would never have been over. As I sat on the floor, everything which had pasted for the last six months, occurred to my imagination in fo lively a manner, that it is furpristng I was able to support such terrible imprestions. From what a state was I fallen? How immense did the distance seem, which separated me from this happy state! I founded my strength, to try whether there remained any hopes of getting over it; and finding in myself only weakness, blindness, and impotence, I became a prey to despair: : crimes seemed to me of such a nature, as to exclude me for ever from the mercy of God; I looked on myself as a victim destined to serve as an exam 
0 
pie to those who Should be tempted to follow my 
steps. 
258 LETTERS. 
steps. However great the chastifement I experienced, I venture to fay/l judged myself as rigoroully as God himself would have done; if he had in the instant precipitated me into hell, I Should not have murmured in the least, fo sensible was I of deserving this. My submission to my present misfortunes, arose therefore from a thorough conviction that I deserved them; and when I had lost all hopes of repairing my past faults, I took a firm resolution not to commit a new one, by my murmurs, the injustice of which I Should have myself condemned. 
Day Surprised me in these thoughts : the gaoler’s Servant opened the door of my room, which looked into a large yard, and told me I was at liberty to walk there. This trifling alleviation affected me but little, and I remained motionless in the same place, without wishing for, foreseeing anything, or paying the least attention to the noise that was made in this yard, which was filled with a great number of prisoners. The gaoler’s servant, who opened the door, fancying I did not understand him, told those who were walking about, that there was a new comer, who, according to all appearance, did not understand a word of English. A poor 
joiner. 
LETTERS. 259 
joiner, who had been an inhabitant of this wretched placfe upwards of eight months, took pity on his countryman, for he thought I was a Frenchman, and entered my room j and after having saluted me very civilly, offered me his service, and did it with such an air of sincerity, as overwhelmed me with gratitude. A person must be in a situation like mine to be thoroughly sensible of the value of a friend, who makes an offer of himself through pure generosity: : to me, I considered this man as an angel, though his figure, dress, and language, declared him, as he really was, a man of mean birth and no education. 
The sentiments of my heart appeared in my countenance; and Dupont (for this was the young man’s name) said to me in his coarse manner. Come, countryman, take courage; it is ten o’clock; in all probability, you have neither breakfasted this morning, nor supped last night; do me the favour to drink a pint of beer with me; my example will comfort you, I am sure: it is true, you have the air of a gentleman, and I am only a poor devil, that can’t do a great deal j however, what little is in my power, I offer you cheerfully: one Should 
not 
26o LETTERS. 
not afflict: one’s self beyond measure, elfe one might hang one’s self, like an Englishman. 
Though I strove not to follow Dupont, he dragged me into a room near mine, where he had made a joiner’s bench and a seat, and forced me to eat a morsel;; little nourishment raised my spirits. During breakfast, Dupont, to excite my confidence, related by what unfortunate accident he came into prison. 
I came into England, said he, to endeavour to get money, from the encouragement of several of my countrymen, who had brought home sufficient to settle themselves in their own country in a decent manner. I'lie beginning did not answer my expectations; though I may say, without vanity, that I am no bad workman; but I was badly clothed, and a shabby dress is no very good recommendation. A French taylor offered to let me have a Suit of clothes, for which I should pay him whenever it suited me; and told me he had a fuit ready made by him, which would sit me exactly. I did not think it right to encumber myself with this debt, because I was fearful I Should net have it in my power to pay him, and thanked him for his kindness. The next day, while I was abroad 
inquiring 
« 
letters. 261 
« 
inquiring for work, the rafeal sent the fuit of clothes to my lodgings : it was. a great deal too tight and too Short for me; fo that if I had been willing to have taken the fuit, I could have made no use of it, wherefore I sentit back the same day. The next morning this villain arrested me, and wanted to oblige me to take the clothes. 
I was brought to this place, where at first I made 
9 
a very foolish figure. An honest Englishman, who understood both languages, comforted me, and desired his lawyer to do me what service he could; he accordingly went to find my rogue, but the bird was flown; and, fearing from me the same treatment I had suffered from him, had returned to France. I proved that I had not ordered this' fuit of clothes. I was discharged by the court, and thought I had now regained my liberty. Not in the least; justice will lose nothing. I was informed that I must remain in prison till I paid the gaol fees. I in vain represented, that, having been arrested unjustly, as had been proved to the satisfaction of the court, I ought not, in conscience, to pay for the rods that had been employed to chastise me, when my innocence was known; but I spoke to the deaf: for my comfort, I was informed, that I was entitled to redress, from the person who had 
caused me to be arrested, and that I might oblige 
him 
262 LETTERS. 
t 
him to pay me my expenses, or put him into gaol. Fine reasoning!! who talked thus, knew very well, that it was an impossibility. Since the man was gone to France; and, besides, as we say, where there is nothing, the king must lose his right. One ought to say as much of the officers of justice, who are hardly just, since they have detained me eight months without allowing me anything for my support; and I should have been starved to death here, if it had not been for a master, who would give me half a crown a day if I had my liberty; but, taking an advantage of my confinement, generously 
allows me only a crown a week. 
Dupont, after having reposed this confidence in me, expected mine in return; but my affair was too delicate, to be entrusted to a stranger. I only told him my cafe was not like his, that I really owed what I was arrested for, but that it was impossible for me to pay it, since I had been robbed in my absence of everything in the world; and that, as I knew no trade, I must expect to perish with hunger, since I had no more than six and twenty shillings. That is something however, replied Dupont; and if the people who arrested you are inflexible, they 
will be forced to allow you something towards 
your 
L t. 1 1 L K 5. 263 
your maintenance. I will speak to my friend the lawyer, he loves the French; and notwithstanding his profession, is, I affure you, a very honest man : besides, you may command the little I have; I pity such a man as you, who is not accustomed to suffer hardships like a poor fellow as I am, who was born poor. 
I embraced honest Dupont, and shed tears of gratitude; and, without accepting his offer, asked a piece of service of him, which would cost him less, and which I had more pressing occasion for. My clothes were very genteel, but I had only two shirts; one of which was very fine, and had laced ruffles. I was desirous of exchanging my slender wardrobe, for a fuit of clothes more suitable to my condition, and a few shirts. Dupont spoke to some rascally Jews, who go from prison to prison to cheat the prisoners, by selling goods to them very dear, and buying for little or nothing, what they want to get rid of. My new friend was ready to beat them, when they offered me no more than thirty six shillings for my clothes and shirt; the lace of my waistcoat alone was worth more; he therefore desired me to have patience, and dictated a letter for me to his lawyer, who came to visit us the next day : indeed. 
264 LETTERS. 
deed, he was a man the leaf!: fit for his profession of any person I ever met with; he had a noble benevolent soul, which would not permit him to be guilty of the rapine, fo common to the generality of his brethren, and fettled more differences in a month, than they created mischief in a year. I am extremely sorry his name has slipped my memory. 
This worthy man procured me some clothes and a balance in money, in exchange for mine; and having inquired who was my principal creditor, promised me to call on him. Unfortunately this creditor was gone a journey into the country for three months, fo that I was informed that I mufl; have patience till his return. Though I lived only on bread and water, I was sensible.my money could not hold out So long; and thinking it less disgracesul to earn my livelihood in any way whatever, than to be burdensome to poor Dupont, whose allowance was already very Spare, I Sought all possible means to avoid it. 
There were in this prison Several persons who lived in an expensive manner, and remained there only to tyre the patience of their creditors, and bring them to reasonable terms: these people had 
neat 
f 
LET E R S. 261 
neat apartments, and wanted for nothing. 1 offered my service to one of them, who spoke a little broken French, and promised to perfect; him in this language in a very little time; he accepted my proposal, and taking a liking to my conversation, generously invited me to his table. This gentleman, whose name was Nil, had a place which brought him in a very pretty income, but was arrested through the extravagance of his wife, who had contracted large debts without his knowledge; and he infilled on his creditors making some abatement of their demands, because they ought to have consulted him before they supplied the extravagance of his wife. This person had three daughters who dressed very genteelly, and came to see him every now and then. It happened pne stay, that the elcleft, as fly was coming to see him quite in a full dress, and without a hat, was catched in a great shower of rain, about two hundred yarsts from the prison, and was quite wet through; her clothes were Soon dry; but, as (he. had only a .very Small cap on, her hair; was quite out of curl, and I offered to dress it. During the six months I paft ed with rosella, I often did her this piece of service;; as (he had a very good taste for dress, I had learned from her inftructicns to dress hair much better, than I should have done from an; vol. II N hair 
266 LETTERS. 
hair drelter. The young lady was vastly pleased with my manner of dressing, and this inspired her Sather with a thought, to which I owe all my happiness. 
Nil had a brother a few miles from windsor, who was a peruke maker by proseflion j he had but little bufiness in the winter; but the village which he lived in, and the environs thereos, were In Summer full of Samilies, who came from London, and employed him; So that he always kept a Frenchman to dress the ladies, because the people of this nation have more taste than the English. He knew that his brother wanted a journeyman, and his friendship for me induced him to write to his brother, in order to procure me this place, without my knowledge. During this interval, my principal creditor returned to town; and' the charitable lawyer, whom I have mentioned, had persuaded him to forgive me a debt which I was incapable of paying. My other creditors, low people, would abate nothing of their demands j So that I was still detained for twenty guineas, including the gaol fees. Nil proposed to his brother to pay this sum for me, on^condition that I should article myself to him for two years. miss Nil, whom I had already dressed, pretended to be desirous of 
continuing 
LETTERS. 267 
continuing under my hands j and Mr. Nil the younger was fo pleased with my Skill, that he consented to everything his brother proposed. 
I have mentioned nothing of what passed in my breast during the three months and an half that I remained in prison, where I thought I must have staid till there was an act of grace, which was not expected to happen soon. Nothing that I suffered outwardly, came near the torments which preyed on my soul. Whatever endeavours I used to re animate my hope, my ingratitude towards God and my mother, appeared to me fo enormous, that I did not think it possible ever to obtain pardon. How dreadful a state! How often did that happen to me, which is related of a celebrated Herefiarch, with respect to Heaven. I have lost it through my own fault, and beyond all possibility of recovery, said I to myself shedding a torrent of tears. Alas! I might say with the prophet king, that my bread was bedewed with my tears. This affliction was fo violent, as to almost annihilate every other sensation: : pride fo natural to man was quite extinguished in me, and any person might have shown the greatest contempt for me, without my thinking I was treated unjustly. I was therefore thankful, when my protector 
N 2 inforiiied 
268 LETTERS. 
informed me what his brother would do in my favour, and did not think myself above the employment which was proposed to me; and which was still too good for a wretch who liad with justice been driven from society. I had the pleasure to see Dupont released before me; Some charitable persons paid his fees, and I left him with a master, in whose service he got a comfortable livelihood. 
I 
4 
9 
For Sour months aster I arrived at my new habitation, I had but little emplojment, and certainly did not get as much money for my master as I cost him. I must here do the Eno 

lilh the justice to resute a prejudice which I myself entertained as well as others : and declare, that it is impofiible to find hearts more essentially good, and more inclined to assist those in whom they remark good morals, and a love of industry. This remark is not in the lead mispiaced, madam, though I have the honour to Say it to an English woman. You are acquainted only with persons of your own rank, and perhaps persuade yoursels, that the lower kind of people in England have hearts as hard and rough as their outsides. You do them injustice; they pity the unsortunate whom they think virtuous; I was upwards of a year in misery; and must declare, 
from 
LETTER S. 269 
from my own experience, that they are very compassionate and obliging: it is true, they do a service with the tone and air with which a Frenchman would express an injury; but this is because their impoliteness is equal to their benevolence. Unhappily, this first quality conceals the hist, which is the reason why they are thought cruel and barbarous. 
After I had been some weeks with Mr. niche took notice to me that I did not go to church. 
I thought, said he, you had been a French refugee; but according to all appearance, I am mistaken, and you are a Papist. Though I was • afraid I Should make him my enemy, by acknowledging my religion, I did not hesitate a moment to do it; I should have been ashamed to have ■ diffcrnbled in Tuch a matter. I was agreeably surprised at his answer. My lad, said he, I have known many, very honest people among the Catholics, and I don’t like you a bit worse' ' 
^ 
than I did before, now I know you are one; but vvihatever our religion is, one ought to discharge the duties it requires; you have a chapel in the next town, which is served by a very honest man, whose good conduct edifies the whole neighbourhood, I will give you liberty to go there every Sunday. Believe me, one ought 
N 3 not 
ft 
270 LETTERS. 
not to be remiss in thss article : negligence in religion conducts to libertinism : and I fhouid be Sorry you should Sail into a disorderly way of life, through your being in my Service. 
I ought not, madam, to endeavour to conceal from you the depth of the abyss into which I was fallen; I had not entered into a place of worship Since my arrival in England, and I felt, a general tremor, when my master proposed to me to ashft at this awful mystery. My a wakemsd faith made me fear, left lightnings should dart from the altar, which I was going to pollute with my looks; in a word, I was in the situation which Montalvo deferibes in such an affecting irwnner j yet I was afraid of giving offence to my master, and pretended to be very thankful for the permission he gave rne, determined however not to profit by it. Alas! Sin destroys our natural and acquired qualities. This was the first time in my life I had defeended fo low as to be guilty of a lye; I naturally loved truth, and this good disposition had been cultivated carefully by my mother, fo that I had an aversion for the least dissimulation: : aversion gave way to the dread which the sight of my judge inspired me with j it seemed to me as if his minister would have read my unworthiness 
in 
LETTERS. 271 
my countenance, and would have driven me )m the company of the faithful, from whence had already voluntarily banished myself. 
I have already mentioned that my master lid for my board, at a little inn where he eat mself, and which was the only one in the vil ge. One day while I was there getting my nner a poft chaife arrived, attended by a fer int on horseback. This man, after having oked at me earnestly several times, exclaimed, am not mistaken, it is our dear baron D’aftie; 
V 
id immediately dismounting, was with me; fore I had time to examine his Sace attentively, e was a Servant of my sather’s, whom my lother had kept until we lost our lawsuit; and bo, full of gratitude for the favours he had relived, came every year from Bordeaux to rew his afliirances of the most respectful attach lent. Good God! cried he, in what a fitua an do I find the fon of my worthy master! I mediately desired him to be filent; and, as is master was to dine with a friend who lived I this village, he made haste to get his business northeast, in order to return to me. What would Dt your distracted mother give to have the plea ire of feeing you again! Said he : Alas! this orthy lady has been in a languishing ftaite ever 
N 4 Since 
I 
I 
1 
2.72 L E T TER S. 
since your departure; her tears are her food and if you defer letting her hear frcm you, you will have her death to reproach yourself with. Alas! my dear friend, replied I, she is thoroughly avenged; and the curse, which she no doubt has pronounced against me, has been attended With terrible consequences. Instead of cursing you, said Henry, she incessantly prays to Heaven for your return. Be assured, my dear master, notwithstanding the length of the journey, you would soon see her if she knew you was here : can you have the cruelty to suffer her to end in grief her days which flowed fo quietly before your flight? Hasten to restore her to life by your presence; and, if I can be of any use towards hastening this good design, do not spare me; my person, my little fortune, and even my life, is at your service. 
I embraced this faithful servant with a torrent of tears, which relieved rny heart from the hor rid weight that oppressed me, and confessed to him the whole of my ill conduct, and the misfortunes which I had undergone in consequence thereof. Henry interrupted me several times, to curie Rofella, and from him I learned the infamous life she had led at Bordeaux, He informed me 
also that my mother knew I, had fled with her; 
but 
L E T T E R S. 273 
but had not been able to find out where I had secreted myself, notwithstanding her endeavours for that purpose. 
Henry entreated me to fet out for my mother’s immediately; and, thinking that what I was indebted to my master was the only obstacle to my return, insisted upon advancing me that sum. You will find, by reading my letter to my mother, what were the reasons which prevented my accepting his offer. • I recommended secrecy to him, with respect to my situation, and gave him my word thatl would write directly to my mother, and throw myself at her feet as soon as possible' ' promised to let him hear from me every now and then, while he remained in London, where my master proposed to stay the whole winter,. 
4 
I came from this conversation more caff down and weakened, than if I had suffered a long illness;; at my return,. my master scarcely knew me. But the change of my mind was still greater; the assurance of a pardon from my tender mother, Seemed an earnest of that which God was willing to grant me; and blushing to have despaired of his.mercy, I took a firm resolution to reap the advantage of it as Soon as 
N -5 ^ possible. 
2*74 LETTERS. 
possible. I had the whole afternoon to myself. I took this opportunity to wait on Mr. Baker, who gave me encouragement, and Showed me, that of all my crimes, I ought to bewail the most bitterly, my despair of god’s mercy. He undertook to add a letter of his own, to that which I wrote to my mother, of both which I Send you a copy. 
Mr. baker’s Letter to the Baroness D’astie. 
Madam, a prodigal Son overwhelmed with Shame and grief for his past: ill conduct, borrows my voice to implore your mercy and forgiveness. I venture to aftert, that God has already granted it to his sincere repentance, and I cannot think you will be more inexorable. The greatness of his fault had plunged him into despair; for upwards of a year that he has been Separated from the wretch who was the cause of his flight, he would have attempted to move Heaven and you madam to compassion, if he had thought his crimes capable of pardon. God, moved, doubtless, with the fervency of your prayers, has not suffered him to reft: quietly in his guilt; and I confider the extreme misery to which he has been reduced as a Special iiiftance of grace. He would not hesitate a moment Setting out to throw 
himself 
LETTERS. 2^5 
4 
himself at your feet, did not honour and justice oblige him to fulfil his engagements with a man who has taken him out of prison, where he was confined for debt. This honed man, a barber by trade, has advanced him twenty guineas, on condition that he Should article himself to him for two years, to dress ladies hair, in which he Succeeds very well. IS to have advanced the remainder of this Sum would have been sufrcient, 
I Should have found means to have Sent him to you besore j but this would have ruined his master, who could not immediately have found another person to Supply his place; and perhaps never will be able to replace him to the Satisfaction of his customers. If you permit me, madam, to acquaint you with my opinion on this 
matter, I think you ought to trust to Providence. 
% 
He Seels the humiliation of his state to the very marrow of his bones, is I may express myself thus: he ought to drink to the very dregs, the cup which has been prepared as a punishment for his faults. Be easy about him; he has So • fully placed his confidence in me, that I have the compassion osa Sather for him; and did not the duties of the holy ministry, which I have the honour of exercising, though unworthy thereos; I Say, did not my duty induce me to take particular care of him j yet, his good ua 
lities 
276 LETTERS. 
lities have fo attached me to him, that I confi cler him as doubly my neighbour. 
Be satisfied concerning his faith, it has neither been shaken, nor runs any rifle of being fo. They are less industrious to make proselytes in England than in any other protestant country. Besides his master has no dislike to the Catholics; as he is entirely ignorant himself of the doctrines of the church of England, which religion he profeftes, there is no danger of his attempting to make your Son adopt them. Moreover, this ignorance is general enough to inspire you with confidence, even though Mr. D’aftie had not been So well instructed. Conviction of mind has no share in the conversion of any one here, and the English proselytes are induced thereto from their depravity of heart alone. Thank God, your fon runs no rhk on this head, and his conversion is, in my opinion, So Sincere, that it may be depended upon for sometime at least, for human frailty is great. 
I am, with the utmost respect. 
Madam, 
Your most obedient humble servant. 
Baker, Priejl. 
\ 
V < - 4 9 
The 
LETTERS. 277 
The Baron d’astie’s Letter to the Baroness 
D’astie, his mother. 
0 
Oh! most respectable of all women! Oh! dearest, and yet most injured of mothers! how shall a fon fo ungrateful as I have proved, be able to express his repentance? How exquisite soever my remorse, can it equal the pangs with which your tender heart has been racked for these two years, that, hiding myself from your goodness, I have followed the painful, road of vice? Ah! however vile the condition is, to which I have reduced myself by my folly, it v/puid still have charms for me,, if I could get rid of the tormenting idea of haying difturhed the Serenity of your days. You have been superior to the loss of your rank; I have seen you support, without murmuring, the afflictions inseparable from a middling state of life, that nearly approached poverty; alas, to me it was reserved to find the sensible part of your soul. The loss of your fon alone could make you Ihed tears, which the most unfortunate events had not been able to force from you. How bitterly did I weep, what anguish did I feel, when the faithful Henry gave me the affecting account of the dreadful situation to which my flight reduced 
you! Chance, or rather Providence, conducted 
him 
278 LETTERS. 
him to my sight in the retinue of a nobleman, whom he has served some months, and this was the moment which God had marked from all eternity in his mercy, to revive, through him and you, my trust in him, which was almost entirely extinguished. This was the greatest of my crimes, and the only one in which I have persevered. Yes, madam, for upwards of a year I have detested from the bottom of my heart my other Saults; and without hopes of appearing Heaven, have carefully avoided irritating it more. I return thanks to God for baring broke my shameful bonds, and submit with pleasure to the humiliating consequences of my ill conduct; and death would to me be preferable to the heinousness of a relapse. 
I have been cruelly deceived and abandoned. I have loved the most insamous wretch in the whole world. excuse any farther account of my ill conduct.' Regret more thart shame stops my mouth j I am unwilling to pollute your mind with a recital of the infamous life I led for six months in a total sorgetfulness of Goa and my salvation. ungratesul towards my Creator, who from my infancy had loaded me with the most precious favours, is it to be wondered at, that I was foto you? Alas! my whole life, however 
long 
I 
LETTERS. 279 
long it may be, will not suffice to expiate my faults i you shall behold me bewail them to my latest breath j would to Heaven I could See you this moment; but, my Anannias approves my motives for delaying my departure, and will inform you about them. I do not in the least murmur at the length of my exile; the pain which your absence causes me, will in part expiate my offences, for this is wh^t gives me the greatest uneafiness. 
I presume to join to this confession of my ill conduct:, a petition for a favour which will contribute to calm my remorse. I have innocently been concerned in an act of injustice, and have become an accomplice in a robbery, by helping the wretched partner of my flight to carry off effects which I thought were her own property : though I have in no respect benefited by this robbery, yet, I think myself obliged to make the owner Satisfaction for the loss Shelias Suftained. You destined a Sum for my maintenance at Bordeaux j may I venture to entreat you to sacrifice a part of it, to discharge me from the dreadful burden of having wronged another? I flatter mysels you will be better able to do it, as all your Schemes for Settling me at a distance from you are vanished. My weakness has determined 
28o LETTERS. 
termined my vocation, and I am too much afraid of the treachery of my fenses, to expose myself thereto a Second time. I cheerfully dedicate the remainder of my life to rural employments,, and leave the choice of a proper companion for me, entirely to you, for I cannot again trust myself on Such an important concern. 
Mr. Baker keeps up my Spirits, in hopes of a Savourable answer. Alas! I Should not Survive a Sentence Such as I deserve, if goodness did not temper justice. 
Baroness dafifs Anfver to ihe Baron dajiie 
ber Son. 
The reproaches with which you load yourself, my dear Son, prevent any from me; and your happy return to virtue recompenses the uneafiness your ill conduct; gave me. Comprehend by this the excess of my joy. What thanksgivings do you owe to God for the repentance he has granted you, for the happy opportunities he has procured you, and for your lise, which he has Spared, in order that you might improve it. The particulars of your ill conduct, with which you was afraid to acquaint 
&. 
me, I knew before from Henry, whom you 
had 
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lad entrusted them with, and who wrote an ac ount of it to me directly;; that I received lis letter at the same time with Mr. baker’s and ours. I have returned sincere thanks to God, or having granted Such a charitable pastor to ny poor strayed sheep, which he has brought jack into the fold. Be governed entirely by his idvice, my dear child. A first fault gives, in leed, an experience which, though fatal, may 36 nevertheless useful; but, it weakens the bill, and renders it less fit to resist sin. Yours vill long be sensible of the stains it has contract; d; they have increased that weakness of soul which renders you susceptible of every impression[ [ not be easy about you, till I see you settled by marriage; therefore, I expect your com diance with the efforts I am going to make, to et you out of your present situation, if it can 36 done with the consent of the honest; man who : 00k you out of prison, and without doing him 
he utmost prejudice : I refer this to Mr. baker’s prudence, to whom I have communicated my ntentions, and into wliofe hands I resign the luthority God has given me over you. 
If I had not promised in the beginning of my etter, not to reproach you, I fiiould complain Utterly of your distrust of me. Am I not your 
friend. 
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friend, as well as your motherah I had you been witness to what I felt on your account! My first motion was to throw myself on my knees, and I remained in this posture, as it were out of my Senses, fo long, as to make poor Mary very uneasy. I might have been taken, like the mother of Samuel, fora drunken woman, the agitations of my countenance were fo extraordinary. Even at present, I have not entirely recovered my Spirits, and am Subject: to Such an universal trembling, that I have been forced to borrow the aflistance of Mr. Duboc the younger to write to you. don’t let this give you any uneasiness, I am very well, except this trembling. 
(Mr, Duboc writes as from himself.) 
I HOPE my dear fon will put entire confidence in what I say, your dear and respectable mother is quite out of danger. It is true we were under some apprehensions for her yesterday, and it was necestary to bleed her j but this entirely removed her disorder : Ihe had relisted the transports of her grief, but could not support her joy. She is at present fo well recovered, as to resuse my assistance to write to Mr. Baker, and intends to do it herself, the day after tomorrow, 
therefore 
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therefore you may make yourself easy about her health. 
My brother and I have (hared your mother’s joy; it will not be complete until we have the pleasure of embracing our dear child, with the same sentiments of joy as the father of the prodigal fon experienced. We hope this eclipse of virtue will strengthen you in good, the remainder of your lise, by convincing you how little dependance you ought to place on your own | strength. We expect, with impatience, the effect of the proposal which we have desired Mr. 
Baker to make to the person, to whom you have articled yourself j and whatever he requires, we will endeavour to comply with. Our very humble respects to this worthy pastor. 
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(The Baroness finijhes herself.) 
Only observe my fine writing; I rilk it to remove my son’s uneafiness, and to sign the pardon which the most tender and indulgent LI 
of mothers grants him. I 
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284 L E T T E R S. 
The Baroness t)'astir’s Letter to Mr. Baker. 
Sir, 
When mestrs. Duboc engaged for me two days ago, they certainly must have depended on a miracle; I was fo bad, that they had just ad ministred the sacraments ro me. God has heard the prayers of our holy pasters; and, as my case was a sudden violent oppression of the heart, attended with an apoplectic fit, the physician gave hopes of my recovery, after three bleedings in the foot, which relieved me. I take the earliest opportunity, Sir, to return you my sincere and hearty thanks/for your goodness to my poor child, and to entreat you to keep up his staggering faith. My letter, as far as I can recollect, was capable of reviving his mistrust; my head was extremely disordered wlien I dictated it, and my apoplectic fit had not fo entirely left me, as to leave no room to tear a return. S; nce my fon has confessed to you all the events of his life, you must be sensible, from rny excessive tenderness for him, what I must have fostered during his absence;; what a Surprising effect your letter and his had on me; I entirely lost my senses, and was three days in the utmost 
danger. Everlasting praise be given to the eternal 
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nal goodness which has preserved my life, to bestow on me the pleasure of embracing my repenting fon., 
God has confounded my human prudence, by annihilating all the measures I had taken to remove my fon from the station in which he had placed him. However, I am of opinion, after the most severe scrutiny, that prejudice had no share in my proceedings. I measure the glory of an action only by its utility to society;; think ’ it our creator’s intention, that men in a state of society should employ themselves for the happiness of each other, in obedience to the orders of him who is goodness and charity in his essence. Thoroughly affected with this sentiment, the destination of my fon, to me seemed more noble than that of a general or a magistrate. These are employed to repair the ills which avarice produces; he who becomes the legislator of mankind, by his discourse and example prevents them. If I had abided by this sentiment, my fon had never quitted this state; but, as it is dangerous to rely too much on ones' judgement, I sacrificed my opinion in favour of the ideas commonly received, and persuaded myself that it was my duty to endeavour to place my fon in an employment more suitable to his 
birth. 
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birth. Notwithstanding, I don’t know whether this reason alone would have been sufficient to overcome my reluctance, to expose him to the dangers of the great world; but, I had another also, and both together prevailed on me to consent. 
With the best natural disposition in the world, my fon possesses the most lively passions. Celibacy would have been a dangerous state for him; but, how could I properly marry him where we resided?? country girls, for the most: part, possessed the virtues of their condition, but wanted those which were necessary for the rank in life, to which a marriage with my fon would have raised them. We are surrounded, indeed, with poor gentry, among whom I could easily have procured him a wife; but, I could not think of this without horror. They not only were as clownish, ill-bred, and ignorant as the farmers daughters, but were insupportably proud; which made me dread both for him and myself, the necessity of palling our lives with one of them. I imagined that I had found a just medium; the lawyer to whom I sent my Son, had a virtuous wife, who had given her daughters an excellent education; they had been brought up strangers to the great 
worldj 
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world, in a love of industry, and domestic employments, which are proper for all women, efpeciaily for those of small fortunes. My whole ambition was, that he might take a fancy to one of these young ladies; I formed a charming prospect of the sweets that I Should taste in the Society of a daughter in law capable of re lilhing our way of life j and, perhaps, depended too much on the little schemes I Should put into ekecution, in consequence thereof. I repeat it, God has overturned all my projects, and I perceive no way of fettling this dear child. So as to make him happy. He must: therefore be trusted to Providence, and this is the resolution I embrace. In my opinion, it is jealous of the resource which I have saved for him; I must, therefore, renounce it. I mean. Sir, the Sum which I deposited to settle my Son j I cheerfully Sacrifice it to justice, and to the hopes of feeing him the Sooner. By the account that he Sent me of the goods which were carried away from the house where rosella dwelled, I conceive about fifty pounds will make the owner a proper satisfaction. I beg you would offer the remainder to my son’s master, in order to indemnisy him for the loss he Avail Sustain by my son’s ab.. I hope he will take pity on a distracted mother, who would offer him millions as a recompense. 
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compenfe, if She possessed them, and would still think herself in his debt, for the service he has done her fon, by taking him out of prison. But, if you Should be of opinion that he cannot, without too great a prejudice, deprive himself of my fonss assistance, rill the bad weather drives the company, who in summer restde thereabouts, back to London; I must offer this cross to the Lord, and wait some months longer; for I would on no account have him .stifpleafe his benefactor, by leaving him without his consent. If this misfortune Should happen, the only comsort I shall have, will consist in a firm confidence that you will contimie your charitable care of him; be his father, I conjure you; I give up into your hands all the authority which God has given me over him, and shall be as easy, as it is possible to be in cireumftanees like mine. 
Pray desire my Son to write to me as often as possible;; hope you will accompany his letters with a line from yourself. Ah! is my Submission to those who direct; me did not detain me here, I should not fear the dangers of a long journey to have the pleasure of embracing him the Sooner, and assuring you, by word of mouth, that nothing can equal my gratitude for the trouble you! have 
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have taken to bring my poor strayed Sheep back to the fold — I am, with respect,, 
c. 
Mr. baker’s Letter to the Baroness D’astie.. 
Y ES, madam, Providence which had undertaken in a particular manner the care of your ' fon, has Showed itself jealous of the precautions which prudence induced you to take for his eftablilhment.. It had greater designs on him,; and has began to manifest them in Such a Surprising mannerj, that we ought absolutely to trust him to its care J I Say we, madam.n This > 
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amiable young man, by honouring me with the sentiments of a tender and dutiful Ion, has kindled in my breast the tenderness and affection. of a father. Like you, I have pursued the narrow views of human prudence; and, like you, ^ have been deceived thereby.. What a chain of • events have I to relate, and what happiness do I foresee for you? You placed your authority in | my hands, madam; I have made such use of it, as Secures the Salvation and felicity of your Son,. and procures you Such a daughter in law, as you would yourself have chose: a young lady i whose distinguished beauty and high birth are her least qualifications j a young lady who would ' 
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be one of the richest heiresses, if hei duty did not dispossess her of several millions; I say duty, but I ought to make use of another word. Madam, your daughter in law, without being wanting in her duty, might reserve to herself immense riches; a desire of practiiling all the virtues in the most eminent degree, renders her as poor as your fon. I Should not declare, without trembling such a marriage to a lady, less sensible than you of the vanity of everything except virtue; but, after the knowledge of your character, which I have received from the baron, I Should think myself guilty of a piece of injustice, was I to fear your accusing me with having paid more regard to your fon’s inclination, than to the interest of his fortune. Learn, madam, by what steps Divine Wisdom has conducted this affair, and hope that it will finish as happily as it has began. 
As soon as "I received the letter which you honoured me with, I prepared myself to use my utmost efforts to disengage Mr. D’aftie; I should have" fet out that very day, but the duties of my function confining me all day, Twrote him word he should see me the next day. Judge my surprise when I saw him in the evening about ten o’clock arrive at my house, in the utmost confusion 
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fion; a circumstance which showed he had some i thing extraordinary to communicate to me. Nothing could be more fo. Returning home at daybreak from dressing a bride, he had met in a lonely place a young woman, or rather, he said, an angel. Her dress, .though in disorder, declared her a person of quality; she was frightened at the Sight of him, and offered him her purse, taking him Sora robber, or Something worse; at last, the necessity osan immediate and Safe asylura, had obliged this young lady'to accept his offer of his chamber, where she had been the whole, day,. 
You know your Son; to penetrate the Sentiments of his heart does not require much study, they are marked on his countenance. It was therefore easy for me to, perceive the impression this unknown lady had made on him; and I acknowledge it filled me with apprehension. We have in the neighbourhood two bad houses, which are receptacles for, disorderly women; and it happens sometimes that they are cruelly treated by the men whom debauchery induces to frequent these places; I therefore at first thought this person was one of those unfortunate creatures, whom the fear of some deserved bad treatment, had forced to fly. The baron directly 
O 2 - perceived i 
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perceived my thoughts, and without giving m time to speak, said: : Sir! be careful how you conceive unjusl suspicions;; suspect Miss 
Darhy, would be to accuse virtue itfelf 1 
interrupted him in my turn, What, is Miss Darby the person to whom you have afforded an asylum?? have not the honour to know her personally; but, for these six months that this lady has lived in the neighbourhood, she has been the edification thereof; I hardly hear anything elfe talked of except her virtues and good actions. How could such a person possibly be reduced to such an extremity? I am ignorant, replied the baron, of the motives which induced her to escape from her father’s house; my respect prevented me from asking any questions. By her orders, I went to Old Windsor; the whole place was in an uproar, on account of the flight of this charming perfon’s mother, who had just gone off with a young fellow, whom her daughter was to have married the very night Ihe made her escape, I learned from her chambermaid, that Miss Darby had freely consented to this marriage, and that fly could attribute her flight to nothing but a letter that Ihe received an hour before the ceremony was to be performed. Mr Darby gives out that his daughter has gone off with a lover j T have proof to the contrary. 
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trary, since I found her alone; besides, one need only see her, to be satisfied (he is the most prudent, as well as most charming of all her sex. 
You do the lady justice, replied I to the baron, and her mother is also a woman of diftinguilhed excellence. Her father is supposed to be but soso; and I make no doubt he has been the occasion of his wife’s and daughter’s flight; but, my dear friend, I am afraid of the consequences of such an accident, with respect: to you! Miss Darby is immensely rich — And I have not the temerity to aspire to her hand, replied the baron; I am desirous only of serving her, and of placing her in a safe asylum, and will die of grief that I am unworthy of her. This is rather too precipitate a resolution. Said I; suppose her heart should not be already engaged, who knows how far gratitude might carry her. Not to make this letter a volume, I shall inform you that I saw miss Darby the next morning, and learned with admiration, that she had exposed herself to So many dangers, to avoid the crime of marrying an apostate priest, whose state had been concealed from her, and whom she imagined a man of quality, through her father’s alsurance who pursues her as his greatest enemy, in order to appropriate to himself the gr«at estate she 
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inherits from one of her aunts, who was a catholic like her; and that this heroine was desirous of purchasing the return of her father’s love, at the expense of her whole fortune; that she could not make him a cession of her fortune, unless file married, and, that not being able to flatter herself with the hopes of anctiulband of equal rank when Ihe was destitute of the advantages of fortune, she was determined to confider virtue only in the person with whom fly united her fate. I had only to applaud the choice fly had .made of your fon, whose rank She was ignorant of, when there was reason to imagine that her father suspected her asylum; and, as Ihe could not decently travel about except with an husband, I determined to marry her to the baron immediately, and make the young couple depart that very night, .taking upon myself to satisfy his master. You will accuse me, perhaps, of being too precipitate, madam; suspend your judgement I conjure you, till you have learned by a more circumstantial account the impossibility of waiting for your consent in form. The young 
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people will pafs a few days at my mother’s, to whom I have recommended them. I have only acquainted you in general terms with the misfortunes of your virtuous daughter in law j I hasten to the assistance of her virtuous mother, 
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who shares with her the hatred of an unjust father, and might perhaps fall a victim to It. 
I am, with the most profound respect. 
Madam, Yours, c. 
You see, madam, by reading these letters, that Mr. Baker, without being guilty of indiscretion, had a right to dispose of me, without waiting for my mother’s consent since she had remitted to him all her authority over me, and had acquainted him sufficiently vvith her views concerning me, to convince him that by taking this step he should perfectly fulfil them. He let her know by a second letter, the resolution we had taken to retire to my dear clarifia’s tutor, and gave her a full account of everything which my wife has informed you of. Therefore, madam D’aftie sent us her consent to Bordeaux, without the least hesitation; which file certainly would not have done, as clarilsa has remarked, if she had not been acquainted with the character and virtues of her whom I was about to .give her for a daughter and com -- panion. 
You know the happy conclusion of burr adventures. I am very much afraid that I have been guilty of an indiscretion, in giving you too 
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true an account of my errors. You will say, doubtless, Oh! this libertine does not deserve my Clarissa. I am of your opinion, madam; Ihe might have met with an husband more worthy of her; but, had Ihe had an opportunity of choosing from amongst all mankind, Ihe could not have found one deserving of her, one who would have been more sensible of her value, or more firmly resolved than myself, to adore her without diminution, the rcfl: of his life. 
The two friends left off writing, because lady" Balfour went to vift her friend, along with Mrs.. Darby, andft aid there a considerable time, 
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End of the Second Volume. 
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