new work surely!] when he is not himself, nor master of his faculties? - Hence, as I apprehend, it is, that a death-bed repentance is supposed to be such a precarious and ineffectual thing.

As to myself, I hope I have a great deal of time before me; since I intend one day to be a reformed man. I have very serious reflections now and then. Yet am I half afraid of the truth of what my charmer once told me, that a man cannot repent when he will.-Not to hold it, I suppose she meant! By fits and starts I have repented a thousand times.

Casting my eye over the two preceding paragraphs, I fancy there is something like contradiction in them. But I will not reconsider them. The subject is a very serious one. don't at present quite understand it. But now for one more airy.

Tourville, Mowbray, and myself, pass away our time as pleasantly as we possibly can without thee. I wish we don't add to Lord M.'s gouty days by the joy we give him.

This is one advantage, as I believe I have elsewhere observed, that we male-delinquents in lovematters have of the other sex:-for while they, poor things! sit sighing in holes and corners, or run to woods and groves to bemoan themselves on their baffled hopes, we can rant and roar, hunt and hawk; and, by new loves, banish from our hearts all remembrance of the old ones.

Merrily, however, as we pass our time, my reflections upon the injuries done to this noble creature bring a qualm upon my heart very often. But I know she will permit me to make her amends, after she has plagued me heartily, and that's my

consolation.

An honest fellow still-clap thy wings, and Jack !.

crow,

LETTER LXXIV.

MISS HOWE TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE.
Thursday morn. July 20.

WHAT, my dearest creature, have been your sufferings! What must have been your anguish on so disgraceful an insult, committed in the open streets, and in the broad day!

No end, I think, of the undeserved calamities of a dear soul, who has been so unhappily driven and betrayed into the hands of a vile libertine !-How was I shocked at the receiving of your letter written by another hand, and only dictated by you!You must be very ill. Nor is it to be wondered at. But I hope it is rather from hurry, and surprise, and lowness, which may be overcome, than from a grief given way to, which may be attended with effects I cannot bear to think of.

But whatever you do, my dear, you must not despond! Indeed you must not despond! Hitherto you have been in no fault: but despair would be all your own: and the worst fault you can be guilty of.

I cannot bear to look upon another hand instead of yours. My dear creature, send me a few lines, though ever so few, in your own hand, if possible. -For they will revive my heart; especially if they can acquaint me of your amended health.

I expect your answer to my letter of the 13th. We all expect it with impatience.

His relations are persons of so much honourthey are so very earnest to rank you among them— the wretch is so very penitent: every one of his family says he is your own are so implacable

your last distress, though the consequence of his former villany, yet neither brought on by his direction, nor with his knowledge; and so much resented by him—that my mother is absolutely of opinion, that you should be his-especially, if yielding to my wishes as expressed in my letter, and those of all his friends, you would have complied had it not been for this horrid arrest.

I will enclose the copy of the letter I wrote to Miss Montague last Tuesday on hearing that nobody knew what was become of you; and the answer to it, under-written and signed by Lord M. Lady Sarah Sadleir, and Lady Betty Lawrance, as well as by the young ladies; and also by the wretch himself.

I own, that I like not the turn of what he has written to me; and before I will further interest myself in his favour, I have determined to inform myself by a friend, from his own mouth, of his sincerity, and whether his whole inclination be in his request to me, exclusive of the wishes of his relations. Yet my heart rises against him, on the supposition that there is the shadow of a reason for such a question, the woman Miss Clarissa Harlowe. But I think with my mother that marriage is now the only means left to make your future life tolerably easy-happy there is no saying.His disgraces, in that case, in the eye of the world itself, will be more than yours: and to those who know you, glorious will be your triumph.

I am obliged to accompany my mother soon to the Isle of Wight. My aunt Harman is in a declining way, and insists upon seeing us both-and Mr. Hickman too I think.

His sister, of whom we have heard so much, with her lord, were brought t'other day to visit us. She strangely likes me, or says she does.

I can't say, but that I think she answers the excellent character we have heard of her.

It would be death to me to set out for the little island, and not see you first: and yet my mother (fond of exerting an authority that she herself, by that exertion, often brings into question) insists, that my next visit to you, must be a congratulatory one, as Mrs. Lovelace.

When I know what will be the result of the questions to be put in my name to that wretch, and what is your mind on my letter of the 13th, I shall tell you more of mine.

The bearer promises to make so much dispatch, as to attend you this very afternoon. May he re

turn with good tidings to

Your ever affectionate

ANNA HOWE.

LETTER LXXV.

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO MISS HOWE.

Thursday afternoon.

You pain me, my dearest Miss Howe, by the ardour of your noble friendship. I will be very brief, because I am not well; yet a good deal better than I was; and because I am preparing an answer to yours of the 13th. But, beforehand, I must tell you, my dear, I will not have that mandon't be angry with me.-But indeed I won't. So let him be asked no questions about me, I beseech

you.

I do not despond, my dear. I hope I may say, I will not despond. Is not my condition greatly mended? I thank Heaven it is!

I am no prisoner now in a vile house. I am not now in the power of that man's devices. I am not now obliged to hide myself in corners for fear of him. One of his intimate companions is become my warm friend, and engages to keep him from me, and that by his own consent. I am among honest people. I have all my clothes and effects restored to me. The wretch himself bears testimony to my honour.

Indeed I am very weak and ill: but I have an excellent physician, Dr. H. and as worthy an apothecary, Mr. Goddard-their treatment of me, my dear, is perfectly paternal !-My mind too, I can find, begins to strengthen: and methinks, at times, I find myself superior to my calamities.

I shall have sinkings sometimes. I must expect such. And my father's maledict-But you will chide me for introducing that, now I am enumerating my comforts.

fer

But I charge you, my dear, that you do not sufmy calamities to sit too heavy upon your own mind. If you do, that will be to new-point some of those arrows that have been blunted, and lost their sharpness.

If you would contribute to my happiness, give way, my dear, to your own; and to the cheerful prospects before you.

You will think very meanly of your Clarissa, if you do not believe, that the greatest pleasure she can receive in this life, is in your prosperity and welfare. Think not of me, my only friend, but as we were in times past: and suppose me gone a great, great way off;-a long journey !-How often are the dearest of friends, at their country's call, thus parted-with a certainty for years-with a probability for ever!

Love me still, however. But let it be with a