upon it; and now who knows when such a vapourish creature will come to a resolution? This, madam, has been an unhappy week; for had I not stood upon such bad terms with you, you might have been now mistress of that house; and probably had my cousin Montague, if not Lady Betty, actually with you.

And so, sir, taking all you say for granted, your cousin Montague cannot come to Mrs. Sinclair's? What, pray, is her objection to Mrs. Sinclair's? Is this house fit for me to live in a month or two, and not fit for any of your relations for a few days? And Mrs. Fretchville has taken more time too!—Then, pushing by him, I hurried down stairs.

Dorcas just then bringing him his sword and hat, he opened the street door, and taking my reluctant hand, led me, in a very obsequious manner, to the coach. People passing by, stopped, stared, and whispered-But he is so graceful in his person and dress, that he generally takes every eye.

I was uneasy to be so gazed at; and he stepped in after me, and the coachman drove to St. Paul's.

He was very full of assiduities all the way; while I was as reserved as possible: and when I returned, dined, as I had done the greatest part of the week, by myself.

He told me, upon my resolving to do so, that although he would continue his passive observance till I knew the issue of my application; yet I must expect, that then I should not rest one moment till I had fixed his happy day for that his very soul was fretted with my slights,. resentments, and delays.

A wretch! when I can say, to my infinite regret, on a double account, that all he complains of is owing to himself!

O that I may have good tidings from my uncle! Your
CLARISSA HARLOWE,

MISS HOWE TO MRS. JUDITH NORTON.

Thursday, May 11.

OOD MRS. NORTON,-Cannot you, without naming me as an adviser, who am hated by the

family, contrive a way to let Mrs. Harlowe know, that in an accidental conversation with me, you had been assured, that my beloved friend pines after a reconciliation with her relations? That she has hitherto, in hopes of it, refused to enter into any obligation that shall be in the least an hindrance to it: that she would fain avoid giving Mr. Lovelace a right to make her family uneasy in relation to her grandfather's estate: that all she wishes for still, is to be indulged in her choice of a single life, and, on that condition, would make her father's pleasure hers with regard to that estate that Mr. Lovelace is continually pressing her to marry him; and all his friends likewise but that I am sure, she has so little liking to the man, because of his faulty morals, and of the antipathy of her relations to him, that if she, had any hope given her of a reconciliation, she would forego all thoughts of him, and put herself into her father's protection. But that their resolution must be speedy; for otherwise she would find herself obliged to give way to his pressing entreaties; and it might then be out of her power to prevent disagreeable litigations.

I do assure you, Mrs. Norton, upon my honour, that our dearest friend knows nothing of this procedure of mine.

Pray acquaint me by a line of the result of your interposition. If it prove not such as may be reasonably hoped for, our dear friend shall know nothing of this step from me; and pray let her not from you. For, in that case, it would only give deeper grief to a heart already too much afflicted. I am, dear and worthy Mrs. Norton,

Your true friend,

ANNA HOWE.

MRS. NORTON TO MISS HOWE.

Saturday, May 13.

EAR MADAM,-My heart is almost broken to be obliged to let you know, that such is the situa

tion of things in the family of my ever dear Miss Harlowe, that there can be at present no success expected from any application in her favour. Her poor mother is to be pitied. I have a most affecting letter from her; but must not communicate it to you; and she forbids me to let it be known that she writes upon the subject; although she is compelled, as it were, to do it, for the ease of her own heart. I mention it therefore, in confidence.

I hope in God that my beloved young lady has preserved her honour inviolate. I hope there is not a man breathing who could attempt a sacrilege so detestable. I have no apprehension of a failure in a virtue so established. God for ever keep so pure a heart out of the reach of surprises and violence! Ease, dear madam, I beseech you, my overanxious heart, by one line, by the bearer, although but by one line, to acquaint me (as surely you can) that her honour is unsullied. If it be not, adieu to all the comforts this life can give: Since none will it be able to afford

To the poor JUDITH NORTON.

MISS HOWE TO MRS. JUDITH NORTON.

Saturday Evening, May 13. EAR GOOD WOMAN,-Your beloved's honour is inviolate-Must be inviolate! And will be so, in spite of men and devils. Could I have had hope of a reconciliation, all my view was, that she should not have had this man.-All that can be said

now, is, she must run the risk of a bad husband: she, of whom no man living is worthy!

You pity her mother-So do not I! I pity no mother, that puts it out of her power to show maternal love, and humanity, in order to patch up for herself a precarious and sorry quiet, which every blast of wind shall disturb.

I repeat that I pity none of them. Our beloved friend only deserves pity. She had never been in the hands of this man, but for them. She is quite blameless. You don't know all her story. Were I to tell you that she had no intention to go off with this man, it would avail her nothing. It would only serve to condemn, with those who drove her to extremities, him, who now must be her refuge. I am

Your sincere friend and servant,

ANNA HOWE.

E

MISS HOWE TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE

OW it is now, my dear,
Lovelace, I cannot tell.

Sunday, May 14.

between you and Mr.

But wicked as the man

is, I am afraid he must be your lord and master.

I called him by several very hard names in my last. I had but just heard of some of his vilenesses, when I sat down to write; so my indignation was raised. But on inquiry, and recollection, I find that the facts laid to his charge were all of them committed some time ago-not since he has had strong hopes of your favour.

Yet his teasing ways are intolerable: his acquiescence with your slight delays, and his resignedness to the distance you now keep him at (for a fault so much slighter as he must think, than the punishment) are unaccountable : he doubts your love of him, that is very probable; but you have reason to be surprised at his want of ardour; a blessing so great within his reach, as I may say.

There is yet, to a person of your fortune and indepen

A

dence, a good deal to do, if you enter upon those terms which ought to be entered upon. I don't find, that he has once talked of settlements; nor yet of the licence. foolish wretch !-But as your evil destiny has thrown you out of all other protection and mediation, you must be father, mother, uncle to yourself; and enter upon the requisite points for yourself.

Mr. Lovelace," would I say; yet hate the foolish fellow, for his low, his stupid pride, in wishing to triumph over the dignity of his own wife ;-" I am by your means deprived of every friend I have in the world. In what light am I to look upon you? I have well considered of everything. You have made some people, much against my liking, think me a wife: others know I am not married; nor do I desire anybody should believe I am. Do you think your being here in the same house with me can be to my reputation? You talked to me of Mrs. Fretchville's house." This will bring him to renew his last discourse on that subject, if he does not revive it of himself. "If Mrs. Fretchville knows not her own mind, what is her house to me? You talked of bringing up your cousin Montague to bear me company: If my brother's schemes be your pretence for not going yourself to fetch her, you can write to her. I insist upon bringing these two points to an issue. Off or on, ought to be indifferent to me, if so to them."

like it, would I do.

This is my advice: Mend it as circumstances offer, and follow your own. But indeed, my dear, this, or something And let him tell me afterwards, if he dared or would, that he humbled down to his shoebuckles the person it would have been his glory to exalt.

Adieu, my dearest friend,

ANNA HOWE.