love of me, that had inclined her to dispense with those injunctions.

I never beheld so sweet a confusion. What a glory to the pencil, could it do justice to it, and to the mingled impatience which visibly informed every feature of the most meaning and most beautiful face in the world! She hemmed twice or thrice: her look, now so charmingly silly, then so sweetly significant; till at last the lovely teaser, teased by my hesitating expectation of her answer, out of all power of articulate speech, burst into tears, and was turning from me with precipitation, when, presuming to fold her in my happy arms-O think not, best beloved of my heart, said I, think not, that this motion, which you may believe to be so contrary to your former injunctions, proceeds from a design to avail myself of the cruelty of your relations if I have disobliged you by it (and you know with what respectful tenderness I have presumed to hint it) it shall be my utmost care for the future-there I stopt

Then she spoke; but with vexation-I am-I am— very unhappy-tears trickling down her crimson cheeks; and her sweet face, as my arms still encircled the finest waist in the world, sinking upon my shoulder; the dear creature so absent that she knew not the honour she permitted me.

But why, but why unhappy, my dearest life? said I:all the gratitude that ever overflowed the heart of the most obliged of men—

Justice to myself there stopt my mouth: for what gratitude did I owe her for obligations so involuntary?

Then recovering herself, and her usual reserves, and struggling to free herself from my clasping arms, How now, sir! said she, with a cheek more indignantly glowing, and eyes of a fiercer lustre.

I gave way to her angry struggle; but, absolutely overcome by so charming a display of innocent confusion, I caught hold of her hand as she was flying from me; and,

kneeling at her feet, O my angel, said I, (quite destitute of reserve, and hardly knowing the tenor of my own speech; and had a parson been there, I had certainly been a gone man) receive the vows of your faithful Lovelace. Make him yours, and only yours, for ever. This will answer every end. Who will dare to form plots and stratagems against my wife? That you are not so, is the ground of all their foolish attempts, and of their insolent hopes in Solmes's favour.-O be mine!-I beseech you (thus on my knee I beseech you) to be mine. We shall then have all the world with us. And everybody will applaud an event

that everybody expects.

Was the devil in me! I no more intended all this ecstatic nonsense, than I thought the same moment of flying in the air! All power is with this charming creature. It is I, not she, at this rate, that must fail in the arduous trial.

Well, but what was the result of this ?-Wouldst thou not think, I was taken at my offer ?-An offer so solemnly made, and on one knee too?

No such thing!The pretty trifler let me off as easily as I could have wished.

Another letter was to be sent, or had been sent, to her aunt Hervey; to which she hoped an answer.

Yet sometimes I think, that fainter and fainter would have been her procrastinations, had I been a man of courage. But so fearful was I of offending!

A confounded thing the man to be so bashful; the woman to want so much courting!-How shall two such come together; no kind mediatress in the way?

But, O the charming creature, again of herself to mention London ! Had Singleton's plot been of my own. contriving, a more happy expedient could not have been thought of to induce her to resume her purpose of going thither; nor can I divine what could be her reason for postponing it.

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO MRS. HERVEY.

[Enclosed in her last to Miss Howe.]

HONOURED MADAM,

E

Thursday, April 20.

AVING not had the favour of an answer to a letter I took the liberty to write to you on

the 14th, I am in some hopes that it may have miscarried; for I had much rather it should, than to have the mortification to think that my aunt Hervey deemed me unworthy of the honour of her notice.

Whatever be the determination at Harlowe Place, do not you, my dearest Aunt, deny me the favour of a few lines, to inform me if there can be any hope of a reconciliation upon terms less shocking than those heretofore endeavoured to be imposed upon me, or if (which God forbid) I am to be for ever reprobated.

At least, my dear Aunt, procure for me the justice of my wearing apparel, and the little money and other things which I wrote to my sister for, and mention in the enclosed to you; that I may not be destitute of common conveniences, or be under a necessity to owe an obligation for such, where (at present, however) I would least of all owe it.

Allow me to say, that had I designed what happened, I might (as to the money and jewels at least) have saved myself some of the mortifications which I have suffered, and which I still further apprehend, if my request be not complied with.

If you are permitted to encourage an eclaircissement of what I hint, I will open my whole heart to you, and inform you of everything.

If it be any pleasure to have me mortified, be pleased to let it be known, that I am extremely mortified and yet it is entirely from my own reflections that I am so;

having nothing to find fault with, in the behaviour of the person from whom every evil was apprehended.

The bearer having business your way, will bring me your answer on Saturday morning, if you favour me according to my hopes. I knew not that I should have this opportunity till I had written the above.

I am, my dearest Aunt,

Your ever-dutiful

CL. HARLOWE.

Be pleased to direct for me, if I am to be favoured with a few lines, to be left at Mr. Osgood's near Soho Square; and nobody shall ever know of your goodness to me, if you desire it to be kept a secret.

END OF VOL. I.

BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.