self, for my own part I say, God forgive you! And this is all from

Your afflicted uncle,

JOHN HARLOWE.

The following Meditation was afterwards found stitched to the bottom of this letter with black silk.

MEDITATION.

O that thou wouldst hide me in the grave! That thou wouldst keep me secret, till thy wrath be passed!

My face is foul with weeping; and on my eyelid is the shadow of death.

My friends scorn me; but mine eye poureth out tears unto God.

A dreadful sound is in my ears; in prosperity the destroyer came upon me!

I have sinned! What shall I do unto thee, O thou Preserver of men! Why hast thou set me as a mark against thee; so that I am a burden to myself!

When I say, My bed shall comfort me; my couch shall ease my complaint;

Then thou scarest me with dreams, and terrifiest me through visions.

So that my soul chooseth strangling, and death rather than life.

I loath it! I would not live alway!-Let me alone; for my days are vanity!

He hath made me a by-word of the people; and aforetime I was as a tabret.

My days are passed, my purposes are broken off, even the thoughts of my heart.

When I looked for good, then evil came unto me; and when I waited for light, then came darkness.

And where now is my hope?

Yet all the days of my appointed time will I wait, till my change come.

VOL. III.

H

MISS CL. HARLOWE TO JOHN HARLOWE, ESQ.

Thursday, August 10.

JONOURED SIR,-It was an act of charity I begged only for a last blessing, that I might die in peace. I ask not to be received again, as my severe sister (O! that I had not written to her!) is pleased to say, is my view. Let that grace be denied me when I do.

I could not look forward to my last scene with comfort, without seeking, at least, to obtain the blessing I petitioned for; and that with a contrition so deep, that I deserved not, were it known, to be turned over from the tender nature of a mother, to the upbraiding pen of an uncle! and to be wounded by a cruel question, put by him in a shocking manner; and which a little, a very little time, will better answer than I can: for I am not either a hardened or shameless creature: if I were, I should not have been so solicitous to obtain the favour I sued for.

And permit me to say, that I asked it as well for my father and mother's sake, as for my own; for I am sure, they at least will be uneasy, after I am gone, that they refused it to me.

I should still be glad to have theirs, and yours, sir, and all your blessings, and your prayers: but denied in such a manner, I will not presume again to ask it: relying entirely on the Almighty; which is never denied, when supplicated for with such true penitence, as I hope mine is. God preserve my dear uncle, and all my honoured Your unhappy

friends! prays

CLARISSA HARLOWE.

M

MISS HOWE TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE.

Yarmouth, Isle of Wight, Monday, August 7.

Y DEAREST CREATURE,-I can write just now but a few lines. I cannot tell how to bear the sound of that Mr. Belford for your executor, cogent as your reasons for that measure are: and yet I am firmly of opinion, that none of your relations should be named for the trust. But I dwell the less upon this subject, as I hope (and cannot bear to apprehend the contrary) that you will still live many, many years.

Mr. Hickman, indeed, speaks very handsomely of Mr. Belford. But he, poor man! has not much penetration. If he had, he would hardly think so well of me as he does.

I have a particular opportunity of sending this by a friend of my aunt Harman's; who is ready to set out for London (and this occasions my hurry) and is to return out of hand. I expect therefore by him a large packet from you; and hope and long for news of your amended health: which Heaven grant to the prayers of

Your ever-affectionate

ANNA HOWE

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO MISS HOWE.

WILL send you a large

desire and expect; since I

Friday, August 11. packet, as you

can do it by so safe a conveyance: but not all that is come to my hand-for I must own that my friends are very severe; too severe for anybody who loves them not, to see their letters. You, my dear, would not call them my friends, you said, long ago; but my relations : indeed I cannot call them my relations, I think !—But I am ill; and therefore perhaps more peevish than I should

be. It is difficult to go out of ourselves to give a judgment against ourselves; and yet, oftentimes, to pass a just judgment, we ought.

I thought I should alarm you in the choice of my executor. But the sad necessity I am reduced to must

excuse me.

As Mr. Belford has transcribed for me, in confidence, from his friend's letters, the passages which accompany this, I must insist, that you suffer no soul but yourself to peruse them; and that you return them by the very first opportunity; that so no use may be made of them that may do hurt either to the original writer, or to the communicator. You'll observe I am bound by promise to this care. If through my means any mischief should arise, between this humane and that inhuman libertine, I should think myself utterly inexcusable.

I subjoin a list of the papers or letters I shall inclose. You must return them all when perused.

I am very much tired and fatigued-with-I don't know what—with writing, I think—but most with myself, and with a situation I cannot help aspiring to get out of, and above!

O, my dear, the world we live in is a sad, a very sad world! While under our parents' protecting wings, we know nothing at all of it. Book-learned and a scribbler, and looking at people as I saw them as visitors or visiting, I thought I knew a great deal of it. Pitiable ignorance! -Alas! I knew nothing at all!

With zealous wishes for your happiness, and the happiness of every one dear to you, I am, and will ever be, Your gratefully affectionate

CL. HARLOWE.

MR. ANTONY HARLOWE TO MISS CL. HARLOWE.

August 12.

NHAPPY GIRL! As your uncle Harlowe chooses not to answer your pert letter to him; and as mine written to you before, was written as if it were in the spirit of prophecy, as you have found to your sorrow; and as you are now making yourself worse than you are in your health, and better than you are in your penitence, as we are very well assured, in order to move compassion; which you do not deserve, having had so much warning: for all these reasons, I take up my pen once more; though I had told your brother, at his going to Edinburgh, that I would not write to you, even were you to write to me, without letting him know. So indeed had we all; for he prognosticated what would happen, as to your applying to us, when you knew not how to help it.

Brother John has hurt your niceness, it seems, by asking you a plain question, which your mother's heart is too full of grief to let her ask; and modesty will not let your sister ask, though but the consequence of your actionsand yet it must be answered, before you'll obtain from your father and mother, and us, the notice you hope for, I can tell you that.

Your folly has ruined all our peace. And who knows where it may yet end?-Your poor father but yesterday showed me this text: with bitter grief he showed it me, poor man! And do you lay it to your heart :—

"A father waketh for his daughter, when no man knoweth; and the care for her taketh away his sleepwhen she is young, lest she pass away the flower of her age [and you know what proposals were made to you at different times]: and, being married, lest she should be hated in her virginity, lest she should be defiled, and

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