sentence like a master. Every page of a book of his declares itself, in matter and style, a piece of literature. Perhaps this could not be said of any page of a book of Richardson's. The strength of Richardson lay in the intense occupation of his own mind with the persons of his story, in the completeness of his faith in his own work, and his devotion to it of all the powers that he had; but at the same time also in a large kindliness of nature, underlying a little of the formalism of his day and tempered with the quiet shrewdness of a man of business, so that he had quick sensibilities and, as far as his powers allowed, a clear insight into life and character. The people of his stories were real people to him, and they become real to his readers. He needs many touches to produce a deep impression on the mind, but all the touches hit the same mark, and at last their force comes to be irresistible. Richardson was a man, if one may in the face of "Clarissa" venture to say so, without genius, who produced effects that even a man of genius might miss if he had not that art of giving his whole mind to his work, in which Richardson had the strength of Anak.

Clarissa has a lively and devoted friend, Miss Anna Howe, who teases her widowed mother and her formal lover, Mr. Hickman. Miss Howe is the heroine's friend who, as in the French tragedies, serves to draw out for the reader's benefit the confidences of the heroine. The libertine hero, Mr. Lovelace, has also a confidential friend in John Belford, Esq., who is a reformed rake, but in no very active opposition to a rake who is unreformed. It is Pylade ami d'Oreste; Cléone confidente d'Hermione; Céphise confidente d'Andromaque; Nearque ami de Polyeucte; Stratonice confidente de Pauline, &c. &c. As Richardson tells all his stories by the way of "epistolary correspondence," and confidential letters are inseparable from his plan, there is more reason for the device in his case than in the French tragic drama. Miss Anna Howe begins the story by asking her "dearest friend" for information about causes of a duel in which Mr. Lovelace had

1 A coloured fac-simile of the sketch, with Richardson's own MS. indication of the persons represented, was given as a frontispiece to the third volume of Mrs. Barbauld's "Correspondence of Richardson." Richardson himself is the fourth, counting from the right-hand side.

slightly wounded Clarissa's brother, and had made polite inquiries, which were treated with indignity.

Write to me, therefore, my dear, the whole of your story from the time that Mr. Lovelace was first introduced into your family, and particularly an account of all that passed between him and your sister, about which there are different reports; some people scrupling not to insinuate that the younger sister has stolen a lover from the elder: and, pray, write in so full a manner as may satisfy those who know not so much of your affairs as I do. If anything unhappy should fall out from the violence of such spirits as you have to deal with, your account of all things previous to it will be your best justification.

You see what you draw upon yourself by excelling all your sex: every individual of it who knows you, or has heard of you, seems to think you answerable to her for your conduct in points so very delicate and concerning.

Every eye, in short, is upon you with the expectation of an example. I wish to Heaven you were at liberty to pursue your own methods; all would then, I dare say, be easy, and honourably ended; but I dread your directors and directresses; for your mother, admirably well qualified as she is to lead, must submit to be led. Your sister and brother will certainly put you out of your course.

But this is a point you will not permit me to expatiate upon; pardon me, therefore, and I have done. Yet, why should I say pardon me, when your concerns are my concerns-when your honour is my honour-when I love you as never woman loved another-and when you have allowed of that concern and of that love, and have for years, which in persons so young may be called many, ranked in the first class of your friends, your ever grateful and affectionate

ANNA HOWE?

Will you oblige me with a copy of the preamble to the clauses in your grandfather's will in your favour, and allow me to send it to my aunt Harman? She is very desirous to see it yet your character has so charmed her, that, though a stranger to you personally, she assents to the preference given you in that will, before she knows the testator's reasons for giving you that preference.

Hereupon Miss Clarissa Harlowe writes from Harlowe Place ten letters to her affectionate friend. Mr. Lovelace, in pursuance of a conference between Lord M. and Clarissa's uncle Antony, had paid his respects to Clarissa's elder sister Arabella. Her brother was

then in Scotland, seeing to estates left him there, with one in Yorkshire, by his generous godmother; and Clarissa was at a house left to her by a loving grandfather, and called "the Dairy House" from a dairy that he had there fitted up for her pleasure. The house was left to her inspection once a year, though she had absolutely given the whole into her father's power. Arabella was delighted with Mr. Lovelace until he distinctly avoided speaking out. When she was so vexed with him that she could at the moment only say no, he chose his opportunity for making her an offer, and with great show of regret took his refusal as absolute. When Lovelace was next in the neighbourhood he resumed acquaintance with the Harlowes, saw Clarissa, and paid particular attention to her. Lord M. offered on behalf of his nephew for Clarissa. Lovelace was admitted by her father to the house as suitor, by herself with indifference; but Lovelace drew her into letter-writing. Then came her brother back from Scotland, a brother of tyrannic temper, with an old personal hatred towards Lovelace. Brother and disappointed sister formed an alliance in ill-will. The visits of Lovelace, of whom evidence came to Clarissa that he was generous and good-humoured, but profligate in his relations to women, were discouraged; but Mr. James Harlowe, Clarissa's brother, was not content without forcing a quarrel upon him. Thus came the duel, and the wound in brother James's arm.

Mr. Lovelace for three days together sent twice each day to inquire after my brother's health; and although he received rude and even shocking returns, he thought fit on the fourth day to make in person the same inquiries, and received still greater incivilities from my two uncles, who hap pened to be both there. My father also was held by force from going to him with his sword in his hand, although he had the gout upon him.

I fainted away with terror, seeing every one so violent, and hearing Mr. Lovelace swear that he would not depart till he had made my uncles ask his pardon for the indignities he had received at their hands; a door being held fast locked between him and them. My mother all the time was praying and struggling to withhold my father in the great parlour. Meanwhile, my sister, who had treated Mr. Lovelace with virulence, came in to me, and insulted me as fast as I recovered. But when Mr. Lovelace was told how ill I was, he departed; nevertheless vowing revenge.

He was ever a favourite with our domestics. His bounty to them, and having always something facetious to say to each, had made them all of his party; and on this occasion they privately blamed everybody else, and reported his calm and gentlemanly behaviour (till the provocations given him ran very high) in such favourable terms, that those reports, and my apprehensions of the consequence of this treatment, induced me to read a letter he sent me that night, and, it being written in the most respectful terms (offering to submit the whole to my decision, and to govern himself entirely by my will), to answer it some days after.

To this unhappy necessity was owing our renewed correspondence, as I may call it; yet I did not write till I had informed myself from Mr. Symmes's brother that he was really insulted into the act of drawing his sword, by my brother's repeatedly threatening (upon his excusing himself out of regard to me) to brand him if he did not; and, by all

the inquiry I could make, that he was again the sufferer from my uncles in a more violent manner than I have related.

The same circumstances were related to my father and other relations by Mr. Symmes; but they had gone too far in making themselves parties to the quarrel either to retract or forgive; and I was forbidden to correspond with him, or to be seen a moment in his company.

One thing, however, I can say, but that in confidence, because my mother commanded me not to mention it: that, expressing her apprehension of the consequences of the indignities offered to Mr. Lovelace, she told me she would leave it to my prudence to do all I could to prevent the impending mischief on one side.

Then followed home persecution of Clarissa, and there was an intolerable Mr. Solmes to be forced upon her. She was kept close prisoner in the house, and corresponded with her dear Miss Howe only by a secret device. Beset by home afflictions, the cruelty of her brother, the scorn of her sister, the hard determination of her father, the weak distresses of a mother who had no will of her own, and by the steady devices of Lovelace, when danger of Mr. Solmes was pressing close upon her, Clarissa quitted home, and trusted herself to the honourable friendship of Robert Lovelace. This point is reached only, by slow degrees, at the end of the second volume. Having been driven in a coach and six to St. Albans, where they arrived only as day shut in, Clarissa writes to her friend:

I thought I should have fainted several times by the way. With uplifted hands and eyes, "God protect me!" said I often to myself" Can it be I that am here!"-My eyes running over, and my heart ready to burst with sighs as involuntary as my flight.

How different, how inexpressibly different, the gay wretch; visibly triumphing (as I could not but construe his almost rapturous joy) in the success of his arts! But overflowing with complimental flourishes, yet respectfully distant his address, all the way we flew; for that rather than galloping, was the motion of the horses, which took, as I believe, a round-about way, to prevent being traced.

I have reason to think there were other horsemen at his devotion, three or four different persons, above the rank of servants, galloping by us now and then on each side of the chariot; but he took no notice of them, and I had too much grief, mingled with indignation, notwithstanding all his blandishments, to ask any questions about them, or anything

else.

Think, my dear, what were my thoughts on alighting from the chariot; having no attendant of my own sex; no clothes but what I had on, and those little suited for such a journey as I had already taken, and was still to take: neither hood nor hat, nor anything but a handkerchief about my neck and shoulders. Fatigued to death, my mind still more fatigued than my body, and in such a foam the horses, that every one in the inn we put up at guessed (they could not do otherwise) that I was a young giddy creature who had run away from her friends. This it was easy to see, by their whispering and gaping, more of the people of the house also coming in by turns than were necessary for the attendance.

The mistress of the house, whom he sent in to me, showed me another apartment, and, seeing me ready to faint, brought me hartshorn and water; and then, upon my desiring to be left alone for half-an-hour, retired: for I found my heart ready

to burst, on revolving everything in my thoughts. And the moment she was gone, fastening the door, I threw myself into an old great chair, and gave way to a violent flood of tears, which a little relieved me.

Mr. Lovelace, sooner than I wished, sent up the gentlewoman, who pressed me, in his name, to admit my brother, or to come down to him, for he had told her I was his sister, and that he had brought me, against my will, and without warning, from a friend's house, where I had been all the winter, in order to prevent my marrying against the consent of my friends, to whom he was now conducting me and that, having given me no time for a travelling-dress, I was greatly offended at him.

So, my dear, your frank, your open-hearted friend, was forced to countenance this tale, which indeed suited me the better, because I was unable for some time to talk, speak, or look up; and so my dejection and grief and silence might very well pass before the gentlewoman and her niece who attended me, as a fit of sullenness.

The room I was in being a bed-chamber, I chose to go down, at his repeated message, attended by the mistress of the house, to that in which he was. He approached me with great respect, yet not exceeding a brotherly politeness, where a brother is polite; and, calling me his dearest sister, asked after the state of my mind, and hoped I would forgive him; for never brother half so well loved a sister, as he me.

A wretch! How naturally did he fall into the character, although I was so much out of mine!

Unthinking creatures have some comfort in the shortness of their views, in their unapprehensiveness, and that they penetrate not beyond the present moment; in short, that they are unthinking! But, for a person of my thoughtful disposition, who has been accustomed to look forward, as well to the possible as to the probable, what comfort can I have in my reflections?

But let me give you the particulars of our conversation a little before and after our supper-time, joining both in one. When we were alone, he besought me (I cannot say but with all the tokens of a passionate and respectful tenderness) to be better reconciled to myself and to him; he repeated all the vows of honour and inviolable affection that he ever made me; he promised to be wholly governed by me in every future step. He asked me to give him leave to propose, whether I chose to set out next day to either of his aunts? I was silent. I knew not what to say, nor what to do. Whether I chose to have private lodgings procured for me, in either of those ladies' neighbourhood, as were once my thoughts?

I was still silent.

Whether I chose to go to either of Lord M.'s seats; that of Berks, or that in the county we were in?

In lodgings, I said, anywhere, where he was not to be. He had promised this, he owned, and he would religiously keep to his word, as soon as he found all danger of pursuit over, and that I was settled to my mind. But, if the place were indifferent to me, London was the safest, and the most private; and his relations should all visit me there, the moment I thought fit to admit them. His cousin Charlotte particularly should attend me, as my companion, if I would accept of her, as soon as she was able to go abroad. Meantime would I go to Lady Betty Lawrance's (Lady Sarah was a melancholy woman!), I should be the most welcome guest she ever received.

I told him I wished not to go (immediately, however, and in the frame I was in, and likely not to be out of) to any of his relations; that my reputation was concerned to have him absent from me; that, if I were in some private lodging, the

meaner the less to be suspected (as it would be known that I went away by his means, and he would be supposed to have provided me handsome accommodations), it would be most suitable both to my mind and to my situation. That this might be best, I should think, in the country for me; in town for him. And no matter how soon he was known to be there.

If he might deliver his opinion, he said, it was, that since I declined going to any of his relations, London was the only place in the world to be private in. Every new-comer in a country town or village excited a curiosity: a person of my figure (and many compliments he made me) would excite more. Even messages and letters, where none used to be brought, would occasion inquiry. He had not provided a lodging anywhere, supposing I would choose to go either to London, where accommodations of that sort might be fixed upon in an hour's time, or to Lady Betty's; or to Lord M.'s Hertfordshire seat, where was the housekeeper, an excellent woman, Mrs. Greme, such another as my Norton. To be sure, I said, if I were pursued, it would be in their first passion; and some one of his relations' houses would be the place they would expect to find me at-I knew not what to do.

My pleasure should determine him, he said, be it what it would. Only that I were safe, was all that he was solicitous about. He had lodgings in town, but he did not offer to propose them. He knew I would have more objections to go to them, than I could have to go to Lord M.'s, or to Lady Betty's.

"No doubt of it," I replied, with such an indignation in my manner as made him run over with professions that he was far from proposing them, or wishing for my acceptance of them. And again he repeated, that my honour and safety were all he was solicitous about; assuring me that my will should be a law to him in every particular.

I was too peevish, and too much afflicted, and indeed too much incensed against him, to take well anything he said. I thought myself, I said, extremely unhappy. I knew not what to determine upon my reputation now, no doubt, utterly ruined. Destitute of clothes; unfit to be seen by anybody; my very indigence, as I might call it, proclaiming my folly to every one who saw me, who would suppose that I had been taken at advantage, or had given an undue one, and had no power over either my will or my actions? That I could not but think I had been dealt artfully with; that he had seemed to have taken, what he might suppose, the just measure of my weakness, founded on my youth and inexperience; that I could not forgive myself for meeting him; that my heart bled for the distresses of my father and mother, on this occasion; that I would give the world, and all my hopes in it, to have been still in my father's house, whatever had been my usage; that, let him protest and vow what he would, I saw something low and selfish in his love, that he could study to put a young creature upon making such a sacrifice of her duty and conscience; when a person, actuated by a generous love, must seek to oblige the object of it, in everything essential to her honour and to her peace of mind.

He was very attentive to all I said, never offering to interrupt me once. His answer to every article, almost methodically, showed his memory.

What I had said, he told me, had made him very grave, and he would answer accordingly.

He was grieved at his heart, to find that he had so little share in my favour or confidence.

As to my reputation (he must be very sincere with me); that could not suffer half so much by the step I so greatly regretted to have taken, as by the confinement, and equally

:

foolish and unjust treatment I had met with from my relations that every mouth was full of blame of them, of my brother and sister particularly, and of wonder at my patience; that he must repeat what he had written to me he believed more than once, that my friends themselves expected that I should take a proper opportunity to free myself from their persecutions; why else did they confine me? That my exalted character, as he called it, would still bear me out with those who knew me; who knew my brother's and sister's motives; and who knew the wretch they were for compelling me to have.

With regard to clothes; who, as matters were circumstanced, could expect that I should be able to bring away any others than those I had on at the time? For present use to wear, all the ladies of his family would take a pride to supply me for future, the product of the best looms, not only in England, but throughout the world, were at my command.

If I wanted money, as no doubt I must, he should be proud to supply me would to Heaven he might presume to hope there were but one interest between us!

And then he would fain have had me to accept of a Bank note of a hundred pounds, which, unawares to me, he put into my hand, but which, you may be sure, I refused with warmth.

He was inexpressibly grieved and surprised, he said, to hear me say he had acted artfully by me. He came provided, according to my confirmed appointment (a wretch to upbraid me thus!), to redeem me from my persecutors, and little expected a change of sentiment, and that he should have so much difficulty to prevail upon me, as he had met with; that perhaps I might think his offer to go into the garden with me, and to face my assembled relations, was a piece of art only; but that if I did, I wronged him, since to this hour, seeing my excessive uneasiness, he wished with all his soul he had been permitted to accompany me in. It was always his maxim to brave a threatened danger. Threateners, where they have an opportunity to put in force their threats, were seldom to be feared, But had he been assured of a private stab, or of as many death's wounds as there were persons in my family (made desperate as he should have been by my return), he would have attended me into the house.

So, my dear, what I have to do is to hold myself inexcusable for meeting such a determined and audacious spirit, that's all! I have hardly any question now, but that he would have contrived some wicked stratagem or other to have got me away, had I met him at a midnight hour, as once or twice I had thoughts to do; and that would have been more terrible still.

He concluded this part of his talk with saying that he doubted not, but that had he attended me in, he should have come off in every one's opinion so well, that he should have general leave to renew his visits.

He went on-He must be so bold as to tell me, that he should have paid a visit of this kind (but indeed accompanied by several of his trusty friends) had I not met him, and that very afternoon too; for he could not tamely let the dreadful Wednesday come without making some effort to change their determinations.

What, my dear, was to be done with such a man!

That therefore for my sake, as well as for his own, he had reason to wish that a disease so desperate had been attempted to be overcome by as desperate a remedy. "We all know," said ho, "that great ends are sometimes brought about by the very means by which they are endeavoured to be frustrated." 'My present situation, I am sure," thought I, "affords a sad evidence of this truth."

66

I was silent all this time. My blame was indeed turned

inward. Sometimes, too, I was half-frighted at his audaciousness: at others, had the less inclination to interrupt him, being excessively fatigued, and my spirits sunk to nothing, with the view even of the best prospects with such a man.

This gave him opportunity to proceed; and that he did, assuming a still more serious air.

As to what further remained for him to say, in answer to what I had said, he hoped I would pardon him; but, upon his soul, he was concerned, infinitely concerned, he repeated (his colour and his voice rising), that it was necessary for him to observe, how much I chose rather to have run the risk of being Solmes's wife, than to have it in my power to reward a man who, I must forgive him, had been as much insulted on my account as I had been on his-who had watched my commands. "And (pardon me, madam) every changeable motion of your pen, all hours, in all weathers, and with a cheerfulness and ardour, that nothing but the most faithful and obsequious passion could inspire."

I now, my dear, began to revive into a little more warmth of attention.

"And all, madam, for what?" How I stared! for he stopped then a moment or two. "Only," went he on, "to prevail upon you to free yourself from ungenerous and base oppression-"

"Sir, sir!" indignantly said I.

"Hear me but out, dearest madam! My heart is full-I must speak what I have to say. To be told (for your words are yet in my ears, and at my heart!) that you would give the world, and all your hopes in it, to have been still in your cruel and gloomy father's house--”

"Not a word, sir, against my father! I will not bear that."

"Whatever had been your usage: and you have a credulity, madam, against all probability, if you believe you should have avoided being Solmes's wife. That I have put you upon sacrificing your duty and conscience. Yet, dearest creature! see you not the contradiction that your warmth of temper surprised you into, when the reluctance you showed to the last to leave your persecutors has cleared your conscience from the least reproach of this sort?"

"O sir! sir! are you so critical then? Are you so light in your anger, as to dwell upon words?"

Indeed, my dear, I have since thought that his anger was not owing to that sudden impetus which cannot be easily bridled, but rather was a sort of manageable anger, let loose to intimidate me.

"Forgive me, madam-I have just done. Have I not, in your own opinion, hazarded my life to redeem you from oppres sion? Yet is not my reward after all precarious? For, madam, have you not conditioned with me (and hard as the condition is, most sacredly will I observe it) that all my hope must be remote? That you are determined to have it in your power to favour or reject me totally, as you please?"

See, my dear! in every respect my condition changed for the worse! Is it in my power to take your advice, if I should think it ever so right to take it?

"And have you not furthermore declared,” proceeded he, "that you will engage to renounce me for ever, if your friends insist upon that cruel renunciation, as the terms of being reconciled to you?

"But nevertheless, madam, all the merit of having saved you from an odious compulsion shall be mine. I glory in it, though I were to lose you for ever. As I see I am but too likely to do from your present displeasure, and especially, if your friends insist upon the terms you are ready to comply with.

"That you are your own mistress, through my means, is,

I repeat, my boast. As such, I humbly implore your favour -and that only upon the conditions I have yielded to hope for it as I do now thus humbly" (the proud wretch falling on one knee)" your forgiveness, for so long detaining your ear, and for all the plain-dealing that my undesigning heart would not be denied to utter by my lips."

"O sir, pray rise! Let the obliged kneel, if one of us must kneel! But, nevertheless, proceed not in this strain, I beseech you. You have had a great deal of trouble about me; but had you let me know in time, that you expected to be rewarded for it at the price of my duty, I should have spared you much of it.

"Far be it from me, sir, to depreciate merit so extraordinary. But let me say that had it not been for the forbidden correspondence I was teased by you into, and which I had not continued (every letter, for many letters, intended to be the last) but because I thought you a sufferer from my friends, I had not been either confined or ill-treated, nor would my brother's low-meant violence have had a foundation to work upon.

"I am far from thinking my case would have been so very desperate as you imagine, had I stayed. My father loved me in his heart: he would not see me before; and I wanted only to see him, and to be heard; and a delay of his sentence was the least thing I expected from the trial I was to stand.

"You are boasting of your merits, sir; let merit be your boast; nothing else can attract me. If personal considerations had principal weight with me, either in Solmes's disfavour, or in your favour, I should despise myself; if you value yourself upon them, in preference to the person of the poor Solmes, I shall despise you!

"You may glory in your fancied merits in getting me away; but the cause of your glory, I tell you plainly, is my shame.

"Make to yourself a title to my regard, which I can better approve of, or else you will not have so much merit with me as you have with yourself.

"But here, sir, like the first pair (I, at least, driven out of my paradise), are we recriminating. No more shall you

need to tell me of your sufferings and your merits! your all hours and all weathers! for I will bear them in memory as long as I live; and if it be impossible for me to reward them, be ever ready to own the obligation. All that I desire of you now is, to leave it to myself to seek for some private abode : to take the chariot with you to London or elsewhere. And, if I have any further occasion for your assistance and protection, I will signify it to you, and be still further obliged to you."

"You are warm, my dearest life! But indeed there is no occasion for it. Had I any views unworthy of my faithful love for you, I should not have been so honest in my declarations."

Then he began again to vow the sincerity of his intentions. But I took him up short. "I am willing to believe you, sir. It would be insupportable but to suppose there were a necessity for such solemn declarations." (At this he seemed to collect himself, as I may say, into a little more circumspection.) "If I thought there were, I would not sit with you here, in a public inn, I assure you, although cheated hither, as far as I know, by methods (you must excuse me, sir) which but to suspect, will hardly let me have patience either with you or with myself. But no more of this just now let me, I beseech you, good sir," bowing (I was very angry), "let me only know whether you intend to leave me, or whether I have only escaped from one confinement to another?"

"Cheated hither, as far as I know, madam! Let you know (and with that air too, charming, though grievous to my

heart!) if you have only escaped from one confinement to another—amazing! perfectly amazing! and can there be a necessity for me to answer this? You are absolutely your own mistress. It were very strange if you were not. The moment you are in a place of safety I will leave you. To one condition only give me leave to beg your consent: it is this, that you will be pleased, now you are so entirely in your own power, to renew a promise voluntarily made before; voluntarily, or I would not now presume to request it; for although I would not be thought capable of growing upon concession, yet I cannot bear to think of losing the ground your goodness had given me room to hope I had gained; that make up how you please with your relations, you will never marry any other man, while I am living and single, unless I should be so wicked as to give new cause for high displeasure.'

"I hesitate not to confirm this promise, sir, upon your own condition. In what manner do you expect me to confirm it ?"

"Only, madam, by your word." "Then I never will."

He had the assurance (I was now in his power) to salute me as a sealing of my promise, as he called it. His motion was so sudden that I was not aware of it. It would have looked affected to be very angry; yet I could not be pleased, considering this as a leading freedom from a spirit so audacious and encroaching, and he might see that I was not.

He passed all that by with an air peculiar to himself— "Enough, enough, dearest madam! And now let me beg of you but to conquer this dreadful uneasiness, which gives me to apprehend too much for my jealous love to bear; and it shall be my whole endeavour to deserve your favour, and to make you the happiest woman in the world, as I shall be the happiest of men."

I broke from him to write to you my preceding letter; but refused to send it by his servant, as I told you. The mistress of the house helped me to a messenger, who was to carry what you should give him to Lord M.'s seat in Hertfordshire, directed for Mrs. Greme, the housekeeper there. And early in the morning, for fear of pursuit, we were to set out that way and there he proposed to exchange the chariot-and-six for a chaise-and-pair of his own, which he had at that seat, as it would be a less-noticed conveyance.

I looked over my little stock of money, and found it to be no more than seven guineas and some silver: the rest of my stock was but fifty guineas, and that five more than I thought it was, when my sister challenged me as to the sum I had by me; and those I left in my escritoire, little intending to go away with him.

Indeed, my case abounds with a shocking number of indelicate circumstances. Among the rest, I was forced to account to him, who knew I could have no clothes but what I had on, how I came to have linen with you (for he could not but know I sent for it), lest he should imagine I had an early design to go away with him, and made that a part of the preparation.

He most heartily wished, he said, for my mind's sake, that your mother would have afforded me her protection; and delivered himself upon this subject with equal freedom and

concern.

There are, my dear Miss Howe, a multitude of punctilios and decorums, which a young creature must dispense with, who, in a situation like mine, makes a man the intimate attendant of her person. I could now, I think, give twenty reasons stronger than any I have heretofore mentioned, why women of the least delicacy should never think of incurring the danger and disgrace of taking the step I have been drawn