I own they do. And I cannot tell what turn my mind had taken to dictate so oddly to my pen.

But pray now, is it saying so much, when one who has no very particular regard to any man says, there are some who are preferable to others? And is it blameable to say, those are the preferable who are not well used by one’s relations, yet dispense with that usage out of regard to one’s self, which they would otherwise resent? Mr Lovelace, for instance, I may be allowed to say, is a man to be preferred to Mr Solmes; and that I do prefer him to that man. But surely this may be said, without its being a necessary consequence that one must be in love with him.

Indeed I would not be in love with him, as it is called, for the world: first, because I have no opinion of his morals, and think it a fault in which our whole family, my brother excepted, has had a share, that he was permitted to visit us with a hope, which however being distant did not, as I have observed heretofore, entitle any of us to call him to account for such of his immoralities as came to our ears. Next, because I think him to be a vain man, capable of triumphing, secretly at least, over a person whose heart he thinks he has engaged. And, thirdly, because the assiduities and veneration which you impute to him seem to carry a haughtiness in them, as if his address had a merit in it that would be an equivalent for a lady’s favour. In short, he seems to me so to behave when most unguarded as if he thought himself above the very politeness which his birth and education (perhaps therefore more than his choice) oblige him to show. In other words, his very politeness appears to me to be constrained; and, with the most remarkably easy and genteel person, something seems to be behind in his manner that is too studiously kept in.

Indeed, my dear, THIS man is not THE man. I have great objections to him. My heart throbs not after him; I glow not, but with indignation against myself for having given room for such an imputation. But you must not, my dearest friend, construe common gratitude into love. I cannot bear that you should. But if ever I should have the misfortune to think it love, I promise you, upon my word, which is the same as upon my honour, that I will acquaint you with it.

You bid me to tell you very speedily and by the new-found expedient that I am not displeased with you for your agreeable raillery. I dispatch this therefore immediately, postponing to my next the account of the inducements which my friends have to promote with so much earnestness the address of Mr Solmes.

Be satisfied, my dear, meantime, that I am not displeased with you; indeed I am not. On the contrary, I give you my hearty thanks for your friendly premonitions. And I charge you, as I have often done, that if you observe anything in me so very faulty, as would require from you to others in my behalf the palliation of friendly and partial love, you acquaint me with it; for, methinks, I would so conduct myself as not to give reason even for an adversary to censure me; and how shall so weak and so young a creature avoid the censure of such, if my friend will not hold a looking-glass before me to let me see my imperfections?

Judge me then, my dear, as any indifferent person (knowing what you know of me) would do. I may at first be a little pained; may glow a little, perhaps, to be found less worthy of your friendship than I wish to be; but assure yourself that your kind correction will give me reflection that shall amend me. If it do not, you will have a fault to accuse me of that will be utterly in-excusable; a fault, let me add, that should you not accuse me of it, if in your opinion I am guilty, you will not be so much, so warmly my friend, as I am yours, who have never spared you, you know, my dear, on the like occasions.

Here I break off to begin another letter to you, with the assurance, meantime, that I am, and ever will be,

Your equally affectionate and grateful

CL. HARLOWE

Letter 12: MISS HOWE TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE

Thursday morn. March 2

Indeed you would not be in love with him for the world! Your servant, my dear. But let me congratulate you, however, on your being the first of our sex that ever I heard of who has been able to turn that lion, Love, at her own pleasure, into a lap-dog.

Well but, if you have not the throbs and the glows, you have not; and are not in love; good reason why—because you would not be in love, and there’s no more to be said. Only, my dear, I shall keep a good look out upon you; and so I hope you will upon yourself, for it is no manner of argument that because you would not be in love, you are not. But before I part entirely with this subject, a word in your ear, my charming friend. ‘Tis only by way of caution, and in pursuance of the general observation that a stander-by is often a better judge of the game than those that play. May it not be, that you have had, and have, such cross creatures and such odd heads to deal with as have not allowed you to attend to the throbs? Or, if you had them a little now and then, whether, having had two accounts to place them to, you have not by mistake put them to the wrong one?

•   •   •

Talk of the devil is an old saying. The lively wretch has made me a visit, and is but just gone away. He is all impatience and resentment at the treatment you meet with, and full of apprehensions too, that they will carry their point with you.

I told him my opinion, that you will never be brought to think of such a man as Solmes, but that it will probably end in a composition never to have either.

No man, he said, whose fortunes and alliances are so considerable ever had so little favour from a lady, for whose sake he had borne so much.

I told him my mind, as freely as I used to do. But who ever was in fault, self being judge? He complained of spies set upon his conduct, and to pry into his life and morals; and this by your brother and uncles.

I told him that this was very hard upon him, and the more so as neither the one nor the other, perhaps, would stand a fair inquiry.

He smiled, and called himself my servant. The occasion was too fair, he said, for Miss Howe, who never spared him, to let it pass. But, Lord help their shallow souls, would I believe it? they were for turning plotters upon him. They had best take care he did not pay them in their own coin.