Clarissa Harlowe Samuel Richardson (most important books to read TXT) 📖

distinction: remember, too, thy words poor helpless orphan⁠—these reflections are too serious, and thou art also too serious, for me to let these things go off as jesting; notwithstanding the Roman style330 is preserved; and, indeed, but just preserved. By my soul, Jack, if I had not been taken thus egregiously cropsick, I would have been up with thee, and the lady too, before now.

But write on, however: and send me copies, if thou canst, of all that passes between our Charlotte and Miss Harlowe. I’ll take no notice of what thou communicatest of that sort. I like not the people here the worse for their generous offer to the lady. But you see she is as proud as implacable. There’s no obliging her. She’d rather sell her clothes than be beholden to anybody, although she would oblige by permitting the obligation.

O Lord! O Lord!⁠—Mortal ill!⁠—Adieu, Jack!

I was forced to leave off, I was so ill, at this place. And what dost think! why Lord M. brought the parson of the parish to pray by me; for his chaplain is at Oxford. I was lain down in my nightgown over my waistcoat, and in a doze: and, when I opened my eyes, who should I see, but the parson kneeling on one side the bed; Lord M. on the other; Mrs. Greme, who had been sent for to tend me, as they call it, at the feet! God be thanked, my Lord, said I in an ecstasy!⁠—Where’s Miss?⁠—for I supposed they were going to marry me.

They thought me delirious at first; and prayed louder and louder.

This roused me: off the bed I started; slid my feet into my slippers; put my hand in my waistcoat pocket, and pulled out thy letter with my beloved’s meditation in it! My Lord, Dr. Wright, Mrs. Greme, you have thought me a very wicked fellow: but, see! I can read you as good as you can read me.

They stared at one another. I gaped, and read, Poor mo⁠—or⁠—tals the cau⁠—o⁠—ause of their own⁠—their own mi⁠—ser⁠—ry.

It is as suitable to my case, as to the lady’s, as thou’lt observe, if thou readest it again.331 At the passage where it is said, That when a man is chastened for sin, his beauty consumes away, I stepped to the glass: A poor figure, by Jupiter, cried I!⁠—And they all praised and admired me; lifted up their hands and their eyes; and the doctor said, he always thought it impossible, that a man of my sense could be so wild as the world said I was. My Lord chuckled for joy; congratulated me; and, thank my dear Miss Harlowe, I got high reputation among good, bad, and indifferent. In short, I have established myself forever with all here.⁠—But, O Belford, even this will not do⁠—I must leave off again.

A visit from the Montague sisters, led in by the hobbling Peer, to congratulate my amendment and reformation both in one. What a lucky event this illness with this meditation in my pocket; for we were all to pieces before! Thus, when a boy, have I joined with a crowd coming out of church, and have been thought to have been there myself.

I am incensed at the insolence of the young Levite. Thou wilt highly oblige me, if thou’lt find him out, and send me his ears in the next letter.

My beloved mistakes me, if she thinks I proposed her writing to me as an alternative that should dispense with my attendance upon her. That it shall not do, nor did I intend it should, unless she pleased me better in the contents of her letter than she has done. Bid her read again. I gave no such hopes. I would have been with her in spite of you both, by tomorrow, at farthest, had I not been laid by the heels thus, like a helpless miscreant.

But I grow better and better every hour, I say: the doctor says not: but I am sure I know best: and I will soon be in London, depend on’t. But say nothing of this to my dear, cruel, and implacable Miss Harlowe.

A⁠—dieu⁠—u, Ja⁠—aack⁠—What a gaping puppy (yaw⁠—n! yaw⁠—n! yaw⁠—n!)

Thy

Lovelace.

Letter 411 Mr. Belford, to Robert Lovelace, Esq.

Monday, Aug. 15

I am extremely concerned for thy illness. I should be very sorry to lose thee. Yet, if thou diest so soon, I could wish, from my soul, it had been before the beginning of last April: and this as well for thy sake, as for the sake of the most excellent woman in the world: for then thou wouldst not have had the most crying sin of thy life to answer for.

I was told on Saturday that thou wert very much out of order; and this made me forbear writing till I heard farther. Harry, on his return from thee, confirmed the bad way thou art in. But I hope Lord M. in his unmerited tenderness for thee, thinks the worst of thee. What can it be, Bob.? A violent fever, they say; but attended with odd and severe symptoms.

I will not trouble thee in the way thou art in, with what passes here with Miss Harlowe. I wish thy repentance as swift as thy illness; and as efficacious, if thou diest; for it is else to be feared, that she and you will never meet in one place.

I told her how ill you are. Poor man! said she. Dangerously ill, say you?

Dangerously indeed, Madam!⁠—So Lord M. sends me word!

God be merciful to him, if he die!⁠—said the admirable creature.⁠—Then, after a pause, Poor wretch!⁠—may he meet with the mercy he has not shown!

I send this by a special messenger: for I am impatient to hear how it goes with thee.⁠—If I have received thy last letter, what melancholy reflections will that last, so full of shocking levity, give to

Thy true friend,

John Belford.