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CONTENTS OF VOL. VII.

LXXIII. Miss Howe to Clarissa. Approves now of her ap-
pointment of Belford for an executor. Admires her great-
ness of mind in despising Lovelace. Every body she is with
taken with Hickman. Yet she cannot help wantoning with
the power his obsequious love gives her over him.
LXXIV. LXXV. Clarissa to Miss Howe. Instructive les-

sons and observations on her treatment of Hickman.-Ac-

quaints her with all that has happened since her last.—

Fears that her allegorical letter is not strictly right. Is

forced by illness to break off. Resumes. Wishes her

married.

LXXVI. Mr. Wyerley to Clarissa. A generous renewal

of his address to her now in her calamity; and a tender of

his best services.

LXXVII. Her open, kind, and instructive answer.

LXXVIII. Lovelace to Belford. Uneasy, on a suspicion
that her letter to him was a stratagem only. What he will
do, if he find it so.

LXXIX. Belford to Lovelace. Brief account of his proceed-
ings in Belton's affairs. The lady extremely ill. Thought
to be near her end. Has a low-spirited day. Recovers
her spirits; and thinks herself above this world. She be-
speaks her coffin. Confesses that her letter to Lovelace was
allegorical only. The light in which Belford beholds her.

LXXX. From the same. An affecting conversation that

passed between the lady and Dr. H. She talks of death,

he says, and prepares for it, as if it were an occurrence

as familiar to her, as dressing and undressing. Worthy

behaviour of the doctor. She makes observations on the

vanity of life, on the wisdom of an early preparation for

death, and on the last behaviour of Belton.

LXXXI. LXXXII. LXXXIII. Lovelace to Belford. Par-
ticulars of what passed between himself, Colonel Morden,
Lord M. and Mowbray, on the visit made him by the
Colonel. Proposes Belford to Miss Charlotte Montague,
by way of raillery, for an husband. He incloses Brand's

letter, which misrepresents (from credulity and officious-
ness, rather than from ill-will) the lady's conduct.
LXXXIV. Belford to Lovelace. Expatiates on the baseness
of deluding young creatures, whose confidence has been
obtained by oaths, vows, and promises. Evil of censori-
ousness. People deemed good too much addicted to it.
Desires to know what he means by his ridicule with re-
gard to his charming cousin.

LXXXV. From the same. A proper test of the purity of

writing. The lady again makes excuses for her allego-
rical letter. Her calm behaviour, and generous and use-
ful reflections, on his communicating to her Brand's mis-
representation of her conduct.

LXXXVI. Colonel Morden to Clarissa. Offers his assistance
and service to make the best of what has happened. Ad-
vises her to marry Lovelace, as the only means to bring
about a general reconciliation. Has no doubt of his reso-
lution to do her justice. Desires to know if she has.
LXXXVII. Clarissa in answer.

LXXXVIII. Lovelace to Belford. His reasonings and rav-
ings on finding the lady's letter to him only an allegorical
one. In the midst of these, the natural gaiety of his heart
runs him into ridicule on Belford. His ludicrous image
drawn from a monument in Westminster Abbey. Resumes
his serious disposition. If the worst happen (The Lord of
heaven and earth, says he, avert that worst!) he bids him
only write that he advises him to take a trip to Paris.
And that will stab him to the heart.

LXXXIX. Belford to Lovelace. The lady's coffin is brought
up stairs. He is extremely shocked and discomposed at
it. Her intrepidity. Great minds, he observes, cannot avoid
doing uncommon things. Reflection on the curiosity of

women.

XC. From the same. Description of the coffin, and devices
on the lid. It is placed in her bed-chamber. His serious
application to Lovelace on her great behaviour.

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CONTENTS OF VOL. VII.

XCI. Belford to Lovelace. Astonished at his levity in the
abbey-instance. The lady extremely ill.

XCII. Lovelace to Belford. All he has done to the lady, a
jest to die for; since her triumph has ever been greater
than her sufferings. He will make over all his possessions
and all his reversions to the doctor if he will but prolong
her life for one twelvemonth. How, but for her calamities,
could her equanimity blaze out as it does! He could now
love her with an intellectual flame. He cannot bear to
think, that the last time she so triumphantly left him,
should be the last. His conscience, he says, tears him.
He is sick of the remembrance of his vile plots.
XCIII. Belford to Lovelace. The lady alive, serene, and
calm. The more serene for having finished, signed, and
sealed her last will; deferred till now for reasons of filial
duty.
XCIV. Miss Howe to Clarissa. Pathetically laments the
illness of her own mother, and of her dear friend. Now
all her pertness to the former, she says, flies in her face. She
lays down her pen; and resumes it, to tell her with great
joy, that her mother is better. She has had a visit from
her cousin Morden. What passed in it.
XCV. From the same. Displeased with the Colonel for
thinking too freely of the sex. Never knew a man that
had a slight notion of the virtue of women in general,
who deserved to be valued for his morals. Why women must
be either more or less virtuous than men. Useful hints to
young ladies. Is out of humour with Mr. Hickman. Re-
solves to see her soon in town.

XCVI. Belford to Lovelace. The lady writes and reads upon
her coffin as upon her desk. The doctor resolves to write
to her father.

XCVII. Clarissa to Miss Howe. A letter full of pious reflec-
tions, and good advice, both general and particular; and
breathing the true christian spirit of charity, forgiveness,
patience, and resignation. A just reflection, to her dear
friend, upon the mortifying nature of pride.

THE

HISTORY

OF

CLARISSA HARLOWE.

LETTER I.

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO MRS. NORTON.

MY DEAR MRS. NORTON, Monday night, July 24. HAD I not fallen into fresh troubles, which disabled me for several days from holding a pen, I should not have forborne enquiring after your health, and that of your son; for I should have been but too ready to impute your silence to the cause, to which, to my very great concern, I find it was owing. I pray to Heaven, my dear good friend, to give you comfort in the way most desirable to yourself.

I am exceedingly concerned at Miss Howe's writing about me to my friends. I do assure you, that I was as ignorant of her intention so to do, as of the contents of her letter. Nor has she yet let me know (discouraged, I suppose, by her ill success) that she did write. It is impossible to share the delight which such charming spirits give, without the inconvenience that will attend their volatility. So mixed are our best enjoyments!

It was but yesterdy that I wrote to chide the dear creature for freedoms of that nature, which her unseasonably expressed love for me had made her take, as you wrote me word in your former. I was afraid that all such freedoms would be attributed to me. And I am sure, that nothing but my own application to my friends, and a full conviction of my contrition, will procure me favour. Least of all can I expect, that either your mediation or hers (both of whose fond and partial love of me is so well known) will avail me.

She then gives a brief account of the arrest: of her dejection under it: of her apprehensions of being carried to her former lodgings: of Mr. Lovelace's avowed innocence, as to that insult: ofher release by Mr. Belford: of Mr. Lovelace's promise not to molest her of her clothes being sent her: of the earnest desire of all his friends, and of himself, to marry her: of Miss Howe's advice to comply

with their requests: and of her declared resolution rather to dic, than be his, sent to Miss Howe, to be given to his relations, but as the day before. After which she thus proceeds:

Now, my dear Mrs. Norton, you will be surprised, perhaps, that I should have returned such an answer: but, when you have every thing before you, you, who know me so well, will not think me wrong. And, besides, I am upon a better preparation, than for an earthly husband.

Nor let it be imagined, my dear and ever venerable friend, that my present turn of mind proceeds from gloominess or melancholy: for although it was. brought on by disappointment (the world shewing me early, even at my first rushing into it, its true and ugly face;) yet I hope, that it has obtained a