Clarissa Harlowe: Or, the History of a Young Lady, Volume 8 (36 page)

I have been told that a 'certain noble Lord,' who once sat himself down to write a 'pamphlet' in behalf of a 'great minister,' after taking 'infinite pains' to 'no purpose' to find a 'Latin motto,' gave commission to a friend of 'his' to offer to 'any one,' who could help him to a 'suitable one,' but of one or two lines, a 'hamper of claret.' Accordingly, his lordship had a 'motto found him' from 'Juvenal,' which he 'unhappily mistaking,' (not knowing 'Juvenal' was a 'poet,') printed as a prose 'sentence' in his 'title-page.'

If, then, 'one' or 'two' lines were of so much worth, (A 'hamper of claret'! No 'less'!) of what 'inestimable value' would 'such a letter as mine' be deemed?--And who knoweth but that this noble P--r, (who is now* living,) if he should happen to see 'this letter' shining with such a 'glorious string of jewels,' might give the 'writer a scarf,' in order to have him 'always at hand,' or be a 'mean' (some way or other) to bring him into 'notice'? And I would be bold to say ('bad' as the 'world' is) a man of 'sound learning' wanteth nothing but an 'initiation' to make his 'fortune.'

* i.e. At the time this Letter was written.

I hope, my good friend, that the lady will not 'die': I shall be much 'grieved,' if she doth; and the more because of mine 'unhappy misrepresentation': so will 'you' for the 'same cause'; so will her 'parents' and 'friends.' They are very 'rich' and 'very worthy' gentlefolks.

But let me tell you, 'by-the-by,' that they had carried the matter against her 'so far,' that I believe in my heart they were glad to 'justify themselves' by 'my report'; and would have been 'less pleased,' had I made a 'more favourable one.' And yet in 'their hearts' they 'dote' upon her. But now they are all (as I hear) inclined to be 'friends with her,' and 'forgive her'; her 'brother,' as well as 'the rest.'

But their 'cousin,' Col. Morden, 'a very fine gentleman,' had had such 'high words' with them, and they with him, that they know not how to 'stoop,' lest it should look like being frighted into an 'accommodation.' Hence it is, that 'I' have taken the greater liberty to 'press the reconciliation'; and I hope in 'such good season,' that they will all be 'pleased' with it: for can they have a 'better handle' to save their 'pride' all round, than by my 'mediation'? And let me tell you, (inter nos, 'betwixt ourselves,') 'very proud they all are.'

By this 'honest means,' (for by 'dishonest ones' I would not be 'Archbishop of Canterbury,') I hope to please every body; to be 'forgiven,' in the 'first place,' by 'the lady,' (whom, being a 'lover of learning' and 'learned men,' I shall have great 'opportunities' of 'obliging'; for, when she departed from her father's house, I had but just the honour of her 'notice,' and she seemed 'highly pleased' with my 'conversation';) and, 'next' to be 'thanked' and 'respected' by her 'parents,' and 'all her family'; as I am (I bless God for it) by my 'dear friend' Mr. John Harlowe: who indeed is a man that professeth a 'great esteem' for 'men of erudition'; and who (with 'singular delight,' I know) will run over with me the 'authorities' I have 'quoted,' and 'wonder' at my 'memory,' and the 'happy knack' I have of recommending 'mine own sense of things' in the words of the 'greatest sages of antiquity.'

Excuse me, my good friend, for this 'seeming vanity.' The great Cicero (you must have heard, I suppose) had a 'much greater' spice of it, and wrote a 'long letter begging' and 'praying' to be 'flattered.' But if I say 'less of myself' than other people (who know me) 'say of me,' I think I keep a 'medium' between 'vanity' and 'false modesty'; the latter of which oftentimes gives itself the 'lie,' when it is 'declaring of' the 'compliments,' that 'every body' gives it as its due: an hypocrisy, as well as folly, that, (I hope,) I shall for ever scorn to be guilty of.

I have 'another reason' (as I may tell to you, my 'old school-fellow') to make me wish for this 'fine lady's recovery' and 'health'; and that is, (by some distant intimations,) I have heard from Mr. John Harlowe, that it is 'very likely' (because of the 'slur' she hath received) that she will choose to 'live privately' and 'penitently'--and will probably (when she cometh into her 'estate') keep a 'chaplain' to direct her in her 'devotions' and 'penitence'--If she doth, who can stand a 'better chance' than 'myself'?--And as I find (by 'your' account, as well as by 'every body's') that she is innocent as to 'intention,' and is resolved never to think of Mr. 'Lovelace more,' who knoweth 'what' (in time) 'may happen'? --And yet it must be after Mr. 'Lovelace's death,' (which may possibly sooner happen than he 'thinketh' of, by means of his 'detestable courses':) for, after all, a man who is of 'public utility,' ought not (for the 'finest woman' in the world) to lay his 'throat' at the 'mercy' of a man who boggleth at nothing.

I beseech you, let not this hint 'go farther' than to 'yourself,' your 'spouse,' and Mrs. 'Barker.' I know I may trust my 'life' in 'your hands' and 'theirs.' There have been (let me tell ye) 'unlikelier' things come to pass, and that with 'rich widows,' (some of 'quality' truly!) whose choice, in their 'first marriages' hath (perhaps) been guided by 'motives of convenience,' or 'mere corporalities,' as I may say; but who by their 'second' have had for their view the 'corporal' and 'spiritual' mingled; which is the most eligible (no doubt) to 'substance' composed 'of both,' as 'men' and 'women' are.

Nor think (Sir) that, should such a thing come to pass, 'either' would be 'disgraced,' since 'the lady' in 'me' would marry a 'gentleman' and a 'scholar': and as to 'mine own honour,' as the 'slur' would bring her 'high fortunes' down to an 'equivalence' with my 'mean ones,' (if 'fortune' only, and not 'merit,' be considered,) so hath not the 'life' of 'this lady' been 'so tainted,' (either by 'length of time,' or 'naughtiness of practice,') as to put her on a 'foot' with the 'cast Abigails,' that too, too often, (God knoweth,) are thought good enough for a 'young clergyman,' who, perhaps, is drawn in by a 'poor benefice'; and (if the 'wicked one' be not 'quite worn out') groweth poorer and poorer upon it, by an 'increase of family' he knoweth not whether 'is most his,' or his 'noble,' ('ignoble,' I should say,) 'patrons.'

But, all this 'apart,' and 'in confidence.'

I know you made at school but a small progress in 'languages.' So I have restrained myself from 'many illustrations' from the 'classics,' that I could have filled this letter with, (as I have done the enclosed one:) and, being at a 'distance,' I cannot 'explain' them to you, as I 'do to my friend,' Mr. John Harlowe; and who, (after all,) is obliged to 'me' for pointing out to 'him' many 'beauties' of the 'authors I quote,' which otherwise would lie concealed from 'him,' as they must from every 'common observer.'--But this (too) 'inter nos'--for he would not take it well to 'have it known'--'Jays' (you know, old school-fellow, 'jays,' you know) 'will strut in peacocks' feathers.'

But whither am I running? I never know where to end, when I get upon 'learned topics.' And albeit I cannot compliment 'you' with the 'name of a learned man,' yet are you 'a sensible man'; and ('as such') must have 'pleasure' in 'learned men,' and in 'their writings.'

In this confidence, (Mr. Walton,) with my 'kind respects' to the good ladies, (your 'spouse' and 'sister,') and in hopes, for the 'young lady's sake,' soon to follow this long, long epistle, in 'person,' I conclude myself,

Your loving and faithful friend,
ELIAS BRAND.

You will perhaps, Mr. Walton, wonder at the meaning of the 'lines drawn under many of the words and sentences,' (UNDERSCORING we call it;) and were my letters to be printed, those would be put in a 'different character.' Now, you must know, Sir, that 'we learned men' do this to point out to the readers, who are not 'so learned,' where the 'jet of our arguments lieth,' and the 'emphasis' they are to lay upon 'those words'; whereby they will take in readily our 'sense' and 'cogency.' Some 'pragmatical' people have said, that an author who doth a 'great deal of this,' either calleth his readers 'fools,' or tacitly condemneth 'his own style,' as supposing his meaning would be 'dark' without it, or that all of his 'force' lay in 'words.' But all of those with whom I have conversed in a learned way, 'think as I think.' And to give a very 'pretty,' though 'familiar illustration,' I have considered a page distinguished by 'different characters,' as a 'verdant field' overspread with 'butter-flowers' and 'daisies,' and other summer-flowers. These the poets liken to 'enamelling'--have you not read in the poets of 'enamelled meads,' and so forth?

I am under no 'small concern,' that I should (unhappily) be the 'occasion' (I am sure I 'intended' nothing like it) of 'widening differences' by 'light misreport,' when it is the 'duty' of one of 'my function' (and no less consisting with my 'inclination') to 'heal' and 'reconcile.'

I have received two letter to set me 'right': one from a 'particular acquaintance,' (whom I set to inquire of Mr. Belford's character); and that came on Tuesday last, informing me, that your 'unhappy niece' was greatly injured in the account I had had of her; (for I had told 'him' of it, and that with very 'great concern,' I am sure, apprehending it to be 'true.') So I 'then' set about writing to you, to 'acknowledge' the 'error.' And had gone a good way in it, when the second letter came (a very 'handsome one' it is, both in 'style' and 'penmanship') from my friend Mr. Walton, (though I am sure it cannot be 'his inditing,') expressing his sorrow, and his wife's, and his sister-in-law's likewise, for having been the cause of 'misleading me,' in the account I gave of the said 'young lady'; whom they 'now' say (upon 'further inquiry') they find to be the 'most unblameable,' and 'most prudent,' and (it seems) the most 'pious' young lady, that ever (once) committed a 'great error'; as (to be sure) 'her's was,' in leaving such 'worthy parents' and 'relations' for so 'vile a man' as Mr. Lovelace; but what shall we say?-- Why, the divine Virgil tells us,

'Improbe amor, quid non mortalia pectora cogis?'

For 'my part,' I was but too much afraid (for we have 'great opportunities,' you are sensible, Sir, at the 'University,' of knowing 'human nature' from 'books,' the 'calm result' of the 'wise man's wisdom,' as I may say,

'(Haurit aquam cribro, qui discere vult sine libro)'

'uninterrupted' by the 'noise' and 'vanities' that will mingle with 'personal conversation,' which (in the 'turbulent world') is not to be enjoyed but over a 'bottle,' where you have an 'hundred foolish things' pass to 'one that deserveth to be remembered'; I was but too much afraid 'I say') that so 'great a slip' might be attended with 'still greater' and 'worse': for 'your' Horace, and 'my' Horace, the most charming writer that ever lived among the 'Pagans' (for the 'lyric kind of poetry,' I mean; for, the be sure, 'Homer' and 'Virgil' would 'otherwise' be 'first' named 'in their way') well observeth (and who understood 'human nature' better than he?)

'Nec vera virtus, cum semel excidit,
Curat reponi deterioribus.'

And 'Ovid' no less wisely observeth:

'Et mala sunt vicina bonis. Errore sub illo Pro vitio virtus crimina sæpe tulit.'

Who, that can draw 'knowledge' from its 'fountain-head,' the works of the 'sages of antiquity,' (improved by the 'comments' of the 'moderns,') but would 'prefer' to all others the 'silent quiet life,' which 'contemplative men' lead in the 'seats of learning,' were they not called out (according to their 'dedication') to the 'service' and 'instruction' of the world?

Now, Sir, 'another' favourite poet of mine (and not the 'less a favourite' for being a 'Christian') telleth us, that ill is the custom of 'some,' when in a 'fault,' to throw the blame upon the backs of 'others,'

'----Hominum quoque mos est,
Quæ nos cunque premunt, alieno imponere tergo.'
MANT.

But I, though (in this case) 'misled,' ('well intendedly,' nevertheless, both in the 'misleaders' and 'misled,' and therefore entitled to lay hold of that plea, if 'any body' is so entitled,) will not however, be classed among such 'extenuators'; but (contrarily) will always keep in mind that verse, which 'comforteth in mistake,' as well as 'instructeth'; and which I quoted in my last letter;

'Errare est hominis, sed non persistere----'

And will own, that I was very 'rash' to take up with 'conjectures' and 'consequences' drawn from 'probabilites,' where (especially) the 'character' of so 'fine a lady' was concerned.

'Credere fallacy gravis est dementia famæ.' MANT.

Notwithstanding, Miss Clarissa Harlowe (I must be bold to say) is the 'only young lady,' that ever I heard of (or indeed read of) that, 'having made such a false step,' so 'soon' (of 'her own accord,' as I may say) 'recovered' herself, and conquered her 'love of the deceiver'; (a great conquest indeed!) and who flieth him, and resolveth to 'die,' rather than to be his; which now, to her never-dying 'honour' (I am well assured) is the case--and, in 'justice' to her, I am now ready to take to myself (with no small vexation) that of Ovid,

'Heu! patior telis vulnera facta meis.'

But yet I do insist upon it, that all 'that part' of my 'information,' which I took upon mine own 'personal inquiry,' which is what relates to Mr. 'Belford' and 'his character,' is 'literally true'; for there is not any where to be met with a man of a more 'libertine character' as to 'women,' Mr. 'Lovelace' excepted, than he beareth.

And so, Sir, I must desire of you, that you will not let 'any blame' lie upon my 'intention'; since you see how ready I am to 'accuse myself' of too lightly giving ear to a 'rash information' (not knowing it to be so, however): for I depended the more upon it, as the 'people I had it from' are very 'sober,' and live in the 'fear of God': and indeed when I wait upon you, you will see by their letter, that they must be 'conscientious' good people: wherefore, Sir, let me be entitled, from 'all your good family,' to that of my last-named poet,

'Aspera confesso verba remitte reo.'

And now, Sir, (what is much more becoming of my 'function,') let me, instead of appearing with the 'face of an accuser,' and a 'rash censurer,' (which in my 'heart' I have not 'deserved' to be thought,) assume the character of a 'reconciler'; and propose (by way of 'penance' to myself for my 'fault') to be sent up as a 'messenger of peace' to the 'pious young lady'; for they write me word 'absolutely' (and, I believe in my heart, 'truly') that the 'doctors' have 'given her over,' and that she 'cannot live.' Alas! alas! what a sad thing would that be, if the 'poor bough,' that was only designed (as I 'very well know,' and am 'fully assured') 'to be bent, should be broken!'