Letter 473

Mr. Belford, to Robert Lovelace, Esq.

Wednesday, Eleven o’clock

Dr. H. has just been here. He tarried with me till the minister had done praying by the lady; and then we were both admitted. Mr. Goddard, who came while the doctor and the clergyman were with her, went away with them when they went. They took a solemn and everlasting leave of her, as I have no scruple to say; blessing her, and being blessed by her; and wishing (when it came to be their lot) for an exit as happy as hers is likely to be.

She had again earnestly requested of the doctor his opinion how long it was now probable that she could continue; and he told her, that he apprehended she would hardly see tomorrow night. She said, she should number the hours with greater pleasure than ever she numbered any in her life on the most joyful occasion.

How unlike poor Belton’s last hours hers! See the infinite differences in the effects, on the same awful and affecting occasion, between a good and a bad conscience!

This moment a man is come from Miss Howe with a letter. Perhaps I shall be able to send you the contents.


She endeavoured several times with earnestness, but in vain, to read the letter of her dear friend. The writing, she said, was too fine for her grosser sight, and the lines staggered under her eye. And indeed she trembled so, she could not hold the paper; and at last desired Mrs. Lovick to read it to her, the messenger waiting for an answer.

Thou wilt see in Miss Howe’s letter, how different the expression of the same impatience, and passionate love, is, when dictated by the gentler mind of a woman, from that which results from a mind so boisterous and knotty as thine. For Mrs. Lovick will transcribe it, and I shall send it⁠—to be read in this place, if thou wilt.

Miss Howe, To Miss Clarissa Harlowe

Tuesday, .

O My Dearest Friend!

What will become of your poor Anna Howe! I see by your writing, as well as read by your own account, (which, were you not very, very ill, you would have touched more tenderly), how it is with you! Why have I thus long delayed to attend you! Could I think, that the comfortings of a faithful friend were as nothing to a gentle mind in distress, that I could be prevailed upon to forbear visiting you so much as once in all this time! I, as well as everybody else, to desert and abandon my dear creature to strangers! What will become of you, if you be as bad as my apprehensions make you!

I will set out this moment, little as the encouragement is that you give me to do so! My mother is willing I should! Why, O why was she not before willing?

Yet she persuades me too, (lest I should be fatally affected were I to find my fears too well justified), to wait the return of this messenger, who rides our swiftest horse.⁠—God speed him with good news to me⁠—One line from your hand by him!⁠—Send me but one line to bid me attend you! I will set out the moment, the very moment I receive it. I am now actually ready to do so! And if you love me, as I love you, the sight of me will revive you to my hopes.⁠—But why, why, when I can think this, did I not go up sooner!

Blessed Heaven! deny not to my prayers, my friend, my admonisher, my adviser, at a time so critical to myself.

But methinks, your style and sentiments are too well connected, too full of life and vigour, to give cause for so much despair as thy staggering pen seems to forbode.

I am sorry I was not at home, (I must add thus much, though the servant is ready mounted at the door), when Mr. Belford’s servant came with your affecting letter. I was at Miss Lloyd’s. My mamma sent it to me⁠—and I came home that instant. But he was gone: he would not stay, it seems. Yet I wanted to ask him an hundred thousand questions. But why delay I thus my messenger? I have a multitude of things to say to you⁠—to advise with you about!⁠—You shall direct me in everything. I will obey the holding up of your finger. But, if you leave me⁠—what is the world, or anything in it, to your

Anna Howe?

The effect this letter had on the lady, who is so near the end which the fair writer so much apprehends and deplores, obliged Mrs. Lovick to make many breaks in reading it, and many changes of voice.

This is a friend, said the divine lady, (taking the letter in her hand, and kissing it), worth wishing to live for.⁠—O my dear Anna Howe! how uninterruptedly sweet and noble has been our friendship!⁠—But we shall one day meet, (and this hope must comfort us both), never to part again! Then, divested of the shades of body, shall be all light and all mind!⁠—Then how unalloyed, how perfect, will be our friendship! Our love then will have one and the same adorable object, and we shall enjoy it and each other to all eternity!

She said, her dear friend was so earnest for a line or two, that she fain would write, if she could: and she tried⁠—but to no purpose. She could dictate, however, she believed; and desired Mrs. Lovick would take pen and paper. Which she did, and then she dictated to her. I would have withdrawn; but at her desire stayed.

She wandered a good deal at first. She took notice that she did. And when she got into a little train, not pleasing herself, she apologized to Mrs. Lovick for making her begin again and again; and said, that the third time should go, let it be as it would.

She dictated the farewell part without hesitation; and when she came to blessing and subscription, she took the pen, and dropping on her knees, supported by Mrs. Lovick, wrote the conclusion; but Mrs. Lovick was forced to guide her hand.

You will find the sense surprisingly entire, her weakness considered.

I made the messenger wait while I transcribed it. I have endeavoured to imitate the subscriptive part; and in the letter made pauses where, to the best of my remembrance, she paused. In nothing that relates to this admirable lady can I be too minute.


Wedn. Near Three o’clock.

My Dearest Miss Howe,

You must not be surprised⁠—nor grieved⁠—that Mrs. Lovick writes for me. Although I cannot obey you, and write with my pen, yet my heart writes by hers⁠—accept it so⁠—it is the nearest to obedience I can!

And now, what ought I to say? What can I say?⁠—But why should not you know the truth? since soon you must⁠—very soon.

Know then, and let your tears be those, if of pity, of joyful pity! for I permit you to shed a few, to embalm, as I may say, a fallen blossom⁠—know then, that the good doctor, and the pious clergyman, and the worthy apothecary, have just now⁠—with joint benedictions⁠—taken their last leave of me; and the former bids me hope⁠—do, my dearest, let me say hope⁠—hope for my enlargement before tomorrow sunset.

Adieu, therefore, my dearest friend!⁠—Be this your consolation, as it is mine, that in God’s good time we shall meet in a blessed eternity, never more to part!⁠—Once more, then, adieu!⁠—and be happy!⁠—Which a generous nature cannot be, unless⁠—to its power⁠—it makes others so too.

God forever bless you!⁠—prays, dropped on my bended knees, although supported upon them,

Your obliged, grateful, affectionate,

Cl. Harlowe.


When I had transcribed and sealed this letter, by her direction, I gave it to the messenger myself, who told me that Miss Howe waited for nothing but his return to set out for London.

Thy servant is just come; so I will close here. Thou art a merciless master. These two fellows are battered to death by thee, to use a female word; and all female words, though we are not sure of their derivation, have very significant meanings. I believe, in their hearts, they wish the angel in the Heaven that is ready to receive her, and thee at the proper place, that there might be an end of their flurries⁠—another word of the same gender.

What a letter hast thou sent me!⁠—Poor Lovelace!⁠—is all the answer I will return.

(Five o’clock).

Col. Morden is this moment arrived.