Clarissa, Volume 6 - The History Of A Young Lady

Clarissa, Volume 6 − The History Of A Young Lady 146
me not an hour. But I doubt not that strange things you have heard, and been told, to induce you to take the
step you took. And, till you did take that step (the going back with this villain, I mean,) I knew not a more
pitiable case than your's: since every body must have excused you before, who knew how you were used at
home, and was acquainted with your prudence and vigilance. But, alas! my dear, we see that the wisest people
are not to be depended upon, when love, like an ignis fatuus, holds up its misleading lights before their eyes.
My mother tells me, she sent you an answer, desiring you not to write to me, because it would grieve me. To
be sure I am grieved; exceedingly grieved; and, disappointed too, you must permit me to say. For I had always
thought that there never was such a woman, at your years, in the world.
But I remember once an argument you held, on occasion of a censure passed in company upon an excellent
preacher, who was not a very excellent liver: preaching and practising, you said, required very different
talents:* which, when united in the same person, made the man a saint; as wit and judgment, going together,
constituted a genius.
* See Vol. II. Letter IV.
You made it out, I remember, very prettily: but you never made it out, excuse me, my dear, more
convincingly, than by that part of your late conduct, which I complain of.
My love for you, and my concern for your honour, may possibly have made me a little of the severest. If you
think so, place it to its proper account; to that love, and to that concern: which will but do justice to
Your afflicted and faithful A.H.
P.S. My mother would not be satisfied without reading my letter herself; and that before I had fixed all the
proposed hooks. She knows, by this means, and has excused, our former correspondence.
She indeed suspected it before: and so she very well might; knowing my love of you.
She has so much real concern for your misfortunes, that, thinking it will be a consolation to you, and that it
will oblige me, she consents that you shall write to me the particulars at large of your say story. But it is on
condition that I show her all that has passed between us, relating to yourself and the vilest of men. I have the
more cheerfully complied, as the communication cannot be to your disadvantage.
You may therefore write freely, and direct to our own house.
My mother promises to show me the copy of her letter to you, and your reply to it; which latter she has but
just told me of. She already apologizes for the severity of her's: and thinks the sight of your reply will affect
me too much. But, having her promise, I will not dispense with it.
I doubt her's is severe enough. So I fear you will think mine: but you have taught me never to spare the fault
for the friend's sake; and that a great error ought rather to be the more inexcusable in the person we value,
than in one we are indifferent to; because it is a reflection upon our choice of that person, and tends to a
breach of the love of mind, and to expose us to the world for our partiality. To the love of mind, I repeat; since
it is impossible but the errors of the dearest friend must weaken our inward opinion of that friend; and thereby
lay a foundation for future distance, and perhaps disgust.
God grant that you may be able to clear your conduct after you had escaped from Hampstead; as all before
that time was noble, generous, and prudent; the man a devil and you a saint!−−−−Yet I hope you can; and
therefore expect it from you.