Will you give me leave to add to this tedious expostulation,
that I by no means approve of some of the things you
write, in relation to the manner in which your father
and mother lived—at times lived—only
at times, I dare day, though perhaps too often.
Your mother is answerable to any body, rather than
to her child, for whatever was wrong in her conduct,
if any thing was wrong, towards Mr. Howe: a gentleman,
of whose memory I will only say, that it ought to be
revered by you—But yet, should you not examine
yourself, whether your displeasure at your mother
had no part in your revived reverence for your father
at the time you wrote?
No one is perfect: and although your mother may
not be right to remember disagreeableness against
the departed, yet should you not want to be reminded
on whose account, and on what occasion, she remembered
them. You cannot judge, nor ought you to attempt
to judge, of what might have passed between both,
to embitter and keep awake disagreeable remembrances
in the survivor.
Miss Clarissa Harlowe
[in continuation.]
But this subject must not be pursued. Another
might, with more pleasure, (though not with more approbation,)
upon one of your lively excursions. It is upon
the high airs you give yourself upon the word approve.
How comes it about, I wonder, that a young lady so
noted for predominating generosity, should not be
uniformly generous? That your generosity should
fail in an instance where policy, prudence, gratitude,
would not permit it to fail? Mr. Hickman (as
you confess) had indeed a worthy mind. If I
had not long ago known that, he would never have found
an advocate in me for my Anna Howe’s favour to
him. Often and often have I been concerned,
when I was your happy guest, to see him, after a conversation,
in which he had well supported his part in your absence,
sink at once into silence the moment you came into
company.
I have told you of this before: and I believe
I hinted to you once, that the superciliousness you
put on only to him, was capable of a construction,
which at the time would have very little gratified
your pride to have had made; since it would have been
as much in his favour, as if your disfavour.
Mr. Hickman, my dear, is a modest man. I never
see a modest man, but I am sure (if he has not wanted
opportunities) that he has a treasure in his mind,
which requires nothing but the key of encouragement
to unlock it, to make him shine—while a
confident man, who, to be confident, must think as
meanly of his company as highly of himself, enters
with magisterial airs upon any subject; and, depending
upon his assurance to bring himself off when found
out, talks of more than he is master of.
But a modest man!—O my dear, shall not
a modest woman distinguish and wish to consort with
a modest man?—A man, before whom, and to
whom she may open her lips secure of his good opinion
of all she says, and of his just and polite regard
for her judgment? and who must therefore inspire her
with an agreeable self-confidence.
