But does the wretch put you upon writing for your
things, for fear you should be too expensive to him?—That’s
it, I suppose.
Was there ever a giddier creature?—Yet
this is the celebrated, the blazing Clarissa—Clarissa
what? Harlowe, no doubt!—And Harlowe
it will be, to the disgrace of us all!
Your drawings and your pieces are all taken down;
as is also your whole-length picture, in the Vandyke
taste, from your late parlour: they are taken
down, and thrown into your closet, which will be nailed
up, as if it were not a part of the house, there to
perish together: For who can bear to see them?
Yet, how did they use to be shown to every body:
the former, for the magnifying of your dainty finger-works;
the latter, for the imputed dignity (dignity now in
the dust!) of your boasted figure; and this by those
fond parents from whom you have run away with so much,
yet with so little contrivance!
My brother vows revenge upon your libertine—for
the family’s sake he vows it—not
for yours!—for he will treat you, he declares,
like a common creature, if ever he sees you:
and doubts not that this will be your fate.
My uncle Harlowe renounces you for ever.
So does my uncle Antony.
So does my aunt Hervey.
So do I, base, unworthy creature! the disgrace of
a good family, and the property of an infamous rake,
as questionless you will soon find yourself, if you
are not already.
Your books, since they have not taught you what belongs
to your family, to your sex, and to your education,
will not be sent to you. Your money neither.
Nor yet the jewels so undeservedly made yours.
For it is wished you may be seen a beggar along London-streets.
If all this is heavy, lay your hand to your heart,
and ask yourself, why you have deserved it?
Every man whom your pride taught you to reject with
scorn (Mr. Solmes excepted, who, however, has reason
to rejoice that he missed you) triumphs in your shameful
elopement, and now knows how to account for his being
refused.
Your worthy Norton is ashamed of you, and mingles
her tears with your mother’s; both reproaching
themselves for their shares in you, and in so fruitless
an education.
Every body, in short, is ashamed of you: but
none more than
Arabella Harlowe.
Miss Howe, to miss Clarissa
Harlowe
Tuesday, April 25.
Be comforted; be not dejected; do not despond, my
dearest and best-beloved friend. God Almighty
is just and gracious, and gives not his assent to
rash and inhuman curses. Can you think that Heaven
will seal to the black passions of its depraved creatures?
If it did, malice, envy, and revenge would triumph;
and the best of the human race, blasted by the malignity
of the worst, would be miserable in both worlds.
