There are already male and female dedications of churches.
St. Swithin’s, St. Stephen’s, St. Thomas’s,
St. George’s, and so forth, might be appropriated
to the men; and Santa Catharina’s, Santa Anna’s,
Santa Maria’s, Santa Margaretta’s, for
the women.
Yet were it so, and life to be the forfeiture of being
found at the female churches, I believe that I, like
a second Clodius, should change my dress, to come
at my Portia or Pompeia, though one the daughter of
a Cato, the other the wife of a Caesar.
But how I excurse!—Yet thou usedst to say,
thou likedst my excursions. If thou dost, thou’lt
have enow of them: for I never had a subject I
so much adored; and with which I shall probably be
compelled to have so much patience before I strike
the blow; if the blow I do strike.
But let me call myself back to my recordation-subject—Thou
needest not remind me of my Rosebud. I have
her in my head; and moreover have contrived to give
my fair-one an hint of that affair, by the agency of
honest Joseph Leman;* although I have not reaped the
hoped-for credit of her acknowledgement.
* See Vol. II. Letter XXVII.
That’s the devil; and it was always my hard
fate—every thing I do that is good, is
but as I ought!—Every thing of a contrary
nature is brought into the most glaring light against
me—Is this fair? Ought not a balance
to be struck; and the credit carried to my account?—Yet
I must own too, that I half grudge Johnny this blooming
maiden? for, in truth, I think a fine woman too rich
a jewel to hang about a poor man’s neck.
Surely, Jack, if I am guilty of a fault in my universal
adorations of the sex, the women in general ought
to love me the better for it.
And so they do; I thank them heartily; except here
and there a covetous little rogue comes cross me,
who, under the pretence of loving virtue for its own
sake, wants to have me all to herself.
I have rambled enough.
Adieu, for the present.
Miss Clarissa Harlowe, to miss
Howe
Thursday night, April 13.
I always loved writing, and my unhappy situation gives
me now enough of it; and you, I fear, too much.
I have had another very warm debate with Mr. Lovelace.
It brought on the subject which you advised me not
to decline, when it was handsomely offered.
And I want to have either your acquittal or blame
for having suffered it to go off without effect.
The impatient wretch sent up to me several times,
while I was writing my last to you, to desire my company:
yet his business nothing particular; only to hear
him talk. The man seems pleased with his own
volubility; and, whenever he has collected together
abundance of smooth things, he wants me to find an
ear for them! Yet he need not; for I don’t
often gratify him either with giving him the praise
for his verboseness, or shewing the pleasure in it
that he would be fond of.
