And now, my dear, a few words, as to the prohibition laid upon you; a subject, that I have frequently touched upon, but cursorily; because I was afraid to trust myself with it, knowing that my judgment, if I did, would condemn my practice.
You command me not to attempt to dissuade you from this correspondence; and you tell me how kindly Mr. Hickman approves of it; and how obliging he is to me, to permit it to be carry’d on under cover to him: —But this does not quite satisfy me.
I am a very bad casuist; and the pleasure I take in writing to you, who are the only one to whom I can disburden my mind, may make me, as I have hinted, very partial to my own wishes: —Else, if it were not an artful evasion beneath an open and frank heart to wish to be comply’d with, I would be glad methinks to be permitted still to write to you; and only have such occasional returns by Mr. Hickman’s pen, as well as cover, as might set me right when I am wrong; confirm me, when right; and guide me where I doubt. This would enable me to proceed in the difficult path before me with more assuredness. For whatever I suffer from the censures of others, if I can preserve your good opinion, I shall not be altogether unhappy, let what will befal me.
And indeed, my dear, I know not how to forbear writing. I have now no other employment or diversion. And I must write on, altho’ I were not to send it to any-body. You have often heard me own the advantages I have found from writing down every thing of moment that befals me; and of all I think, and of all I do, that may be of future use to me: —For, besides that this helps to form one to a style, and opens and expands the ductile mind, every one will find, that many a good thought evaporates in thinking; many, a good resolution goes off, driven out of memory, perhaps, by some other, not so good. But when I set down what I will do, or what I have done, on this or that occasion; the resolution or action is before me, either to be adhered to, withdrawn, or amended; and I have entered into compact with myself, as I may say; having given it under my own hand, to improve rather than go backward, as I live longer.
I would willingly therefore write to you, if I might ; the rather as it would be more inspiriting to have some end in view in what I write; some friend to please; besides merely seeking to gratify my passion for scribbling.
But why, if your mamma will permit our correspondence on communicating to her all that passes in it, and if she will condescend to one only condition, may it not be comply’d with?
Would she not, do you think, my dear, be prevailed upon to have the communication made to her in confidence ?
If there were any prospect of a reconciliation with my friends, I should not have so much regard for my pride, as to be afraid of any-body’s knowing how much I have been outwitted, as you call it. I would in that case (when I had left Mr. Lovelace) acquaint your mamma, and all my own friends, with the whole of my story. It would behove me so to do, for my own reputation, and for their satisfaction.
But if I have no such prospect, what will the communication of my reluctance to go away with Mr. Lovelace, and of his arts to frighten me away, avail me? —Your mamma has hinted, that my friends would insist upon my returning to them (as a proof of the truth of my plea) to be disposed of, without condition, at their pleasure. If I scrupled this, my brother would rather triumph over me, than keep my secret. Mr. Lovelace, whose pride already so ill brooks my regrets for meeting him (when he thinks, if I had not, I must have been Mr. Solmes’s wife) would perhaps treat me with indignity: —And thus, deprived of all refuge and protection, I should become the scoff of men of intrigue; and be thought a greater disgrace than ever to my sex: —Since Love, and consequential marriage, will find more excuses, than perhaps ought to be found, for actions premeditatedly rash.
But if your mamma will receive the communications in confidence, pray shew her all that I have written, or shall write. If my past conduct deserves not heavy blame, I shall then perhaps have the benefit of her advice, as well as yours. And if I shall wilfully deserve blame for the time to come, I will be contented to be deny’d yours as well as hers for ever.
As to cramping my spirit, as you call it (were I to sit down to write what I know your mamma must see), that, my dear, is already cramp’d. And do not think so unhandsomely of your mamma, as to fear that she would make partial constructions against me. Neither you nor I can doubt, but that, had she been left unprepossessedly to herself, she would have shewn favour to me. And so, I dare say, would my uncle Antony. —Nay my dear, I can extend my charity still further: For I am sometimes of opinion, that were my brother and sister absolutely certain, that they had ruin’d me beyond recovery in the opinion of both my uncles, so far, as that they need not be apprehensive of my clashing with their interests; they would not oppose a pardon, altho’ they might not wish a reconciliation—Especially if I would make a few sacrifices to them: —Which, I assure you, I should be inclined to make, were I wholly free, and independent of this man. —You know I never valued myself upon worldly acquisitions, nor upon my grandfather’s bequests, but as they enlarged my power to do things I loved to do. And if I were deny’d the power, I must, as I now do, curb my inclination.
Do not, however, think me guilty of an affectation in what I have said of my brother and sister. Severe enough I am sure it is, in the most favourable sense. And an indifferent person will be of opinion, that they are much better warranted than ever, for the sake of the family-honour, to seek to ruin me in the favour of all my friends.
But to the former topic—Try, my dear, if your mamma will, upon the condition above-given, permit our correspondence, on seeing all we write. But if she will not, what a selfishness would there be in my love to you, were I to wish you to forego your duty for my sake?
And now, one word, as to the freedom I have treated you with in this tedious expostulatory address. I presume upon your forgiveness of it, because few friendships are founded on such a basis as ours: — Which is, ‘freely to give reproof, and thankfully to receive it, as occasions arise; that so either may have opportunity to clear up mistakes, to acknowlege and amend errors, as well in behaviour, as in words and deeds; and to rectify and confirm each other in the judgment each shall form upon persons, things, and circumstances.’ And all this upon the following consideration; ‘That it is much more eligible, as well as honourable, to be corrected with the gentleness of an undoubted friend, than by continuing either blind or wilful, to expose ourselves to the censures of an envious, and perhaps malignant world.’
But it is as needless, I dare say, to remind you of this, as it is to repeat my request, that you will not, in your turn, spare the follies and the faults of
Cl. Harlowe .
Subjoin’d to the above.
I said, that I would avoid writing any thing of my own particular affairs in the above address, if I could.
I will write one letter more, to inform you how we stand. But, my dear, you must permit that one (which will require your advice) and your answer to it, and the copy of one I have written to my aunt, to be the last that shall pass between us, while the prohibition continues.
I fear, I very much fear, that my unhappy situation will draw me in to be guilty of evasion, of little affectations, and of curvings from the plain simple truth, which I was wont to value myself upon. But allow me to say, and this for your sake, and in order to lessen your mother’s fears of any ill consequences that she might apprehend from our correspondence, that if I am at any time guilty of a failure in these respects, I will not go on in it: But repent, and seek to recover my lost ground, that I may not bring error into habit.
I have deferr’d going to town, at Mrs. Sorlings’s earnest request. But have fixed my removal to Monday, as I shall acquaint you in my next. I have already made a progress in that next; but, having an unexpected opportunity, will send this by itself.