LETTER 285: MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.

Monday, June 26.

 

Thou wilt see the situation I am in with Miss Harlowe by the inclosed copies of three letters; to two of which I am too much scorned to have one word given me in answer; and of the third (now sent by the messenger who brings thee this) I am afraid as little notice will be taken—And if so, her day of grace is absolutely over.

 

One would imagine (so long used to constraint too as she has been), that she might have been satisfied with the triumph she had over us all on Friday night: A triumph that to this hour has sunk my pride and my vanity so much, that I almost hate the words Plot, Contrivance, Scheme, and shall mistrust myself in future, for every one that rises to my inventive head.

 

But seest thou not, that I am under a necessity to continue her at Sinclair’s, and to prohibit all her correspondences?

Now, Belford, as I really, in my present mood, think of nothing less than marrying her, if she let not Thursday slip; I would have thee, in pursuance of the intimation I have given her in my letter of this date, to attend her; and vow for me, swear for me, bind thy soul to her for my honour, and use what arguments thy friendly heart can suggest, in order to procure me an answer from her; which, as thou wilt see, she may give in four words only. And then I purpose to leave Lord M. (dangerously ill as he is) and meet her at her appointed church, in order to solemnize: If she will sign but Cl. H. to thy writing the four words, that shall do; for I would not come up to be made a fool of in the face of all my family and friends.

 

If she should let the day go off;—I shall be desperate! —I am intangled in my own devices, and cannot bear that she should detect me.

 

O that I had been honest! —What a devil are all my plots come to! What do they end in, but one grand plot upon myself, and a title to eternal infamy and disgrace! But, depending on thy friendly offices, I will say no more of this. —Let her send me but one line! —But one line! —Not treat me as unworthy of her notice; yet be altogether in my power—I cannot —I will not bear that.

 

My Lord, as I said, is extremely ill: The doctors give him over. He gives himself over. Those who would not have him die, are afraid he will. But as to myself, I am doubtful: For these long and violent struggles between the constitution and the disease, tho’ the latter has three physicians and an apothecary to help it forward (and all three, as to their prescriptions, of different opinions too), indicate a plaguy tough habit, and favour more of recovery than death: And the more so, as he has no sharp or acute animal organs to whet out his bodily ones, and to raise his sever above the symptomatic helpful one.

 

Thou wilt see in the inclosed, what pains I am at to dispatch messengers; who are constantly on the road to meet each other, and one of them to link in the chain with a fourth, whose station is in London, and five miles onward, or till met. But, in truth, I have some other matters for them to perform at the same time, with my Lord’s banker and his lawyer; which will enable me, if his Lordship is so good as to die this bout, to be an over-match for some of my other relations. I don’t mean Charlotte and Patty; for they are noble girls; but others, who have been scratching and clawing under-ground like so many moles in my absence; and whose workings I have discovered since I have been down, by the little heaps of dirt they have thrown up.

 

A speedy account of thy commission, dear Jack! The letter travels all night.

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