MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
FRIDAY EVENING.
Just returned from an airing with my charmer, complied with after great
importunity. She was attended by the two nymphs. They both topt their
parts; kept their eyes within bounds; made moral reflections now-and-
then. O Jack! what devils are women, when all tests are got over, and we
have completely ruined them!
The coach carried us to Hampstead, to Highgate, to Muswell-hill; back to
Hampstead to the Upper-Flask: there, in compliment to the nymphs, my
beloved consented to alight, and take a little repast. Then home early
by Kentish-town.
Delightfully easy she, and so respectful and obliging I, all the way, and
as we walked out upon the heath, to view the variegated prospects which
that agreeable elevation affords, that she promised to take now-and-then
a little excursion with me. I think, Miss Howe, I think, said I to
myself, every now-and-then as we walked, that thy wicked devices are
superceded.
But let me give thee a few particulars of our conversation in the
circumrotation we took, while in the coach--She had received a letter
from Miss Howe yesterday, I presumed?
She made no answer. How happy should I think myself to be admitted into
their correspondence? I would joyfully make an exchange of
communications.
So, though I hoped not to succeed by her consent, [and little did she
think I had so happily in part succeeded without it,] I thought it not
amiss to urge for it, for several reasons: among others, that I might
account to her for my constant employment at my pen; in order to take off
her jealousy, that she was the subject of thy correspondence and mine:
and that I might justify my secrecy and uncommunicativeness by her own.
I proceeded therefore--That I loved familiar-letter-writing, as I had
more than once told her, above all the species of writing: it was writing
from the heart, (without the fetters prescribed by method or study,) as
the very word cor-respondence implied. Not the heart only; the soul was
in it. Nothing of body, when friend writes to friend; the mind impelling
sovereignly the vassal-fingers. It was, in short, friendship recorded;
friendship given under hand and seal; demonstrating that the parties were
under no apprehension of changing from time or accident, when they so
liberally gave testimonies, which would always be ready, on failure or
infidelity, to be turned against them.--For my own part, it was the
principal diversion I had in her absence; but for this innocent
amusement, the distance she so frequently kept me at would have been
intolerable.
Sally knew my drift; and said, She had had the honour to see two or three
of my letters, and of Mr. Belford's; and she thought them the most
entertaining that she had ever read.
My friend Belford, I said, had a happy talent in the letter-writing way;
and upon all subjects.
I expected my beloved would have been inquisitive after our subject: but
(lying perdue, as I saw) not a word said she. So I touched upon this
article myself.
Our topics were various and diffuse: sometimes upon literary articles
[she was very attentive upon this]; sometimes upon the public
entertainments; sometimes amusing each other with the fruits of the
different correspondencies we held with persons abroad, with whom we
had contracted friendships; sometimes upon the foibles and perfections
of our particular friends; sometimes upon our own present and future
hopes; sometimes aiming at humour and raillery upon each other.--It might
indeed appear to savour of vanity, to suppose my letters would entertain
a lady of her delicacy and judgment: but yet I could not but say, that
perhaps she would be far from thinking so hardly of me as sometimes she
had seemed to do, if she were to see the letters which generally passed
between Mr. Belford and me [I hope, Jack, thou hast more manners, than to
give me the lie, though but in thy heart].
She then spoke: after declining my compliment in such a manner, as only a
person can do, who deserved it, she said, For her part, she had always
thought me a man of sense [a man of sense, Jack! What a niggardly
praise!],--and should therefore hope, that, when I wrote, it exceeded
even my speech: for that it was impossible, be the letters written in as
easy and familiar a style as they would, but that they must have that
advantage from sitting down to write them which prompt speech could not
always have. She should think it very strange therefore, if my letters
were barren of sentiment; and as strange, if I gave myself liberties upon
premeditation, which could have no excuse at all, but from a
thoughtlessness, which itself wanted excuse.--But if Mr. Belford's
letters and mine were upon subjects so general, and some of them equally
(she presumed) instructive and entertaining, she could not but say, that
she should be glad to see any of them; and particularly those which Miss
Martin had seen and praised.
This was put close.
I looked at her, to see if I could discover any tincture of jealousy in
this hint; that Miss Martin had seen what I had not shown to her. But
she did not look it: so I only said, I should be very proud to show her
not only those, but all that passed between Mr. Belford and me; but I
must remind her, that she knew the condition.
No, indeed! with a sweet lip pouted out, as saucy as pretty; implying a
lovely scorn, that yet can only be lovely in youth so blooming, and
beauty so divinely distinguished.
How I long to see such a motion again! Her mouth only can give it.
But I am mad with love--yet eternal will be the distance, at the rate I
go on: now fire, now ice, my soul is continually upon the hiss, as I may
say. In vain, however, is the trial to quench--what, after all, is
unquenchable.
Pr'ythee, Belford, forgive my nonsense, and my Vulcan-like metaphors--Did
I not tell thee, not that I am sick of love, but that I am mad with it?
Why brought I such an angel into such a house? into such company?--And
why do I not stop my ears to the sirens, who, knowing my aversion to
wedlock, are perpetually touching that string?
I was not willing to be answered so easily: I was sure, that what passed
between two such young ladies (friends so dear) might be seen by every
body: I had more reason than any body to wish to see the letters that
passed between her and Miss Howe; because I was sure they must be full of
admirable instruction, and one of the dear correspondents had deigned to
wish my entire reformation.
She looked at me as if she would look me through: I thought I felt eye-
beam, after eye-beam, penetrate my shivering reins.--But she was silent.
Nor needed her eyes the assistance of speech.
Nevertheless, a little recovering myself, I hoped that nothing unhappy
had befallen either Miss Howe or her mother. The letter of yesterday
sent by a particular hand: she opening it with great emotion--seeming to
have expected it sooner--were the reasons for my apprehensions.
We were then at Muswell-hill: a pretty country within the eye, to Polly,
was the remark, instead of replying to me.
But I was not so to be answered--I should expect some charming subjects
and characters from two such pens: I hoped every thing went on well
between Mr. Hickman and Miss Howe. Her mother's heart, I said, was set
upon that match: Mr. Hickman was not without his merits: he was what the
ladies called a SOBER man: but I must needs say, that I thought Miss Howe
deserved a husband of a very different cast!
This, I supposed, would have engaged her into a subject from which I
could have wiredrawn something:--for Hickman is one of her favourites--
why, I can't divine, except for the sake of opposition of character to
that of thy honest friend.
But she cut me short by a look of disapprobation, and another cool remark
upon a distant view; and, How far off, Miss Horton, do you think that
clump of trees may be? pointing out of the coach.--So I had done.
Here endeth all I have to write concerning our conversation on this our
agreeable airing.
We have both been writing ever since we came home. I am to be favoured
with her company for an hour, before she retires to rest.
All that obsequious love can suggest, in order to engage her tenderest
sentiments for me against tomorrow's sickness, will I aim at when we
meet. But at parting will complain of a disorder in my stomach.
***
We have met. All was love and unexceptionable respect on my part. Ease
and complaisance on her's. She was concerned for my disorder. So
sudden!--Just as we parted! But it was nothing. I should be quite well
by the morning.
Faith, Jack, I think I am sick already. Is it possible for such a giddy
fellow as me to persuade myself to be ill! I am a better mimic at this
rate than I wish to be. But every nerve and fibre of me is always ready
to contribute its aid, whether by health or by ailment, to carry a
resolved-on roguery into execution.
Dorcas has transcribed for me the whole letter of Miss Howe, dated
Sunday, May 14,* of which before I had only extracts. She found no other
letter added to that parcel: but this, and that which I copied myself in
character last Sunday whilst she was at church, relating to the smuggling
scheme,** are enough for me.
* See Vol. IV. Letter XXIX.
** Ibid. Letter XLII.
***
Dorcas tells me, that her lady has been removing her papers from the
mahogany chest into a wainscot box, which held her linen, and which she
put into her dark closet. We have no key of that at present. No doubt
but all her letters, previous to those I have come at, are in that box.
Dorcas is uneasy upon it: yet hopes that her lady does not suspect her;
for she is sure that she laid in every thing as she found it.