Your mother neither caring, nor being permitted, to write, I am desired
to set pen to paper, though I had resolved against it.
And so I am to tell you, that your letters, joined to the occasion of
them, almost break the hearts of us all.
Were we sure you had seen your folly, and were truly penitent, and, at
the same time, that you were so very ill as you pretend, I know not what
might be done for you. But we are all acquainted with your moving ways
when you want to carry a point.
Unhappy girl! how miserable have you made us all! We, who used to visit
with so much pleasure, now cannot endure to look upon one another.
If you had not know, upon an hundred occasions, how dear you once was to
us, you might judge of it now, were you to know how much your folly has
unhinged us all.
Naughty, naughty girl! You see the fruits of preferring a rake and
libertine to a man of sobriety and morals, against full warning, against
better knowledge. And such a modest creature, too, as you were! How
could you think of such an unworthy preference!
Your mother can't ask, and your sister knows not in modesty how to ask;
and so I ask you, if you have any reason to think yourself with child by
this villain?--You must answer this, and answer it truly, before any
thing can be resolved upon about you.
You may well be touched with a deep remorse for your misdeeds. Could I
ever have thought that my doting-piece, as every one called you, would
have done thus? To be sure I loved you too well. But that is over now.
Yet, though I will not pretend to answer for any body but myself, for my
own part I say God forgive you! and this is all from
Your afflicted uncle,
JOHN HARLOWE.
***
The following MEDITATION was stitched to the bottom of this letter with
black silk.