*****
I have considered, and considered again; but, I protest, I know no more
what to say now, than before. Only this: That I am young, like yourself;
and have a much weaker judgment, and stronger passions, than you have.
I have heretofore said, that you have offered as much as you ought, in
offering to live single. If you were never to marry, the estate they are
so loth should go out of their name, would, in time, I suppose, revert
to your brother: and he or his would have it, perhaps, much more
certainly this way, than by the precarious reversions which Solmes makes
them hope for. Have you put this into their odd heads, my dear?--The
tyrant word AUTHORITY, as they use it, can be the only objection against
this offer.
One thing you must consider, that, if you leave your parents, your duty
and love will not suffer you to justify yourself by an appeal against
them; and so you'll have the world against you. And should Lovelace
continue his wild life, and behave ungratefully to you, will not his
baseness seem to justify their cruel treatment of you, as well as their
dislike of him?
May heaven direct you for the best!--I can only say, that for my own
part, I would do any thing, go any where, rather than be compelled to
marry the man I hate; and (were he such a man as Solmes) must always
hate. Nor could I have borne what you have borne, if from father and
uncles, not from brother and sister.
My mother will have it, that after they have tried their utmost efforts
to bring you into their measures, and find them ineffectual, they will
recede. But I cannot say I am of her mind. She does not own, she has
any authority for this, but her own conjecture. I should otherwise have
hoped, that your uncle Antony and she had been in on one secret, and
that favourable to you. Woe be to one of them at least [to you uncle to
be sure I mean] if they should be in any other!
You must, if possible, avoid being carried to that uncle's. The man, the
parson, your brother and sister present!--They'll certainly there marry
you to the wretch. Nor will your newly-raised spirit support you in your
resistance on such an occasion. Your meekness will return; and you
will have nothing for it but tears [tears despised by them all] and
ineffectual appeals and lamentations: and these tears when the ceremony
is profaned, you must suddenly dry up; and endeavour to dispose of
yourself to such a humble frame of mind, as may induce your new-made
lord to forgive all your past declarations of aversion.
In short, my dear, you must then blandish him over with a confession,
that all your past behaviour was maidenly reserve only: and it will be
your part to convince him of the truth of his imprudent sarcasm, that
the coyest maids make the fondest wives. Thus will you enter the state
with a high sense of obligation to his forgiving goodness: and if you
will not be kept to it by that fear, by which he proposes to govern, I
am much mistaken.
Yet, after all, I must leave the point undetermined, and only to be
determined, as you find they recede from their avowed purpose, or
resolve to remove you to your uncle Antony's. But I must repeat my
wishes, that something may fall out, that neither of these men may call
you his!--And may you live single, my dearest friend, till some man
shall offer, that may be as worthy of you, as man can be!
But yet, methinks, I would not, that you, who are so admirably qualified
to adorn the married state, should be always single. You know I am
incapable of flattery; and that I always speak and write the sincerest
dictates of my heart. Nor can you, from what you must know of your
own merit (taken only in a comparative light with others) doubt my
sincerity. For why should a person who delight to find out and admire
every thing that is praise-worthy in another, be supposed ignorant of
like perfections in herself, when she could not so much admire them in
another, if she had them not herself? And why may not I give her those
praises, which she would give to any other, who had but half of her
excellencies?--Especially when she is incapable of pride and vain-glory;
and neither despises others for the want of her fine qualities, nor
overvalues herself upon them?--Over-values, did I say!--How can that be?
Forgive me, my beloved friend. My admiration of you (increased, as it
is, by every letter you write) will not always be held down in silence;
although, in order to avoid offending you, I generally endeavour to keep
it from flowing to my pen, when I write to you, or to my lips, whenever
I have the happiness to be in your company.
I will add nothing (though I could add a hundred things on account of
your latest communications) but that I am
Your ever affectionate and faithful ANNA HOWE.
I hope I have pleased you with my dispatch. I wish I had been able to
please you with my requested advice.
You have given new beauties to the charming Ode which you have
transmitted to me. What pity that the wretches you have to deal with,
put you out of your admirable course; in the pursuit of which, like the
sun, you was wont to cheer and illuminate all you shone upon!