MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE THURSDAY MORNING, DAY-BREAK, MARCH
30.
An accident, and not remissness, has occasioned my silence.
My mother was sent for on Sunday night by her cousin Larkin, whom I
mentioned in one of my former, and who was extremely earnest to see her.
This poor woman was always afraid of death, and was one of those weak
persons who imagine that the making of their will must be an undoubted
forerunner of it.
She had always said, when urged to the necessary work, That whenever she
made it, she should not live long after; and, one would think, imagined
she was under an obligation to prove her words: for, though she had been
long bed-rid, and was, in a manner, worn out before, yet she thought
herself better, till she was persuaded to make it: and from that moment,
remembering what she used to prognosticate, (her fears, helping on what
she feared, as is often the case, particularly in the small-pox,) grew
worse; and had it in her head once to burn her will, in hopes to grow
better upon it.
She sent my mother word, that the doctors had given her over: but that
she could not die till she saw her. I told my mother, That if she wished
her a chance for recovery, she should not, for that reason, go. But go
she would; and, what was worse, would make me go with her; and that, at
an hour's warning; for she said nothing of it to me, till she was rising
in the morning early, resolving to return again at night. Had there been
more time for argumentation, to be sure I had not gone; but as it was,
there was a kind of necessity that my preparation to obey her, should,
in a manner, accompany her command.--A command so much out of the way,
on such a solemn occasion! And this I represented: but to no purpose:
There never was such a contradicting girl in the world--My wisdom
always made her a fool!--But she would be obliged this time, proper or
improper.
I have but one way of accounting for this sudden whim of my mother; and
that is this--She had a mind to accept of Mr. Hickman's offer to escort
her:--and I verily believe [I wish I were quite sure of it] had a mind
to oblige him with my company--as far as I know, to keep me out of
worse.
For, would you believe it?--as sure as you are alive, she is afraid for
her favourite Hickman, because of the long visit your Lovelace, though
so much by accident, made me in her absence, last time she was at the
same place. I hope, my dear, you are not jealous too. But indeed I
now-and-then, when she teases me with praises which Hickman cannot
deserve, in return fall to praising those qualities and personalities in
Lovelace, which the other never will have. Indeed I do love to tease a
little bit, that I do.--My mamma's girl--I had like to have said.
As you know she is as passionate, as I am pert, you will not wonder to
be told, that we generally fall out on these occasions. She flies from
me, at the long run. It would be undutiful in me to leave her first--and
then I get an opportunity to pursue our correspondence.
For, now I am rambling, let me tell you, that she does not much favour
that;--for two reasons, I believe:--One, that I don't shew her all that
passes between us; the other, that she thinks I harden your mind against
your duty, as it is called. And with her, for a reason at home, as I
have hinted more than once, parents cannot do wrong; children cannot
oppose, and be right. This obliges me now-and-then to steal an hour, as
I may say, and not let her know how I am employed.
You may guess from what I have written, how averse I was to comply with
such an unreasonable stretch of motherly authority. But it came to be a
test of duty; so I was obliged to yield, though with a full persuasion
of being in the right.
I have always your reproofs upon these occasions: in your late letters
stronger than ever. A good reason why, you'll say, because more deserved
than ever. I thank you kindly for your correction. I hope to make
correction of it. But let me tell you, that your stripes, whether
deserved or not, have made me sensible, deeper than the skin--but of
this another time.
It was Monday afternoon before we reached the old lady's house. That
fiddling, parading fellow [you know who I mean] made us wait for him two
hours, and I to go to a journey I disliked! only for the sake of having
a little more tawdry upon his housings; which he had hurried his sadler
to put on, to make him look fine, being to escort his dear Madam Howe,
and her fair daughter. I told him, that I supposed he was afraid, that
the double solemnity in the case (that of the visit to a dying woman,
and that of his own countenance) would give him the appearance of an
undertaker; to avoid which, he ran into as bad an extreme, and I doubted
would be taken for a mountebank.
The man was confounded. He took it as strongly, as if his conscience
gave assent to the justice of the remark: otherwise he would have borne
it better; for he is used enough to this sort of treatment. I thought he
would have cried. I have heretofore observed, that on this side of the
contract, he seems to be a mighty meek sort of creature. And though I
should like it in him hereafter perhaps, yet I can't help despising him
a little in my heart for it now. I believe, my dear, we all love your
blustering fellows best; could we but direct the bluster, and bid it
roar when and at whom we pleased.
The poor man looked at my mother. She was so angry, (my airs upon it,
and my opposition to the journey, have all helped,) that for half the
way she would not speak to me. And when she did, it was, I wish I had
not brought you! You know not what it is to condescend. It is my fault,
not Mr. Hickman's, that you are here so much against your will. Have you
no eyes for this side of the chariot?
And then he fared the better from her, as he always does, for faring
worse from me: for there was, How do you now, Sir? And how do you now,
Mr. Hickman? as he ambled now on this side of the chariot, now on that,
stealing a prim look at me; her head half out of the chariot, kindly
smiling, as if married to the man but a fortnight herself: while I
always saw something to divert myself on the side of the chariot where
the honest man was not, were it but old Robin at a distance, on his roan
Keffel.
Our courtship-days, they say, are our best days. Favour destroys
courtship. Distance increases it. Its essence is distance. And, to see
how familiar these men-wretches grow upon a smile, what an awe they are
struck into when we frown; who would not make them stand off? Who would
not enjoy a power, that is to be short-lived?
Don't chide me one bit for this, my dear. It is in nature. I can't help
it. Nay, for that matter, I love it, and wish not to help it. So spare
your gravity, I beseech you on this subject. I set up not for a perfect
character. The man will bear it. And what need you care? My mother
overbalances all he suffers: And if he thinks himself unhappy, he ought
never to be otherwise.
Then did he not deserve a fit of the sullens, think you, to make us lose
our dinner for his parade, since in so short a journey my mother would
not bait, and lose the opportunity of coming back that night, had the
old lady's condition permitted it? To say nothing of being the cause,
that my mamma was in the glout with her poor daughter all the way.
At our alighting I gave him another dab; but it was but a little one.
Yet the manner, and the air, made up (as I intended they should) for
that defect. My mother's hand was kindly put into his, with a simpering
altogether bridal; and with another How do you now, Sir?--All his plump
muscles were in motion, and a double charge of care and obsequiousness
fidgeted up his whole form, when he offered to me his officious palm.
My mother, when I was a girl, always bid me hold up my head. I just then
remembered her commands, and was dutiful--I never held up my head so
high. With an averted supercilious eye, and a rejecting hand, half
flourishing--I have no need of help, Sir!--You are in my way.
He ran back, as if on wheels; with a face excessively mortified: I had
thoughts else to have followed the too-gentle touch, with a declaration,
that I had as many hands and feet as himself. But this would have been
telling him a piece of news, as to the latter, that I hope he had not
the presumption to guess at.
*****
We found the poor woman, as we thought, at the last gasp. Had we come
sooner, we could not have got away as we intended, that night. You see I
am for excusing the man all I can; and yet, I assure you, I have not so
much as a conditional liking to him. My mother sat up most part of the
night, expecting every hour would have been her poor cousin's last. I
bore her company till two.
I never saw the approaches of death in a grown person before; and was
extremely shocked. Death, to one in health, is a very terrible thing. We
pity the person for what she suffers: and we pity ourselves for what we
must some time hence in like sort suffer; and so are doubly affected.
She held out till Tuesday morning, eleven. As she had told my mother
that she had left her an executrix, and her and me rings and mourning;
we were employed all that day in matters of the will [by which, by the
way, my own cousin Jenny Fynnett is handsomely provided for], so that it
was Wednesday morning early, before we could set out on our return.
It is true, we got home (having no housings to stay for) by noon: but
though I sent Robin away before he dismounted, (who brought me back
a whole packet, down to the same Wednesday noon,) yet was I really so
fatigued, and shocked, as I must own, at the hard death of the old
lady; my mother likewise (who has no reason to dislike this world) being
indisposed from the same occasion; that I could not set about writing
time enough for Robin's return that night.
But having recruited my spirits, my mother having also had a good night,
I arose with the dawn, to write this, and get it dispatched time enough
for your breakfast airing; that your suspense might be as short as
possible.
*****
I will soon follow this with another. I will employ a person directly
to find out how Lovelace behaves himself at his inn. Such a busy spirit
must be traceable.
But, perhaps, my dear, you are indifferent now about him, or his
employments; for this request was made before he mortally offended you.
Nevertheless, I will have inquiry made. The result, it is very probable,
will be of use to confirm you in your present unforgiving temper.--And
yet, if the poor man [shall I pity him for you, my dear?] should be
deprived of the greatest blessing any man on earth can receive, and to
which he has the presumption, with so little merit, to aspire; he will
have run great risks; caught great colds; hazarded fevers; sustained
the highest indignities; braved the inclemencies of skies, and all
for--nothing!--Will not this move your generosity (if nothing else) in
his favour!--Poor Mr. Lovelace--!
I would occasion no throb; nor half-throb; no flash of sensibility, like
lightning darting in, and as soon suppressed by a discretion that no
one of the sex ever before could give such an example of--I would not,
I say; and yet, for such a trial of you to yourself, rather than as an
impertinent overflow of raillery in your friend, as money-takers try a
suspected guinea by the sound, let me on such a supposition, sound you,
by repeating, poor Mr. Lovelace!
And now, my dear, how is it with you? How do you now, as my mother says
to Mr. Hickman, when her pert daughter has made him look sorrowful?