As your uncle Harlowe chooses not to answer your pert letter to him;
and as mine, written to you before,* was written as if it were in the
spirit of prophecy, as you have found to your sorrow; and as you are now
making yourself worse than you are in your health, and better than you
are in your penitence, as we are very well assured, in order to move
compassion; which you do not deserve, having had so much warning: for all
these reasons, I take up my pen once more; though I had told your
brother, at his going to Edinburgh, that I would not write to you, even
were you to write to me, without letting him know. So indeed had we all;
for he prognosticated what would happen, as to your applying to us, when
you knew not how to help it.
* See Vol. I. Letter XXXII.
Brother John has hurt your niceness, it seems, by asking you a plain
question, which your mother's heart is too full of grief to let her ask;
and modesty will not let your sister ask; though but the consequence of
your actions--and yet it must be answered, before you'll obtain from your
father and mother, and us, the notice you hope for, I can tell you that.
You lived several guilty weeks with one of the vilest fellows that ever
drew breath, at bed, as well as at board, no doubt, (for is not his
character known?) and pray don't be ashamed to be asked after what may
naturally come of such free living. This modesty indeed would have
become you for eighteen years of your life--you'll be pleased to mark
that--but makes no good figure compared with your behaviour since the
beginning of April last. So pray don't take it up, and wipe your mouth
upon it, as if nothing had happened.
But, may be, I likewise am to shocking to your niceness!--O girl, girl!
your modesty had better been shown at the right time and place--Every
body but you believed what the rake was: but you would believe nothing
bad of him--What think you now?
Your folly has ruined all our peace. And who knows where it may yet end?
--Your poor father but yesterday showed me this text: With bitter grief
he showed it me, poor man! and do you lay it to your heart:
'A father waketh for his daughter, when no man knoweth; and the care for
her taketh away his sleep--When she is young, lest she pass away the
flower of her age--[and you know what proposals were made to you at
different times.] And, being married, lest she should be hated. In her
virginity, lest she should be defiled, and gotten with child in her
father's house--[and I don't make the words, mind that.] And, having an
husband, lest she should misbehave herself.' And what follows? 'Keep
a sure watch over a shameless daughter--[yet no watch could hold you!]
lest she make thee a laughing stock to thine enemies--[as you have made
us all to this cursed Lovelace,] and a bye-word in the city, and a
reproach among the people, and make thee ashamed before the multitude.'
Eccles. xlii. 9, 10, &c.
Now will you wish you had not written pertly. Your sister's severities!
--Never, girl, say that is severe that is deserved. You know the meaning
of words. No body better. Would to the Lord you had acted up but to one
half of what you know! then had we not been disappointed and grieved, as
we all have been: and nobody more than him who was
Your loving uncle,
ANTONY HARLOWE.
This will be with you to-morrow. Perhaps you may be suffered to have
some part of your estate, after you have smarted a little more.
Your pertly-answered uncle John, who is your trustee, will not have
you be destitute. But we hope all is not true that we hear of you.
--Only take care, I advise you, that, bad as you have acted, you
act not still worse, if it be possible to act worse. Improve upon
the hint.