MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.
SAT. MORNING, SEPT. 2.
I have some little pleasure given me by thine, just now brought me. I
see now that thou hast a little humanity left. Would to Heaven, for the
dear lady's sake, as well as for thy own, that thou hadst rummaged it up
from all the dark forgotten corners of thy soul a little sooner!
The lady is alive, and serene, and calm, and has all her noble intellects
clear and strong: but nineteen will not however save her. She says she
will now content herself with her closet duties, and the visits of the
parish-minister; and will not attempt to go out. Nor, indeed, will she,
I am afraid, ever walk up or down a pair of stairs again.
I am sorry at my soul to have this to say: but it would be a folly to
flatter thee.
As to thy seeing her, I believe the least hint of that sort, now, would
cut off some hours of her life.
What has contributed to her serenity, it seems, is, that taking the alarm
her fits gave her, she has entirely finished, and signed and sealed, her
last will: which she had deferred till this time, in hopes, as she said,
of some good news from Harlowe-place; which would have induced her to
alter some passages in it.
Miss Howe's letter was not given her till four in the afternoon,
yesterday; at which time the messenger returned for an answer. She
admitted him into her presence in the dining-room, ill as she then was,
and she would have written a few lines, as desired by Miss Howe; but, not
being able to hold a pen, she bid the messenger tell her that she hoped
to be well enough to write a long letter by the next day's post; and
would not now detain him.
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