Clarissa Harlowe; or the history of a young lady Volume III Part 36

* See Vol.II. Letters XV. and XVI.

Your Honner helped me to many ugly stories to tell against you Honner to my younge master, and younge mistriss; but did not tell me about this.

I most humbelly beseche your Honner to be good and kinde and fethful to my deerest younge lady, now you have her; or I shall brake my harte for having done some dedes that have helped to bringe things to this pa.s.se.

Pray youre dere, good Honner, be just! Prayey do!--As G.o.d shall love ye!

prayey do!--I cannot write no more for this pressent, for verry fear and grief--

But now I am c.u.mm'd to my writing agen, will your Honner be pleased to tell me, if as how there be any danger to your Honner's life from this bisness; for my cuzzen is actile hier'd to go down to Miss Batirton's frendes to see if they will stir in it: for you must kno' your Honner, as how he lived in the Batirton family at the time, and could be a good evidense, and all that.

I hope it was not so verry bad as t.i.tus says it was; for he ses as how there was a rape in the case betwixt you at furste, and plese your Honner; and my cuzzen t.i.tus is a very honist younge man as ever brocke bred. This is his carackter; and this made me willinger to owne him for my relation, when we came to talck.

If there should be danger of your Honner's life, I hope your Honner will not be hanged like as one of us common men; only have your hedd cut off, or so: and yet it is pit such a hedd should be lossed: but if as how it should be prossekutid to that furr, which G.o.d forbid, be plesed natheless to thinck of youre fethful Joseph Leman, before your hedd be condemned; for after condemnation, as I have been told, all will be the king's or the shreeve's.

I thote as how it was best to acquent you Honner of this; and for you to let me kno' if I could do any think to sarve your Honner, and prevent mischief with my cuzzen t.i.tus, on his coming back from Nottingam, before he mackes his reporte.

I have gin him a hint already: for what, as I sed to him, cuzzen t.i.tus, signifies stirring up the coles and macking of strife, to make rich gentilfolkes live at varience, and to be cutting of throtes, and such-like?

Very trewe, sed little t.i.tus. And this, and plese your Honner, gis me hopes of him, if so be your Honner gis me direction; sen', as G.o.d kno'es, I have a poor, a verry poor invenshon; only a willing mind to prevent mischief, that is the chief of my aim, and always was, I bless my G.o.d!--Els I could have made much mischief in my time; as indeed any sarvant may. Your Honner nathaless praises my invenshon every now-and-then: Alas! and plese your Honner, what invenshon should such a plane man as I have?--But when your Honner sets me agoing by your fine invenshon, I can do well enuff. And I am sure I have a hearty good will to deserve your Honner's faver, if I mought.

Two days, as I may say, off and on, have I been writing this long letter. And yet I have not sed all I would say. For, be it knone unto your Honner, as how I do not like that Captain Singleton, which I told you of in my last two letters. He is always laying his hedd and my young master's hedd together; and I suspect much if so be some mischief is not going on between them: and still the more, as because my eldest younge lady seemes to be joined to them sometimes.

Last week my younge master sed before my fase, My harte's blood boils over, Capten Singleton, for revenge upon this--and he called your Honner by a name it is not for such a won as me to say what.--Capten Singleton whispred my younge master, being I was by. So young master sed, You may say any thing before Joseph; for, althoff he looks so seelie, he has as good a harte, and as good a hedd, as any sarvante in the world need to have. My conscience touched me just then. But why shoulde it? when all I do is to prevent mischeff; and seeing your Honner has so much patience, which younge master has not; so am not affeard of telling your Honner any thing whatsomever.

And furthermore, I have such a desire to desarve your Honner's bounty to me, as mackes me let nothing pa.s.s I can tell you of, to prevent harm: and too, besides, your Honner's goodness about the Blew Bore; which I have so good an accounte of!--I am sure I shall be bounden to bless your Honner the longest day I have to live.

And then the Blew Bore is not all neither: sen', and please your Honner, the pretty Sowe (G.o.d forgive me for gesting in so serus a matter) runs in my hedd likewise. I believe I shall love her mayhap more than your Honner would have me; for she begins to be kind and good-humered, and listens, and plese your Honour, licke as if she was among beans, when I talke about the Blew Bore, and all that.

Prayey, your Honner, forgive the gesting of a poor plane man. We common fokes have our joys, and plese your Honner, lick as our betters have; and if we be sometimes snubbed, we can find our underlings to snub them agen; and if not, we can get a wife mayhap, and snub her: so are masters some how or other oursells.

But how I try your Honner's patience!--Sarvants will shew their joyful hartes, tho' off but in partinens, when encourag'd.

Be plesed from the prems's to let me kno' if as how I can be put upon any sarvice to sarve your Honner, and to sarve my deerest younge lady; which G.o.d grant! for I begin to be affearde for her, hearing what peple talck--to be sure your Honner will not do her no harme, as a man may say. But I kno' your Honner must be good to so wonderous a younge lady.

How can you help it?--But here my conscience smites me, that, but for some of my stories, which your Honner taute me, my old master, and my old lady, and the two old 'squires, would not have been able to be half so hardhearted as they be, for all my younge master and younge mistress sayes.

And here is the sad thing; they cannot come to clere up matters with my deerest young lady, because, as your Honner has ordered it, they have these stories as if bribed by me out of your Honner's sarvant; which must not be known for fere you should kill'n and me too, and blacken the briber!--Ah! your Honner! I doubte as tha I am a very vild fellow, (Lord bless my soil, I pray G.o.d!) and did not intend it.

But if my deerest younge lady should come to harm, and plese your Honner, the horsepond at the Blew Bore--but Lord preserve us all from all bad mischeff, and all bad endes, I pray the Lord!--For tho'ff you Honner is kinde to me in worldly pelf, yet what shall a man get to loos his soul, as holy Skrittuer says, and plese your Honner?

But natheless I am in hope of reppentence hereafter, being but a younge man, if I do wrong thro' ignorens: your Honner being a grate man, and a grave wit; and I a poor crature, not worthy notice; and your Honner able to answer for all. But, howsomever, I am

Your Honner's fetheful sarvant in all dewtie, JOSEPH LEMAN.

APRIL 15 AND 16.

LETTER XLVIII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOSEPH LEMAN MONDAY, APRIL 17.

HONEST JOSEPH,

You have a worse opinion of your invention than you ought to have.

I must praise it again. Of a plain man's head, I have not known many better than yours. How often have your forecast and discretion answered my wishes in cases which I could not foresee, not knowing how my general directions would succeed, or what might happen in the execution of them!

You are too doubtful of your own abilities, honest Joseph; that's your fault.--But it being a fault that is owing to natural modesty, you ought rather to be pitied for it than blamed.

The affair of Miss Betterton was a youthful frolic. I love dearly to exercise my invention. I do a.s.sure you, Joseph, that I have ever had more pleasure in my contrivances, than in the end of them. I am no sensual man: but a man of spirit--one woman is like another--you understand me, Joseph.--In coursing, all the sport is made by the winding hare--a barn-door chick is better eating--now you take me, Joseph.

Miss Betterton was but a tradesman's daughter. The family, indeed, was grown rich, and aimed at a new line of gentry; and were unreasonable enough to expect a man of my family would marry her. I was honest.

I gave the young lady no hope of that; for she put it to me. She resented--kept up, and was kept up. A little innocent contrivance was necessary to get her out. But no rape in the case, I a.s.sure you, Joseph.

She loved me--I loved her. Indeed, when I got her to the inn, I asked her no question. It is cruel to ask a modest woman for her consent. It is creating difficulties to both. Had not her friends been officious, I had been constant and faithful to her to this day, as far as I know--for then I had not known my angel.

I went not abroad upon her account. She loved me too well to have appeared against me; she refused to sign a paper they had drawn up for her, to found a prosecution upon; and the brutal creatures would not permit the mid-wife's a.s.sistance, till her life was in danger; and, I believe, to this her death was owing.

I went into mourning for her, though abroad at the time. A distinction I have ever paid to those worthy creatures who dies in childbed by me.

I was ever nice in my loves.--These were the rules I laid down to myself on my entrance into active life:--To set the mother above want, if her friends were cruel, and if I could not get her a husband worthy of her: to shun common women--a piece of justice I owed to innocent ladies, as well as to myself: to marry off a former mistress, if possible, before I took to a new one: to maintain a lady handsomely in her lying-in: to provide for the little-one, if it lived, according to the degree of its mother: to go into mourning for the mother, if she died. And the promise of this was a great comfort to the pretty dears, as they grew near their times.

All my errors, all my expenses, have been with and upon women. So I could acquit my conscience (acting thus honourably by them) as well as my discretion as to point of fortune.

All men love women--and find me a man of more honour, in these points, if you can, Joseph.

No wonder the s.e.x love me as they do!

But now I am strictly virtuous. I am reformed. So I have been for a long time, resolving to marry as soon as I can prevail upon the most admirable of women to have me. I think of n.o.body else--it is impossible I should. I have spared very pretty girls for her sake. Very true, Joseph! So set your honest heart at rest--You see the pains I take to satisfy your qualms.

But, as to Miss Betterton--no rape in the case, I repeat: rapes are unnatural things, and more are than are imagined, Joseph. I should be loth to be put to such a streight; I never was. Miss Betterton was taken from me against her own will. In that case her friends, not I, committed the rape.

I have contrived to see the boy twice, unknown to the aunt who takes care of him; loves him; and would not now part with him on any consideration. The boy is a fine boy I thank G.o.d. No father need be ashamed of him. He will be well provided for. If not, I would take care of him. He will have his mother's fortune. They curse the father, ungrateful wretches! but bless the boy--Upon the whole, there is nothing vile in this matter on my side--a great deal on the Bettertons.

Wherefore, Joseph, be not thou in pain, either for my head, or for thy own neck; nor for the Blue Boar; nor for the pretty Sow.

I love your jesting. Jesting better becomes a poor man than qualms.

I love to have you jest. All we say, all we do, all we wish for, is a jest. He that makes life itself not so is a sad fellow, and has the worst of it.

I doubt not, Joseph, but you have had your joys, as you say, as well as your betters. May you have more and more, honest Joseph!--He that grudges a poor man joy, ought to have none himself. Jest on, therefore.--Jesting, I repeat, better becomes thee than qualms.

I had no need to tell you of Miss Betterton. Did I not furnish you with stories enough, without hers, against myself, to augment your credit with your cunning masters? Besides, I was loth to mention Miss Betterton, her friends being all living, and in credit. I loved her too--for she was taken from me by her cruel friends, while our joys were young.

But enough of dear Miss Betterton.--Dear, I say; for death endears.--Rest to her worthy soul!--There, Joseph, off went a deep sigh to the memory of Miss Betterton!

As to the journey of little t.i.tus, (I now recollect the fellow by his name) let that take its course: a lady dying in childbed eighteen months ago; no process begun in her life-time; refusing herself to give evidence against me while she lived--pretty circ.u.mstances to found an indictment for a rape upon!

As to your young lady, the ever-admirable Miss Clarissa Harlowe, I always courted her for a wife. Others rather expected marriage from the vanity of their own hearts, than from my promises; for I was always careful of what I promised. You know, Joseph, that I have gone beyond my promises to you. I do to every body; and why? because it is the best way of showing that I have no grudging or narrow spirit. A promise is an obligation. A just man will keep his promise, a generous man will go beyond it.--This is my rule.

If you doubt my honour to your young lady, it is more than she does. She would not stay with me an hour if she did. Mine is the steadiest heart in the world. Hast thou not reason to think it so? Why this squeamishness then, honest Joseph?