LETTER XXXIV
MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. FRIDAY, MARCH 17.
I receive, with great pleasure, the early and cheerful assurances ofyour loyalty and love. And let our principal and most trusty friendsnamed in my last know that I do.
I would have thee, Jack, come down, as soon as thou canst. I believe Ishall not want the others so soon. Yet they may come down to Lord M.'s.I will be there, if not to receive them, to satisfy my lord, that thereis no new mischief in hand, which will require his second intervention.
For thyself, thou must be constantly with me: not for my security: thefamily dare do nothing but bully: they bark only at a distance: butfor my entertainment: that thou mayest, from the Latin and the Englishclassics, keep my lovesick soul from drooping.
Thou hadst best come to me here, in thy old corporal's coat: thy servantout of livery; and to be upon a familiar footing with me, as a distantrelation, to be provided for by thy interest above--I mean not inHeaven, thou mayest be sure. Thou wilt find me at a little alehouse,they call it an inn; the White Hart, most terribly wounded, (but bythe weather only,) the sign: in a sorry village, within five miles fromHarlowe-place. Every body knows Harlowe-place, for, like Versailles, itis sprung up from a dunghill, within every elderly person's remembrance.Every poor body, particularly, knows it: but that only for a few yearspast, since a certain angel has appeared there among the sons anddaughters of men.
The people here at the Hart are poor, but honest; and have gotten itinto their heads, that I am a man of quality in disguise; and there isno reining-in their officious respect. Here is a pretty littlesmirking daughter, seventeen six days ago. I call her my Rose-bud. Hergrandmother (for there is no mother), a good neat old woman, as everfilled a wicker chair in a chimney-corner, has besought me to bemerciful to her.
This is the right way with me. Many and many a pretty rogue had Ispared, whom I did not spare, had my power been acknowledged, and mymercy in time implored. But the debellare superbos should be my motto,were I to have a new one.
This simple chit (for there is a simplicity in her thou wouldst behighly pleased with: all humble; all officious; all innocent--I love herfor her humility, her officiousness, and even for her innocence) will bepretty amusement to thee; while I combat with the weather, and dodge andcreep about the walls and purlieus of Harlowe-place. Thou wilt see inher mind, all that her superiors have been taught to conceal, in orderto render themselves less natural, and of consequence less pleasing.
But I charge thee, that thou do not (what I would not permit myself todo for the world--I charge thee, that thou do not) crop my Rose-bud. Sheis the only flower of fragrance, that has blown in this vicinage for tenyears past, or will for ten years to come: for I have looked backwardto the have-been's, and forward to the will-be's; having but too muchleisure upon my hands in my present waiting.
I never was so honest for so long together since my matriculation. Itbehoves me so to be--some way or other, my recess at this little inn maybe found out; and it will then be thought that my Rose-bud has attractedme. A report in my favour, from simplicities so amiable, may establishme; for the grandmother's relation to my Rose-bud may be sworn to: andthe father is an honest, poor man; has no joy, but in his Rose-bud.--OJack! spare thou, therefore, (for I shall leave thee often alone withher, spare thou) my Rose-bud!--Let the rule I never departed from, butit cost me a long regret, be observed to my Rose-bud!--never to ruin apoor girl, whose simplicity and innocence were all she had to trust to;and whose fortunes were too low to save her from the rude contempts ofworse minds than her own, and from an indigence extreme: such a one willonly pine in secret; and at last, perhaps, in order to refuge herselffrom slanderous tongues and virulence, be induced to tempt someguilty stream, or seek her end in the knee-encircling garter, thatperadventure, was the first attempt of abandoned love.--No defianceswill my Rose-bud breathe; no self-dependent, thee-doubting watchfulness(indirectly challenging thy inventive machinations to do their worst)will she assume. Unsuspicious of her danger, the lamb's throat willhardly shun thy knife!--O be not thou the butcher of my lambkin!
The less thou be so, for the reason I am going to give thee--The gentleheart is touched by love: her soft bosom heaves with a passion shehas not yet found a name for. I once caught her eye following a youngcarpenter, a widow neighbour's son, living [to speak in her dialect] atthe little white house over the way. A gentle youth he also seems to be,about three years older than herself: playmates from infancy, tillhis eighteenth and her fifteenth year furnished a reason for a greaterdistance in shew, while their hearts gave a better for their beingnearer than ever--for I soon perceived the love reciprocal. A scrape anda bow at first seeing his pretty mistress; turning often to salute herfollowing eye; and, when a winding lane was to deprive him of her sight,his whole body turned round, his hat more reverently doffed than before.This answered (for, unseen, I was behind her) by a low courtesy, anda sigh, that Johnny was too far off to hear!--Happy whelp! said I tomyself.--I withdrew; and in tript my Rose-bud, as if satisfied with thedumb shew, and wishing nothing beyond it.
I have examined the little heart. She has made me her confidant. Sheowns, she could love Johnny Barton very well: and Johnny Barton has toldher, he could love her better than any maiden he ever saw--but, alas!it must not be thought of. Why not be thought of!--She don't know!--Andthen she sighed: But Johnny has an aunt, who will give him an hundredpounds, when his time is out; and her father cannot give her but a fewthings, or so, to set her out with: and though Johnny's mother says, sheknows not where Johnny would have a prettier, or notabler wife, yet--Andthen she sighed again--What signifies talking?--I would not have Johnnybe unhappy and poor for me!--For what good would that do me, you know,Sir!
What would I give [by my soul, my angel will indeed reform me, if herfriends' implacable folly ruin us not both!--What would I give] to haveso innocent and so good a heart, as either my Rose-bud's, or Johnny's!
I have a confounded mischievous one--by nature too, I think!--A goodmotion now-and-then rises from it: but it dies away presently--a loveof intrigue--an invention for mischief--a triumph in subduing--fortuneencouraging and supporting--and a constitution--What signifiespalliating? But I believe I had been a rogue, had I been a plough-boy.
But the devil's in this sex! Eternal misguiders. Who, that has oncetrespassed with them, ever recovered his virtue? And yet where there isnot virtue, which nevertheless we freelivers are continually plottingto destroy, what is there even in the ultimate of our wishes withthem?--Preparation and expectation are in a manner every thing:reflection indeed may be something, if the mind be hardened abovefeeling the guilt of a past trespass: but the fruition, what is there inthat? And yet that being the end, nature will not be satisfied withoutit.
See what grave reflections an innocent subject will produce! It givesme some pleasure to think, that it is not out of my power to reform:but then, Jack, I am afraid I must keep better company than I do atpresent--for we certainly harden one another. But be not cast down, myboy; there will be time enough to give the whole fraternity warning tochoose another leader: and I fancy thou wilt be the man.
Mean time, as I make it my rule, whenever I have committed a verycapital enormity, to do some good by way of atonement; and as I believeI am a pretty deal indebted on that score, I intend, before I leavethese parts (successfully shall I leave them I hope, or I shall betempted to double the mischief by way of revenge, though not to myRose-bud any) to join an hundred pounds to Johnny's aunt's hundredpounds, to make one innocent couple happy.--I repeat therefore, and forhalf a dozen more therefores, spare thou my Rose-bud.
An interruption--another letter anon; and both shall go together.