Read Clarissa Harlowe; or the history of a young lady — Volume 6 Page 50
LETTER L
MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWEWEDNESDAY NIGHT, JUNE 28.
O MY DEAREST MISS HOWE!
Once more have I escaped--But, alas! I, my best self, have not escaped!--Oh! your poor Clarissa Harlowe! you also will hate me, I fear!----
Yet you won't, when you know all!
But no more of my self! my lost self. You that can rise in a morning tobe blest, and to bless; and go to rest delighted with your ownreflections, and in your unbroken, unstarting slumbers, conversing withsaints and angels, the former only more pure than yourself, as they haveshaken off the incumbrance of body; you shall be my subject, as you havelong, long, been my only pleasure. And let me, at awful distance, reveremy beloved Anna Howe, and in her reflect upon what her Clarissa Harloweonce was!
***
Forgive, O forgive my rambling. My peace is destroyed. My intellectsare touched. And what flighty nonsense must you read, if you now willvouchsafe to correspond with me, as formerly!
O my best, my dearest, my only friend! what a tale have I to unfold!--But still upon self, this vile, this hated self!--I will shake it off, ifpossible; and why should I not, since I think, except one wretch, I hatenothing so much? Self, then, be banished from self one moment (for Idoubt it will be for no longer) to inquire after a dearer object, mybeloved Anna Howe!--whose mind, all robed in spotless white, charms andirradiates--But what would I say?----
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And how, my dearest friend, after this rhapsody, which on re-perusal, Iwould not let go, but to show you what a distracted mind dictates to mytrembling pen! How do you? You have been very ill, it seems. That youare recovered, my dear, let me hear. That your mother is well, pray letme hear, and hear quickly. This comfort surely is owing to me; for iflife is no worse than chequer-work, I must now have a little white tocome, having seen nothing but black, all unchequered dismal black, for agreat, great while.
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And what is all this wild incoherence for? It is only to beg to know howyou have been, and how you do now, by a line directed for Mrs. RachelClark, at Mr. Smith's, a glove-shop, in King-street, Covent-garden; which(although my abode is secret to every body else) will reach the hands of--your unhappy--but that's not enough----