LETTER XL
MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.FRIDAY, SEPT. 22.
Just as I was sitting down to answer your's of the 14th to the 18th, inorder to give you all the consolation in my power, came your revokingletter of Wednesday.
I am really concerned and disappointed that your first was so soonfollowed by one so contrary to it.
The shocking letter you mention, which your friends withhold from you, isindeed from me. They may now, I see, show you any thing. Ask them,then, for that letter, if you think it worth while to read aught aboutthe true mother of your mind.
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I will suppose that thou hast just read the letter thou callest shocking,and which I intended to be so. And let me ask what thou thinkest of it?Dost thou not tremble at the horrors the vilest of women labours with, onthe apprehensions of death, and future judgment?--How sit the reflectionsthat must have been raised by the perusal of this letter upon thy yetunclosed eyelet-holes? Will not some serious thoughts mingle with thymelilot, and tear off the callus of thy mind, as that may flay theleather from thy back, and as thy epispastics may strip the parchmentfrom thy plotting head? If not, then indeed is thy conscience seared,and no hopes will lie for thee.
[Mr. Belford then gives an account of the wretched Sinclair's terrible exit, which he had just then received.]
If this move thee not, I have news to acquaint thee with, of anotherdismal catastrophe that is but within this hour come to my ear, ofanother of thy blessed agents. Thy TOMLINSON!--Dying, and, in allprobability, before this can reach thee, dead, in Maidstone gaol. Asthou sayest in thy first letter, something strangely retributive seemsto be working.
This is his case. He was at the head of a gang of smugglers,endeavouring to carry off run goods, landed last Tuesday, when a party ofdragoons came up with them in the evening. Some of his comrades fled.M'Donald, being surrounded, attempted to fight his way through, andwounded his man; but having received a shot in his neck, and being cutdeeply in the head by a broad-sword, he fell from his horse, was taken,and carried to Maidstone gaol: and there my informant left him, justdying, and assured of hanging if he recover.
Absolutely destitute, he got a kinsman of his to apply to me, and, if intown, to the rest of the confraternity, for something, not to support himwas the word, (for he expected not to live till the fellow returned,) butto bury him.
I never employed him but once, and then he ruined my project. I nowthank Heaven that he did. But I sent him five guineas, and promised himmore, as from you, and Mowbray, and Tourville, if he live a few days, orto take his trial. And I put it upon you to make further inquiry of him,and to give him what you think fit.
His messenger tells me that he is very penitent; that he weepscontinually. He cries out, that he has been the vilest of men: yetpalliates, that his necessities made him worse than he should otherwisehave been; [an excuse which none of us can plead:] but that which toucheshim most of all, is a vile imposture he was put upon, to serve a certaingentleman of fortune to the ruin of the most excellent woman that everlived; and who, he had heard, was dead of grief.
Let me consider, Lovelace--Whose turn can be next?
I wish it may not be thine. But since thou givest me one piece ofadvice, (which I should indeed have thought out of character, hadst thounot taken pains to convince me that it proceeds not from principle,) Iwill give thee another: and that is, prosecute, as fast as thou canst,thy intended tour. Change of scene, and of climate, may establish thyhealth: while this gross air and the approach of winter, may thicken thyblood; and with the help of a conscience that is upon the struggle withthee, and like a cunning wrestler watches its opportunity to give theeanother fall, may make thee miserable for thy life.
I return your revoked letter. Don't destroy it, however. The samedialect may one day come in fashion with you again.
As to the family at Harlowe-place, I have most affecting letters fromColonel Morden relating to their grief and compunction. But are you, towhom the occasion is owing, entitled to rejoice in their distress?
I should be sorry, if I could not say, that what you have warned me of insport, makes me tremble in earnest. I hope, for this is a serioussubject with me, (though nothing can be so with you,) that I never shalldeserve, by my apostasy, to be the scoff of men, and the triumph ofdevils.
All that you say, of the difficulty of conquering rooted habits, is buttoo true. Those, and time of life, are indeed too much against me: but,when I reflect upon the ends (some untimely) of those of our companionswhom we have formerly lost; upon Belton's miserable exit; upon the howlsand screams of Sinclair, which are still in my ears; and now upon yourmiserable Tomlinson, and compare their ends with the happy and desirableend of the inimitable Miss Harlowe, I hope I have reason to think myfooting morally secure. Your caution, nevertheless, will be of use,however you might design it: and since I know my weak side, I willendeavour to fortify myself in that quarter by marriage, as soon as I canmake myself worthy of the confidence and esteem of some virtuous woman;and, by this means, become the subject of your envy, rather than of yourscoffs.
I have already begun my retributory purposes, as I may call them. I havesettled an annual sum for life upon poor John Loftus, whom I disabledwhile he was endeavouring to protect his young mistress from my lawlessattempts. I rejoice that I succeeded not in that; as I do inrecollecting many others of the like sort, in which I miscarried.
Poor Farley, who had become a bankrupt, I have set up again; but havedeclared, that the annual allowance I make her shall cease, if I hear shereturns to her former courses: and I have made her accountable for herconduct to the good widow Lovick; whom I have taken, at a handsomesalary, for my housekeeper at Edgware, (for I have let the house atWatford;) and she is to dispense the quarterly allotment to her, as shemerits.
This good woman shall have other matters of the like nature under hercare, as we grow better acquainted; and I make no doubt that she willanswer my expectations, and that I shall be both confirmed and improvedby her conversation: for she shall generally sit at my own table.
The undeserved sufferings of Miss Clarissa Harlowe, her exalted merit,her exemplary preparation, and her happy end, will be standing subjectswith us.
She shall read to me, when I have no company; write for me, out of books,passages she shall recommend. Her years (turned of fifty,) and her goodcharacter, will secure me from scandal; and I have great pleasure inreflecting that I shall be better myself for making her happy.
Then, whenever I am in danger, I will read some of the admirable lady'spapers: whenever I would abhor my former ways, I will read some of thine,and copies of my own.
The consequence of all this will be, that I shall be the delight of myown relations of both sexes, who were wont to look upon me as a lost man.I shall have good order in my own family, because I shall give a goodexample myself. I shall be visited and respected, not perhaps byLovelace, by Mowbray, and by Tourville, because they cannot see me uponthe old terms, and will not, perhaps, see me upon the new, but by thebest and worthiest gentlemen, clergy as well as laity, all around me. Ishall look upon my past follies with contempt: upon my old companionswith pity. Oaths and curses shall be for ever banished my mouth: intheir place shall succeed conversation becoming a rational being, and agentleman. And instead of acts of offence, subjecting me perpetually toacts of defence, will I endeavour to atone for my past evils, by doingall the good in my power, and by becoming an universal benefactor to theextent of that power.
Now tell me, Lovelace, upon this faint sketch of what I hope to do, andto be, if this be not a scheme infinitely preferable to the wild, thepernicious, the dangerous ones, both to body and soul, which we havepursued?
I wish I could make my sketch as amiable to you as it appears to me. Iwish it with all my soul: for I always loved you. It has been mymisfortune that I did: for this led me into infinite riots and follies,of which, otherwise, I verily think I should not have been guilty.
You have a g
reat deal more to answer for than I have, were it only in thetemporal ruin of this admirable woman. Let me now, while you yet haveyouth, and health, and intellect, prevail upon you: for I am afraid, verymuch afraid, that such is the enormity of this single wickedness, indepriving the world of such a shining light, that if you do not quicklyreform, it will be out of your power to reform at all; and thatProvidence, which has already given you the fates of your agents Sinclairand Tomlinson to take warning by, will not let the principal offenderescape, if he slight the warning.
You will, perhaps, laugh at me for these serious reflections. Do, if youwill. I had rather you should laugh at me, for continuing in this way ofthinking and acting, than triumph over me, as you threaten, on myswerving from purposes I have determined upon with such good reason, andinduced and warned by such examples.
And so much for this subject at present.
I should be glad to know when you intend to set out. I have too muchconcern for your welfare, not to wish you in a thinner air and morecertain climate.
What have Tourville and Mowbray to do, that they cannot set out with you?They will not covet my company, I dare say; and I shall not be able toendure theirs, when you are gone: take them, therefore, with you.
I will not, however, forswear making you a visit at Paris, at your returnfrom Germany and Italy: but hardly with the hope of reclaiming you, ifdue reflection upon what I have set before you, and upon what you havewritten in your two last, will not by that time have done it.
I suppose I shall see you before you go. Once more I wish you were gone.This heavy island-air cannot do for you what that of the Continent will.
I do not think I ought to communicate with you, as I used to do, on thisside the Channel: let me, then, hear from you on the opposite shore, andyou shall command the pen, as you please; and, honestly, the power of
J. BELFORD.