ason to be displeased) with petulance,
or through pride: nor thinks it necessary to insist upon little points,
to come at or secure great ones, perhaps not proper to be aimed at: nor
leaves room to suppose she has so much cause to doubt her own merit, as
to put the love of the man she intends to favour upon disagreeable or
arrogant trials: but let reason be the principal guide of her actions--
she will then never fail of that true respect, of that sincere
veneration, which she wishes to meet with; and which will make her
judgment after marriage consulted, sometimes with a preference to a man's
own; at other times as a delightful confirmation of his.

And so much, my beloved Miss Howe, for this subject now, and I dare say,
for ever!

I will begin another letter by-and-by, and send both together. Mean
time, I am, &c.

LETTER XXXIII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE

[In this letter, the Lady acquaints Miss Howe with Mr. Brand's report;
with her sister's proposals either that she will go abroad, or
prosecute Mr. Lovelace. She complains of the severe letters of
her uncle Antony and her sister; but in milder terms than they
deserved.

She sends her Dr. Lewen's letter, and the copy of her answer to it.

She tells her of the difficulties she had been under to avoid seeing Mr.
Lovelace. She gives her the contents of the letter she wrote to
him to divert him from his proposed visit: she is afraid, she says,
that it is a step that is not strictly right, if allegory or
metaphor be not allowable to one in her circumstances.

She informs her of her cousin Morden's arrival and readiness to take her
part with her relations; of his designed interview with Mr.
Lovelace; and tells her what her apprehensions are upon it.

She gives her the purport of the conversation between her aunt Hervey and
Mrs. Norton. And then add:]

But were they ever so favourably inclined to me now, what can they do for
me? I wish, and that for their sakes more than for my own, that they
would yet relent--but I am very ill--I must drop my pen--a sudden
faintness overspreads my heart--excuse my crooked writing!--Adieu, my
dear!--Adieu!

THREE O'CLOCK, FRIDAY.

Once more I resume my pen. I thought I had taken my last farewell to
you. I never was so very oddly affected: something that seemed totally
to overwhelm my faculties--I don't know how to describe it--I believe