IX

MRS. NORTON, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE
WEDNESDAY, SEPT. 6.

At length, my best beloved Miss Clary, every thing is in the wished
train: for all your relations are unanimous in your favour. Even your
brother and your sister are with the foremost to be reconciled to you.

I knew it must end thus! By patience, and persevering sweetness, what a
triumph have you gained!

This happy change is owing to letters received from your physician, from
your cousin Morden, and from Mr. Brand.

Colonel Morden will be with you, no doubt, before this can reach you,
with his pocket-book filled with money-bills, that nothing may be wanting
to make you easy.

And now, all our hopes, all our prayers, are, that this good news may
restore you to spirits and health; and that (so long withheld) it may not
come too late.

I know how much your dutiful heart will be raised with the joyful tidings
I write you, and still shall more particularly tell you of, when I have
the happiness to see you: which will be by next Sunday, at farthest;
perhaps on Friday afternoon, by the time you can receive this.

For this day, being sent for by the general voice, I was received by
every one with great goodness and condescension, and entreated (for that
was the word they were pleased to use, when I needed no entreaty, I am
sure,) to hasten up to you, and to assure you of all their affectionate
regards to you: and your father bid me say all the kind things that were
in my heart to say, in order to comfort and raise you up, and they would
hold themselves bound to make them good.

How agreeable is this commission to your Norton! My heart will overflow
with kind speeches, never fear! I am already meditating what I shall
say, to cheer and raise you up, in the names of every one dear and near
to you. And sorry I am that I cannot this moment set out, as I might,
instead of writing, would they favour my eager impatience with their
chariot; but as it was not offered, it would be a presumption to have
asked for it: and to-morrow a hired chaise and pair will be ready; but at
what hour I know not.

How I long once more to fold my dear, precious young lady to my fond, my
more than fond, my maternal bosom!

Your sister will write to you, and send her letter, with this, by a
particular hand.

I must not let them see what I write, because of my wish about the
chariot.

Your uncle Harlowe will also write, and (I doubt not) in the kindest
terms: for they a