e comes to that part of it, where
he bids her remember, that reformation cannot be a sudden
thing, he asks his friend:

Is not this fair play? Is it not dealing ingenuously? Then the
observation, I will be bold to say, is founded in truth and nature. But
there was a little touch of policy in it besides; that the lady, if I
should fly out again, should not think me too gross an hypocrite: for,
as I plainly told her, I was afraid, that my fits of reformation were
but fits and sallies; but I hoped her example would fix them into
habits. But it is so discouraging a thing to have my monitress so
very good!--I protest I know not how to look up at her! Now, as I am
thinking, if I could pull her down a little nearer to my own level;
that is to say, could prevail upon her to do something that would
argue imperfection, something to repent of; we should jog on much
more equally, and be better able to comprehend one another: and so the
comfort would be mutual, and the remorse not all on one side.

He acknowledges that he was greatly affected and pleased
with the Lady's serious arguments at the time: but even then
was apprehensive that his temper would not hold. Thus he
writes:

This lady says serious things in so agreeable a manner (and then her
voice is all harmony when she touches a subject she is pleased with)
that I could have listened to her for half a day together. But yet I am
afraid, if she falls, as they call it, she will lose a good deal of that
pathos, of that noble self-confidence, which gives a good person, as I
now see, a visible superiority over one not so good.

But, after all, Belford, I would fain know why people call such
free-livers as you and me hypocrites.--That's a word I hate; and should
take it very ill to be called by it. For myself, I have as good motions,
and, perhaps, have them as frequently as any body: all the business is,
they don't hold; or, to speak more in character, I don't take the care
some do to conceal my lapses.

LETTER XXVII

MISS HOWE, TO MIS CLARISSA HARLOWE SATURDAY, APRIL 15.

Though pretty much pressed in time, and oppressed by my mother's
watchfulness, I will write a few lines upon the new light that has
broken in upon your gentleman; and send it by a particular hand.

I know not what to think of him upon it. He talks well; but judge him
by Rowe's lines, he is certainly a dissembler, odious as the sin of
hypocrisy, and, as he says, th