if you knew all I could say, and how miserable I am in the forfeiture of
the good opinion of all my friends.

I flatter myself, that their favour is yet retrievable: but, whatever be
the determination at Harlowe-place, do not you, my dearest Aunt, deny
me the favour of a few lines to inform me if there can be any hope of
a reconciliation upon terms less shocking than those heretofore
endeavoured to be imposed upon me; or if (which God forbid!) I am to be
for ever reprobated.

At least, my dear Aunt, procure for me the justice of my wearing
apparel, and the little money and other things which I wrote to my
sister for, and mention in the enclosed to you; that I may not be
destitute of common conveniencies, or be under a necessity to owe an
obligation for such, where, at present, however, I would least of all
owe it.

Allow me to say, that had I designed what happened, I might (as to the
money and jewels at least) have saved myself some of the mortification
which I have suffered, and which I still further apprehend, if my
request be not complied with.

If you are permitted to encourage an eclaircissment of what I hint, I
will open my whole heart to you, and inform you of every thing.

If it be any pleasure to have me mortified, be pleased to let it be
known, that I am extremely mortified. And yet it is entirely from my
own reflections that I am so, having nothing to find fault with in the
behaviour of the person from whom every evil was to be apprehended.

The bearer, having business your way, will bring me your answer on
Saturday morning, if you favour me according to my hopes. I knew not
that I should have this opportunity till I had written the above.

I am, my dearest Aunt, Your ever dutiful, CL. HARLOWE.

Be pleased to direct for me, if I am to be favoured with a few lines, to
be left at Mr. Osgood's, near Soho-square; and nobody shall ever know of
your goodness to me, if you desire it to be kept a secret.

LETTER L

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE SATURDAY, APRIL 22.

I cannot for my life account for your wretch's teasing ways; but he
certainly doubts your love of him. In this he is a modest man, as well
as somebody else; and tacitly confesses that he does not deserve it.

Your Israelitish hankerings after the Egyptian onion, (testified still
more in your letter to your aunt,) your often repeated regrets for
meeting him, for being betrayed by him--these he cannot bear.

I have been looking