at a general Madness had seized Mankind, and he
alone was exempt from the dreadful Catastrophy.

In the Penknife Scene _Clarissa_ is firmly brave; her Soul abhorred
Self-murder, nor would she, as she told Miss _Howe_, willingly like a
Coward quit her Post; but in this Case, could she not have awed
_Lovelace_ into Distance, tho' _her_ Hand had pointed the Knife, yet
might _he_ properly have been said to have struck the Blow. The
picturesque Attitude of all present, when _Clarissa_ suddenly cries out,
'God's Eye is upon us' has an Effect upon the Mind that can only be
felt; and that it would be a weak and vain Effort for Language to
attempt to utter.

In the Prison Scene _Clarissa_ exerts a different kind of Bravery.
Insult and Distress, Cold and Hardships, to what she was accustomed to,
she bears almost in silence; and by her Suffering without repining,
without Fear of any thing but _Lovelace_, she is the strongest Proof of
what _Shakespear_ says, that

_----where the greater Malady is fixt
The Lesser is scarce felt----_

And let those who have accused _Clarissa_ of having a suspicious Temper,
from her being apt to suspect _Lovelace_, here confess, that it must be
the Person's Fault at whom her Suspicion is level'd, when she wants that
Companion of a great Mind, a generous Confidence; for how soon does
_Belford's_ honest Intentions breaking forth in the Manner in which he
addresses her, make her rely on the known Friend of her Destroyer, and
the publick Companion of all his Rakeries. Nor can I here pass by in
perfect Silence, the noble Simplicity with which _Clarissa_ sums up her
Story to Mrs. _Smith_ and Mrs. _Lovick_; for I think 'tis the strongest
Pattern that can be imagined of that Simplicity which strikes to the
Heart, and melts the Soul with all the softer Passions.

In Colonel _Morden's_ Account of the conveying the lifeless Remains of
the Divine _Clarissa_ to be interred in the Vault of her Ancestors, his
very Words keep solemn Pace with the Herse which incloses her once
animated, now lifeless, Form. Step by Step we still attend her; turn
with the Horses as they take the Bye-road to _Harlow-place_; start with
the wretched, guilty Family, at the first Stroke of the mournful tolling
Bell; are fixed in Amazement with the lumbering heavy Noise of the Herse
up the paved inner Court-yard: But when the Servant comes in to acquaint
the Family with its Arrival, and we read this Line, _He spoke not, he
could