rid of one of my tormentors.

I have promised to lay before you all his letters, and my answers: I
repeat that promise: and am the less solicitous, for that reason, to
amplify upon the contents of either. But I cannot too often express my
vexation, to be driven to such streights and difficulties, here at
home, as oblige me to answer letters, (from a man I had not absolutely
intended to encourage, and to whom I had really great objections,)
filled as his are with such warm protestations, and written to me with a
spirit of expectation.

For, my dear, you never knew so bold a supposer. As commentators find
beauties in an author, to which the author perhaps was a stranger; so he
sometimes compliments me in high strains of gratitude for favours, and
for a consideration, which I never designed him; insomuch that I am
frequently under a necessity of explaining away the attributed goodness
to him, which, if I shewed, I should have the less opinion of myself.

In short, my dear, like a restiff horse, (as I have heard described by
sportsmen,) he pains one's hands, and half disjoints one's arms, to rein
him in. And, when you see his letters, you must form no judgment upon
them, till you have read my answers. If you do, you will indeed think
you have cause to attribute self-deceit, and throbs, and glows, to your
friend: and yet, at other times, the contradictory nature complains,
that I shew him as little favour, and my friends as much inveteracy,
as if, in the rencontre betwixt my brother and him, he had been the
aggressor; and as if the catastrophe had been as fatal, as it might have
been.

If he has a design by this conduct (sometimes complaining of my shyness,
at others exalting in my imaginary favours) to induce me at one time to
acquiesce with his compliments; at another to be more complaisant
for his complaints; and if the contradiction be not the effect of his
inattention and giddiness; I shall think him as deep and as artful (too
probably, as practised) a creature, as ever lived; and were I to be sure
of it, should hate him, if possible, worse than I do Solmes.

But enough for the present of a creature so very various.

LETTER XXVII

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE THURSDAY NIGHT, MARCH 9.

I have not patience with any of the people you are with. I know not what
to advise you to do. How do you know that you are not punishable
for being the cause, though to your own loss, that the will of your
grandfat