ers enclosed, I think I may throw
in a transcript of that. Dorcas therefore shall here transcribe it. I
cannot. The reading of it affected me ten times more than the severest
reproaches of a regular mind could do.

TO MR. LOVELACE

I never intended to write another line to you. I would not see you, if I
could help it--O that I never had!

But tell me, of a truth, is Miss Howe really and truly ill?--Very ill?-
And is not her illness poison? And don't you know who gave it to her?

What you, or Mrs. Sinclair, or somebody (I cannot tell who) have done to
my poor head, you best know: but I shall never be what I was. My head is
gone. I have wept away all my brain, I believe; for I can weep no more.
Indeed I have had my full share; so it is no matter.

But, good now, Lovelace, don't set Mrs. Sinclair upon me again.--I never
did her any harm. She so affrights me, when I see her!--Ever since--when
was it? I cannot tell. You can, I suppose. She may be a good woman, as
far as I know. She was the wife of a man of honour--very likely--though
forced to let lodgings for a livelihood. Poor gentlewoman! Let her know
I pity her: but don't let her come near me again--pray don't!

Yet she may be a very good woman--

What would I say!--I forget what I was going to say.

O Lovelace, you are Satan himself; or he helps you out in every thing;
and that's as bad!

But have you really and truly sold yourself to him? And for how long?
What duration is your reign to have?

Poor man! The contract will be out: and then what will be your fate!

O Lovelace! if you could be sorry for yourself, I would be sorry too--but
when all my doors are fast, and nothing but the key-hole open, and the
key of late put into that, to be where you are, in a manner without
opening any of them--O wretched, wretched Clarissa Harlowe!

For I never will be Lovelace--let my uncle take it as he pleases.

Well, but now I remember what I was going to say--it is for your good--
not mine--for nothing can do me good now!--O thou villanous man! thou
hated Lovelace!

But Mrs. Sinclair may be a good woman--if you love me--but that you don't
--but don't let her bluster up with her worse than mannish airs to me
again! O she is a frightful woman! If she be a woman! She needed not
to put on that fearful mask to scare me out of my poor wits. But don't
tell her what I say--I have no hatred to her--it is only fright, and
foolish fear, that's all.--She ma