creatures do, when they can't help themselves, you come
begging and praying, and make others as uneasy as yourself.

When I wrote last to you, I expected that I should not be at rest.

And so you'd creep on, by little and little, till you'll want to be
received again.

But you only hope for forgiveness and a blessing, you say. A blessing
for what, sister Clary? Think for what!--However, I read your letter to
my father and mother.

I won't tell you what my father said--one who has the true sense you
boast to have of your misdeeds, may guess, without my telling you, what a
justly-incensed father would say on such an occasion.

My poor mother--O wretch! what has not your ungrateful folly cost my poor
mother!--Had you been less a darling, you would not, perhaps, have been
so graceless: But I never in my life saw a cockered favourite come to
good.

My heart is full, and I can't help writing my mind; for your crimes have
disgraced us all; and I am afraid and ashamed to go to any public or
private assembly or diversion: And why?--I need not say why, when your
actions are the subjects either of the open talk, or of the affronting
whispers, of both sexes at all such places.

Upon the whole, I am sorry I have no more comfort to send you: but I find
nobody willing to forgive you.

I don't know what time may do for you; and when it is seen that your
penitence is not owing more to disappointment than to true conviction:
for it is too probable, Miss Clary, that, had not your feather-headed
villain abandoned you, we should have heard nothing of these moving
supplications; nor of any thing but defiances from him, and a guilt
gloried in from you. And this is every one's opinion, as well as that of

Your afflicted sister,
ARABELLA HARLOWE.

I send this by a particular hand, who undertakes to give it you or leave
it for you by to-morrow night.

LETTER LXXV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO HER MOTHER
SATURDAY, AUG. 5

HONOURED MADAM,

No self-convicted criminal ever approached her angry and just judge with
greater awe, nor with a truer contrition, than I do you by these lines.

Indeed I must say, that if the latter of my humble prayer had not
respected my future welfare, I had not dared to take this liberty. But
my heart is set upon it, as upon a thing next to God Almighty's
forgiveness necessary for me.

Had my happy sister known my distresses, she would not have wrung my
heart, as she has done, by a sev