another man's character, rather than by your own proper merit; I see
not that you can blame any asperity in her, whom you have so largely
contributed to make unhappy.

CL. HARLOWE.

*****

SUNDAY NIGHT.

My father was for coming up to me, in great wrath, it seems; but was
persuaded to the contrary. My aunt Hervey was permitted to send me this
that follow.--Quick work, my dear!

TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE

NIECE,

Every body is now convinced, that nothing is to be done with you by way
of gentleness or persuasion. Your mother will not permit you to stay in
the house; for your father is so incensed by your strange letter to his
friend, that she knows not what will be the consequence if you do. So,
you are commanded to get ready to go to your uncle Antony's out of hand.

Your uncle thinks he has not deserved of you such an unwillingness as
you shew to go to his house.

You don't know the wickedness of the man for whose sake you think it
worth while to quarrel with all your friends.

You must not answer me. There will be no end of that.

You know not the affliction you give to every body; but to none more
than to

Your affectionate aunt, DOROTHY HERVEY.

*****

Forbid to write to my aunt, I took a bolder liberty. I wrote a few lines
to my mother; beseeching her to procure me leave to throw myself at my
father's feet, and hers, if I must go, (nobody else present,) to beg
pardon for the trouble I had given them both, and their blessings; and
to receive their commands as to my removal, and the time for it, from
their own lips.

'What new boldness this!--Take it back; and bid her learn to obey,' was
my mother's angry answer, with my letter returned, unopened.

But that I might omit nothing, that had an appearance of duty, I wrote
a few lines to my father himself, to the same purpose; begging, that he
would not turn me out of his house, without his blessing. But this, torn
in two pieces, and unopened, was brought me up again by Betty, with an
air, one hand held up, the other extended, the torn letter in her open
palm; and a See here!--What a sad thing is this!--Nothing will do but
duty, Miss!--Your papa said, Let her tell me of deeds!--I'll receive no
words from her. And so he tore the letter, and flung the pieces at my
head.

So desperate was my case, I was resolved not to stop even at this
repulse. I took my pen, and addressed myself to my uncle Harlowe,
enclosing that which my mother had return