In her bosom, young as she was, could I repose all my griefs—­sure of receiving from her prudence and advice as well as comfort; and both insinuated in so dutiful a manner, that it was impossible to take those exceptions which the distance of years and character between a mother and a daughter would have made one apprehensive of from any other daughter.  She was our glory when abroad, our delight when at home.  Every body was even covetous of her company; and we grudged her to our brothers Harlowe, and to our sister and brother Hervey.  No other contention among us, then, but who should be next favoured by her.  No chiding ever knew she from us, but the chiding of lovers, when she was for shutting herself up too long together from us, in pursuit of those charming amusements and useful employments, for which, however, the whole family was the better.

Our other children had reason (good children as they always were) to think themselves neglected.  But they likewise were so sensible of their sister’s superiority, and of the honour she reflected upon the whole family, that they confessed themselves eclipsed, without envying the eclipser.  Indeed, there was not any body so equal with her, in their own opinions, as to envy what all aspired but to emulate.  The dear creature, you know, my Norton, gave an eminence to us all!

Then her acquirements.  Her skill in music, her fine needle-works, her elegance in dress; for which she was so much admired, that the neighbouring ladies used to say, that they need not fetch fashions from London; since whatever Miss Clarissa Harlowe wore was the best fashion, because her choice of natural beauties set those of art far behind them.  Her genteel ease, and fine turn of person; her deep reading, and these, joined to her open manners, and her cheerful modesty—­O my good Norton, what a sweet child was once my Clary Harlowe!

This, and more, you knew her to be:  for many of her excellencies were owing to yourself; and with the milk you gave her, you gave her what no other nurse in the world could give her.

And do you think, my worthy woman, do you think, that the wilful lapse of such a child is to be forgiven?  Can she herself think that she deserves not the severest punishment for the abuse of such talents as were intrusted to her?

Her fault was a fault of premeditation, of cunning, of contrivance.  She had deceived every body’s expectations.  Her whole sex, as well as the family she sprung from, is disgraced by it.

Would any body ever have believed that such a young creature as this, who had by her advice saved even her over-lively friend from marrying a fop, and a libertine, would herself have gone off with one of the vilest and most notorious of libertines?  A man whose character she knew; and knew it to be worse than the character of him from whom she saved her friend; a man against whom she was warned:  one who had her brother’s life in her hands; and who constantly set our whole family at defiance.