I write a long letter, where I proposed to say but a few words; and those to forbid your writing to my Nancy:  and this as well because of the false step you have made, as because it will grieve her poor heart, and do you no good.  If you love her, therefore, write not to her.  Your sad letter came into my hands, Nancy being abroad:  and I shall not show it her:  for there would be no comfort for her, if she saw it, nor for me, whose delight she is—­as you once was to your parents.—­

But you seem to be sensible enough of your errors now.—­So are all giddy girls, when it is too late:  and what a crest-fallen figure then do the consequences of their self-willed obstinacy and headstrongness compel them to make!

I may say too much:  only as I think it proper to bear that testimony against your rashness which it behoves every careful parent to bear:  and none more than

Your compassionating, well-wishing
Annabella Howe.

I send this by a special messenger, who has business only so far as
   Barnet, because you shall have no need to write again; knowing how
   you love writing:  and knowing, likewise, that misfortune makes people
   plaintive.

LETTER LII

Miss Clarissa Harlowe, to Mrs. Howe. 
Saturday, July 1.

Permit me, Madam, to trouble you with a few lines, were it only to thank you for your reproofs; which have nevertheless drawn fresh streams of blood from a bleeding heart.

My story is a dismal story.  It has circumstances in it that would engage pity, and possibly a judgment not altogether unfavourable, were those circumstances known.  But it is my business, and shall be all my business, to repent of my failings, and not endeavour to extenuate them.

Nor will I seek to distress your worthy mind.  If I cannot suffer alone, I will make as few parties as I can in my sufferings.  And, indeed, I took up my pen with this resolution when I wrote the letter which has fallen into your hands.  It was only to know, and that for a very particular reason, as well as for affection unbounded, if my dear Miss Howe, from whom I had not heard of a long time, were ill; as I had been told she was; and if so, how she now does.  But my injuries being recent, and my distresses having been exceeding great, self would crowd into my letter.  When distressed, the human mind is apt to turn itself to every one, in whom it imagined or wished an interest, for pity and consolation.  —­Or, to express myself better, and more concisely, in your own words, misfortune makes people plaintive:  And to whom, if not to a friend, can the afflicted complain?

Miss Howe being abroad when my letter came, I flatter myself that she is recovered.  But it would be some satisfaction to me to be informed if she has been ill.  Another line from your hand would be too great a favour:  but if you will be pleased to direct any servant to answer yes, or no, to that question, I will not be farther troublesome.