I am afraid my Poor, as I used to call the good creatures to whose necessities I was wont to administer by your faithful hands, have missed me of late.  But now, alas!  I am poor myself.  It is not the least aggravation of my fault, nor of my regrets, that with such inclinations as God has given me, I have put it our of my power to do the good I once pleased myself to think I was born to do.  It is a sad thing, my dearest Mrs. Nortin, to render useless to ourselves and the world, by our own rashness, the talents which Providence has intrusted to us, for the service of both.

But these reflections are now too late; and perhaps I ought to have kept them to myself.  Let me, however, hope that you love me still.  Pray let me hope that you do.  And then, notwithstanding my misfortunes, which have made me seem ungrateful to the kind and truly maternal pains you have taken with me from my cradle, I shall have the happiness to think that there is one worthy person, who hates not

The unfortunate
Clarissa Harlowe.

Pray remember me to my foster-brother.  I hope he continues dutiful and
   good to you. 
Be pleased to direct for Rachel Clark, at Mr. Smith’s, in King-street,
   Covent-garden.  But keep the direction an absolute secret.

LETTER LVI

Mrs. Norton
[in answer.]
Saturday, July 1.

Your letter, my dearest young lady, cuts me to the heart!  Why will you not let me know all your distresses?—­Yet you have said enough!

My son is very good to me.  A few hours ago he was taken with a feverish disorder.  But I hope it will go off happily, if his ardour for business will give him the recess from it which his good master is willing to allow him.  He presents his duty to you, and shed tears at hearing your sad letter read.

You have been misinformed as to your family’s being at your uncle Harlowe’s.  They did not intend to be there.  Nor was the day kept at all.  Indeed, they have not stirred out, but to church (and that but three times) ever since the day you went away.—­Unhappy day for them, and for all who know you!—­To me, I am sure, most particularly so!—­My heart now bleeds more and more for you.

I have not heard a syllable of such a journey as you mentioned of your brother, Captain Singleton, and Mr. Solmes.  There has been some talk indeed of your brother’s setting out for his northern estates:  but I have not heard of it lately.

I am afraid no letter will be received from you.  It grieves me to tell you so, my dearest young lady.  No evil can have happened to you, which they do not expect to hear of; so great is their antipathy to the wicked man, and so bad is his character.