At my return, if I can find a subject, I will scribble on, to oblige thee.

My phaeton’s ready.  My cousins send me word they are just coming down:  so in spite I’ll be gone.

SATURDAY AFTERNOON.

I did stay to dine with the Colonel, and his lady, and nieces:  but I could not pass the afternoon with them, for the heart of me.  There was enough in the persons and faces of the two young ladies to set me upon comparisons.  Particular features held my attention for a few moments:  but these served but to whet my impatience to find the charmer of my soul; who, for person, for air, for mind, never had any equal.  My heart recoiled and sickened upon comparing minds and conversation.  Pert wit, a too-studied desire to please; each in high good humour with herself; an open-mouth affectation in both, to show white teeth, as if the principal excellence; and to invite amorous familiarity, by the promise of a sweet breath; at the same time reflecting tacitly upon breaths arrogantly implied to be less pure.

Once I could have borne them.

They seemed to be disappointed that I was so soon able to leave them.  Yet have I not at present so much vanity [my Clarissa has cured me of my vanity] as to attribute their disappointment so much to particular liking of me, as to their own self-admiration.  They looked upon me as a connoisseur in beauty.  They would have been proud of engaging my attention, as such:  but so affected, so flimsy-witted, mere skin-deep beauties!—­They had looked no farther into themselves than what their glasses were flattering-glasses too; for I thought them passive-faced, and spiritless; with eyes, however, upon the hunt for conquests, and bespeaking the attention of others, in order to countenance their own. ——­I believe I could, with a little pains, have given them life and soul, and to every feature of their faces sparkling information—­but my Clarissa!—­O Belford, my Clarissa has made me eyeless and senseless to every other beauty!—­Do thou find her for me, as a subject worthy of my pen, or this shall be the last from

Thy
Lovelace.

LETTER V

Mr. Lovelace, to John Belford, ESQ. 
Sunday night, July 9.

Now, Jack, have I a subject with a vengeance.  I am in the very height of my trial for all my sins to my beloved fugitive.  For here to-day, at about five o’clock, arrived Lady Sarah Sadleir and Lady Betty Lawrance, each in her chariot-and-six.  Dowagers love equipage; and these cannot travel ten miles without a sett, and half a dozen horsemen.

My time had hung heavy upon my hands; and so I went to church after dinner.  Why may not handsome fellows, thought I, like to be looked at, as well as handsome wenches?  I fell in, when service was over, with Major Warneton; and so came not home till after six; and was surprised, at entering the court-yard here, to find it littered with equipages and servants.  I was sure the owners of them came for no good to me.