When you have before you the letters I have sent to Miss Howe, you will see that Lord M. and the Ladies of his family, jealous as they are of the honour of their house, (to express myself in their language,) think better of me than my own relations do.  You will see an instance of their generosity to me, which at the time extremely affected me, and indeed still affects me.  Unhappy man! gay, inconsiderate, and cruel! what has been his gain by making unhappy a creature who hoped to make him happy! and who was determined to deserve the love of all to whom he is related!  —­Poor man!—­but you will mistake a compassionate and placable nature for love!—­he took care, great care, that I should rein-in betimes any passion that I might have had for him, had he known how to be but commonly grateful or generous!—­But the Almighty knows what is best for his poor creatures.

Some of the letters in the same packet will also let you into the knowledge of a strange step which I have taken, (strange you will think it); and, at the same time, give you my reasons for taking it.*

* She means that of making Mr. Belford her executor.

It must be expected, that situations uncommonly difficult will make necessary some extraordinary steps, which, but for those situations, would be hardly excusable.  It will be very happy indeed, and somewhat wonderful, if all the measures I have been driven to take should be right.  A pure intention, void of all undutiful resentment, is what must be my consolation, whatever others may think of those measures, when they come to know them:  which, however, will hardly be till it is out of my power to justify them, or to answer for myself.

I am glad to hear of my cousin Morden’s safe arrival.  I should wish to see him methinks:  but I am afraid that he will sail with the stream; as it must be expected, that he will hear what they have to say first.—­But what I most fear is, that he will take upon himself to avenge me.  Rather than he should do so, I would have him look upon me as a creature utterly unworthy of his concern; at least of his vindictive concern.

How soothing to the wounded heart of your Clarissa, how balmy are the assurances of your continued love and favour;—­love me, my dear mamma Norton, continue to love me, to the end!—­I now think that I may, without presumption, promise to deserve your love to the end.  And, when I am gone, cherish my memory in your worthy heart; for in so doing you will cherish the memory of one who loves and honours you more than she can express.

But when I am no more, I charge you, as soon as you can, the smarting pangs of grief that will attend a recent loss; and let all be early turned into that sweetly melancholy regard to memory, which, engaging us to forget all faults, and to remember nothing but what was thought amiable, gives more pleasure than pain to survivors—­especially if they can comfort themselves with the humble hope, that the Divine mercy has taken the dear departed to itself.