* See Vol.  V. Letter XXXIV.—­It may be observed further, that all Clarissa’s occasional lectures to Miss Howe, on that young lady’s treatment of Mr. Hickman, prove that she was herself above affectation and tyranny.—­See, more particularly, the advice she gives to that friend of her heart, Letter XXXII. of Vol.  VIII.—­’O my dear,’ says she, in that Letter, ’that it had been my lot (as I was not permitted to live single) to have met with a man by whom I could have acted generously and unreservedly!’ &c. &c. ** See Vol.  V. Letters XXVI. and XXXIV. *** Ibid.  Letter XXXIV. **** See Vol.  V. Letters II.  III.

She would have had no reserve, as once she told me, had I given her cause of doubt.* And did she not own to thee, that once she could have loved me; and, could she have made me good, would have made me happy?** O, Belford! here was love; a love of the noblest kind!  A love, as she hints in her posthumous letter,*** that extended to the soul; and which she not only avowed in her dying hours, but contrived to let me know it after death, in that letter filled with warnings and exhortations, which had for their sole end my eternal welfare!

* Ibid.  Letter XXXVI. ** See Vol.  VIII.  Letter LXIV. *** See Letter XXXVI. of this volume.

The cursed women, indeed, endeavoured to excite my vengeance, and my pride, by preaching to me of me.  And my pride was, at times, too much excited by their vile insinuations.  But had it even been as they said; well might she, who had been used to be courted and admired by every desiring eye, and worshipped by every respectful heart—­well might such a woman be allowed to draw back, when she found herself kept in suspense, as to the great question of all, by a designing and intriguing spirit; pretending awe and distance, as reasons for reining-in a fervour, which, if real, cannot be reined-in—­Divine creature!  Her very doubts, her reserves, (so justly doubting,) would have been my assurance, and my glory!—­And what other trial needed her virtue!  What other needed a purity so angelic, (blessed with such a command in her passions in the bloom of youth,) had I not been a villain—­and a wanton, a conceited, a proud fool, as well as a villain?

These reflections sharpened, rather than their edge by time abated, accompany me in whatever I do, and wherever I go; and mingle with all my diversions and amusements.  And yet I go into gay and splendid company.  I have made new acquaintance in the different courts I have visited.  I am both esteemed and sought after, by persons of rank and merit.  I visit the colleges, the churches, the palaces.  I frequent the theatre:  am present at every public exhibition; and see all that is worth seeing, that I had not see before, in the cabinets of the curious:  am sometimes admitted to the toilette of an eminent toast, and make one with distinction at the assemblies of others—­yet can think of nothing, nor of any body, with delight, but of my Clarissa.  Nor have I seen one woman with advantage to herself, but as she resembles, in stature, air, complexion, voice, or in some feature, that charmer, that only charmer of my soul.