Letter XII


Indeed you would not be in love with him for the world!--Your servant,

my dear. Nor would I have you. For, I think, with all the advantages

of person, fortune, and family, he is not by any means worthy of you.

And this opinion I give as well from the reasons you mention (which I

cannot but confirm) as from what I have heard of him but a few hours

ago from Mrs. Fortescue, a favourite of Lady Betty Lawrance, who knows

him well--but let me congratulate you, however, on your being the

first of our sex that ever I heard of, who has been able to turn that

lion, Love, at her own pleasure, into a lap-dog.

Well but, if you have not the throbs and the glows, you have not: and

are not in love; good reason why--because you would not be in love;

and there's no more to be said.--Only, my dear, I shall keep a good

look-out upon you; and so I hope you will be upon yourself; for it is

no manner of argument that because you would not be in love, you

therefore are not.--But before I part entirely with this subject, a

word in your ear, my charming friend--'tis only by way of caution, and

in pursuance of the general observation, that a stander-by is often a

better judge of the game than those that play.--May it not be, that

you have had, and have, such cross creatures and such odd heads to

deal with, as have not allowed you to attend to the throbs?--Or, if

you had them a little now and then, whether, having had two accounts

to place them to, you have not by mistake put them to the wrong one?

But whether you have a value for Lovelace or not, I know you will be

impatient to hear what Mrs. Fortescue has said of him. Nor will I

keep you longer in suspense.

An hundred wild stories she tells of him from childhood to manhood:

for, as she observed, having never been subject to contradiction, he

was always as mischievous as a monkey. But I shall pass over these

whole hundred of his puerile rogueries (although indicative ones, as I

may say) to take notice as well of some things you are not quite

ignorant of, as of others you know not, and to make a few observations

upon him and his ways.

Mrs. Fortescue owns, what every body knows, 'that he is notoriously,

nay, avowedly, a man of pleasure; yet says, that in any thing he sets

his heart upon or undertakes, he is the most industrious and

persevering mortal under the sun. He rests it seems not above six

hours in the twenty-four--any more than you. He delights in writing.

Whether at Lord M.'s, or at Lady Betty's, or Lady Sarah's, he has

always a pen in his fingers when he retires. One of his companions

(confirming his love of writing) has told her, that his thoughts flow

rapidly to his pen:' And you and I, my dear, have observed, on more

occasions than one, that though he writes even a fine hand, he is one

of the readiest and quickest of writers. He must indeed have had

early a very docile genius; since a person of his pleasurable turn and

active spirit, could never have submitted to take long or great pains

in attaining the qualifications he is master of; qualifications so

seldom attained by youth of quality and fortune; by such especially of

those of either, who, like him, have never known what it was to be


'He had once it seems the vanity, upon being complimented on these

talents (and on his surprising diligence, for a man of pleasure) to

compare himself to Julius Caesar; who performed great actions by day,

and wrote them down at night; and valued himself, that he only wanted

Caesar's out-setting, to make a figure among his contemporaries.

'He spoke of this indeed, she says, with an air of pleasantry: for she

observed, and so have we, that he has the art of acknowledging his

vanity with so much humour, that it sets him above the contempt which

is due to vanity and self-opinion; and at the same time half persuades

those who hear him, that he really deserves the exultation he gives


But supposing it to be true that all his vacant nightly hours are

employed in writing, what can be his subjects? If, like Caesar, his

own actions, he must undoubtedly be a very enterprising and very

wicked man; since nobody suspects him to have a serious turn; and,

decent as he is in his conversation with us, his writings are not

probably such as would redound either to his own honour, or to the

benefit of others, were they to be read. He must be conscious of

this, since Mrs. Fortescue says, 'that in the great correspondence by

letters which he holds, he is as secret and as careful as if it were

of a treasonable nature;--yet troubles not his head with politics,

though nobody knows the interests of princes and courts better than he

is said to do.'

That you and I, my dear, should love to write, is no wonder. We have

always, from the time each could hold a pen, delighted in epistolary

correspondencies. Our employments are domestic and sedentary; and we

can scribble upon twenty innocent subjects, and take delight in them

because they are innocent; though were they to be seen, they might not

much profit or please others. But that such a gay, lively young

fellow as this, who rides, hunts, travels, frequents the public

entertainments, and has means to pursue his pleasures, should be able

to set himself down to write for hours together, as you and I have

heard him say he frequently does, that is the strange thing.

Mrs. Fortescue says, 'that he is a complete master of short-hand

writing.' By the way, what inducements could a swift writer as he

have to learn short-hand!

She says (and we know it as well as she) 'that he has a surprising

memory, and a very lively imagination.'

Whatever his other vices are, all the world, as well as Mrs.

Fortescue, says, 'he is a sober man. And among all his bad qualities,

gaming, that great waster of time as well as fortune, is not his

vice:' So that he must have his head as cool, and his reason as clear,

as the prime of youth and his natural gaiety will permit; and by his

early morning hours, a great portion of time upon his hands to employ

in writing, or worse.

Mrs. Fortescue says, 'he has one gentleman who is more his intimate

and correspondent than any of the rest.' You remember what his

dismissed bailiff said of him and of his associates.* I don't find

but that Mrs. Fortescue confirms this part of it, 'that all his

relations are afraid of him; and that his pride sets him above owing

obligations to them. She believes he is clear of the world; and that

he will continue so;' No doubt from the same motive that makes him

avoid being obliged to his relations.

* Letter IV.

A person willing to think favourably of him would hope, that a brave,

a learned, and a diligent, man, cannot be naturally a bad man.--But if

he be better than his enemies say he is (and if worse he is bad

indeed) he is guilty of an inexcusable fault in being so careless as

he is of his reputation. I think a man can be so but from one of

these two reasons: either that he is conscious he deserves the ill

spoken of him; or, that he takes a pride in being thought worse than

he is. Both very bad and threatening indications; since the first must

shew him to be utterly abandoned; and it is but natural to conclude

from the other, that what a man is not ashamed to have imputed to him,

he will not scruple to be guilty of whenever he has an opportunity.

Upon the whole, and upon all I could gather from Mrs. Fortescue, Mr.

Lovelace is a very faulty man. You and I have thought him too gay,

too inconsiderate, too rash, too little an hypocrite, to be deep. You

see he never would disguise his natural temper (haughty as it

certainly is) with respect to your brother's behaviour to him. Where

he thinks a contempt due, he pays it to the uttermost. Nor has he

complaisance enough to spare your uncles.

But were he deep, and ever so deep, you would soon penetrate him, if

they would leave you to yourself. His vanity would be your clue.

Never man had more: Yet, as Mrs. Fortescue observed, 'never did man

carry it off so happily.' There is a strange mixture in it of

humourous vivacity:--Since but for one half of what he says of

himself, when he is in the vein, any other man would be insufferable.


Talk of the devil, is an old saying. The lively wretch has made me a

visit, and is but just gone away. He is all impatience and resentment

at the treatment you meet with, and full of apprehensions too, that

they will carry their point with you.

I told him my opinion, that you will never be brought to think of such

a man as Solmes; but that it will probably end in a composition, never

to have either.

No man, he said, whose fortunes and alliances are so considerable,

ever had so little favour from a woman for whose sake he had borne so


I told him my mind as freely as I used to do. But whoever was in

fault, self being judge? He complained of spies set upon his conduct,

and to pry into his life and morals, and this by your brother and


I told him, that this was very hard upon him; and the more so, as

neither his life nor morals perhaps would stand a fair inquiry.

He smiled, and called himself my servant.--The occasion was too fair,

he said, for Miss Howe, who never spared him, to let it pass.--But,

Lord help the shallow souls of the Harlowes! Would I believe it! they

were for turning plotters upon him. They had best take care he did

not pay them in their own coin. Their hearts were better turned for

such works than their heads.

I asked him, If he valued himself upon having a head better turned

than theirs for such works, as he called them?

He drew off: and then ran into the highest professions of reverence

and affection for you.

The object so meritorious, who can doubt the reality of his


Adieu, my dearest, my noble friend!--I love and admire you for the

generous conclusion of your last more than I can express. Though I

began this letter with impertinent raillery, knowing that you always

loved to indulge my mad vein; yet never was there a heart that more

glowed with friendly love, than that of

Your own ANNA HOWE.