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Miss Clarissa Harlowe.
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she has said so many things to me in behalf of my resigning to my father's will, that her arguments have not a little contributed to make me resolve to avoid the extremities, which nevertheless I pray to God they do not at last force me upon. And yet they deprive me of her advice, and think unjustly of one of the most excellent of women.

I am glad to hear you say This: And take This, and This, and This, my charming niece (for so the call'd me at every word almost); kissing me earnestly, and clasping her arms about my neck: And God protect you, and direct you! But you must submit: Indeed you must. Some one day in a month from This, is all the choice that is left you.

And this, I suppose, was the doom my sister call'd for; yet not worse than what had been pronounced upon me before.

She repeated these last sentences louder than the former. And remember, Miss, added she, it is your duty to comply—And down she went, leaving me with my heart full, and my eyes runing over.

The very repetition of this, fills me with almost equal concern, to that which I felt at the time. I can write no more; mistinesses of all the colours in the rainbow twinkling upon my deluged eye.

Wednesday, Five o'Clock.

I Will add a few lines—My aunt, as she went down from me, was met at the foot of the flairs by my sister, who seemed to think she had stay'd a good while after her: And hearing her last words prescribing to me implicit duty, praised her for it, and exclaim'd against my obstinacy, with, Did you ever hear of such perverseness, Madam? Could you have thought, that your Clarissa, and every body's Clarissa, was such a girl?—And who, as you said, is to submit, her father or she?

My aunt said something in answer to her, com-

passionating