“Clarissa had before remarked that all would be most conveniently over in bed: The solemn, the most important moment approached, but her soul ardently aspiring after immorality [immortality was of course the author’s intention], she imagined the time moved slowly; and with great presence of mind, she gave orders in relation to her body, directing her nurse and the maid of the house, as soon as she was cold, to put her into her coffin. The Colonel [her cousin], after paying her another visit, wrote to her uncle, Mr. John Harlowe, that they might save themselves the trouble of having any further debates about reconciliation; for before they could resolve, his dear cousin would probably be no more....
“A day or two after, Mr. Belford “The excellent lady had been silent a few minutes, and was thought speechless, she moving her lips without uttering a word; but when Mrs. Lovick, on Mr. Belford’s approach, pronounced his name, O Mr. Belford! cried she, in a faint inward voice, Now!—now!—I bless God, all will soon be over—a few minutes will end this strife—and I shall be happy,” etc. Her speech was long, although broken by dashes, and again she resumed, “in a more faint and broken accent,” the blessing and directions. “She then sunk her head upon the pillow; and fainting away, drew from them her hands.” Once more she returned to consciousness, “when waving her hand to him [Mr. Belford] and to her cousin, and bowing her head to every one present, not omitting the nurse and maid servant, with a faltering and inward voice, she added Bless—Bless—you all!—” The illustrations, in comparison with others of the time, are very well engraved, although the choice of subjects is somewhat singular. The last one represents Clarissa’s friend, “Miss Howe” (the loyal friend to whom all the absent letters were addressed), “lamenting over the corpse of Clarissa,” who lies in the coffin ordered by the heroine “to be covered with fine black cloth, and lined with white satin.” As one lays aside this faded duodecimo, the conviction is strong that the texture of the life of an old-fashioned child was of coarser weave than is pleasant to contemplate. How else could elders and guardians have placed without scruple such books in the hands of children? The one explanation is to be found in such diaries as that of Anna Winslow, who quaintly put down in her book facts and occurrences denoting the maturity already reached by a little miss of eleven. [73-*] Winsor, Memorial History of Boston, vol. ii, p. xix. [80-*] Cross, Development of the English Novel, pp. 38, 39.