O this devilish Miss Howe;—something must be resolved upon and done with that little fury!
***
Thou wilt see the margin of this cursed letter crowded with indices [>>>]. I put them to mark the places which call for vengeance upon the vixen writer, or which require animadversion. Return thou it to me the moment thou hast perused it.
Read it here; and avoid trembling for me, if thou canst.
TO MISS LAETITIA BEAUMONT WEDNESDAY, JUNE 7.
MY DEAREST FRIEND,
You will perhaps think that I have been too
long silent. But I had begun two letters at differ-
ent times since my last, and written a great deal
>>> each time; and with spirit enough, I assure you;
incensed as I was against the abominable wretch you
are with; particularly on reading your's of the 21st
of the past month.*
* See Vol. IV. Letter XLVI.
>>> The first I intended to keep open till I could
give you some account of my proceedings with Mrs.
Townsend. It was some days before I saw her:
and this intervenient space giving me time to re-
peruse what I had written, I thought it proper to lay
>>> that aside, and to write in a style a little less fervent;
>>> for you would have blamed me, I know, for the free-
dom of some of my expressions. [Execrations, if
you please.] And when I had gone a good way
in the second, the change in your prospects, on his
communicating to you Miss Montague's letter, and
his better behaviour, occasioning a change in your
mind, I laid that aside also. And in this uncer-
tainty, thought I would wait to see the issue of
affairs between you before I wrote again; believing
that all would soon be decided one way or other.
I had still, perhaps, held this resolution, [as every
appearance, according to your letters, was more and
more promising,] had not the two passed days fur-
nished me with intelligence which it highly imports
you to know.
But I must stop here, and take a little walk, to
try to keep down that just indignation which rises
to my pen, when I am about to relate to you what
I must communicate.
***
I am not my own mistress enough—then my
mother—always up and down—and watching as if
I were writing to a fellow. But I will try if I can
contain myself in tolerable bounds.
The women of the house where you are—O my
dear, the women of the house—but you never
thought highly of them—so it cannot be very sur-
>>> prising—nor would you have staid so long with
them, had not the notion of removing to one of your
own, made you less uneasy, and less curious about
their characters, and behaviour. Yet I could now
wish, that you had been less reserved among them
>>> —But I tease you—In short, my dear, you are
certainly in a devilish house!—Be assured that the
woman is one of the vilest women—nor does
she go to you by her right name—[Very true!]—
Her name is not Sinclair, nor is the street she lives
in Dover-street. Did you never go out by your-
self, and discharge the coach or chair, and return
>>> by another coach or chair? If you did, [yet I
don't remember that you ever wrote to me, that
you did,] you would never have found your way to
the vile house, either by the woman's name, Sin-
clair, or by the street's name, mentioned by that
Doleman in his letter about the lodgings.*