Louisa Clifton to her brother Coke Clifton

Grosvenor-Street

Where is Anna St. Ives?—Where is my friend? Where is the youth to whom you owe existence?—Man of revenge, answer me! Oh God! O God!—Is it possible?—Can it be that you, Coke Clifton, the son of my mother, the hoped for friend of my heart, the expected champion of virtue, can turn aside to such base and pitiful vice; such intolerable, such absurd, such deep hypocrisy? And why? What cause? Is this the reward of their uncommon virtues?

And you, Oh man! Did they not labour hourly, incessantly, with the purity of saints and the ardour of angels, to do you good? Was it not their sole employment; their first duty, and their dearest hope? Did they ever deviate? Did they not return urbanity for arrogance, kindness for contempt, and life for blows?—Can you, Clifton, dare you be thus wicked? And will you persist?—

If you have brought them to harm, if your practices have reached their lives, earth does not contain so foul, so wicked a monster!—

Surely this cannot be! Surely you have some drop of mother's blood in you, and cannot be actuated by a spirit so wholly demon!

What shall I do? What shall I say? How shall I awaken a soul so steeped in iniquity, so dead to excellence, so obstinate in ill?—Clifton!—You were not formed for this! You have a mind that might have been the fit companion of divine natures!—It may be still!—Awake! View the light, and turn from crimes, pollution, and abhorrence, to virtue, love, and truth!

Know you not the beaming charity of her whom you persecute, if—Oh God!—Surely this is vain terror! Surely Anna St. Ives is still among the living!—

Clifton, once again I say, remember the untainted benevolence of her soul! Is it, can it be forgotten by you? Which of your good qualities was ever forgotten by her? Hear her describe them in her own language![1]

[Footnote 1: Here follow numerous extracts from the letters of Anna St. Ives; all expressive of the high qualities and powers of Mr. Clifton, of the delight they gave her, and the hopes they inspired. They are omitted here, because it is probable they are fresh in the reader's memory: if not, it will be easy to turn to Anna's letters; particularly to letters XXIV. XXXI. XXXVIII. XLV. LVI. LXIII. LXVIII. LXXVIII. LXXIX. LXXXII. CVIII.]

These are a few of the commendations with which her descriptions abound. Commendations of you, oh man of mischief and mistake! They are quotations from her letters. Read them; remember them; think on all she has done for you, all she has said to you, and all you have made her suffer!

What shall I say? My fears are infinite, my hopes few, my anguish intolerable!—For the love of God, brother, do not rob the world of two people who were born to be its light and pride! Do not be this diabolic instrument of passion and error! If they still have being, restore them to the human race.—You know not the wrong you do!—'Tis heinous, 'tis hateful wickedness! Can a mind like yours feel no momentary remorse, no glow of returning virtue, no sudden resolution to perform a great and glorious act of justice on yourself?

If you value your soul's peace, hear me! Awake from this guilty dream, and be once more the brother of the agonizing,

L. CLIFTON