Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax

London, Dover Street

When last I wrote my resolution was taken, and I determined on immediate attack. But I went in a seeming unlucky moment; though I much mistake if it were not the very reverse.

The supposed misfortune I had foreseen fell upon me. The 'squire of preachers had fairly overcome his father's obstinacy, and induced him to give ground! Instead of having received the news of his determined persistency, I found her with a letter in her hand, informing her that he had begun to relent, and that his full acquiescence was expected.

To have commenced the battle at so inauspicious a moment would have been little worthy of a great captain. My resolution was instantly formed.

After acting as much ecstasy as I could call up, I hastened home and wrote my projected letter to honest Aby. I threw my hints together in Italian, that they might not be understood by the agent whom I meant to employ. This was my groom, an English lad whom I met with at Paris, who spells well and writes a good hand. I pretended I had crushed my finger and could not hold a pen; and, without letting him understand the intent of my writing, or even that it was a letter, I dictated to him as follows; a transcript of which I send to you, Fairfax, first that you may sigh and see what the blessing of a ready invention is, and next as an example which you may copy, or at least from which you may take a hint, if ever you should have occasion.

'So you have been persuaded at last to give up your point, my old friend! And can you swallow this tale of a tub? A fine cock and a bull story has been dinned in your ears? Don't believe a word on't. I know the whole affair; and, though you don't know me, be assured I mean you well: and I tell you that if you will but hold out stoutly every thing will soon be settled to your heart's desire. She is dying for love of him, and he can't see it! She will never have the man they mean for her; I can assure you of that; and what is more he will never have her. What I tell you I know to be true. No matter who I am. If I knew nothing of the affair how could I write to you? And if the advice I give be good, what need you care whom it comes from? Only don't let your son see this; if you do it will spoil all. You perceive how blind he is to his own good, and how positive too. Keep your counsel, but be resolute. Look around you, persist in your own plans, and the hall, the parks, the gardens, the meadows, the lands you see are all your own! I am sure you cannot misunderstand me. But mark my words; be close; keep your thoughts to yourself. You know the world: You have made your own fortune; don't mar it by your own folly. Tell no tales, I say; nor, if you are a wise man, give the least hint that you have a friend in a corner.'

This I dictated to my amanuensis, pretending to translate it out of the paper I held in my hand, and which I took care to place before him, so that he should see it was really written in a foreign language. I likewise once or twice counterfeited a laugh at what I was reading, and ejaculated to myself—'This is a curious scrap!'

When he had finished I gave him half a crown, praised his hand-writing, which I told him I wanted to see, for perhaps I might find him better employment than currying of horses, and sent him about his business too much pleased and elated, and his ideas led into too distant a train to harbour the least suspicion.

Nor did my precautions end here. I immediately ordered my horse, and rode without any attendant full speed to Hounslow. I there desired the landlord of an inn at which I am personally known, though not by name, to send one of his own lads, post, to the market town next to Wenbourne-Hill, and there to hire a countryman, without explaining who or what he himself was, to deliver the letter into the hands of honest Aby. I requested the landlord to choose an intelligent messenger, and backed my request with a present bribe and a future promise.

My plan was too well laid to miscarry, and accordingly yesterday a mournful account arrived, from the young orator, that judgment is reversed, and he in imminent danger of being cast in costs.

And now, Fairfax, once more I go!—Expedition, resolution, a torrent of words, a storm of passion, and the pealing thunder that dies away in descending rains! The word is Anna St. Ives, revenge, and victory!

C. CLIFTON