Clarissa Harlowe or the History of a Young Lady - Volume 5 by Samuel Richardson Page A

men was one thing; with women another.
    This startled us all:--How the women looked!--How they pursed their mouths; a broad smile the moment before upon each, from the verses they had heard repeated, so well understood, as we saw, by their looks! While I besought her to let us know, for our instruction, what wit with women: for such I was sure it ought to be with men.
    Cowley, she said, had defined it prettily by negatives. Thou desiredst her to repeat his definition.
    She did; and with so much graceful ease, and beauty, and propriety of accent, as would have made bad poetry delightful.
    A thousand diff'rent shapes it bears;
     Comely in thousand shapes appears.
     'Tis not a tale, 'tis not a jest,
     Admir'd with laughter at a feast,
     Nor florid talk, which must this title gain:
     The proofs of wit for ever must remain.
     Much less can that have any place
     At which a virgin hides her face.
     Such dross the fire must purge away:--'Tis just
     The author blush there, where the reader must.
    Here she stopt, looking round upon her upon us all with conscious superiority, as I thought. Lord, how we stared! Thou attemptedst to give us thy definition of wit, that thou mightest have something to say, and not seem to be surprised into silent modesty.
    But as if she cared not to trust thee with the subject, referring to the same author as for his more positive decision, she thus, with the same harmony of voice and accent, emphatically decided upon it.
    Wit, like a luxurious vine,
     Unless to virtue's prop it join,
     Firm and erect, tow'rd heaven bound,
Tho' it with beauteous leaves and pleasant fruit be crown'd,
It lies deform'd, and rotting on the ground.
    If thou recollectest this part of the conversation, and how like fools we looked at one another; how much it put us out of conceit with ourselves, and made us fear her, when we found our conversation thus excluded from the very character which our vanity had made us think unquestionably ours; and if thou profitest properly by the recollection; thou wilt be of my mind, that there is not so much wit in wickedness as we had flattered ourselves there was.
    And after all, I have been of opinion ever since that conversation, that the wit of all the rakes and libertines down to little Johnny Hartop the punster, consists mostly in saying bold and shocking things, with such courage as shall make the modest blush, the impudent laugh, and the ignorant stare.
    And why dost thou think I mention these things, so mal-a-propos, as it may seem!--Only, let me tell thee, as an instance (among many that might be given from the same evening's conversation) of this fine woman's superiority in those talents which ennoble nature, and dignify her sex--evidenced not only to each of us, as we offended, but to the flippant Partington, and the grosser, but egregiously hypocritical Sinclair, in the correcting eye, the discouraging blush, in which was mixed as much displeasure as modesty, and sometimes, as the occasion called for it, (for we were some of us hardened above the sense of feeling delicate reproof,) by the sovereign contempt, mingled with a disdainful kind of pity, that showed at once her own conscious worth, and our despicable worthlessness.
    O Lovelace! what then was the triumph, even in my eye, and what is it still upon reflection, of true jest, laughing impertinence, and an obscenity so shameful, even to the guilty, that they cannot hint at it but under a double meaning!
    Then, as thou hast somewhere observed,* all her correctives avowed by her eye. Not poorly, like the generality of her sex, affecting ignorance of meanings too obvious to be concealed; but so resenting, as to show each impudent laugher the offence given to, and taken by a purity, that had mistaken its way, when it fell into such company.
    * See Vol. IV. Letter XLVIII.
    Such is the woman, such is the angel, whom thou hast betrayed into thy power, and wouldst deceive and ruin.---Sweet creature! did she but know how she is surrounded,